to the girl who is always the lesson but never the one
pairing: non-idol!jungwon x fem!reader
warnings: angst with happy ending, fluff, y/n is an overthinker and has lots of insecurities, heartbreak, jungwon somehow giving mixed signals, slow burn, did i miss anything?? hopefully not.
premise: y/n has always been the lesson, never the one. so when jungwon, the boy who is kind to everyone, begins caring for her in ways that feel a little too intentional to ignore, she convinces herself it’s just his nature. but as her feelings grow, she reminds herself how relationships always end. now, she must decide whether believing in him is worth the risk of being temporary again.
word count: 21,660
***
dear, y/n,
in this world, there are two types of people: the one and the lesson. sad to say, you're the latter.
there is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes with being someone’s stepping stone.
you spend months, sometimes years smoothing out their rough edges, teaching them how to love properly, how to listen, and how to stay. and then, once they’ve finally learned the lesson, they leave to go be with someone else.
at this point, you've become an expert at the curriculum. but you were never the one who got to keep the degree.
the cafe was loud, a chaotic symphony of clinking ceramic cups and the low hum of afternoon chatter, but it all faded into white noise the moment the image loaded on your feed.
it was a simple photo. a sunlit afternoon, two matching gold rings, and a caption that felt like a quiet slap to my face: soobin, your ex, his hands on another girl’s waist while he kisses her cheek.
thank you for teaching me how to love properly, the caption said.
two years.
you stared at the photo, my thumb hovering over the screen. he was with you for two years and he couldn’t say those words to you, even in your anniversary. the whole time in your relationship, he was reckless, emotionally distant, and entirely unpolished. you spent a year settling for what you had because you thought it was love.
but the day he sent you a text saying it was over, he told you he just wasn't ready for commitment. now you realize he was ready, he just needed two years of your patience to learn how to be the man a girl deserved.
then there was jaemin, a senior from high school, your first…you wouldn’t say boyfriend but a fling. it was simple, you liked him and he liked you back. but only because you liked him that he liked you back.
then when he met a girl from his club where he really, really liked, your fling was over.
and even before all of them, there was the ultimate what if: park jongseong.
he was your childhood friend, the boy who lived just doors down, whose laughter was the soundtrack to your earliest memories. you had loved him since you were six years old, a silly, innocent crush that somehow managed to grow up right alongside you. as the years bled into high school, that fondness turned into something heavy and terrifying. you spent months practicing confessions in front of your bedroom mirror, your heart hammering against your ribs, only to swallow the words every time you saw him smile at you. he was your safe haven. the risk of speaking up and ruining the one steady friendship you had was a price you couldn't bear to pay.
until, he took an interest in your cousin, karina. you watched frozen as he confessed to her in the school field during lunch. he told you that day that he would confess, breaking your illusion of anything happening between the both of you. what you didn’t expect was he fell for someone you also knew for years, let alone a family member.
then months later, he admitted that he liked you back. but you were still just children then. his definition of love was too small, too cautious to risk breaking the fragile, beautiful friendship you had built. he didn’t know how to hold a girl’s hand while holding her history at the same time. but thanks to you, he knew what real love was. you gave him a lesson he’d forever treasure.
just not with you.
the worst part, you never got to tell him how you felt. you just quietly stepped aside, becoming the supportive best friend who helped him figure out what to say to her.
"y/n? hey, are you even listening to me?"
wonhee, your roommate snapped the thread of my thoughts. she was sitting across you, a half-eaten plate of pasta between us, looking at me with a mixture of concern and mild annoyance.
you locked my phone, the screen going mercifully black, and forced a practiced smile onto my face. "yeah. sorry. just... an internship notification. what were you saying?”
"i was saying about the drama I just overheard by the counter while getting our drinks."
she leaned in closer across the small table, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "you know jisu from the department next to ours? apparently, she and sunghoon just made it official on their feeds. like, matching profile pictures, public couple status, the whole nine yards."
wonhee shook her head, taking a slow sip of her drink. "everyone is losing their minds because sunghoon used to be notorious for being completely uncatchable. he’d date a girl for a month, get bored, and leave them with enough character development to write a novel. but look at him now—completely whipped. i guess some girls are just born to be the final destination, while the rest of us are just the rest stops along the highway."
you gave wonhee a weak smile, “tell me about it.”
just when you were about to mope on your feelings, your boss from your internship messaged that you interns are needed tomorrow for an urgent shoot. luckily, you had no classes tomorrow so you have time while still catching up with some tasks for school.
tomorrow has finally arrived and you came to the building of the prestige building of véra, a magazine known for its sleek minimalism and its legendary ability to turn underground creators into overnight icons. it was a place where trends didn't just get covered—they were born.
"no, absolutely not. the lighting is completely flat, and the silk looks like cardboard under these gels. look at the monitor!"
"i’m tracking the ambient light, okay? but if you want that raw, overcast mood you specifically asked for in the mood board, we need to shift the reflectors. now."
the sharp, overlapping voices echoed across the massive concrete studio space the moment you pushed past the heavy double doors. the atmosphere inside was thick with tension, a frantic ballet of production assistants rushing past with garment bags, makeup artists adjusting their kits under blinding vanity lights, and the distant, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of a high-end camera shutter.
in the center of the chaos stood the creative director, kang jiah, pinching the bridge of her nose in sheer frustration, while the lead photographer, oh minseok adjusted a massive lens on his tripod.
as a makeup artist student, your brain automatically began calculating the fix before anyone even asked you to. you could see the problem from ten feet away: the model had a gorgeous, warm skin tone, but the current lighting was clashing with the undertone of her foundation, making the high-shine finish look chaotic instead of seamless.
you gripped the handles of your professional makeup train case a little tighter, swallowing down your nervousness. you were just a standby intern here to clean brushes, prep skin, or rush to the makeup artist’s bag for products they need, but the thick tension in the room made your heart hammer against your ribs.
“excuse me,” a calm, clear voice suddenly broke the thick tension in the room. "if i may offer a small suggestion? what if we change the polarization instead?"
from the shadows behind the main monitor setup, a boy who seemed to be around your age stepped forward. he was dressed simply in a loose black sweater and clean trousers, a professional light meter slung casually around his neck.
"if we drop a linear polarizer onto the lens and tilt the key light down by just five degrees, the camera should cut the greasy reflection from the strobe while keeping the model's natural skin texture completely intact. director kang gets her soft, glass-skin look on the monitor, and you won't lose your highlights, sir. It should take less than two minutes to adjust."
the studio went quiet for a beat. photographer oh peered over his shoulder, checking the math on the monitor, before a slow, appreciative nod broke across his face. he stepped up to his own rig, quickly adjusting the polarization filter to test the student's theory.
"he's right. the polarization math checks out," photographer oh announced to the room, looking thoroughly impressed. "good eye…what’s your name?”
“jungwon, sir. yang jungwon.”
“good eye, jungwon.” director kang told jungwon with her stern voice but the look of amusement on her face did not leave.
yang jungwon.
everyone at the university knew who he was. he wasn't just talented; he was the golden boy and a prodigy. he was the type of student who's friends with everyone, the student whose photography portfolios were already being archived by professors as future curriculum benchmarks.
he possessed a rare, effortless blend of sharp academic intelligence and raw artistic intuition. he was brilliant, celebrated, and completely out of reach.
a boy existing in a flawless, sunlit orbit that a guarded, cynical standby intern like you had no business crossing.
jungwon wiped a stray lock of hair from his forehead, offering a small, dimpled smile to a stressed-out production assistant who had just dropped a roll of gaffer tape near his feet. he bent down, picked it up, and handed it back to her with a gentle, "here you go. don't worry, we have plenty of time."
you swallowed hard, averting your eyes.
he was brilliant, he was elite, and he was universally kind. the ultimate hazard sign.
it would be a lie if you said you didn't find him cute the first time you saw him in the building.
"y/n, go in and touch up the nose and jawline," the head makeup artist, hyeji called out, waving a hand toward the vanity. "matte it down just a bit so the polarization works properly."
you blinked, snapping out of your thoughts, and quickly grabbed your powder puff and a translucent setting powder.
walking onto a live set always felt like stepping into a spotlight. your heart did a nervous little flutter as you approached the model, consciously keeping your eyes glued to her face and away from the monitor station where jungwon was standing.
"excuse me," you whispered politely to the model, stepping into her personal space.
you raised your hand, your fingers stabilizing against her jaw as you gently tapped the powder puff onto her skin. this was your comfort zone. the familiar scent of cosmetics and the meticulous, rhythmic tapping usually calmed your nerves.
until you felt a presence shift right behind you.
"ah, wait a second please," a quiet voice murmured.
you froze, your hand hovering inches from the model’s cheek. jungwon had stepped up right next to you, leaning in slightly to look at the model's face through the small space between you two. he was close enough that you could catch the subtle, clean scent of his fabric softener—like fresh laundry and cold winter air.
he wasn't looking at you. his sharp, focused eyes were entirely on how the studio lights hit the model's skin finish. he raised a hand, using his thumb to gently mimic the angle of the key light.
"if she tilts her chin up just a fraction when y/n finishes dusting the powder," jungwon said softly, addressing the photographer while subconsciously using your name, "the shadow under the jaw will clean up perfectly."
your breath hitched in your throat. y/n. he didn't even know you, yet hearing your name leave his lips in that calm, casual tone felt like a sudden spike of electricity.
this feeling was familiar, you said.
as soon as the thought crossed your mind, a cold wave of reality washed over you, dousing the spark before it could even catch fire. you quickly finished the last few taps of powder, stepped back, and offered a hurried, polite bow to the model and jungwon before retreating to the dark edges of the studio.
your chest felt tight. you're doing it again, you scolded yourself, your fingers gripping the plastic handle of your powder compact so hard your knuckles turned white.
you felt pathetic. you felt completely, utterly cursed.
it was always like this. one soft glance, one polite gesture, a boy simply using your name and your heart was already trying to sprint ahead. you fell fast, hopelessly fast, like a script that had already been written for you a hundred times before. you were the girl who romanticized the bare minimum, the girl who mistook a photographer's technical focus for something personal.
you closed your eyes for a brief second, forcing your breathing to steady.
if you let yourself look at yang jungwon, you knew exactly how this story would end. he would smile, he would be kind, he would inadvertently teach you how to love a little deeper—and then he would hand his heart to someone else, leaving you behind with nothing but a notebook full of character development.
you weren't going to be the rest stop on his highway. not this time.
"y/n? can you clean the brushes from the morning prep?" the senior makeup artist's voice called out from the vanity room.
"coming," you replied, your voice dropping back into its practiced, neutral tone. you pulled your shoulders back and walked away from the lit set, determined to keep yourself distracted from whatever feelings that are rising.
***
dear, y/n,
sometimes, old habits die hard. you recognized the electricity today, didn't you? it’s the exact same current that left you in the dark three times before. he is a walking hazard sign with a dimpled smile, and you are already stepping over the yellow tape. the truth is, you missed the way a single voice could make the room tilt, and for the first time in a very long time, it felt kind of beautiful to feel everything all at once again.
the train ride home was the worst part of the day. it gave you too much time to think, the rhythmic, metallic hum of the carriage matching the uneasy beat of your heart as the train rattled through the city.
sitting crushed between tired commuters, you pulled out your phone. your thumbs moved on pure instinct, opening the app and typing his name into the search bar before your logical brain could even try to stop you.
@jw_209
you swallowed hard as his profile loaded. no private account lock. no gatekeeping. just a blue checkmark, a massive follower count, and a grid that looked exactly like a highly curated digital museum.
your eyes scanned his feed, and that familiar flutter settled deep in your chest.
he liked taking photos of landscapes with ethereal vibes. misty horizons, soft pastel sunrises over quiet shorelines, and ancient trees swallowed by a dreamlike haze. he captured the world in a way that made ordinary things look completely breathtaking.
he was incredibly talented, yet his captions were entirely humble. just a single camera emoji or a word or phrases about the fleeting nature of everyday moments, or how softly a quiet afternoon can pass you by.
then, you scrolled down a bit further and hit the real hazard zone: his tagged photos.
there were countless pictures of him posted by other people. jungwon sitting at a university cafe surrounded by a huge group of friends, all of them leaning into him. jungwon smiling broadly, showing off those deep, clear dimples as he held up a peace sign next to girls from the dance club, the cheer squad, the student council. every single person in his tagged photos looked happy just to be standing near him.
he was tagged in sweet birthday posts, late-night study group sessions, and celebratory dinner collages. he wasn't just liked. he was cherished by everyone who crossed his path.
though he doesn't post photos of people in his social media. you guessed he likes to keep the people in his life private or he just likes taking photos of landscapes than people.
on the way back home, you were pulled right out of your thoughts by the familiar chimes of the convenience store down the street from your dorm.
the door swung open, and a boy stepped out into the humid night air, a small plastic bag dangling from his fingers. your footsteps completely faltered on the pavement.
it was yang jungwon.
he was dressed down even more than he had been at the studio, his hair slightly damp and a pair of simple slippers on his feet. he stopped under the warm, buzzing glow of the storefront sign, completely breaking the distant, untouchable image you had just been staring at on your phone. he was right here. in your neighborhood.
before you could even think about hiding or turning around, he raised his head. his sharp eyes blinked in surprise, and then, those deep, familiar dimples cut into his cheeks as he caught sight of you.
"oh? y/n, right?"
“j-jungwon!”
damn it, you really had to stutter and raise your voice.
“you just got home?”
"yeah, the head artist wanted the foundation brushes sanitized tonight because the morning crew needs them fresh, and then i had to sort the sponge bins and double-check the inventory list for the next shoot since we won't even be there on friday, so it just took way longer than expected."
it felt like you couldn’t breathe after that. why did you have to overexplain? he had asked a simple four-word question, and you had handed him a full logistical breakdown of your internship duties like a nervous suspect under interrogation.
jungwon blinked softly, taking in your breathless ramble. for a horrifying second, you thought he might find you completely weird—but then, his eyes crinkled at the corners, and that deep, gentle dimple appeared on his cheek.
"ah, so that's why you're so late," he murmured, his voice incredibly soft in the quiet night air. "you worked really hard today.”
“t-thank you. it was just part of the job, really. i’m still just a standby intern, so i have to do my best not to get in anyone's way."
jungwon tilted his head slightly, his gaze warm. "you didn't get in anyone's way. your skin prep made the polarization adjustment work perfectly."
the fact that he remembered that brought your heart into a sudden, breathless flutter, the erratic rhythm pounding so loud against your ribs you were terrified he could hear it in the midnight quiet. it was that exact same jolt of electricity from the studio, only this time, it felt twice as loud under the quiet streetlights. your heart was doing dangerous, hopeful flips, completely ignoring every single warning you had just given yourself.
jungwon shifted his weight, his plastic bag rustling softly against his sweatpants. he looked down at the street for a second, a small, polite smile lingering on his lips before he looked back up at you.
"well, it's getting pretty late," he said softly, gesturing slightly with his head toward the direction of the apartment blocks. "i should probably head back home before the ice cream i bought completely melts."
you blinked, forcing your brain to kick back into gear. "oh! right, yeah. of course. go ahead."
"get home safely, y/ni," he murmured, stepping past you with a gentle nod. "see you at the studio on friday."
"goodnight," you whispered to his retreating back.
you stood frozen on the pavement, watching his tall, relaxed figure disappear into the shadows of the street. the subtle scent of his fabric softener still lingered faintly in the humid night air, a cruel reminder that he had actually been standing right there.
you let out a long, shaky exhale, finally allowing your shoulders to drop. you were supposed to be building walls. you were supposed to be guarding your heart against the ultimate hazard sign.
but as you turned the key to your dorm room, your heart was still stubbornly replaying the exact way his dimples looked under the convenience store light.
the quiet hum of your desk lamp was the only sound in the room. you had been staring at your color theory assignment for the past hour, but the lines of text were starting to blur together. your brain was entirely fried.
just a five-minute break, you promised yourself.
it was a lie, and you knew it. your fingers moved on pure autopilot, unlocking your phone and opening the app before your conscience could stage an intervention. you had explicitly told yourself to stop looking. you had promised yourself on the train, and again at the door of your dorm, that you wouldn't feed the curse.
but as you clicked on his profile, a little red circle illuminated his profile picture.
new post • 2 min. ago
your breath caught. you tapped it.
it wasn't an ethereal landscape or a misty sunrise. it was a shot taken from a low angle, capturing the wet asphalt of the pavement reflecting the warm, buzzing neon glow of the convenience store sign down your street. in the distance, the blurry silhouette of the quiet neighborhood stretched into the dark, looking incredibly nostalgic and soft through his lens.
it was the exact spot where you had been standing together just an hour ago.
he had captured the ordinary street and turned it into something poetic. your heart did that dangerous, breathless stumble all over again as your eyes drifted down to the caption.
he wrote: daylight.
***
dear y/n,
how are you supposed to know which signs are real and which ones are just the universe playing a cruel joke? when you spend your whole life guarding your heart against a curse, you start to see warnings everywhere. you read caution tape in a polite smile. you read danger in a dimple. but when a boy posts a picture of a midnight street and labels it daylight, what are you supposed to believe? is it a green light, or just another beautiful hazard sign?
you and jungwon have the same elective of visual media color theory. though you never noticed him fully until yesterday’s studio shoot, you now vividly remember seeing his name printed right above yours on the attendance sheet every single week.
today, you sat right in the middle of the classroom just to get a better view, since you could barely see the slides when you were seated at the sides of the room.
what you didn't expect was looking up to see the dimpled boy sliding into the empty seat right next to you, greeting you with a soft smile.
“hey, y/n.”
“h-hi! jungwon.”
the syllable felt heavy on your tongue, entirely too loud for the quiet buzz of the classroom before the professor walked in. you quickly looked down at your desk, blindly organizing your highlighters just to keep your hands from shaking.
he set his laptop down on the wooden desk, the plastic convenience store bag from last night nowhere to be seen, replaced now by the clean, sharp scent of his usual cologne. out of the corner of your eye, you watched him lean back in his chair, his long legs stretching out comfortably under the desk.
"you usually sit by the windows, don't you?" he asked, his voice low and conversational as he adjusted his screen.
your hands froze on your pencil case. you turned your head to look at him, your chest tightening. "y-yes. how did you know?"
jungwon paused, his fingers hovering over his keyboard. he turned his head to meet your gaze, those deep dimples faintly tracing his cheeks as a soft, easy smile broke across his face. "i sit a few rows back. it's kind of hard not to notice when you're always dropping your pens under the chairs."
a mortified heat rushed straight to your face. you wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. all this time, you thought you were completely invisible, a nameless face in a hundred-person lecture hall. but he hadn't just seen you yesterday—he had been watching your clumsy morning routines for weeks.
"i don't drop them that often," you muttered defensively, though your voice lacked any real bite because your heart was currently trying to escape your ribs.
"hm, if you say so," he amusedly replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. he leaned in just a fraction closer, his shoulder almost brushing against yours. "but since you moved to the middle today, i figured i'd move too. the view is better here anyway."
the professor finally walked into the room, clapping his hands to start the lecture, but your brain had already completely short-circuited.
the view is better here anyway.
you didn't say it out loud, but you completely, wholeheartedly agreed.
the view from the middle of the room really was so much better, especially when it included the sharp line of his jawline and the soft way his hair fell over his forehead as he looked back down at his laptop screen. you couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at your lips. you had originally just wanted to see the lesson clearly, but sitting right next to yang jungwon was an undeniable upgrade.
as the professor finally walked in and the slides changed to color wheel harmonies, you leaned back in your chair, feeling a warm, victorious rush of giddiness settling deep in your chest.
throughout the whole lecture, jungwon noticed how you were having a hard time catching up with the professor’s fast pacing. without a word, he simply slid his notebook toward the center of the desk, his clean, neat handwriting perfectly capturing everything you had missed.
you blinked, giving him a questioning look that clearly said, what about you?
he just leaned in slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes as he murmured, “it’s okay. i have photographic memory anyway.”
a quiet laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, though you quickly clamped a hand over your mouth so the rest of the lecture hall wouldn't hear.
and when class ended, one of your elective mates came to jungwon and thanked him for lending him his notes from last week’s session.
you froze, your fingers tightening around your pen. a cold splash of reality hit you right in the face. you had almost fallen for it. you had almost convinced yourself jungwon only did that gesture for you.
but he was just like that with everyone else.
***
dear y/n,
sometimes, it would be easier to just pull back completely and build your walls so high that no dimpled smile can reach you. it is easy to tell yourself to keep your distance when you think you are just another face in his crowded room. you can convince your mind that his kindness is a warning sign, a trap designed to make you stumble.
but what are you supposed to do when the universe refuses to cooperate with your defenses? how do you run away when every detour somehow leads you straight back into his path? it feels like the world is intentionally shrinking, forcing your orbits to cross whether you are ready for it or not.
if every sudden encounter keeps pushing you closer, maybe the real danger isn't his casual charm. maybe the real hazard is how badly you want to stop running. you are standing on the edge of the hazard zone, and you are starting to realize you don't want to step back.
but the universe, it seemed, hadn't gotten the memo.
"y/n, thank goodness you're here early," the head stylist breathed, rushing past you with an armful of garment bags the moment you stepped into the studio. "the model for the second layout just called in sick, and the concept director is losing her mind. since you have the closest features to our model, could you maybe stand in for her today? don’t worry, i won’t make you add extra work. just be a model for today.”
your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around the strap of your makeup kit. "me? a model?"
"yes, please! the lighting is already set up for your skin profile anyway," she pleaded, gently nudging you toward the center of the dark studio before rushing off to coordinate with the wardrobe team.
even though you were nervous, you felt flattered by the sudden shift from being the one holding the brushes to being the one everyone was rushing to get ready.
seconds later, you were pressed into the leather chair, staring at your own reflection framed by bright, blinding vanity bulbs. as the senior makeup artist began sweeping a fluffy brush across your cheekbones, your eyes instinctively drifted to the mirror's reflection, scanning the dark background of the studio.
there he was.
jungwon was standing by the equipment table, a light meter slung around his neck as he manually adjusted a camera lens. but as you watched him through the glass, his hands suddenly slowed down. without turning his head, his gaze quietly shifted upward, his dark eyes locking onto your reflection in the mirror.
your heart did a violent, dangerous skip. for a split second, you were entirely breathless, caught in a silent, cross-room stare through a sheet of glass.
but then, jungwon blinked, casually turning away to say something to a lighting crew member as if nothing had happened.
you quickly looked down at your lap, your cheeks burning under the heavy layer of setting powder. you're tripping, you firmly told yourself, your fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt. you are completely hallucinating. he was a photographer; he was probably just looking at the vanity lights or checking the ambient glare in the room. he wasn't looking at you. he couldn't be.
"all done, sweetheart! step onto the backdrop for me," the artist said, giving your shoulder a reassuring pat.
your feet felt heavy, practically glued to the floorboards as you finally stepped onto the seamless backdrop. the harsh studio lights cut through the shadows, illuminating the space and making you feel incredibly exposed.
at the center of the set, jungwon was now waiting by the tripod. when you took your place, he slowly lowered the camera body from his face. the casual, easygoing expression he always wore vanished. he didn't smile, and he didn't drop a playful comment like he did in the classroom. he just stared, his dark eyes tracking you with that exact same quiet, unreadable intensity you thought you had imagined in the mirror.
you fixed your posture, forcing your face into a neutral, professional mask. you had to remember the lesson from yesterday. you weren't special.
“whenever you're ready, jungwon,” director kang said, her voice sharp but steady as she reviewed the digital monitor from the sidelines.
jungwon blinked, the director's voice hitting him like a sudden splash of cold water, snapping him out of his trance. his jaw tightened slightly as he quickly looked away from you, slowly raising the camera back to his eye to hide his face behind the lens.
"right," his voice came out a little rougher than usual, echoing slightly in the quiet studio. "let's... let's start with the profile shots. look slightly to the left, please."
you did as he asked, turning your chin toward the shadows and focusing your eyes on a random spot on the studio wall. at first, your limbs felt stiff, every muscle in your neck tight with the lingering anxiety of being just a temporary replacement. you were acutely aware of the lens pointed at you, and even more aware of the boy behind it.
click.
the flash illuminated the dark studio for a microsecond.
"good," jungwon’s voice drifted over from the tripod, lower now, carrying a calm, steady rhythm that instantly cut through your panic. "just like that. now drop your shoulders a bit, y/n. take a deep breath in... and let it out."
you followed his voice, exhaling slowly. as your shoulders relaxed, something shifted inside you. you looked down at the structured, high-fashion wardrobe they had styled you in, felt the perfect weight of the makeup on your skin, and realized something liberating: you weren't a mistake or a technical hitch. you were a cosmetology student who understood exactly how angles, textures, and lighting worked. you knew your face. you knew your undertones.
and suddenly, you didn't feel like a hiding substitute anymore. you felt powerful.
"perfect. keep that exact expression," jungwon murmured. click. "tilt your head up just a fraction. let the key light hit the high points of your cheekbones."
his guidance was effortless. he wasn't treating you like a standard, disposable model, nor was he acting like the casual classmate who shared notes. behind the camera, yang jungwon was a complete professional. he gave commands with a quiet, grounding confidence that made you feel completely safe to move, to experiment, to own the space under the lights.
click. click.
"bring your hands up toward your collarbone," he instructed softly, the lens tracking your movements. "soft fingers. look right into the lens this time."
you didn't hesitate. you turned your head back toward the center, lifting your chin, and looked directly down the barrel of his camera lens. you locked eyes with him through the glass, no longer trying to hide behind a neutral mask. you let your confidence show—letting him see that you were completely present, commanding the set just as much as he was.
from behind the camera, you heard the faint, sharp intake of jungwon's breath. but the camera didn't stutter.
"beautiful," he whispered, the word carrying a raw, genuine weight that sent a different kind of thrill straight down your spine. click. "stay right there. don't move."
beautiful.
he just said it so casually, so effortlessly, but the word felt entirely too heavy as it hung in the space between you. he didn't lower the lens, keeping his gaze locked onto yours through the camera glass as if he were trying to capture something far deeper than just a standard lighting test.
"and... cut!" director kang's voice suddenly cut through the air, breaking the spell. "excellent work, everyone. let's check the monitor."
the blinding studio lights dimmed slightly as the crew immediately swarmed around the main digital display. you stepped off the seamless backdrop, your knees feeling a little weak now that the adrenaline was fading. you tentatively walked over to the edge of the crowd, peeking over a stylist's shoulder to look at the screen.
a small gasp escaped your lips. the images looking back at you didn't look like a nervous, last-minute substitute at all. the lighting caught the crisp edges of your jawline, the makeup looked flawless under the exposure, and your eyes held a sharp, captivating confidence.
"wow, y/n, look at your facial symmetry," one of the senior stylists praised, clapping her hands together. "the textures are so clean. you look incredible!"
"honestly, you saved us today," director kang agreed, nodding dynamic approval as she scrolled through the burst shots. "the mood is exactly what we needed for the editorial pitch. you're a natural."
your chest swelled with a warm, triumphant rush of pride. all your hours studying skin prep and facial angles had paid off, and hearing the professional crew validate your work made you feel completely on top of the world.
"i'm completely satisfied with how these turned out," a quiet, familiar voice spoke up from behind you.
you turned around to find jungwon standing there, his camera now resting against his hip. he wasn't looking at the monitor anymore; his dark eyes were fixed directly on you, a soft, genuine smile touching his lips.
"the lighting and the textures hit perfectly," he added, his voice low and private amidst the loud chatter of the crew. "i'm really glad y/n stepped in today."
your heart gave a violent, unruly thud against your ribs.
the crew was still talking loudly around you, debating layout designs and background colors, but your selective hearing had already locked the world out. i'm really glad y/n stepped in today. his words replayed in a dizzying loop, sweet and terrifyingly sincere.
he might have sounded like a good coworker but as you looked at the faint trace of his dimples, you knew your defenses were in serious trouble.
after changing your outfit from the shoot, you stopped in your tracks when you saw jungwon clearing up the equipment by himself. the heavy studio lights were mostly shut off, leaving only the dim, warm overheads casting long shadows across the empty room. he looked completely different now. his jacket discarded, the sleeves of his shirt pushed up to his elbows as he reached up to untighten a massive softbox modifier from its stand.
you hesitated for a fraction of a second before setting your tote bag down on a nearby stool. you walked over, your sneakers squeaking quietly against the concrete floor.
"need a hand?" you asked, reaching out to stabilize the heavy metal base of the C-stand before it could tilt forward.
jungwon blinked, looking down at you from his height. a look of surprise crossed his face, followed quickly by that familiar, easy smile. "oh, y/n. you're still here? it's okay, i've got it. you should head home, it's getting late."
"i want to help," you replied, your voice steady despite the quiet thumping in your chest. you didn't let go of the metal stand. "besides, you're the one who did all the heavy lifting during the shoot. consider it payback for the notes."
jungwon let out a soft, breathy chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "alright. if you insist."
for the next twenty minutes, the studio was quiet except for the rustle of velcro, the clinking of metal stands, and the low, easy hum of casual conversation. you helped him coil the heavy black extension cords while he carefully packed his camera body and lenses into his padded backpack. without the pressure of the crew or the blinding lights, the stiff walls you had painstakingly built after yesterday's lecture began to feel entirely useless.
"all set," jungwon finally said, zipping his bag closed and swinging it over one shoulder. he turned off the remaining studio switch, plunging the room into darkness except for the green exit light by the door. "let's go?"
you nodded, walking out into the cool evening air together.
the walk to the transit station was surprisingly peaceful. the streets of the city were buzzing with the usual nighttime traffic, but between the two of you, there was a comfortable, easy rhythm. you talked about the concept director’s hectic energy, your favorite color theories, and how relieving it was to finally finish a long week of classes.
when you finally reached your stop, you turned to wave goodbye, but jungwon didn't stay on the platform. instead, he quietly stepped off the train right behind you.
"wait, jungwon," you blinked, looking around the familiar street corner near your neighborhood. "your place isn't around here, is it?"
jungwon adjusted the strap of his heavy camera bag, looking down at you under the warm, amber glow of the streetlamp. his dimples showed faintly as he smiled, his hands slipping into his pockets.
"it's not," he admitted casually, his voice low and incredibly grounding in the quiet night. "but it's dark out, and you worked hard today. i wanted to make sure you got home safe."
your breath hitched, your fingers tightly gripping the straps of your tote bag.
there it was again. that dangerous, dizzying rush of kilig slammed right into your chest, loud enough to drown out the distant hum of the evening traffic. i wanted to make sure you got home safe. the words hung in the space between you, illuminated by the warm, amber glow of the streetlamp.
for a terrifying second, you wanted to believe it. you wanted to believe that this detour, this long train ride out of his way, was for you.
but then the memory of the classroom flashed behind your eyes—the classmate thanking him for the notes, the realization that yang jungwon was just effortlessly, universally good. of course he was walking you home. you had stayed late to help him lift heavy equipment; he probably just felt standard, polite responsibility as a coworker to make sure you didn't walk the dark streets alone. he would have done the exact same thing for director kang, or the senior stylist, or anyone else.
he was just being a good guy. that was all.
"you really didn't have to, jungwon," you said, forcing a small, polite smile to your face as you stepped backward toward your gate, desperately trying to keep the distance between you. "but... thank you. for the walk. and for today."
jungwon didn't move, his hands still tucked into his pockets as he watched you step away. the easy smile on his lips faded into something quiet and slightly intense, his eyes tracking your defensive posture with an unreadable look.
"anytime, y/n," he murmured softly. "get some rest."
your breath hitched, your fingers tightly gripping the straps of your tote bag.
there it was again. that dangerous, dizzying rush of warmth slammed right into your chest, a sudden flutter so loud it threatened to drown out the distant hum of the evening traffic. i wanted to make sure you got home safe. the words hung in the space between you, illuminated by the warm, amber glow of the streetlamp.
for a terrifying second, you wanted to believe it. you wanted to believe that this detour, this long train ride out of his way, was for you.
but then the memory of the classroom flashed behind your eyes. the classmate thanking him for the notes, the realization that yang jungwon was just effortlessly, universally good. of course he was walking you home. you had stayed late to help him lift heavy equipment; he probably just felt standard, polite responsibility as a coworker to make sure you didn't walk the dark streets alone. he would have done the exact same thing for director kang, or the senior stylist, or anyone else.
he was just being a good guy. that was all.
"you really didn't have to, jungwon," you said, forcing a small, polite smile to your face as you stepped backward toward your gate, desperately trying to keep the distance between you. "but... thank you. for the walk. and for today."
jungwon didn't move, his hands still tucked into his pockets as he watched you step away. the easy smile on his lips faded into something quiet and slightly intense, his eyes tracking your defensive posture with an unreadable look.
"anytime, y/n," he murmured softly. "get some rest."
“thank you, jungwon.” you gave him one last polite nod, turning around to finally press the unlock button on your gate. your hands were shaking slightly, and you were desperate to get inside the safety of your house before your face completely gave you away.
“y/n?”
his voice called out, stopping you right in your tracks. your fingers froze against the cold iron of the latch. you took a quiet, steadying breath before slowly looking back over your shoulder.
“yes?”
jungwon was still standing under the amber streetlamp, his hands deeply embedded in his jacket pockets. he tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that completely bypassed your professional walls. the softest, most genuine trace of a smile appeared on his lips, causing his dimples to faintly show in the shadows.
“you looked pretty today.”
***
dear y/n,
sometimes, the universe doesn’t just nudge you; it completely corners you. you try to write off his kindness as a collective luxury, a universal trait he hands out to anyone who asks, because believing you are special is a luxury you simply cannot afford. but how do you categorize a quiet detour under an amber streetlamp? how do you rationalize a parting line that wasn't meant for a coworker, a classmate, or a crowd, but uniquely, devastatingly, for you?
you couldn’t reply.
the moment the word left his lips, your brain completely short-circuited, leaving you entirely breathless under the dim streetlamp. you practically threw yourself through the gate, shutting the iron latch behind you with a loud, metallic clang that echoed through the quiet neighborhood. your heart was hammering violently against your ribs as you sprinted up the steps, not daring to look back to see if he was still standing there watching you run.
it was only when you were locked safely inside the dark sanctuary of your bedroom that you finally collapsed against the mattress, pulling a pillow over your face to smother a helpless, frustrated groan.
you looked pretty today.
the phrase replayed in a dizzying, echoing loop, vibrating straight down to your fingertips. you tightly closed your eyes, desperately trying to summon the cold reality check from the lecture hall. he is just nice. he is just a naturally attentive guy who knows how to make people feel comfortable on a set.
but as you turned over and stared at the dark ceiling, your fingers tracing the edges of your blanket, a quiet, terrifying truth settled in your chest. no matter how high you built your walls, yang jungwon didn't even have to try and scale them.
he was effortlessly dismantling them, brick by single brick, and you were completely running out of places to hide.
the next morning brought a blinding, unapologetic sunlight that did absolutely nothing to clear the fog in your head. you woke up with your limbs tangled in your sheets, your phone still clutched tightly in your palm as if you had been guarding it in your sleep.
when you dragged yourself out of bed and walked over to the bathroom sink, you actively avoided looking at your reflection for the first five minutes. you splashed ice-cold water onto your face, hoping the shock of it would finally scrub the lingering warmth out of your cheeks and snap you back into reality.
it was just studio adrenaline, you reasoned with yourself, aggressively rubbing a fluffy towel against your skin. people say fleeting things when they’re tired after a long shoot. he was probably just riding the high of a successful layout.
but the moment you sat down at your vanity to start your morning skincare routine, your hands froze.
you picked up your daily moisturizer, but your eyes involuntarily drifted to your own reflection in the glass. suddenly, you weren't looking at your bedroom walls anymore. you were seeing the dark studio mirror. you were seeing the way his dark eyes had pierced right through the reflection, tracking your every move while the makeup brush swept across your skin.
you looked down at your hands, your chest tightening. your fingertips automatically brushed against your collarbone, tracing the exact spot where he had told you to place your hands.
"beautiful," his whispered voice echoed in your ears, so clear it made you flinch.
you let out a shaky breath, forcing your hands down into your lap. it was terrifying how a single night could completely alter the space around you. your bedroom, your vanity, your own face—everything felt entirely compromised by him. you couldn't even apply your makeup without wondering if your features really did look the way he implied.
unable to handle the loud silence of your thoughts, you decided to escape your room. you spent the rest of the morning trying to drown out his voice with mundane tasks—cleaning your desk, organizing your elective binders, and making a mental checklist of your upcoming assignments.
by saturday afternoon, your eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, your mind completely exhausted from the non-stop mental gymnastics. you had finally managed to calm your heart rate down, sitting at your desk and staring blankly at a textbook.
ding.
the sharp vibration of your phone against the wooden desk made you flinch.
your hands shook slightly as you picked it up, your breath instantly catching when you saw his name illuminated on the lock screen.
jungwon: [1 file attached]
jungwon: finished compiling the raw layouts for director kang. thought i’d send you your edit first.
you swallowed hard, your thumb hovering over the glass. you tapped the file, waiting a few agonizing seconds for the high-resolution image to clear.
when the details finally rendered, the air left your lungs completely.
it wasn’t just a well-shot photo. he hadn't used the sharp, cool commercial lighting the director usually preferred for editorial pitches. instead, the coloring was incredibly soft, almost romantic, warming up your skin profile in a way that made you look like you were glowing from the inside out.
but it was the lighting on your eyes that made your chest completely constrict. he had meticulously adjusted the shadows so that the tiny, glittering reflection of the studio lights caught the exact center of your pupils. your gaze looked impossibly deep, intense, and vulnerable.
he had spent hours looking at your face in high-definition. he had zoomed in on your features, balanced your undertones, cleaned up the lines, and perfected the exposure.
you stared at the screen, your heart racing. a normal photographer would have just dropped the files into the shared studio google drive or handed them over on monday. but yang jungwon had edited yours personally, isolated it from the rest of the layout, and sent it directly to your private inbox on a saturday afternoon.
you slowly leaned back against your chair, the cold wood pressing into your spine as you stared at the beautiful, terrifying image of yourself.
you could try to convince yourself that he was just a gentleman under the streetlamp. you could pretend he was just being polite when he called you pretty. but looking at this photo, you realized something that terrified you to your core: through the lens of his camera, yang jungwon looked at you like you were the only thing on the set that mattered.
your phone buzzed again in your palm, making you jump.
jungwon: do you like them?
y/n: i love them, jungwon! you did an amazing job with the lighting and the textures. it doesn't even look like me.
jungwon: it looks exactly like you. i just captured what was already there.
your phone slipped an inch in your hand. you squeezed your eyes shut, a soft, helpless groan escaping your lips as you buried your face in your arms on the desk.
he was doing it again. he was effortlessly throwing lines that completely bypassed your defenses, speaking with a terrifying sincerity that left you absolutely no room to hide.
a week later, director kang officially approved the editorial pitch, and the official shoot layouts were finally uploaded to the department's public portfolio. you felt a quiet sense of relief, thinking the excitement from that chaotic friday had finally settled down.
until later that evening, when your phone notification panel lit up with a tag.
yang_jw tagged you in a post.
your thumb practically smashed against the screen to open the app.
it was a carousel post titled simply: bts 📸
the first slide was a moody shot of an overhead key light piercing through the dark studio. the second was a close-up of a heavy black camera cable coiled neatly over a metal stand. the third was the empty grey seamless backdrop.
and then, you swiped to the fourth slide.
the breath caught in your throat.
it was you.
it wasn’t one of the polished, perfectly posed files he had sent to director kang. it was a candid, behind-the-scenes frame captured right in the middle of the shoot. you were sitting in the leather vanity chair, the bright, blinding bulbs framing your silhouette, your chin turned slightly over your shoulder. your expression wasn't a professional mask; it was soft, slightly dazed, caught in the exact microsecond you had instinctively looked into the mirror to search for his reflection in the dark background.
he had captured the exact moment you were looking for him.
you swiped to the fifth and sixth slides: more inanimate props, a discarded lens cap, the digital monitor from a distance.
you swiped back to the fourth slide, your heart hammering against your ribs so violently it felt loud in the quiet of your room.
you stared at the screen, your eyes tracing the soft edge of your own silhouette under the bright vanity bulbs. anyone else scrolling through his feed would just see a cool, atmospheric behind-the-scenes shot of a makeup student on set. they wouldn't notice the way the light caught the exact, vulnerable curve of your shoulder. they wouldn't know that the slight daze in your eyes was because you had been looking for him in the dark studio mirrors.
but you knew. and more terrifyingly, jungwon knew too.
your thumb hovered over the screen, paralyzed by the sheer weight of what this meant. you could rationalize notes. you could rationalize a long walk home in the dark as standard gentlemanly politeness. you could even convince yourself that a personal photo edit was just him being a meticulous, dedicated photographer.
but this? breaking his own years-long aesthetic grid just to drop a candid frame of your face into the world?
there were no olympic-level mental gymnastics left to save you. you couldn't hide behind the "good classmate" excuse anymore.
with a trembling thumb, you tapped the little heart icon below the post, watching it turn red.
almost instantly, a new notification slid down from the top of your screen, making you gasp softly in the quiet room.
yang_jw: you're awake?
shit, shit, shit!
you scrambled backward against your headboard, nearly dropping the device straight onto your face. you had liked the post less than thirty seconds after he uploaded it. there was absolutely no playing the "i just happened to see it on my feed" card—you were actively lurking, and your lightning-fast double-tap had completely exposed you.
your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, typing and deleting three different responses while your chest squeezed with a frantic, dizzying heat.
y/n: yeah, just finishing up some reading.
you pressed send, holding your breath as the single gray checkmark turned blue. almost immediately, the three typing dots appeared.
yang_jw: reading? at 1 AM?
yang_jw: or were you just waiting for my post?
you let out a helpless, strangled sound into the empty space of your bedroom, burying your burning face straight into your pillows. he was shameless. he was entirely, utterly shameless, and the worst part was that he was exactly right.
before you could even think of a defensive lie to protect your dignity, your phone buzzed again in your palm.
yang_jw: do you like the fourth slide?
your breath hitched. he wasn't dancing around it. he knew exactly what he did when he put that candid photo of you in the middle of his grid, and he was deliberately forcing you to acknowledge it.
you sat up, biting your lower lip until it turned white. you couldn't keep running. if he was going to be this bold, you had to find a way to stabilize your own footing before you completely dissolved under his pace.
y/n: the lighting was nice. but i thought your feed was strictly landscapes.
you stared at the screen, your heart hammering a chaotic rhythm against your ribs as you waited. seconds ticked by like hours until the screen lit up with his reply.
yang_jw: you keep tabs on my feed?
shit.
but before you could even think of a lie to salvage yourself, the next bubble popped up.
yang_jw: but yes, it is.
yang_jw: but you looked too pretty in that mirror to leave you in a hidden folder.
you completely froze in your spot.
the air left your lungs, leaving you staring blankly at the glowing screen as the world around you fell entirely silent. you couldn't move. you couldn't blink. your fingers remained locked stiffly around the edges of your phone, your eyes glued to the word pretty.
when you finally found the strength to move, it was only to let out a shaky, breathless exhale. then you rolled onto your bed, your stomach flat on the mattress, and let out a muffled scream into your pillow.
***
dear, y/n,
it is a completely strange but nice feeling to realize you aren't trying to pull away anymore. you are slowly getting used to the feeling again, realizing it's okay to just let someone in without making everything so complicated.
you find yourself looking forward to see and hear from him again, no longer finding the shield to protect your composure.
the next morning arrived. you walked onto campus with a lighter step, the lingering echo of jungwon’s late-night words crawling in your mind like he planned to occupy every single corner of your head.
you spotted him almost immediately near the entrance of the lecture hall, leaning against the hallway wall with his hands casually tucked into his pockets as he chatted with a few classmates. the exact moment you stepped into view, his eyes instinctively separated from the crowd, tracking your approach with that same soft, unwavering focus that had defined the studio mirrors.
as you drew closer, the conversation around him seemed to fade into a quiet blur, leaving just the steady ground between the two of you.
"morning, y/n," jungwon murmured, his voice dropping into a softer, private register meant only for you as a genuine, dimpled smile broke across his face.
your heart gave a familiar, dangerous thump, but instead of panicking, you found yourself returning his smile. "morning, jungwon."
he stepped away from the wall, naturally falling into step right beside you as you walked through the threshold of the lecture hall. the sudden shift from the chaotic, noisy hallway to the relative quiet of the classroom felt seamless with him next to you. without even asking, he guided you toward the middle row, pulling out the chair right next to the one where his laptop and notebook were already neatly set up.
he had saved you a seat.
"you look awake for someone who was reading at 1 AM," he teased quietly, sliding into his chair and leaning his chin in his hand as he looked over at you, his eyes glinting with a familiar, playful mischief.
you felt a sudden rush of warmth in your cheeks, but you managed to look right back at him. "i told you, i had things to finish."
"right," he hummed, the corners of his lips twitching as the professor walked up to the podium and the lecture hall began to quiet down. jungwon opened his notebook, but before he focused on the board, he leaned in just a fraction closer, his voice a low, comforting murmur against the background noise of opening laptops. "we're getting dinner after this, by the way. i found a really good place nearby."
it wasn't even a question. it was an inivitation that you would spend your evening with him, and the terrifying part was that you didn't even want to object.
by the time the late-afternoon elective finally wrapped up, the sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting long, amber shadows across the campus pathways. you followed jungwon through the bustling streets just outside the university gates, the humid evening air a stark contrast to the air-conditioned lecture hall.
he led you down a quieter alley, stopping in front of a small, cozy restaurant with warm, low-hanging yellow lights glowing behind a tinted glass pane. inside, the space was small and intimate, filled with the soft chatter of other students and the rich, savory aroma of hot food.
"two?" the server asked, and jungwon nodded, naturally guiding you toward a booth tucked away in the back corner, away from the main walkway.
as you slipped into the leather seat, the soft ambient lighting washed over his features, throwing the sharp angles of his jawline and the deep set of his eyes into beautiful, soft relief. it felt completely different from the high-stakes pressure of the studio or the crowded campus. here, stripped of cameras and portfolios, it was just the two of you.
"order whatever you want," jungwon said, sliding the menu across the dark wooden table toward you, his fingers brushing against yours for a fleeting second that left a trail of static on your skin. "my treat today. to celebrate your successful photoshoot."
you looked up from the menu, a small, genuine smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "you give me too much credit. you did good too, you know."
jungwon let out a low, amused huff, leaning back against the leather booth as he looked at you through the warm, dim lighting of the restaurant. "is that so? i guess we make a pretty good team then."
your cheeks burned, “i guess we do.”
and as the weeks bled into a comfortable rhythm, you realized you really did.
that quiet dinner quickly transformed from a one-time celebration into a regular part of your routine. it happened so gradually that you didn't even notice the shift at first. one day you were just elective mates, then interns working on a shoot, and the next, he was naturally weaving you into every single part of his day, making it easy for you to navigate the lively, chaotic orbit of his massive social circle.
because jungwon was the type of guy who belonged to everyone, hanging out with him meant automatically being pulled into his circle. you became a familiar face at the crowded university cafeteria tables, sharing loud, overlapping conversations with his friends who welcomed you without a single second of hesitation. you watched him handle the campus attention with an easy, effortless charm, throwing bright smiles to passing students and keeping everyone laughing.
but the real magic always happened when the noise of the crowd finally thinned out. no matter how many people were vying for his attention during the day, the late evenings always distilled down to just the two of you, sitting across from each other at that same dark wooden table under the warm, low-hanging yellow lights.
"you're staring," jungwon murmured one rainy tuesday evening, a soft, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he set his chopsticks down.
you blinked, tearing your gaze away from the sharp line of his jaw to look down at your half-empty bowl. "i am not. i was just thinking."
"about what?" he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, closing the physical distance between you just enough to make the ambient chatter of the restaurant fade into the background.
"just... how you manage to keep up with everyone," you admitted honestly, gesturing vaguely toward the window where a group of students from his department had just waved at him through the glass. "you're always surrounded by people."
jungwon looked out the window for a brief second, then turned his focus back to you, his dark eyes softening into that intense, private expression he only ever used when the two of you were alone. "it's easy to talk to everyone, y/n. but that doesn't mean i want to spend my quiet hours with just anyone."
before you could even process the sudden, breathless skip of your heart, a confident, unfamiliar voice interrupted the space between you.
"hey, jungwon, right? i thought that was you."
you blinked, turning your head toward the edge of the booth. yoonchae from your class was standing there, looking effortlessly chic in a cropped leather jacket, a bright, confident smile fixed entirely on jungwon. she didn't even glance your way, completely erasing your presence from the table.
"i saw your latest photography feature on the department page," she continued smoothly, leaning slightly against the wooden partition of your booth. "it was amazing. i was actually wondering if you had time to collaborate on a editorial project next month? can i get your instagram or phone number?"
your chest tightened instantly. your mind, always looking for a reason to retreat, immediately clouded over with that familiar, suffocating insecurity. here it is, a bitter voice whispered in your head. this is his actual world. this girl was confident, stylish, and fit perfectly into the creative orbit he ran in. you were just the girl he casually helped out, the lesson he learned along the way to becoming a better photographer. you were a placeholder in his quiet hours until someone who actually belonged in his grid stepped up.
you lowered your eyes to your lap, your fingers gripping the fabric of your skirt as you prepared for him to give his usual, friendly campus smile and type his number into her phone.
"sorry, i can't," jungwon said.
his voice wasn't just polite; it was incredibly flat, completely stripped of the warm, universal charm he usually gave out so freely.
the girl blinked, caught off guard. "oh? are you too busy with the elective portfolio?"
jungwon didn't hesitate for a single second. he casually shifted in his seat, his hand moving across the table until his knuckles lightly brushed against your arm, drawing a firm, undeniable boundary in front of the stranger.
"no," jungwon said softly, his eyes dropping to you for a brief, reassuring second before he looked back up at the girl. "my girlfriend is right here. i don't take private project numbers."
your lungs completely locked up.
for a single, terrifying second, your heart fluttered so violently against your ribs it felt deafening. girlfriend. hearing the word leave his lips, spoken with such heavy, calm authority in his low voice, sent a sudden, dizzying rush of heat straight to your face.
but almost as fast as the thrill arrived, the cold weight of reality crashed right back down, pulling the warmth straight out of your chest.
yoonchae mumbled a quick, embarrassed apology and quickly retreated, but your mind had already clouded over, spiraling back into that familiar, suffocating insecurity.
you were just a prop.
the thought settled heavy and bitter in your stomach. because a guy like yang jungwon: a universally loved, constantly surrounded by people, and utterly effortless doesn't do serious relationships. he didn't need to. he was just a naturally attentive, overly nice guy who treated everyone with a baseline level of casual intimacy. he was smooth because it was his default setting, not because he was trying to win you over.
he didn't mean the word girlfriend. he had just used you as a convenient, safe shield to get out of an awkward conversation because he knew you wouldn't make a scene.
"sorry about that," jungwon murmured, turning his full attention back to you, his expression softening as if he hadn't just completely shattered your internal world. "she can be a bit persistent."
you swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing a small, tight smile to your lips as your walls slammed shut with a heavy, definitive thud.
"t-tell me about it," you said, forcing a small, hollow laugh as you poked at your food. "good strategy though. i make a pretty believable prop, don't i?"
you tried to look up and give him a funny, conspiratorial wink—anything to bury the suffocating weight crashing down on your chest. but your smile didn't reach your eyes, and your voice cracked just a fraction too much on the last word.
and jungwon, being the observant person he was, didn't laugh.
the easy, playful expression completely melted off his face, replaced by a quiet, piercing focus that made you want to look away. he slowly set his glass down on the table, his dark eyes tracking the slight tremor in your fingers before locking onto yours.
“you okay, y/n?” he asked softly, bending down to look at your eyes. but you quickly avoided him.
“y-yeah. just got something in my eye is all. listen, i still have some projects to finish so i need to go.”
“let me take you home–”
"no!" you quickly interrupted, scrambling to grab your bag. "i mean, wouldn't want to overstep." and just like that, you ran out of the restaurant before he could even reach for the bill.
what you didn’t know was jungwon felt his own chest tighten.
***
dear, y/n,
this is exactly why you should’ve kept your walls up.
it is a painful, heavy thing to realize how quickly you can fall back into the habit of building walls. you are slowly getting used to the feeling again, realizing that the only way to keep your heart safe from someone who belongs to the world is to completely remove yourself from the equation.
you tell yourself it’s safer to just be distant again. it’s way easier to pretend you don't care than to risk believing you actually matter to someone like him.
a week has passed since that day.
today, the morning arrived with a gray, overcast sky that seemed to match the cold numbness settling back into your chest. you walked onto campus with a heavy, deliberate step, your eyes strictly fixed on the concrete pathways to avoid scanning the crowds for a familiar shock of dark hair. you had your oversized jacket pulled tightly around you like armor, determined to slip back into the quiet anonymity of being just another student in the department.
you managed to avoid the main lecture hall entrance entirely, slipping through the side doors and taking a seat in the very last row, tucked far away from the middle rows where you had spent the last few weeks.
"y/n."
your fingers froze on the zipper of your bag at the sound of his voice.
jungwon was standing at the end of the row, looking completely exhausted. the usual easy, universal charm was entirely missing from his face, his dark eyes shadowed with a quiet, desperate intensity as he looked down at you. he didn't care that a few passing classmates were glancing over at his unusually tense posture; his focus was entirely locked onto you.
"you didn't answer my texts," he said softly, his voice dropping into that private register, though this time it sounded raw, carrying a heavy weight that made your chest ache. "i kept calling you."
you swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing your expression to remain perfectly flat as you looked up at him, refusing to let him see how much you were hurting. "i told you, jungwon. i had projects to finish. you don't need to check up on me."
jungwon took a step closer into the row, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of the empty chair in front of you. "you’re not a prop. at the restaurant. i’m sorry i hurt you."
you looked down at your hands, refusing to meet his eyes because you knew your expression would crumble.
"it's fine, jungwon," you whispered, trying to force your voice to sound completely detached. "it was just a joke. you don't have to apologize for something petty."
"it wasn't a joke to me," he cut in, his voice dropping even lower, thick with a frustration you had never heard from him before. he slid into the empty seat right next to you, his presence suddenly overwhelming the small space in the back row. "i didn't say it just to make her leave, y/n. i said it because... because it didn't feel entirely like a lie to me."
your breath hitched, your eyes snapping up to look at him.
jungwon was leaning in close, his usual calm demeanor completely shattered. he looked vulnerable, almost fragile, his dark eyes searching your face for any sign of the warmth you used to give him so easily.
"there's actually someone i really like right now," he murmured, the confession slipping into the quiet space between you like a heavy secret. "and seeing her stand there, asking for my number...it just made me realize how much i only want to focus on one person."
he was looking at you with so much quiet intensity, his lips slightly parted as if he was waiting for you to understand, waiting for you to realize exactly who he was talking about.
but your brain, completely clouded by a week of suffocating insecurity, didn't see the love in his eyes. it only saw a devastating confirmation of your worst fear.
he likes someone else.
the words echoed like a physical blow inside your head. you were the practice run. the lesson.
"oh," you forced out, the word tasting like lead on your tongue. you managed to pull a tight, completely empty smile onto your face, even as your chest felt like it was physically breaking. "i... i didn't know. she's really lucky, jungwon. i hope it works out for you."
before he could even react to the sudden, freezing distance in your voice, you stood up, grabbing your bag and stepping past his frozen frame into the aisle, running away before the tears blinding your vision could finally fall.
“you.”
you didn't move. you couldn't breathe. for a second, you thought you were hallucinating.
slowly, you turned around.
jungwon was already standing up. his shoulders tense as he stared straight at you.
"it's you, y/n," he said, his voice cracking slightly on your name as he closed the small distance between you in two long steps, stopping just close enough that you could feel the sudden warmth radiating off him. "the girl i like. the only person i want to focus on. it's been you this entire time."
she would feel an absolute, dizzying rush of cognitive dissonance—like the ground had suddenly been pulled out from under her boots. after a whole week of meticulously convincing herself that she was completely invisible and just a temporary "lesson" in his life, his sudden confession completely short-circuits her brain.
her walls are still up, but they are cracking violently. she is caught between a desperate, fluttering spark of hope and the terrifying urge to protect herself from a cruel joke.
"it's you, y/n," he said, his voice cracking slightly on your name as he closed the small distance between you in two long steps, stopping just close enough that you could feel the sudden warmth radiating off him. "the girl i like. the only person i want to focus on. it's been you this entire time."
your brain completely short-circuited.
you stared at him, your chest heaving as you tried to find a catch, a punchline, anything to make reality align with your insecurities again. but jungwon’s face was completely raw, his lower lip slightly trembling as he waited for you to say something.
“w-what?” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as you took a small, panicked step back. “when? why?”
the questions tumbled out of you in a frantic, unpolished rush, stripping away all the cold, distant armor you had tried so hard to build.
"what do you mean why?" jungwon asked, a breathless, incredulous laugh escaping his lips as he took a step forward to close the gap you had just made. he reached out, his fingers gently captured your wrist, his thumb resting right over your racing pulse.
he let out a low, shaky exhale, his thumb moving in a slow, comforting circle against your skin, trying to ground you through your panic.
"i fell for you on our very first day as interns," he murmured, his dark eyes softening completely as he brought you back to the beginning. "remember that chaotic first shoot? everyone was running around, but i couldn't take my eyes off you. you were so shy, yet you were completely locked in. i loved how focused you were, how much heart you put into every single task. you were radiant, y/n. in a room full of people trying to stand out, you stood out to me just by being you."
he took a small step closer, his voice dropping into that intense, private register that belonged only to you.
"i did everything because i wanted an excuse to be near you," he whispered. "it's been you since that exact day. how could you think it was anyone else?"
“i was…i was never the one,” you whispered. “i was never the one that people think i’m worth staying for.”
jungwon let out a sharp, ragged breath, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to keep you anchored as your words physically pained him. the easy, polite campus favorite completely disappeared, replaced by a boy who looked entirely devastated that the girl he loved felt so invisible.
he didn't hesitate. he took that final step, closing the remaining distance between you until he was gently framing your face with his hands, his thumbs carefully wiping away the tears on your cheeks.
"i'm not going anywhere, y/n. i'm staying right here. with you."
***
dear, y/n,
it turns out that rewriting the script in your head is a slow, terrifying process.
for a long time, you were completely sure you were just the type of girl guys date before finding the one they actually want to settle down with. you really believed you were just a temporary phase. but now, jungwon is completely focused on you, and he isn't looking for anyone else.
you're still really anxious, though. every time your phone lights up, a part of you still expects him to text you saying he changed his mind or made a mistake. but he doesn't. instead, he just keeps showing up and proving you wrong.
nothing is official yet. you didn't suddenly become his girlfriend overnight. but even without a label, everything between you two feels completely different now.
on a tuesday morning, you didn't sit in the back row.
you had tried to, out of habit. your fingers pulling the strap of your oversized bag tight against your shoulder as you entered the side door. but jungwon was already there, sitting in the middle row right where you two used to be. the moment the door clicked, his head snapped up, his dark eyes instantly finding yours in the crowd.
he didn't wave or make a scene, but a small, private smile tugged at the corner of his lips. he casually lifted his laptop sleeve off the empty plastic chair beside him, claiming the space before anyone else could even think to take it.
your heart did that familiar, breathless flutter as you walked down the steps.
"hey," he murmured softly as you slid into the seat, his voice dropping into that private register that still made your face flush. he didn't slide his hand over yours or push your boundaries, but he reached into his jacket pocket and slid a small, familiar plastic bottle across the desk.
it was a fresh bottle of the exact soothing eye drops you always used when your eyes got tired from staring at editing screens.
"since you had something in your eye last week," jungwon said, his eyes crinkling slightly with a gentle, teasing warmth that completely lacked any judgment. "just in case."
you stared at the bottle, the lump in your throat returning, but this time it wasn't from sadness. "jungwon, you didn't have to—"
"i wanted to," he interrupted softly, leaning his elbow on the desk so he could look at you properly.
and then he did the one thing that always sent your heart into an absolute frenzy.
he leaned his elbow on the desk, tilting his head as he intentionally closed the distance between you. jungwon brought his face so close you could trace the sharp line of his jaw, the faint scent of his laundry detergent instantly filling your senses. his dark eyes locked onto yours, completely invading your personal space in that quiet, effortless way only he could pull off.
“j-jungwon?” you stammered, your voice coming out as a tiny, embarrassed squeak as you tried to press your back against the hard plastic of your chair to gain an inch of safety.
“mhm?” he murmured, not moving back even a fraction of a millimeter. instead, a tiny, knowing smirk began to pull at the corner of his lips, clearly enjoying how easily he could throw you off balance.
“y-you’re too close,” you whispered frantically, your hands gripping your desk as you looked around to see if anyone was watching. “mr. lee just entered the room.”
jungwon didn't panic. instead, his smirk widened just a fraction, his dark eyes brimming with amusement at your flustered reaction.
slowly, casually, he leaned back into his own space just as the professor set his briefcase on the podium. but right before he completely pulled away, jungwon leaned in one last inch, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper right against your ear.
"mr. lee can wait," he murmured, his tone dripping with a quiet, playful confidence. "but fine. i'll let you focus on the lecture. for now."
he straightened up in his seat, opening his notebook with perfect poise as if he hadn't just completely set your nerve endings on fire. but as he picked up his pen, he deliberately shifted his notebook just an inch closer to yours, his shoulder lightly brushing against your arm—a constant, warm reminder that he wasn't going anywhere.
now that you and jungwon are now aware of feelings towards each other, he has become flirtier each day. but with boundaries. he still asks if it’s okay to hold your hand, place his arm around your shoulder when walking, always checking in with a quiet, questioning look before stepping an inch closer into your space.
and every time he notices you second guessing if you want something, he takes the initiative of doing it. so in days that you do want to hold his hand but too shy to ask, he gently places his hand under yours and locks your fingers. and of course, it sent your heart into overdrive.
on friday afternoon, as the campus was emptying out, jungwon slung his backpack over one shoulder and leaned against the edge of your desk.
"a few of my seniors are holding a small wrap-up gallery in the department studio tonight," he said, tilting his head to catch your eyes. "then we’ll have an after party. just some music, drinks, and looking over the final print layouts. i want you to come with me."
your fingers paused on your notebook. the familiar, anxious tightening returned to your chest, your mind instantly telling you that you didn't belong in a room full of talented, confident upperclassmen who already knew him so well.
“is it alright?” you whispered, looking up at him uncertainty. “i don't want to intrude.”
jungwon’s expression softened instantly. he didn't laugh or dismiss your worry. instead, he stepped closer, blocking out the rest of the noisy hallway so it was just the two of you.
"you're not intruding, y/n," he said softly, his voice steady and completely serious as he reached down to gently tap the back of your hand. "i'm the one asking you. i want you to be there. with me."
then the night of the gallery came.
the studio was packed, filled with the low hum of indie music, the clinking of plastic cups, and the bright, warm glow of track lighting illuminating the rows of framed photographs along the walls. jungwon had been caught by a group of design seniors the moment you walked through the door. you had gently nudged his shoulder, giving him a small smile to let him know you didn't mind, before slipping away into the crowd to look around on your own.
the talent in the room was undeniable, but as you wandered down the final row of the exhibition, your steps slowed to a complete halt in front of a small, dedicated corner panel.
your breath caught in your throat.
the first frame was a candid shot from your very first day as interns. it was the chaotic studio set, cluttered with stray wires and half-assembled lighting rigs, but the camera hadn’t focused on the set. it was focused entirely on you. you sat on a crate with your face angled away, completely locked into adjusting a camera lens.
the second frame was the campus lecture hall taken from a low angle. it captured the stark, geometric lines of the plastic desks, but the focus was trained on the middle rows where you two always used to sit. a soft, natural light filtered through the gray windows, hitting the exact spot where his notebook usually brushed against yours.
and the final photograph made your heart do a sudden, breathless flip.
it was the outside of the restaurant from a week ago, taken through the glass window under a heavy, overcast sky. the frame captured the exact table where everything had boiled over, the blurry reflection of the street lights casting a quiet, moody atmosphere over the empty chairs.
the photos were the places you had been with him.
beneath the triptych of photos was a small, white card printed with a simple title:
paying attention.
"i didn't put your face on blast, i promise," a soft voice murmured right behind your ear.
you turned around to find jungwon right behind you, his hands in his pockets as he smiled down at you.
"i asked the professor if i could keep the subject anonymous on the final prints," he explained softly, stepping a little closer into your space. "i wanted to show you how i see you, but... is this okay? if it makes you uncomfortable, i can take them down right now. seriously."
"no," you whispered, a genuine smile finally breaking through the remnants of your anxiety. "don't take them down. they're... really beautiful."
without second guessing, you threw your arms around jungwon.
you felt a deep, grounding warmth expand in your chest—the realization that you were someone worth paying attention to.
after five hours, the after-party finally started. the room was alive with everyone cheering, laughing, and clinking their beer glasses together in celebration.
“congrats to us!” jungwon's senior, lee chan, toasted, raising his glass high into the air.
after taking a sip, chan’s eyes flicked over to you, a warm smile breaking across his face. "and thanks for coming, y/n! jungwon was practically talking about it for days.”
your face flushed a sudden crimson, your eyes darting over to jungwon.
jungwon just let out a soft laugh, completely unbothered by his senior exposing him. he casually slung an arm around your shoulder, bringing you securely into the circle. "ignore him," he murmured down to you, his thumb lightly rubbing against your arm. "but he's not entirely wrong."
“jungwon, hey!”
yoonchae was there again. you remembered that she was probably only around because her brother was in the same department as jungwon, a detail he had mentioned to you weeks ago.
“yoonchae, hi.”
“so, i heard from my brother that you and y/n aren't actually dating," she started, pulling her phone out of her bag and extending it toward him with a hopeful smile. "so… i was thinking if i can maybe, you know? come on, it's not like you're taken, right?”
“yoonchae, i've already told you before that i am interested in someone.” jungwon didn't hesitate for a single second. he reached down, deliberately capturing your hand and locking his fingers tightly with yours. “she's right here. dating or not, y/n is the only girl i like.”
yoonchae’s jaw dropped slightly. she stared at jungwon, entirely speechless at how effortlessly and publicly he had rejected her.
she looked at you, then back at jungwon. without uttering another syllable, she gave a stiff, embarrassed nod and quickly slipped away into the crowd.
the night continued with you and jungwon completely melting into the crowd. almost everyone couldn't help but tease him, laughing at how he looked like a total lovesick puppy and constantly joking about how he had finally found his muse.
eventually, the party wound down, and the two of you walked home together through the quiet streets. your hand was wrapped in his, his fingers locked firmly in yours.
“wasn't that too harsh?” you asked softly, breaking the silence as you looked down at your joined hands.
“not if she completely ignored your presence,” jungwon replied without a shred of regret, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction.
you bit your inner lip, your heart doing a small flutter as you built up the courage to ask the question that had been looping in your head. “but... were you serious? about what you said?”
jungwon looked down at you with a slow, knowing smirk. he knew exactly what you meant, but he wanted to hear you say it. “which part?”
your eyes grew wide, but you tried your absolute best to maintain your composure. “you know... the part where you said... you like me.” the last few words came out as a quiet mumble, your face burning.
“what's that?” he teased, tilting his head closer to yours. “didn't quite catch that.”
“jungwon,” you whined, pulling slightly on his hand.
“what? come on, say it clearly,” he laughed.
“jungwon!” you whined again, hiding your face slightly behind your free hand.
but then, the teasing look in his eyes began to shift. his laughter quieted down, replaced by a soft, intense focus that made the breath hitch in your throat. the ambient hum of the streetlights overhead suddenly felt incredibly loud as he stopped walking, causing you to pause right along with him.
“you are,” jungwon murmured, his voice dropping into a gentle, low register. he lifted your hand, his thumb softly tracing the knuckles before he let go of the tight grip to hold just your fingertips, his skin warm against yours. “i really like you, y/n.”
the sheer sincerity in his dark eyes stripped away all of your remaining defense mechanisms. the anxiety that usually kept you trapped in your own head completely evaporated, leaving only the honest, racing beat of your heart.
“i-i really like you too,” you whispered back, your voice small but steady.
jungwon took a slow step closer, completely closing the distance between you. his free hand came up, his fingers brushing light as a feather against your jawline before his thumb settled right at the corner of your cheekbone, tilting your face up just a fraction. he didn't rush. he just stood there for a breathless second, his gaze flicking down to your lips before locking back onto your wide eyes, waiting patiently for you to adjust to how close he was.
“can i kiss you?” he asked softly, his thumb giving your cheek a reassuring, tender stroke.
“please,” you whispered, the word leaving your lips like a breathless plea.
a soft smile broke across jungwon’s face at your response. he didn't wait another second. his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair as he leaned down and finally pressed his lips to yours, sweet and slow.
it made your heart do a dizzying, breathless flip. his lips were incredibly soft, parting slightly as he pulled you just a fraction closer against his chest. your fingers instinctively gripped the fabric of his jacket, your whole body melting into the touch as a warm, electric flutter rushed from your chest straight down to your toes.
as both of you pulled away from the kiss, jungwon let his hands slide down to your waist, pulling you back in for a quick, tight hug. he buried his face in the crook of your neck for a second, letting out a soft hum of satisfaction that made your heart do another dizzying flip.
“does this mean we're… boyfriend and girlfriend?” you asked shyly, your fingers lightly gripping the fabric of his jacket.
jungwon let out a soft giggle against your skin, the vibration tickling your neck before he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes full of warmth. “yes. yes, i'd love that.”
***
dear y/n,
it is a beautiful thing indeed to be able to find someone. you are incredibly, genuinely happy, and your heart doesn't feel like it's constantly bracing for impact anymore.
but being with jungwon has also taught you that a real relationship isn't all cupcakes and rainbows. there are still days when your old insecurities and tendencies to overthink flare up out of nowhere, making you quiet and distant.
loving someone isn't a magical cure for anxiety. it doesn't fix the pieces of you that feel broken.
you and jungwon had a date today. it's been weeks since you have been girlfriend and boyfriend. and it was the happiest you've felt in a while.
a knock startled you out of your thoughts as you checked your outfit one more time. you had opted for a classic combination: a warm cream cardigan layered over a simple tee, paired with structured wide-leg trousers that made you feel completely put-together yet comfortable.
wonhee was grinning brightly at you, stepping right into the entryway the moment the door swung open. without a word, she reached forward to gently adjust the collar of your tee and smooth down the shoulder of your cream cardigan. "there. perfect. you look so effortlessly pretty today! are you ready for your date?”
“a bit nervous,” you admitted, feeling a sudden jolt of nervous electricity running through your system.
“hey,” wonhee placed her hand kn your shoulder, “you got this. and if jungwon doesn't see how incredibly lucky he is to have you, just let me know. i will personally make sure every single senior in his department knows he’s an absolute fool, and his pristine reputation will be completely ruined by tomorrow morning.”
“wonhee,” you taunt.
“i'm just saying.” wonhee giggled, gently grabbing your shoulders and turning you toward the door. she gave you a playful nudge forward. "now stop stalling and go. he’s probably already waiting outside, and you shouldn't keep your boyfriend waiting."
boyfriend.
on cue, a knock came again, and this time, you answered it.
when the door swung open, jungwon was standing there, looking effortlessly handsome in a simple jacket. the moment his eyes landed on you, his breath hitched slightly, his gaze sweeping over your cream cardigan and wide-leg trousers with a look of pure, unadulterated admiration.
“hi,” you murmured, your heart doing a familiar flutter.
“hi,” he replied softly, a warm smile breaking across his face as if he couldn't help himself. “you look beautiful.”
“you ready?” he asked, his voice low and comforting.
you nodded your head, the last of your nervous jitters completely melting away. jungwon offered his arm, and you gladly looped yours through it, stepping out into the hallway as he gently pressed your arm closer to his side, making you feel completely secure before you even left the building.
jungwon takes you out to a beautiful, open-air city square where the evening breeze carries the distant chatter of people and the soft glow of fairy lights tangled in the trees. walking arm-in-arm, he effortlessly shields you from the busier walkways, pointing out little shops or laughing at the synchronized fountains, making the wide, bright world feel incredibly small and private just for the two of you.
you smiled, the warmth in your chest blooming beautifully. but as you stepped past a brightly lit clothing storefront, the air in your lungs suddenly turned to ice.
“jungwon, is that actually you?”
the soft, bright voice called out from the restaurant entrance. jungwon paused, turning his head, and you felt his entire posture straighten up in surprise. walking toward your table was a girl with an effortless, radiant smile and a polished grace that made the entire room feel a little brighter.
“minji!” jungwon’s face lit up with immediate, genuine recognition as he stood up to greet her. “wow, it’s been so long. what are you doing back here?”
“my family just moved back to the area,” she laughed, her voice carrying a familiar, easy warmth. jungwon immediately turned to you, his hand reaching for yours to introduce you.
“minji, this is y/n. my girlfriend.”
“omg, hi! finally, jungwon has gotten himself a girlfriend.”
she was completely lovely. she didn't do a single thing wrong. but as she chatted with jungwon for a few minutes about their old neighborhood before waving goodbye, a suffocating wave of anxiety washed over you.
she was stunning. her hair sat perfectly, her laugh was effortless, and she possessed a kind of glowing, unbothered confidence that you felt miles away from. sitting across from jungwon again, your cream cardigan suddenly felt suffocating, and your wide-leg trousers felt like a clumsy attempt at looking put-together. the food on your plate suddenly looked unappetizing as the old, familiar voice whispered that you were completely out of your league.
“y/n? hey, you’re getting quiet on me,” jungwon murmured softly, leaning across the table, his dark eyes full of immediate concern. “what’s going on in that head of yours?”
you stared down at your fingers, tracing the edge of the napkin to keep your voice steady. “she’s… really pretty, jungwon.”
“she’s an old friend,” he replied instantly, a gentle, reassuring smile breaking across his face. “i promise that's all.”
you swallowed past the lump in your throat, the overthinking brain refusing to let go of the bone. “did anything… ever happen between you two? back then?”
“no, never,” jungwon said easily, shaking his head. “we were just kids who grew up on the same block. we played video games and rode bikes. that was literally it.”
you looked up, your eyes searching his face, silent and unconvinced. jungwon sighed softly, a tiny, amused but fond smile tugging at his lips as he realized he couldn't hide anything from you. he reached across the table, covering your cold hand with his warm one.
“okay, fine,” he gave in gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knuckles. “the only thing that ever happened was that our parents used to tease us. when we were around ten, our moms joked around a lot about how we’d probably end up getting married because we were inseparable. but it was just a silly parents' joke.”
he meant it as a reassuring confession to show how ridiculous the history was, but inside your chest, the words landed with a heavy, deafening thud.
married.
“baby,” jungwon murmured, his hands coming up to gently hold your fingers. he looked down at you, his eyes completely honest. “i'm sorry. i shouldn't have brought that up so carelessly. when we were kids, maybe there was a silly, innocent part of me that had a crush on her back then. but i swear to you, those feelings are completely gone. they've been gone for years.”
when you wouldn't look at him, your eyes still trained on the ground as you tried to process the heavy spiral in your chest, jungwon didn't get frustrated or tell you that you were overreacting.
instead, he patiently guided your cold hands up, cupping them securely against his warm cheeks and leaning his face into your soft touch. he tilted his head just enough so that you were forced to see the absolute sincerity in his gaze.
“our parents made jokes about the past, but i'm looking at my future right now,” he whispered, his thumb brushing over your wrist, his heartbeat steady and grounding beneath your palms. “it's only you, y/n. it's always just been you.”
“how sure are you about that?”
“how sure are you about that?” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly under the weight of your own mind. you hated how small you sounded, hated that even with his face leaning so trustingly into your hands, the ugly, loud voice of your anxiety was still trying to convince you that you were a second choice.
jungwon didn't blink. he didn't sigh in frustration, and he didn't let go of your hands. instead, he just closed his eyes for a brief second, absorbing the raw vulnerability of your question, before looking right back at you with a gaze so steady it felt like an anchor.
“because when i was ten, i didn't know what loving someone actually meant,” he said softly, his voice incredibly quiet but unshakeable. “i thought it was just sharing toys and living on the same block. but with you? i know exactly what it is.”
he kissed the palm of your right hand, his lips warm against your cold skin.
“i'm sure because when something good happens, you're the first person i want to call. i'm sure because even when you get quiet and distant like this, i don't want to be anywhere else in the world except right here, waiting it out with you. minji is a part of a childhood scrapbook, y/n. but you are my real life. you are my today, and you're the only one i want for tomorrow.”
you let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you were holding, the heavy knot in your chest finally loosening under the steady, unshakeable warmth of his words. the ugly, loud whispers of your overthinking brain slowly faded into silence, replaced entirely by the sound of his heartbeat beneath your palms.
he was right. she was the past, but you were his right now.
“okay,” you whispered, a small, watery but genuine smile finally breaking across your lips. “i believe you.”
jungwon smiled back, a look of pure relief crossing his handsome face. he kissed the palm of your hand one more time before lowering your hands, locking his fingers tightly with yours as the two of you began walking down the glowing, tree-lined street once again. the anxiety hadn't completely vanished from your system—it rarely ever did—but with his side pressed warmly against yours, the world felt safe again.
but your worries did not disappear overnight.
months have passed since that evening of your first date, filled with shared laughter and a love that grew steadier with each passing day. jungwon had proven his words true over and over again, never letting you drift when the overthinking got too loud.
yet, the mind is a stubborn thing.
jungwon was and is serious about you. every small gesture, every patient reassurance when you got quiet, and every look he gave you proved that you weren't just a passing chapter in his life. so, he decided that it was finally time for his parents to meet you. he wanted you to meet the people who mattered most to him, completely missing the way your stomach instantly dropped in panic.
“my son!”
as soon as the door opened to jungwon’s condo, his mom gave him a tight hug, immediately stepping past him to look at you with a wide, welcoming smile. jungwon laughed softly, wrapping an arm around his mom's shoulders before gently pulling you into the space alongside them.
“mom, let me breathe first,” he teased gently, though his eyes were bright with happiness as he looked between the two of you.
“but i miss my baby!”
this was the first time you can genuinely see jungwon embarrassed, but it was adorable. his cheeks flushed a faint, endearing pink as he cleared his throat, trying to regain his usual cool composure while his dad just chuckled behind them, carrying a small box of side dishes into the kitchen.
all was going well. the conversation flowed effortlessly over the sound of clinking chopsticks and quiet laughter.
“you know, y/n, jungwon has been smiling so much more lately,” his mom mentioned softly, reaching over to squeeze your wrist. “whenever we call him on the weekends, he’s always in a good mood because he’s either on his way to see you or just got back from a date. you’ve been such a wonderful influence on him.”
“thank you, mrs. yang,” you murmured softly, using the title she had warmly insisted on earlier. you felt a genuine sense of relief wash over you.
but that relief was cut short when his father set down his glass, looking between the two of you with a reflective nod. “it’s just so interesting seeing jungwon with someone so quiet and gentle,” his father noted with a thoughtful, friendly smile. “you know, his mother and i always assumed he’d end up with someone loud and full of energy, like minji. they grew up together, so we were just so used to that specific dynamic. but it’s good that he’s learning to appreciate a different kind of presence now.”
learning to appreciate.
your stomach completely dropped. they weren't trying to be mean at all. it was just a casual comment. but hearing his dad say that made your worst fear feel real. to them, minji was the standard: the girl who naturally fit into his life.
suddenly, that creeping feeling was crawling back into your system and into your head.
this option focuses on him noticing y/n's discomfort right away and stepping in to protect her peace.
jungwon, who had been watching you the entire time, saw the exact moment your face went rigid. without a second thought, his hand reached under the table, finding your ice-cold fingers and squeezing them tightly.
“that was a completely different time, dad,” jungwon cut in smoothly, his voice calm but incredibly firm as he looked directly at his father. “who i was when i was ten years old doesn't matter. y/n is my present, and she’s exactly who i like.”
his mother’s eyes widened slightly at jungwon's serious tone, her expression shifting into immediate regret. she looked at you, her face full of genuine worry.
“oh, dear, i’m so sorry,” his mom said softly, reaching across the table to gently touch your arm. “your father didn't mean it that way at all. we are so happy you’re here with him.”
“yes, please forgive an old man's clumsy words, y/n,” his dad added quickly, looking incredibly apologetic. “i only meant that we are glad to see how happy and grounded jungwon is with you. we really didn't mean to compare you.”
you managed to nod politely, offering his parents a tight, small smile. “it’s okay, mrs. yang. mr. yang, really. don’t worry about it.”
you forced yourself to get through the rest of the dinner. you chewed your food without tasting it, laughed at the right moments, and politely helped clear the plates. you didn't storm out, but your anxiety made you want to disappear.
the second the front door clicked shut and his parents finally left, the fake smile dropped from your face. your breath hitched, and the hot tears you had been holding back for the last hour finally slipped down your cheeks.
jungwon turned around immediately, his face full of pain as he stepped toward you. “y/n, baby, hey—”
“jungwon, please,” you whispered, stepping back, your hands trembling as you wrapped them around yourself. you couldn't take his comfort right now. the ugly thoughts were too loud. “i just… i think i need to go home.”
“y/n, look at me. you heard what i told them. she’s not like that to me. why are you pushing me away?”
“because they look at me and they see a lesson!” your voice finally broke, a sharp, painful sob escaping your throat. “they look at me and see someone who is helping you grow up, jungwon. what if that’s all i am to you? what if i’m just the person you’re with until you’re ready to go back to someone like her?”
jungwon flinched as if you had physically struck him. a heavy, painful silence fell over the apartment. he took a slow breath, his dark eyes brimming with a mix of deep hurt and sheer frustration that he couldn't seem to break through the walls of your anxiety.
“is that really all you think of me?” he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerously quiet, raw whisper. “after all these months, you still think i’m just using you as a placeholder?”
he stepped forward, refusing to let you shrink away this time, his hands gently but firmly capturing your trembling wrists.
“i am not your ex, i’m not your fling, and i’m not jongseong, y/n,” he said, his voice shaking slightly with emotion as he looked directly into your tear-filled eyes. “i don't need a lesson, and i don't need to practice how to love someone. i love you. i chose you, and i am pouring everything i have into us. it hurts so bad that you’re letting a careless comment throw away everything we’ve built.”
you stared at him through a blur of hot tears, his grip on your wrists feeling less like an anchor and more like a trap you desperately needed to escape. you heard his words. he loves youand he isn't your ex. but the chaotic noise inside your head was just too loud. you were completely emotionally exhausted.
“jungwon, please,” you choked out, pulling your wrists back out of his hold. you couldn't look him in the eye, unable to bear the heavy hurt radiating from him. “i can’t… i can’t do this right now. i just really need to go home.”
jungwon stood perfectly still, his hands hanging empty in the space between you. he looked at your trembling shoulders, realizing that no matter what he said right now, your mind was miles away, trapped in a past he hadn't created.
he let out a long, heavy breath, his head dropping for a second before he looked back up at you with soft, tired eyes.
“okay,” he whispered quietly, his voice thick with unvoiced exhaustion. he didn't fight you, and he didn't force you to stay. instead, he reached for his car keys on the counter. “i’ll drive you.”
“no,” you said quickly, stepping back toward the door before he could even take a step toward you. “no, jungwon, please don't.”
jungwon froze, his fingers tightening around his car keys. “y/n, it’s late. i’m not letting you go out there alone like this.”
“i’ll book a ride. i just… if i get in the car with you right now, i feel like i won't be able to breathe,” you confessed, your voice dropping to a desperate, raw whisper. you hated hurting him, but the walls of the apartment already felt like they were crashing down on you. “i need to be completely alone. please.”
the word please seemed to deflate whatever fight jungwon had left in him. he looked at you, seeing the genuine panic in your eyes, and realized that forcing himself to accompany you would only make your spiral worse. it broke his heart, but he put his car keys back down on the counter.
“okay,” he whispered softly, his voice heavy with defeat. “i won't force you. but let me book your ride. let me at least do that so i know you're in a safe car.”
you didn't have the energy to argue. you just stood by the door, hugging yourself tightly as jungwon quietly pulled out his phone, his hands trembling slightly as he booked a ride to your apartment.
when the app showed the driver was outside, he walked over and opened the door for you. he didn't try to hug you or touch you, completely respecting the distance you asked for.
“text me when you get inside your room,” jungwon said, his dark eyes brimming with so much quiet love and unspoken hurt as he watched you step out into the hallway. “even if you don't want to talk to me, just send a dot. please. just let me know you're safe.”
you nodded your head and closed the door. as you walked down the hallway and headed toward the car, you finally let your tears fall, not caring if the receptionist in the lobby or the driver saw you.
***
dear y/n,
you thought you were completely past this after all these months of quiet, steady happiness.
he is good to you, and he has done absolutely nothing wrong. your heart knows he isn't the one who hurt you, but the fear of history repeating itself is paralyzing. you ran away tonight because the walls were closing in, and you are so terrified of ruining something beautiful.
you are standing at a crossroads now, completely exhausted from fighting your own mind. you want to believe you deserve this love, but the urge to protect yourself is pulling you backward. the storm inside you is loud, but will you still find the strength to trust and give it a try?
you texted jungwon that you needed space. you told him you just needed to make sure history wasn't repeating itself.
it took a few long, agonizing minutes before your phone buzzed in your hand.
jungwon: i understand. take all the time you need, y/n. i’m not going anywhere, and i’m not letting go of us. please just rest well tonight.
staring at the glowing screen, a fresh wave of tears blurred your vision. he was giving you the exact reassurance you desperately needed, yet the heavy, unresolved space between you felt wider than ever.
days turned into weeks and the space between you only grew heavier. neither of you reached out, the silence lingering like an unspoken question that you were both too afraid to answer.
you had thought that having this time to yourself would help clear your head and make you feel safe again. instead, the endless quiet only proved that the ghost of your past wasn’t something he was creating—it was something you were still carrying all on your own. missing him had become a constant, dull ache in your chest, making you realize that the walls you built to protect yourself were only keeping you trapped in your own loneliness.
the realization hit you fully when you found yourself staring at an old photo of the two of you, his bright, genuine smile a stark contrast to the hollow ache currently sitting in your chest. you had spent so much time trying to make sure history wasn't repeating itself that you hadn't noticed you were the one sabotaging your own present. it was finally time to stop letting your fear dictate your future, even if your hands were still shaking at the thought of making things right.
but you were too scared. maybe you didn’t deserve that second chance when all he did was be so nice and gentle, giving you the love you had been searching for all along.
on cue, your phone lit up with an unexpected video call notification. you slid the button to answer, clearing your throat before speaking. “jongseong, hey!”
“hey, y/n,” jongseong replied, his face appearing on the screen. he gave you a small wave, looking totally relaxed but a bit curious. “i’m only calling because a few really sad heartbreak tweets popped up on my timeline today, and i noticed you liked one of them. it just felt a little out of character for you. are you doing okay? any problems between you and jungwon?”
you froze, the heavy silence of your room suddenly feeling magnified through the speaker. your throat felt completely tight, and your mind scrambled for a safe lie, a polite excuse, or any regular answer to cover up the mess inside your head. but looking at jongseong’s kind, expectant face on the screen, the wall you had built over the past few weeks finally crumbled.
you let out a shaky breath, looking down at your lap because you couldn't bear to hold his gaze anymore.
“do you know that there are two types of people in the world?” you murmured, your voice cracking slightly as the tears threatened to spill over again. “the lesson and the one. sadly, i’m the lesson.”
“okay…” he said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned closer to the camera. “i’m not following. what do you mean by that, y/n?”
“i mean… some people only enter a person’s life to teach them how to love, how to grow, or how to be better for the next person,” you whispered, a single tear finally slipping down your cheek. “they’re just a temporary chapter. they're the lesson. and then there are the people who get to stay forever. they’re the one.”
you finally looked up at the screen, your eyes completely raw and vulnerable as you stared at him.
“his parents think i'm just a phase, jongseong. they think i'm just someone he's with until he's ready to go back to a blueprint that naturally fits his world. and the worst part is… i’m starting to think they’re right.”
you let out a tired, shaky sigh, pulling your knees up to your chest.
“you know my history, jongseong. you’ve seen firsthand how many times i’ve been left behind, and how much it took for me to piece myself back together,” you murmured, your voice dropping to a soft, exhausted whisper. “i already know exactly how it feels to be the lesson that helps a man grow up for someone else. i’ve been that girl my entire life, and i just… i don’t think i have the strength to go through that all over again with him.”
jongseong went completely quiet on the other end of the line, his expression softening as your words settled over him. he rubbed the back of his neck, looking down for a brief second as if carrying a quiet weight of his own before fixing his steady, grounded gaze back on you.
“y/n, look at me,” he said softly, his voice dropping into that deep, comforting tone. “i know your history. i know exactly how much you've been through, and i'm not going to sit here and tell you that your fears aren’t valid. but you are completely wrong about one thing.”
he leaned a little closer to the camera. “i don't know the guy personally, but i know you. and from everything you’ve ever told me about him, from the way your face lights up when you mention his name, he isn't the type to treat you like a phase. his parents don't get to decide who his 'one' is, y/n. he already chose you, so don't let their words choose his ending for him.”
you looked away from the screen, your bottom lip trembling as his words cut right through your defenses. you wanted so desperately to believe he was right, but the heavy weight in your chest made it so hard to breathe.
“but what if they’re right, jongseong?” you whispered, a fresh tear spilling over as you brought your knees closer to your chest. “it’s so easy to say he chose me now, but choosing someone gets a lot harder when the whole world is pulling you in the opposite direction. i'm just so tired of being the only one who ends up broken when the choice gets too heavy.”
“you told me once, he’s different. you said he was the first person who made you feel safe enough to lower your guard. don't take away his chance to be the one who stays just because everyone else before him left.”
you let out a shaky breath, wiping the dampness from your cheeks with the back of your hand. his words hit a little too close to home, reminding you of the girl who used to be so certain about the boy she loved.
“i did say that, didn't i?” you whispered, a small, incredibly tired smile touching your lips for a split second. you looked back up at the screen, trying to clear the thick emotion from your throat. “i'm sorry for dumping all of this on you out of nowhere. let's not talk about my mess anymore. how are things with you and karina?”
jongseong chuckled softly, the heavy atmosphere completely lifting as he leaned back in his desk chair. “speaking of the devil,” he murmured, just as the sound of a fridge door closing echoed through the speaker, followed by the soft padding of footsteps.
a second later, karina leaned into the frame, damp hair wrapped in a towel and a plate of sliced fruit in her hand. “tell her i say hi! and tell her you haven't washed the dishes from breakfast yet,” she teased, popping a piece of apple into her mouth before pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head and walking back to the living room.
jongseong rolled his eyes fondly, watching her leave before fixing his gaze back on you. “see? we’re surviving, even if we’re constantly stressed about finals and rent. our parents definitely had their doubts about us moving in together so early, but we just decided to figure it out as we go. it’s not perfect, but it’s real. you and jungwon can figure it out too, if you just give him the chance to try.”
“thanks, jongseong,” you murmured, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest finally unravelling into a sudden, desperate wave of clarity.
“anytime, buddy,” he replied with a warm, final nod.
and with that, you both ended the call.
before the fear could creep back in, you immediately grabbed a coat from the chair and shoved your feet into your crocs. you unlocked the deadbolt with trembling fingers and swung the door open, but what you didn’t expect was jungwon standing right there, catching his breath with his hair sweaty, probably from running all the way to you.
“h-hi.”
“hi.”
a breathless, fragile silence settled over the hallway. jungwon looked down, his gaze lingering on your feet tucked into your crocs, and then you looked at his messy, sweat-dampened hair. despite the heavy heartbreak that had been hovering over you both for weeks, a tiny, incredibly watery laugh slipped past your lips.
jungwon’s lips twitched into a faint, exhausted smile, though his eyes stayed completely soft and intense.
“where were you going in such a hurry?” he asked softly, his voice still a little breathless.
“i was… i was going to you,” you confessed, your voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over, blurring your vision.
jungwon’s eyes softened completely, his hand moving from your wrist to gently cup your cheek, his thumb catching the tear before it could fall. “to me? why?”
“because i’m so tired of being the girl who only exists to teach good men how to love someone else,” you choked out, your hands anchoring onto the fabric of his jacket because your knees felt weak. “i don’t want you to be my temporary chapter, jungwon. i don’t want this to be another heartbreaking lesson. i know you’re the one. i know it. and it terrifies me, but i was running to tell you that i don’t want to let you go.”
jungwon stared at you, completely frozen as his usual composure totally shattered. a glassy sheen quickly took over his sharp eyes, his bottom lip trembling just a fraction as the heavy unshed tears made him look incredibly vulnerable in the dim hallway light. he looked so profoundly undone by your confession that he couldn't even find his voice to speak.
seeing him look at you like that suddenly made a wave of intense self-consciousness rush over you.
you let out a wet, breathless laugh, instantly dropping your gaze to his chest as your cheeks flushed deep red. “oh god,” you muttered, your voice cracking as you weakly hid your face against his jacket. “i can’t believe i sound so silly saying that. it sounded so cringe, i'm sorry—”
jungwon wasted no time in closing the gap between the two of you and crashed his lips onto yours. compared to your first kiss, this one was full of pure yearning and a desperate, breathless relief that made your knees give out completely.
he kissed you until the lingering taste of your tears melted away, his hands moving up to cup your face so tightly, as if he were physically anchoring you to him. when he finally pulled back just a fraction, his forehead remained rested against yours, both of your breaths coming out in hot, uneven puffs in the quiet hallway.
“it’s not silly,” jungwon whispered fiercely, his voice raspy and thick with the tears he was trying not to spill. he blinked, a stray drop finally escaping and trailing down his flushed cheek as he looked deep into your eyes. “i ran all the way here because i felt like i was suffocating without you. i ran to tell you that i don't want to lose you. i'm not letting you go.”
you could only nod as a fresh wave of tears blurred your vision. your fingers gripping his shoulders so hard your knuckles turned white.
jungwon smiled weakly, his thumbs gently wiping away the new tears on your cheeks before leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, right at your hairline. he kept his arms securely locked around you, anchoring you against his warm chest until your breathing finally synced up with his.
“i mean it, y/n,” he murmured into your hair, his voice steadier now but still filled with that fierce determination. “no more lessons. we're figuring this out together.”
***
dear, y/n,
in this world, there are two types of people: the one and the lesson. you were the latter. but right now, you’re the first.
you spent so much time convincing yourself that you were only built to be a temporary chapter, a stepping stone for someone else's perfect blueprint. but you don't have to stay broken just to teach a good man how to love. you can be the one who gets to stay, too. and you finally found your 'the one'—the boy who ran all the way to your door in the middle of the night just to prove he was never going to let you go.
three months later.
“jungwon, if you don't turn that stove down right now, we are going to set the fire alarm off for the third time this month,” you laughed, leaning against the counter of your apartment as you watched him frantically wave a kitchen towel in front of a smoking pan.
“i have it completely under control!” he insisted, though his cheeks were flushed a soft pink and his sharp eyes were wide with adorable panic. he quickly slid the pan off the burner, letting out a dramatic sigh of relief before turning around to face you. his hair was slightly messy, a soft contrast to the structured, neat look he usually wore around his family, and he was wearing an super oversized hoodie that you were pretty sure actually belonged to you.
you walked over, entirely unable to hide the fond smile on your face as you reached up to fix a stray strand of hair falling over his forehead. “you’re supposed to be the responsible college student, remember? what happened to the planner jungwon?”
“the plan got complicated,” jungwon murmured, his tone instantly softening the second your fingers brushed against his skin. without missing a beat, his hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him with that effortless, natural familiarity that had become your favorite part of every single day. “besides, i was distracted looking at you.”
“so cringe,” you teased, echoing the exact words from the night he ran to you, but your heart still did that familiar, happy flip against your ribs.
jungwon chuckled, a low, warm sound that vibrated against your chest as he leaned down, resting his forehead against yours. “i told you three months ago,” he whispered against your lips, his thumbs gently rubbing soothing circles through the fabric of your shirt. “it’s not cringe if it’s real. now kiss me before the smoke alarm actually goes off.”
you didn't miss a beat. you leaned up, capturing his lips in a slow, deep kiss that carried all the quiet certainty of the past three months. the heavy anxiety, the cruel comments from his parents, and the ghosts of your past heartbreaks were completely gone. there were no more lessons left to learn. there was only jungwon, holding you tight in a smoky kitchen, proving every single day that he was here to stay.
Money, sex, and a lifetime of feeling like luck was never really on your side—until the universe decided to fuck with you in the most inconvenient way possible. What started as simple coexisting turned into something more when you paid a little too much attention to your quiet, awkward, painfully responsible roommate—who, on paper, is a complete fucking loser. But, hey, he’s not that bad!
In which Sim Jaeyun becomes the only genuinely good, unfairly lucky thing that’s ever happened to you… and just like everything else in your life, good things have a way of slipping right through your fingers. So now you have to figure it out, fix it, or risk losing the only thing that ever felt right before you run Out of Luck.
2: FORTUNE'S FAVOR
content tags and warnings: roommate au! romantic comedy, jake is an engineering student x volleyball varsity player reader, light angst, angst and fluff and fluff and a happy ending! complicated feelings, mentions of SUPERTITIOUS BELIEFS, tarot reading, luck, fate etc! 10k wc of reader avoiding jake and the rest will be jake 's pov (he yap and yap), mentions of social anxiety and self harm, jake is such an awkward introverted baby he needs a hug i swear, jake is yearning :(, embarassment, 2nd hand embarassment, public confession, awkward erm moments, jake is secretly a simp and he's pathetic, slice of life, kissing hehe. ft. heeseung as jake's best supportive friend, 02z as jake's hs friend, kazuha as jake's ex gf, karina, ryujin, other kpop idol as reader's volleyball team, robots and fish as side characters. mild smut: masturbation, still MDNI! (WC:34.6K)
Fate is a power believed to predetermine events, some unavoidable bullshit that people love to hold onto when things go wrong. A little explanation so they don't have to admit that sometimes things just fall apart because people make stupid choices, or because shit just happens for no good reason at all.
And right now? You think fate is complete fucking nonsense.
If fate was real, then maybe you wouldn't have been dumb enough to let things spiral the way they did. Maybe you would've stopped yourself before crossing the line.
Maybe if people weren't idiots, if they just paid attention for one goddamn second, things wouldn't end up worse than they needed to be. Like, for example—if someone didn't decide to throw a basketball straight to your fucking face like they had zero brain cells to work with.
Geez. Fate. Luck. Doom. What kind of bullshit logic even ties those things together? The more you think about it, the more it just pisses you off. People are so fucking dumb sometimes, acting like everything is written in the stars when half of it is just bad decisions stacked on top of each other.
"Hehe... I'm so sorry."
You glance at Karina from where you're sitting on the bench, an ice pack pressed against your already bruised nose, your face still sore from everything that's happened over the past few days. Her hand hovers mid-air, like she wants to check on you but isn't sure if you'll snap at her or brush her off.
She just got back from Japan and of course, Ryujin had already filled her in. Not just about how, three days into recovery of your accident, some dumbass from the basketball team managed to add another bruise to your already fucked-up nose during practice like it was some kind of sick joke.
But also that you got your heart broken. Well. You didn't want to tell her. You didn't want to tell anyone, if you were being honest. Saying it out loud makes it real in a way that just thinking about it doesn't. It turns it into something people can react to, something they can pity, something they can talk about. And you're not in the mood for that shit.
So you just exhale slowly, leaning back a bit, eyes drifting away from her. "It's fine," you mutter. Karina doesn't look convinced. She's not stupid. But for once, she doesn't push immediately. Thankfully.
She lowers her hand slowly, sitting down beside you, her shoulder brushing lightly against yours and you know exactly what she's trying to do—comfort, soften the edges, make it easier for you to crack open and talk. But you don't. You just let out a quiet sigh, leaning back slightly as if nothing about this is affecting you. You let her stay there because it's easier than pushing her away and dealing with the questions that would follow. You've always been good at this anyway—pretending. Acting like you're fine.
And weeks pass like that. Quietly. You make it a point—no, a fucking mission—that you and that man-who-shouldn't-be-named never cross paths.
You adjust your schedule, leaving earlier, coming home later, avoiding the living room at certain hours, listening for any sign that he's around before stepping out of your room. It's exhausting, honestly, but you do it anyway because the alternative—seeing him, talking to him, pretending like nothing happened or worse, acknowledging it—feels ten times worse.
You even considered moving out at one point, scrolling through listings late at night, checking dorm prices, calculating your budget over and over again like maybe the numbers would magically change.
They didn't.
Because you're broke. Like, actually fucking broke. Rent is insane, dorms are worse, and on top of that, your training for regionals has been eating up your time and energy like crazy. Your appetite has doubled—no, tripled—and now you can't go a day without stuffing yourself full or you start feeling like shit. And all your money? Gone. Straight into food. Food, food, and more fucking food.
You click your tongue in annoyance just thinking about it, dragging a hand down your face. Fuck this. Why did that man even cook for you so much before? Why did he set that stupid standard? Now your body's used to actual meals, and you can't even go back to your old habits without feeling like you're dying. It's irritating. It's inconvenient. It's— NO. You cut the thought off before it goes somewhere else.
You swore you wouldn't like anyone anymore. That shit is done. Over! Finished!
And honestly? All those stupid things people made you believe in? Complete bullshit. The grapes you ate during New Year's for luck? Fucking scam. The bracelet they made you wear in February because it's supposed to bring love or whatever the hell? Garbage. You should've thrown it away the moment you got it. And that horoscope reading? "2026 will be your year"—yeah, right. Biggest scam of them all!
"I miss you, please don't be angry at me!"
Karina wraps herself around you from behind, her arms locking tight around your shoulders. The impact makes you jolt forward slightly, your whole body stiffening as irritation immediately flashes across your face. You try to pry her off, fingers digging into her forearms.
"What's with you? I'm not angry, the hell?" you scoff, twisting your shoulder and swatting at her arm, but it does nothing. If anything, she tightens her hold, pressing her cheek against yours.
"I know you would say that," she whines, dragging every word out dramatically, completely unfazed by your resistance. Her voice softens just a little as she nuzzles closer. "But there's some kind of tension you have with me. I can feel it. I promise I'm not gonna push you with some other guy again, just talk to meeee."
"Karina!" you snap. You twist harder this time, trying to break free, your voice rising with both annoyance and disbelief. "I am not angry, what the—?!"
But she doesn't let go. "Really?" she shoots back immediately, her tone shifting to show she's not buying your shit. Her arms stay locked around you as she leans her chin on your shoulder, peeking at your face. "Then why won't you talk to me?"
"I'm not talking to anyone because I'm broken-hearted!" you fire back with sarcasm. You stop struggling for a second, your hands dropping uselessly to her arms as you huff out a breath. "Of course it's normal to be this way! You're the one who pushed me, remember?"
"Huhuhu, I'm so sorry!" Karina immediately wails, completely switching gears as she stomps her foot against the ground while still hugging you. The movement jostles both of you, but she doesn't loosen her grip. "Promise, I'll help you get over him. God, I hate him!" Her voice sharpens, her real irritation slipping through. "Do you want me to sabotage his project?! I heard his club is organizing some event with Architecture. Just say it. I'll definitely do it!"
You finally manage to grab her wrists and yank her arms off you, turning around to face her fully with a look that screams what the fuck is wrong with you. "No—what the fuck?" you snap, staring at her like she just suggested arson instead of whatever the hell that was. You roll your eyes, dragging a hand through your hair as you try to calm yourself again. "I just want to focus on Regionals. Just... don't mention him anymore." Your voice drops a little. "It's better to move on when I don't have updates or news."
Karina watches you for a second, her expression softening as she processes that, then she nods slowly. "Soooo... are we good?" she asks, immediately looping her arm around yours again.
You click your tongue, glancing at her from the corner of your eye. "Of course we are always good. What's with you?"
"You sure?" she presses, squinting at you like she's trying to catch you slipping.
"Yes."
"Then I have a gift for ya!" Her mood flips instantly again, energy shooting back up as she lets go and starts digging through one of her paper bags.
You watch her with mild suspicion, arms crossing over your chest as you wait—and then your expression completely breaks when she pulls out a clear plastic bag filled with water... and a tiny fish swimming inside.
"What the—"
"My guppy gave birth and I don't have a tanks anymore!" she beams proudly, holding it up like it's the best gift in the world. The fish wiggles inside the bag. "Take this as a gift for ya. It will help you clear your mind!"
"No. What the fuck?!" you hiss immediately, recoiling slightly. Your brows knit together in pure disbelief, staring at the tiny creature. "Karina, I'm not taking responsibility for a living thing right now—are you insane?!"
But she just grins wider, already trying to shove the bag toward you anyway.
And that was how you ended up bringing a fish
You are absolutely, undeniably, one hundred percent going to fucking kill Karina.
You stand in the middle of the kitchen, one hand gripping the plastic bag with a tiny fish inside, while your phone is awkwardly wedged between your shoulder and your ear. You open cabinets with your free hand, shoving things aside in search of anything that could pass as a container. It's 3:00 in the fucking afternoon, the heat pressing down on you like you are in hell, sweat already forming at the back of your neck. The aircon hums uselessly somewhere behind you, doing absolutely nothing. Why the hell is it not cooling? Is it broken? Did someone mess with it? Did he— NO.
"The fuck?!" you snap out loud when the call suddenly drops, the silence hitting immediately after Karina's last words—calm down, guppy don't need oxygen——before cutting off completely. You pull the phone away, glaring at the screen. No signal nor an Internet.
Of course! Jake is the one assigned to the internet payment. You remember clearly—you left the damn money on the center table days ago where he couldn't miss it. And now this? No connection, no help, no fucking instructions on how to keep this tiny living thing alive.
"God! The worst roommate ever!" you mutter under your breath, shoving your phone onto the counter with more force than necessary. Worst roommate! Worst fucking roommage! Not paying that damn internet, overheating the air conditioner since he was the one who is staying so damn long in the living room, rejecting your feelings— Hold on. Stop. Moving on remember?
You exhale sharply, like you're physically pushing the thought out of your system, and look back down at the plastic bag in your hands. The tiny fish wiggles inside, completely unbothered by your internal crisis, its small body flicking through the water.
"How am I supposed to know how to build your environment?!" you hiss at it. You let out a long breath, shoulders dropping slightly. "Okay... okay..." you mutter to yourself, trying to calm the fuck down. It's just a fish. A tiny, stupid fish. People take care of these things all the time. You can't be that incompetent.
You finally grab a glass jar from the cabinet, a clean one, at least, and set it down on the counter. It's not ideal, probably, but it's better than leaving it in a plastic bag forever like some kind of moving takeout.
Your eyes wander, and they land on that stupid little robot sitting lifelessly on the edge of the table. An idea sparks, ask Bumble for help! Of course! Jake's little tech toy could totally—well, theoretically—make this easier. You lean down, plastic bag in one hand, glass jar in the other, carefully lowering the fish into the water. The liquid sloshes around, tiny ripples forming, and the fish flicks its tail nervously.
Your fingers hover over the robot, hesitating a moment because the thing looks impossibly flat and dumb, and yet... Jake had somehow made it work before. How? How the fuck did he do that?
"Bumble, open," you command. The robot doesn't move. Not a single servo whir, not even a twitch. You frown, crouching lower to get a better look at it, poking at the flat surface with your fingertip. Nothing. You blink at it, confusion mixing with irritation as the anger starts to simmer back up again, fueled by the memory of that stupid, infuriating boy who made it work so effortlessly. His stupid braces flashing whenever he smiled, that crooked, perfect grin, his stupid, clueless, nerdy self who somehow made everything look so easy. Stupid boy.
You can't help it. You shake the robot lightly, as if your rage can transfer through it, make it activate, make it do something other than sit there mocking you.
"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" you hiss under your breath, frustration bubbling past the point of reason.
You can almost feel the heat of your blood rising in your cheeks, your heart hammering faster than it should over a stupid fish and a stupid robot. And yet, beneath all that —why are you this bitter? NoOOo! It's valid! He's a fucking idiot. That robot is a fucking idiot. And yet—and yet—you can't stop thinking about him, about the way he made you laugh, the way he made you feel, the way he lingered in your thoughts like a permanent ghost.
"Stupid, useless robot," you mutter under your breath, your grip tightening around Bumble. You shake it again. "Why the fuck won't you open? What, are you trying to act like your owner too? Just shut down and ignore people?"
The sudden creak of the door makes your whole body jolt. You stiffen instantly, your heart jumping straight to your throat as your head snaps toward the entrance. Jake was frozen in place, just a few steps inside, like he didn't expect to see you either. His hand is still on the doorknob, the other clutching his bag loosely. His eyes flicker—first to Bumble in your hands, then to the jar on the counter with the fish awkwardly floating inside, then finally to you. And when his gaze settles on your face, it stays.
You see it happen in real time—the shift. His eyes widen, and it pisses you off. He takes in the fading bruises along your cheek, the slight discoloration near your nose, the healing cut on your chin with its visible stitch. His brows knit together, concern flashing across his face so quickly it almost looks painful, like he doesn't know what to do with it. "W-What happened?" he asks, voice stumbling over itself as his hand lifts halfway, like reaching toward your face before stopping mid-air.
That—that right there—makes your chest twist wrong.
You straighten up immediately, forcing your expression to do it's own neutral controlled thing, dropping Bumble back. You avoid his eyes like they burn, turning your attention back to the fish. Geez. Two fucking weeks. Two weeks of silence, of avoidance, of pretending he didn't exist—and now he wants to ask questions like he still has the right? Like nothing happened?
"When are you planning to pay for the Wi-Fi?" you cut in flatly. You keep your back partially turned to him, fiddling with the jar, adjusting the plastic inside even though it's already fine. "I already left the payment."
There's a pause behind you. You can even feel it without even looking — the hesitation, the shift in his breathing, the way he probably opens his mouth and then closes it again like he always fucking does.
"Uh... I was actually busy... that's why..." he answers as he steps further inside and lets his bag drop to the floor.
You let out a small, humorless scoff under your breath, still not looking at him. Busy. Of course he was busy. Bet he was also busy avoiding you.
"Right," you mumble, eyes fixed on the water in the jar, watching the fish move in slow, careless circles.
"Are you... okay?—"
Your head turns sharply, eyes locking onto him with a glare. "Why the fuck do you even care if I'm not?" you shoot back. But just as quickly, you feel that ugly edge, that bitterness creeping. Shit you hate it. You hate how it makes you sound. You hate how it makes you feel like the one who's losing control.
So you pull back. You look away first, breaking eye contact and reach for your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. The jar with the fish inside the plastic crinkles softly as you pull it close to your chest. "Just..." you click your tongue, your jaw tightening as you force your tone back. "Pay that damn Wi-Fi."
You walk past him without waiting for a response, your shoulder brushing the air near him but never quite touching. Your hand grips the doorknob of your room, pausing for just a second before you push it open.
You inhale deeply, and without turning back, you add, "and fix the AC." Then you step inside and shut the door behind you.
Silence follows immediately. You lean back against the door, eyes squeezing shut. "Stupid boy," you mutter under your breath, your voice cracking just slightly despite your effort to keep it together. You drag a hand down your face, exhaling sharply, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on you. You really wish you could rewind everything. Back to when things were simple. When you were just minding your own damn business, not expecting anything, not hoping for anything. No stupid feelings.
Because what the hell were you even thinking? A fairytale? Really? You let out a dry, almost bitter laugh, shaking your head as you push yourself off the door and move further into your room. "What could possibly go right with a man disguised as a loving prince?" you mutter. "They're all the same. Fucking villains." You huff, running a hand through your hair. "Witches, even. Pretending to be kind, then dragging you down, poisoning you—"
You stop mid-step, blinking at yourself like you just caught your own bullshit. "...Why the fuck are you thinking about fairytales again?" you mutter, almost annoyed.
And you need to place this fucking fish outside your room!
You threw yourself into training as though it was the only thing keeping you from completely losing your shit.
Regionals wasn't just some school-level game anymore, you carried your city's name on your back whether you liked it or not. The drills were stricter, harsher, less forgiving. Coaches didn't care if your legs were shaking or your lungs felt like they were about to collapse; they pushed anyway, barked orders like you were machines instead of people. It was exhausting, and so brutal, kind of relentless—and somehow, you welcomed it. Because every second your body ached, every moment your mind focused on the game, it left less room for him.
Unluckily—luckily—you weren't stuck in one place either. The team moved from city to city, different courts, different environments, different faces. New people, new opponents, new distractions. You met players who were just as aggressive, just as desperate to win, some even worse. It forced you to stay sharp, forced you to adapt.
At night, when your body finally gave out and you collapsed into unfamiliar beds, there was barely enough energy left in you to think. Barely enough energy to remember anything, and yet... somehow, in those quiet moments right before sleep took you, your mind still slipped. Back to him.
One night while packing your things for another early call time, your hands moving automatically as you zipped your bag. Your thoughts drifted. What is Jake even doing right now?
You frowned, shoving your clothes harder into your bag like that would shove the thought away too. Before you left the apartment earlier that week, the fridge was nearly empty. Barely anything inside except leftovers that didn't look touched and random shit that didn't make sense together. It's not like you were cooking. Hell, you barely ate at home anymore. You never even did heathy groceries in the first place. That was always—
You stopped.
Is he eating properly now? Is he still organizing everything like some obsessive little nerd? Or did he just... stop?
Oh, dude. What the actual fuck! You shake your head, physically rejecting the thought. Why the hell do you even care? Why does it matter if he's eating or starving or turning into a complete mess? He made his choice.
"...Yeah, right," you mutter under your breath.
Because the truth is simple, and it pisses you off more than anything—you still like him.
Despite everything. Despite how he looked you in the eye and said he didn't feel the same. Despite how fucking humiliating that moment was. The feeling didn't just disappear. It didn't magically shut off like a switch. It stayed, always clinging to you no matter how much you tried to drown it out with training, exhaustion, or distance. It's normal. Feelings don't just go away overnight. You're not broken for still thinking about him.
...Are you crazy?
Not really. You've always been like this—your mind drifting back to things you once liked, replaying moments like they meant more than they probably did. You remember those stupid, simple days when it was just a harmless crush. When you'd catch yourself staring at him across the room, noticing the way his braces flashed when he smiled, how his eyes would light up behind his glasses whenever he talked about something he liked. It was easy back then. It was safe... nothing is complicated
And yeah—fuck it—you're not blind. He's not ugly. Not even close.
But the moment that thought settles, your expression twists, your own bitterness creeping back in like a bad habit you can't shake. Your mood shifts so fast it almost gives you whiplash. One second you're remembering something soft, the next you're clenching your jaw, your hands curling into fists. "God, how I hate nerds..." you mutter. "Stupid, fucking... face." You let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through your hair as you lean back, staring at the ceiling.
Because no matter how good he looked, no matter how nice he seemed—You still kind of want to punch him. Hard.
"This card represents the burning love that you have right now. The two of you will communicate well, and maybe in the near future, both of you will not take the same path—but it will not be a reason for any separation. Either way, the fire around you will ignite and make your relationship stronger."
"Awww."
A chorus of coos makes your eye twitch. Rei actually sniffs, her hand hovering over her chest as her eyes glued to the three cards laid out in front of her. You stand there, arms loosely crossed, staring at the whole thing with a thinly veiled cringe, your lips pressing into a line as you take in the scene. The setup is just a small booth with a cloth-covered table, a deck of worn-out cards. It's part of the open house happening around Decelis, booths were scattered everywhere — whatever. You only ended up here because your coaches had some sudden emergency meeting, leaving you all with a free hour to waste. And somehow, this is where your team decided to spend it.
"Is that legit-legit?" Winter asks, wiggling her eyebrows as she leans closer to the table. The rest of your teammates crowd around too, forming a semi-circle, their attention completely hooked. You can already tell this is about to go south for you. They look too entertained.
"Take what resonates, leave what doesn't," the tarot reader replies calmly. You bet she said that line a hundred times already today. "I am just reading the cards and interpreting what it says."
"Well then," Winter grins, clearly already plotting something, "I'll pay three dollars and read my friend's love life!" Before you can even react, she drops the money into the jar and without hesitation, shoves you forward into the seat right in front of the table.
"Huh—?"
You barely get the chance to protest before hands are suddenly everywhere. Winter, Giselle, Ningning, and Karina are all close in, clapping their hands over your mouth, pushing you down into the chair as they giggle. "Don't ruin it!" "Just sit!" "We're curious!" they whisper loudly over each other, completely ignoring your muffled protests.
You glare at them, trying to pry their hands off, but they're annoyingly persistent. The tarot reader raises an eyebrow at the display but doesn't comment. Instead, she calmly begins shuffling the deck, her eyes flicking toward you for a brief moment—like she's assessing you, reading more than just your face. The cards slide smoothly between her fingers. Eventually, your teammates let go, though they stay close, practically leaning over your shoulders, their eyes glued to the table like.
Three cards are drawn and placed carefully in front of you. Two upright. One reversed.
You finally manage to sit properly, rubbing your jaw where they had covered your mouth, shooting them one last annoyed look before your attention drifts—despite yourself—back to the cards. You don't even believe in this shit.
"I see..." the girl starts, she leans slightly forward, studying the spread. Her brows knit together just a little, like something caught her attention. "Your partner is a very loving person... with genuine feelings."
Your nostrils flare almost immediately, your lips parting as your face twists into disbelief and annoyance. You don't even bother hiding it, and the way you can already feel the shift around you too—the girls who were leaning in with excitement just seconds ago are now deflating, their interest dropping as fast as it came. There's a collective sigh, obvious with disappointment. Of course. Because what partner? You don't have one. Everyone here knows that. This is exactly why you don't believe in this shit. It's all vague, all bullshit.
"The images around the cards represent someone who pays close attention to you... someone who puts in a lot of effort," the girl continues, unfazed by the obvious shift in energy. Your teammates exchange looks but no one interrupts her. Not yet. Well, there's still that tiny thread of curiosity keeping them quiet.
And then, unexpectedly, she pulls another card.
"Is your partner a Scorpio?"
"Hm." You respond flatly, barely even thinking about it, your attention already drifting as you inspect your nails.
"Right..." she murmurs anyway. "You're lucky. He is intensely passionate and deeply loyal to you—incredibly loyal and devoted. The kind of person who gives everything, but expects the same level of commitment in return."
You let out a short, dry snort at that, the word lucky hitting your ears wrong. Lucky? Yeah, fucking right. Every person who reads zodiac signs, tarot cards, whatever the hell this is—they always say the same shit.
"As expected with this reversed card," she continues, tapping the last one lightly, "it also reflects your partner's nature. Hesitant to open up. Someone who tests potential partners before fully letting them in... That's all!"
"God, I can't believe I wasted my three dollars," Winter mutters under her breath, already turning away with an annoyed huff. "She doesn't even have a boyfriend."
There's a ripple of agreement, the group starting to lose interest completely now, the moment clearly not living up to their expectations. One by one, they begin to shift away from the table, their attention already drifting to the next booth.
You don't move right away. Your eyes stay on the cards, before snorting. You push yourself up to the chair, breaking whatever stupid spell you almost fell into.
"Hope you had a long, healthy, happy relationship. Both of you deserve it. Thank you!" the girl chirps, already reaching for her jar. You watch her fingers flick through the bills. You huff under your breath, shaking your head as you step away.
Loving? Effort? Loyal? Hesitant? And what the fuck was that—Scorpio? You roll your eyes hard enough it almost hurts. You don't even know someone who's a Scorpio. Not a single one. The whole thing was a scam, and somehow people were eating that shit up like it was gospel. Good for them. Couldn't be you.
Your attention shifts fast—thank fuck!—dragged away by something actually worth your time. Wagyu barbecue. Your eyes light up, stepping closer like you're being pulled in. "Holy shit," you mutter under your breath, staring at the display, the marbling on the meat, the way it sizzles on the grill. And then you squint slightly. "That's a black sausage?" you mumble, half-confused, half-intrigued.
Food. At least food makes sense. You shift your weight, already pulling out money, already thinking about how that three dollars should've gone here instead of that tarot bullshit. You take a bite of something you bought, chewing absentmindedly, letting the flavors comfort you.
"What's with ya booth?" you ask casually as you drift along with your team, your voice blending into the noise as you hop from one stall to another, not really caring about anything except eating and not thinking. You clutch your food, biting, chewing, swallowing, moving. The others are loud, curious, energetic, and you are actually keeping up with them, as long as you have your food.
"Oh! The Civil Engineering Booth! What's the catch?!" Winter suddenly calls out.
Your drink goes down the wrong pipe, your throat burning as you cough, eyes watering as you bend slightly forward, one hand clutching your chest. "Shit—" you rasp, trying to breathe, but it's already too late. Because when you look up, he's there.
Jake was standing right there!
Your mouth falls open slightly, breath catching again but for a completely different reason this time. He looks... different. Not drastically, not in a way that anyone else would probably point out, but you see it. Of course you fucking do, duh. His hair's a bit longer now, falling just slightly differently around his face, softening him in a way that makes your chest tighten. He's wearing this gray long sleeve under a blue polo, something that looks weird, considering the hot weather... Of course it is weird! But it doesn't. On him, it just works. It always fucking works. There's a camera slung over his nape too, resting against his chest.
Fuck. Your heart stutters. It actually fucking stutters. God, why is he so handsome, you wanna cry — STOP!
"Uh... we now have some kind of, you know... furniture and displays around your house?" Jake says, voice a little shaky, and you can hear it even from where you're standing. You hate that you can still recognize every little change in his tone. His eyes flick around, scanning the group, pausing briefly on jerseys, on faces—getting closer, closer—
And when you realize he's about to look at you— You turn your back, shoulders stiffening as you stare straight ahead. Your grip tightens around your food, knuckles whitening slightly as your heart starts pounding like it's trying to break out of your chest.
Stupid. Why the fuck did you turn your back? Your jersey has your surname printed on it! Dumb bitch!
You squeeze your eyes shut for half a second, internally cursing yourself out. Great. Fucking great. Out of all the booths, all the places, all the fucking timing—this is where you end up. You can feel it crawling under your skin, that restless, suffocating awareness that he's right there, that if you just turn your head a little, you'd see him clearly.
"Do you want to get out of here?" Karina whispers beside you. Her eyes are on you and it pisses you off a little because it means you're not hiding it as well as you thought. You don't answer immediately. You just stare ahead, blinking and forcing your breathing to even out.
"—Wow! A zodiac sign bracelet?! Where did you bought it?!" Winter suddenly blurts out, loud as hell. Just like that, the attention shifts, your teammates swarming forward like curious idiots, drawn to something shiny and new.
Jake attention is split. He's opening his lips to answer but his eyes keep dragging back to your turned back.
"I-It's fine. We had an agreement that we stick together so when we go back we don't have to message those who is missing—" you whisper back to Karina quickly. It sounds reasonable. It is reasonable.
"Uh... my friend from the Art Major booth, gave it to me..." Jake answers, still looking back and fourth to you.
"What sign is this again?" Giselle asks, reaching out to touch his wrist and raising it up to observe the bracelet.
"It's a— uh... a Scorpio." Jake replies.
"It's so obvious, babe! God, you are such a dumb sometimes." Ningning snorts.
"Shut it, girls! Well, Mr. uhh..." Rei cuts in, she squints down at the tag clipped to his shirt, leaning just a little too close. "Jake! Mr. Jake," she repeats with a grin, clapping her hands. "Can you take a picture of us as a team? We're off to Regionals in the next few weeks! And we look so fresh. Maybe we could use it for the journalist page if they upload a good luck post!"
Jake's attention was being dragged away again, redirected, and forced into your teammates again.
"Uh... sure..." Jake answers, his voice hesitant, or maybe it's just you hearing it differently now.
You don't turn. You don't dare turn. But you can imagine him nodding slightly, adjusting that stupid camera strap on his shoulder, probably pushing his glasses up out of habit.
"Great! Are you gonna upload it on your page?" Rei continues without missing a beat, already hyped and already moving.
"...The creatives are..." he starts, clearly trying to explain.
"That's great!" Rei cuts him off anyway, not even caring about the details, and turning her attention back to the group.
When is this gonna fucking end?
You shift your weight, foot tapping against the ground in small, impatient movements to distract you from the other thing—the bigger thing—you're trying so hard not to face. God! You can feel your teammates moving, adjusting, forming some kind of formation.
"Hello?! Number 9?!" Rei suddenly calls out, her voice snapping directly at you.
Fuck you! You want to curse out loud.
You inhale slowly, forcing your neutral expression before turning to move, not fully facing him yet, not looking at him, just stepping into position.
You settle at the side, arms crossing loosely, trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable—
"Stop— what are you doing?!" Winter hisses immediately, grabbing your arm and dragging you without hesitation. "You should be in the middle! You're a libero and you had a different color of your jersey!" She pushes you right into the center.
Your feet plant as your body going stiff for a split second. You're right in front now, visible and now exposed. You were absolutely going to kill your teammates.
You don't look at him. You keep your gaze forward, somewhere just above the lens.
Jake bites his lip awkwardly, adjusting his stance behind the camera, fingers fumbling just slightly as he brings it up.
"Okay... uhm..." he mutters, trying to gather everyone's attention. "Just— stay still..."
Your chest tightens. You don't know why this feels harder than confronting him. You've faced him before. You've yelled at him. You've cried in front of him!
Standing here, pretending like nothing happened while he looks at you through a lens— God, this feels worse!
"Smile," he says.
You let yourself look straight at the camera, at the lens, at him behind it. Your lips lift automatically, forming a smile you've practiced a thousand times for games and pictures.
One second. Two. Five. Ten.
There's this weird stretch of silence beneath the noise, like something's off, like the moment isn't ending when it should. You don't move at first, still holding the pose out of habit, but then your brows knit slightly, your smile starting to falter at the edges. He's not lowering the camera. He's just... there. Watching through the lens like he forgot what he was supposed to do next.
"Uh... is it finished?" Ryujin finally asks, confused, a little impatient as she shifts her weight beside you.
That's when Jake seems to snap out of it.
"Oh—... sorry. Yes, we'll just upload it later," he says quickly, his voice stumbling over itself as he lowers the camera in a rush. He doesn't look at anyone because he turns his back almost immediately.
Your smile drops the second the camera is no longer pointed at you.
"Thank you!" your teammates chorus, already moving on, already distracted, their attention bouncing to the next booth.
"He looks so familiar, right? Had he participated or watched on VIP?" one of them asks absentmindedly as they walk.
You glance at Karina, and she's already looking at you. There's a split second where neither of you say anything. Her lips press together, holding it in, not saying shit for once, and you mirror it, your own mouth tightening as you look away first.
You bury it.
You bury him under the loud whistle of your coach that keeps ripping through the air and it's trying to split your skull open. Training hits harder than usual, or maybe it just feels that way because you're forcing yourself not to think about anything else. Your body moves on—run, receive, dive, stand, repeat. You're tired.
The coaches don't give a shit.
"Again!" the whistle blows, and you barely have time to straighten your back before another ball comes flying at you. Your arms sting from the impact, your knees burn from the constant drops, and your breathing is uneven, chest heaving as you try to keep up. They said you already had your break. One whole hour earlier, like that was supposed to be enough to carry you through the rest of this hell. Fucking hell.
You try to sneak a second to grab your water because your throat dry as shit, your hand already reaching for the bottle. You tilt it, barely getting a sip—
The coach slowly called out your name. You freeze mid-action, glancing up slowly. He was staring at you with his arm crossed, an obvious disappointment carried in his eyes.
You lower the bottle immediately, swallowing hard, your shoulders straightening as you put it down. "Sorry," you mutter under your breath, even if he didn't ask for it, even if he didn't say shit. You already know.
You're fucked.
"Oh my God! I can't imagine what will be the training if we actually win that and proceed to National. I'm gonna die," Ningning whines later as she collapses onto the bench like her soul just left her body.
You barely respond. You're sitting there, hunched slightly, pressing an ice pack against your bruised arm, then your thigh, then somewhere near your ribs where it hurts the most. The punishment was stupid. Straight up stupid. The coach made the team aim at you like you were some kind of target practice, all because you slipped up.
Dull throbs spreading under your skin, your body overly aware of every ache, every sting. It's not unbearable. But it's a lot.
"I'm so sorry," Karina says. She wraps her arms around you carefully, her hand hovering before gently touching one of your bruises.
You huff quietly, shifting a little but not pulling away. "It's okay," you mumble with your tired voice. You adjust the ice again, pressing it harder this time. "I just want to go home."
God, your body feels like absolute shit. Every step on the way home feels heavier than the last, like your muscles are dragging behind you instead of actually working with you. Your shoulders ache, your thighs burn, your arms feel like they've been beaten raw—and honestly, they kind of have. All you can think about is food. Then sleep—eight hours minimum, ten if the universe suddenly decides to stop screwing you over with morning classes. Maybe even a massage, yeah, that sounds fucking perfect, you'll drag Karina and Ryujin to a spa, waste money you probably shouldn't, just to feel human again.
By the time you get back to the apartment, your brain is running on fumes. You don't even bother turning on all the lights, just enough to see where you're going before you drop your bag onto the sofa with a dull thud. It's already 7:45 PM, you don't make it any further than the living room before you just... collapse. Your body gives in immediately, sinking into the couch, your head tilting back as you stare blankly ahead.
That's when you see it the jar. It was sitting there on the table like it's been waiting for you this whole time.
"...Oh, shit," you mutter under your breath, pushing yourself up just enough to look at it properly. The guppy swims lazily inside, existing in its own tiny world while you've been out getting your ass handed to you for days straight. You slide down from the couch to the floor, dragging yourself closer until you're sitting there, elbows on the table, your head almost resting against it as you stare at the fish.
"You're getting fat," you mumble, eyes half-lidded as you watch it move in slow circles. Your finger taps lightly against the glass. "Are you eating well?" you ask again, like it's actually going to answer you. You let out a quiet, tired laugh, shaking your head slightly. "Who's feeding you? That nerd is feeding you?"
You keep staring, your gaze softening despite yourself. "You better not have some kind of attachment issues," you add, "or you'll end up swimming in the river." Another quiet huff of laughter leaves you, but it's weak, fading quickly as exhaustion starts to take over again.
Your eyes slowly close. You don't even notice the small movement behind you. Bumble moves slowly, navigating its way toward you. It bumps lightly against your leg.
Bump. You don't react. It pauses, tilting slightly, then nudges you again, a little firmer this time, its rounded head pressing against your calf like it's trying to get your attention.
Bump. Still nothing. Your breathing has already evened out, your body too tired to respond, your mind slipping somewhere between awake and asleep.
"Hi?" it chirps. It waits patiently its little frame angled toward you like it expects something back. But you don't move. Not even a twitch.
After a few seconds of nothing, Bumble shifts, turning its body slowly toward the hallway, toward that door—the one that isn't yours, then it starts bumping into it. Soft, repetitive taps against the wood. The sound blends into your half-conscious state, like it's happening underwater.
The door creaks open.
And everything after that feels... wrong. Or maybe not wrong... just unreal. Your body feels too heavy, like it's sinking or like gravity suddenly decided to double its pull on you. Your thoughts drift in fragments, slipping away before they can form properly. Did you pass out?
It feels like a fever dream. Like you're floating, but also not. Like your body is there, but your mind is somewhere else entirely.
Cold. It's cold. There's something cold against you. It presses gently, carefully, and your body reacts before your brain does, leaning into it without hesitation. Your eyes try to open but they can't. Your limbs are now unresponsive, but the sensation continues, there was something so smooth brushing against your skin. It moves along your hair first, fingers...no, something like fingers—threading lightly through it, pushing it away from your face. Then your temple. Then your cheekbone.
Good. It feels good. You let out the faintest breath, your body instinctively leaning closer, chasing that touch without even realizing it. Your head tilts slightly, giving in, surrendering to the sensation. You need more.
When you wake up the next morning, the first thing that hits you isn't confusion—it's just this dull, heavy awareness that your body still fucking hurts. Your eyes crack open slowly, light slipping in through the curtains, and you blink at the ceiling like you're trying to remember something important... but nothing comes. There's no clear memory of how you got here, no moment of climbing into bed, no dragging yourself under the covers. You just... woke up here. Lying flat on your back, blanket half-thrown over your legs like you'd been placed there instead of settling in yourself.
You stare at it for a second. Then you shrug it off.
God, you don't even have the energy to question it.
What matters is—you actually slept. Your muscles still ache, your bruises still sting when you stretch, but it's manageable. "Fuck... I could've slept more," you mumble under your breath, dragging a hand over your face as you sit up slowly, joints protesting but not as violently as yesterday. You swing your legs off the bed, feet hitting the floor, and just sit there for a moment, letting yourself exist before the day starts kicking your ass again.
Routine pulls you out of your room without much thought.
You end up in the living room, eyes automatically landing on the jar sitting on the table. The guppy swims lazily inside, completely fine. You crouch down, tapping the glass lightly before feeding it, watching it dart toward the food.
"Geez, you're greedy," you mutter, a small huff leaving your nose.
Your gaze shifts slightly—to the side, and there you saw Bumble. Sitting there quietly beside the jar, completely still.
You stare at it for a second. "...Weird," you mumble under your breath, brows pulling together slightly. Your shoulders lift in a small shrug, brushing it off. "Whatever."
You stand up, grabbing your things, pushing the thought aside as quickly as it came. There's no point overthinking stupid shit this early in the morning.
"Morning!" Rei greets the second you step into the court, her voice bright despite the early hour as she stretches her arms above her head.
"Morning... what's for breakfast?" you ask lazily, dropping your bag onto the bench before stretching your arms out.
"Hm?" Rei glances at you, thinking for a second before her face lights up. "I think 7/11 just restocked their Spam Kimchi Fried Rice, want to get some?"
You pause mid-stretch, considering it for half a second. "Okay... that's tolerable," you say with a small nod. "Let's grab some after stretching."
More of your teammates trickle in, chatter overlapping, energy building as you all go through warm-ups. By the time you finish, the decision is already made—food first.
The convenience store is crowded as usual, cold air hitting your skin the second you step inside, a welcome contrast to the heat outside. You grab a slurpee almost immediately, sipping from it as your teammates scatter around, grabbing whatever they want, talking over each other like always.
"Oh!" Karina suddenly exclaims, pointing toward a standee near the entrance. "They got Park Jongseong standee!"
You glance over briefly, unimpressed, sipping your drink. "Who the fuck is Park Jongseong?" you mutter, already looking away.
Karina gasps. "God, are you that outdated?! Park Jongseong is a rising actor! He's studying in Decelis and about to graduate!"
"Good for him," you mumble, clearly not giving a shit, taking another sip.
"Oh—look, the Engineering posted our photos!" Rei suddenly says, grabbing your attention as she waves her phone around.
All of you crowd around her immediately, squeezing in, shoulders bumping as you lean closer to see. The group photo pops up first. When Winter swipes to the next photo, her thumb dragging across the cracked screen with zero care, Karina gasps. Your brows knit together immediately.
"What?" you mutter, stepping closer, leaning in just enough to see the phone without fully committing to caring. But then you do see it—and... the fuck?
Ningning whined, completely missing the shift in your expression. "It's so unfair! How come you're always the favorite of photographers and sport journalists?!" she complains, nudging your shoulder.
You didn't even answer at all. Your eyes stay glued to the screen, locked onto that photo. It's you. Just you. Not the team, not the formation, not even a candid group moment—it's fucking you. Zoomed in. Cropped so tightly that Karina's arm is barely visible at the edge, Ryujin completely gone. You're smiling in it, relaxed, unaware. It's not a stolen blurry shot either—it's clear, it was focused... Intentional.
"What the fuck..." you breathe out.
Karina leans closer, squinting. "The man who took our photo isn't even a photographer or a sports journalist," she mutters, more to herself now, her voice dropping as her brain starts connecting dots you don't even want to acknowledge. "Oh God..." Her head slowly turns toward you, eyes widening.
"Don't start," you cut in immediately, your glare snapping to her before she can even open her mouth properly. You already know. You fucking know what she's about to say, and you're not in the mood for it.
But of course, Karina being Karina, she doesn't stop. "He likes you!" she blurts out anyway, her finger practically stabbing toward the screen.
Your jaw clenches so tight it almost hurts. "Are you fucking serious right now?" you snap, heat rising up your neck, not even sure if it's anger or something else. "I told you. He literally said he doesn't feel the same. Did you forget that part or—"
"Who likes who?" Giselle suddenly cuts in, sliding into the conversation, eyes bouncing between you and Karina with interest.
"Wait... so you had a talking stage but it failed? Tell us more!" Winter jumps in right after, leaning forward with way too much excitement, completely missing—or ignoring—the way your expression tightens.
Your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out at first. It's like the questions start stacking too fast, overlapping, tangling together until you can't even grab one to respond to. The noise builds again—voices piling on top of each other, reactions, assumptions, teasing—and suddenly it feels too loud for something that should've stayed quiet.
"So that guy who took our photo was the one you said that won't talk to you?" Ryujin adds, her brows lifting as she studies your face more carefully, like she's trying to confirm something she already suspects.
"...Wait," another voice cuts through. "You know Jake?" Yunjin asks with confusion as she looks at Ryujin first, then shifts her gaze to you. There's a pause, a beat where her expression sharpens slightly. "You know Jake?" she repeats.
Your mouth goes dry instantly. That name, coming from someone else, hits different. Your thoughts trip over each other, questions forming faster than you can process. How does she know him? Why does she sound like that? Why does it suddenly feel like you're missing a part of the story?
"Who's Jake?" Giselle tries to jump back in, but Ningning immediately slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide like she just realized this isn't just casual gossip anymore.
"J-Just... my roommate," you manage to say, the words coming out more stiff than you intend, your grip tightening around your drink again.
"So you know the guy that took our photo and didn't say anything about him?" Karina presses, throwing her hands up in disbelief.
Before you can even respond, Yunjin lets out a short, disbelieving scoff, stepping in. She raises her brows, one hand lifting slightly as she gestures midair. "It's so random to bring him up, duh?" she says in a mocking tone. "And he's boring as hell. What do you want me to say? How he dated one of my best friends in high school and completely turned into a distant asshole with zero emotional intelligence?"
"Ohhhh," the girls around you gasp almost in sync at the gossip.
Your stomach twists, you remember that conversation the way he mentioned he dated someone before, how it "didn't work out." He didn't elaborate. You didn't push. It felt unnecessary back then.
"Oh my," Yunjin continues, shaking her head like she's already over the topic, even though she's the one who dropped the bomb. "I didn't know you'd fall for that whole nerdy, quiet, introverted charm thing too." Her lips press. "He's a good guy, sure. I'll give him that. But he's not a good partner."
Your fingers loosen slightly around your cup. You find yourself staring at nothing—some random spot past Rei's shoulder, past the glass doors, past everything—because your mind is already somewhere else. Back to the quiet moments, the stupid small things, it pisses you off, because it shouldn't matter this much. It wasn't even anything official. It wasn't even real, right?
"It was just like a one-time thing," you say, forcing your voice to come out normal. You shrug one shoulder, like it's nothing. "He's just my roommate." Your lips stretch into something that resembles a smile. "I didn't like him that much. Don't worry, girls."
The silence that follows lasts barely a second before it gets filled again. "Well, you better not like him!" Ningning cuts in quickly, narrowing her eyes at you. She nudges your shoulder, then slaps your back lightly, the others chiming in with similar reactions. "With Yunjin's side story background, he's not a perfect match for you!"
"Yeah, seriously," Winter adds, shaking her head like she's already made up her mind about him. "We don't support bad decisions."
You nod along anyway, letting them have it, letting them believe it. It's easier that way.
But Karina doesn't let it go. "Wait—no, that doesn't make sense," she hisses, leaning closer to you. "It was obvious that he likes you!" Her finger taps against Rei's phone again, like she needs to remind you of the evidence sitting right there. "I mean, look at that picture alone! That's not normal!"
You roll your eyes. "It's just a picture, Karina. Stop overthinking—"
"And what if he does?" Ryujin suddenly cuts in. She flicks Karina's forehead lightly, making her hiss in protest. "Stop pushing her again if it's just going to hurt her more."
Karina frowns, rubbing her forehead, but she doesn't argue back immediately. Ryujin's gaze shifts to you. "It doesn't matter if he likes her or not," she continues. "He already caused enough damage." She pauses for a second, like she's choosing her words carefully, but the bluntness is still there. "He's not man enough to stand by whatever the hell he's feeling right now."
You let out a small breath through your nose, shaking your head like you're brushing it all off, even if it doesn't actually go away. Whatever. They're right. All of them, in their own loud, messy way—they're right. You shouldn't be this stressed over something that was never even labeled, never even defined. It wasn't a relationship. It wasn't anything serious. It was just... something that happened. Something that ended. That should be it.
He made his point right there, standing in front of you. It shouldn't matter anymore after that. It should've killed whatever stupid hope was growing inside you before it even had the chance to become something real.
So why the fuck does it still hurt like this? You're just lonely. That's it, right? That's the easiest explanation. You got used to him being there—his presence, his voice, the small routines you didn't even notice forming until they were gone. You got used to someone paying attention, even in his awkward, quiet way. Of course it's going to feel empty now. Of course it's going to sting.
It doesn't mean it was love. You're just lonely.
Feed the fish, eat a lot of protein, train until your legs feel like they're about to give out, drag yourself to class, pretend you're listening, go home, sleep like you're dead. Avoid Jake.
Feed the fish, eat a lot of protein, train harder, push through the soreness, ignore the bruises blooming under your skin, keep your head down, don't think too much. Avoid Jake.
Feed the fish, eat a lot of protein, train, study, sleep, avoid Jake.
"I know you're busy but the... uh... water bill payment is due..."
Oh. Right.
Bills. Responsibilities. Actual life shit that doesn't revolve around your messy, unresolved feelings. Not everything is about you spiraling over some guy who couldn't even look you in the eye after fucking you.
You click your tongue softly under your breath and bend down to tie your shoelaces, using the motion as an excuse to avoid looking at him. Your fingers move quickly, even if your chest feels tight again just from his presence being this close. Without thinking too much about it, you reach into your wallet and pull out crumpled bills, extending your hand toward him without lifting your gaze.
"Here," you mutter, handing him the fifteen dollars.
There's a split second where your hand lingers midair, and you mentally curse yourself for even noticing it. You pull back immediately, wiping your palm against your shorts. Your eyes drop back to your wallet, flipping it open again out of habit—and that's when it hits you. It's fucking empty. Well, not completely empty, but close enough. You stare at it longer than you should, your brows knitting together slightly. All that extra food, all the random shit you've been buying just to distract yourself—it adds up.
You don't even realize Jake's looking at it too. When you finally glance up and catch him staring, your expression shifts instantly. You snap the wallet shut and clear your throat like you've been caught doing something embarrassing.
"That would be enough, right?" you say nonchalantly, like you didn't just expose how broke you are. You sling your training bag over your shoulder, adjusting the strap. "I mean, I'm mostly at the city meet anyway. I didn't even use water for, like, almost two weeks."
Jake blinks behind his glasses. His gaze flickers from your face to your bag, then back again. "Y-Yeah... sure," he answers.
You're the one who looks away first. "Okay," you say quickly, already stepping back. "I'll get going." You turn slightly, ready to leave.
"Actually—"
His voice stops you mid-step. You pause, slowly, you turn your head, glancing back at him over your shoulder, one brow lifting just slightly, your expression already guarded like you're expecting something you won't like.
"N-N-Nothing," he stutters, the word tripping over itself the second your eyes meet his.
He folds into himself again. His shoulders draw inward, his posture shrinking like a snail going back to it's shell. His gaze drops almost as quickly as it met yours.
You purse your lips, holding back whatever reaction tries to surface, and give him a small, absent nod instead. For a brief moment, his eyes linger on your face, like he's searching for something in your expression that isn't there anymore. That's the part that hits him the hardest—that look you used to give him when things were still normal, when you were still figuring each other.
Are you... okay now?
The door shuts behind you. Jake doesn't move right away. He just stands there, staring at the empty space where you were a second ago.
Then suddenly, like something inside him snaps, he steps back and lets his head hit the wall. His breath comes out uneven, his fingers curling into fists before loosening again, like he doesn't even know what to do with his own body. Then he does it again. And again. And again. Each impact a little harder. Why can't he talk? Why the fuck can't he just say something when it matters?
His jaw tightens, teeth grinding as frustration builds in his chest. He pulls back once more and this time hits the wall harder than before, the sting shooting through his skull—and that's when it hits him. A flash of memory flodded into his mind.
Suddenly, he's not here anymore. Suddenly, he's back at high school.
"I know I'm not like the best partner either," Kazuha says. Jake's mouth goes dry as he stares at her, his brain lagging behind the moment like it's refusing to process what's happening.
It's a random Tuesday. And yet here she is, standing in front of him, ending something he didn't even realize was breaking.
"You're a good guy, Jake," she continues, her hands clasped together in front of her. "I appreciate and love every moment we spent with each other. Thank you for that..." She pauses. "But it's better if we part ways."
Her words just... float there, Jake goes completely still. His shoulders draw in, shrinking instinctively, an action he always do if he's trying to make himself smaller. His eyes flicker away from her for a second, scanning the space around them—the hallway, the passing students, the distant chatter. What if they were listening?
His fingers start fidgeting again, restless, rubbing against each other over and over. His heart is beating too fast. His head is too loud. There are too many thoughts forming all at once, piling up, overlapping, choking each other out before they can even become words.
"Are you..." Kazuha starts, her brows pulling together slightly as she looks at him. "...not gonna say anything?"
Jake looks at her then. Her eyes are glossy—not crying, not yet, but close enough. Waiting. Expecting something. Anything.
And fuck, he wants to say something. He wants to ask why. Wants to understand what he did wrong. Wants to tell her he tried—that he followed everything right, didn't he? He carried her bag, walked her home, remembered dates, bought flowers during monthsaries, gave her chocolates even when he didn't know if she liked them. He paid attention. He listened. He stayed. He liked her. Wasn't that... enough?
The words pile up in his throat, pressing, pushing, demanding to be let out—but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes. His mind goes blank.
Completely, fucking blank. Jake swallows, his hands starting to sweat, his fingers twitching uselessly at his sides. Panic creeps in, tightening around his chest as the silence stretches too long. He knows he should speak. He knows this is the moment. He knows if he says nothing, it's going to end like this.
And still, he can't. His lips part slightly, but instead of words, all that comes out is a shallow breath. His gaze drops, unable to hold hers any longer, and slowly, almost helplessly, he shakes his head.
Not because he doesn't care. But because he doesn't know how to say that he does.
"Bro, you fumbled a baddie so bad. Tsk, tsk, tsk."
Sunghoon's leaning back on the bench. The ice rink behind them glows under harsh white lights. It's normal. Everything is normal.
Except Jake. He's sitting there, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. Jay walks in not long after, still dressed from whatever commercial shoot he just wrapped up, dropping his bag beside them. He takes one look at Jake and already knows something's off, his brows pulling together slightly before he exhales.
"You don't even try to chase her?" Jay asks. He leans forward a bit. "You know girls like that. If you show any effort, she might come back."
Jake doesn't respond. His gaze stays locked on the floor. His fingers twitch again, restless, picking at nothing, repeating the same useless motion over and over.
"Actually..." Sunghoon cuts in, shifting his posture as he glances between them. "You know ballet and figure skates train together, right? I overheard something..."
Jake's fingers pause for a second.
"...like uh..." Sunghoon continues, scratching the back of his neck, "she said you don't initiate anything. Like—holding hands, saying stuff... you're just too quiet." He glances at Jake briefly before looking away again. "She said she doesn't feel the 'love'." He even does the air quotes, emphasizing the word.
Jake's chest tightens, but he still doesn't move.
"I mean, I can see you putting in effort," Sunghoon adds quickly, like he's trying to balance it out. He leans over and throws an arm around Jake's shoulder, giving him a brief squeeze. "You do shit. You're there. That counts." He exhales, shaking his head. "Social media standards are ruining relationships, I swear."
"No, don't say that," Jay glares at Sunghoon. "Of course women are sensitive. Sometimes they just... misunderstand actions if we don't say anything. That's normal."
"Yeah, but that's what they call 'words of affirmation', right?" Sunghoon scoffs, pulling his arm back. "What if our Jekjek here just sucks at that? Not everyone's built like that." He shrugs, leaning back again. "They should accept that too. We're not all gonna be talking sweet 24/7. That shit's exhausting."
"Yes, we can," Jay replies without missing a beat, "If we love our girl, we can." His eyes flicker to Sunghoon briefly. "You're just saying that because you're not in a relationship."
"Hey—"
Ever since he was a child, Jake already knew there was something off about the way he spoke—or more like, the way he couldn't. It wasn't that he didn't have thoughts. Fuck, his head was always loud, always full of things he wanted to say, things he wanted to ask, things he wanted to explain. But the moment it had to pass through his mouth, it got stuck somewhere in his throat, tangled, choked out before it could even become words.
He remembers it too clearly, standing in front of the class, small hands clenched at his sides, his teacher smiling patiently while the rest of the room just... waited. Five minutes. A full five minutes of silence just because he couldn't say his own name. He could feel their eyes on him, hear the faint shifting of chairs, the quiet whispers starting to build. His mouth opened, closed, opened again—but nothing came out except shaky breaths. It felt like drowning without water.
And yet... he wasn't bullied.
That's the part he always comes back to. He was lucky. Somehow, he was lucky. The kids didn't tear him apart for it, didn't laugh in his face the way he feared they would. Some of them even waited for him, awkwardly, patiently, like they didn't mind the silence as much as he did. He carried that with him growing up—that quiet kind of relief. By the time he reached high school, he even managed to find people who stayed. Friends who filled in the gaps when he couldn't speak fast enough, who didn't push him too hard when he shut down. He had Sunghoon. He had Jay. He had... something close to normal.
And somehow, somehow, he even got lucky enough to have a pretty girlfriend. Pretty, warm, expressive—everything he wasn't. Someone who chose him despite the way his words always came out broken, incomplete, late. It felt unreal. Like he had somehow skipped steps, like life handed him something he didn't fully know how to hold. But he tried, he really did. In the ways he knew how.
He remembers the Art Therapy sessions clearly too. The therapist had a soft voice that didn't rush him, didn't pressure him into speaking when he couldn't. If you can't say it, they told him once, show it. There are other ways to communicate. And Jake held onto that.
Now it feels like a fucking lie. Because if that was enough... then why does it keep ending like this?
Maybe out of all things, love was the most unlucky thing he'd ever stumble into. Everything else in his life had eventually fallen into place—his academics were solid, his routines were structured, his small circle of friends stayed consistent. He knew what to expect, knew how to function, knew how to exist without fucking things up too badly. It wasn't perfect, but it was stable. He was content with that kind of life, the kind where nothing felt too overwhelming, where nothing demanded more from him than what he could actually give.
And somewhere along the way, after high school, after that quiet, unresolved breakup that still lingered in the back of his head, Jake made a decision without really announcing it to anyone.
He wasn't going to fall in love again.
Not because he didn't believe in it but because he clearly didn't know how to do it right.
"And with that, Number 9 saves the day with her vampire speed! Decelis Academy earns another point!"
Jake remember he was 18, on his 12th Grade. The gym was loud that day, packed with students, and huge energy that Jake wasn't used to being around. He didn't even plan on being there. Jay practically dragged him along, insisting it would be "good exposure" or whatever reason he came up with as the school ambassador. Jake didn't argue. He just followed, sitting stiffly on the bleachers, hands resting awkwardly on his knees as he tried to ignore how overwhelming everything felt.
Until he saw you.
It was sudden. Like his brain just locked onto you without asking for permission. A beautiful you in a white jersey and short shorts.
You were already in motion when his eyes found you, your body low to the ground as you received the ball. Your movements were sharp but fluid, fast in a way that made it hard to follow. One second you were on one side of the court, the next you were diving—literally throwing yourself onto the floor without hesitation, arms stretched out, saving a ball that should've been impossible to reach.
Jake blinked. Then leaned forward slightly without realizing it.
You got back up like it didn't hurt. And then it kept happening. You ran. You slid. You split just to receive the ball with your foot, and the crowd lost it. Your teammates shouted your name, your energy feeding into theirs, your presence pulling the entire court together like you were the center of it all. There was nothing hesitant about you. Every move you made had purpose, had confidence, had this raw, fearless intensity that Jake couldn't even begin to understand.
You looked... unreal. Not just pretty. Not just attractive. You looked alive in a way he had never seen before.
Your hair stuck slightly to your face from sweat, your jersey clinging just enough to show the strain of your movements, your legs marked with faint bruises like proof of how hard you played—and still, you kept going. You jumped, arms raised, eyes locked on the ball like nothing else in the world mattered in that moment.
Jake couldn't look away. It's just admiration. Nothing more. The kind of thing people feel when they see someone good at something, someone... bright in a way that makes the rest of the room feel dimmer. That's all it is.
Jake had no plans to actually talk to you. No plans to get closer.
Because it was funny, almost ridiculous, to even imagine it. You—this gorgeous varsity player everyone seemed to orbit around—talking to him? Someone who usually blended into the background unless someone actively looked at him.
When the game finally ended, the noise of the crowd didn't immediately fade. Jake followed Jay down from the bleachers toward the court level. People were already gathering around, phones out.
And there you were. Right in the middle of it.
Jake remembers that part clearly—not just seeing you, but watching you. The way your eyes moved around like you were trying to process the sudden attention instead of expecting it. You looked slightly confused, as if you didn't fully understand why everyone was crowding you. There was a faint awkwardness in the way you smiled, rubbing the back of your neck as people kept approaching.
"Can we take a picture?"
"Just one more!"
"Hey, great game!"
And you didn't refuse any of it. You just... accepted it. Laughing awkwardly here and there, nodding too quickly sometimes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as your teammates got pulled into other groups of students. You weren't dismissive. You weren't annoyed. You didn't act like it was a burden. You just went along with it, like it hadn't fully registered yet that this level of attention was normal for you.
Little kids tugging at your sleeve. Students from other schools calling your name. Boys—more boys than Jake expected—hovering nearby, waiting for their turn like it was something they had to earn.
Jay nudged him. "Want to take a picture with her?" he asks casually. Jake's eyes almost widen immediately. His entire body stiffens for a second. Heat creeps up his neck as he quickly shakes his head.
"H-Huh?" he stutters, voice cracking slightly, before he shakes his head more firmly this time. "N-No."
Jay just grins at him like he already knows. "Come on," Jay says, tapping his back lightly, dragging him forward with easy confidence. "Let's take a picture. She might get famous internationally one day. Did you see her skills?"
Jake doesn't answer. But his feet still move. His eyes—no matter how many times he tries to pull them away—keep drifting back toward you. It's frustrating in a quiet way, like his focus is being stolen without permission. Every time he looks away, he ends up looking right back again.
"Hey, my name is Jay. Nice game, by the way."
Jay steps forward first as he approaches you, holding out a hand. Jake lingers half a step behind him, suddenly aware of everything—his posture, his breathing, the fact that he probably looks like he doesn't belong anywhere near this interaction. You turn toward them, still slightly flushed from the match. Even like this, even when you're clearly tired, there's something about you that doesn't soften. Beautiful. God, you were do damn beautiful.
"Hi, Jay. Thank you? I guess?" You give a small smile, polite but slightly awkward.
Oh God. Up close, it's worse. Not in a bad way—no, not even close. You're intimidating, so fucking pretty! Jake can feel himself shrinking without moving. It doesn't make sense logically—he's taller than you, standing right there, physically closer than most people in the crowd—but mentally, he feels small, your presence fills the space too easily. Like there's no room left for him to exist normally inside it.
"Mind if we take a picture?" Jay asks again, gesturing lightly between the three of you.
"Sure."
Jay immediately shifts closer, guiding the position. And then it happens, you lift your arm and swing it around Jake's back as you settle into place for the photo.
Jake freezes for half a second. Your hand is warm through the fabric of his shirt, you're completely unbothered. But to him, it feels like something entirely different—like a switch being flipped inside his brain. His posture stiffens immediately, shoulders locking up, breath catching slightly as he tries very hard not to react in a way that would make this weird.
But you don't seem to notice. You're just standing there, in the middle of them, smiling naturally now as the camera is raised. Jay is talking about angles or something, adjusting positions, but Jake can barely process it. His mind is too focused on the fact that you are there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to hear breathe. Close enough that if he turned his head slightly, he would be looking directly at you instead of trying not to.
And somehow—completely out of character for him—Jake finds himself smiling.
The camera clicks.
And for a fraction of a second, everything feels suspended—like the world pauses just long enough for him to exist in that moment without overthinking it.
Afterward, Jay steps back, already shifting into casual conversation again, but Jake stays still for a beat longer. His eyes flick briefly toward you again, then away, then back again like a broken reflex he can't fix.
This is nothing. He will eventually forget you. He is sure of that. This feeling—whatever it is—temporary.
Years passed, and Jake ended up exactly where everyone expected him to be—Engineering, decent grades, still had a stable routine. He had a scholarship that eased the financial pressure on his parents. His life, for the most part, had become structured in a way he could actually manage: classes, assignments, study sessions. His parents were still supportive, calling every now and then, reminding him to take care of himself.
Sunghoon was still skating, still grinding through competitions under Decelis. Jay, on the other hand, had started shifting into modeling, acting, random opportunities that slowly turned into actual industry attention. It was strange watching them all move forward in different directions while still somehow staying within reach. Jake stayed in touch with them.
The only thing that didn't quite fit into place was the dorm situation inside Decelis.
It was strict. Too strict in some ways, and ironically not strict enough in others. There were rules—curfews, schedules, restrictions—but somehow the environment still felt messy. People breaking curfew, doors opening and closing late at night, voices echoing down hallways when he was trying to study. His sleep schedule was constantly getting disrupted, his focus breaking at the worst possible times. He couldn't properly revise after a certain hour, couldn't rest when he needed to, couldn't even sit in silence without someone disturbing it in some way.
The only dormmate he had ever managed to properly communicate with was Heeseung.
They weren't close in a dramatic sense, but they understood each other in a way that made living together tolerable. Same academic field, similar mindset—a little detached from the noise around them. Heeseung was the kind of person who could spend hours building something without feeling the need to fill the silence with unnecessary conversation.
"Apartment complex on the streets of the Avenue," Heeseung said one afternoon, barely looking up from the small robot he was dismantling on his desk. "There's a lot of listings for people looking for roommates. Pros—two to three rooms, so you can have your own space."
Jake listened quietly from his bed, one hand resting on his notes, the other scrolling lazily on his phone without really absorbing anything. He tilted his head slightly at the explanation, already interested at the idea.
"Cons," Heeseung continued, pausing to adjust a tiny wire, "it's expensive. And there's like a ninety percent chance you end up with a girl roommate."
Jake blinked. Then looked up properly. "What's wrong with having a girl roommate?" he asked, genuinely confused, like he had missed a very important piece of information somewhere in the logic.
Heeseung finally glanced at him, expression flat, like this was obvious information that didn't need elaboration. "Tension will be too high," he said simply, shrugging one shoulder as he went back to his work. "You might fuck and then everything gets complicated emotionally."
Jake stared at him for a second."...What?"
Heeseung didn't even react much, just continued tightening a screw. "It happens."
Jake leaned back slightly, processing that in the most literal, disconnected way possible. His brain tried to compute it like a formula—input, output, consequence—but it didn't really connect to anything in his actual life experience. He had never thought about roommates in that way. Never even considered that possibility as something that could happen just because two people shared a space.
All he wanted was simple.
A place where he could breathe. A place where no one slammed doors at midnight, where he could actually study before eight without interruptions, where silence wasn't something he had to fight for. The gender of the roommate didn't matter to him.
"Isn't it better than five guys in a dorm anyway?" Jake muttered after a moment, more to himself than to Heeseung. "At least it's quieter."
Heeseung gave a short hum in response, still focused on the robot in his hands. "Probably."
Oh boy—Jake should've listened to Heeseung's cons.
Because the moment he signed the roommate application, everything somehow spiraled into something wayyyyy more complicated. Peace was all he wanted. That was all it was supposed to be. But then reality hit in a way he didn't calculate for, because he didn't know—he genuinely didn't know—that the roommate he'd been assigned was you, until the interview.
And the worst part was how his eyes kept betraying him. He'd look away too late, glance too long, get caught in places he shouldn't be looking at all. Your body, it was like how visible everything felt to him. And yeah—your ass included.
God, you looked different. It was accumulation. Your arms—stronger, more defined, muscle sitting tight under your skin. Your back was broader, posture solid, like you were always mid-motion even when you were just standing there reaching for something in the kitchen. It made sense. You were an athlete. This was normal. Of course, you train, you look like that. That's just how bodies works.
Every interaction made it worse, not better. There was no adjustment period, no gradual easing into comfort, he was stuck being watched even when you weren't looking at him.
The day you walked into the living room and caught him sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scattered Lego pieces, he felt the spike of embarrassment that didn't fade. You didn't even say anything weird, just paused, looked, maybe a little curious. But to Jake, it meant too much.
Same with the time your eyes drifted over his Hot Wheels lined up on the shelf. It wasn't judgment, not really, but his brain filled in the gaps anyway.
And then the conversations—if they could even be called that. Something as stupid as the water bill turned into a full-body experience for him. Words sticking, fingers twitching, shifting his weight like he couldn't find a stable position to stand in. He'd rehearse sentences in his head and still mess them up the second they came out. And every time, without fail, there was that lingering thought afterward: You thinks he's weird. Or worse—you knows he's a loser.
No. People could think whatever they wanted; it didn't change anything... But this didn't sit the same way. Not when it came to you. Because for some reason, he didn't want you filing him away like that, reducing him to the guy sitting on the floor snapping LEGO pieces together or lining up Hot Wheels. There was more.
If he could just say it properly, without his words tripping over themselves, he could explain it. He could tell you about his grades, how he ranked near the top without making noise about it, how he could cook actual meals. He could show you something real.
But instead, all of that stayed stuck in his head, piling up into this silent, useless argument that never reached his mouth. And —why did it even matter enough for him to sit there mentally listing reasons like he had something to prove to you?!
"Wow, lucky you."
Heeseung's mouth literally dropping open as Jake pointed toward the massive tarpulin hanging across campus with your face printed on it.
"She's my roommate."
Heeseung looked back at him, then at the tarpulin again. But Jake... Jake didn't react the same way. His posture straightened just a little. His expression shifted without him realizing it, mouth pulling into something that edged too close to pride—almost arrogant, like he had some kind of claim. He didn't even notice it happening. Didn't catch the way the idea of being linked to you—even in something as basic as living in the same apartment—make him feel good.
"So, did you two fuck?" a question that exactly the kind of thing Heeseung would throw out without thinking twice. And just like that, whatever expression Jake had dropped instantly.
"N-No, what the—?!" Jake voice cracking slightly as his face heated up in seconds. The flush spread across his cheeks, down his neck, his brain short-circuiting in the worst way possible because his thoughts betrayed him, flashing something he didn't ask for. He physically flinched, hand coming up to smack the side of his own head like he could knock it out. "What the hell are you even saying?"
"I embarrassed myself because she caught me messing with Whitey," he added quickly as he shot Heeseung a glare, redirecting the conversation to something else. The robot sat unfinished in his mind.
Heeseung didn't miss a beat. "Okay," he snorted, shaking his head with a grin, "good to know you are never gonna get fucked by that girl."
Of course not.
You were intimidating—still intimidating in the exact same way you were the last time he saw you a year ago, except now it felt worse because you were closer. It wasn't just that you were attractive. It was the way it came with presence that made it hard to relax around you. Your eyes didn't help either— too easy to get lost in if he looked too long. And that was the problem. He wanted to look, to hold it for more than a second, to prove to himself he could act normal—but every time he tried, something in him pulled back too fast.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" You ask him too blunt as he just handle you the advance payment.
"H-huh?" His face went red almost instantly, color blooming across his cheeks as he fumbled with the fabric of his pajama pants, wiping his hands over and over. "I—I don't have..." he said quietly, trailing off as if the sentence itself embarrassed him.
Wait—why would you even ask that? Followed by another question. Are you... interested? Or just curious? That didn't make sense. There was no reason for you to be interested. He barely talked to you, barely functioned normally around you. So why ask? Unless it didn't mean anything. Unless he was reading into it again. It was random. You weren't even that close, barely past basic conversations....
Jake tried not to think about it, tried to force his attention onto anything else, but you cut straight through that fragile effort by suddenly starting another conversation, casually asking what you both should order for dinner while he adjusted Whitey. You were so fucking close. It is overwhelming, scrambling his thoughts. Oh fuck. You were too close—it was going to make him lose his goddamn mind, and all he could think, over and over, was how you smelled—sweet, distracting, pretty, pretty, pretty.
He was barely breathing, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder like looking at you directly might short-circuit him. "Uh... I already ate," he repeated, voice dropping smaller.
"Oh."
Before you could say something, he stood abruptly, movement jerky, still refusing to meet your eyes as he pointed vaguely toward his room. "I—I need to, uh... I have something to do," he said, bowing slightly out of pure habit before retreating.
The moment the door shut behind him, Jake nearly let out a broken whine, his hands went straight to his hair, fingers gripping hard. He exhaled shakily, trying to calm himself, but it wasn't working. His dick was fucking hard— it got fucking hard!
And the third time you initiated something, Jake swore he was probably seconds away from going completely brain dead. He'd been crouched over another half-disassembled robot that Heeseung had dropped off earlier. You appeared again, stepping into his space. Jake would never forget the way you set the ramen down beside him with those pretty smile, and how easily you started talking about your life like none of the tension from before had ever existed.
"Sometimes I wish I was smart instead of just... sport-inclined," you admitted with a half-laugh, slumping your shoulders for emphasis. "Like, what the hell am I supposed to do after I decide I'm done with volleyball?"
Jake wanted to respond. He wanted to tell you that being sport-inclined wasn't something lesser, that there was nothing wrong with it, nothing lacking or incomplete about who you were. He wanted to say he envied you, in a way—your strength, the way you moved through things without hesitating, how you seemed fearless and independent in ways he couldn't quite reach. He wanted to tell you that if you ever got tired of volleyball, there were still so many things waiting for you, paths you could take without losing yourself—but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.
"I'm done for now," you said abruptly, when you notice he isn't talking, you clacked your chopsticks against the plastic before snapping the lid shut, forcing a smile that felt stiff on your face. You stood, shoved the ramen into the fridge with more force and retreated to your room, closing the door behind you.
Jake stayed exactly where he was, staring at nothing, and again, he let out a frustrated exhale, dragging a hand down his face.
When you stopped talking to him, Jake felt it like something collapsing inward. The last time you asked him anything beyond the bare minimum was when he'd come out of the shower early, and you'd only glanced his way long enough to ask if he was done. And after that... nothing. You slipped back into your usual colder distant self—only asking about rent, keeping your eyes anywhere but on him, cutting off any chance for conversation before it could no even start.
"Well, what do you expect?" Heeseung scoffed from across the room, not even bothering to look up at first as he leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched out while he worked on programming the robot in front of him—Bumble, Jake's old Grade 12 project that he'd decided to mess with again. "She's basically just talking to a wall, you want her to keep trying? You think you're that special?" He finally glanced over then, eyebrow raised, unimpressed.
"No! I—I understand her," Jake shot back quickly, his shoulders slumping almost immediately after as if the effort alone drained him. His hands fidgeted uselessly in his lap, fingers curling and uncurling as he struggled to keep his thoughts from tangling. "I just... I wish I could talk about things too... you know... like, actually say stuff... share..." His voice trailed off toward the end, shrinking.
"Booo," Heeseung dragged out mockingly, not missing a beat as he tilted his head back with exaggerated disappointment. "Stop wishing and actually try for once. Jesus, it's not that deep." He flicked a small tool across the desk toward Jake, though it stopped short, clattering uselessly against the surface. "You're just making excuses at this point."
"Why would I?" Jake asked, stubborn in a way that felt more defensive than confident, his gaze dropping to the floor. "It's better this way."
Heeseung's eyebrow lifted slightly at that. And the truth was, Jake had already accepted it—accepted that talking, is... super hard . His social anxiety had settled into him so deeply that the people around him had just adapted, learned to expect less, learned not to wait for him to say anything. Sometimes he wished it wasn't like that, wished he could just... function normally, speak without overthinking every word—but wishing didn't change anything, and he knew it.
So who the hell was he kidding? Himself, apparently.
Because the moment he started working on improving Bumble—adding a small camera, linking it directly to his phone so he could control what it saw and how it moved—he found himself doing something he couldn't even justify. Sitting on his bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen like an idiot while waiting for the front door to open. It was 7:30 PM. You usually got home around that time. The second he heard the faint click of the lock, he straightened up instantly, heart kicking a little harder as his eyes locked onto the live feed.
The door opened, and there you were—stepping inside, unaware and Jake immediately triggered the robot.
"Hi," he said softly into his phone, knowing the word would come out through Bumble in that slightly distorted.
He stayed hidden where he was, safely out of sight, using the robot as a shield between him and you. On the screen, you paused, your expression shifting into confusion as you looked down at Bumble, clearly not suspecting anything, because why the hell would you? To you, it was just a small, harmless robot—not him.
Jake let out a quiet, breathy giggle, biting down on his fist to keep himself from smiling too wide as he watched you respond. Sometimes you greeted it back, and other times you crouched down, kneeling in front of Bumble as your fingers gently brushed over its surface. And every time you did, you ended up looking straight into the camera without realizing it—your eyes filling his screen so suddenly it made his chest tighten. God, your eyes were so fucking beautiful. You were so beautiful. He kicked his feet lightly against the edge of his bed, barely containing the energy buzzing through him, his grin hidden behind his hand as he watched you a little longer than he probably should have.
One time, Jake watched you through his screen as you stepped into your room and quietly closed the door behind you. He lingered there for a moment, thumb hovering over the controls before he slowly guided Bumble away, sending it rolling through the hallway in slow, absent circles.
He kept moving, turning corners, drifting past furniture with no real direction. But then your door creaked open again, and Jake reacted instantly, fingers tightening as he jerked the controls, turning Bumble around so fast it almost tipped before he steadied it and followed you.
The movement was too uncoordinated—he wasn't paying attention to anything except you—and his phone slipped right out of his hand, dropping straight onto his face with a sharp, painful smack.
"Nghh—!" he choked out, the impact rattling his teeth as one of the brackets on his braces snapped loose, sending a jolt of pain through his jaw. But he barely had time to even react, because the screen was still on, angled just enough for him to see.
You were in the kitchen now, dressed in short shorts and a loose crop top that rode up just enough when you moved, exposing more than he'd ever seen before.
You bent slightly over the counter, focused on your phone while absentmindedly eating snacks, completely unaware of the tiny camera pointed in your direction. From that angle—he could see the curve of your body so clearly it made his head spin, the fabric of your shorts riding up just enough to reveal the soft outline of your ass.
"No..." he breathed, his chest tightening as his eyes stayed glued to the screen.
His gaze flickered downward for a second, and that only made it worse, because his body had already reacted before he could stop it. His dick was hard. Fucking hard.
"No—no, no..." he muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a second like it might erase the image that was already stuck in his mind. His face throbbed where the phone had hit him, his teeth aching from the loose bracket he knew would cost a shit ton to fix, but none of that compared to the way his body refused to calm down.
"I'm sorry," he whined under his breath, almost desperate as he grabbed his phone again with shaky hands. He didn't even look properly this time—just caught a brief, blurry glimpse of you still there on the screen before he fumbled with the controls and shut Bumble off completely. The feed cut to black instantly, leaving him staring at his own reflection instead, wide-eyed and flushed, breathing unevenly.
Jake's hands moved quickly, tugging his pajama pants down in a rush. He hadn't even bothered with boxers, and the cool air hitting his skin only made everything feel more intense than it already was. His toes curled against the sheets as his hand wrapped around himself, eyes squeezing shut like that might dull the image burned into his head—but it didn't, not even a little.
If anything, it made it worse, the memory replaying in fragments, the way you bent slightly, the way your body looked so fucking sexy.
His breathing turned uneven until it was harder to control as his grip tightened on his cock. The thought of grabbing his phone again, to open Bumble, tempting. But it feels morally wrong, of course he has a conscience!
A quiet whine slipping out as the image of you catching him—actually realizing what he'd been doing with Bumble—flashed through his head.
"Oh God," he breathed, the words breaking unevenly as his stomach clenched hard at the thought. Why is he getting off at the thought of being caught?! Now he really felt like a fucking weirdo.
His hand stilled for a second before he reached blindly for his phone, unlocking it with clumsy fingers as he opened his messages with Heeseung. His friend had always had this habit—sending pictures of you from games, from practice, from random moments on the court. Jake used to ignore them, but now, he was actually looking, thumb dragging slowly across the screen as he took them in one by one, most of them taken by sports journalists and reposted on the university page.
He kept scrolling faster now, a restless feeling building under his skin as his patience thinned, his hands are getting faster until his eyes landed on one that made him stop completely.
A selfie. He didn't know where the hell Heeseung got it, but there you were, up close, biting lightly onto your medal with a small, tired smile, sweaty and hair slightly messy like it had been taken right after a game. Jake stared at it longer than he should have, his chest rising and falling unevenly, his fingers working through the tip, spreading the precum. God. He wish you could also bite him, everywhere, his neck, his lips, his nippl— bite WHAT?!
His head tipped back slightly, eyes fluttering for a second as he exhaled through his teeth. "Haaa..." he whispered again, his gaze locked onto the screen as everything else faded out around him.
After a few uneven breaths and one last helpless glance at your photo, his body finally gave in to the overwhelming tension he'd been holding onto for too long, his dick keep twitching as it spurts continous cum on his stomach.
He was slumped there in silence, staring at the screen like he didn't know what to do with himself anymore.
heeseung | lol why'd you ❤️ react now to the picture i've sent 2 months ago????
heeseung | that sweaty picture haha nice taste😏
heeseung | you're welcome
Jake's entire face flushed instantly, the heat crawling up from his neck to his ears. It felt wrong, no it's actually wrong! You and him barely even talked, what the fuck is he thinking?! Jake let out a frustrated groan before tossing his phone across the room without even looking, the device hitting the floor near his desk.
It's just attraction. You were pretty—that wasn't something he could deny, not even if he tried—and his body reacting like that... it wasn't unusual, not really. He knew that. He knew it was a normal response!
Jake grew restless as the days dragged on, a quiet agitation settling into him that he couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried to distract himself. He kept checking the time without realizing it, his focus slipped whenever he tried to work on anything else. But also,
it didn't still change the fact that he is looking forward to one specific moment every night.
Well, greeting you through Bumble had turned into a routine.
But one day, that routine cracked without warning. The second Bumble rolled into the living room and the camera adjusted, Jake's small, anticipatory smile faded instantly, his entire expression dropping. You were sitting there, not moving the way you usually did, not reacting the way he expected.
You were crying. His hands lifted slightly toward the screen without thinking, fingers hovering uselessly in the air, as if he could do anything at all from where he was.
You leaned back against the sofa, your body sliding down slowly until you were sitting on the floor, shoulders slumped, exhaustion written all over you. "Everyone has someone," you whispered. "Why... am I such a fucking loser?" you let out a short laugh after that.
Jake just sat there on his bed, staring at his phone. He watched you like this without knowing how to respond.
He wanted to tell you it was okay, that you weren't whatever you thought you were in that moment, that you didn't have to sit there alone like that. He wanted to apologize too—for all the times you tried to talk to him and he shut down, for how absent he must've seemed, how useless he felt now thinking back on it.
Most of all, he wanted to tell you that you had him.
Action speaks louder than words, right? If you thought you were lonely, then he'd prove you wrong—not by saying it, because he clearly couldn't, but by doing something, anything that might reach you in a way his words never could. So he started small, practical, something he could control. If you were hungry, then he'd cook.
"I—I always... uh... cook food f-for dinner..." he managed to say when you walked in. His heart was pounding so loudly it made it hard to hear himself think. He saw the way you paused mid-step before turning your head just slightly, not fully facing him. Jake's gaze dropped instantly, locking somewhere near the floor, his fingers twitching uselessly at his side.
"I-If you want to eat," he added quickly, the words stumbling over each other in his rush to get them out before he lost the nerve entirely, "uh... it's on the table..." His voice faded at the end. He didn't wait for your response and before you had the chance to say anything, he turned and walked off quickly.
By the time he reached his room, he was practically speed-walking, shutting the door behind him a little too fast before leaning back against it with an exhale. "No..." he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to calm himself down, his pulse still racing from something as simple as speaking to you. He paced once, twice, restless energy buzzing under his skin, before grabbing his phone. The familiar motion steadied him a little as he connected to Bumble again, pulling up the camera feed with shaky anticipation.
The moment the screen lit up and he saw you sitting at the table, actually eating eagerly, without hesitation—something in his chest loosened all at once. A wide smile spread across his face. He leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the screen. He had spent hours researching what athletes usually ate, scrolling through articles and videos, and seeing you enjoying it without knowing any of that, made it feel worth it in a way he hadn't expected.
Jake kept cooking for you after that. Sometimes you came home later than usual, the house already dark and settled, and he'd just leave the food covered on the table without saying anything. And every morning, when he stepped into the kitchen and saw the empty tupperware neatly rinsed and the dishes cleaned and set aside, something in him eased just enough to carry him through the day.
"Sooo, you're not actually talking? That's lame," Heeseung said one afternoon, watching Jake from across the scattered parts on the floor. "You're seriously not even gonna try talking to her?" he added, tilting his head slightly, like he was waiting for Jake to say something less disappointing.
Jake paused mid-motion, the screwdriver hovering awkwardly in his hand as he stared down at the loose panel he'd been working on. "Uh..." he started, hesitating as his eyes flicked up briefly toward Heeseung before dropping back down just as quickly. He shifted his shoulders in a small shrug. "I think it's okay...? People don't need conversations all the time," he said.
Heeseung made a face immediately before he pushed himself forward and sat down next to Jake on the floor. "Are you even hearing yourself?" he asked, brows raised as he nudged one of the scattered tools aside with his foot. "You'd rather just... what, keep cooking for her like some silent fucking ghost? That's it?" He leaned back on his hands, glancing at Jake from the side. "Why don't you try something normal for once? Like eating together at the table?"
"I-It's not needed," Jake replied quickly, a bit too defensive as his grip tightened slightly around the screwdriver. "What are you even pointing at?"
"I swear that girl likes you," Heeseung said, sitting up straighter now. "You literally told me she asked if you had a girlfriend, right? People don't just ask that shit for no reason. She wouldn't even bring it up if she wasn't interested."
Jake just stared at him, his mind spinning in slow, uneven circles as he tried to process what Heeseung was saying. It didn't line up cleanly in his head. His lips parted slightly like he was about to respond, but nothing came out, instead, he reached for the water bottle beside him, unscrewing the cap just to have something to do.
"For you to even sit at the same table, you need to ask her to eat dinner with you," Heeseung continued. "And to do that without fucking it up, you need courage—and a script. Yeah, a script," he added, nodding to himself. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee as he spoke, already thinking steps ahead while Jake was still stuck at the starting point.
Jake paused mid-sip, the bottle hovering awkwardly in the air as he slowly turned his head to look at him, eyes narrowing just slightly in confusion. Heeseung, meanwhile, looked completely serious.
"Let's practice some, okay?" he said, already shifting closer. "But when you say it, don't mumble like that—say it straight, no stuttering, and looook..." he dragged the word out, lifting a finger for emphasis, "at the person's eyes when you're talking. That part is important."
Jake swallowed slowly, nodding once. He lifted the bottle again, taking another quick drink but then Heeseung reached out suddenly, grabbing Jake by the shoulder and pulling him just enough to face him directly. "Practice it with me," he said, eyes locking onto Jake's with zero hesitation.
Jake barely lasted a second.
The moment their eyes met, something in him short-circuited completely. The water he'd just taken in stayed in his mouth for a split second too long before it came spilling out in the worst possible way—right onto Heeseung's face.
"You fucker," Heeseung hissed, he wiped his face with the back of his hand, water dripping down his jaw and onto his shirt. He lunged forward, grabbing Jake by the collar and immediately hooking an arm around his neck, choking him.
The next day, Jake decided he should've just ignored everything Heeseung said. All of it. The advice, the assumptions, the stupid "script"—it all felt ridiculous now that he was actually thinking about it on his own. It wasn't necessary. He didn't need to prove anything, didn't need to suddenly change how things were going between you and him. Things were... working, in their own quiet way. He had his routine, you had yours, and there was no risk of him messing it up as long as he didn't push it any further.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face as he tried to settle into that thought again.
Sigh.
You were so fucking pretty.
He clicked his tongue softly in frustration, shifting his weight where he stood in the kitchen. Maybe... maybe inviting you to eat together wouldn't be that bad. He swallowed, his chest tightening slightly as he stared down at the food he'd already prepared, his fingers flexing at his side like he was trying to gather whatever courage Heeseung kept talking about.
"H-Hey."
The word came out before he could stop it. You had just gotten back from practice, heading straight toward your room without really looking around. Jake set the plate down carefully on the table. Eye contact, he remembered. Right. His shoulders tensed slightly as he forced himself to look up when you paused.
And for a moment, he actually held your gaze. Really held it.
The way your eyes locked onto his without hesitation, clear and focused in a way that made his chest tighten instantly. You were even prettier up close! And just like that, it became too much. His gaze broke, darting off to the side as his composure slipped, the brief confidence he had collapsing under the weight of it.
"Let's—I-I cooked dinner," he said quickly, the words tumbling over each other as he gestured vaguely toward the table, his hand a little stiff. "There's a-a lot, so l-let's share."
The moment you sat down and really talk. All of Jake nervousness and loud mind begun to be quiet.
Oh—and it really... felt nice.
Talking to you about random things—music, mostly—like Cigarettes After Sex, of all things, wasn't something he ever pictured himself doing out loud, but it just... happened. And then the next day, you came back holding a bottle of chocolate almond milk, setting it down in front of him, and he just stared at it for a second, genuinely thrown off. For him?! You bought it... for him? there was no way—you knew his favorite drink without him ever saying it!
And fuck, you were cute too. In the little things he kept catching himself noticing more and more. The way you reacted to food, especially the ones he cooked, wasn't something you tried to hide or tone down, and he liked that more than he expected. You weren't picky, didn't hesitate, didn't pretend—you just ate, genuinely, like you enjoyed it without overthinking it. And that smile you always had while eating. Damnnn. You were cute. You were really fucking pretty.
And somehow, without either of you pointing it out, things started to settle into something new. You and him eating together when your schedules lined up, sitting across from each other at the table. Conversations came easier now, sometimes you'd watch movies after, sometimes you'd just sit there, talking about nothing in particular. But most of the time, it circled back to the same thing—eating. You ate, and he cooked. Over and over again. He cooked, cooked, and kept cooking.
Well... of course, with everything he'd been doing lately, someone was bound to question it eventually—even if he hadn't properly questioned it himself yet. From the outside, the things he was doing maybe it didn't look that simple.
"And you're doing all of that because...?" Heeseung asked.
"Because... I'm a... good roommate?" Jake replied almost immediately, the words coming out before he had time to think them through.
"You mean you're doing all of that because... you want to be a good roommate?" Heeseung repeated, his eyebrow lifting even higher as he stared at him. Jake glanced at him briefly, then looked away, his gaze drifting upward like he might find a better answer somewhere above them.
"...Yes?" he said again.
"Dude?" Heeseung's voice jumped, he straightened up, staring at Jake like he'd just said something completely insane. "What do you mean you cook for her all the time, talk with her, watch movies with her—just because you want to be a good roommate? You're literally leading her on."
"Leading her on... on what?" Jake asked, his brows pulling together slightly, the confusion in his voice genuine as he turned back to look at him.
"Leading her on into thinking you like her," Heeseung shot back immediately, his hands coming up as he gestured. "Do you not like her at all?"
...
Jake didn't answer right away. His thoughts slowed, circling around the word. It felt too big, too defined. He knew you were attractive, that wasn't even a question. You were cool, confident in ways he couldn't replicate, and there was a part of him that looked up to you without fully realizing it at first. But stepping past that, into something more specific—it didn't come easily to him.
Was he actually leading you on?
Suddenly he remember his last relationship back in high school. The awkwardness, the pressure, the way everything had fallen apart in a way that left him feeling small, like he'd completely mishandled something he wasn't ready for in the first place. He remembered the expectations he couldn't meet, the quiet disappointment that followed—and how it all ended with him promising himself he wouldn't put himself, or anyone else, through that again.
Maybe that's why he rejected your invite to watch your finals game.
At the time, it felt like the right decision. It was better this way, it would stop you from expecting anything from him, stop things from becoming something more complicated than he could handle. If you didn't hope for anything, you wouldn't be disappointed.
Later that day, after class, when he stopped by to grab food for what he half-considered a small, quiet way to celebrate for you anyway, he saw the ticket. Crumpled in the trashcan . Jake paused mid-step, the takeout bag hanging loosely in his hand as he stared at it.
And just like that, the certainty he'd been holding onto didn't feel so...solid anymore.
What the hell was he even doing? Building you stupid little lego flowers, cooking for you almost every day, sitting across from you and actually talking—even if it took everything in him just to keep the words coming. What was the point of all that? What was he trying to get out of it? Good roommate? That sounds ridiculous!
A good roommate remembers details.
Because Jake remembered things—too many things. He hadn't cared much about sports before, never bothered to look into it beyond surface-level noise, but you... you were something else.
You were everywhere.
Articles, photos, interviews—your name kept showing up in places he didn't expect. A second-year student from Basic Education, sure—but that wasn't the part that stuck. It was everything else. The way sports journalists talked about you like you were something unpredictable, something hard to pin down. The libero who didn't just receive but shut down plays, you who managed to block one of the most well-known spikers from another university! And your high school team? Representing the region at nationals!
Because you never talked about it.
Not once. You never bragged and yet there it was, laid out in front of him in article after article. MVP awards, recognition, comments about your presence on the court—how your looks alone distracted opponents, how your movements were unpredictable enough to throw off entire plays, how you stayed focused on keeping the ball alive no matter what. With the school reputation, you were often called as a Decelis Vampire with your great speed and agility. It didn't sound like the same person who sat across from him eating quietly, smiling over the food he made!
Sports were complicated but you?
You were so fucking cool.
That's why he felt so fucking dumb—so unbelievably dumb for letting things get this far without stopping himself sooner. Every small thing he did stacked up until it stopped being simple and started turning into this mess he didn't know how to handle. Heeseung had warned him and Jake brushed it off as if it didn't apply to him—but now it all circled back.
Living with you, being around you like this, letting things blur—it created tension he wasn't equipped to deal with. Because if he let himself go any further, if he actually gave in to those impulses—to the urge of wanting more, to get closer, to touch, to kiss, to do things he knew he wouldn't be able to take back—he'd regret it. He knew he would.
So avoiding you felt like the only right decision left after having sex. He knows it wasn't fair but Jake has been good at avoiding things, especially confrontation, because he knew how those situations ended for him.
But he underestimated you.
Because of course you weren't just going to let it sit like that. Of course you were going to push, to corner him when he thought he could quietly slip away from it. And that was exactly the kind of situation he wasn't ready to face—the kind where there was no escape, no easy way out.
"Talk to me, fuck it!" you snapped suddenly, your voice breaking as it rose. Jake flinched hard, his shoulders tensing as the sound hit him that made his thoughts scatter even more. Why would you do that? Why would you push him into something he clearly couldn't handle?
Because the truth was—he didn't even fully understand what he felt.
"Sorry... Jake... please," you said again, your voice dropping, almost pleading in a way that made something twist in his chest. Your hands were still there to hold onto him but he moved them gently, guided them off him.
"I like you too much, is that wrong?" you asked.
Yeah.
It is wrong.
You shouldn't feel that way about someone like him, not when he knew he couldn't give you what you deserved. Jake didn't deserve you.
"S-sorry..." he said, shaking his head slightly, his gaze fixed somewhere else, anywhere but your face. "I—I... I don't think I feel the same way, that's why I—I feel guilty... about what happened... sorry."
That's what he felt.
That's what he told himself he felt.
The sound of plastic hitting the floor suddenly made him cut through his thoughts. You got those for him.
And before he could even react—before he could say anything—you were already moving, already turning away and walking out, leaving everything behind.
Jake stood there, frozen, staring at the scattered toys on the floor. His chest felt tight, his thoughts loud and empty at the same time, a heavy stone settling deep in his gut as though he wants to vomit.
Because it felt like his world just... crashed. And the worst part? It felt like he had just lied straight through his teeth...Even though he knew, somewhere deep down, he had tried to be honest.
"You're an asshole." Heeseung didn't even hesitate when he said it. Jake clenched his teeth immediately, his jaw tightening as his eyes shut, trying to ignore everything around him. But it didn't help. All he could see was your tear-streaked face and it kept replaying, over and over again.
Yeah. He knew.
He'd known the moment the words left his mouth, the moment you dropped those stupid fucking toys and walked out without looking back. Guilt stayed in his chest, making it hard to think straight without it twisting everything. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He told himself he was avoiding problems, preventing something worse from happening—but it felt like he just created something worse instead.
Maybe he should just switch buildings again. He was ashamed. He hurt you, badly, and he didn't even mean to—but intent didn't change shit.
But then—
If he left... who the hell would be there for you?
Who would take care of you in the small ways he'd gotten used to? Who would cook, who would notice the little things, who would sit across from you at the table? Would you just find another roommate? Probably. Someone better. Someone who could actually talk without shutting down, someone who wouldn't say the wrong thing at the worst possible moment... What the fuck is he thinking right now?
Did he... actually like you?
Jake frowned slightly, his brows pulling together. Did he like you because you remembered something as small as his favorite milk without him ever saying it out loud? Because you talked a lot, filling spaces he usually left empty, and somehow that didn't annoy him the way it should've? Was it because you were pretty and because people looked at you like you were something hard to reach? Or was it the way you balanced that—how you could be intimidating on the court, but still soft in these quiet, unguarded moments he got to see?
None of it felt... enough.
Or maybe it felt too scattered, too shallow when he tried to list it out like that. Because liking someone was supposed to be deeper than this, wasn't it?
"Hi! We are from Decelis Sport Management! We're handing out flyers to support the Women's Volleyball team—they're leaving the city next month!" A small group stood near the cafeteria entrance, passing out glossy flyers one by one. "If you want to be part of the VIP section with the Decelis Band, feel free to stop by our office!" one of them added, extending a flyer toward a passing student who barely hesitated before taking it.
Jake paused mid-motion, his hand hovering over his notebook as his attention shifted without him meaning to. His eyes locked onto the flyer in someone else's hand—the bold colors, the team name printed across it. Across from him, Heeseung noticed immediately, his brows lifting as he followed Jake's line of sight, then slowly leaned back in his chair, expression flattening.
"What?" Heeseung said, lips twitching just slightly as he tilted his head. "Interested in watching?"
"H-Huh?" Jake snapped out of it quickly, his head turning toward Heeseung as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. He looked back down at his blueprint right after. "No..." he muttered.
"So are we watching Decelis vs. Isabella again?" a nearby student chimed in, leaning over slightly to look at the flyer with interest. "You gonna buy for Day 3?"
"Of course Decelis is making it to Day 3, have you seen their defense?" his friend shot back immediately, already slinging his bag over his shoulder as he stood up. "Come on, let's just grab tickets for all three days now before they sell out." He didn't even hesitate, already walking off with the flyer in hand.
Jake stayed quiet. His eyes flickered up again, catching another glimpse of the flyers being passed around. He doesn't care. He doesn't care.
He found himself standing in front of the Sports Management office later that day, stuck in the middle of a long, slow-moving line. Jake kept his head slightly lowered, shoulders tense, eyes avoiding anyone who might recognize him. Because if Heeseung found out about this he'd never hear the end of it. Probably get smacked in the head too.
"What am I doing..." he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight awkwardly as the line moved forward inch by inch.
To distract himself, Jake glanced toward the bulletin board nearby, his eyes scanning over the countless posters and printed articles pinned up in messy layers. Interviews, game highlights, team features—it was all there. Huh Yunjin—the captain. Aeri Uchinaga. Ning Yizhuo — middle blockers. Faces he'd seen in passing, names mentioned in articles he skimmed through, most of it—
Most of it was you.
Photos of you mid-play, interviews where your expression looked calmer, more composed than he'd ever seen in person. It filled the space in a way that made it impossible to ignore, impossible to pretend you were just... normal, just his roommate. Jake stared longer, his chest tightening with every second he didn't look away.
Oh God.
Jake likes you.
The thoughts slammed into him, so hard and disorienting, like someone had cracked him across the head without warning— No... something did actually hit his head.
"—Oh! S-sorry!" a guy with glasses and messy brown hair blurted out, his voice pitching up in panic as his bag swung awkwardly and smacked straight into Jake's head, his hand coming up instinctively to rub the spot as he blinked a few times. The guy looked mortified, clutching his strap.
Every weak explanation he used to convince himself otherwise—it all crumbled in that moment. Because no matter how much he tried to deny it, no matter how many times he told himself it wasn't that deep.
It all fell apart the second he showed up here, standing in line like an idiot, pretending this was just curiosity.
It all fell apart the second he decided to go to your game, even though he didn't understand shit about volleyball, even though he had no real reason to be there—except you.
And it completely shattered the moment he saw you cry.
It fucking hurt.
"Y-You're bleeding?! H-How is that possible?!" the guy suddenly stammered, his voice jumping in panic as he pointed straight at Jake's face. Jake blinked, confused for a second before lifting his hand again, only now noticing the faint smear of red against his fingers. His brows pulled together slightly, still slow to react, while the guy behind him gasped loudly, grabbing onto his friend's shoulder.
"W-What the hell?! Did you put this in my bag, Keonho?!" the guy who hit him earlier yelped, frantically unzipping his bag and pulling out a chunk of stone that definitely didn't belong there. The guy turned to the other boy beside him, who immediately started denying it just as loudly. The two of them spiraled into a messy argument right there in line, drawing attention from a few others.
His focus had already drifted.
His eyes moved past them, scanning the rest of the line, taking in the small details he hadn't noticed before. People were talking excitedly about you—your last game, your plays, your reputation. The way they spoke about you wasn't just any casual conversation. It was admiration.
There were so many people here for you.
People who weren't awkward. People who didn't hesitate. People who would actually step forward instead of pulling back.
Jake's gaze drifted back to the boy in front of him, still panicking over the situation, completely unaware of the way Jake was staring right through him. Because even then, his attention wasn't fully there—
There were people better than him.
And wasn't that what you deserved?
Someone who would take care of you properly, not just in small, quiet ways but openly, confidently. Someone who would love you without second-guessing every word, someone who would cherish you without needing to hide behind half-efforts.
If you found someone like that... he'd step back.
He'd admire you from a distance, the way everyone else here probably already did, without expecting anything in return. And yeah, if that person hurt you, it would fucking hurt him too. But if that person treated you right—if they gave you everything... That would destroy him.
Because deep down, he knew—
He could've been that person too.
No—fuck that. He wasn't going to just stand there and accept that kind of ending! That felt worse—way worse—than anything else he'd been afraid of. Now that Jake knew, now that the feeling had a name, there was no way he could pretend it didn't exist anymore. Oh my God—he liked you.
Jake let out a sudden laugh, sound like a little unhinged as he stepped forward without thinking. The boy in front of him barely had time to react before Jake grabbed his shoulder, gripping it, his eyes a little too bright. "Thank you," he said, smiling wide in a way that didn't quite match the situation, ignoring the faint line of blood still trailing down the side of his face. "Fuck—thank you!"
The two guys stared at him like he'd lost it—and maybe he had, a little — Before they could even process what was happening, he reached out, snatched the ticket straight from the boy's hand who he saw at the ID was named as Juhoon, and stepped back.
He pushed through the line without looking back, ignoring the confused voices behind him.
Jake wasn't suddenly different.
He still struggled to talk. Still froze at the wrong moments. Still didn't know how to say things the way he meant them.
And even if he didn't know how to say it yet, even if the words never came out right—he wasn't going to just disappear and let things end like that. He'd have to face you again, one way or another, and deal with whatever came with it.
Not perfectly.
But honestly—this time, for real.
"Why is there always some kind of event in Decelis? And why the hell are we attending another seminar?" you muttered under your breath with clear irritation as you shifted your weight in line. The hallway outside the Audio Visual Room felt suffocating, packed too tight with bodies and noise, the air barely moving as heat clung stubbornly to your skin. You closed your eyes for a second, exhaling sharply through your nose, trying to ignore the way your shirt stuck to your back and how every inch of space felt invaded. Students around you fanned themselves with whatever they had—folders, papers, even their hands—but it barely helped. "For what?" you added under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, your patience already running thin.
"Hey! Hey!"
You cracked one eye open at the familiar voice, already knowing who it was before you even turned your head. Karina stood a few feet away in the opposite line, somehow managing to look energized despite the heat, waving at you like she hadn't just walked into a human oven. Your lines moved in opposite directions, slowly dragging both of you closer until you met halfway. You gave her a look—half disbelief, half annoyance—because honestly, how the hell was she still that cheerful in this kind of weather?
"Did you see Ningning at the end of the line?" she asked immediately.
You blinked at her, unimpressed. "What kind of question is that? It sounds like we're not seeing each other later for training or something," you shot back with sarcasm as you wiped at the sweat gathering near your temple. Your mood had already dipped, and she wasn't helping.
Karina just laughed, completely unfazed, pointing at your face before pulling out her small turbo fan and aiming it straight at you. The sudden blast of air hit your skin instantly. "Come on, smile!" she teased, her grin widening as she watched your expression soften just a bit. "We're heading to Santiago next week! Aren't you excited?!"
You made a face at that, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, mostly because the heat was still unbearable and your patience was already gone. Before you could say anything else, your lines started moving again, pulling you apart just as quickly as you'd met. The cool air from her fan disappeared instantly, leaving you with nothing but the same suffocating warmth. You huffed again, this time breathing through your mouth as you tilted your head back slightly, trying to catch whatever little air you could.
"Oh my—hi! Hey—! That's the legendary vampire of Decelis!"
You groaned quietly, dragging a hand down your face as you already knew exactly who that was before even looking. Turning your head slightly, you spotted Ningning, Giselle, and Winter near the edge of the other line, all of them way too loud, way too energetic for this kind of environment. They waved like they hadn't seen you in years, calling out just enough to grab attention from people nearby.
"What the fuck did you all take to have that kind of energy?" you muttered under your breath as you stepped closer when your lines aligned again. Ningning immediately reached out, offering you a pack of gummy bears.
"The weather's so nice, what do you mean?!" Ningning said, completely serious, which only made you stare at her harder. "We saw the band earlier—I'm excited to see Karina do her serve with them!"
"D-E-C-E-L-I-S! GO! GO! GO! GO!" Winter and Giselle suddenly broke into the university chant, and completely unbothered by the stares they were getting. You looked at all three of them with a flat, unimpressed expression, not even trying to match their energy.
"Come on, have a little life! Fix your face!" Winter said, pointing directly at you before reaching over to wipe the sweat from your forehead. "What if someone confesses to you and you look like that? They'll remember that face forever."
You scoffed lightly, brushing her hand away as your line started moving again, pulling you forward inch by inch with the rest of the crowd. "Then they should've picked a better time," you muttered, rolling your eyes as the heat continued to cling to you. By the time you finally reached the doors of the AVR, your patience was hanging by a thread. But the second you stepped inside, the cool air hit you all at once and you almost groaned from relief. You and your classmates didn't waste time, quickly settling at the back near the AC unit, claiming the best spot before anyone else could. It took a few long, dragging minutes before the seminar actually started.
You leaned your face into your palm, elbow pressed against the armrest as you stared blankly toward the front of the room. The spokesperson clicked through slides that looked painfully dull, filled with text that didn't even try to be engaging. Around you, the quiet wasn't peaceful, broken occasionally by soft whispers or the very obvious sound of someone snoring a few seats away. Your eyelids started to droop slightly, blinking slower as your attention slipped further away from whatever was being said. Your thoughts drifted elsewhere—like food. What would they even have after training later? Something decent, hopefully. Or maybe not. Then your mind jumped again, landing on what Karina said earlier—Santiago. Meals. You wondered what they'd serve there, silently hoping it wouldn't be bland, dry, or just straight-up disappointing. You missed good food. Real food. You exhaled quietly. God, you were so fucking bored.
"I guess all of us believe in horoscopes and luck, aren't we?" the spokesperson's voice cut through your thoughts. There was a scattered response from the audience—some murmurs, a few half-hearted replies—and she let out a small chuckle like she expected it. "I see some of us don't..."
You didn't move, your expression unchanged as you stared forward, barely processing the question.
"I guess we can say that fortune happens for a reason," she went on, gesturing lightly with her hands as she paced a little across the front. "It doesn't necessarily mean it's bad, right? Some people believe that fortune favors good people, or that you have to do certain things to gain luck..." She paused briefly, her smile softening just a bit. "But sometimes, what we call bad luck or misfortune—it's just a way of letting us make mistakes."
She let out a small breath, her expression calm as she looked over the room. "Because what is a person," she added, "without flaws or mistakes?"
God, this is so fucking boring. You shifted in your seat, jaw tightening slightly as you stared at the front, not even pretending to listen anymore. Your stomach twisted faintly—not even out of hunger at this point, but just the need to do something else. So you stood up, already preparing a half-assed excuse about needing to pee, not even caring if it sounded convincing. But instead of just letting you slip out quietly, one of the organizers immediately stepped in, lowering their voice as they gestured toward the side. "You can use the bathroom backstage," they said politely. You blinked at them, unimpressed. What the fuck? Why was everything so damn controlled here?
You let out a quiet huff, resisting the urge to argue as you turned and made your way toward the indicated path. The walk felt longer than it should've, your footsteps muted against the flooring as you passed behind the curtains, the noise from the seminar dulling slightly the further you went. You scratched your head absentmindedly, shoulders a little tense as you caught one of the organizers briefly watching you pass. You met their gaze for a second, giving them a look that said yeah, I'm actually going to the bathroom, relax, before looking away again. It felt stupid, the whole thing—like even stepping out for a second needed supervision.
The moment you pushed past the curtain into the backstage area, the atmosphere shifted. It was quieter here, less suffocating, the hum of equipment replacing the droning voice from the seminar. You immediately reached for your phone, already opening your messages and texting Karina without hesitation—how many fucking hours is this seminar again? Your thumbs moved quickly. You leaned against the wall, exhaling sharply as your thoughts spiraled again. Luck. Fortune. Fate. Why were people so obsessed with that shit?It just felt repetitive. Empty. You'd been unlucky most of your life—so what, was that the universe teaching you something? Letting you "grow"? You almost scoffed at your own thoughts.
"O-Oh."
The voice came out of nowhere that make you freeze mid-thought. Your body stiffened instantly, your head turning slightly to the side as your heart picked up faster than you wanted it to.
Jake was sitting near the technical setup, half-hidden behind equipment, like he'd been there the whole time and you just didn't notice.
"H-Hi," you said quickly, forcing your tone to sound casual, like your chest wasn't suddenly tight for no reason. What the fuck was wrong with you? You already knew how this went. You liked him—fine. But he didn't like you back. He made that clear. So why the hell was your heart still reacting like this? It was annoying! You looked at him for a second too long before forcing your gaze away, but it didn't stop your brain from noticing everything anyway—his messy brown hair, the way his glasses sat slightly crooked, those wide eyes that never seemed to know where to settle, his lips pressed together. Even the way his oversized white shirt sat under that black jacket—it all just... fit in a way that pissed you off.
You huffed quietly, trying to steady yourself as you pointed vaguely toward the other side. "I was about to use the bathroom," you said. "You part of the organizers?" Why the fuck were you even talking? You should've just walked!
"Uh... yeah..." Jake replied, eyes flickering toward you before immediately darting away again. "The whole Engineering department... we're volunteering." His words came out uneven, like he wasn't fully confident in them, and for a brief second, both of you glanced at each other—
—and looked away at the same time.
"Ah..." you responded, as you dropped your gaze back to your phone, your thumb moving aimlessly across the screen just to have something to do. You weren't even reading anything—just scrolling, unlocking, locking it again—anything to avoid looking at him for too long. The silence stretched awkwardly between you, uncomfortable in a way that made your shoulders tense slightly. You could still feel his presence there, just a few steps away, like it was pressing in on you even without him saying anything.
"D-Do you need a-anything more?" he asked, his voice hesitant, uneven, like he wasn't even sure if he should be speaking at all.
You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head quickly without looking up. "No," you replied shortly, already done with whatever this interaction was supposed to be. There wasn't anything left to say—at least, not anything you were willing to entertain right now. So you slipped your phone into your pocket, turning slightly toward the curtain again, reaching for the fabric as you prepared to head back into the AVR. Walking away was always easier.
"W-Wait, please."
You paused, your fingers tightened slightly around the curtain as you stopped, your back still facing him, your body going still even as your thoughts immediately tensed. Shocked by the sudden call.
"I-I—..." he started, his voice catching on itself, like the words refused to come out properly. You heard the faint rustling of paper behind you, something unfolding, shifting in his hands. Slowly, you turned your head, then your body, just enough to look back.
Jake stood there, holding a folded piece of paper that he was now struggling to keep steady. His hands were shaking—actually shaking—as he tried to open it properly, his other hand repeatedly wiping against his pants like they wouldn't stop sweating. He looked... off. Nervous in a way that felt more intense than usual, like he'd been building up to this moment for a while and was now barely holding it together.
"I know I have treated you t-this badly and t-there's no such an e-excuse for that action..." he read, his voice stumbling over the words, each one forced out.
What... the hell was he doing?
Your expression didn't change. Not immediately. You just stood there, staring at him, your face flat, unreadable despite the quiet shock settling in your chest. It didn't match the situation—didn't match the way he looked, the way his hands gripped the paper tighter when he finally glanced up at you.
And when his eyes met your completely unimpressed expression—his fingers tightened even more around the paper, the edges crinkling under the pressure like he might just tear it apart without meaning to. For a second, it looked like he was going to keep reading, like he'd force himself through whatever he had written no matter how bad it got. But then something shifted. His jaw clenched, his grip snapped—and the paper crumpled in his hands. Your lips parted slightly, not quite a reaction, not quite indifference either—just caught somewhere in between as you watched him abandon whatever script he thought would save him.
"I'm sorry," he said. It came out raw this time, stripped of the careful structure he was trying to follow earlier. "I'm so sorry for pushing you away after...that," he continued, the words coming faster now, like he didn't trust himself to stop. "I'm so sorry for hurting you... and I'm so sorry for being a coward." His eyes stayed on yours this time, not darting away, not avoiding like he always did—and that alone felt off, enough to make you stay still without realizing it. But his hands betrayed everything else, wiping over his sides again and again, like he couldn't get rid of the sweat.
"I'm so... sorry for taking too long to realize my feelings for you."
You didn't move. Didn't speak. You just stared at him, your mind lagging a second behind everything he just said. It didn't settle right away—it couldn't. Not when it sounded like something you weren't expecting to hear again, not from him.
"I—I really don't know how to talk without fumbling," Jake continued. He dragged a hand up to his hair, scratching at it in frustration, his shoulders tense in a way that made it obvious how hard this was for him. "My thoughts..." he trailed off, almost whining under his breath, like he didn't even know how to explain what was going on in his head. And that's when you noticed his eyes were glassy now, the faint shine of tears building up faster than he could control.
"It's a lot," he admitted. "I—I wish... whatever my mind says every time you talk, every time you share something..." He sniffed, his nose scrunching slightly as he tried to steady himself, but it didn't really work. "I wish you could hear that instead." His fingers curled slightly at his sides, restless. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."
"Because..." he swallowed, his voice dipping just slightly as his eyes stayed locked on yours, refusing to look away now. "I really like you."
Your breath caught immediately, the shift so sudden it almost hurt, your lungs stuttering as if they didn't know how to adjust. Your mouth opened on, ready to respond—ready to question, to say something—but he didn't give you the chance.
"I know it's sudden," Jake rushed out, panic bleeding into his voice as he stepped forward. "I know I hurt you—yes, I hurt you, I-I-I..." His voice faltered, catching on itself as his thoughts tangled, his mouth parting again before nothing came out for a second. He swallowed hard, forcing it through. "I like you a lot, please," he added, more desperate now. "I like you in a way that doesn't... shut up." And then he moved closer again.
"Jake—"
"I want to be your boyfriend!" he blurted out, louder this time, cutting straight through you before you could even finish his name. It was like he didn't even think before saying them. "I want to be the man for you!" he continued, his voice shaking but determined. "I know you're probably thinking I'm not in the right mind for wanting this after everything I did, after all of that—but those things, they just made me realize how much I actually... wanted to be there." His breath came uneven, his chest rising as he tried to keep going. "With you. Around you. Talking—even if I suck at it."
"Wait—"
"You're so pretty it hurts!" he cut in again. "I realized it even before all this—I like cooking for you, I want to be the only one cooking for you. I also like feeding your fish, I—" He paused for half a second, just enough for something worse to slip out. "I love staring at you through Bumble—"
"You're Bumble—?"
"—I love everything about you!" he rushed over you again, not even realizing what he just admitted, completely overriding your question. His face flushed deeper, his hands clenching as he stepped closer again without thinking. "I can be someone you need," he said as though he was trying to convince both you and himself at the same time. "I can take care of you properly, not just... small things, not just hiding behind stuff like cooking or fixing things. I can actually be there, I swear."
His voice cracked slightly, but he didn't stop. "I know I'm late. I know I already fucked this up once," he said, his breathing stayed uneven. "I-I don't have any experience in relationships. I don't even know what I'm doing half the time," he admitted. "But I know I can be someone who shows up to your every tournament—"
Your eyes widened immediately at that, the words hitting you harder than expected. You never told him that. "Jake, I think you need to shut up—"
"I can be someone who listens," he pushed on, cutting over you again, his voice desperate but weirdly hopeful at the same time. "Someone who wouldn't freak out when you're exhausted or pissed or quiet. Someone who'd talk to you through the hard days," he added, a shaky smile forming despite the tears still slipping down his cheeks, his hand coming up to wipe them away messily. "I can learn what you like, what you need—I can—" he stumbled again, words spilling faster again than his brain could filter them. "I'm not experienced at sex at all though, but I—I can learn! I can fuck you hard to knock those stress— I can do that!—"
You moved faster than him this time. Your hand shot up, covering his mouth firmly before he could finish whatever the hell he was about to say next. "Jake..." you said, your eyes locking onto his immediately.
He froze. Completely. His body went still under your touch, his wide eyes staring at you like you just put him in place, a soft and almost stupidly affectionate shining in his stare. And for a second, neither of you moved—your hand still pressed over his mouth, his breath warm against your palm.
"You accidentally pressed the speaker for the backstage, you idiot," you hissed. Your hand was still half-frozen in front of his face, your embarrassment crawling up your neck as the realization fully sank in. From the other side of the curtain, the sudden silence from the spokesperson had already been replaced by laughter, whistles, loud cheering echoing from the AVR like the entire room had just turned into a stadium. Your stomach dropped even further at the thought of everyone hearing whatever Jake had just been saying.
God, you were so embarrassed. Worse than embarrassed—this was catastrophic. You could still hear fragments of reactions outside, like people replaying the moment for entertainment, and it only made your face burn hotter. Jake, meanwhile, had gone completely still for a split second before abruptly pulling your hand away from his mouth like he'd finally rebooted.
"I like you," he said again, suddenly firm, like the embarrassment outside didn't even register anymore. "Let me? Let me prove my feelings to you?" He stepped closer again, not in a rush, but with intent. "Let me prove that I deserve a second chance?"
"Jake, aren't you embarrassed?" you whispered urgently, leaning in just enough to keep your voice from carrying, your eyes darting toward the curtain where the noise was still going. "Press that button and we'll talk later—just stop the audio first—" You were trying to salvage whatever dignity was left in this situation, your tone a mix of panic and disbelief. "It's a yes but press those buttons—"
"I like you!" Jake repeated suddenly, cutting through your sentence again—but this time he laughed right after, like the chaos outside somehow made everything lighter instead of worse. Your eyes shut for a brief second, overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of it all, but you couldn't ignore the way your chest tightened at the sound. "I like you so much!" he added, louder than before, like he couldn't contain it anymore.
That was when the door to the backstage swung open.
"Sim Jaeyun." The voice was strict that instantly enough to kill whatever remaining chaos was left in the room. The dean stood there, eyes locking onto Jake like a warning shot. "Office. Now."
You covered your face with both hands, mortified all over again as the reality of everything hit at once. Jake, however, didn't look away from you—not even for a second. He stood there, biting his lip slightly, eyes still fixed on you like the dean wasn't even the main concern. You peeked through your fingers just in time to see it—him still looking at you like that, like nothing else mattered.
And somehow, against all, you smiled. Just a little.
Jake saw it immediately. His expression softened, a small, breathless laugh slipping out of him like he couldn't help it. But then the dean cleared their throat again, sharper this time, and Jake straightened instantly, forcing himself to move. Still, even as he turned to leave, his eyes lingered on you one last time before he finally followed after the dean.
The controversy of what happened spread faster than you expected, like someone had lit a match and thrown it straight into dry grass.
Your group chat blew up almost instantly, messages stacking, names tagging you repeatedly. Even Karina's name popped up more than once, her messages sitting there unanswered alongside everyone else's, but you didn't feel like responding to any of it. When you showed up for training later, you acted normal enough—smiling faintly, shrugging when people nudged you for answers, letting them complain when you stayed quiet. But it was obvious, even to them, that something had shifted in you. You weren't irritated anymore. If anything, you felt... lighter.
By the time you got back home, you slowly pushed the apartment door open, not expecting anything unusual, and paused the moment your eyes landed on him. Jake was in the kitchen, moving carefully between the stove and counter. Soft music played in the background—Cigarettes After Sex. For a second, it felt like déjà vu, like your life had looped back. But this time, it's more real.
"So you give him a second chance and it's all good?" Karina's words echoed in your head. Of course not. It wasn't that simple. It couldn't be that simple after everything that happened. You stayed still near the doorway for a moment longer, just watching him move around the kitchen like he wasn't even aware of how much your world had tilted in the past day. He didn't look up right away. He just kept cooking, focused.
But it wasn't "all good." Not yet.
You were still figuring him out again, piece by piece, like retracing steps you once ran through too fast. There was hesitation in it, still uncertainty. But now there was something else too. An understanding. He likes you. You like him. That much was no longer buried under confusion or denial.
Maybe it wouldn't fall apart the way you once feared. Maybe it wouldn't be as complicated as it looked from the outside. Or maybe it would be exactly that—and you'd still choose to stay in it anyway. The thought of horoscopes, luck, fate drifted back into your mind again. Fine. Maybe they didn't control anything—but they nudged things in directions you weren't always ready for. The universe didn't have to be loud about it. Sometimes it just placed people in your path and let everything else unravel from there.
Without needing certainty yet, you stepped inside anyway.
"Me Gustas Tu."
Jake always like the stars.
He found himself thinking about how they didn't need to be closer to matter—they just existed, shining anyway, without asking for anything back. It reminded him of how some things in life just... stayed.
He likes fire too.
Not the kind that destroyed things carelessly, but the kind that spread slowly, beautifully, like it had intention behind every movement. The kind that didn't just burn—it transformed, left traces, changed the space it touched. He thought about how it looked when it moved, unpredictable but alive, impossible to ignore once you noticed it.
He likes the sea. The rain. Things that never really stop moving.
And if he had to turn all of that into something—if he had to explain what it felt like when you were around—it wouldn't come out neatly. It would probably sound messy, like him. Maybe he'd say you were like the brightest star he couldn't stop looking at. Or maybe he'd say you were like fire—something that made him burn. Or maybe he'd compare you to the sea, endless and overwhelming in the best way, pulling him in even when he should stay back.
Silly Jake—he really couldn't stop thinking about you, could he?
It was almost annoying how constant it had become, like your presence didn't need you physically there anymore to take up space in his head. Every small pause in his day somehow circled back to you, as if his thoughts had quietly rearranged themselves. Realizing that even silence now felt different when you weren't part of it.
The Volleyball Team had already made their way to Santiago City for the Regional Tournament, and Jake found himself trailing behind the group with a distracted mind. He stared down at his phone more than once, rereading your message that said you had arrived safely at your destination. It was just a normal update—but he kept looking at it anyway. You two weren't anything official yet, not even close enough for anything sweet, still stuck in that uncertain thing of figuring each other out. And before you left, things had been awkward again, the kind of awkward that made conversations shorter than they needed to be. Still, despite all of that, he missed you.
And that was the part that frustrated him the most.
Did everything that happened recently make him more desperate, or just more aware? He didn't even know anymore. It was like the absence of you had made everything louder—his thoughts, his habits, even the smallest pauses in his routine. He found himself wanting things he didn't used to think about before, like hearing your voice without a reason, or seeing you just standing there. God, he sounded pathetic in his own head. A total loser, really, the kind he would've rolled his eyes at if it was someone else.
Jake was almost restless for the entire three days, like his body had forgotten how to sit still without thinking about you. At one point, he ended up just staring at your fish tank for nearly an hour, watching the small movements. It was ridiculous, honestly, the way his attention kept drifting back to anything even remotely connected to you. You were busy the whole time—training, interviews, constant schedules—only messaging him late at night right before you slept, and even then it was brief, tired updates. Your phone had even been grounded by your coach at one point, and Jake nearly dropped his own phone in the bathroom when it suddenly rang with your notification tone. Jake was pathetic, and he knew it.
By the time the university bus was heading to Santiago, Jake had already made himself the first one there, sitting far too early with a bag that he kept checking unnecessarily. He dragged Heeseung along too, who looked half-dead already, yawning nonstop while leaning against his neck pillow. The rest of the group was still boarding, but Jake didn't care much about that part—his mind was already elsewhere, looping back to you even as the city started fading behind the bus windows. The road stretched out ahead, scenery shifting in slow motion, but all he could think about was seeing you again in person. It made him sit straighter without realizing it.
Jake is a loser and Jake is pathetically in love with you.
"I-I heard there's a lot of strong offense on the other team," Jake suddenly said as he leaned closer to the window, watching the scenery blur past. "I'm actually worried about her... what if they hit too hard and she gets bruises again?" he added, already picturing things he had no control over.
Heeseung beside him just let out another long, tired yawn, slouching deeper into his seat. "It's part of the competition, Jake," Heeseung replied flatly, voice dry and uninterested, like he'd answered this kind of concern too many times already. (He actually did)
Jake didn't seem reassured.
"Do you think I can talk to her after one of the matches?" he continued anyway, ignoring the lack of enthusiasm beside him. "Do you think they'll let them eat properly? What if the food is bad? I packed extra food too, and a first aid kit—just in case, so I can help if her hands get worse." He said it all in one breath.
Heeseung only yawned again, louder this time, barely even looking at him. "The sports management already said we're not allowed to talk to the team, Jake," he said lazily. "Not even pictures unless they don't make it to Day Three—which, honestly, I doubt."
Jake's lips pressed together slightly, his shoulders sinking just a little at that. By the time the bus finally arrived at the hotel, Jake was already holding his phone again, thumbs hovering over the screen before he typed out a quick message telling you that the university cheering squad had arrived safely and would be ready for the match. The hotel itself was only walking distance from the stadium—close enough that just knowing you were somewhere nearby made his chest tighten stupidly all over again. But your reply never came. Jake stared at the unread message for a few seconds longer than necessary before locking his phone with a quiet sigh. Of course you were busy. It was your first match, your focus should be there. Still, it didn't stop the anxious feeling crawling around in him anyway.
"Stop fidgeting," Heeseung muttered later as they handed over their tickets to the organizers, watching Jake bounce his leg nonstop while they waited to be stamped in. The entire stadium already felt loud before they even reached their seats, filled with students, chants, instruments, and that made Jake's ears ring almost immediately. They ended up seated near the front together with the band and the cheering squad, surrounded by noise that felt overwhelming enough to swallow him whole. Jake rubbed at his ear absentmindedly, trying to adjust to the volume, but the second his eyes landed on the court—on you—everything else faded anyway.
"Dude, sit down! She's not going anywhere," Heeseung hissed under his breath after Jake practically stood up the second he spotted you. He grabbed Jake's sleeve and forced him back into his seat before he embarrassed himself further. Jake awkwardly fixed his posture, shoulders stiff as he looked toward the court again—and then your head turned in his direction.
For one terrifying second, your eyes met his. Jake smiled immediately, awkward, his braces flashing while his entire face heated up from the attention. You only gave him a small smile in return before going right back to stretching like nothing happened. That tiny interaction alone was enough to make his chest feel full.
Heeseung was right about one thing though—the university wasn't exaggerating when they invested so much into Decelis' Women's Volleyball Team. Jake barely understood the game itself, but even he could tell the difference in level almost immediately. The coordination, the defense, the sheer pressure your team put onto the other side. The match didn't even last an hour before it was over, the crowd exploding into cheers while Jake sat there stunned, staring at the scoreboard like he couldn't believe how quickly everything ended.
And then, just as fast as it ended— you were gone again.
The sports organizers immediately started ushering the cheering squads and students toward the exits before anyone could crowd around the athletes. Jake instinctively stood again, craning his neck over people's shoulders, tiptoeing just to catch one more glimpse of you. He spotted you briefly near the sidelines, shaking hands and getting congratulated by the opposing team before staff quickly surrounded your group again, escorting all of you away toward the restricted areas.
Jake's shoulders dropped immediately after. Jake is pathetic. And right now, Jake felt fucking miserable.
That was exactly what happened on Day Two. Jake barely even noticed Santiago City despite everyone else talking about how beautiful it was, how lively the streets were at night, how there were places they should visit before heading home. None of it stayed in his attention for more than a second because his eyes kept falling back to his phone every few minutes. You would appear at the court for a couple of intense hours, completely alive, and then disappear again. Jake wasn't even allowed to properly approach you. Not a greeting. Not a quick conversation. Nothing. He was expected to just sit there like a normal supporter and wait for Day Three like everyone else. But Jake already knew what would happen tomorrow too—maybe you'd win, the crowd would swarm, organizers would rush your team away again, and he'd end up watching your back disappear for another fucking day. The thought alone was enough to make him restless.
By the time they got back to the hotel that night, Jake looked like he was losing his mind slowly. He kept rolling around on the bed, flipping his pillow over, grabbing his phone every two minutes only to stare at the same screen with no new notifications. His leg bounced nonstop, fingers fidgeting against his stomach while his thoughts kept circling back to you again and again. Heeseung eventually got fed up with the constant movement and straight-up kicked Jake's ass from the other bed.
"For fuck's sake, stop moving!" Heeseung groaned, half-asleep and irritated as hell. "You're making the entire bed shake."
Jake only huffed under his breath, glaring briefly before grabbing his bag and quietly leaving the room instead. Staying still clearly wasn't happening tonight.
Jake was determined now. Tomorrow was the finals, and it was already 10:17 PM. There was no way your team was still doing heavy training this late, right? Maybe you were already asleep. Maybe not. Maybe you were still stuck in some team meeting or recovery session. Jake didn't know, and the not knowing was making him itch. So against all common sense, he made his way toward the other venue building where the sports organizers and volleyball teams were staying. He walked carefully, shoulders tense, sneaking around like he was committing an actual crime before crouching near the grassy area outside when he heard voices nearby. He stayed there awkwardly for almost ten whole minutes, slapping mosquitoes and insects away from his arms while trying not to make any noise.
"Did that bitch literally threaten you?" a voice snapped somewhere ahead. "Just because they won last year doesn't mean we can't beat their ass tomorrow!"
"Giselle," another voice sighed immediately after. "Be the bigger person."
Jake instantly lowered himself further into the grass, nearly flattening his face into the ground before carefully peeking upward. Your team!
His eyes immediately found you among them without even trying.
You walked quietly beside the others, wearing oversized training clothes while lazily eating from a cup of ice cream, your expression tired. You scooped another spoonful slowly before lowering it again, staring into the cup like your mind was somewhere else entirely. Even looking exhausted, even standing half-awake— Jake still thought you looked so so so pretty.
"No, because why the hell would they threaten Yunjin and then give you a dirty look too?" Winter complained loudly, pointing at you with disbelief still written all over her face.
You only shrugged one shoulder lazily, taking another bite of ice cream like it genuinely didn't bother you. "Probably because I stared back," you muttered flatly.
"That's not helping your intimidation allegations," Ningning snorted from the side.
Jake had to physically press his lips together to stop himself from smiling too hard into the grass like a complete fucking idiot.
"I can't wait to beat their ass tomorrow!" Rei shouted dramatically, pumping her fist into the air. Jake stayed crouched awkwardly near the bushes, trying to remain hidden while still watching you from afar like a complete creep. His knees were starting to hurt from squatting too long, insects still attacking him from every direction, but he ignored all of it because you were right there. Then, in the middle of shifting his weight slightly—
Crack. Jake accidentally stepped on a dry branch.
Your entire team immediately went quiet. Jake froze so hard he almost stopped breathing, eyes widening as every single head turned toward the dark garden area where he was hiding.
"D-Did you guys hear that?!" Karina squeaked instantly, grabbing onto Winter's arm dramatically while looking around in panic.
The girls started screaming over each other almost immediately, some backing away while others started speed-walking toward the entrance. Jake slapped both hands over his mouth to stop himself from making another sound, shoulders tense while he watched the group scatter in pure confusion.
"T-there's a bear!"
"Shut up, why would a bear be here?!"
"Then what the fuck was that?!"
Jake stayed completely still for what felt like forever after they disappeared inside, barely even blinking as he listened carefully to make sure nobody was coming back with security.
Then suddenly he heard a one pair of footsteps approaching slowly. Jake squeezed his eyes shut briefly, already preparing himself mentally for getting caught by some staff member or organizer.
"Jake," your voice called quietly through the dark. "Did you know that if you get caught, the sports organizers would probably ban you from joining tournament cheering teams forever?"
Jake's eyes immediately opened again. He slowly peeked his head upward from behind the bushes and found you standing there alone now, arms crossed loosely while staring down at him. He stood up quickly, brushing grass and dirt off his pajama pants awkwardly before giving you the most painfully guilty smile possible.
"H-Hi."
"Hi," you replied, a small half-smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.
Jake scratched the back of his head immediately, avoiding your eyes for a second before forcing himself to look again. "U-Uh... I couldn't sleep," he explained quickly, stumbling over the excuse. "T-That's why I went for a walk... you know..."
You stared at him flatly for a second, eyes slowly moving over his messy hair, oversized hoodie, his bag, and pajama pants that still had grass stuck to them. "How did you even get inside?" you asked finally, brows raising slightly in disbelief.
Jake let out an awkward little laugh under his breath. "Heh..." He rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I... climbed the back gate."
Your lips twitched immediately before you burst out laughing. It caught Jake completely off guard. He stood there frozen, staring at you while your shoulders shook lightly. His chest tightened stupidly at the sight. God, you looked so good laughing at him. Honestly, if this was what it took, Jake felt like he'd climb ten more fucking gates just to hear you laugh like that again.
"Why?" you asked between laughs.
Jake bit the inside of his cheek, his face already turning red under the dim lights. "I..." He hesitated for half a second before forcing himself through it anyway. "I wanted to see you," he admitted quietly.
You blinked at him. "Eh?" Your laughter faded as you tilted your head slightly. "You saw me during the tournament though. Besides, tomorrow's literally the last day. What's the catch?"
Jake immediately started fidgeting again, rubbing his palms repeatedly against his pajama pants like he didn't know where to place his nervous energy. "I miss you," he blurted out quickly before he could overthink it. The second the words left his mouth, his entire face heated up even more. God, that sounded corny as hell. Jake felt like some pathetic high schooler confessing to his crush behind the gym after class.
You stared at him quietly for a moment after that. At the way he kept fumbling with his hands. At the way he couldn't stay still. At the way he looked so genuinely nervous despite already confessing to you in front of an entire auditorium days ago. Cute. So fucking cute.
Your gaze slowly lifted away from him afterward, drifting upward toward the sky above the hotel grounds. The night had settled calmly over Santiago, the stars faint but visible around the huge glowing moon hanging overhead. The breeze was cooler now compared to the daytime heat, soft enough to make the leaves around the garden rustle quietly.
"The moon is beautiful, right?" you asked suddenly, softer in a way that made Jake immediately straighten.
"Huh?" He blinked before quickly following your gaze upward. "Ah—yeah. Right." He nodded awkwardly, staring at the moon, trying very hard to process what was happening.
But while he looked upward, you looked at him instead. At the way the moonlight softened his features, the way his messy hair moved slightly with the wind, the nervousness still written all over his face despite trying to hide it. A small smile slowly formed onto your lips before you finally called his name again.
"Jake."
Jake turned toward you immediately, almost too quickly, eyes wide and attentive as if he'd been waiting for you to say something else.
"I miss you too."
Jake stiffened instantly before the biggest smile slowly spread across his face, so wide it almost looked ridiculous. He looked down for a second, biting his lip like he was trying to stop himself from grinning too hard, but it clearly wasn't working. Even the tips of his ears were red now. God, he looked so stupidly happy over four words.
Somehow, the two of you ended up sitting together on one of the benches in the garden afterward. The awkwardness was still there, but it no longer felt painful. You found yourself telling him random things about your day without even realizing it—complaining about the freezing showers in the athlete dorms, the way Giselle almost started a fight earlier, how your coach yelled at the team because someone forgot their jersey during practice.
Jake listened to every single word carefully.
And somewhere in the middle of your rambling, he suddenly started pulling snacks out of his bag one after another.
"W-What?" he mumbled shyly when you stared at the pile forming beside him. "I thought... maybe the food here sucks."
"You packed this much?" you snorted, staring at the ridiculous amount of food. Chips, bread, bottled drinks, chocolate bars, even packed containers wrapped carefully inside towels to keep warm.
Jake only shrugged awkwardly. "I thought you might get hungry."
Now your legs were comfortably stretched across his lap while the both of you shared snacks. Jake sat there quietly rubbing mint oil carefully onto the bruises forming around your calves and hands after today's match, his touch gentle despite how concentrated he looked. His brows furrowed slightly every time his fingers passed over darker bruises.
"Does this hurt?" he asked softly at one point, thumbs carefully pressing against your calf.
"A little," you admitted honestly before shoving another chip into your mouth.
Jake immediately eased the pressure after that. The silence afterward felt comfortable enough that your thoughts wandered again, eyes lifting toward the dark sky while the cold minty feeling spread across your sore skin. "Do you think people lose because they don't train enough?" you asked suddenly. "Or just because that's their fate?"
Jake's hands paused briefly on your leg before continuing slower this time. You huffed softly, tossing another chip into your mouth while staring at the stars. "If we lose tomorrow... does that mean we didn't work hard enough?" you continued. "Or maybe fortune just doesn't favor us."
Jake hummed quietly under his breath, clearly thinking carefully before answering. His eyes lifted toward the sky for a second too before he looked back down at your legs again. "I..." He hesitated slightly. "I guess that's what life is?"
You turned your head toward him while he continued massaging your calf slowly. "Life is unfair," he murmured quietly. "But that's just... how it works sometimes. We don't always hold the fortune. We don't always hold our own fate either." His fingers slowed absentmindedly against your skin. "Some people work hard and still lose. Some people barely try and somehow still win."
The breeze shifted softly around the two of you, carrying the distant sounds of traffic somewhere outside the hotel grounds. You looked at him carefully for a moment before asking quietly— "Do you believe in luck?"
Jake paused for a moment. His hand slowed slightly on your skin before he gave a small shrug of his shoulder. "I don't know?" he admitted honestly. "Sometimes it makes sense, sometimes it doesn't." He glanced down at your leg again while continuing to massage it gently. "But I got my horoscope read once... they said luck favors me," he added with a faint, awkward smile. "Dunno if it's true though."
That familiar half-smile formed on his face again after he said it. You stared at him quietly while he focused back on your bruises, fingers pressing lightly in slow, careful circles. In that moment, something in your chest tightened again. It felt stupid and obvious all at once, like your thoughts had already made up their mind. An unlucky you sitting here beside someone who casually talked about luck like it followed him around. What were the odds of that, really?
Ooooh, you're foolishly in love with this boy.
You exhaled softly. "I guess I just need to stick with you," you muttered with a small, almost teasing smile
The stadium was completely packed, like the entire city had decided to squeeze itself into one arena just to watch this match. The energy felt heavier too, everyone already knew this wasn't going to be an easy game. Jake could feel his ears ringing nonstop from the overlapping chants, drums, and screams echoing from every direction. Compared to Day One and Day Two, today felt sharper somehow. Heeseung, sitting beside him, kept laughing at the absurdity of it all—especially how the Decelis band and Isabella's band had basically turned into competing sound systems, blasting music louder and louder just to outdo each other while waiting for the teams to arrive.
"Today we are here to witness another rough battle in the Region!" the commenator announced through the speakers.
The crowd immediately exploded into noise again, shaking the entire structure. Jake flinched slightly at the volume, but he didn't look away from the court even for a second. The introductions began, one team after another stepping into the court under flashing lights and roaring applause. When Isabella's team was introduced, something about the atmosphere shifted.
"It's them! It's them! Oh my God, it's going to start!" the cheering squad beside them squealed loudly, practically jumping in their seats.
Your team walked out. The moment you appeared with the rest of the players, the crowd somehow got even louder, people waving banners, shouting names, and snapping photos like crazy. You moved confidently across the court, waving casually at the audience.
The moment your eyes landed on his direction, Jake reacted instantly without even thinking. He yanked off his hoodie in one quick motion, revealing the shirt underneath that had your face printed on it. For a split second, the entire section near him went quiet in shock. Your mouth literally fell open on the court, frozen mid-step, while even Heeseung slowly turned his head toward him with disbelief.
Jake caught sight of your lips curling into a bright smile as you stretched on the court, rolling your shoulders and loosening your arms. Without even realizing it, Jake found himself smiling too.
The game started almost immediately after introductions. Isabella's team was exactly what everyone warned about, a way that made every rally feel like a fight for survival. The difference between the two teams was small on the scoreboard, but on the court it felt massive, like every point was being ripped out instead of earned easily. Jake could feel himself tensing up more and more with each exchange, leaning forward in his seat without realizing it, breath catching every time the ball flew too close to your side. And every single time you dove—actually threw yourself across the floor to save a point—Jake reacted like he was the one getting hit. Ouch!
He grabbed Heeseung's arm at one point without thinking, squeezing too hard as he watched you slide across the court to receive a brutal spike. "Oh my God—she's gonna break something!" Jake muttered under his breath. You just got up like it was nothing, brushing your hands off and getting right back into position like your body didn't even register pain the same way normal people did.
"D-E-C-E-L-I-S! GO! GO! GO! GO!" Jake and Heeseung shouted together every time your team scored. He barely even noticed his voice getting hoarse, or the way his hands kept clenching the balloon tighter every time you made a play. All he knew was that you were out there, and everything else in the world felt like it was moving too fast to matter except that.
In the middle of the match break, Jake stayed frozen in his seat, eyes locked on your back as you stood near the sidelines. The number nine on your jersey stood out clearly. Your coach was talking to you at a steady pace, gesturing toward the court while you drank water from your bottle, nodding along with full focus even though your attention still seemed half on the ongoing match. Jake noticed everything—the way your shoulders rose and fell with controlled breathing, the way your grip tightened slightly around the bottle, and especially the way your eyes kept drifting back toward his direction every few seconds.
Something about it made his entire body feel strange.
The atmosphere in the stadium was still heavy, but inside Jake's chest everything suddenly felt... lighter. He didn't fully understand it, just that his thoughts slowed down in the middle of all the noise, like someone had briefly turned the volume of the world down just enough for him to breathe properly. Even his grip on the balloon loosened slightly without him noticing. And then, just as you turned away from your coach and started walking back toward the court, you gave him a soft smile.
Outside of this moment, people might've laughed at him for it, told him he was just being stupidly emotional, maybe just too deep in whatever this feeling was. They'd probably say it was just excitement, or he was just being corny in love. But Jake knew it wasn't that simple. It didn't feel chaotic the way nerves usually did.
It felt like the universe was saying something without using words.
He watched you step back onto the court, adjusting your position, rolling your shoulders once like you were resetting yourself completely. The light caught your face again, the sweat, the focus, the calm intensity in your eyes that made you look even more unreal than before. Pretty wasn't even enough of a word for it anymore in his head—it didn't feel big enough. Jake swallowed slightly, and his chest still felt oddly calm despite everything happening around him.
If passing down luck was possible, he'd give it all to you without hesitation.
But then again... you didn't look like someone who needed it.
Jake leaned forward slightly again, eyes tracking your movement as the whistle signaled the return of play.
Because deep down, he already knew it. One hundred percent. You were going to win.
"Oh ho ho ho! The Decelis Vampire is everywhere!"
The commentator's dramatic voice echoed through the stadium the moment you made another impossible receive, earning an explosion of screams from the audience. Jake breathed out shakily from his seat, fingers tightening around the edge of the banner resting on his lap as he stared at the scoreboard again. The difference between the two teams was still small enough to keep everyone tense, but something had clearly shifted after the last timeout. The second the whistle cut through the court again, Decelis moved like a completely different beast—every point started stacking one after another until even Isabella's side looked rattled trying to keep up.
You barely even felt your body anymore at this point.
The ball flew toward your side again and your feet moved before your thoughts could catch up, reacting after nearly two hours of nonstop rallies. Your hips still throbbed from the brutal spike you received earlier. Your knees burned too. Your shoulders felt heavy. One hour and forty minutes of constant passing, diving, receiving, running—it was exhausting enough to make your vision blur briefly every time the whistle paused.
You wanted to lie down. Just for a little while.
You turned your head for during the rotation shift and your eyes immediately found Jake again in the crowd. He wasn't screaming now like the others. He was sitting there quietly, staring at you with that same soft expression that always made your chest feel strangely warm no matter how exhausted you were. His hoodie was gone, exposing that ridiculous shirt with your face on it while his glasses reflected the lights.
And suddenly, more than resting— you wanted to go home. Home with him.
God knew what Jake probably sacrificed just to be here. You knew how sensitive he was with noise, how he usually avoided crowds because they overwhelmed him too quickly. He probably already missed his strict eight o'clock sleep schedule too, and judging from the dark circles faintly visible under his eyes even from the court, he was definitely running on pure determination alone right now.
Your chest tightened briefly at the thought.
Then the ball came flying toward your side again.
You inhaled sharply through your nose and threw yourself forward immediately, diving hard against the court floor to receive it cleanly before it could touch down. The impact stung violently against your body, but the sharp whistle blowing right after mixed instantly with the deafening screams erupting around the stadium.
"With the score of 58 and 61!" the announcer shouted over the roaring crowd. "Decelis advances their way to Nationals!"
Your teammates screamed immediately, some collapsing onto the floor while others tackled each other into hugs near the net. But while everyone else got swept into the excitement, you pushed yourself upright almost immediately, one hand clutching your hip as the pain shot through your side. Your entire body ached violently now that the adrenaline was wearing off, but you barely paid attention to it. Your eyes were already searching through the crowd.
Searching for one person.
Jake froze in his seat the second he realized you were walking directly toward his section.
At first, he genuinely thought maybe you were heading somewhere else. Maybe toward the cheering squad. Maybe toward your managers. But then you kept coming closer, eyes locked onto him so directly that his stomach immediately flipped hard enough to make him dizzy. Jake stood up hesitantly, nearly fumbling the balloon in his hands in panic.
"H-Hey—what are you—"
One of the sports organizers instantly moved when they noticed you approaching the spectator bounds, clearly about to stop Jake from stepping forward too far. But before they could say anything else, Heeseung grabbed the organizer by the shoulder with a grin already forming on his face.
"About fucking time." Heeseung snorted.
Jake barely even processed any of it, because the next thing he knew— you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him.
Hard.
The entire stadium around him exploded louder somehow, a mixture of screaming, cheering, and scandalized reactions crashing together while cameras immediately started flashing toward your direction. Jake's brain completely short-circuited on the spot. His eyes widened for half a second in pure shock before he melted into it almost instantly, hands shakily grabbing your waist despite how badly they trembled.
He kissed you back immediately. Like he'd been wanting to do it forever.
The kiss wasn't neat either. It was breathless and messy. Jake could barely think properly through the pounding in his chest, through the warmth of your lips against his, through the realization that this was actually happening in front of thousands of people. Somewhere behind him, Heeseung was screaming like a maniac while the Decelis cheering squad lost their minds completely.
The moment the kiss broke, reality crashed back into your body all at once. The sharp pain shot through your hips agin, forcing a quiet wince out of you as your hand immediately clutched at your waist. Jake noticed instantly. His entire expression changed from happiness to panic in less than a second, hands carefully moving to steady you before you could lose your balance.
"What's wrong?" he asked immediately as he held you closer against him.
"I want to go home," you muttered quietly instead, your forehead falling against the side of his neck as your body sagged closer to him.
Jake's breath caught instantly. The simple weight of you leaning into him like that nearly made his heart stop despite the worry crawling all over him. He adjusted his hold carefully around your waist, supporting more of your weight without even thinking about it.
"Let's get your hips checked by the medic first," he said softly, already glancing around for staff. "Y-You landed hard earlier..."
But before he could keep rambling nervously, you whisper tiredly against his neck. "I didn't expect to feel this much for you, Jake."
Everything inside him went warm, so suddenly that he physically felt it in his chest, that overwhelming fluttering sensation exploding all over again until his stomach twisted painfully with it. Jake swallowed hard, blinking rapidly behind his glasses while trying to process the words properly. God, you were going to kill him like this.
Carefully, almost shyly now despite the public eyes around you, Jake leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead. "Me too...me too." His hand rubbed gently against your side afterward, thumb moving in slow comforting strokes while he silently lifted his other hand to signal one of the medics nearby for assistance.
EPILOGUE
It took you a long time to actually sit down and reflect on everything that had happened.
For years, you kept convincing yourself that luck was random—that some people were simply born under better stars while others just had to survive whatever scraps the universe threw at them.
Unlucky with money, unlucky in your love life, unlucky in your sex life.
Things never came easily for you. Even when people admired you—your skills, your looks, your confidence on the court—they never really saw the exhausting parts underneath it. The loneliness. The constant feeling that you always had to fight twice as hard just to keep your head above water while pretending you were doing perfectly fine. Maybe that was why you became so cynical about all those stupid talks about fate, fortune, and luck. Maybe it was easier to roll your eyes and call everything bullshit rather than admit that deep down, you were terrified the universe simply wasn't built in your favor.
But maybe luck wasn't random at all.
When you really thought about it, you had spent so much time expecting disappointment that you stopped recognizing the good things while they were happening. You focused too hard on what was missing instead of what stayed. Sure, being broke sucked. It absolutely fucking sucked. And no amount of positive thinking magically fixed empty wallets, bruised feelings, or difficult lives. But somewhere along the way, you realized you had also started carrying your own unhappiness like proof that life owed you something cruel.
Maybe you lacked optimism. Maybe you lacked faith in anything getting better because the universe kept throwing the same shit at you over and over again until you got tired of trying to hope differently. That feeling was valid too. You had every reason to become guarded after everything. Every reason to distrust happiness when it rarely stayed long enough before. But lucky people... they weren't always lucky because life was easier for them. Sometimes they were lucky because they allowed themselves to reach for things anyway. To risk failure. To risk doing something. Even when they are afraid.
"Open! Open! Daily cleaning at 9:00 AM!"
A long groan dragged out of your throat as the tiny robotic voice echoed outside the bedroom for what felt like the tenth time already. The curtains were still completely shut, the blackout fabric drowning the room in soft darkness despite the late morning sun outside, and you had been enjoying every second of sleeping. The apartment was comfortable and so warm, and honestly, you would rather die than get out of bed right now. But the damn robot kept knocking itself repeatedly against the door with persistence, its tiny speaker chirping louder every few seconds.
"Jake," you mumbled sleepily, eyes still closed as you reached behind you to tap the arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his legs tangled carelessly with yours beneath the blanket. You felt him stir a little, burying his face deeper into the back of your neck while muttering something under his breath, but the knocking outside only continued. "Jake, make Mo stop," you complained softly, but instead of moving, he only tightened his hold around you and pulled you closer against his chest with a sleepy little sigh.
"Open! Open! Daily cleaning at 9:00 AM!"
"Jake, baby," you called again, dragging the word out this time while lightly smacking his wrist. He groaned lowly against your shoulder, clearly refusing to leave the bed, and his hand slowly slipped underneath your shirt just to lazily trace circles against your stomach. The touch made you exhale softly despite yourself.
Outside, the robot continued its relentless banging, but Jake ignored it completely, pressing slow kisses against the side of your neck instead. His morning voice came out quieter than usual, rough and soft all at once as he whispered, "Can I touch?"
You groaned again but gave him a small nod anyway. The second he got permission, his hand slid higher, squeezing gently at your chest while his lips continued wandering across your skin with lazy affection. You tilted your head back slightly, giving him more room, and he took full advantage of it immediately, kissing along your jaw before lifting his sleepy eyes toward you. His glasses were missing somewhere on the nightstand, his brown hair sticking out everywhere. "Kiss, please," he whispered lazily, already leaning closer before you could even answer.
You kissed him just to shut him up.
Jake immediately melted into it with a soft whine. His lips moved slowly against yours, still half-asleep, but it quickly deepened when his hand tightened around your waist and pulled you on top of him. The blanket shifted around your tangled bodies while the robot outside continued yelling about cleaning schedules. Jake kissed like he was addicted to it now, messy and affectionate and greedy all at once. Even after years together, he still kissed you with the same overwhelming softness that made your chest ache.
And honestly, both of you already knew one thing for sure. Jake absolutely loved kissing you.
"Open! Open! Daily cleaning at 9:00 AM!"
You groaned softly against Jake's lips before finally pulling away from the kiss, your forehead still resting briefly against his while you tried to gather enough energy to function properly. "Open the door for Mo," you muttered lazily as you pushed lightly at Jake's chest to make him move. Jake only huffed in protest, clearly offended at being forced out of bed, scratching messily at his hair before reaching around blindly for his glasses on the nightstand.
You stayed sprawled across the bed while watching him stand up with slow sleepy movements. His oversized white shirt hung loosely over his frame, exposing his legs beneath the thin black shorts he had thrown on before sleeping, and you couldn't help staring for a second as he shuffled toward the door. The moment he opened the bedroom door, Mo immediately rolled inside without hesitation, spinning once before beginning its programmed cleaning route across the floor.
"You seriously need to stop adopting Heeseung's robots," you complained while sitting up properly, stretching your arms above your head until your back cracked pleasantly. "We can literally clean by ourselves."
Jake yawned loudly while adjusting his glasses up the bridge of his nose, already turning around to drag himself back toward the bed with clear intentions of trapping you there again. Before he could grab your waist, you quickly stood up and reached for your shorts from the floor. "Jake, it's already nine," you reminded him while pulling them on. "Training starts at one. I still need to fix my stuff and prepare."
A long miserable whine immediately left his throat at that.
Jake had become even clingier than before. Not that you were complaining. Things had changed between the two of you. Jake no longer slept exactly at eight in the evening because most nights ended with both of you curled together on the couch watching movies until late, stealing kisses during slow scenes, or getting distracted halfway through and stumbling into the bedroom instead (sex). You did feel a little guilty sometimes since he used to be so strict with his routines, but Jake always brushed it off immediately whenever you brought it up.
Honestly, the man acted like a giant koala now.
The second you moved too far away from him, he would cling right back onto your side without shame. While you were fixing your hair in front of the mirror, Jake wrapped both arms around your waist from behind again, pressing his face against your shoulder while Mo continued cleaning nearby. "Stay in bed," he mumbled weakly against your skin, still sounding sleepy. You snorted softly at the feeling of him practically hanging his whole weight onto you, but your hand still reached up automatically to fix the messy strands of his hair away from his glasses.
"You say that every morning," you muttered.
"Because every morning you leave me," Jake replied dramatically, tightening his hold around your waist while you laughed quietly under your breath.
Your eyes drifted past Jake's shoulder toward the wall, landing on the collection of medals, framed certificates, and trophies lined neatly across the shelves. Some were old awards from high school, others were from university tournaments, and a few still had ribbons tangled together because you had been too lazy to organize them properly after Nationals. Jake had insisted on displaying every single one of them anyway, even the participation plaques you thought looked ugly. You smiled quietly to yourself before looking back at your boyfriend standing in front of you,. Sometimes it still hit you unexpectedly—how impossible this whole thing used to feel.
Who could thought? You had your six months of sharing an apartment with someone who barely looked you in the eyes.
Back then, you genuinely thought Jake would remain nothing more than the quiet engineering student that have an addiction to legos and hot wheels. And now? Now he stood in your apartment kitchen every morning half-asleep while cooking your meals, whining whenever you left the bed too early, kissing your forehead.
Jake became your person.
You stepped closer and pressed a quick kiss against his lips before walking past him toward the living room. Jake immediately followed after you without hesitation, dragging his feet lazily across the floor while scratching the back of his neck. You crouched beside the fish tank to feed your fish while listening to the familiar sounds of him moving around the kitchen behind you. Jake had developed this habit of cooking both your breakfast and lunch every single training day no matter how many times you told him he didn't have to. He always answered the same way too.
"I want to."
After feeding the fish, you returned to your bedroom to finish packing your things for training, tossing extra clothes and towels into your duffel bag while mentally checking your schedule for the day. You were halfway through folding your jersey when something bumped gently against your ankle. Looking down, you immediately recognized the small robot staring up at you with glowing blue eyes.
Bumble tilted slightly like it was waiting for attention, the tiny camera blinking while its mechanical voice chirped softly. "Hi!"
"Jake, the food," you called out immediately while staring directly at the robot's camera.
You heard his laugh from the kitchen almost instantly.
A few seconds later, Jake appeared in your doorway with that stupid soft smile on his face, walking straight toward you just to lean down and steal another kiss. He adjusted the whistle hanging around your neck afterward, fingers brushing gently against your skin before stepping back. "Ay yay, captain," he teased quietly, earning an immediate scoff from you despite the smile pulling at your lips.
Nationals still sat heavily in your chest sometimes.
Third place. Not first. Not the championship everyone had dreamed about during those exhausting practices and sleepless nights. It had hurt watching the seniors cry after the final match, hurt even more realizing that people like Karina, Winter, Ryujin, Yeji, and Yunjin were really leaving now that graduation had finally caught up to them. Every practice lately carried this strange emptiness that you still hadn't fully adjusted to. You missed them badly if you were being honest. No future teammates, no future victories, no future season would ever replace the bond all of you built together.
But endings did not always mean loss. That was something life had slowly forced you to understand.
After finishing your packing, you wandered out of your room and toward Jake's almost absent one out of pure habit. The door was slightly open already. It had honestly been a while since Jake actually slept here properly considering he spent nearly every night tangled in your bed instead. Still, the room looked painfully like him—organized in his own way and filled with little traces of the things he loved.
Your eyes drifted toward the transparent shelves mounted carefully against the wall. Hot Wheels lined up in neat rows beside completed Lego builds he had spent hours working on during stressful nights, some of them gifts from you, others things he proudly bought himself after passing difficult projects or exams. Mo sat charging quietly near his desk now beside scattered engineering blueprints, and one of your old volleyball wristbands was looped carelessly around its antenna. You smiled softly at the sight before dropping yourself onto his bed with a tired sigh, sinking into the familiar mattress while staring up at the ceiling.
It only took a few seconds before the bed dipped beside you.
Jake crawled in next to you without a word, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rested against your shoulder while his legs tangled with yours. "It's honestly useless renting a separate room when you basically live in my bed now," you muttered with amusement while turning slightly toward him. Jake only hummed quietly in agreement, tightening his hold around you instead of denying it. "And both of us are graduating soon too... oh my God."
No more university tournaments. No more scrambling through deadlines and practices and late-night study sessions with Jake. Life was shifting again, slowly moving forward whether you were ready or not. For a moment the room fell quiet and when you looked back at Jake, you noticed him staring at you strangely.
You frowned slightly under the weight of his gaze. "Is there a problem?"
"I love you," he said immediately, without hesitation, like breathing.
The words came out so naturally now compared to before. No stuttering. No panic. No fumbling over syllables while avoiding eye contact. Jake said it softly but confidently, eyes fixed completely on yours. Your expression softened almost instantly, and you moved closer to wrap your arms around him properly. "I love you too, silly," you murmured while caressing his cheek gently with your thumb.
Jake leaned into your touch immediately.
"Remember when you told me before..." he started quietly. "About not knowing what to do after volleyball?" Your brows lifted slightly at the sudden topic change, but you nodded anyway while continuing to stroke his hair back from his forehead. Jake swallowed before continuing. "I wanted to say a lot back then. I just couldn't." He laughed weakly at himself before looking back at you again. "But you can literally do anything. You could teach, or coach, or maybe start some weird fish business—"
You snorted softly.
"Jake," you interrupted with a smile. "I already told you. I'm planning to continue volleyball professionally. I'm aiming for the league now. I'm not stopping."
"—Or maybe..." Jake suddenly cut in quietly.
His arms loosened around you.
"Live with me."
Your smile faltered slightly in confusion as you slowly pushed yourself upright on the bed. Jake followed your movement immediately, but instead of sitting beside you again, he slid off the mattress completely. Your eyes widened the second you realized what he was doing.
Jake was kneeling on the floor.
"Jake," you said slowly, staring at him in complete disbelief while your heartbeat immediately started climbing into your throat. He looked nervous all over again for the first time in years, hands visibly shaking while he pushed his glasses higher up his nose. His cheeks were already bright red, his breathing uneven, but he still kept looking directly at you despite how terrified he obviously was.
Then he reached into his pocket.
"Oh my God," you whispered instantly.
"I have a proposition to make," Jake breathed out nervously. His fingers shook so badly while opening the small velvet box that you were half afraid he was going to drop it onto the floor entirely. But the second the lid flipped open, your breath caught hard in your throat. A ring rested inside, and the sight of it hit you so suddenly that your eyes immediately started burning with tears.
Jake noticed instantly and panicked a little.
"I-I will support you through everything," he rushed out quickly, voice trembling while he looked up at you from the floor. "Your league, internationals, all of it. I swear I will. I-I'll keep loving you, deeply, openly..." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his own eyes glossy now behind his glasses. "I know you'll probably think this is too early—"
"Jake, no," you interrupted immediately, shaking your head so fast your vision blurred slightly. The tears were already slipping down your cheeks now, but he misunderstood the reaction immediately because of course he did. Jake's face fell for a split second, panic flashing all over his expression before he hurriedly continued speaking again.
"But it doesn't mean we have to do everything immediately," he said quickly, almost pleading now as he shifted closer on his knees toward the bed. "I just... I want a future with you... Live with me? Not as roommates anymore, but really with me. As my lover. My person." His voice softened shakily near the end, his eyes refusing to leave yours despite how emotional he looked now. "And someday... as my wife."
The room suddenly felt too small for your heartbeat. For a second, all you could do was stare at him kneeling there beside the bed—the same quiet boy who once could barely survive a single conversation with you now looking at you like you were the center of every future he wanted. Jake's hands were still trembling around the ring box while he waited, breathing unevenly, clearly trying not to completely spiral if you stayed silent too long.
A wet laugh escaped your mouth suddenly as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand. "You're so fucking unfair," you whispered shakily, which immediately made Jake look even more nervous. His lips parted like he was about to apologize again, but before he could spiral into another overthinking breakdown, you grabbed his face with both hands.
"Jake," you said softly.
He froze completely beneath your touch.
"You are already my home."
Jake's eyes widened so much it almost made you laugh again through your tears. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again uselessly while staring at you like he couldn't process what he was hearing. You smiled weakly before leaning down until your forehead rested against his.
"Yes," you whispered.
Jake blinked once. "...Yes?" he repeated weakly, sounding completely stunned.
"Yes, idiot," you laughed through your tears, and the second the words fully registered in his brain, Jake let out the most broken, overwhelmed noise you had ever heard from him before immediately grabbing your waist and pulling you into him. The ring box nearly fell from his hands from how hard he hugged you, his face burying against your stomach while his entire body shook with relieved laughter.
"Oh my God," he kept mumbling breathlessly against you. "Oh my God, oh my God..."
You buried your fingers into his messy hair while laughing softly yourself, overwhelmed and emotional and ridiculously happy all at once. Jake pulled back just enough to shakily slide the ring onto your finger, his hands still trembling the entire time. The moment it settled perfectly in place, he stared at it like he genuinely couldn't believe it was real.
Then his eyes slowly lifted back toward you again. "My fiancée," he whispered, sounding completely in awe of the words alone.
Unlucky with money, unlucky in your love life, unlucky in your sex life. The same "bad luck" that used to follow you around had somehow led you here anyway, step by step, mistake by mistake, person by person.
Those were bad luck. And bad luck is temporary.
You smile and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss against Jake's forehead. Ha, you're not out of luck either, aren't you?
You have Jake. Your good bestest luck.
And a good bestest luck lasted a lifetime.
NOTE: you reached the end, yay! thank you for loving the lucky family! (reader, jake, whitey, pinky, bumble, guppy and mo hehe) :) this is not really my best story but i definitely enjoy writing nerd jekjek and building their world! i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoy writing. love lots!!! - shi
content tags: established relationship, sub!jake&reader, jay cameo, explicit content (smut) unprotected sex, multiple sex position: 69, doggy style, mating press. squirting, overstimulation. lots of whining and moaning, they fuck like rabbits :) MDNI. WC:2.4k
note: this is a request from an anon, hope u like it!
Who the fuck decided that two soft, submissive people in bed are automatically boring?
"Too vanilla," they say with wrinkled noses and half-laughs, like they know what happens when the lights go out.
You and Jake have been together for nearly five years—since the final months of high school, when you stumbled into something that felt a little too gentle to be real, too safe to be intense. Most people around you just don’t get it. They whisper that your relationship is sweet, sure, but stale. Predictable. Lifeless, even.
But they don’t know a damn thing.
They don’t know that you and Jake don’t need dominance or power games to melt each other down into quivering pieces. You don’t play roles. You don’t lead or follow. You move, he moves. You're both responsive, both hungry, both gentle in ways that burn just as deep. It’s not about who takes control—it's about how far you’re both willing to unravel for each other.
If those assholes could see what actually happens behind closed doors, they'd choke on their smug assumptions.
"Nghh—baby..." Jake's voice is slurred, barely even speech anymore. His face is buried between your legs, the heat of his breath searing against you, tongue dragging slow as he works you over.
And fuck, you are gone, head thrown back, hips twitching, thighs trembling around his ears.
The only soundtrack is the obscene wetness of his mouth on you, your choked moans, and the blaring growl of an electric guitar seeping through the wall, his room mate, Jay’s latest desperate attempt to drown out the symphony of you and Jake destroying each other.
It doesn’t work.
Your ears are ringing. Your vision blurs every time your spine arches off the mattress. Your legs are shaking so hard they barely stay hooked around his shoulders. Your body is covered in bruises and teeth marks. Jake’s arms are clawed raw, red streaks down to his elbows from where you grabbed and dug in, helpless under the waves he pulled from you again and again and again.
You’ve lost count of how many times he’s made you come, how many times you’ve done the same to him. It's a haze. A loop. An exchange of pleasure until your bones feel hollow.
You barely catch your breath before his fingers are inside you again, curling just right, his mouth crashing into yours, swallowing your moans as you clench around him and cum hard enough to see stars. Your hand slips between you, wrapping around him, stroking with messy urgency until he gasps into your mouth and spills across your stomach.
Then comes the slow grind of hips in missionary, Jake above you, eyes glassy, sweat dripping down his temple. He pushes in deep, moaning into your throat while you clutch at his back, legs locked around his waist, and both of you fall together again.
Vanilla, their ass.
The aftershocks haven’t even stopped vibrating through your bones when Jake rolls off of you, chest heaving, lips parted. He sprawls across the sheets, flushed and trembling.
Without a word, you swing a leg over him, straddling his face. He groans like a man starved as your thighs settle against the sides of his head, and your gaze lowers to his cock. thick, flushed, and still rock hard despite having cum four fucking times already.
You lean down, tongue flicking out to tease the head, your breath warm over his slick skin. His hips twitch instantly, a soft, choked whine escaping from under you.
“F-fuck,” he gasps, voice muffled between your thighs.
You take him into your mouth slowly, savoring the weight of him, the way his whole body tenses beneath you. At the same time, you feel his tongue drag through your folds.
You moan around his cock, the vibration making him jerk. You grind back against his mouth, and he groans right into your cunt, tongue sliding in and curling upward. He hardens it, fucking you with it, slow and deep, as your hips begin to roll.
It’s a filthy rhythm—your mouth stretching around him, sucking harder, faster, your spit dripping down his shaft while he licks and licks and licks, tongue relentless, hands gripping your ass as he pulls you tighter against his face. Your thighs clamp down on instinct, not letting him breathe, not letting him stop.
You feel the familiar pulse in your core and the slight twitch of his cock against your tongue, he’s close, again. You squeeze him tighter with your lips, hollow your cheeks, and the sound he makes is damn near ruined. His whine hits a high pitch, hips jerking once, twice and then he spills into your mouth. You swallow it greedily.
Jake latches onto your clit now, sucking, and you are barely holding on, every nerve burning. Your whole body is tensed, arms braced against his thighs, cunt pulsing uncontrollably around his tongue. Your thighs clamp even tighter, grinding down until he can’t even moan, just hums and licks and loses himself.
Jake loves it—loves how wet you get, how you suffocate him with your thighs like it’s nothing, how your pussy clenches around his tongue. He loves the little tremble in your legs, the broken cries you try to stifle, the taste of your arousal dripping down his chin.
"Jake, fuck! I'm gonna cum!" you squeal, your voice shaking, one hand fisting around his softening cock, feeling it twitch, swell, harden again.
Your hips grind down one last time, helpless, chasing that final drag of his tongue as your orgasm hits. You cry out, body shaking above him, pussy spasming around his mouth. Your forehead presses to his thigh, gasping, and you barely manage to keep sucking him as your world shatters again.
Jake lets out a high whine, hips twitching upward into your mouth. He’s still so fucking hard, again. You can feel it, thick and throbbing between your lips.
He moves again as another orgasm crashes into the both of you.
Another orgasm.
And another.
And another.
You lose count. Time folds. The two of you are always going at it like rabbits, bodies slick and tangled, pleasure drawn out like it might never end. At some point you’re flat on your back again, back arched off the wet bed, sheets soaked with sweat and everything else, Jake’s mouth between your legs for what feels like the hundredth time.
You’re delirious, you feel like you are floating.
He pulls back, lips shiny, chin drenched. You barely get the chance to breathe before he’s kneeling between your thighs, jerking himself off with quick, rough strokes. His eyes are locked on your chest, on the rise and fall of your breath, on your wrecked body twitching with aftershocks. He grits his teeth, then pulls his cock free, aiming it at you.
You're hypnotized.
By the way it twitches. By the way his jaw clenches. By the way his abs tighten and he throws his head back with a broken moan as hot ropes of cum spill across your chest, painting your skin with another climax that somehow hits just as hard as the first.
And still, he's not done.
Jake leans forward, one hand smearing the mess across your breasts, mouth crashing into yours with wild hunger. His cock presses against your thigh, still hard and leaking.
"You want more?" he pants against your lips, voice hoarse, almost disbelieving at how far you both keep falling.
You nod, eyes wide, lips parted. Jake flips you over in one smooth motion, pushing you onto your hands and knees, body trembling beneath him. His hands grip your hips, pushing inside again, deep, slow, a stretch that feels impossibly full despite how soaked you are.
You both moan at once. And then he starts to move, hips snapping into you, the slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the room, drowning out even Jay’s music, which is now thundering through the walls in one last futile attempt to ignore what’s happening just a few feet away.
“Ahh, fuck, Jake, baby!” you cry out, fingers clawing at the twisted sheets as the rhythm builds.
Jake groans behind you, bracing himself with both hands on yours, pinning you to the mattress as he drives deeper, rougher. You love this position—God, how you love it. He finds every spot, angles his hips just right until you’re gasping, sobbing into the mattress.
“We’re so fucking good together,” Jake pants into your ear, his voice shaking with need, “Fuck.” His lips find your neck, kissing everywhere he can reach, hot, sloppy, open-mouthed, desperate to mark.
You tilt your head back blindly, catching his mouth in a messy kiss over your shoulder, tongues tangling, moans swallowed between breathless gasps as he starts to thrust harder, deeper, your bodies slamming together.
You’re clenching around him so hard, you can feel every ridge, every twitch of his cock. The orgasm hits, your breath catching, head lolling forward as heat floods you from the inside out. "Fuck!"
Jake keeps going through it, keeps thrusting through your high, refusing it to end. Your hips instinctively push back against him, your eyes roll back, jaw slack, pleasure crackling through every nerve.
“F-fuck, I—shit,” Jake chokes out, repositioning behind you with a sharp slap to your ass that makes your whole body jolt. He watches it jiggle with a low groan, hips snapping forward again and again. Every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, and your arms finally give out.
You collapse forward, face buried in the soaked mattress, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth, your body slack and trembling. Completely, utterly fucked out.
“B-b-baby,” Jake stammers, leaning over you again, his chest slick and warm against your back.
You feel his arms slide beneath you, one curling tightly around your waist, the other slipping under your body to knead your breast in slow, circular motions. He’s still thrusting, slower now, but no less intense. You feel every inch, every grind of his hips, his cock dragging against your overstimulated walls as he pants against your ear.
“You can take another one for me?” he whines, voice cracking into a whisper. “P-please? Pretty—pretty please?”
You moan weakly, unable to find words, only nodding as your fingers twitch into the sheets. You’re half-asleep, fucked so deep into the mattress your limbs barely move but Jake’s still moving, still inside you.
“Don’t s-sleep, nghh, baby, fuck,” he breathes, nuzzling into your nape, teeth grazing the sweat-slick skin there before sinking in gently, biting down as his hips start to pick up again.
The pleasure's too much now, tangled with pain and pressure until your body doesn’t know the difference. You're a trembling mess, whimpering, twitching, your muscles weak from everything he's already wrung out of you.
You don't know how he's still strong enough to shift your limp body, but suddenly you're on your back, legs pushed up and pinned high beside your shoulders. His hands curl behind your knees, holding you wide open as he sinks into you again with no warning.
He grunts as he slides home, balls-deep, moaning loudly, eyes locked onto your face, drinking every twitch, every gasp, every flutter of your lashes. His hips start pounding again, relentless, slapping into your soaked cunt with wet, brutal rhythm.
Your mouth falls open, lips slack, eyes half-lidded. You can't even speak.
“Baby! L-love you—ahhh!” Jake cries out. One of his hands slips down, thumb pressing to your clit and rubbing in tight, fast circles.
You twitch violently beneath him, chest heaving, body barely holding together.
Even with your consciousness slipping—your mind half-blacked out from pleasure and fatigue—you feel it again. That same heat blooming low in your belly. Your legs are burning in the mating press, your lungs clawing for air, your head spinning.
“J-Jake, w-wait!” you sob, shaking your head from side to side, voice cracked, but his thrusts only get harder, his thumb moving faster, and ruthless.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop—just one more,” he begs, almost delirious.
“FUCK!” you scream, fingers twisting the sheets, your body shaking as it hits you. “Fuckfuckfuck!” you shriek as your entire core contracts violently. Your back arches. Your vision whites out. You feel the gush of hot liquid pulsing from your cunt, soaking the sheets, his pelvis, everything.
Jake groans loud and deep. But he doesn't stop. He keeps moving, keeps rubbing, his thumb grinding your clit as you cry out and shake under him. Your legs jerk in his grip, body trying to retreat, but he doesn’t let go.
Your voice cracks—"No! No more!"—but it's lost in the noise.
“O-one more, baby, please,” he moans as he leans over you again, his body trembling, lips brushing your ear.
Your scream rises again as his cock drags through your soaked walls, now slick with your release. You’re squeezing him so tight he’s nearly frozen in place. His eyes roll back, mouth dropping open.
“Jesus Christ, people! Tone it down!” Jay roars from the other side of the wall, banging his fist hard against it, rattling the drywall. His voice is muffled, furious, but distant and irrelevant.
Jake doesn’t even blink. He’s too far gone. His hands tighten around your thighs as he slams forward, again and again, slick friction loud and obscene, the slap of your bodies echoing through the room.
“Last one,” he gasps. “Fuuuuck, baby, fuck—!”
You scream again, nails digging into his wrists as your body explodes for the final time—another hot gush forced from your cunt, a violent surge that splashes his abdomen and thighs. Jake throws his head back and howls, the tension in his spine snapping as you clamp down so hard around his cock it punches the orgasm straight out of him.
He cums inside you, trembling, moaning, his voice broken and high as he spills deep, cock twitching wildly, over and over. His whole body quakes as he presses into you, emptying himself in ragged pulses that stretch on and on.
By the time it ends, you're both shaking. The room is thick with heat and the sharp, musky scent of sex, every surface damp with sweat, slick, and release.
Jake pulls out slowly, carefully, and even that soft withdrawal makes you both moan. The two of you are oversensitive.
Jake collapses beside you, arms immediately wrapping around your waist, pulling you in close. His face buries in the crook of your neck, lips pressing the faintest kiss to your skin.
You curl into him instinctively, legs tangled, your body heavy and sore but warm in the aftermath, without another word, you both drift under—naked, tangled in each other’s arms, unconscious on a mattress you’ve completely wet the bed in.
❀ SYNOPSIS: When you’re sent screenshots of your boyfriend admitting he’s still hung up on his ex and secretly trying to crawl back—you’re out for blood. You’re already on edge with your heat cycle only three weeks away, and emotions running hotter than they should. Two drinks in, fueled by humiliation and spite, your friends toss out a joke that doesn’t feel like a joke for long: sleep with his ex. It’s petty. It’s reckless—perfect, even. There’s just one unexpected detail.
Sunoo isn’t the girl you imagined. He’s a man—punk, pierced, and also a strikingly beautiful omega.
❀ WARNINGS: oral, marking, biting, lots of fluids, they fuck like bunnies, and sunoo gets pussy drunk, praising, kind of switch! coded sunoo, but they’re both submissives. sunoo’s bisexual and has piercings… (nipple piercings, tongue piercing, eyebrow, lips…u get the gist) (LOL.), and heat cycles—they’re both VERY sub coded and i’m in love w them ur honor… sunoo’s only sweet to the reader. definitely, probably, most likely not accurate in regards to alpha/omega stuff but we get the gist. wc: 4k-ish, unedited.
Jisoo flinches the moment your forehead knocks against the bar. A half-empty shot glass hangs from your right hand, its rim smudged pale pink with lipstick—while in your left, a cigarette burns slow and bitter. You take the occasional drag between swiping at your runny mascara—only to remember you still had it threaded in your fingers.
“Five months of my fucking life. Five, ‘Soo.” You whine, platforms clicking against the metal spinners of the chair.
Eunchae raises a brow, only slightly amused. She tries her best to not say she warned you, but it slips out anyway. “It’s Sunghoon, babe. What’d you expect from such a…hot-blooded Alpha?”
“He was different! Not that bad! Or Evil!!” You muffle your scream with your sleeve, then lift your head to stare at your best friends with puffy eyes.
The bar doesn’t lose its vibrancy: the bartender doesn’t acknowledge your half hearted attempts at convincing your friends and nosy patrons (by proximity), and the music still plays on. You cry a little harder when a song Sunghoon had on his ‘my life’s a movie fr’ playlist coincidentally blares through the speakers.
Eunchae stifles a groan. “Get a grip, bitch. He’s evil. And dumb. Or evil, because he’s dumb—I don’t fucking know.” Her eyes bulge a little as she leans across Jisoo toward you. Naturally, you cower at the sudden wave of energetic dominance she emanates, and although you’ve been friends for years—Eunchae’s still an Alpha and you’re still an Omega.
She softens, but Jisoo lays a hand over hers before speaking.
“I know it’s frustrating… but maybe it’s a blessing in disguise?” She hesitantly starts. You look up and squeeze the shot glass between your palms, warming its surface.
“What do you mean?”
“I just think a guy who could mentally stimulate you might be a better match.”
Eunchae cackles, quickly butting in after taking a swig from her glass. “—what Jisoo’s trying to say is Sunghoon’s an actual dumbass. Like, the lights aren’t on at home. Ever.”
You pout at that. While a huge part of you wanted to defend him, you couldn’t lie. Sunghoon’s the kind of guy who looked like he walked straight of a Sports Illustrated magazine—a dream in dark blue jersey crop tops and denim low-rise jeans—but he’s an absolute himbo, and most conversations about your hobbies required…further explanation.
“Yeah, but he’s the only Alpha that’s never treated me like I’m dumb.” You say, downcast gaze watching the condensation mark your glass.
“That’s because he’s dumber than you—“
Eunchae groans once Jisoo’s sharp elbow hits her stomach, and stifles a scream.
“I know, sweetie. But if he was an actually good guy, he wouldn’t talk about planning ways to get back with his ex.” She utters gently, doe eyes glistening as she clasped a hand around yours comfortingly.
“What an asshole.” Eunchae grits out, before absentmindedly muttering “If I were you—I’d fuck his ex. Get my lick back, you know?”
You still, the gears immediately churning and straightening your back. You zone out on the array of bottled liquor, squinting as you rolled her words in your mouth.
“That’s a great idea, actually.”
Your best friends whip toward you with wide eyes. “Ayo, it was a joke—“ Eunchae squeaks, folding under the weight of Jisoo’s thinly veiled anger.
You push to your feet abruptly, palms slamming against the bar. Quickly, you smooth a hand over your perfectly glossed curled hair, steadying yourself, then swing around and toss your bag over your shoulder.
“Gotta get my beauty sleep. Big day tomorrow.” You say and vanish—leaving a trail of vanilla and brown sugar in your wake.
Eunchae and Jisoo stare at each other before Jisoo rolls her eyes with a groan. “Oh god—this is so bad.”
Heads turn at the sharp, charming click of your kitten heels against the marbled floors of the art department. After cornering Heeseung—who had originally refused to tell you anything more about Sunghoon, even after guiltily sending those screenshots from the boys’ group chat—you finally wore him down. A few well-placed crocodile tears later, he cracked.
And that’s how you end up in the fine arts building, scanning hallways for the sculpture studio. More people are staring than usual. Not because of your doe eyes and perfectly painted lipstick. But because your heat is only a few weeks away, and you deliberately didn’t take your suppressants so that Sunghoon would catch your scent all over campus—your scent is stronger than it should be.
Another scent dances into the hall the closer you get to the studio: something like yuzu tea and sunshine bottled up into a singular room. It was strong. Effortlessly enticing—Beautiful before you’d even laid your eyes on her. You knew it was her the moment you caught a whiff.
The studio is empty, save for a single silhouette standing at its center. A fitted black sweater clings to a narrow waist, dark hair cut short enough to curl softly at the nape. She’s taller than you imagined—almost as tall as Sunghoon—and the realization stings. You’d always assumed he preferred shorter partners. Most alphas, after all, gravitate toward omegas smaller than them.
Her pale hands dragged along a clay statue, molding the shape with a delicate, deliberate touch. She turns her head at the sound of your steps—
And what you see steals your breath from your throat.
Sharp, fox-like eyes run along your form—his pierced, pale pink tongue licks over the other cold metal piercing on his lips. A natural, dewy flush decorates the bridge of his nose, and his voice shocks you from your trance. Holy fuck.
That’s…not a girl. You think.
“…do you need something?” It’s soft. A little hesitant. Shy. The sound tickles your ears as you duck your head.
You stutter, clasping your small hands together, before bubbling the words out.
“I—oh god, you’re beautiful.”
His lips part slightly at that, a flush creeping down the line of his throat. The two of you lapse into a flustered silence, and he just stands there—wide-eyed, like a deer caught in headlights.
After a second, he ducks his head, peering at you shyly through his bangs. “That’s sweet of you to say—” he begins, voice even softer now, before glancing off to the side as if the wall has suddenly become fascinating. “Do you… need help with anything in the studio?”
You stare back at his face with your heart caught in your throat. It’d be easier to lie—to form a ruse just to get close enough to touch—but it didn’t feel right. Staring at him now, you’re struck with the realization of how shady this sort of ordeal would be.
“Honestly? I came here without thinking,” you admit, lifting your chin as you step closer.
You have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes—and he reddens instantly at the shortened distance. God, you’re pretty. There’s something almost doll-like about you, unsettling in its perfection. He has to bite down on the dangerous thought that you might be the prettiest girl he’s ever seen before it distracts him completely.
He waits, silent, patient.
“I—I’m Sunghoon’s girlfriend.” Your fingers tighten around your own wrist. “Or… I was.”
Something in his expression shifts. The light in his eyes dims, brows pulling together in a complicated crease. He fucking hated that guy.
“Oh.”
Oh? That’s it?
You shake your head, and anxiously turn away. “I’m sorry, this was a stupid idea—“
“W-wait.” He pipes up, grasping your wrist hesitantly. “You don’t have to leave.”
To your absolute horror, a tiny sob squeaks out of you. It’s embarrassingly small—but in the quiet studio, it might as well echo. You blink up at him with comically watery eyes, lashes clumping together as you try (and fail) to look dignified. Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms.
“I’m sorry—I came in here with really awful intentions,” you blurt, words tumbling over each other. “I wanted to screw him over by sleeping with you. I thought you were a woman at first, and doesn’t even matter that you’re not—and he’s just so mean. He didn’t even have the decency to break up with me before planning to get you back.”
Sunoo goes completely rigid, eyes wide as he tries to process the avalanche you’ve just dumped on him. Then something sharp—almost offended—flickers in his gaze.
“I would rather get run over by my own kiln,” he says flatly, “than get back with that dumbass.”
“He always wants what he can’t have. Pretty sure his processing rate is below average.” He finalizes blandly. “Take a seat.” He slides a stool forward and gently pushes you to sit.
Sunoo leans back against a table, perching his weight on his palms as they grasped the sides.
“Listen, I don’t want him back. To be honest, I had no clue that he was even trying to reach out because he’s blocked.”
You sniffle, folding your hands on your lap anxiously. This is so embarrassing. What were you even thinking? The next time you see Eunchae, you’re going to wring her neck.
“It’s not even that. Good Alphas are hard to come by nowadays, and I thought I’d found one who actually cared about me,” you admit.
Sunoo watches you thoughtfully before replying, “I get it. Being an Omega’s no easy feat. That’s why I hate Alphas most of the time…guess I got too distracted by his washboard abs when I agreed to go out with him.” He laughs softly.
Being near him is strangely calming. The day drifts on, and you find yourself sitting on that stool for hours, talking about Sunghoon—and then about life as an Omega. You bond over your shared love for beauty and aesthetics, and he even lets you touch his eyebrow piercing while continuing to sculpt. The goodbye is silent, but warm when he drops you off at your dorms before striding off—taking the only sound of his earrings softly clinking with him.
The next day, Sunoo leans against the wall of your Socioeconomics class, quietly watching as you approach in an excited flurry.
His dark hair is styled straight, three silver piercings dangling from each ear. A fitted turtleneck hugs his lithe figure, paired with baggy, low-waisted dark jeans. When you instinctively reach for his hands, the vision of you together is a clash of black and pastel pink.
“Sunoo!” you squeal, the scent of vanilla stronger in the presence of your joy—even after taking suppressants. Gazing up at him, you hold onto his hand. “What are you doing here?”
He smiles softly, voice low, naturally tinged with melancholia. “Yesterday was fun. Stopped by to tell you you’re welcome to come to the studio whenever. Helped me pass the time.”
A genuine smile curls your lips, the sunlight catching flecks on your gloss.
“No takesie backsies.”
Hangouts at the studio steadily turned into hangouts everywhere else. Over time, you became a regular face at the fine arts department—and people took notice of how close the two of you’d gotten in a short span of time.
Friendship with Sunoo’s as easy as breathing: cute friend dates to dessert cafes, shopping for matching collars, cozy nights in with shared self-care routines, and trips to the photo booth—it fit snugly. Comfortably. He never unsettled you the way an Alpha did. Your shared love of physical touch always resulted in the two of you curling your bodies together—or walking around campus palm in palm, and pressing your temples against each other when greeting.
✿
You sit near a large banana tree plant, at the corner of the campus cafe—catching up between classes.
Heeseung sips on his iced coffee loudly, eying you suspiciously. “You’ve gotten…real close to Sunoo, lately. That’s a surprise.”
You giggle, a happy churning in your stomach at the mention of someone who was growing more special to you by the day. “Yeah—I’m surprised too, given the situation. Guess we bonded over having a shared ex rather than fighting.”
He pops open the cap of his cup and tips it back, pouring a few cubes of ice into his mouth before crunching down on them.
“Well, yeah,” he says around the cold, “but Sunoo’s so fucking grouchy all the time. He can be a real asshole. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t bite your head off the second you mentioned Sunghoon.”
Sunoo? Grouchy?
You stare at Heeseung, bewildered. “He’s so sweet and soft spoken most of the time. Not a single mean bone in his body, Hee.”
Heeseung almost spits out his ice.
“The fuck? Are we talking about the same person?”
“Pretty sure?”
“I fucking thought something was up.” He pips, face painted with delight. “He’s into you.”
“Stop it—“ You utter shyly, gaze dropping to your lap. “We’re good friends. He’d never see me like that.”
“You don’t know Kim Sunoo the way I do,” Heeseung says, voice low and a little mischievous. “He might be an omega, but he’s a total menace. The first time Riki met him, he made the guy cry with just one sentence…because he stood too close. Oh, and he also hated Riki’s designs. Brutal, right?”
“You’re not lying?” you ask, voice sweet and innocent, eyes wide. Your fingers reach to fiddle with the thin collar on your neck.
Heeseung almost coos at the sight, completely undone by how earnestly adorable you look: all pastel pink, draped in lace. “Scouts honor.” He replies, his index finger signing an invisible x over his heart.
“Wanna know a secret, though?” He whispers and leans forward, eyes glinting dangerously. Your eyes widen at the sudden dizzying scent of his pheromones—cedar, cinnamon, and black pepper.
You crane your neck towards him, nodding vigorously
“Sunoo’s a huge masochist—that’s why he has so many piercings.” He grins at you, clearly enjoying how red you’ve gone. He could practically see steam rising off you.
You bury your face in your hands and let out a muffled squeak. “Hee, what the—what the fuck?”
Heeseung reaches over to tug your pinky into his grip, holding it playfully for a moment before pausing. He glances over your shoulder, casual yet deliberate. “Incoming.”
You follow his gaze and brighten immediately.
Sunoo’s dark hair is spiked, styled just messy enough to look effortless. Silver rings gleam along his knuckles when he moves, catching the light. Your gaze drifts—slow and shameless—over the rest of him, taking in the long sleeve layered beneath a baggy graphic tee, the matching collar to yours snug around his throat. You stop yourself short of inhaling his scent deeply.
His eyes, however, are trained onto your hand in Heeseung’s.
“Shouldn’t you be in class?” He utters at the man dryly, running the ball of his tongue piercing across his teeth. He pops his gum disinterestedly.
Heeseung smiles hard enough to crease his eyes into little moons. “I’d much rather be here.”
“Of course—mommy and daddy are gonna pay your way into graduation, right?” He shoves his hands into his pockets, staring at Heeseung with an empty expression.
Your eyes flicker between them, bewildered. “Why are you guys acting so… strange?” you ask, reaching out to tug gently at Sunoo’s fingers. He softens instantly at the way you look up at him from your seat.
“I got you a slice of matcha cake,” he says, leaning down slightly to meet your eyes, ignoring Heeseung completely. “There’s a cafe I think you’d like.”
He chuckles softly when he notices the white lace parasol perched beside the table and takes in the pale pink baby doll dress you had on. “And what a cute little dress.”
You jump up to spin for him excitedly. “This is the one you picked out, remember?”
Sunoo takes your hands gently, smiling brightly. “I knew you’d look pretty in it.”
Heeseung gags silently in the corner. All he wanted was a chance to tease Sunoo, but now he’s stuck third-wheeling—and on the verge of throwing himself into mid-day traffic. Neither you nor Sunoo notice, still chatting excitedly with each other. Heeseung watches a little longer, smiling softly when he realizes the two of you look like little bunnies side by side.
Seriously—the two of you were the prettiest Omegas he’s ever known, and seeing you side by side was no joke. He stills the moment a…particular scent wafts in his direction. A fragrant haze of pink and hot, gooey vanilla drape across the cafe—turning heads in alarm at its heaviness.
His eyes flash before standing to take a step away from you.
“Sweetie, did you forget to take your suppressants?”
You pause in horror. How could you be so stupid? Your heat’s right around the corner—
With fumbling hands, you tug your phone out of your handbag and check the date.
Fuck.
It’s today.
Your heat cycle’s today and you’re seated in a crowded cafe without your pheromone suppressants.
Shakily, you glance around the room, your heart hammering as several Alphas cast uneasy glances, struggling to control their reactions to your trigger-happy scent.
You’re scared.
Really scared.
And you can’t will yourself to move. Even Heeseung’s struggling to stay neutral, a slow fever bleeding into his eyes. When his chest starts heaving, he hastily turns.
“I’m so sorry, I have to go.” His gaze is heavy with apology—but you knew it was for the best. Heeseung’s an Alpha, and a chaotic one at that. You knew he’d never endanger you willingly, no matter how most Alpha’s scared you.
Sunoo wakes you from your frightened trance.
“Come on—let’s get you out of here.” He slides a slim arm around your neck protectively, sharp eyes pointing defensively at any lingering looks.
You can’t believe you forgot one of the worst parts of breaking up with Sunghoon: having to face your heat cycle alone.
The day has arrived, and you don’t have the slightest idea how you’re going to get through it.
The hot pink corner light casts soft, intimate shadows across your room. Sunoo helps you peel off your dress, leaving you in your undergarments, and gently wipes the sweat from your skin. The heat cycle feels more like a fever the longer you’re not touched.
“Sunoo, it hurts.” You arch your back softly, hair spilling on the pillow messily, as strands stick to the sweat on your skin.
His unreadable eyes stay locked on your face as he watches you writhe for five long minutes. Then he rises, the bed creaking softly under him as he climbs on and begins to peel off his layers slowly.
Your breath catches, pink blooming across your flushed cheeks as you stare at him with glossy eyes. The soft, curved tips of your acrylic nails brush against your lips, trembling as you gaze at him in shock.
He kneels on the bed, abdomen twitching and tensing without meaning to. His pale hand reaches to nervously tug at his collar. “You can…use me. As much as you want.”
After a couple of moments of stunned silence, he squirms. Even under the pink light, the red in his cheeks seemed to glow. “I know i’m not an Alpha, but I can keep up. I can handle most things.”
The slick tacking your thighs together thickens. His flush only deepens when he hears it.
“Sun, you really don’t have to—“
“I want to.” He interrupts.
You rise to crawl towards him on all fours, peering up shyly. He sucks in a breath, slightly flinching.
The soft chime of your collars marks each small movement. His lips part as you slip your fingers inside, pressing gently against the sharp edge of an incisor.
“When I’m in heat… I like biting. And being bitten,” you admit, your voice a soft murmur. “Is that okay?”
“Do whatever you want,” he breathes. “I’ll let you know if I don’t like something.”
“You can do anything to me too,” you reply, your palms resting on the soft flesh of your thighs. The glint of his nipple piercings catches the light, almost winking in the dimness.
Everything about the moment feels strangely innocent, despite the context. The sight of his bare body, his willingness to touch you without any need to dominate, offers a comfort you never knew you needed—or were even allowed to have. Its saccharine. Warm. A clouded devotion that perfumes the air around you with something soft and tender—something Omegas like you both rarely have the privilege of knowing.
You both lean in, necks craning toward each other, breaths mingling in the narrow space between you, just a hair strand away from falling into each other.
Slick pools between your legs almost gelatinously, a soft pour trickling down your inner thigh. He sees it, and his hand rises slowly, fingers curling to cup you, stroking two fingers down the lining of your cunt. You throb at the contact, clenching as he petted the surface.
When the cold metal of his piercings press against your lips, as he slides his thin fingers in you, it settles in softly. The kiss isn’t a dramatic homecoming—it’s gentle. Quietly sacred. Reassuring in all the ways Sunoo knew how to calm the anxiety Omega’s always felt even during the high of being in heat.
Your hands find his shoulders, steadying yourself against their surprising breadth. The slow building pace he settles into physically shakes your body as he switches between driving upwards and rubbing your clit. You push deeper, licking shyly into his mouth, and gasp as he boldly pushes into yours. Your brow lifts at the feel of his tongue piercing, the smooth metal rolling against your own muscle. His left hand reaches to grip onto the meat of your hip with a strength you didn’t know he could summon.
Wet sounds fill the room—saliva strands hanging between your lips every time you pulled away just to dive back in. Your fingers lift to roll over his nipples experimentally, and sigh happily into his mouth when you hear the small moan leave him
Sunoo pulls his hand away, and you whine softly at the sudden loss of contact. When you finally break the kiss, you barely have time to steady yourself before you meet his gaze—and flinch. His eyes are intense, almost dizzying, dark irises blown wide and glossed over with something feverish. There’s a glazed heat in them, a look that makes your pulse stutter.
He pushes you onto your back, and crawls face first between your legs.
Without pause, he drags his nose up the fabric of your underwear—sucking the slick from the fabric, then pushes it aside.
A low whine escapes him as his hips roll instinctively, seeking friction against nothing. His boxers are already soaked, a dark patch spreading where his own cock strains against the fabric. You can see the throbbing length twitch as he laps at you, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit before circling your clit. The metal ball of his piercing glints in the dim light as he flicks it against the sensitive bud, alternating between rapid flicks and deep, suctioning pulls that leave his chin dripping.
Your body twitches in little spasms once it registers the feeling of his tongue piercing rolling around the sensitive bud. His tongue pumps shallowly at first, then deeper, the knob of his piercing stroking your inner walls. Your knees threaten to knock together, but his arms lock around your thighs, holding you open as he buries his face deeper, devouring you
You comb your fingers through his hair.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently. "Sunoo—breathe," you gasp, but he only whines against you, his eyes rolling back as he presses closer. The sound of his collar rattles softly as he shakes his head, refusing to pull away. When your legs lock around his neck, trapping him, he twitches violently, his fingers curling as he finds that spongy spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
He shakes his head side to side, collar rattling. He’s right where he wants to be.
The metal on his mouth grows warm. Your body feels like something molten—hot to the touch. D
Sunoo doesn’t notice—already lost in the fog of things, as your legs shook and hands fumbled to softly push at his head. He can’t will himself to pull his mouth away, drunk on the taste and heat of you. All he can smell is your particular scent of vanilla, and to his smug delight, traces of his own clean yuzu—erasing Heeseung’s earlier scent of cedar and cinnamon. The entangling scents calm his own anxieties: the ones that’ve been rearing their head every time he saw you with someone else. With someone bigger. Taller. More dominant.
He fucking hated Alphas.
You hide your hot face in your palms as you watch him continue to practically eat you, taking in the slender of his pale back and the small freckles peppering the surface of his shoulder blades and spine. His eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and hungry, as he widens his jaw, taking all of you in his mouth. Seeing his lips stretched around your pussy, his chin glistening with your release, sends another jolt through you.
Fisting the pillow, you bite your lip so hard it draws blood. Reaching out with a trembling hand, you caress his cheek. “Sunoo, it's sensitive”
He finally comes to his senses with a deep inhale, then slowly unlatches his lips from you. The surface is rubbed raw—pink, plump, and glistening. You clench around nothing at the sound of his voice.
“Tastes so good,” he mumbles, rubbing his cheek over your inner thigh in the moment of quiet, before he peers up at you.
You stare at each other, the reality of what just happened dawning in a flushed silence. Shame heats your face as you remember how much slick your body produces in heat, a detail alphas never failed to tease you about.
Sensing your embarrassment, Sunoo watches you from between your thighs. From there, he sees the muscles in your neck tense, your gaze drift away to something suddenly interesting on your left, and feels the faint tremble running through your legs. Slowly, he rises: sliding his cock out of his boxers with ease.
A gasp tumbles out of you at the sight of his own slick. Calmly, he tugs on your thighs until his cock settles between your folds, rubbing against them with ease. The sound of your combined slick is sinful—jarringly loud. He bites and toys with his lip piercing as his gaze fixes on where your bodies teeter on the edge of entry. “See how perfect this is? Look at you.” He marvels.
Clasping his neck, you press your chest to his, rubbing your nipples against his piercings. He hisses, a pretty moan stuttering from his lips as his head falls, overwhelmed by the sensitivity.
Gliding down, you wrap your lips prettily over his chest, your tits dragging against his abdomen before you flick your tongue across the surface—your pale pink gloss staining his porcelain skin.
Heeseung’s words rise to the surface: Sunoo’s a huge masochist.
And then, you bite.
His eyes widen when your teeth clack! against the metal, and you feel his cock twitch directly above your clit. “A-ah!”
One arm wraps around his waist while your small hand lifts to trace delicate fingers over his right nipple. You widen your jaw and bite again; leaving indentations circling around the glinting piercing. Sunoo’s eyes gleam in the pink light, lashes lining with pearl-like tears from the raw sensitivity.
His hips snap forward, drawing a whine from both of you. “God, you feel s-so good,” he stutters, his hand finding the back of your head to hold you sweetly against his chest. His eyes nearly roll back when you bat your lashes and look up at him innocently. “F-feel so pretty against me like this.”
He stares at how the soft fat of your pussy practically tugs his cock down, hugging it—a sloppy, messy sound resonating from between you. His eyes widen when you pull back, your thin hand moving down to part your pussy with two fingers, revealing the silky pink insides.
Flinching, his abdomen catches the stray droplets from between your damp, rocking bodies.
“Sun'—I want it inside.” You lie back fully, releasing his waist to hold your legs open, your arms hooked under your knees. Sunoo sucks in a sharp breath: never in his life has he seen something so fucking pretty. Your cheekbones catch the light, a blooming flush dusting the bridge of your nose and warming your skin. Your hair falls around you like a soft halo, framing your silhouette in a quiet glow.
“My sweet girl wants it inside?” He cups your face in his palm and presses a firm kisses to your temple, lingering there for a moment before nuzzling his nose into your hair and inhaling softly. One of your eyes squeeze shut at his affection, as you lean into it warmly. Your arms loosen where they’re wrapped around your legs, posture softening as you tip your face up to look at him. Your hands reach to run along his slim silhouette.
You quietly nod, biting back a smile. When he slides inside of you, your hands drag up to delicately wrap around his throat—his cock throbs are the pressure. Your back arches at the stretch.
It’s a cacophony of sweet depravity—each time he pulls his hips away, you draw him back with an open mouthed kiss. Everything’s damp. Heated— in a room full of pleasured sighs and slick skin. You feel his hand slide up your abdomen and hold your under-breast in his palm, tits bouncing erratically at the weight of his surprising force.
Small mumbles leave his mouth like a chant against your throat when the flesh is held between his teeth.
“So pretty.”
“Feels so fucking good.”
“Mine.”
The last one had you practically purring in his arms, pointing your breasts upward so he can latch on and mark them. A guiding hand grasps on the meat of your thighs to roll your hips on him manually.
Everything’s doused pink. Sunoo doesn’t even flinch when you squirt hard around him, only opting to fuck into you even harder.
Eventually, you’re on top of him with your hands pressing down on his throat—shaking on his cock after he fills you up for the third time. And another time, he’s saddled in your throat while his mouth works you into another orgasm.
Instinct takes over and memory gives way to an occasional blackness. If you pass out—you don’t pass out for long.
You don’t know how long it’s been. All you know is that your back is impossibly arched, tits pressed flat against the mattress, and that Sunoo’s fucking you hard enough that your head’s deliciously empty. Even the sides of your mouth are sore and raw from the amount of times Sunoo’s crammed himself down your throat until you cried. The sheets are soaked beyond repair and if you were in the right mind, you’d shriek at the almost… jammy texture.
Both your and Sunoo’s bodies are marred with bite marks, the skin flushed, red, and damp. His hips rolled against the soft flesh of your ass, rhythmically stretching your pussy—devastatingly entranced by the way you’re crying into your pillow, how your body seems to glow under the pink light of your room, and how the meat of your body shakes intensely every time he drove back down into you.
His own slick only aids how seamlessly he glides into you, nipple piercings rattling at his force. You drool a little when he shoves himself deep into your stomach, and you attempt to crawl away instinctively. Sunoo only grips onto your elbow and pulls your back flush against his chest, before sliding back in and fucking into you.
Your collars rattle in unison, soft moans painting the air. His skin is soft. Satin, despite the rough nature of his movements. And you couldn’t help the repetitive thought chanting in your head that you’ve never been with someone so beautiful before.
You piss around his cock the moment he prods at a particular spot, eyes rolling to the back of your head. On cue, he brushes your hair away from your neck, his fingers lingering for a breath before his teeth graze the soft skin at the back. He bites into the flesh mid-orgasm, abdomen caving and tensing as he whimpers against your skin.
Sunoo collapses, chest heaving, eyes squinting from the light peaking over the horizon.
It’s morning already. How long have you been going at it?
You tug on his arm until he settles beside you, then slink into his embrace as the two of you catch your breath. You brush your fingers through his hair—occasionally nipping at the skin of his neck.
His finger traces along your spine, thoughtful and slow, before he speaks.
“Can I be yours?”
You lift your head from his neck, your chin pressing against his chest as you stare up at him with tender eyes. Nervously, you toy with his collar, finding comfort in the soft, bell-like chime of the silver star–shaped charm.
Would he really be okay with you?
He stares at you, wide-eyed.
Shit—you hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Something steadies in him then. He fixes his gaze on yours and speaks softly. “I’m no Alpha. I won’t be the strongest guy in the room, and I probably enjoy getting beat up more than I enjoy throwing a punch—but I’ll keep you safe in the ways I know how. I’ll love you right, in all the ways Sunghoon or any other douchey Alpha didn’t.”
A bright giggle bubbles from your chest.
“I’ll be yours if you’ll have me.”
Sunoo swoops down to steal your breath with a kiss—only pulling away when you’re on the brink of passing out again.
The two of you curl together like Siamese cats at the edge of the bleachers, either oblivious to—or deliberately ignoring—the stares from every direction. People gawk openly; the sight of two Omegas tangled up like this is a rarity.
You’re only here because Heeseung insisted. He’d dragged you both to his home game with a dramatic sigh and a vague gesture between you. “If I hadn’t been around,” he’d said, waving a hand at the two of you, “it wouldn’t have happened.”
At some point, Sunoo’s hands are on you—fingers digging into your waist, tongue warm against yours. The world dissolves into background noise. The roar of the crowd, the sharp whistle of plays, even the game itself fades away.
You don’t notice a thing—until a collective gasp ripples through the stands.
Out on the field, Park Sunghoon goes rigid, the ball still in his hands as he stares at the two of you kissing with reckless abandon. A split second later, he’s flattened beneath a brutal pile of incoming bodies.
Sunoo laughs against your mouth. “Serves him right,” he murmurs, stealing another indulgent kiss. “Maybe I should join the team too. Gives me an excuse to pull something like that.”
You giggle, nudging your nose against his. “Only if you play nicely.”
In the distance, Sunghoon lets out one long, pained groan—and you can’t help but think life has never felt more right.
fin.
wrote this in a single day, so pls excuse funky pacing and/or mistakes lmao
Kim Sunoo has always been one of the girls: soft-spoken, pretty, utterly devoted to the allure of men, men and more men. Women were never his thing, not really—especially not you. You, with your cigarette-drenched, red fucking lips, that wicked mouth always spitting nonsense. He loathed your strut, your cruel tongue, those perfect, infuriating tits that made his cock twitch no matter how hard he tried to look away. And he hated the thought that maybe — he’s starting to think that he swings both ways after all.
content tags/warnings: queer!sunoo x queer! reader, slowburn, one sided enemies to fubu to lovers, misandry comments, gentle angst, reader is a heavy smoker and have a lots of piercings and tattoos. jealousy, mentions of cheating (past rs). light emotional manipulation, toxic behaviors, second chances, queer coded relationship dynamics. sunoo is a nursing student and reader is a fashion design major. two years age gap, reader is shorter than sunoo. explicit content (smut): plot with porn. four different smut scenes. blowjob, some content might be dubious, pussy eating, fingering, protected and unprotected sex: public sex, rainbow (period) sex, multiple sex positions and places lmao, sunoo have a big dick, also dom! sn <3 WC: 45.4K (long ass ride)
note! this is a work of fiction and is not intended to offend anyone in the lgbt community or to fetishize any identities. the themes and characters are purely imaginative and should not be taken as a reflection of real people or experiences. and if you don't like it? don't read it. :)
KIM SUNOO has never truly identified as a man, not in the way society tries to define it.
He was born with what people like to label as "male," but the label never felt like it belonged to him. He's always been one of the girls. Not because he was trying to be anything other than himself, but because that's where he belonged, where he felt seen, understood, and safe. There's no pride in masculinity for him, no comfort in aligning with a category that has done nothing but let him down. Whatever was hanging between his legs didn't mean he owed anything to the idea of manhood, and he sure as hell wasn't going to start pretending it did.
And yet, for all his clarity, all his softness, all his truth—Sunoo, no matter how sharp his wit or clever his comebacks, keeps getting cheated on. It used to be just the straight boys he rolled his eyes at, but the betrayal has evolved. Gays aren't safe anymore either. There's no longer a clean line between "they'd never" and "they did." Gay, straight, bi, whatever — the problem is not orientation, it's the universal mediocrity of modern manhood. There's a plague of emotional negligence infecting them all. He trusted boys who called him beautiful, who knew how to flirt over text, who said "I'm not like the others" — and then turned out to be exactly like the others, but with worse excuses!
And still, the question haunts him: Why? Why does it keep happening? Why do they always cheat? What is it about commitment that scares them so much? He's been good. He's been better than good! He listens, he nurtures, he gives. He doesn't ask for much. Is that really too much? Because it feels like no matter how much effort he puts in, no matter how present he is, no matter how he softens himself to make space for someone else, it never ends with someone choosing him back. The worst part is how often he wonders if it's his fault—if maybe he's just not enough. Not hot enough, not loud enough, not strong enough, not whatever version of "desirable" men have invented that week. It eats at him.
"Good thing you broke up with him. He's not better for you, anyways." Sunoo rolled his eyes, brushing his hair back as he stared blankly at the colorful crochet pieces arranged neatly in front of him. They were at the National Art Celebration, wandering through the Art Museum's marketplace.
He didn't respond to his friend's comment. What was there to say?
His fingers hovered over a small adorable crochet strawberry keychain, the kind of thing he'd usually buy without hesitation but he didn't pick it up, because his mood didn't match the softness in front of him. It hadn't even been a full week since everything crashed. His ex had been sleeping with more than just one person behind his back. Sunoo had confronted him head-on, shaking with anger, and left. The next day, he was at a clinic, filling out forms with numb fingers, waiting for results that thankfully came back clean. Still, the damage wasn't something that a negative result could fix.
"I hope he chokes on his small dick and dies," Sunoo muttered under his breath, not even trying to sound playful about it. He turned from the crochet booth and walked a few steps over to the next one, where rows of stickers were arranged neatly across a dark velvet cloth.
His lips twitched slightly as he noticed a sticker of a cat holding a cigarette in its mouth. The drawing was a little messy nothing like the soft pastel style he usually liked. The rest of the stickers shared the same energy—guitars, ghost-like figures, strange shapes in heavy red and black tones. The entire table had a darker, rougher feel to it, but instead of pushing him away, it pulled him in. Something about the way the lines were drawn, the way the art didn't try to be friendly, and it felt honest, that honesty intrigued him. He picked up the cat sticker, turning it slightly under the light. "This is so cute. Are you the artist?" he asked, glancing up at the boy behind the table.
The boy shook his head with a small grin. "Thank you, but no. I'm just her cousin. She went to grab some food. I'm babysitting her table for now."
Sunoo nodded, eyes still scanning the stickers laid out in front of him. He wasn't even sure where he'd put them if he bought any—his laptop was already full, his tumbler too—but something about them felt worth having. Maybe he just wanted to support someone who clearly put effort into making something different. Without thinking too much, he picked out five more, dropped a bill in the little payment box, and gave a quick thank you before stepping back into the flow of the crowd.
"I'm gonna get the car. Just wait here. The parking lot's, like, so far and it's insanely hot," his friend said, already fanning her face with a brochure as she walked away. Sunoo just gave her a lazy nod and stayed in the shade, sipping his strawberry soda and lightly tapping the tip of his shows against the concrete to keep himself distracted.
It was Saturday, supposed to be relaxing day, but Sunoo's mind didn't know how to slow down. The breakup still clung to him, but even beyond that, the stress of his return demo for nursing school kept replaying in his head. It was getting close, and he still didn't feel ready. His eyebags were starting to sink into his face again, darkening with every late night he spent crying or spiraling in bed, wondering how things managed to fall apart this fast. He'd thought about going out again, just to dance, to pretend, to flirt with someone but he already knew it wouldn't help.
Just as he was about to take another sip from his drink, he froze. His nose twitched — Was that... cigarette smoke? Sunoo immediately grimaced, pressing his fingers over his nose and mouth. What the hell? Who the fuck smokes around here? The whole place was filled with kids and art booths, and there was a giant NO SMOKING sign that was printed in bold red letters, stuck on a wall not even ten steps away. His eyes scanned the shaded rest area until they landed on the source.
There you were—sitting alone on the bench with one leg drawn up, smoke curling lazily from your lips, completely unbothered.
"The fuck?" he muttered, eyes narrowing as another wave of smoke drifted toward him, already starting to irritate his throat. He wasn't trying to start anything, but the longer he stood there, the more it felt like the smoke was reaching out, wrapping around his skin, sneaking into his lungs, clinging to his clothes. He was already dealing with a bad day, and now this?!
You exhaled again, your gaze flicked toward him, catching the look he gave you but you didn't react. If anything, you just blinked, relaxed, fingers still holding the cigarette loosely between them.
Sunoo stood there, clearly expecting you to look guilty or maybe at least pretend to care, but when you didn't, he clicked his tongue in frustration and glanced at the sign again, like pointing it out. "Do you not see the sign?" he said, irritation in every word. "This is a public area, kids are here, and secondhand smoke—do you even know it's worse than smoking yourself? God, the sign is literally right there. It's huge."
You looked at him again, blinking like you didn't quite catch what he was saying. Your hand, holding the cigarette near your mouth, paused midair. Then, slowly, you turned your head to glance over your shoulder, as if making sure he was actually talking to you and not someone else behind the bench.
When your eyes met his again, they stayed on him a second longer. He stood there with a roughness that didn't match the soft features on his face. You let your gaze move over him without shame, noting the little details—the way his hair was clipped back by a cute pink clip, the pale tone of his skin that looked untouched by the sun, smooth, almost too perfect. His lips had a natural flush, a little swollen like he'd been biting them out of stress, and even with that annoyed look carved into his face, there was nothing harsh about him.
What a beautiful man, you thought, not even trying to hide it. You let the moment hang for a bit longer, then flicked the ash off the end of your cigarette with a small movement. Your voice was unbothered when you finally spoke. "You always pick fights with strangers, or am I just lucky today?"
He blinked, caught off guard by how casually you responded. "Start fights?" he repeated, eyes narrowing further. "You're the one breaking the rules. 'No smoking' doesn't mean smoke quietly. It means don't fucking smoke."
You took another drag without rush, then exhaled away from his direction, watching him. "Right. And you yelling about it in public—real mature. Definitely better than me just sitting here minding my own business."
Sunoo stepped forward slightly, jaw tightening. "You're not minding your business. That's the problem."
You shrugged, leaning back just a little on the bench, clearly not moved. "Then move somewhere else. No one's forcing you to breathe next to me. I don't fucking care."
You saw the way the color started creeping into the tips of his ears, how his hands curled into tight fists at his sides like he was holding himself back from saying something worse. He was clearly seething, barely keeping it together. You smiled to yourself then turned your head away to take another drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling softly from your lips.
"Bitch," you heard him muttered under his breath.
You turned your head back toward him, one brow lifting as you exhaled the smoke without rushing. "Excuse me?"
You started to shift, one foot planting on the ground like you were about to stand, but before anything else could happen, a small car pulled up right in front of you. Sunoo didn't waste a second. He walked straight toward it, yanked the passenger door open, and slipped inside as if the vehicle were his escape hatch. He slammed the door, and through the window, you could see the tension still sitting in his shoulders. But what caught your attention was how he didn't look away. Even as the engine came to life, even as the car rolled slowly forward, Sunoo kept his eyes locked on you. His glare was sharp and it's lingering.
You pressed your tongue into your cheek as you took another slow hit from the cigarette, still watching. When the car passed, you caught his reflection in the side mirror, and there he was—still glaring.
You flicked the smoke away from your face, the faintest smirk on your lips as the car disappeared down the road. Hah. He's such a pretty guy. You liked him already.
"Who's that guy?"
Sunoo didn't even try to hide his curiosity as he pointed across the room, eyes fixed on the one person who'd completely pulled his attention. The music was loud, bass thumping through the floor, and bodies moved around the house party in various stages of drunken celebration. It was supposed to be a simple gathering, just something to celebrate surviving midterms and their return demonstrations. He wasn't expecting anything wild tonight. Honestly, he'd shown up mostly out of pressure and to avoid looking like a killjoy. As someone in healthcare, he was all too aware of the risks, especially when it came to hookups. The rise of HIV cases was something that always lingered in the back of his mind, and the weight of what his ex put him through was still fresh. He wasn't exactly in the mood to relive that. But even so... looking didn't hurt, right?
"That's Park Sunghoon," someone answered beside him, casually sipping from their red cup. "Physical Therapy."
Sunoo's eyes narrowed slightly, studying the guy. He was leaning against the wall, laughing, drink in hand, head tilted just enough to show off a clean jawline and that effortless hair. "Does he have a girlfriend?" Sunoo asked, still watching. His friend shrugged. "I don't know? Maybe? You interested? Go talk to him!"
Sunoo rolled his eyes and sipped from his drink. "I don't even know if he's into men." His friend leaned in, grinning. "Ngeh, I don't know either, but he looks like he's giving off some BL energy. Just try!"
Sunoo didn't respond right away, but his gaze drifted back to Sunghoon, eyes half-lidded from the buzz. There was something about him, the kind of guy who knew he looked good but didn't make a show of it. And okay, maybe there was something about the way he stood that didn't exactly scream masculine authority. There was a softness to it, or maybe just an openness that made Sunoo curious.
He tapped his fingers against his cup, considering. He wasn't looking for anything serious but after everything he'd been through, a little fun wouldn't hurt. And if Park Sunghoon happened to be fun and hot? Well... why the hell not?
With one final sip, Sunoo set his cup down and gave his friend a sly look. "Fine. I'll try."
He took a breath, adjusted his shirt, and began walking through the crowd, weaving past groups of loud classmates and half-finished games of beer pong until he finally reached the corner where Park Sunghoon stood. The table beside them was lined with vodka, soda, and mixers. Sunoo casually took his place beside him, pretending to look through the drink options while stealing a glance at the boy he'd just been staring at across the room.
Sunghoon turned his head slightly, noticed him, and smiled. He raised his cup. "Cheers?" he offered.
Sunoo smiled back, trying not to let it show how fast his heart had just jumped. He reached for a drink off the table, tapping his cup gently against Sunghoon's. "Physical Therapy?" Sunoo asked, trying to keep his tone light, confident and a little sweet.
"Yeah. Nursing?" Sunghoon replied smoothly, and when Sunoo nodded, something about the way Sunghoon smiled deepened, more focused now. That voice—fuck. Sunoo could already feel the heat crawling up his neck. His body wasn't even trying to be subtle about how attracted he was. And God, those hands—Sunghoon reached for the bottle of rum to refill his cup, and Sunoo caught a flash of the veins along his forearm, the easy flex of his wrist, the way his fingers moved with control. For a second, Sunoo lost the ability to form a proper thought. Break my bones. Please. I beg.
They were already halfway through the conversation, and Sunoo could feel himself falling a little too deep for comfort. Sunghoon wasn't just attractive—he was engaging in a way that didn't feel forced. He spoke with confidence in his voice, and Sunoo found himself drawn in with every word. It surprised him how someone could make something as dry as tendons sound this interesting, especially when he usually avoided any talk of lectures once he stepped out of school. But with Sunghoon, it felt different. His voice was soothing, and the way he explained things had a rhythm that made Sunoo want to listen, even if he already knew the topic.
"And you know the tendons that connect from the—" Sunghoon started, his fingers gesturing as he spoke.
Sunoo nodded along, genuinely interested, eyes fixed on him, but then, right in the middle of the sentence, Sunghoon stopped. His posture shifted, back straightening, and his eyes flicked past Sunoo's shoulder like something—or someone—had just pulled his attention. Sunoo frowned, eyebrows drawing together, expecting him to finish the sentence, but instead, he watched as Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, his expression softening in recognition, lips curving upward.
Sunoo glanced behind him, confusion setting in. Then Sunghoon cleared his throat, gave him a polite smile, and said, "Uhh, sorry. If you'll excuse me. Nice meeting you, Sunoo," before lightly tapping his shoulder and walking off.
Sunoo's mouth fell open, completely caught off guard. He barely had time to react before his eyes followed Sunghoon's retreating figure—and then he saw exactly where he was heading. Fuck?!
You were leaning casually against the wall near the hallway entrance, drink in hand, watching the whole interaction. You didn't look surprised to see Sunghoon making his way over. In fact, you barely blinked. The moment he reached you, your body turned just slightly to make space for him. Sunghoon leaned in, said something only you could hear, and your quiet laugh in response said everything else Sunoo didn't want to believe.
Sunoo blinked, chest tight. He could almost feel something short-circuiting inside his brain, like a wire snapping clean. His thoughts were a blur, but one thing was clear—you. His pulse quickened as his body processed the shift, his amygdala practically lighting up with one conclusion: you are a threat.
A threat to his night, his mood, his already bruised ego. God, how was it even possible for someone he'd only met twice to piss him off this much? The universe really had the audacity to let you show up again, and not just exist, but actively ruin his chances at getting laid. Because let's be real—he wasn't looking for love, just something to distract him, and now even that had been snatched by the same cigarette-smoking bitch who couldn't be bothered to respect a no-smoking sign?!
His friend appeared beside him, holding a fresh cup and scanning the room. "Hey, where'd Sunghoon go? You two looked like you were hitting it off."
Sunoo didn't turn to look at her. He just brought the rim of his cup to his lips, finished what was left in a single gulp, and slammed it back on the table. "He went to hell," he muttered. "With someone who clearly lives there." His friend blinked, confused. "Wait—what?"
Sunoo turned to her, face tight with a forced smile. "Don't worry about it. Just remind me next time I say I'm open to meeting new people—slap me."
He exhaled sharply as his eyes drifted back to where the two of you had returned from the hallway. And when he really looked—when he took in your outfit, the way you were dressed like you didn't give a single shit what anyone thought—he almost laughed out loud.
A strawberry shirt? Jorts? Those shoes? That's what Sunghoon left him for? Sunoo scoffed under his breath, shaking his head slowly, barely believing it. He looked down at himself—his carefully styled hair, his clean lines, and then back at you. "Seriously," he muttered, eyes still locked on you. "That's the one?"
He couldn't decide if he was more offended for himself or embarrassed for Sunghoon. Whether you were just a friend, a fling, or something in between, one thing was clear to him now: Park Sunghoon had no taste. And if he did, it was broken.
Anyway, there were plenty of fish in the sea. Sunoo wasn't going to waste his energy sulking over one guy, especially not if you were somehow involved. If Sunghoon had any sort of connection to you then Sunoo would rather tap out early and save himself the trouble. He had enough baggage without adding someone who came with your name attached.
At least, that's what he told himself.
But then again, Sunoo had also said there were so many fish in the sea—yet somehow, it felt like every damn fish was just swimming in circles around you. It was getting ridiculous. He wasn't being dramatic, either. There was always something—some random detail, some little coincidence, and suddenly, boom. You. Right there again.
Date number one: a gym instructor. Hot, yes, a little edgy, had that calm, slow-talking voice Sunoo secretly liked. Things were going okay, until the guy pulled out his phone to show pictures of his niece's birthday party and proudly pointed to a group photo. Sunoo was nodding politely, until his eyes caught on one specific person in the background, holding the cake and grinning. He blinked. Zoomed in. Yup. You. Holding a cake with your horrible strawberry tank top. Niece, cousin, whatever—you were related. Add to that the guy reeked of cigarettes the whole time, and Sunoo was done before dessert.
Date number two: a Med Tech student. Good on paper, clean cut, same healthcare background, probably understood his schedule and stress levels. Sunoo was really trying with this one. But on their second date, as they were walking to a café near the guy's family's shop, Sunoo noticed someone standing out front during a break—leaning against the wall, cigarette between your lips, looking bored out of your mind. You. Again. You even smirk at him! Sunoo didn't even finish the coffee. He went home and ghosted the guy the next morning.
Okay, maybe he was being petty. Maybe, in a community as tight as theirs, having overlap wasn't that deep. But could anyone really blame him? Sunoo could admit it—he was petty, fine. He could own that. His feelings were valid. He was the one showing up, putting in effort, trying to start something new while somehow tripping over you every single time.
And if anyone dared to question why he was so quick to shut people down the moment your name and face got involved, well—he'd like to point them toward basic psychology. According to research, the brain forms first impressions within seconds. These impressions are shaped by appearance, voice, body language, even scent—and they trigger implicit biases, unconscious reactions that color how we feel about someone before they even say a word. And what had his brain learned to associate with you? Cigarettes, interruptions, stolen men, smug grins, and the color strawberry.
So, yes. Sunoo was triggered. And he was allowed to be.
"Damn, my neck is killing me from all these hospital duties. I'm seriously craving mint ice cream right now," Sunoo groaned, letting himself collapse face-first into the couch at Jungwon's dorm. He had no energy left and zero motivation to head back to his own apartment. Everything hurt—his back, his neck, even his brain.
"I'm begging for a break," Jungwon said from his desk, not looking up from his laptop. "God, give me a date."
Sunoo's voice came out muffled, his face still buried in the cushion. "I'm fine with God not giving me a date as long as I get a decent eight hours of sleep."
"What happened with all those dates you went on?" Jungwon finally asked, turning slightly in his chair. "None of them worked out?"
"I'd rather not talk about it," Sunoo muttered, one hand waving in the air like he could physically dismiss the topic. He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forget it. I'm going to grab ice cream before I start crying about my life again. Want anything?"
Jungwon leaned back and grinned. "Can you buy me some lube?"
Sunoo rolled his eyes so hard. "Get your own, freak."
He stood up, grabbing his wallet off the coffee table and brushing off invisible lint from his pants. He didn't even know if he actually wanted ice cream anymore or if he just needed an excuse to be alone for a bit. Either way, he needed air. And distance. And ideally, a world where you didn't exist in every corner of his social life.
But of course, fate had other plans—because who else would be behind the counter of the convenience store at 10:42 PM but you, punching in his order with that same lazy grin plastered on your face as your eyes dropped directly to the bottle of lube and box of condoms on the counter.
Seriously. How many fucking jobs did you have? Sunoo stared at you, disbelief turning to horror, then to full-blown irritation. "Can you not grin like that?" he snapped, arms crossed. "What happened to discrete and nonjudgmental service? I need to speak to your manager."
You tilted your head slightly and blinked at him with exaggerated innocence, hand pausing over the touchscreen like you were truly offended. The expression only made his eye twitch harder. "That's discrimination," he added, glaring. "I should be allowed to buy whatever I want without being mentally harassed by your face."
Your lips twitched. You tried to play it cool, but the smirk slipped out before you could stop it. There it was again—that look of yours, amused and smug. So ugly!
Honestly, you hadn't expected to see him again so soon. It was the third time now, and at this point, his dramatic reactions were starting to feel like a reward. The moment he walked through the door and made eye contact with you, something in you shifted—your lips curled up instinctively, and the weight of the day suddenly didn't feel so heavy. "Huh?" you said innocently, your voice small as you tilted your head slightly, letting your bottom lip pout just enough to be annoying.
Sunoo looked like he was one breath away from combusting, especially when his eyes flicked to your mouth and you knew he caught the glint of the piercing on your lower lip, because his gaze lingered just a second too long before his face twisted in irritation.
"Huh?" he mocked, eyebrows raised and lips pushed out as he mimicked your expression, only to immediately roll his eyes so hard. Without another word, he reached across the counter and snatched the bag from your hands, the plastic crinkling loudly in the quiet. He slapped a $50 bill on the counter, pointedly avoiding your eyes.
"Keep the change and never show your face again," he snapped, already turning on his heel. "God, bye," he added with a dramatic flick of his head, tossing his hair back.
You barely held in the laugh bubbling up your throat. Cute! you thought, bracing your hands on the counter as your smile widened. "Enjoy your night, sir!" you called after him, loud and obnoxiously cheerful.
You caught the twitch of his shoulders as he froze for half a second at the door. Then, without turning fully around, he glanced at you over his shoulder, hand lifting to flash you a very clear middle finger before pushing the door open and disappearing.
You leaned back, shaking your head with a quiet chuckle. Yup. Definitely your favorite regular now.
With Sunoo buried in nonstop clinical duties, he was starting to believe that God had decided to personally test his patience. Every day was a cycle of waking up too early, surviving rounds with barely any caffeine, and crashing into bed with a brain too tired to think but still too anxious to sleep. If this was divine character development, he wanted a refund. But fine, he'd give credit where it was due. At least he wasn't in a relationship. He couldn't imagine juggling a partner on top of exams, hospital reports, and constant reminders of his nonexistent social life. That would've been a mental breakdown waiting to happen.
Sunoo still hated men or so he said. But hatred, as he often reminded himself bitterly, was a slippery slope. The more you hated, the more they crawled under your skin. And men, those confusing, beautiful disasters, were impossible to avoid. The way they smiled, the stupid flex of their arms when they weren't even trying, those veiny hands that somehow haunted his imagination late at night—ugh. It was criminal, really. He wasn't desperate, but he wasn't made of stone either. If he said he didn't miss at least a little action, he'd be lying.
So when Jake asked him to tag along to the university gym because he was meeting a friend there for a commission, Sunoo agreed—reluctantly at first. But the moment they stepped into the gym and his eyes landed on the group of basketball players practicing on the court, all thoughts of regret evaporated.
"I was waiting for my friend. Sorry to drag you into it. I have a commission with her, she told me to meet her here. Is that okay?" Jake asked, casually.
Sunoo could barely hear him over the internal scream in his head. Of course it's okay. It's so okay he might cry. His gaze was locked on one specific figure—Lee Heeseung, the captain of the university's basketball team, currently making shots. Sunoo's mouth may not have been literally on the floor, but it was dangerously close. His eyes followed every movement of how Heeseung's shirt clung to his back, how his arms flexed with every jump, how sweat dripped down his neck—
Jake nudged him. "You good?"
"Peachy," Sunoo replied, voice an octave too high as he cleared his throat. "Just... appreciating," his eyes scanned the gym, trailing slowly over the players until, inevitably, they landed on the captain, Lee Heeseung. Sunoo raised his hands vaguely, motioning toward the court as if trying to justify the way he was staring. "...physical education."
But of course, like in some movies he never signed up for, the metaphorical glass shattered the moment you appeared. Just walked right into his field of vision. The air shifted, his stomach dropped, and his brows furrowed. His expression twisted into something between disgust and disbelief as his arms dropped in surrender. What the hell were you doing here?! Oh God?! You and him are in the same university?!
And then, just as Sunoo thought the scene couldn't get worse, Jake stood up, grinning wide. "There you are!" he said before pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss on your cheek.
Sunoo's entire soul left his body. What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Jake was gay—openly and proudly gay—and Sunoo, as judgmental as he sometimes got, couldn't help but squint suspiciously. Are you seriously friends with his friends? Because if anyone was giving homophobic vibes, it was definitely you. Sunoo blinked hard. The math wasn't mathing. Did Jake not feel the same tension he did? Oh no. Jake needed help. Jake needed saving. God, someone had to sit him down and explain a few things before it was too late.
"Oh! Meet Sunoo! He's my best friend from nursing."
And there it was—the inevitable moment where Sunoo had no choice but to lock eyes with you. The second your gaze met his, you smiled so sweetly it made his entire body crawl. You even added a little wave, like this was the friendliest encounter on earth, and not the fourth time you'd popped up in his life. Sunoo felt the twitch in his eye before he could stop it, jaw clenching as he forced the most plastic smile onto his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled with pure performance. He stood up, cheeks already aching from pretending, leaned in for a polite cheek-to-cheek like he wasn't imagining pulling your hair back in pure rage, and was immediately hit with a mix of cigarette smoke and YSL Libre perfume. Ugh.
Jake, completely oblivious to the silent war unfolding, beamed as he gestured between the two of you. "She's a fashion design major! Does commissions too—drawings, paintings, cakes, you name it."
Sunoo nodded stiffly, barely reacting. Inside, he was sighing so loud he could practically hear himself. As Jake went on, clearly proud to know someone like you, Sunoo watched you nod and smile with just the right amount of humility, your tone gentle, polite, soft—like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. This is fake. You're fake. This whole performance is fake. God, Jake deserves better friends. He forced another smile, barely hanging onto his sanity. Because the way you were looking at him right now and you knew he was crumbling inside was enough to make his blood boil.
And worst of all, you looked delighted about it. Bitch. You're a bitch. Sunoo didn't even try to be polite about it in his head anymore. He had fully accepted the fact that you existed in his life for the sole purpose of testing his patience.
But of course, it didn't stop there. Since Jake thought you and Sunoo were getting along just fine, he began inviting you everywhere. Lunch, coffee breaks, study sessions—any time he had a free hour, he'd text both of you like this was some little trio. Fuck him!
And every time you showed up, Sunoo could feel that familiar twitch start behind his eye, the one that pulsed when he was one annoyance away from losing it. Your voice would float into the conversation like you had no idea you were driving him slowly insane.
But the worst part? The absolutely most humiliating part? He was starting to notice things. Little details that stuck with him even though he never asked for them. You smoked Marlboro Reds, but you always kept a strawberry-flavored vape in your bag. You wore outfits like you just rolled out of a punk indie concert, all black with layered chains and boots that could kill a man, but he'd bet money your favorite color was red—based on the red phone case, the red liner under your eyes, the strawberry pins you sometimes wore on your bag. You had a piercing on your tongue—he found that out when you bit into a donut one afternoon and casually stuck your tongue out in surprise because of the powdered sugar.
He didn't mean to remember all of this. He didn't even talk to you. Not directly, at least. Every time Jake tried to bridge conversation between you two, it felt like some weird form of punishment. Sunoo would answer, you'd smile knowingly, and Jake would keep chatting like this three-way exchange wasn't slowly draining Sunoo's soul.
"Jake has a fear of needles, so maybe stop trying to convince him to get a piercing or a tattoo," Sunoo said, not even glancing up from his drink.
He hadn't meant to speak, but with Jake in the restroom and the silence between you two stretching, the words slipped out. His tone was calm but the way his fingers tightened slightly around his cup betrayed the irritation simmering under his skin.
You turned your head, raising a brow slowly as if deciding whether to entertain this or not. "Hmm? I didn't know we were handing out unsolicited advice now," you said, tilting your glass to make the ice clink. "Is that your subtle way of joining the conversation, Ddeuno?"
His jaw flexed the moment the nickname left your lips. He finally looked at you, eyes sharp. "It's not joining if I'm already in it. Jake was talking to both of us. And it's Sunoo. Not that hard."
You smiled, amused by the twitch in his expression. "Sure, Sunoo. But don't you think Jake's capable of making his own choices?"
"He is," he said, voice a touch tighter as he leaned forward and crossed one leg over the other. "Which is exactly why I know he wouldn't have asked if you didn't plant the idea in his head."
You rested your elbow on the table and glanced at him with casual ease. "I didn't plant anything. He saw my piercing and asked. Maybe you're just not used to people being curious about something you can't control."
He scoffed, shaking his head as he stirred his drink, the metal spoon tapping against ceramic. "Right, because nothing screams freedom of choice like peer pressure with a side of aesthetic superiority."
"I never pressured him," you said, eyes locked on his. "But if he wanted to try something new, I wouldn't stop him. You, on the other hand, sound like you'd tackle him to the ground before he could book an appointment."
Okay, fuck this. Sunoo's patience was thinning by the second, and he could feel the irritation rising and rising and rising! He hadn't come here to argue, but the way you kept smiling, like you knew how to push every single one of his buttons, made it impossible to let it slide.
He wasn't trying to control Jake. He was just looking out for him because someone had to. Sunoo had this belief, stubborn as it was, that people who covered themselves in piercings and tattoos didn't exactly value their skin the way they should. It wasn't about being judgmental, it was about keeping things clean, presentable, safe. Sure, he wouldn't tell strangers how to live their lives, but when it came to the people around him? The people he cared about? He preferred them untouched.
He turned to you again, eyes hard. "There's nothing wrong with wanting the people I care about to take care of themselves properly."
You didn't flinch, just tilted your head slightly, like you were waiting for more. "Tattoos and piercings aren't unhygienic if done right," you replied. "But sure, let's pretend this is about safety and not just your obsession with control."
Sunoo laughed under his breath, the sound hollow. "Yeah? And let me guess—you're the expert now because you sat through a couple needle sessions and watched some tattoo TikToks?"
You leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, gaze unshaken. "No. But I'm someone who understands that self-expression doesn't need your permission."
The tension in the air crackled. And just when it felt like one more word would tip things over the edge, Jake returned to the table, smiling. "Miss anything?" he asked, completely unaware.
You leaned back smoothly, picking up your drink like nothing happened. "Not a thing."
That was it. He couldn't keep letting this slide. As much as he tried to convince himself he was just being overprotective, he knew deep down he was past the line of tolerating your presence. You were a bad influence on Jake—he was sure of it—and sooner or later, someone had to say it. That someone was going to be him.
Later that day, when you'd left first and it was just the two of them walking toward the station, Sunoo finally spoke. "Do you... ever feel a certain vibe from her?"
Jake blinked, looking over at him with an innocent confusion that made Sunoo want to scream. "Huh? Vibes? What kind of vibes?"
Bitch vibes, Sunoo almost blurted out. He had to stop himself from saying it out loud. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more composed. "Just... like, the way she talks. She always has something to say, and it's never just casual. It's like everything's meant to get a reaction."
Jake tilted his head slightly, clearly trying to follow. "You mean, like, she's too witty?"
Sunoo narrowed his eyes. "No, like... she's too comfortable? It's weird. And I don't trust it."
Jake just laughed, brushing it off too easily. "She's just chill. That's how she is with everyone. She's a good person, Sunoo. You just haven't gotten used to her yet."
Sunoo sighed, irritated. "That's the problem. I don't want to get used to her. And maybe you shouldn't either." He let the word slipped on his mouth.
Jake glanced at him, and for the first time, his smile faded a little. "She's my friend. You're my friend. Just... try not to be mean, okay?"
Maybe he had sounded a little too harsh, a little too pointed—but it wasn't like he was being mean for the sake of it. Sunoo knew what it looked like, but deep down, it wasn't about jealousy or drama. He was just trying to protect something that mattered to him before it got tangled up in whatever messy situation. He didn't trust easily, and the way you walked into their lives set off every internal alarm. But Jake... Jake wasn't the type to see danger. Not like Sunoo did.
"Sorry," he said quietly, reaching out to gently hold Jake's hand with a small smile. Jake just nodded and gave his hand a soft squeeze in return, the silence between them filled with a quiet understanding even if they didn't see eye to eye on everything.
Meanwhile, from your side of things, things were quite different.
The more time you spent around Kim Sunoo, the more curious you became. You weren't really interested in men. They were too predictable, too performative, too eager to please and too quick to disappoint. They were fun, sometimes, but they didn't hold your attention. But Sunoo was something else. You didn't even notice when it started. Maybe it was the way he carried himself. Maybe it was the way he bit back when provoked, or how he tried so hard to hide that he cared too much about the people around him.
You'd seen beautiful people before. You'd had flings, hookups, distractions. But Sunoo... he stuck. You were clearly interested. and there were moments that he annoyed you, sure. Challenged you. Threw shade but he made your brain work. He made your skin itch in that specific way only people you couldn't quite figure out ever did. And fine, maybe it was because he looked a little like a girl. Soft skin, pouty lips, those lashes that curled perfectly for no reason. You couldn't stop looking at him.
Well, too bad for you, he didn't seem the least bit pleased with your presence. And honestly? The feeling was mutual. He had that almost condescending way of speaking that made everything sound like a warning label. Foul controlling mouth, always ready with a "don't do this," or a "you shouldn't do that." He was a walking killjoy wrapped in pretty skin, constantly policing the air around him like joy was something to be monitored.
It didn't make sense. How could someone so tightly wound be friends with someone like Jake, who floated through life like a balloon one gust away from flying into the sun? What were they even talking about when you weren't around? Did Sunoo lecture Jake on posture and caffeine intake? Did Jake actually listen?
"Are you getting along with Sunoo well?" Jake asked.
You paused mid-hit with your vape, the familiar strawberry taste lingering on your tongue as you raised your leg up onto the bench, shoulders lifting in a shrug. You exhaled slowly, letting the smoke drift upward as you looked off to the side. "Define 'well,'" you murmured.
Of course, Jake would ask. And of course, Sunoo had probably said something. It was expected. That boy had a hard time keeping anything off his chest, especially when it came to people he clearly couldn't stand. Jake sighed, slumping back against the bench like your answer had physically disappointed him. "Aww, come on. I really want you two to get along," he muttered, pouting.
You glanced at him, the corner of your mouth pulling into a faint smirk. "Jake, I don't not get along with him. We just don't operate on the same wavelength." You watched as Jake's shoulders dropped a little, disappointment settling in. There was a pause, not long, but long enough for you to notice the way he kept looking at you like he was hoping for a better answer. So you gave him one, even if it came reluctantly. "He's interesting, though."
That made Jake perk up, turning to face you more fully, hope flickering back into his expression. "You think so?"
And with that soft look on his face, that typical sunshine that you could never seem to say no to, you found yourself giving in. Fine. The next time you saw Sunoo, you wouldn't provoke him. You'd leave his nerves alone for once, maybe even make an effort not to smell like smoke. You already knew that Sunoo probably hated the smell of cigarettes. The way he wrinkled his nose when you were near, how he subtly shifted his body away like he didn't want to breathe the same air, said more than enough.
He was the type who liked rules. Cleanliness. Probably thought smoking was a character flaw rather than a habit. So controlling. But if it meant keeping peace with Jake, you could give it a shot. And you really want to get along with him, though. Not just a friend.
If men were animals, Sunoo would absolutely agree they were monkeys but honestly, even that felt unfair to monkeys. At least monkeys had a sense of community. They groomed each other, protected their own, had an instinct to care. Men? Men could barely carry a conversation without twisting it to revolve around themselves, like everything was orbiting their fragile egos. And what did it even say about him that he'd still actually tried to be patient with that last one? The man had poor communication skills, grammar that made Sunoo want to cry, a sense of humor so dry it could choke a cactus, and hygiene that was clearly not taught with enough urgency in his household. Sunoo had still shown up, been kind, understanding, even offered grace where he really shouldn't have.
And he got ghosted. After all that effort, after tolerating body spray that didn't cover the scent of unwashed laundry, and laugh emojis used in places where no jokes existed—Sunoo was the one who got left on read.
And as if the universe hadn't done enough damage, this morning, their Clinical Instructor decided to nitpick his grooming. Said his hair was too long and should be "cleaned up to maintain a professional image." Too long? It was barely brushing his ears!
Sunoo slammed his locker shut, lips pressed into a thin line as he yanked his lanyard off and stuffed it into his pocket. "I need a mango shake," he muttered under his breath, storming out of the building. "Or I need a drink. Or I need to get laid. Honestly, at this point, any of the three will do. Fuck this life."
And as if the day hadn't already tried to ruin him, it just kept going. Sunoo tripped over one of the uneven bricks in the university garden—in front of three freshmen and a couple from Dentistry—and his whole body hit the ground like it had something to prove. The worst part? He was wearing his white clinical uniform, freshly ironed this morning, and now it had mud on the knee, a grass stain on the sleeve, and his shoe was ruined. The sole peeled at the side like it was giving up on life, just like him.
He stood there for a moment, fists clenched, eyes locked on the sky like he was daring it to rain. His pride was already dented, his clothes dirty, his patience snapped and now, of course, not a single damn taxi in sight was stopping. He raised his arm again, waved it with enough energy to summon a ghost, but every car either sped past or pretended not to see him. People were staring. He could hear the soft chuckles, see the sideways glances. He was half a second from screaming into the void or kicking a bush, whichever came first.
And then came the low sound of motorbike. He turned his head, expecting just another person speeding past him like the rest of the universe, but the bike slowed down instead. The helmeted rider stopped in front of him, casually lifting the visor.
His eye twitched instantly. Of course it was you. Like the universe had specially selected you to appear right when he had the least energy to deal with anything, especially you. His grip on his bag strap tightened out of habit, maybe even to stop himself from doing something regrettable. The strap strained against his palm as he imagined how satisfying it would be to swing it straight at your little helmet.
You didn't speak but the amused curve of your lips said everything. Your eyes scanned his state—mud on his uniform, one shoe visibly damaged, face flushed with humiliation and frustration—and that damn smile only grew. "Rough day, pretty boy?"
Sunoo closed his eyes, shoulders rising with a deep inhale of your voice. He hadn't seen you in weeks, maybe months, and yet here you were, showing up when his life was at its absolute worst. He opened his eyes slowly, and instead of giving you the satisfaction of a scowl, he gave you a sweet, polite smile. "Fuck off."
You tilted your head slightly, helmet still on, visor up, as if you were genuinely trying to decide whether his attitude deserved a response. "Hmm," you murmured, nonchalant. "Need a ride, or are you into being publicly humiliated? Because you're doing a great job."
"I'd rather crawl," he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight, and instantly regretting it when his soaked shoe made a gross squish. Disgusting. This day was disgusting.
"Great," you replied, gripping the throttle. "Let me know how far that gets you. Good luck."
The engine growled once beneath you as you rolled the bike forward a little, just enough to make it clear you were ready to leave him standing there. And that should've been fine. He didn't need you. He didn't want your help.
Except he did. Because his legs were aching, his socks were wet, and none of the taxis had stopped for the last fifteen minutes, and to make things worse, he had class at two o'clock sharp. There was no way he could show up looking like this, not with the nursing department's obsession with cleanliness and grooming. One look at his uniform and they'd send him straight home. He didn't have the time or energy to risk that.
So, against every ounce of pride in his body, he swallowed hard and called out, "W-Wait."
The second it left his mouth, regret settled in. You didn't even bother to turn off the engine. You just tilted your head again, that damn helmet catching the light, your eyes already locking on his with that same irritating amusement you always wore around him.
Sunoo's eye twitched. His fingers curled tighter around the strap of his bag. Every part of him wanted to kick your stupid motorbike over and walk away barefoot, but his common sense—the part that knew wet shoes, strict instructors, and a late clinical check-in didn't mix—kept him rooted in place.
You raised your brows. "Changed your mind?"
"No," he snapped. "The universe is just clearly mocking me and you're the cherry on top."
You let out a short laugh. "That's not a no."
He clenched his jaw and looked away for a second, like maybe if he didn't see your face, he could pretend this wasn't happening. Then finally, after a long pause, he muttered, "I need a ride. That's it. Don't talk. Just drive."
You patted the back of the seat, without another word, the engine rumbled beneath you as you steadied the bike, shifting slightly to pull your helmet off and offer it to him. Sunoo blinked, hesitating. "You're not wearing one?"
You tilted your head, brushing your hair out of your face as you balanced the bike with one leg. "You're in a clinical uniform. If we get stopped, guess who they'll blame for not following safety rules? Just take it, Nurse."
He didn't reply, just snatched the helmet from your hand and mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, I hate you, though it came out too tired to carry any real hatred. He shoved it on, adjusting the strap a little too aggressively before climbing on behind you.
"Jake said your place is near the Avenue, right?" you asked, eyes already ahead. "I'm going the long way. No checkpoints."
Sunoo gripped the back handle awkwardly at first before giving in and placing his hands lightly on your waist for balance, trying not to think too hard about the contact. "Whatever," he muttered. "Just drive."
The wind wrapped around both of you, warm against his face, tugging at his hair and slipping into the space between his collar and neck. He hated how natural it felt to sit there with you, hated how the scent of your perfume still clung to the inside of the helmet. He hates the smell of the strawberry yet he don't know why it was giving him comfort right now.
"Drop me off at that corner," he said, leaning closer to make sure you heard him, pointing toward the shaded part of the sidewalk ahead.
You didn't say anything—just pulled over smoothly and tapped the brakes until the bike came to a steady stop. The second it did, he got off like the seat had turned hot, quickly removing the helmet and smoothing down his messy hair. He held the helmet out toward you stiffly.
You took it, setting it on the handlebars, and exhaled a breath. "You know," you started, giving him a once-over, "for someone who acts so obsessed with respect and rules, you're really bad at saying thank you."
Sunoo let out a breath that was halfway between a scoff and a sigh. "I didn't ask for your help."
You shrugged, hands settling easily on the handles. "Yeah. But you still climbed on."
He looked at you for a moment, lips twitching like he wanted to say something else but couldn't find the energy. Instead, he turned his gaze away, cheeks flushed from heat.
"Fine," he said, barely above a mutter. "Thanks. For the ride."
Your smile widened, "anytime, pretty boy."
He rolled his eyes, turned around, and walked off before you could enjoy the look on his face any longer. But you were already watching his back as he stormed away, your fingers brushing against the helmet. Cute. So damn cute!
"What do you mean you're not going?" Sunoo asked, frowning as he walked alongside Jake through the hallway.
"I'm busy," Jake replied, reaching for his locker and spinning the lock. "Jungwon's coming anyway, right? Just vibe with him for now. You'll survive a night without me."
Sunoo let out a dramatic sigh and stomped his foot, clearly not in the mood to be reasonable. "But I want you there! It's not fun without you."
Jake pulled out a thick review binder and glanced at him over his shoulder. "I've got a summative test on Monday, remember? It's kind of important. We could just crash at my place after, maybe do a sleepover?"
"Ihhh," Sunoo whined, dragging out the sound. "I don't want to sleep, I want to drink."
Jake raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed. "Don't tell me this is about that guy from the other school ghosting you. Again."
Sunoo rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand. "It's not about that. I just... feel like drinking. That's all."
Jake stared at him for a moment, closing his locker slowly, trying to read beneath the surface. "Right. Totally not about him." He slung his bag over one shoulder and sighed. "Look, let me get through these notes first. If I finish early, I'll come join you. But until then, just go with Jungwon, okay?"
Sunoo pouted but didn't argue further. He hated going without Jake, but sulking alone wouldn't change the plan. He was going out tonight, one way or another and with Jake or not, he was going to forget every bit of bullshit the week had piled on him. Even if it meant dragging Jungwon into whatever he was about to step into.
He swore it was going to be just one drink—maybe two, while waiting for Jake but the moment they arrived, it turned out the party was practically a shrine to drinking games. The music was loud, the lights were low, and every corner had someone yelling "bottoms up!"
Jungwon, despite his initial confidence, was barely holding it together after three rounds of some game that involved slapping the table and chanting nonsense. He stood up abruptly, wobbling slightly as he pressed a hand to his stomach. "Oh my God, I feel like I'm going to vomit. Why am I such a loser?" he groaned, and without waiting for a response, excused himself, muttering something about needing air—or a toilet.
Sunoo, meanwhile, wasn't faring much better. His head was spinning, cheeks flushed, and his limbs felt like they were being operated by someone else. He didn't even realize when the giggles turned into sniffles, and the sniffles turned into full-blown tears. He ended up kneeling by the edge of the marble platform near the open balcony, smacking his fist weakly against the cool surface as the alcohol dragged his emotions right out of him.
"Ehhhhhh," he cried, voice cracking pitifully. "I want a boyfriennnnddd!"
Jay, who had been casually sipping beer on the couch nearby, looked up in alarm as Sunoo stumbled toward him with watery eyes. He stopped in front of him, wiping at his cheeks like it would hide the mess.
"Pleaseee," Sunoo sniffled, leaning close. "Find me a boyfriend. I want to be loved. I'm so soft. I'm so kind. Why am I suffering?! Ugh."
Jay blinked, glanced around the party like someone might swoop in and handle the situation for him, and when no one came, he slowly set his beer down. "...Do you want water?"
Sunoo gasped, "I want love, not hydration!" he wailed, continue to sob.
Before Jay could figure out what to do with that level of emotional spiral, someone approached from behind.
"Jay, the owner's already handing us the money—what the fuck?"
Sunoo blinked through his tears and looked up, vision blurry as your voice rang out. You stood just inside the balcony doorway. Red halter sando clinging to your shoulders, he noticed a tattoo. Ink, in a soft pinkish-red tone, winding delicately along your shoulder and upper arm. The design was detailed floral vines and swirls that traced across your collarbone and around your bicep. It was so beautifully done, it almost looked like it was growing from your skin, and that pissed him off even more. Your baggy jeans low on your hips, your hair twisted into a messy bun. A guitar strap slung diagonally over your body, cigarette hanging loose between your fingers. Your eyeshadow was smudged black and glittery, clashing violently with your red lipstick, but somehow you made it work—though Sunoo would never admit that out loud. Not even if he were dying.
There was no smirk this time, no teasing glint in your eyes. Just a quiet kind of concern as you stared down at him. And he hated it. Absolutely hated it!
So, naturally, he raised his middle finger at you with zero hesitation. Jay glanced between the two of you and awkwardly took a step back. "You know him? Can you, like... deal with that? I need to talk to someone real quick." And just like that, he vanished quickly into the crowd, getting the guitar off on your shoulder to avoid any responsibilities.
Sunoo only sobbed harder. You sighed, dragging your foot across the cigarette to put it out before crouching in front of him. "What the hell happened to you?" you asked, eyeing his flushed cheeks, watery eyes, and hands tugging uselessly at the front of his shirt. "Where's Jake? Did he leave you here like this?"
Sunoo sniffled, bottom lip trembling. "I want to get laaaaaiiiid," he wailed, grabbing your shoulder. "Why can't people stay? What's wrong with me?!"
You blinked slowly, barely reacting to him shaking your shoulder with every word. "Maybe... because you're controlling?"
Sunoo froze, then glared at you, eyes wide and offended. "Fuck you! You can't even give me basic emotional support? What kind of monster are you?"
You let out a breath and sat down fully in front of him. "You want emotional support? Fine. You're hot. You're smart. You've got flawless skin and cheekbones people would sell their soul for. Now stop crying like the world ended. You're embarrassing both of us."
Sunoo sniffled again, staring at you with eyes too round and glassy for his own good. "Do you mean it?"
"Yes, I mean it," you muttered, already unlocking your phone to text Jake. "Now let's get out of here before you sob all over someone else's balcony—"
"No!" he snapped, suddenly snatching your phone and stepping back.
Your eyes widened in disbelief, your fingers twitching in the air where your phone had just been. Sunoo stood tall now, swaying only slightly, the alcohol clearly still sitting heavy in his limbs, but his grip on your phone was surprisingly solid. "Sunoo—" you warned, reaching for it, only for him to lift it higher. Damn his height.
He looked down at you, still flushed, lips pulling into a mischievous little smile that was way too proud for someone who had been sobbing on the floor five minutes ago. "It's my turn to be annoying," he said, tilting his head. "Am I actually hot?"
"Sunoo—" you sighed through your teeth, rising onto the balls of your feet. "Yes, you're hot. Now give me my phone back."
He raised it even higher. "So I'm not ugly?"
"You're pretty, Sunoo. Very pretty," you said, swallowing a dry knot in your throat as you felt your face heat up. His body was too close again, and this was definitely not where you thought the night would go.
Before you could collect yourself, he slumped forward, head landing against your neck with the weight of all his sadness. "Then why the hell does everyone cheat on me?" he wailed, and the force of him nearly knocked you backward until your spine hit the metal railing.
You stood there, half-pinned under a very clingy Kim Sunoo, awkwardly patting his back as you tried to retrieve your phone. But his grip only tightened.
He pulled away slightly, just enough to look at you, eyes still red, but his lashes clumped and wet and his lips trembling. "L-let's drink?" he mumbled. "You're annoying. I still hate you a little but I'll forget it. J-just... just don't smoke, okay? I don't like it when people smoke, okayyy?"
"Sunoo," you exhaled slowly, adjusting your balance as he kept his weight partially slumped on you, "I'm not drinking. I only came here for a gig. And I'm driving my bike. I have work tomorrow—"
"Owww-kayyy?" he cut you off with a lopsided pout.
You stared at him, unblinking. "I'm going to call Jake now."
"Owww-kayyy?" he repeated, holding your phone.
You sighed and pressed your fingers to the bridge of your nose. "Okay," you muttered.
That was all he needed. Sunoo let out a soft cheer, grabbing your hand with enthusiasm as he pulled you back into the party. You thought you were just going to drink with him, maybe a shot or two to shut him up, but Sunoo clearly had other plans.
His version of "let's drink" turned out to mean filling an entire cup with whatever was on the table and practically forcing it into your hands. You barely had time to brace yourself before he was tipping the rim toward your lips, eyes wide and sparkling.
You coughed through the first one, gagged through the second, and by the time the third hit your throat, you were wincing with every swallow. It burned all the way down and you already knew you wouldn't survive the night. For someone who smokes like it's your job, your alcohol tolerance was embarrassingly low and hangovers always hit like a truck. But then again, Sunoo was too pretty to say no to when he smiled like that, even with that annoying bratty glint in his eye.
"Party, partehhh! Yeahh!" he shouted, twirling you into the crowd like you were suddenly best friends.
Somehow, you ended up in the middle of the dance floor. Lights spinning, bass vibrating through your chest, and before you could stop yourself, your body had already leaned back against him. His hands found your waist automatically, and you didn't know if it was the alcohol or something else entirely, but your hips were moving, grinding gently against him in time with the beat.
You tilted your head slightly, cheek brushing his jaw as you muttered, "Maybe... men aren't for you, Sunoo."
He blinked down at you, clearly dazed, but still gripping your waist. "What?" he said, almost laughing.
"Swing for girls this time," you slurred with a half-smile, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek, your eyes struggling to focus. "Girls won't cheat on you."
He snorted. "Women were never my thing, bitch."
Your smile faltered just a little, and you pouted up at him, thumb brushing over the edge of his cheekbone. "In a relationship... or in sex?" You tilted your head and looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. "Because girls? They'll treat you right. They'll adore you. They'll give you the kind of head that makes you forget your own name."
Sunoo's breath caught for a second, but he didn't move away. "I know that," he muttered. "I'm one of the girls."
You hummed, dragging your gaze along his features, watching the way he blinked slower now, how his lips parted slightly as your words pressed deeper. "Mmm. But have you ever been treated like that by a girl?" you asked again, your hips shifted, rolling back just enough to press against the heat of him.
Sunoo bit his bottom lip, hard enough to leave a mark. He wanted to shove you away, curse you out, remind you just how much you irritated him—but something burned hotter in his veins than the alcohol and it was how intoxicating you looked.
He shouldn't be doing this. You were the last person on earth he should be doing this with, but then again, nothing about tonight was going according to plan. And before he could stop himself, his hands gripped your waist tighter, dragging you closer as his lips crashed into yours.
The next thing he knew, the two of you were stumbling into the restroom at the end of the hallway, the door slamming behind you. His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling tight as your back hit the sink. He hated the taste of your cigarette on your tongue, but he kissed you harder anyway. Your hands were already under his shirt, nails scraping lightly down his spine, pulling a sharp breath from his throat.
You feel his tongue exploring your mouth, moving slow, tasting you with a hunger that makes your body respond without thinking. A moan slips from your lips as heat builds between your thighs, your panties dampening at the way he kisses you.
When you finally break the kiss, your lips trail down to his neck, licking and sucking lightly until you reach his collarbone. He presses closer, breathing heavily into your hair, hips grinding into you with shaky rhythm. Both of you moan at the friction, your bodies feeding off each other's heat.
Your hand finds his waistband, fingers tracing the bulge that's been growing harder against you. The shocking huge shape beneath makes you sigh, anticipation curling low in your belly. "Fuckkk," you moan, dropping to your knees without hesitation.
Sunoo's body fell back against the sink, one hand gripping the edge, the other running through his hair like he didn't know what to do with himself. His hands were trembling as he tried to undo his belt, and he almost laughed at how clumsy he felt. But the moment was too charged, his head was light, his blood too loud. The part of him that used to think only about what it felt like to be touched was now spinning with curiosity. This—this was different. He never imagined being on the receiving end like this would feel so... unreal.
He glanced down, and the sight of you kneeling for him, eyes locked on his, lips slightly parted and ready—his mind just blanked. The way your tongue pierced glinted under the light, the tip teasing out like you were offering it, patient and inviting, made his stomach tighten painfully. "Shit," he whispered, voice cracking slightly, pulling his pants and briefs down. You stared up at his cock, your lashes fluttering at the sight. Your mouth watered at the sheer size of him, and without hesitation, you leaned closer, resting your hands on your knees like you were waiting for a command.
He couldn't believe this was what guys saw. No wonder they were obsessed with it. The view of you like that, lips ready, eyes dark with need, tongue out with that cold little metal ball waiting to touch his skin, it was pure insanity. No fantasy ever looked like this. "Fuck," he groaned again, gripping the back of your head gently as he pushed his tip toward your tongue. The second the metal touched him, he hissed, his thighs twitching from the shock of cold piercing against the heat of his cock.
And as you looked up, never breaking eye contact while slowly letting him in—he knew. He knew exactly what he'd been missing.
Sunoo had always been the one with his knees pressed down, the one getting grabbed and pulled and used, and he loved every second of it. But this was different. The way your mouth wrapped around him, how you looked so eager, how your tongue pressed and moved with purpose—his stomach was already tightening with every wet glide and suck.
"Ahh, fuck, fuck..." he whined out, head falling back as his fingers tangled in your hair, pushing you down farther. He heard the sound of your throat struggling to keep him in, your soft choking only making his hips twitch with more urgency. It was too wet, too warm, too fucking perfect.
You stayed steady, letting your throat open the best you could as you followed the rhythm of his grip. Your tongue dragged along the underside of his length, right at the base where you knew it would hit different. His moan echoed across the small room, shameless and wrecked, not caring who could hear him anymore. All he cared about was the heat wrapping around his cock and how your mouth didn't stop. You glanced up again, needing to see him, and the view made you moan around him. His skin was flushed, red climbing up to his neck, his lashes low and trembling, mouth open as he gasped through each thrust. He looked completely undone—eyes barely staying open, hands gripping you like he needed you to stay exactly there.
Your throat tightened as he gave you no space to breathe, and still, you didn't pull away. Your hands stayed planted on your knees, nails pressing into the denim as tears blurred your eyes, your breath hitching through your nose. But the way your pussy clenched from it—the helpless feeling, the rawness of it—made it all the more addictive.
Especially when both his hands now gripped your head tighter and pushed until your nose pressed flush against his navel. "I-I'm close... oh fuck, I'm close, I—I'm—" Sunoo cried out, his voice cracking with how intense it felt. His hips were moving faster now. The sound of your mouth choking around him only pushed him over the edge harder. He didn't think it could feel this good, he didn't even know he could feel this way at all.
And you didn't either. You didn't know why it felt so right, so filthy, so addicting. You'd never had anyone this desperate for you before. And Sunoo had never had anyone take him like this.
His moan was loud, body trembling as his legs struggled to keep him upright. His hips kept moving on instinct, grinding into your mouth until he finally came, thick and hot down your throat. You felt it hit the back of your tongue, swallowing quickly as he groaned above you, the pleasure written all over his flushed face.
"God, fuck... it feels so good," he breathed out, chest heaving while his hands held you there, not even realizing how hard you were trying to breathe through it. Your eyes fluttered shut as you swallowed the last of him, head light and lungs burning.
You tapped his thigh with a shaky hand, and after a moment, he loosened his grip, letting you fall back slightly. You coughed a bit, trying to catch your breath, throat sore but mind still hazy from the alcohol and heat. Everything felt like it was spinning a little when you stood up, your body swaying slightly as the room tilted around you.
Sunoo reached out, catching your shoulder to steady you, and turned on the sink. He cupped a bit of water in his palm, guiding it to your lips. You leaned in, letting the cold water cool your mouth, then wiped your lips with the back of your hand. You coughed again, softer this time, and both of you stood there in silence for a beat—still too drunk to make sense of anything, too tired to care.
"I want to sleep," Sunoo mumbled, voice groggy as his arms hung by his sides. You helped him pull his pants back up, your fingers clumsy, and when you looked up, he was already leaning into you. His lips brushed against your neck, then your jaw, then a small kiss landed on your lips softly, a quiet thank-you or maybe just a mistake.
Neither of you said anything as you stumbled out of the bathroom together. Your feet dragged, his weight slumped against you. When you pushed open one of the nearby rooms, the two of you collapsed onto the bed without thinking. His body pressed into yours, your hand resting on the curve of his thin waist, and with a final exhale, his breathing evened out into soft snores.
You stared at the ceiling for a moment, the night still buzzing in your head, and quietly hoped that come morning, Sunoo wouldn't look at you like it was all just a drunken blur he wanted to forget.
Well. You woke up to a loud squeal beside you, the sound shooting straight through your skull. Your head was pounding, every throb pulsing deep at your temples. This was exactly why you preferred smoking over drinking, at least cigarettes didn't make the world spin like this.
"Oh my God! W–why are we cuddling?! Why are you here in the first place?! D–did something happen to us?!" Sunoo's voice cracked in pure panic, his hands clutching the blanket to his chest. Even though he was fully clothed, he looked scandalized beyond belief.
You groaned and squinted against the light, trying to sit up despite the dull ache in your body. Your fingers pressed to your temples, trying to remember what the hell even happened. The room was unfamiliar, the sheets smelled like detergent, and your mouth tasted like cotton.
Before you could even collect a full thought, Sunoo slapped your back hard. You let out a sharp whine and turned to glare at him. "Aww, fuck! What the hell was that for?"
"Did something happen between us?!" he repeated, eyes wide and clearly on the verge of spiraling.
You stared at him for a second, still processing. "How would I know?" you mumbled, rubbing your face. "I drank more than I should have, and my memory's a blur. You're fully clothed, I'm fully clothed. Relax."
But he didn't calm down. In fact, he froze completely, the color draining from his face as something clearly hit him. You watched as his hands slowly moved to grip his hair, fingers tangling at the roots while his expression twisted into disbelief.
"No. No. No no no—" he whispered, and then gasped. "Oh my God. Oh my fucking God."
He wasn't even looking at you anymore. His eyes were somewhere far away as flashes from last night started to crash into him. Your lips on his, your hands tugging on his belt, your mouth sinking down while he leaned back against the sink. The heat. The noise. The way he came so hard he couldn't feel his legs. His whole body went stiff.
"You... you gave me head," he said in a whisper, voice dead with disbelief. "Oh my God. You gave me fucking blowjob."
You blinked, trying to place it. You remembered the bathroom. The taste. The sound of his moaning echoing off the walls. Shit. "Something did happen to us, you fucking bitch!" he suddenly screamed, face flushed red with shock and rage. "I'm reporting you—I'm serious, I swear—"
You screamed when he lunged and grabbed a fistful of your hair, the shock of it making you yell right back. "Fuck! Let go of me, psycho!" you snapped, swatting at his hand, your own hangover making it feel ten times worse.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he screeched, shaking your head like he could shake the memory out with it. "Why would you—?!"
"Why would I?!" you shouted, finally pulling away, hair a mess and heart racing. "You literally moaned like it was the best thing that ever happened to you!"
"Because I didn't know what was happening! I thought it was a dream! I was drunk!"
"So was I, dumbass! You kissed me first!"
Sunoo froze again, mouth open, his chest rising and falling. You watched him in silence, heart sinking a little at the way he looked at you—like he was scrambling to make sense of something that never should've happened.
Your mouth felt dry again. There was this strange weight in your chest, like disappointment settling in even though you couldn't quite figure out why. You were both drunk. He was gay. Of course it didn't mean anything. And, if you weren't drunk, you wouldn't have done it either. You lowered your gaze, biting the inside of your cheek as that silence started to stretch between you.
"L-let's just pretend this never happened," Sunoo finally said, breaking the quiet as he stood up. His voice was shaky, not angry anymore, just desperate to erase it all. He dragged his palm down his face, then pressed it against his mouth like the words were spilling out faster than he could stop them. "I'm gay... and you're... whatever. Uhh... Let's not tell this to Jake, okay?"
You rolled your eyes as you got to your feet, fingers brushing through your hair while ignoring the lump tightening in your throat. "Whatever you want," you muttered, focusing instead on searching for your socks and bag, anything to avoid the way your chest ached for reasons.
"This will never happen again. God. I feel like I just betrayed my own kind," Sunoo muttered, slapping both cheeks with enough force to make you wince. "I need to go. I need to wash everything. This is disgusting. I'm disgusting."
You didn't say anything. Just watched him from the corner of your eye while pulling your socks on, keeping your back straight and blank face.
Sunoo glanced over, eyes catching on the side of your face. Something about the way you sat there so still, lips pressed together, skin marked faintly made his chest tighten. The memory crept in again—your hands, your mouth, the sound of your moan swallowed around him—and it made his stomach twist in the worst way. He shook his head. He was sober now. He shouldn't be feeling this again.
"Let's never see each other again," he said before leaving without waiting for a response.
You stared at the floor for a long second, blinking slowly. Never see each other again, huh? You almost laughed. As if you'd let him go that easily.
Sunoo didn't even understand why the memory was still stuck in his head, looping in the background of every moment like some curse he couldn't shake. It had already been a seven full days and yet the image of your lips, the sound of your moan, the warmth of your mouth still haunted him like it just happened yesterday. Worse, every time he thought about it, his dick twitched like it had a mind of its own, getting hard embarrassingly fast without warning.
He tried to brush it off as stress. He was tired, overloaded with work, and his hormones were probably all over the place. It made sense, right? Wet dreams weren't exactly rare. They were involuntary, normal even, just a sign of the body releasing tension during sleep. But the part that bothered him the most wasn't the act itself. It was who was in them. Why you? Out of everyone, why was it you? He would've understood if it were someone like Byeon Woo Seok. But no. It was your voice in his ear, your mouth on him, your name falling from his lips as he woke up in cold sweat with a sticky cum in his pajama pants. It was fucking humiliating.
He had just started to zone out again when a voice broke through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.
"Erection is normal," Jungwon said clearly, standing at the front of the room with a microphone in hand. The school's seminar hall was full of restless teenagers, and he was doing his best to keep the attention. "It's a biological response to arousal or stimulation, often caused by elevated testosterone levels, especially during adolescence. That's why morning wood or even spontaneous erections can happen—it's not always sexual. Sometimes, it's just hormonal regulation or increased blood flow."
Sunoo swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Great. As if he needed that lecture right now.
"It's also common to have sexual dreams," Jungwon continued. "It's the brain's way of releasing suppressed feelings or stress. It doesn't always mean you're in love with the person in your dream—it could just be your mind reacting to unresolved tension."
Sunoo sat motionless, trying not to roll his eyes. He knew Jungwon probably didn't believe half the words he was saying and was just parroting the textbook to get the presentation over with. Unresolved tension? Please. That had to be the most bullshit, overused explanation. Sexual dreams were normal, just a biological function. A reflex. Wet dreams, erections, the occasional stray thought—they were all just part of how the body worked.
It was only men who liked turning every little reaction into some psychological crisis. Like it wasn't enough that your dick got hard at the wrong time, you now had to wonder why. No. He refused to play into that.
Still, he felt hot under the collar. He shifted in his seat as Jungwon kept talking, his voice fading into background noise while Sunoo's thoughts crawled back where they weren't supposed to go. Your mouth. The pressure of his hands on your head. That one sharp breath he let out when your tongue pressed against him just right. The way he swore he could still feel the metal ball of your piercing even when he was lying awake, sweating in bed, trying not to think about it —
"Sunoo!" His whole body jolted forward when someone suddenly slammed into him from behind. He turned sharply, only to see Jake grinning as he wrapped him in a tight hug.
"Long time no see! How've you been?" Jake beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners.
Sunoo blinked, his heart still racing from being startled. He squirmed out of Jake's grip, pulling his arm away from around his waist with a small scowl. "You fake bitch," he muttered, brushing off his uniform. "You said you'd go to the party last week!"
Jake tilted his head and gave him a sheepish grin. "I did! I just didn't come up to you because you were already with someone," he said, voice light but teasing, his smile carrying that knowing edge that made Sunoo freeze on the spot.
The words hit him like a cold splash of water, cutting straight through the fog of his thoughts. Shit! Sunoo's back straightened as his chest squeezed uncomfortably tight. "I-It's not what it looked like, Jake," he said quickly, voice pitching higher than he meant. "I can explain. N-Nothing happened, I swear—"
Jake raised an eyebrow in confusion, his playful smile returning as he slung an arm over Sunoo's shoulder again. "What are you talking about?" he laughed. "I'm just happy you're getting along with her! You know how much I wanted the two of you to be friends. So when I saw you drinking with her, I thought, finally! I didn't want to bother you two."
Sunoo's jaw went slack for a second. He blinked slowly as Jake's words settled in and then his face flushed with heat, the panic collapsing. You two. Drinking. Laughing. And Jake saw it. He saw it and just... assumed it was some innocent bonding moment. Sunoo nodded stiffly, forcing a laugh that came out more like a wheeze. "Y-Yeah... totally. Just... friends."
Jake didn't notice his discomfort, he just kept smiling, talking about the seminar and how awkward Jungwon looked trying to talk about erections with a straight face, but Sunoo could barely listen. If only he knew that every time Sunoo closed his eyes, it wasn't friendship playing behind his eyelids.
All your life, you've gotten things on your own terms. It wasn't about being selfish—it was about knowing what you wanted, and not being afraid to take the steps to get there, even if it meant breaking a few unspoken rules. You never apologized for it. Why should you? The world had never handed you anything easily, so you carved out space with your own hands, shaping your wants into reality.
You liked pretty things. You liked strawberries. You liked painting girls with soft collarbones and delicate fingers. You liked drawing in sharp eyeliner and wearing red lipstick even when it didn't match your outfit. You liked the way women looked in moonlight, skin glowing and bare emotion written on their faces. Women were softness and power and aching beauty, and for a long time, that's all you thought you'd ever want.
Boys were always just background noise. You flirted with them when you were bored, when you needed a distraction or when you were too tired of explaining to everyone why you leaned toward women. It was easier to let boys talk, to let them orbit around you. Most of the time, they never lasted long. They'd get close enough to realize they couldn't figure you out, and then drift away. It never bothered you. You liked being the one who stayed in control anyway.
But Sunoo was too pretty to be background noise. Too loud in your mind, even in his silence. He was sharp and delicate all at once. Sunoo is not boring. He was vibrant. Infuriating. Complicated. Unlike everyone else, Sunoo wasn't supposed to want you. And you weren't supposed to want him. You didn't chase boys. You didn't even like most of them. But with Sunoo, it wasn't about gender—it was about him. His contradictions. His moral high ground that cracked when his lips were on yours.
Now that you got a taste, you wanted to keep him. You wanted to grab him by that pretty throat and tie a little ribbon around it, mark him, stake your claim. All that fire in him, all that sharp defiance, the self-righteous storm he carried — it would be such a waste to let someone else come along and break him in the wrong way. Someone who wouldn't know how to cherish it like you would.
The wanting was dangerous. But so was he. And it was so much fun to want something you weren't supposed to have. And lucky you—Jake, in all his well-meaning sunshine, handed him right into your lap.
"I'm really glad now that you're friends," Jake grinned, arms flinging around both of you as he squeezed you close. "I can finally call us a trio now!"
You blinked in mild surprise. You hadn't even known this was a sleepover. From the way Jake had worded it earlier, you assumed it was just the two of you catching up over snacks and maybe a few drinks. But now here you were, wedged on the couch with Sunoo stiff on your other side, Jake's warmth pressed between you both. How thoughtful of him. You smiled. Jake was far too kind for his own good and far too generous with forcing proximity, but you didn't mind this time.
Sunoo, on the other hand, looked like someone had physically unplugged him. He was hugging his pillow so tightly it, eyes unfocused as he stared at nothing in particular. His face was blank, but you could read the confliction in every inch of him. Like he was holding himself together by a thread.
What you couldn't see was how hard he was trying to think of anything else besides the fact that he could smell your perfume again and it triggered something in his body. He clenched his thighs together subtly, trying to shift his hips so the growing problem in his pants wouldn't become visible. But the effort was a losing game. God, what the hell was wrong with him? He was still angry, still confused, still mortified that it happened in the first place and yet, his body clearly had no loyalty to his conscience.
What made it worse was Jake who had somehow tricked him into showing up for a supposed movie night and now had them sandwiched together like nothing ever happened between you and him. Jake didn't know, of course. And he couldn't know! Sunoo would rather choke on his own tongue than have to explain why his best friend's not-so-favorite person was suddenly invading his dreams at night and, worse, making him wake up soaked and panting like a hormonal teenager.
"What movies should we watch?!" Jake practically bounced on the couch, his grin wide as he looked back and forth.
You leaned closer, sliding your arm around Jake's. Your gaze flicked to Sunoo, who sat stiff on the other end of the couch, his posture awkward, eyes avoiding yours. "What about horror?" you said as you tilted your head, pretending not to notice how Sunoo seemed to sink deeper into the couch cushions. "Sunoo?"
Sunoo blinked, eyes snapping toward you. "Huh?" His voice cracked, his hand subtly dragged the throw pillow over his lap, fingers clutching the edges.
"Horror is gonna be fun! Imagine the thrill!" Jake turned toward you with shining eyes, already fired up. "Remember Sunoo during Evil Dead Rise? He was screeching like someone dipped him in cold water!" He burst out laughing.
You joined in, not because it was that funny but because you liked the way Sunoo glared at you when you did. His eye twitched, lips tightening in a way that made you want to press your thumb against the corner of his mouth just to see if it would twitch again.
"I didn't scream," Sunoo muttered under his breath. "It was a reflex."
Jake leaned forward to grab the remote, still chuckling. "A reflex that shook the entire floor. I had to check if we were having an earthquake."
Sunoo gave a tight, silent laugh that didn't reach his eyes. You stretched slightly, draping one leg over the other, your foot brushing lightly against Sunoo's knee. "So horror it is," you said.
Sunoo immediately jerked his leg away. "I'm not scared," he snapped, voice thin with defensiveness, eyes flicking toward you but never staying long.
"Who said you were?" you asked sweetly, lips twitching. "But maybe I can hold your hand if you get too nervous."
"I'd rather hold hands with a corpse," he muttered.
Jake, oblivious to the growing tension between you, scrolled through the options. "Let's start with Hereditary. That one's a classic."
You leaned back, settling comfortably against the couch cushion, your arm still loosely around Jake's. But your gaze stayed fixed on Sunoo, watching how he tried to keep his composure. The way he looked everywhere but at you made it all the more tempting to push again.
"Oh my God!" Jake screamed, flinging himself off the couch just as the possessed girl on the screen leapt out from the shadows.
Sunoo jumped, too, not because of the film but because Jake's yell had blasted straight into his ear. "Fuck you!" he gasped, swatting at Jake's shoulder. "You're louder than the demon, you idiot!"
Jake laughed breathlessly, holding a hand over his chest. "I told you it was gonna be scary! I warned you!"
"You didn't say you were gonna be the jump scare," Sunoo muttered, rubbing his ear.
You couldn't help laughing from your corner of the couch. It was warm in the living room, the ambient light from the TV casting deep shadows across everyone's faces. The horror movie had wound itself tight with dread, and now, near the end, the tension in the room had shifted.
Jake reached for the remote to pause it. "Okay, okay, let's all take a break. My heart can't take it. I'm gonna set up the bed and grab more snacks before we finish the last part." He stood up with a stretch, already walking toward the shared room.
You watched Jake disappear down the hallway, the sound of his slippers dragging against the floor fading behind him as he excitedly prepped the bedroom with pillows and snacks, then turned your eyes to Sunoo, who had sunk deeper into the couch, hand rubbing his temple.
Your gaze drifted past him, toward the hallway where the bathroom light glowed faintly at the end. And just like that, the tiniest smirk curled at the corner of your lips. Bingo.
You grabbed the water bottle from the table and tipped it back, pretending to take a long drink—only for the opening to "accidentally" spill, the cold splash soaking the neckline of your shirt and running straight down your chest.
"Shit!" you hissed, jumping slightly as you stood up, swiping at your top with both hands in panic. The fabric clung to your skin, the damp cotton tracing the curve of your collarbone and neckline.
From the corner of your eye, you caught Sunoo's head snap toward you. His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing again, his signature glare sliding back into place. "Are you an idiot who can't drink water like a normal person?" he snapped. His eyes flicked from your face to your soaked shirt and back again before he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the pillow over his lap again.
You scowled. "It was an accident," you muttered, pinching the hem of your shirt and pulling it slightly away from your body to keep the wet fabric from clinging too much. "I'm going to the bathroom." You turned your back, already halfway to the hall, but then paused just before you rounded the corner. You peeked back over your shoulder with a faux-hesitant voice. "Sunoo," you said sweetly, "can you... come with me?"
He straightened in his seat, eyes narrowed immediately. "What are you, five? You can walk to the bathroom on your own."
You turned around fully and gave your best pout. "But I'm scared," you said, dropping your voice. "What if something jumps out of the mirror and eats me?"
His lips parted slightly in disbelief. "It's literally a bathroom, not a haunted house. Get a grip."
You blinked at him with wide, innocent eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching. "I'm telling Jake—"
That was all it took. Sunoo moved fast. His hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist before you could finish the sentence, his grip is tight, more panicked than forceful. "We agreed to forget that already!" he whispered harshly, dragging you toward the hallway with quick steps. His face was already flushed as he pushed the bathroom door open and practically shoved you inside.
He followed, slamming the door shut behind him and twisting the lock.
You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "I meant I was gonna tell Jake you were being mean to me. What exactly were you thinking, Sunoo?"
The color that spread across his face deepened from pink to a furious red, blooming up his neck and across his cheeks. His eyes darted away from yours, jaw clenched so tight you could see the tension ripple along the muscle there. He didn't answer immediately—his thoughts were clearly a mess, the memory of that night dragging up feelings he didn't want to admit were still there.
God, you were such a bitch. A beautiful, infuriating, unreadable bitch. "Fuck you," he muttered through clenched teeth, pressing his back to the door. His arms crossed over his chest, defensive, but it was already too late for that. "What the hell do you even want?"
You smiled, taking a small step forward, head tilting like you were weighing your options. You let your gaze drop slowly—first to his parted lips, then to his hands clenched into fists at his sides—and then back to his eyes.
"Hmmm," you hummed, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the sink behind you as you leaned back, unbothered by how tense he was. "You."
Sunoo's pulse jumped so hard he felt it in his ears, and it really annoyed him.
"I think we're past the point of shyly pretending we're not attracted to each other, don't you think?" you asked casually, your foot tapping against the floor. "I mean, unless you're really going to pretend you don't think about it."
Sunoo swallowed hard, jaw tightening as he forced his expression into a cold and distant. His voice came out with a bite. "I was drunk. Whatever happened, it wasn't real. I'm sober now, and clearly, you're forgetting something—I'm gay." He stepped forward, huffing, defensive, like he needed to say it aloud to remind himself. "Even if I wasn't, even if I magically woke up straight, do you really think I'd be into someone like you? I wouldn't even hold your hand."
You smiled, unshaken. Your gaze dropped to the tile floor for a moment, nodding slowly like you were mulling it over, like you could almost believe him. "Hmmm. Really?" you said again, softly. Then you looked up and held his stare. "That's interesting."
"What happened was a mistake," he pressed. "Stop getting it twisted. You're not going to change anything. I like men—I've always liked men—and if I ever did like women, it sure as hell wouldn't be someone like you."
His words were sharp and cruel, but his voice cracked slightly on the last sentence. Your eyes flicked down to his hands again. Still clenched and shaking, you almost laughed, he was angry because he didn't know where to put this feeling, and his body was betraying him in every way.
"Okay," you said. "Sorry."
You didn't look sorry. You didn't even sound sorry. Then, without warning, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it over your head. Sunoo nearly yelped. "What the fuck?!" he squealed, spinning around so fast. His hands flew up to cover his face. "Are you insane?! Put that back on! Jesus Christ, are you trying to traumatize me?!"
You didn't say anything at first. Just laughed softly, "you said you weren't interested, right? So what are you panicking for?" You rolled your eyes slowly and watched his stiff posture as he stayed plastered to the door. "Relax," you muttered, fingers reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the floor. "I'm wet, Sunoo. I'm not trying to seduce you—I already got my answer. Now, move."
His spine straightened at your words like you'd just smacked him. "What the fuck? Move where?!" His voice rose in panic, still facing away from you.
"I didn't bring an extra shirt. My bag's in the living room," you said flatly, stepping closer. "Now move."
He hesitated, like if he turned around something irreversible would happen. But his curiosity, or maybe his stupidity, got the better of him. Slowly, cautiously, he peeked over his shoulder—and then froze completely.
You were naked from the waist up. Completely bare, with a confidence. Your arms were crossed beneath your chest, body leaning against the sink like you were just waiting for him to get over himself. And God, he should've been used to this. He'd seen breasts before—he had female friends who changed clothes in front of him all the time. It never bothered him. It wasn't a big deal.
He tried to look away and he really, really did, but his eyes kept coming back to you like they were on a leash. Your skin glowed under the light, smooth and warm-toned, shadows carving down your ribs and hips. He noticed the tattoos. The delicate ink on your shoulder had already left an imprint in his brain from that day, but now he saw more. A fine, detailed floral design wrapped along the side of your torso, just above your hip and curling slightly toward your waist. A single lily bloomed in black and soft pink, with gentle shading that made it look almost alive. Watercolor-like strokes trailed from the petals, fading like smoke. The lines followed your curves perfectly.
Sunoo was breathless. He never cared for tattoos, they weren't pretty, but on you, they looked dressed as an art. And fuck, he couldn't stop staring. His gaze flicked to your chest, and a fresh wave of heat rolled through him. Your nipples were tight from the air, drawn and pointed, resting against full, natural curves that made his stomach knot. Why was he getting hard? This didn't make sense. Fuck. You were so hot it pissed him off.
You were staring at him, head slightly tilted, waiting for him to move. "Sunoo?"
Sunoo's fists clenched. He could feel saliva collecting in his mouth, and he swallowed hard like that would put out the fire already crawling down his spine. He blinked quickly, shaking his head. "You—fuck, you need to put something on," he said.
"My shirt's in the living room—"
"I don't care. Put something on," he cut in sharply, brows furrowed and his gaze turned firmly to the wall.
You didn't budge. "Jake already saw my tits, Sunoo. It's not a big deal—"
He didn't even know why it made his stomach flip and his chest burn, but it did. The thought of Jake seeing you like this, made a feeling claw up the back of his throat.
Sunoo was a nursing student. He studied hormonal response, human behavior, and the mind's reactions to stress and desire. But this wasn't in his textbooks. This wasn't just dopamine or misplaced frustration. Human emotions were more complicated than any clinical definition. No scientific framework could fully explain the way you made him feel.
"You're hard."
Sunoo felt his entire body go still. He could feel it too. The tight pressure in his pants, the unbearable way his cock had hardened while his mind scrambled to deny everything. He turned toward the mirror above the sink, refusing to meet your eyes as he muttered, "I-It's normal biological reaction."
The excuse felt paper-thin, almost pathetic in his mouth, but it was the only thing he could reach for. He was clinging to whatever logic he had left, because logic was safer than whatever the hell this was. Logic didn't leave him aching in places he shouldn't be aching. Logic didn't twist his insides just from looking at you.
You were still standing there, unfazed, topless and confident, your arms crossed under your chest like you were waiting for him to catch up. "Sunoo," you said his name softly.
He finally looked at you, eyes glaring. "I told you I'm gay," he said, and he hated how shaky his voice sounded. "This—this shouldn't be happening."
You took a slow step closer, and he didn't move. "You said that," you nodded, voice calm. "But I didn't ask what you are. I just told you what I want."
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to read between your words, searching for an angle, a trick. "So what is this to you? A joke? Some kind of game?"
"No. You're the one making it complicated."
His chest rose and fell unevenly. His mind kept trying to name what he was feeling—confusion, tension, desire, maybe all of it at once—but it was all bleeding together in a way that felt like drowning. "I've never—" he started, then stopped himself.
You waited. "Never what?"
"I've never felt this confused before," he said, eyes searching yours like he was hoping you'd give him a reason to pull away, something to ground him. "I don't even like women. I'm not supposed to want this."
"Then don't want it," you said simply, shrugging your shoulders. "But don't lie about it. Do you want me, Sunoo?"
He hated that. Hated how sure you sounded, how unapologetically honest you were while he was still tangled in his own fear and guilt, still gripping the edge of what he thought was certainty. You made everything seem so simple, so easy to name—want, touch, feel—while he was still trying to unlearn the rules he had been clinging to for so long. He wanted to push you away, wanted to hate you for making him feel like he was coming apart in his own skin. But even as that thought surfaced, his eyes dropped again to your lips, and lingered there too long. He hated how much he wanted you to close the space between you, how much he needed you to.
His breathing grew shallow, his chest rising in uneven waves, and when you leaned forward, he didn't retreat. Instead, his eyes fluttered closed. The second your mouth brushed against his, something inside him cracked open. He kissed you with a kind of desperation that made it clear he'd stopped pretending.
There was no hesitation when he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of your body beneath his hands made his head spin. He held you tightly, anchoring himself to the moment, to the gravity of your touch. His lips moved against yours, his hands trembled as they explored the lines of your back, fingertips pressing into your skin. You knew he was falling, and you welcomed it. You let him cling to you, let him kiss you and when your lips finally parted, you didn't say a word. You just let your hands trail down his chest, eyes locked on his flushed face as you sank down onto your knees before him.
Sunoo's breath hitched audibly. His hands flew to the edge of the sink behind him, trying to steady himself. You looked up at him, gaze dark and patient, and he looked down at you. His cock strained against his pajama, and when you undid the strings, your fingers brushing against him through the fabric, he nearly buckled.
The moment you freed him, he hissed through his teeth. You didn't tease him this time, you took him into your mouth. His hand instinctively reached for your head, gripping your hair too tightly as you slid your tongue over him, slow at first, deepening only when he let out a choked moan that vibrated from somewhere deep in his chest.
"F-fuck..." he whispered, eyes fluttering open, and the sight of you on your knees—bare, hungry, focused only on him. This time, there was no alcohol to blame. No drunken impulse to hide behind. Both of you were entirely sober, breathing the same heavy air. And you were right. You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck...
He bit down on his bottom lip, struggling to hold back the sound threatening to crawl out of his throat when you pulled your mouth off him. The cold air brushed his wet skin for only a second before your hand wrapped firmly around his cock. You were looking up at him with such dark, focused eyes, and the glint of your tongue piercing when you stuck your tongue out made his stomach twist in ways.
His moan trembled out of him, a low, broken thing he tried and failed to swallow. His eyes fluttered shut as you began to stroke him, slow and tight, your fingers knowing exactly where to squeeze, where to drag your thumb. His hips jerked forward against your fist without thought. He was trembling, his thighs already straining, and when his hand moved to your head again, he didn't even register that he was holding you there, like he needed you in that position, grounded and close, while everything else slipped away.
With a choked sound, his release surged forward, hips stuttering as thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from him—painting your face, your tongue, and even your lips. You closed your eyes, but kept your mouth open, breathing heavy, letting it drip and settle across your flushed skin. The sight of you on your knees, panting, tongue out, face stained with the proof of what he'd given you—was too much. He'd never seen anything that fucking beautiful.
Sunoo's breath came out in short, ragged gasps. He couldn't look away. You were absolutely wrecked, eyes half-lidded, mouth still parted, tongue twitching slightly as the last of him spilled from the tip. His knees nearly buckled. And even as shame flickered somewhere in the distance, it didn't touch the way his chest clenched with need.
You were far past the point of pretending you're not attracted to each other. Because, fuck... in Sunoo's mind— You're really, really, really, attractive. You tilted your head, eyes still soft despite the mess on your face. "It's okay, Sunoo."
And that simple assurance hit harder than anything else had tonight, he had never felt so completely defeated and relieved at the same time.
Sunoo always joked that he was betraying his "gay motherhood," whatever the fuck that meant, but deep down, he was unraveling more than a label. His whole sense of self was spiraling, not because he didn't like men anymore, but because he couldn't stop liking what you did to him.
He was raised sure—sure he liked men, sure of who he was, sure of how the world saw him. But your mouth? Your hands? Your eyes on his body? That changed something. And maybe it wasn't even about gender or attraction or breaking rules, maybe it was just about how good it felt. Because, it did. Every time your tongue slid down his length or your lips curled into a smirk right before you swallowed him whole, he would grip your hair like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.
And he still hated it. Hated you. Hated how easily you pulled those sounds from him, how willingly he spread his legs, how badly he wanted to feel your throat tighten around him when he was too stressed to think straight. But hate was a weak word when it came to you because what he really felt was full of hunger and questions he couldn't answer, of relief he couldn't explain, and of moments when he forgot who he was supposed to be.
Somehow, this arrangement—whatever fucked-up kind of companionship it was—had become routine. He was stressed? You showed up, dragged him onto the bed, and made him forget the weight in his chest. You were tired of people? You'd drop to your knees and pull his pants down, muttering snarky words before your tongue did all the talking. When Jake invited you both for café dates, you'd suck Sunoo off in the bathroom beforehand, as if taking the edge off made you more tolerable in public.
And in between all that, without either of you saying it, you started learning each other. You knew the way his breath caught when you traced the tip of your tongue along the underside of his cock, the way he liked his thighs rubbed when he was overwhelmed, the way he pretended to hate your voice but kept asking you to hum while he was inside your mouth. He knew the difference between your smirk and your real smile, he noticed the way you always fixed his collar before he left for class, the way you paused before walking away like you wanted him to stop you, just once.
"Did you see my guitar pick? I was really sure I left it here." You asked, already half on the floor as you looked beneath his bed, your voice muffled against the floorboards. "My pen? Where did you put my pen?"
Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just scratched the back of his head, eyes skimming over his textbook. "Also, I think I left my hoodie here last week," you continued, lifting his blanket and peeking underneath. You spoke like it was nothing, like this wasn't the fourth time you'd been here this week, like you hadn't sucked him off on this very bed two nights ago while the rain beat against his window. "The red one? Oversized. The one you said was ugly."
"Stop leaving your things here and expecting me to be your lost and found," Sunoo muttered with a sigh, rolling his eyes as he stood from his desk. His hands moved to the drawer beside his bed, fingers quickly rifling through the clutter until he pulled out the small pile of things you'd been searching for.
Your guitar pick. A pen with a chewed-up cap. The scrunchie you claimed you didn't care about but had asked about three times. "Yay!" you chirped, voice bright as you threw your arms around his neck without hesitation. Your enthusiasm was full of sunshine and zero awareness of boundaries—not that he'd set any for you lately. Your body leaned into his, so warm, and for a moment, he didn't pull away. He didn't even stiffen. If anything, he just stood there with his jaw tight and eyes soft, letting you hang onto him.
Sunoo had learned a lot of unexpected things from you, but the first was this: you were clingy. Not in the way people usually mean it. You were clingy in the way a storm was clingy, so loud and unpredictable, but always returning, always right on time. You'd barge into his room to ruffle his hair without asking, leave lipstick stains on the rim of his mugs, and curse while crocheting in his living room.
Despite your sharp tongue, your smug smirks, and that bitchy little smile you wore whenever you knew you had the upper hand, there was something about you that kept curling into the edges of his life. The softness you tried to bury always slipped through—like now, as your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, your breath warm on his collarbone.
You hadn't even fucked, not really. Whatever this was between the two of you, it never crossed that final line. Sure, you'd given him head more times than he could count now, slipping between his knees, sometimes right after class or before dinner. Sometimes with a joke still on your tongue, your fingers working his zipper like it was just part of your daily routine. You'd even played with yourself while looking him dead in the eyes, teasing him, daring him, and yet still somehow managing not to strip yourself bare.
Pleasure was always good. You knew exactly what to do to unravel him. But it confused him on the way you stayed after. The way you talked to him about your professors and complained about your classmates, how you crocheted lopsided sweaters and left your yarn all over his room, like you expected to come back and finish them.
It was how you kissed his cheek when he looked stressed, how you'd fall asleep next to him fully clothed while he studied and pretend not to notice when he pulled the blanket over you.
"You need to stop acting like this is your place," he muttered, trying to keep his voice flat.
You didn't take the bait, instead, you leaned in and kissed his cheek loudly. Sunoo's entire face twitched in immediate response. His hand shot up, rubbing his cheek with the heel of his palm. "Eww," he muttered under his breath.
"Sorry!" you giggled, clearly not sorry at all with that look you always wore when you knew you were testing his patience, and then your hands were on his face again, squeezing his cheeks with affection. "You're just so adorable when you're cranky. I can't help it."
He groaned loudly, swatting at your wrists, trying to pry your hands off. "Stop calling me that."
You didn't flinch. In fact, you leaned closer, squishing his cheeks harder, and making a cooing sound that only made him more irritated. He slapped your arm but when you laughed again, that same light, reckless laugh that always made his ears feel too warm, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged.
"Ow, ow, ow!" you yelped, wriggling in place with a pout. You batted his hand away, fingers tangled in your strands, while your eyes stayed locked on his with a mixture of amusement and challenge.
"Leave me alone. I'm trying to review for my exams," Sunoo muttered, barely glancing at you as he rolled his eyes and turned back toward his desk. His hand reached for the highlighter beside his textbook, the yellow ink already bleeding into the edge of a paragraph he'd probably read four times without actually absorbing anything.
You walked over anyway, you squeezed into the tiny space beside him on a chair meant for one, and Sunoo groaned out loud, shifting his body to the side. The chair creaked beneath your combined weight, and your thigh was pressed flush against his. "I just need a favor from you," you said, casually brushing your hand across his table.
Sunoo let out another sigh. He looked over at you, unimpressed. "Favor? Only friends do favors," he replied flatly.
You turned to him with a gasp, placing a hand to your chest in mock offense. "Wow," you said, eyes wide and sarcastic. "Damn, after all the blowjobs I gave you? After the way we've made out on your bed, your floor, and that one time in your fucking kitchen? After all the hours I spent here telling you about my day while you pretended not to listen? You're telling me we're not even friends?"
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, his hand frozen halfway through underlining another sentence. You weren't wrong. You'd been coming around so often that your scent had started to cling to his sheets, your hair ties and red lipstick had begun appearing in random corners of his room, and your laugh had started to echo in his head long after you'd gone home.
You leaned in a little, close enough that he could feel your breath fan across his neck. "If this isn't a friendship," you added softly, "then what is your definition of friendship, Sunoo?"
He made a show of thinking, lifting his eyes like he was searching the ceiling for inspiration, but there was a glint in his expression that gave away how amused he actually was. "I don't know, girl. We haven't even properly introduced ourselves because you were too busy sucking my dick off," he replied, words nonchalant but his ears tinted red. He tried to keep his voice flat, sarcastic even, like that would mask the heat crawling up his neck.
You laughed, unbothered, and leaned your head against his shoulder with a casualness that shouldn't have felt so intimate, but somehow, it did. Sunoo shifted under the contact, scoffing, rolling his eyes, acting like he didn't care but you could feel it in the way he didn't move away.
"Okay, let's do this properly then," you said as you let your hand play with the edge of his sleeve. "I'm twenty. Fashion design major. I work part-time at two different cafés. I play gigs when I can, lead guitarist and vocalist of Jay's band. I crochet, bake, draw, paint—basically anything that can bring in money for tuition. I have three ex-girlfriends, all toxic in very different ways. And I like—"
"Wait," Sunoo cut in, body suddenly stiffening as he pulled back just enough to stare at you. His eyes were wide, lips parted slightly like he couldn't believe what he just heard. "You're gay?!"
Your mouth dropped open, blinking at him as your brain scrambled to rewind what you'd said. "I—I mean, isn't it obvious?" you managed, slightly flustered, though a part of you also found his surprise endearing in a frustrating way.
Sunoo didn't say anything right away. He kept looking at you, brows furrowed, lips parted in a stunned kind of silence like he was trying to piece you together again with this new piece of information you just casually dropped. You watched the flickers of confusion, surprise, maybe even a bit of disbelief in his face, and though you didn't fully understand why it mattered so much to him. "I like girls," you clarified again.
There was a beat of silence. Then Sunoo blinked hard, like he'd just snapped out of it, and his reaction was nothing short of dramatic. "I—I thought you were straight, girl!" he cried out with a squeaky kind of disbelief, and before you could defend yourself, his hand flew out and smacked your arm. Hard. The kind of smack that made your whole upper body jerk slightly from the force. You almost flew off the chair.
"Shit, Sunoo!" you yelped, rubbing your arm and glaring at him with a twisted expression of both pain and outrage.
But Sunoo wasn't listening. He was laughing—loudly, eyes crinkled, hand over his mouth like he couldn't believe what he was hearing and also couldn't stop himself from reacting. "I really didn't like you at first," he gasped between giggles. "Like, genuinely. I thought you were giving homophobic vibes! You were too confident, too flirty, and you stared at me like you were ready to fight or fuck, and I swear to god I thought you were trying to make me your weird little experiment!"
You blinked again, thrown off by the way he said it all so fast. "What the fuck, Sunoo," you muttered, half-offended but also kind of shocked that he thought all that while still letting you suck him off on the regular.
He slapped your shoulder again and kept cackling, his entire body tilted forward as he wheezed through it, completely losing himself in his own joke. "I mean, it makes sense now," he managed between laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "That's why you're such a bitch—because you're gay!"
You didn't hesitate. Your hand landed right on his arm, a loud smack echoing through the room. "Are you forgetting that you're gay too, idiot?" you shot back, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hold back your grin.
Sunoo hissed dramatically, rubbing the spot, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him. The teasing should've stopped there—should've stayed in that usual back-and-forth where you both knew the lines and how far to push. But something in his expression shifted. "I still don't get it," he murmured, the laughter dying down to a softer tone, his hand now gently pressing the spot you'd hit. "If you're into girls, then what does that make... this?"
For a moment, you didn't know how to answer. So many things about you didn't fit into the easy explanations people seemed to expect, and honestly, you never cared to try and fit them. "I don't know," you said at last, "I've hooked up with guys before, and it was never really a big deal. I always knew I liked girls more, but that never stopped me from doing stuff with boys when I felt like it." You shrugged, then leaned back a little, giving him space to process what you were about to say. "Sexuality is just a word people use to make sense of themselves. I might call myself bisexual—or gay—but honestly, it never fully explains what I want or how I feel. Labels don't always fit."
He looked at you then, and there was something quiet different in his eyes. It wasn't annoyance or mockery for once. You continued anyway, because you needed him to understand. "All I know is that I like doing things with you. Whether it's talking, teasing, sitting around doing nothing, or yeah... getting on my knees for you. It sounds messy, but it's the only thing I'm sure of."
That made his throat bob. His heartbeat, already unruly from earlier, thudded faster at your words, and he could feel the heat creeping into his face before he could stop it. He wanted to brush it off, wanted to say something sharp or stupid to deflect, but nothing came out.
He forced himself to roll his eyes and gave your shoulder another slap, more gentle this time. "Ewwww," he groaned with an exaggerated squeal, scrunching his nose. "It might be our routine, but could you not say that in my ear? It's still weird hearing you talk so casually about sucking me off!"
You only grinned wider, catching the flush starting to bloom across his cheeks. "What? Are you blushing?" you teased as you reached up and pinched his cheeks between your fingers, delighting in how quickly he tried to jerk away.
He groaned, then reached up to grab a fistful of your hair in retaliation. "You're so annoying," he muttered, tugging hard enough to make you yelp and try to push him off.
"Fuck!" you shrieked through laughter, smacking his arm and trying to wriggle away. But the tangled mess of limbs ended with both of you tipping sideways and falling back into the chair. He hit the floor and let out a long-suffering groan as you collapsed on top of him in a heap.
"Great," he muttered, pressing a hand to his lower back. "Now I'm going to fail my exam with spinal damage." You were still laughing, unbothered as you rested your chin on his chest. Even now, with your weight on top of him and your hair tickling his face, Sunoo couldn't bring himself to shove you off.
Instead, his eyes wandered to the ceiling, mind replaying the words you said earlier. Maybe you were right. Sexuality was just a word. A way to make sense of something that couldn't always be explained. And maybe the way he felt this complicated, frustrating, strangely comforting pull toward you wasn't something that needed a label at all.
"Get off. You're so fucking heavy," Sunoo hissed, snapping himself out of it as he tugged at your hair again, a little rougher this time. But deep down, buried under every eye roll and complaint, he enjoyed doing things with you, whether they were sexual or not. That part, at least, he could admit to himself. Maybe not out loud. Definitely not to you. He'd rather drop dead than say it out loud.
The favor you had asked was to practice your creative makeup on him, get his measurements, and use him as some sort of living mannequin for the designs you'd been working on. It sounded harmless enough when you first mentioned it, though the way you said it—bright-eyed, insistent, and practically buzzing with ideas—made it sound like you were dragging him into something bigger than he could imagine. He hadn't thought much of it back then, especially since hospital duties had swallowed him whole. The weeks stretched on, filled with endless shifts, late nights, and exhaustion so deep he barely had the energy to eat before collapsing into bed.
But still, in the middle of those long nights, he'd catch himself thinking of you. Of how irritating you could be, how you texted him nonsense memes at ungodly hours, how you spammed his phone like you had nothing better to do. He never admitted it, but the absence of your loud presence gnawed at him. The quiet felt heavier without you around to annoy him into feeling alive. That was what made him finally agree to see you again, even if it meant dragging his tired body to your apartment after his shift.
At the bus stop, Sunoo sat slumped beside Jungwon, eyelids heavy as the night air pressed around them. Jungwon let out a long groan, stretching his arms above his head. "Do you want to sleep over at my place instead? Later, I'll order Jollibee. Kinda been craving their spaghetti."
The offer was tempting—comfort food and a soft bed—but Sunoo only shook his head, his lips curving faintly as he pulled out his phone. "Maybe next time. Thanks for the offer, though. I've got some business to attend to."
"Business?" Jungwon repeated, his voice laced with skepticism. "At this hour?"
Sunoo didn't answer right away. His thumb scrolled down the flood of messages on his screen—your name glowing at the top of the chat. Rows of texts, some with too many exclamation marks, others filled with random pictures, all ridiculous enough to make his scrunched-up expression betray him with a small, undeniable smile. Jungwon noticed. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. "That's new," he muttered, side-eyeing. "So... where exactly are you going?"
"Just there," Sunoo replied vaguely, sliding his phone back into his bag before Jungwon could ask too much. And then, Sunoo leaned over and kissed Jungwon on the cheek, accompanied by a rare, boyish grin. "I'll get going now. Bye-bye!"
Jungwon froze, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief as he watched Sunoo walk away, his figure retreating down the street with a kind of restless energy. Jungwon's mouth fell open, his thoughts spinning in circles. He looked off to the side, considering whether to press or not, but in the end he only sighed and rolled his shoulders in resignation. "Huh. Weird," he muttered to himself, shaking his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "But whatever."
When Sunoo finally stepped into your apartment, you didn't hold back. You practically launched yourself at him, arms flinging around his shoulders as though you had been waiting for this moment for weeks—which, in truth, you had. The sound of your laughter filled the air immediately, loud and full of the joy that spilled out of you so naturally.
Sunoo, on the other hand, reacted exactly the way he always did when you overwhelmed him with affection. His face scrunched into that familiar look of feigned annoyance as he huffed, one hand coming up to shove your face away. "Geez," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, "it's already ten in the evening and you're still bouncing around? Spare me, please." With a heavy sigh, he slipped his bag off his shoulder and tossed it onto the nearest chair. "I'm just going to change my clothes."
Your eyes widened immediately, and you froze mid-step. "Wait—does that mean you're going to sleep here?"
Sunoo rolled his eyes dramatically, as if the answer should have been obvious. "What? You really think I'd go home after letting you disturb me at this hour?" he said, his voice dry. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around your apartment for the first time.
It was nothing like his own space. The moment his gaze swept over the room, he felt an odd tug in his chest. Guitars lined one wall, their strings gleaming faintly under the shifting glow of LED lights taped along the corners. The posters that filled your walls, mostly of metal bands he actually recognized—thanks to one of his friends who was just as obsessed with that scene as you seemed to be. There were canvases, too, half-finished and scattered against the sofa. The whole place felt alive, buzzing with your energy even when you weren't moving.
"Missed me?" you teased, leaning closer with a grin.
Sunoo didn't even spare you a proper glance. He rolled his eyes and shoved you lightly away, muttering under his breath as he dug into his bag. "As if. The only reason I even bothered coming here is because your annoying ass wouldn't leave me alone."
You watched him unzip his bag, pulling out a neatly folded set of clothes, and despite his flat expression you noticed the way his shoulders sagged, how exhaustion clung to every movement. He had been working himself to the bone, yet here he was, standing in your apartment at ten in the evening. That alone made your chest warm.
"God, I need to shower," he muttered, already moving toward the hallway without waiting for directions. He pushed open a random door, somehow guessing correctly that it was the bathroom, and slipped inside. The door shut firmly, leaving you behind in the living room with your laughter spilling out in echoes.
You padded after him without hesitation, knocking against the bathroom door with force. "Let me join!" you shouted through the wood.
From inside, there was a short pause, followed by the sound of the shower starting, and then his indignant yell. "Fuck you!"
You laughed so hard you had to lean against the wall for support, the sound echoing through your apartment. There was something deeply satisfying in knowing you could still pull that reaction from him even when he was drained from his long shift.
Sunoo ended up on your bed, sitting stiffly. His eyes moved slowly over your room, taking in the mess sprawl of your belongings. Clothes half-folded, books stacked unevenly, random brushes and palettes scattered across your desk. He bent down with a sigh, picking up a stray eyeliner pencil and a crumpled sheet of paper from the floor before dropping them on the bedside table. "Unbelievable," he muttered, glancing at you. "How do you even live like this?"
You ignored his complaint, too caught up in your own excitement. With the measuring tape in hand, you motioned for him to sit still. He shifted reluctantly, rolling his eyes but letting you circle around him, brushing against his shoulders and arms as you worked. You could feel the weight of his gaze following your movements even though he tried to pretend he wasn't paying attention.
"Our theme is under the sea," you began, your tone lively, words spilling out in a rush. "The makeup I have in mind isn't too heavy—it's soft, glowy, more like a douyin-inspired style, but with hints of shimmer, like reflections on water."
Sunoo raised a brow but said nothing, still trying to sit as if he wasn't secretly curious. "Wait, hold on." You darted to your desk, shoving aside piles of papers and empty cups, searching frantically until you found your sketchpad. The mess you made in the process only made him sigh louder, and when you finally returned, your arms were full of sheets, pencils, and smudged notes. You plopped beside him on the bed without an ounce of care, your hair brushing against his shoulder as you flipped the sketchpad open to the right page.
"Here, look!" you said eagerly, turning the pad so he could see. The drawing wasn't perfect, but it was vibrant, full of details—flowing lines like waves, soft glitter patterns around the eyes, hints of pearlescent tones. You leaned close enough that your knees brushed his, smiling up at him as if waiting for approval.
He glanced at the sketch, then at you, then back again. His face was blank, though his lips twitched as if fighting back a reaction. "You did all this just for practice?" he asked finally.
"Of course," you said without hesitation, tilting your head at him. "You're my muse tonight. Who else would I trust to pull this off?"
That word—muse—hung in the air between you. Sunoo blinked, looking away quickly, pretending to study the messy corner of your room instead. He scoffed under his breath, though his ears betrayed him with the faintest hint of red.
"Whatever, just do your job so I can sleep," he said, voice carrying that familiar sharpness. Still, he didn't shift away when you leaned in, didn't flinch when your hand brushed against his wrist as you measured, nor when you adjusted the tilt of his chin so you could see him better. He stayed still, letting you come closer.
If someone asked you at that moment how you felt, you would have answered easily—you were happy. Happy in a way that was simple yet overwhelming. Happy because lately, it felt like things were turning in your favor, even the little things. Happy because just yesterday you'd gotten a new tattoo for free. Happy because sitting here, in your messy room that never seemed good enough for guests, you had a boy in front of you who was almost too pretty to be real. A boy who had an attitude sharp enough to cut, but whose presence made you feel full.
You weren't known for being soft. People said you were rough around the edges, cunning, always quick with words that made others falter. But with him, it was different. You couldn't help yourself from speaking, from filling the silence with random stories, thoughts, jokes—anything. To most, your voice could be overwhelming, but Sunoo had already grown used to it.
"And Jake was also planning his first date to a hotpot—" you rambled on, your hand steady as you blended shimmer onto his eyelid.
Sunoo let out a heavy sigh, his lips parting slightly as he resisted the urge to open his eyes. He had been sitting there with his lids closed for what felt like an eternity, and still you weren't finished. "Do you ever shut up?" he muttered.
You grinned, your brush tracing along the curve of his brow bone as if you didn't hear the complaint. "Why would I? My voice keeps you awake."
"More like gives me a headache," he countered. You tilted his face to the side, carefully catching the light so you could see your work better. These were just trial runs, after all, and even though you hadn't used foundation or concealer—because his skin was already annoyingly perfect—you still wanted everything to look right. The green-brown lenses had shifted the color of his eyes into softer glow, and with the eyeshadow fanned out at the corners, it gave him a kind of effortless charm that made you pause. There was something about working on his face that always made you fall quiet for a second, like you were afraid any sudden movement might break the moment. His features, up close, were unfairly beautiful—the curve of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw, the small, barely-there freckles you'd playfully added to give him a more sun-kissed look. Everything about him was pretty in a way that didn't feel delicate, but confident. His lips especially—plump, soft, and just slightly parted while he sat there with his eyes closed.
You turned, rummaging through your pile of lip tints and glosses until you found the shade that instantly reminded you of him. It was a sheer pink with a little bit of shimmer, and you already knew how good it would look. Without warning, you swung your leg over and settled onto his lap, grinning as you balanced your weight. The reaction was immediate—Sunoo's eyes snapped open, brows pulling together.
"Seriously?" he sighed, exasperated, but his hands came to your hips anyway, holding you steady so you wouldn't slip off the edge of the bed. "Are we done now?"
You tilted your head and gave a sheepish smile, not answering as you leaned in to carefully dab the gloss over his lips. The shape of his mouth, the way it gave the tiniest twitch when your finger brushed the edge—it made your pulse jump. You were so close now that his breath brushed against your cheek, and you had to focus hard not to let your hand shake. You wanted to kiss him. The urge sat so close to the surface that it made your chest feel tight, but you didn't. You just pulled back and admired the finished look with a soft exhale.
"Perfect," you whispered to yourself, more than him. You reached behind you and grabbed the mirror without moving from his lap. Sunoo rolled his eyes but took the mirror from your hand. You stayed right where you were, watching with quiet excitement as he looked at his reflection. There was silence at first. He tilted the mirror slightly, studying one angle, then another. He reached up to touch his hair, fixing a stray strand, then let his gaze drift toward his lips. His expression shifted slowly, quiet surprise then the corner of his mouth curled upward.
"Hmm, it doesn't look bad," he murmured.
Still straddling his lap, you leaned in closer until your face hovered just near the side of his neck, taking in the soft scent of his body wash still lingering from his shower. Your voice dropped as you murmured, "You look so much prettier than me."
Without missing a beat, Sunoo gave a soft scoff, his eyes still on his reflection. "Of course. I should be."
That earned a laugh from you. Typical Sunoo. You didn't stop yourself when you leaned forward and pressed your teeth lightly against his neck, a teasing little bite that made him flinch. Sunoo immediately pinched your waist, just hard enough to make you jolt. "Don't leave marks, I swear I'll kill you," he hissed, finally putting the mirror aside and turning to glare at you.
You only grinned wider, pressing closer until your hands slid up to frame his jaw and your nose brushed against his. "What if I want to leave marks?" you whispered. "What if I want people to know you've been thoroughly used?"
He stared at you, deadpan, though the faintest flush started to bloom across his cheeks. "Used?" he echoed, blinking slowly.
You nodded, the tip of your tongue peeking out as you teased, "Yeah. Like a good little stress toy. I could sit on your face"
His jaw clenched in restraint. "You're disgusting," he muttered, but his hands never left your hips. In fact, they gripped a little tighter now.
"That's not a no," you said sweetly, letting your thumb trail along the curve of his throat. "You're holding me so well. Kinda makes me think you like this. You want me to keep going, Sunoo?"
He inhaled sharply and leaned back just slightly, giving himself space to think. The dim light of the room cast a soft glow across his cheekbones. The red LED strip near the ceiling bled into shadows, blending into the yellow hue of your little desk lamp, illuminating parts of your skin in warm patches. Your hair messily pinned up, strands falling out of your bun, wearing that worn-out Hello Kitty sando and those barely-there shorts. He swallowed hard.
And for a moment, he just stared. The edge of lust in his expression softened. The corner of his lip twitched like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. He was thinking, really thinking. and the thoughts weren't just about your lips or your thighs or the heat pooling between you. He was imagining your face twisted in pleasure, not because you were teasing or in control, but because he was the one making you fall apart. He wanted to see that. Wanted to own it.
His body betrayed him first. You both felt how hard he was getting beneath you, the tension radiating off him as you shifted on his lap and rolled your hips in a slow circle against his clothed cock. Your breath hitched as your core dragged over the growing bulge beneath his sweats, and you felt his fingers dig in harder.
Sunoo bit down on his bottom lip and didn't break eye contact. His voice came controlled, but his expression betrayed how much restraint it took. "Sit on my face, then."
Your entire body tensed. The shift was immediate. The teasing smirk that once played on your lips faltered. Your hips stopped moving, stilling right on top of him. You blinked, staring down at him, wide-eyed and visibly caught off guard. "H-huh?" you stammered, breath shallow.
His hand slid up beneath your sando, fingertips grazing over the soft skin of your waist, then higher toward your ribs, slow and unhurried as his gaze didn't flicker. "Sit on my face," he whispered again. "What's the matter? You seemed so eager earlier."
You could barely form a thought. Your pulse thundered in your ears, your breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a plea. "I was just joking," you mumbled, already shifting as if to climb off his lap, trying to dismiss the thought. "You don't have to. I mean—vaginal fluid doesn't even taste good..." You avoided his eyes, flustered and scrambling for your scattered makeup products, needing something to shift the atmosphere. But before your fingers could wrap around the nearest compact, Sunoo moved. He caught you by the wrist and pushed you back onto the bed in one quick motion. You let out a small, surprised squeal as your back hit the mattress.
His body hovered over yours, his knees pinning either side of your hips, eyes fixed on you. "I've let you get me off with your mouth more times than I can count," he said in annoyance. "And now you're acting like I don't get to touch you back?"
Your heart kicked harder in your chest, thudding against your ribs as you stared up at him. "I—" you started, but your voice came out small. "Sunoo, I didn't even shave..."
He didn't blink. He sat back just slightly, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. "And?" he muttered, raising a brow as if that wasn't even a detail worth considering. When you moved to stop him, hands fluttering at his wrists, he caught one and pressed it into the mattress. His other hand cupped you through your panties, his palm fitting against the damp heat between your thighs.
Your breath hitched. Your back arched into his touch instinctively, and you saw the way his eyes darkened, how his lips parted ever so slightly. "You're soaked," he said, thumb pressing a little firmer.
You tried to deflect, though your voice wavered. "Do you even know what to do with it?" Your tone was teasing, but your body betrayed you—already trembling under his touch, heat pooling low in your stomach, breath quickening. You weren't expecting his answer.
"No," he said simply, like he wasn't embarrassed by it. Then his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging the fabric down your thighs in one slow motion before tossing it somewhere across the room. "So teach me."
He slid a hand under your thigh, lifting and spreading your legs. Then he leaned down, his lips brushing soft kisses along your inner thigh slowly, all while keeping his eyes on you. The contact made your pussy flutter, a pulse of need tightening in your abdomen. Your breath hitched again, your hips twitching with anticipation. The sight of him makeup still intact from earlier, your lip gloss still lingering faintly on his mouth—made your body anticipate.
He dipped his head between your legs and dragged his tongue along your folds, one long, unhurried stroke from your entrance to your clit. The sensation made you jolt, the sudden wave of pleasure catching you off guard. "Fuck," you gasped, one hand flying to his hair, fingers curling in his soft strands.
Sunoo's tongue was slow at first, careful in a way that almost betrayed how new this was to him but he was quick to find what made you tremble. He closed his eyes, letting the taste of you settle on his tongue as he circled your clit with careful strokes before dragging his mouth lower to collect everything your body was offering. For a second, he could barely breathe.
So this is what pussy tastes like. That thought rang in his head, the warmth, the wetness, the way your whole body jerked when he hit the right spot—it was more than he imagined. He'd spent years scoffing at the way straight guys romanticized it, mocked their obsession, swore he'd never enjoy it. But fuck, now he understood why they bragged about it. Now he understood the hype.
His hands gripped your thighs as he dragged his tongue through your folds again, slower this time, savoring it. He moaned into you when he heard you whine his name, your voice shaky and breathless. The vibration of his voice against your pussy made your whole body twitch, and Sunoo's cock throbbed from the sound alone. If he wasn't already half-hard before, he was fully aching now, painfully so.
"S-Sunoo," you whimpered, hips lifting off the bed in a desperate rhythm that told him just how good he was doing. His mouth moved instinctively—less cautious now, more eager, more confident—as he pushed his tongue deeper, tasting you from your entrance all the way up, mouth hot and greedy. You were clenching around nothing, so tight and needy, and he wanted to bury his face even deeper, get drunk off you.
When your thighs began to tremble and squeeze around his ears, he didn't stop—instead, he pressed your legs apart with both hands, holding you open like a meal he wasn't finished with yet. Your slick coated his lips and chin, dripping down, and he didn't care. If anything, it made him hungrier. He licked through it all, mess and all, letting it smear over his tongue and down his throat as he sucked your clit hard, then softened his strokes just enough to tease again.
"Ahhh!" Your body writhed underneath him, moans louder, messier, fingers clawing at his hair. His nose bumped into your clit as he worked his tongue into you again, his face wet with your slick, breathing through his mouth as he chased the way you tasted.
His mind was spinning—nothing existed in that moment except your moans, the heat of your pussy, and the steady throb in his pants that begged for release. And when you cried out his name again, legs shaking harder, nails digging into his scalp as your hips rocked into his face, Sunoo moaned so loud it vibrated against your cunt, eyes rolling back as he thought—fuck, he could come from just this.
Sunoo's hips were already grinding against the mattress, his clothed cock rutting helplessly into the sheets as he kept his mouth buried between your legs, tongue swirling slow, then fast, then slow again as he tested how you reacted to every flick and drag. But it was your clit that made him obsessed, the way it throbbed, the way you twitched whenever he sucked it, the way you squealed when he circled it just right. He focused there now, licking harder, more deliberate, tasting every ounce of you like he was making up for all the time he'd dismissed ever wanting this.
This wasn't just payback for all the times you teased him, for every shameless comment or cocky flirt that came from your mouth. No, this was Sunoo owning you. Silencing you. Making you feel exactly what you put him through—restless, aching, desperate.
Your moans started to rise uncontrollably, your voice shaky, your fingers now tangled tightly in his hair as your hips rolled in sync with the rhythm of his tongue. "Wait! Fuck!" you gasped, thighs twitching as your climax built hard and fast, threatening to snap. But Sunoo didn't let up, if anything, he gripped your legs tighter, keeping them wide open, anchoring you in place so you couldn't run from it.
He looked up at you, flushed and wrecked, your eyes squeezed shut in overwhelmed pleasure, lips parted as your body trembled. His cock throbbed painfully from just the sight, and his tongue moved faster, dragging flat and then curling upward to suck your clit hard before flicking again.
When you came, it hit like a wave crashing through your entire body, your back arched off the mattress, mouth open in a cry you barely recognized, legs shaking hard in his hold. Your breathing turned ragged, stuttering as the orgasm took over, intense and blinding.
But Sunoo didn't stop. He lapped through it, almost like he was trying to drag more out of you, milking the high as long as he could. His mouth was soaked, face buried so deep you had to push at his head with trembling hands, voice breaking as you choked out, "Too much—fuck, I can't—"
He let you go, finally, pulling back with a smile. His lips glistened with your cum, cheeks flushed, and his hair was a mess from your grip but those green contacts made his eyes look almost unreal in the soft red light. And god, the makeup you'd done earlier was perfect. Smudged only a little at the corner of his lids, giving him an edgier look that made your cunt clench again.
Sunoo was pretty. Too pretty. Pretty enough to ruin you without even trying. What made it worse—or better, depending how fucked up your brain was—was the way his tongue slowly dragged along his bottom lip, catching the last traces of you. "How was it?" he asked, tilting his head to seek of your approval.
You couldn't even answer at first. Your legs were still trembling, thighs sticky and wet, your heartbeat thudding too loud in your ears to think straight. You swallowed, chest rising and falling fast as you tried to catch your breath. Then you looked at him again—at the shine on his mouth, the hunger still flickering behind those pretty green eyes, the way he sat back slightly.
"Not that bad," you breathed out, voice shaky as your trembling legs bent down and your fingers slowly pressed against the hard outline of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweats. You didn't even try to hide how your hand lingered, almost testing him—your palm flat, applying a bit of pressure. Sunoo raised his brow at your answer but you didn't meet it. You were too busy fighting off the embarrassment clawing at your chest from the way you moved so eagerly, so unlike how you usually carry yourself.
"Down to fuck?" you asked, forcing a playful smirk as you tilted your head, though your voice cracked slightly at the end and your legs still hadn't stopped trembling. The moment you saw the way he blinked at you, you almost backtracked, your lips parting, about to laugh it off like you were only playing.
But then Sunoo was already pulling down his sweats. His cock sprang free, hard and flushed and angry-looking, the head pink and glistening, practically pulsing with tension. You stared. Your mouth went dry. Then wet. You swallowed thickly, clenching your thighs, heat crawling under your skin and settling low in your stomach. There was no hesitation in him now, no teasing smile, just hunger written across his face as he sat back on his heels. His hand wrapped around himself, stroking slowly as he watched the way your breath caught. You didn't even try to hide your stare.
Your mouth went dry, your legs pressing together out of reflex, and you could feel your whole body heat at the sight of him. He looked desperate, flushed, needy, barely holding himself back. "W-Wait," you blurted, hand reaching out like you meant to stop him, even though your body clearly didn't agree. Your pulse was racing, and your thoughts were already spiraling, too many emotions crashing into each other all at once—desire, fear, anticipation.
Sunoo let out a rough sigh, dragging his eyes up to your face. His brows furrowed and his lips parted like he was going to say something else, but then his jaw clenched tight. You could see the frustration in his eyes. "What more do you need?" he asked, voice low and strained. "Do you want me or not?"
You swallowed hard, because the truth was yes, more than you'd ever expected to. But something about how exposed both of you were now made it suddenly harder to breathe. "I just..." you began, "I don't want to ruin this. You've never done this before and I—what if it's too much?" It was fear—real and sudden fear. The weight of what you were about to do had finally caught up, hitting somewhere deep in your chest. This wasn't just another messy hookup. Not with him.
Sunoo stared at you in silence. You could see the flicker in his eyes, between disbelief and restrained annoyance. He almost looked like he was about to roll his eyes and shove you back down onto the mattress with that sharp tongue of his, throwing some cutting comment about how ridiculous this was when you were both already naked, your legs trembling and his cock painfully hard between them. But he didn't. Instead, he took a breath, he reached out, fingers brushing gently against the inside of your knee. You felt the warmth of his palm slide up your thigh until it rested there. "It's already too much," he said. "It's been too much since the first time you kissed me."
You swallowed hard as you sat still beneath his touch. Then his hand slid a little higher, his thumb brushing softly against the crease where your thigh met your hip. "So..." he tilted his head, the corners of his lips twitching into a slight smirk that couldn't hide the heat still simmering in his eyes. "Are we gonna fuck or not?"
You let out a shaky breath, laughing despite yourself. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his jaw, feeling the slight tremble in his skin. Your hand slid down between you, curling around the base of his cock, hot and twitching in your grip. His breath stuttered, hips jerking slightly. You looked up at him, lips brushing his cheekbone as you whispered, "Lay back for me. Let me take care of you first."
Sunoo obeyed without a word, his body moving almost too quickly. He leaned back against the headboard, chest rising fast, lips parted as he tried to steady his breath. You saw the way his cock twitched in anticipation, pre-cum glistening at the tip, practically begging for friction.
You pulled your sando off, discarding it somewhere off the bed. The bra came next, your bare form revealed under the room's dim lighting. You weren't shy—at least you tried not to be—but you were aware of the way Sunoo's eyes darkened the moment he saw you fully.
Sunoo stopped breathing altogether. His lips parted slightly, stunned, staring at the shape of you, the ink on your skin, the curve of your breasts, and the subtle shimmer of sweat from earlier. Everything about you was too much. Too fucking beautiful.
You straddled him slowly, settling over his thighs as you reached toward your drawer and took out a condom. Sunoo's eyes didn't leave yours, not even when you tore the packet open and rolled it down the length of his cock with deliberate care. His head fell back against the pillows as he let out a groan, hips twitching up into your hand.
"Fuck," he groaned, hips bucking just slightly into your hand. His cock throbbed under your touch, hard and leaking. He couldn't believe how sensitive he was. How badly he wanted this.
You smirked at the sound, giving him a slow stroke just to see him twitch again. "First time?" you teased. "You better tell me later what's better—dick or pussy."
He let out a breathless laugh, but didn't answer. Not when you were already lifting your hips and guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. That wiped the grin from both your faces.
As he breached you slowly, you gritted your teeth, trying to hide the way your body resisted the stretch. Your hands pressed against his chest for support, and you felt his hands move instinctively to your hips, holding you steady but not forcing anything. His grip was trembling. So were your thighs. You widened your legs as best as you could, adjusting inch by inch, trying to take him fully without showing how much it burned on the way in. You tried to play it off—tried to look confident even when your face couldn't hide the pinch of discomfort.
The truth was, you didn't have a lot of experience with men. Maybe just one, and that didn't really count. It was fast, fumbling, and forgettable. You'd never ridden anyone before. You knew how to move your hips with girls—scissoring, grinding, finding the angles—but this was different. This was slower, deeper, stretching you in ways you hadn't prepared for. You didn't want to look clueless. You didn't want to ruin the moment.
Still, you refused to back down. You braced yourself, breathing through your nose, trying to remember every move you'd given and received, every grind and swivel you'd learned with women—just enough to give yourself rhythm. You focused on how wet you were and how turned on he clearly was, Sunoo gasped beneath you, both hands tightening on your waist like he was afraid he'd lose himself the second you sank further.
"Fuck—" he choked, voice cracking. "You're so—tight. Oh my god—don't move yet—just—fuck—"
His head tilted back, lips parted in a perfect 'O' as he moaned, eyes squeezed shut. His reaction made something clench in your chest and between your legs, but you held still, letting yourself adjust, letting him calm down before either of you pushed too far too fast.
You looked down at him, sweat already starting to gather at his temples, and leaned over just enough to press your forehead to his.
You finally managed to sink down all the way, and the stretch was so intense it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your mouth fell open in a breathless moan, your walls clenching tight around him, struggling to adjust. The pain hadn't completely faded, but it was being overtaken by a creeping pleasure that curled low in your belly. Still, your legs were shaking violently beneath you, the burn in your thighs making it impossible to lift yourself.
Sunoo blinked up at you, concern slipping into his dazed expression as his hands rubbed your waist slowly, gently. His fingers were trying to soothe you, but he could feel the tremble beneath your skin, could see the panic flicker in your eyes. "You okay?" he asked quietly.
You couldn't answer right away. You pressed your face into the curve of his neck, hiding the stutter in your breath as your hands gripped his shoulders. You nodded, though it was shaky. "I'm fine," you said but it came out weak, and the moment you tried to lift yourself, your legs gave out again. You choked out a sound, "just... g-give me a minute."
Sunoo stiffened underneath you when he felt the hot tear that rolled down onto his skin. His brows furrowed as he turned his head slightly, lips brushing your temple. He almost felt bad, guilty to be exact. He knew what that stretch felt like, that burn of being too full, and for a second, he almost paused. Almost. But then you clenched around him again, and it told him everything he needed to know.
"You're such a liar," he breathed out, a soft laugh slipping past his lips. "All that talk... and look at you now."
You didn't respond—just let out another breathy moan, face still tucked into his neck, skin hot with embarrassment. He could feel how tight you were, feel how you clenched around him every time he moved even the slightest. Without warning, he planted both feet flat on the mattress and thrust upward, driving himself deeper inside you. Your entire body jolted, and the moan that tore out of your throat was loud and desperate. He clenched his jaw at the sound of it, biting back his own curse.
You tightened around him, body clenching in response, and his hips bucked again, this time slower, more deliberate. His mouth moved to your ear, breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there as you trembled in his hold. "Let me take over," he whispered. His arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in place, and his hips moved again—shallow but deep, fucking into you from below.
You both moaned out loud. It was past one in the morning and the silence outside made it worse, like every sound would carry past the walls, but Sunoo didn't seem to care. His rhythm picked up, hips snapping against yours with rising urgency, chasing the high he'd only ever imagined.
His thrust hit that perfect spot inside you and your whole body arched, a sharp cry ripping from your throat. Your hands fumbled to hold onto something—his arms, the sheets, your own sanity—but it was already slipping.
Sunoo didn't pause, didn't even look apologetic as he murmured, "Fuck, that's it," like he'd just discovered your weakness. Your pussy was gripping him so tight he could barely move, but that only drove him further. The struggle made it more satisfying.
And then, he pulled out. You barely had time to protest when he shifted your position, guiding you back onto the bed with your legs spread wide. He stared, breathing hard, hands trailing down your thighs before his fingers spread your folds gently. He took a second just to look at you, to admire how wet and swollen you were for him, how much you wanted it. Then, with two fingers, he circled your clit—light, teasing touches that made your hips jerk and your legs try to close on instinct.
So this is why tops get cocky, he thought, watching the way your eyes fluttered, the way your lips fell open in a silent moan. This is why they hold someone down, grip their legs, call them pretty, beg them to take more. He could feel the power of every thrust, feel the way your body reacted. He never understood it before. He always thought tops just liked being in charge, that they were addicted to control—but it wasn't just about that.
"You always run your mouth," he muttered, watching your body twitch with every motion. "But where's all that attitude now?"
He caught your leg, draping one over his shoulder as he lined himself up again. The stretch was immediate, deeper now in this new position, and he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, dragging his cock along your walls until the tip pressed against the spot that made your back arch on reflex.
"You always talk too much," he muttered, groaning at the way you clenched again. "Guess my dick's the one to shut you up."
You sobbed harder, face turning to the side as your hands gripped the sheets. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, tears streaking your cheeks as you moaned his name. "P-please, Sunoo."
Sunoo's stomach tightened at the sound. He threw his head back, letting out a moan that was nearly a growl. His grip tightened on your thighs before he grabbed both, pushing your knees up beside your head as he leaned in close. His arms braced on either side of you, the shift pressing you into the mattress, trapping you with his weight.
Then, he pulled almost all the way out, letting you feel every inch slip from your body before slamming back in with a force that made your eyes roll back. The bed creaked beneath you, the room filled with the slick, wet sound of skin on skin.
"Fuck!" you screamed, arching harder beneath him, your voice cracking on the edge of a sob. Without a second thought, he dropped his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing fast, precise circles. "G-gonna cum, wait! Wait, wait, wait—" your voice dissolving into a high-pitched wail, so loud and unfiltered that Sunoo instinctively leaned down to kiss you, swallowing the sound against your lips.
The moment his mouth covered yours, your walls spasmed around him, tight and wet and so hot that he couldn't think. Your climax hit, your hips jerking uncontrollably as your pussy clenched around him over and over, fluttering in a rhythm that made his own control snap completely.
Sunoo moaned against your mouth, almost choking on it, his own breath ragged as he held still for a heartbeat but your body pulled it out of him. He couldn't stop moving, not when it felt like this. He gripped your waist tight and kept thrusting, shallow and fast, keeping the head of his cock angled against the soft, spongy spot inside you. He wanted to feel all of it, ride it out, draw it out until you were crying again.
Your legs shook violently as you clung to him, your mouth parting beneath his kiss in gasping, sobbing breaths. You didn't even care that you were a mess now, sweat-slicked, trembling, lips swollen from kissing and crying. You couldn't stop clenching around him, couldn't stop shaking from how intense it was.
And Sunoo, he'd never felt anything like it. That pressure, the way you pulsed around him, the wet squeeze of your walls, the heat, the smell of sweat and sex, the muffled sobs against his mouth—it was too much. He buried his face in your neck as his hips stuttered once, then twice more, before he groaned loud, biting down on a moan that still escaped him in a rush.
"Shit! Ah! Fuck, fuck fuck." He came hard, harder than he ever remembered. His body curled over yours as the orgasm crashed through him, his muscles locking up, breath ragged as his cock twitched deep inside the condom. The sound he made was almost a sob of his own because the moment you clenched around him like that, it was over. He had no chance.
He stayed inside you, breathing hard against your collarbone, trying to get control of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped tighter around your waist, holding you close. You blinked up at the ceiling, dazed, chest rising and falling in erratic waves. Sunoo pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing hair out of your face with one trembling hand.
"One more?" you asked, voice still breathy as you gave him a weak smile, your lashes still wet with the remnants of your tears. There was a glow in your face from that dazed, post-orgasmic haze.
Sunoo let out a scoff, tossing his head to the side. "My legs feel like noodles. Leave me alone." He covered his eyes with one arm.
You let out a small laugh, too drained to do more than let your body sink deeper into the sheets. You didn't push back with another tease. Sunoo sighed as he finally peeled himself off the bed. He removed the condom carefully, tying it off and tossing it into the trash. His limbs felt too light, a little shaky, and for a second he just stood there, catching his breath with a hand braced against the edge of the drawer.
Most of his exes never really gave a shit after sex. They'd turn their backs, light a cigarette, or scroll through their phones. And Sunoo hated that—hated how cold it used to make him feel, even if he pretended it didn't. He wasn't about to become that kind of person, no matter what this thing was between you two. No matter how casual you both claimed it was. So he pulled on his briefs and then his sweatpants, still trying to recover as he looked at your spent body lying there, eyes fluttering closed, chest flushed and rising slowly. You weren't asleep yet, but you looked like you could drift off at any second.
"Don't pass out on me," he muttered under his breath as he leaned down, arms sliding under your knees and back. His muscles protested immediately. "Shit—what are you eating?" he groaned as he lifted you, stumbling a little. "Why are you so heavy? Fuck, my back hurts."
Your laugh came out as a soft wheeze, your head dropping onto his shoulder. "You're so sweet," you mumbled, not even bothering to open your eyes.
Sunoo let out a sharp, incredulous sound as he adjusted his grip on you. "Sweet?" he scoffed. "Bitch, I'm carrying you to the bathroom so you don't get a UTI. That's not sweet, that's basic sexual hygiene."
You didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed, just groaned and buried your face deeper into the crook of his neck as he trudged down the hall. "Still sweet," you mumbled against his skin, barely audible.
After that night, you truly believed something had shifted between the two of you. And if anyone asked how you felt, you'd say the same thing every time: you were happy. Deeply, undeniably happy.
4 Months Later.
"Ah! Harder!F-fuck, Sunoo!"
Your voice cracked as Sunoo pressed a firm hand against the small of your back, forcing your hips higher while his other hand anchored tight around your waist. He dug his nails into your skin without realizing, the sting only mixing into the heat already flooding your body. His pace grew rougher, steady and merciless, and when your moans pitched too high, he slid his palm up to the back of your neck, pinning your face into the mattress to muffle the sounds.
Sunoo's eyes dropped, gaze fixed on the red lilies etched into your lower back. The ink bloomed outward in delicate, mirrored curves, the lines dark against your sweat-slick skin. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had become addicted to this view. From behind, with your ass high and that tattoo staring back at him, he always came harder than he thought possible. He'd never say it aloud, of course—he'd just brush it off with some offhand jab about your face being annoying. But deep down, he knew the truth: doggy had become his favorite position because it gave him this sight, this control, and it drove him insane.
His thrusts grew uneven, his groans breaking apart as his orgasm built and finally tore through him. A strangled moan left his lips as he spilled into the condom, his hips stuttering before he slowed to a stop. Breathing harshly, he carefully pulled out, muscles trembling.
He tied off the condom and tossed it into the trash, staring at the small pile already gathering there. "Fuck," he muttered, dragging a hand through his damp hair. "We should've stopped after the third round. My head feels groggy every time and I still have duty tomorrow."
You collapsed forward onto the bed. "You're the one who kept asking for more," you teased, voice hoarse but playful as you reached for the drawer by your side. You pulled it open and slid your fingers around the familiar box of cigarettes, only to flinch when Sunoo's hand smacked yours away with no hesitation.
"No cigarettes while I'm here," he snapped, eyes narrowing as he shoved the box back into the drawer and slammed it shut.
You turned your head lazily to glare at him, lips jutting into a pout. "Come on, I always smoke outside. Just one, it won't kill me."
Sunoo rolled his eyes and flopped down beside you, his arm heavy as it landed across your waist. "Yeah, and you'll say the same thing tomorrow, and the next day, and then you'll be coughing your lungs out when you're thirty. No thanks, I'm not kissing an ashtray." He buried his face briefly against your shoulder, breathing in your scent, before pulling back with a huff.
You stared at Sunoo for a moment, your palm brushing over his damp hair as you gently pushed it back from his forehead, fingertips catching against the fine strands still slick with sweat. His skin was flushed, chest rising and falling in steady breaths, the aftermath of exhaustion softening his features in a way you rarely got to see. He let out a low sigh at the touch, his eyes fluttering closed just for a second before he opened them again, blinking up at you like he didn't want to move. "Come on," he murmured, "let's take a shower and sleep already. I'm leaving at six-thirty."
You nodded, smiling as you leaned down to nuzzle your nose against his cheek. Your legs slipped around his waist without needing to be asked, body folding into him easily. Without a word, Sunoo shifted and lifted you up, muttering something under his breath about how clingy you were.
It wasn't often he had time like this. With his final year piling up and hospital internships consuming his days, Sunoo was constantly in motion, constantly drained. But when he made space for you, it was always in small, quiet ways—sitting still long enough for you to do his makeup, letting you slip him into the clothes you had designed, experimenting with textures and colors against his skin. He'd roll his eyes, complain about the shimmer on his cheeks or how ridiculous he looked, but he never told you to stop. And more often than not, those moments ended the same way—clothes discarded, skin pressed together, his sharp tongue replaced by soft moans. Always sex.
By morning, you usually woke up first. You'd reach for him half-asleep, sometimes without even meaning to, and he'd let it happen—sleepy eyes cracking open as he let you ride him or even give him a morning blowjob.
He told you to keep things quiet, especially when it came to Jake. Around other people, you played your part, but your restraint never lasted long. When the three of you were together, you couldn't help but lean too close to Sunoo, let your fingers graze over his hand or your palm rest lightly on his thigh. He'd shoot you that withering look, roll his eyes and he'd always yank your hair or slap your hand away.
You yawned as you bent over to pour cat food into Luna's bowl, the dry sound of the kibble clinking against ceramic echoing through the quiet. Your cat was rarely ever home, she rubbed against your ankle before settling to eat, her sleek black fur rising and falling with every breath.
Behind you, Sunoo stepped out from the bathroom, towel draped around his neck, still drying his hair. He passed by silently, stooping to give Luna a little scratch behind the ear before wandering around your room to gather his things. "I ironed your scrubs already," you said, yawning mid-sentence, arms stretching overhead as you turned to face him. "Your bag's on the table."
He paused mid-motion, glancing at you. You weren't the type to hover or fuss over anyone, but with him, it was different. You'd stopped staying at his place, mostly because you knew how little sleep he got. You didn't want to disrupt the hours of rest he did manage to find. So instead, you made sure that whenever he came over, everything he'd need by morning was already in place. Scrubs clean and folded. Bag packed. Sometimes even the lunch you'd made slipped quietly into his bag.
"I bought an energy drink yesterday," you mumbled, already at the fridge, grabbing out a pack of three. "Bring one for your friend. Sungwon, right?"
Sunoo scoffed, eyes narrowing in exaggerated offense. "His name is Jungwon. You've met him—don't act fake now."
You grinned as you handed him the cans, laughing softly as he leaned in and kissed your temple. "Thanks, girl," he muttered against your skin, then he pulled back slightly, still toweling off his damp hair, and gave you a small smirk. "Can you dry my hair and slick it back for me?"
You blinked, a little taken aback. Usually, Sunoo did things on his own, and even when he didn't, he rarely asked for help like this. You nodded without thinking, already reaching for your comb. "Yeah. Sit down," you said gently. "I'll make you look hot so Jungwon doesn't think you crawled out of bed with someone."
"I did crawl out of bed with someone," he quipped back, dropping onto the edge of your bed as you moved behind him, towel still around his shoulders.
You smiled to yourself as you began combing through the strands, towel-drying with care. "Yeah, but no one needs to know she's me."
Sunoo didn't say anything back. His eyes were on his phone, scrolling through whatever filled his morning—probably messages from classmates, schedules, maybe even memes. You didn't ask. You just stood behind him, carefully guiding his hair into a clean, slicked-back style that you knew he preferred when he was headed out for his hospital duty.
The peace felt normal, but something about it pressed against your chest. Still, you stayed silent as he finally set his phone down on the table with a soft clatter and picked up his makeup pouch, moving with ease as he dabbed on light concealer and patted a cushion over his skin. When you finished, you lingered for a moment. Then, without thinking, you leaned forward, wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He groaned in that exaggerated, irritated way he always did when you got too clingy but he didn't push you away.
"I'm just happy," you murmured against his skin in a smile as your cheek rested against his. He didn't respond. Just rolled his eyes and reached for his lip balm, uncapping it with one hand. And even though he didn't say anything, you still held on for a second longer, memorizing how he felt beneath your arms.
Another week passed, and the days slipped by faster than you expected. Between classes, looming project deadlines, and juggling your part-time job, your schedule blurred but you never forgot to check in with Sunoo. You messaged him like always, updates about your day, stupid memes, or little notes like "Don't skip meals." His replies were dry, short, sometimes just an emoji or a thumbs up. But you clung to them anyway.
You were in your living room when Jay flopped down onto your couch, letting out a breath. Your electric guitar rested on your lap, fingers absentmindedly plucking at the strings, trying to memorize the fretwork. "Sunghoon's been asking about you again," Jay said, casually scrolling through his phone. "So, what do you wanna play for the university event this week? You're singing, so it's your call."
You adjusted the tuning pegs, focused on the strings. "Tell Sunghoon I'm not interested," you muttered without looking up. "What about Supermassive Black Hole?"
Jay raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? That's a hard pick. You really think you can handle both vocals and electric?"
You shrugged, chin tilted slightly as your fingers slid back into place on the neck of the guitar. "I've done harder."
Practice didn't go as smoothly as you wanted. Your mind wandered more than it should have, eyes flicking to your phone every other minute. Jay tried to stay patient, but the third time you missed your cue, he slammed his palm lightly against the back of the couch.
"Can you focus, please? You're the one who wanted this song," he said. "We barely even see you these days."
Kai, sitting behind the drum kit, tossed his sticks onto the floor with a sigh. "You keep zoning out. It's starting to get annoying."
You didn't even defend yourself. Because in that moment, your phone vibrated and your heart jumped. Sunoo was calling! You nearly knocked your guitar off your lap as you scrambled to answer, pressing the phone to your ear before the first ring ended. "Hello!" you said, voice too eager and too bright. It was the first time Sunoo had ever called you.
Kai made a face, motioning to Jay to take over. You turned away, trying to keep your voice low, your heart pounding.
On the other end, Sunoo didn't even greet you. His tone was flat, a little rushed. "I left my record book at your place. Can you get it for me?"
You blinked, straightening a little. "Oh—yeah, okay. Where are you now?"
"I'm on duty," he said, barely giving you time to respond. "At the hospital. Can you make it quick?"
There was no softness in his voice, no hint that he missed you or even cared that you answered. He just sounded tired, and you understand it since being in a healthcare is not a joke. You looked over your shoulder at your bandmates. Jay met your eyes but didn't say anything, just waved you off. "Yeah, okay. I'll head over now," you said quietly, gripping the phone tighter.
"Thanks," was all he said before the line went dead. You didn't waste time. Back in your room, you found his record book tucked between his internship folders and some folded clothes he had left the last time he stayed over. The edges were a little bent from being stuffed into your shelf, and you smoothed them gently with your palm before grabbing your helmet.
Jay's voice followed you from the couch as he sat up, confused. "Where the hell are you going?"
"Something important," you answered quickly, pulling your jacket on. "I'll be back later. Just need to drop this off."
Kai muttered something under his breath, likely a curse about your priorities, but you didn't stop to listen. You slipped out the door and rode your motorbike across town like muscle memory guided your body, even if your mind was still stuck on the way Sunoo sounded.
When you pulled in on the parking lot, the first thing you saw was him. He was leaning against a pale concrete wall near the entrance, half in shadow. Even from a distance, he looked worn down to the bone. His scrubs hung slightly loose on his frame, and the dark circles beneath his eyes were stark against the paleness of his skin. He wasn't even looking at his phone, just staring off, hands limp at his sides.
Your steps were careful as you approached, "Sunoo..." His head turned, eyes sluggish to find you. You stopped in front of him and took a breath, holding the record book out with one hand, the other brushing lightly against his forearm. "Are you okay, baby?" The nickname slipped out unconsciously, concern laced around the softness in your voice.
"I'm fine." He reached out and took the record book from your hand without looking you in the eye. "Just... duty being toxic."
You nodded, swallowing down the worry bubbling up your throat. "Have you eaten yet? You look—Sunoo, you look really out of it." You stepped closer, trying to meet his gaze. "Can I bring you something? Coffee? Bread? I'll wait for you until you're off."
His lips tightened, jaw locking like he was holding something back, but you continued. "What about we go to the—"
"God, can you just stop?" he snapped suddenly, voice louder than it should have been. You flinched. He immediately looked away, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. "I don't want any of that shit. I just needed the damn book."
You blinked, stunned for a second. Not because it hurt—though it did—but because it was the first time he'd ever raised his voice at you like that. Your fingers curled tightly around the edge of your jacket as you tried to steady your breathing. "I know," you said quietly, forcing your voice to stay even, "but you sounded upset. And I was worried."
Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just stood there, shoulders rising and falling as he breathed through whatever storm he was holding inside. "Look," he said, voice lower but still strained. "I just need to get through today. I don't have time for anything else right now."
You nodded slowly, though your chest tightened at the way he phrased it. Anything else. That included you. You took a small step back, out of understanding, even if it stung.
"I'll go," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just... take care of yourself, okay?"
He didn't respond. Just turned and walked back toward the sliding doors of the hospital, the record book clutched in his hand.
You've been meaning to apologize to Sunoo ever since that day, but every time you thought of dialing his number or dropping a message, you paused. He was under so much pressure already, barely sleeping between hospital shifts and classes, and you didn't want to be another thing that made his chest feel heavy.
You sat alone at the campus cafeteria, your fingers working over the delicate rows of yarn as you crocheted slowly, the hook moving again and again. A small collection of handmade tulips lay across the table in a neat cluster—pinks, reds, a few white ones that hadn't taken shape yet. Your brows were furrowed, not from the difficulty of the pattern, but from the thoughts you couldn't seem to untangle from your mind.
"You've been zoning out a lot," Sunghoon's voice cut through the silence. He slid into the seat across from you, his tray untouched. "Jay said he's one tantrum away from kicking you out of the band."
"I'm not zoning out," you answered without looking up, looping the yarn again. "I've just been doing something more important."
Sunghoon leaned in, resting his elbows on the table as his eyes scanned the colorful flowers in front of you. "These commissions? I thought you stopped doing them."
You didn't respond, the sound of yarn slipping through your fingers filling the silence instead. He watched you for another moment before asking, "Are you seeing someone?"
Your hands faltered slightly, just for a second, then picked up again as if nothing had happened. "No," you said quietly, eyes fixed on the work. "It's for a friend."
Sunghoon gave a soft hum, like he didn't believe you but wasn't going to press. "You know I've liked you for a while, right? Since high school."
You finally looked up, just enough to meet his gaze for a brief second before dropping your eyes again. "Sunghoon, I don't have the energy for one of your talks right now."
"I'm not here to make a scene," he said, more gently this time. "I just... I know how you are when you start liking someone. You act like you're fine, like everything's under control, but you start giving too much of yourself without realizing it."
Your jaw tensed, fingers tightening slightly around the hook. "You let your guard down," he continued. "And you start doing all these little things—waiting around, making things for them, dropping everything just to show up. Even when they stop treating you the same way, you keep giving."
"Sunghoon, stop," you muttered.
"I'm not judging you," he said, watching the way your hands moved a little slower. "I just don't want to see you get hurt again."
You didn't bother to look at him. The words weren't new. You shoved the last tulip into the paper bag and stood from your seat, brushing your hands on your jeans as if to shake the weight off. "It's none of your business," you said. "I do what I want to do." You left before he could answer.
Lately, everything felt like a blur. The hospital was suffocating, patients piling up, charts demanding constant attention, the head nurse always finding something to criticize. Sunoo hadn't slept in two days, and even when he did manage to collapse onto his mattress, his chest stayed tight. There wasn't room for anything else. Not for laughter, not for texting back, not even for eating. And eventually, not even for you. He didn't realize how much time had passed since he last answered your messages. He hadn't even opened them. He kept telling himself he would later, when his head wasn't pounding, when he could at least form a sentence that didn't sound like a sigh. But later kept moving farther away.
So when he opened his apartment door and saw you standing there at 9 PM, hands clutching a paper bag with that small, nervous look on your face—he froze. "S-sorry," you muttered, voice soft. "I will not disturb you, just rest. I-I just need to drop this, and wish it make you feel better."
He blinked. Then looked at the bag. Then at you again. He didn't think. He stepped forward and pulled you into his arms before you could even take a step back. The paper crinkled between you, but he didn't care. The second he buried his face into your neck, something in him cracked. A quiet sob escaped before he could hold it in, his hands shaking slightly against your back.
He couldn't remember the last time someone had brought him anything without asking for something in return. "I've never received any flowers," he mumbled. "No one's ever given me anything like this."
You didn't say anything, but your hand was there. The warmth of your touch made his chest ache in a different way. "I'm sorry for being an asshole," he whispered, breathing in your scent, a small comfort in the chaos of his days. "I didn't mean to push you away. I just—everything's been too much."
"I know," you murmured, your chin resting on his shoulder. "It's okay. You don't have to explain."
But he wanted to. You didn't deserve silence. You didn't deserve to be left hanging, wondering if he even cared. He just couldn't bring himself to say it all, but not now, not while his throat was tight and his eyes were stinging and your arms were the first place he felt human all week. "I should've answered. I just... didn't have the energy."
You didn't move away. You didn't scold him. You didn't ask for anything. You just stayed. He pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, trying to look somewhat composed. "Do you want to stay? Just for a bit?"
You nodded without hesitation, and the two of you ended up in his room, laughing your ass out.
He let out another burst of laugh as he leaned over to look at your tablet. "What even is that supposed to be?"
"Wait, I drew you!" you blurted out, your finger swiping across the screen excitedly. You tapped on a picture and turned it to show him—the chibi version of him with devil horns, an exaggerated pout, and glitter under the eyes.
Sunoo squinted, then narrowed his eyes dramatically. "You little shit," he muttered, before slapping your shoulder.
You shifted without thinking, climbing into his lap, your back settling against his chest as you held the tablet up between you. His arms wrapped around your waist loosely, his chin resting over your shoulder
"Wait, you drew this one too?" Sunoo's voice pulled you from the moment. He pointed at a little sticker design on your tablet—a black cat holding a cigarette between its tiny fingers. "I bought this! From the Art Museum's student booth a few months ago. I stuck it on my old clipboard."
You turned your head slightly to meet his stare. "Are you serious? That was my booth. That's literally my design!"
Sunoo's mouth dropped open in disbelief. "What the hell? Why weren't you guarding your own booth?! You're such a bad artist!"
You scoffed, turning to half-face him, "Excuse me, I had a nicotine addiction to maintain. I took a break."
He groaned. "Turns out it was you sneaking off to light up under a 'No Smoking' sign."
"You bought my sticker and called me a bitch. How dare you insult me and support me at the same time?"
"I didn't know it was you!" he defended, laughing again. "But honestly, you deserved it. I hate people who smoke where they're not supposed to."
You twisted slightly in his lap, now facing him more directly. "So do you still hate me?" you asked, teasing, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as your fingers played with the hem of his hoodie.
Sunoo didn't look away. He rolled his eyes like he always did. His voice was soft, almost playful. "Yes. Obviously. You're still annoying."
You pouted at his answer, dragging out a whine. His smile lingered, and even though his words were stubborn, his hands had tightened just slightly around your waist. "I'm not joking," he added, resting his forehead against yours. "You're so, so, sooo annoying."
The night ended up your thighs trembling around his head, your hands tangled in his hair, your voice broken from the way his mouth worked between your legs. He made you come three times with his tongue alone, not stopping until you pushed at his shoulders with tear-brimmed eyes and slurred, begging words. Then he let you ride him, your back turned to him, your head lolled to the side as his hands gripped your hips.
The next morning, the weight in your chest had lifted. You didn't feel guilty for smiling. Even when Jay clapped his hands together loudly the moment you walked into the studio and said, "You're in a good mood, thank God," you just grinned wider and grabbed his electric guitar, pretending to tune it like nothing had happened.
"You want a hit?" Kai asked, waving his vape your way.
You shook your head without even thinking. "I already quit smoking," you said casually, even though that choice had been harder than you liked to admit.
You and Sunoo didn't put labels on what was happening—not yet—but things fell into place anyway. There was a rhythm to it. You spent weekends at his apartment, usually coming over late Friday, falling asleep on his couch after watching movies and ordering junk food. Saturday mornings meant waking up tangled together, cooking breakfast with your hair a mess and his arms still lazy around your waist, and Sunday nights usually ended with you riding him slowly before passing out from exhaustion. Mondays, he walked you to your motorbike before his duty started again.
One Sunday afternoon, sprawled on his bed while you were half-scrolling through TikTok and half-dozing on his lap, he suddenly shoved his phone in your face. "I think this type of style suits you more," he said, showing you some random Pinterest board filled with soft, layered outfits—more structured, a little feminine, clean silhouettes with warm tones. "You need to upgrade your wardrobe."
You squinted at the screen, unimpressed. "Hmm. I think you're just projecting your type in girls on me," you teased, nudging his thigh with your elbow.
Sunoo rolled his eyes, clearly expecting that answer. "No. I just think it looks presentable. And it would look good on you."
You looked down at yourself—baggy ripped jeans, an oversized acubi-style shirt, sneakers worn down from all your bike rides. Not exactly the most polished look, but it was comfortable. You shrugged with a small grin. "Okay, I'll try," you said. "Anyway, can we visit that new café that opened last week? I saw it on Instagram and they have a bunch of Bon Jovi albums on display."
Sunoo blinked. "Bon Jovi?"
"Yeah, like actual vinyls. The post said there's a listening booth too." You leaned closer, eyes brightening. "And the interior looks so nice. Real vintage vibe. I figured you'd like it."
He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm... okay, maybe next week?"
You nodded, trying to keep it casual, but the smile that broke out on your face gave you away. Excitement bloomed in your chest like it was something new. It wasn't just another plan. It wasn't just a random meet-up. This one felt different. You kept thinking about it all week. Every small moment your mind wandered, it wandered to that café. To how you'd sit across from him, to the lighting, to the smell of the place, maybe to the way he'd laugh when you'd try to act cool about your favorite album being on display. You weren't even sure if it counted as a real date, but you were choosing to believe it did. That belief made your stomach flutter.
By Saturday, you had cleaned your room twice, even reorganized your crochet materials—something you only did when you were nervous. Your playlist was full of Bon Jovi songs now, looping endlessly while you stared at your closet.
That morning, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror, staring at your reflection longer than usual. Your piercings were gone—well, mostly. You'd taken out the ones on your face, letting the skin breathe, letting yourself look softer. The change made you feel exposed, a little too bare, but also like you were trying.
"Do you think I look presentable now without the piercings?" you asked, turning slightly in front of the mirror. The floral dress you wore was one of the few pieces in your closet that wasn't oversized, black or red. You smoothed the fabric down nervously, then glanced at Jay who was lounging nearby.
Jay lifted his eyes from his phone, a cigarette loosely held between his fingers. His face twisted slightly like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or roll his eyes. "What's with all this performative energy? You still look like an emo girl who got dragged into church."
You shot him a glare. "I'm being serious."
"So am I." He took a drag, blowing the smoke toward the window. "You look like yourself, just with fewer metal parts. That's not a bad thing, by the way. It's still you."
"You don't get it," you said quietly, adjusting the straps of the dress again. "I need to look like I have my shit together. I'm going somewhere... and I want to be seen a certain way."
Jay rolled his eyes, walked over, and stood behind you, he stubbed out his cigarette on the ceramic ashtray near the window and reached toward you, pushing your hair behind your shoulders without asking. He squinted as he examined your face. "You'll look better if you tie your hair up," he mumbled, the filter of his half-lit cigarette still stuck between his lips. "Ponytail or something. The dress opens your collarbone. It works."
You blinked at him, surprised by how serious he sounded, then reached up instinctively to gather your hair into your hand. You tilted your head, testing the look in the mirror. Something about it clicked. You could see it now—the way your eyes opened up more, how your features looked cleaner without the strands framing your face. A bit bare, sure. A little too soft maybe. "I think you're right," you said with a small smile, already grabbing a scrunchie from your pocket. "That actually helps."
Jay shrugged. "Whatever. You asked."
You turned to face him, grateful even if he looked bored out of his mind. "Thanks, Jay. Really."
"Wow, you look really good, girl."
The compliment came with a spark in Sunoo's eyes the moment you stepped inside the café, and it sent a flush creeping up your neck. His gaze lingered, tracing your figure with genuine awe that he didn't even try to hide. You hadn't brought your motorbike today—not in a dress like this—and walking into the café with heels clicking and your hair tied back suddenly felt worth it.
"Only good?" you teased, pouting as you twirled the hem of your floral dress playfully in front of him. With a soft push of your fingers, you tucked your hair behind your ear and tilted your head, smiling shyly as you searched his face for a better reaction. You wanted him to say beautiful, maybe even breathtaking, but even without the words, the look in his eyes told you everything.
Your heart had been thumping ever since you saw him seated by the window, casually checking his phone. Now, up close, it was worse. The sunlight streaming into the café highlighted the soft brown fall of his hair, the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the way his denim shirt hung open over a simple white tank top. He looked effortless—too effortless for someone who always drove you to such nervousness. And yet, despite that nervousness, you found yourself loosening.
The longer you stayed in his presence, the easier it was to talk, to laugh, to let go of the performance. There was something so calming about talking to him about things you loved, sharing songs you liked, memories from art class, favorite old movies, dumb fashion trends—simple things, but they became important because you were sharing them with him. Talking about your likes with someone you liked—it felt too rare to take for granted.
That's when it hit you. Maybe it was finally time to talk about what was happening between the two of you. The affection, the growing intimacy, the weekends together, the sleepovers that blurred the line between casual and committed—it had all been there. But neither of you had dared to define it. He had always been honest with you. In the four months you'd been tangled into each other's lives, he never lied about what he felt or where he stood. So maybe, it was time for you to take the risk again and ask.
As the two of you wandered near the wooden display cabinet filled with vintage Bon Jovi and Queen albums, your fingers reached for his and laced through gently. He let you. Your hands stayed linked, a quiet statement hanging between you, even while your mouth continued to talk about vinyl sleeves and weird 80s cover art. That peace only lasted seconds before a familiar voice cut through the space.
"Sunoo?"
Sunoo's body tensed before he turned around, his eyes wide in surprise. You perked up too, smiling with recognition, you gasped as you waved at the approaching figure. Jake, lively as ever, grinned brightly as he made his way to you.
But just as you were about to speak, Sunoo let go of your hand. The action was subtle, but it was sharp. His fingers pulled away quickly, and his body leaned ever so slightly to the side, creating distance between the two of you. You tried to ignore the way your smile faltered, tried to hold it together as Jake reached you both
"What are you doing here? Are you two bonding?" Jake asked with his usual exaggerated pout before leaning in to kiss your cheeks in greeting, then doing the same to Sunoo. "Without me?"
Your mouth opened, ready to answer, to explain but Sunoo spoke first. "No, we just ran into each other," he said too quickly, a small nervous laugh escaping his lips. "And we couldn't help but talk for a bit. It's been so long since we last saw each other, you know?"
He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. And your heart sank. Jake, ever the extrovert, nodded along cheerfully, completely unaware. "Ahhh! That's so cute! I'm just glad you two are hanging out again. We seriously need to set up another sleepover, right?"
You forced a small chuckle, brushing your hand along the side of your skirt. "T-that's a great idea," you said, trying to match his enthusiasm. But your eyes flicked back to Sunoo. He was tapping his foot against the floor, fast and impatient, not meeting your gaze.
It was like something had shifted in an instant. And now you were standing in that silence again, not sure if the version of Sunoo who held your hand minutes ago was still there... or if he had just vanished with Jake's arrival.
Even after Jake finally waved goodbye and disappeared down the street, your mood stayed where it dropped. Sunoo stood next to you like nothing happened, releasing a sigh and forcing a new topic as if the tension wasn't heavy in the air. He spoke casually, talking about a song he'd heard recently, about trying a different drink next time, anything to ignore the silence growing between you. But you couldn't pretend like him. You couldn't look him in the eye or laugh at something meaningless when your chest felt like it was being squeezed in slow, deliberate pulses. You kept your gaze down, watching your feet move with every step, barely hearing a thing he was saying.
Sunoo started to notice. His tone shifted—less patient, more irritated. The lightness in his voice faded and was replaced with annoyance. He didn't like when you shut down, and now it was clear he was blaming you for the sudden weight between you.
By the time you reached the door of his apartment, you knew the conversation was inevitable. He stepped in first, then turned, and before you could even take your shoes off, his voice came tight and harsh.
"Are you seriously getting all moody just because I let go of your hand when Jake showed up?" His eyes narrowed, his words clipped. "We agreed to keep this between us, not to say anything to Jake. You knew that. Why are you acting like this now?"
You stayed by the doorway, not moving. "It's not just about that," you murmured, your voice already thin. You didn't want to argue. You didn't want to cry either, but your body was already betraying you, tightening up.
He scoffed. "Then what is it? Because I didn't hold your hand in front of him? That's it?"
"It's just..." you took a breath, and even that was hard to push out. You felt like the words were caught in your throat, slicing through. "You looked—ashamed."
Sunoo didn't pause. He didn't soften. "Of course I'm ashamed," he blurted, not even giving the sentence time to sit. "How the hell are we supposed to explain that we're what—fucking each other? What do you want me to say to him?"
You flinched at his word, you looked up slowly, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears. "It's not that hard to admit, is it?" you said, your voice shaking as you took a step forward, eyes stinging. "People do that all the time. Fuck buddies aren't a secret anymore. It's normal. You think Jake would've been shocked?"
"That's not the point—"
"It is the point, Sunoo!" You cut him off, your voice rising despite the tremble in it. "We've been doing this for months. We spend every weekend together. We sleep in the same bed. We talk like we mean something to each other, so why is it so hard to tell him that we're — something?"
You didn't expect him to shout back, but he did. "Because I'm supposed to be gay! Do you get that? I'm not supposed to feel like this about you!" The words came out angry. "And you keep pushing it like it's that simple."
You stared at him, your face falling, your fists curling. "Who fucking cares if you're gay? I never made you not be." You took a step back, voice cracking. "Just say it. Just say you're ashamed to be seen with me."
Sunoo's face twisted, but he didn't back down. His chest was heaving now, like something in him had snapped too. "You're projecting your insecurity on me! You act like I owe you something just because you decided to catch feelings! I never promised you more than what this was. That was you. That was always you!"
Your breath caught in your throat, and you stumbled back, blinking fast as the first tear broke past your lashes. "You're the one who came back after that night," he went on, voice rising with frustration, like he couldn't stop himself anymore. "You kept showing up, acting like this was something serious, like this was going to turn into something. I just—" he stopped, looking away like he couldn't even look at you when he said it, "I just gave in. You were tempting, okay? You made it hard to say no."
All the blood in your body seemed to rush to your ears, and still, you couldn't hear anything but the sound of your heart breaking. Another tear slipped down your cheek, and your lips parted like you were going to respond—but nothing came out. Sunoo blinked, realizing too late what he had just said. The way he looked at you shifted instantly, as if he wanted to take it back, but the damage was already there. "...Wait," he whispered, reaching for you instinctively. "I didn't mean—"
But you just nodded, slowly, painfully, like someone waking up from a dream they didn't want to end. "I- I get it," you said quietly, stepping past him and walking out his door like your legs weren't shaking. You didn't even turn to look at him. "I'm sorry," you added, trying to keep your voice steady, though the sound cracked anyway. You wiped under your eyes, but the tears kept falling, soft and warm against your skin. "You were right. I was annoying. I was pushy. I caught feelings, I shouldn't have. I thought maybe... I don't know what I thought."
You paused to breathe, your throat tightening as you tried to keep the sob from escaping. "What could I even expect, right? You're still a man. Of course this meant n-nothing."
Sunoo's chest tightened so hard he couldn't breathe for a second. He wanted to stop you, to wrap his arms around you, to tell you it wasn't true—none of what you were saying. That he did care. That this wasn't nothing to him. That he didn't think you were annoying, or a mistake, or something to be ashamed of. But he couldn't get the words out. The fear clenched too tightly around his ribs.
"I'm sorry," you said again, a whisper this time. Another tear slipped free and this time you laughed, short and broken. "God, I sound pathetic. S-sorry, Sunoo. I'll go. I'll leave you alone. You won't have to worry about me again."
You turned, fast, footsteps uneven as you tried to get away before he could see the full collapse happening inside you.
Sunoo didn't stop you. And you broke. You didn't wait to cry. The tears came fast and violent, your chest aching as you stumbled down the street, wiping your face on the back of your hand like it would help. At the bus stop, you sat hunched on the bench, arms wrapped around yourself as if holding your own body could keep you from falling apart. On the bus, you curled near the window, staring out at the dark streets, your reflection barely visible through the glass. You didn't care who saw you. The ache inside you was louder than embarrassment.
By the time you made it to your apartment, your hands were trembling. You didn't even bother turning on the lights. You made your way straight to your room, tugging the dress zipper with shaking fingers. When it wouldn't budge, frustration bubbled up, too hot to contain. You gritted your teeth and yanked, but it wouldn't move, so you grabbed the fabric near your shoulder and ripped it down your back with a cry of frustration. The fabric tore, seams giving way under your rage.
You tossed it to the floor like it burned you. Chest heaving, you stormed over to your nightstand and grabbed the crumpled pack of Marlboro Reds. Your fingers trembled as you pulled one out, jamming it between your lips, and fumbled with the lighter until the flame caught. You inhaled sharply, letting the smoke burn down your throat as you collapsed into the chair near the window.
"Stupid," you muttered under your breath, blinking away more tears that wouldn't stop coming. "So fucking stupid."
You thought you were strong enough not to let this happen again. You thought you could handle it. But what did you expect? You were so obsessed with ruining him when you first met, so fixated on getting under his skin, that you didn't notice he was already getting under yours. You didn't even get the chance to ruined him—he got to you first.
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Sunoo had never experienced a heartbreak that ached like this. He had felt sad before—moments of longing, fleeting attachments—but those had always passed with time, fading within days, maybe a week at most. They never lingered, never left anything permanent behind. So why the hell had he been sulking for nearly a month now, barely able to focus, barely able to sleep, staring blankly at the tulip bouquet on his desk like it could somehow explain what went wrong?
He told himself he should be relieved. There were no more complications in his way, no emotional distractions to deal with. He was finally free to focus on his demanding internship, on his future, on everything he had planned for years. And yet every late-night shift, every quiet weekend, every exhausted morning waking up to silence felt impossibly hollow without you. You used to send him silly selfies while he studied, comfort him through voice notes when he ranted about how hard nursing was, remind him to eat when he was too tired to remember. Now, all he had was the buzzing of lights, the clinking of stainless steel, the silence of the hospital—and that goddamn tulip bouquet collecting dust in the corner.
His eyebags were darker, heavier, like they carried the weight of everything he never said to you. His thoughts were loud, looping over what he should've done differently, what he should've said the moment he saw your face fall.
Fuck. He missed you so much it made his whole body ache. Every fucking night he lay in bed, biting his fist to muffle the cries. Were you okay? Were you eating? Were you still crying? Were you still thinking about him? God, he hoped not. He didn't deserve your thoughts, your sadness, your softness—but deep inside, he still wished he lived rent-free in your head the way you haunted his.
He wanted to hold you again, to collapse into your arms after a hard shift, to hear your voice teasing him when he whined about school. He wanted to kiss your neck like he used to, trace the little freckles on your collarbone, let you thread his hair through your fingers while he laid on your lap. He wanted to watch you feed your cat, complain about his bad taste in coffee, laugh when you purposely messed up his eyeliner just to annoy him. He wanted the boring things with you. The quiet, gentle things he once brushed off like they were nothing. He regretted every time he took you for granted.
"Sunoo!" Jungwon's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. His friend clapped him on the back, grinning. "Congrats! Why do you look like someone just died? We're graduating! Where's the joy, girl?"
Sunoo forced a weak smile, shrugging his shoulders as he kept his gaze locked on the soccer field in front of them, watching the high schoolers running laps, laughing with no clue how cruel it was to grow up. "You've been M.I.A. lately," Jungwon continued, nudging him. "Not cool. You ghosted everyone. No more parties? No more hangouts? We should celebrate. It's not fun without you."
Sunoo exhaled quietly, shoulders sinking. "Jungwon," he said under his breath. "I think I got infected by men's emotional negligence," Sunoo muttered bitterly, eyes still locked on the field, watching a soccer ball bounce and roll across the grass
Jungwon blinked at him. Then snorted. Then burst out laughing so hard he doubled over, hitting Sunoo's back again. "What? What are you saying? You're not even dating anyone! You've been so secretive about your love life lately, I thought maybe you were going through a dry spell or something." He leaned back, grinning. "But don't worry—men are assholes. It's honestly safer to hurt them first before they get the chance to hurt you—"
"It's not a man," he said quietly.
And Jungwon stopped laughing. He stiffened beside him, eyes blinking wide. "Wait. What?"
Sunoo didn't look at him. He just kept watching the field, the blurry shape of a boy chasing a ball, the sun dipping lower behind the school buildings. "It's not a man," he repeated. "I wish it was. It would've been easier."
His lips curled bitterly as he looked down at his white sneakers, scuffed and dirtied from weeks of walking to class in silence. "I miss her. No shit. I miss her so fucking bad."
There was a small and self-deprecating laugh, tugging at the edge of his voice, but it cracked halfway through. "It's stupid, isn't it? It hurts more when you know it's your fault. I keep thinking about all the things I told myself I'd never become. I always talked about how men treat people like shit—how they use and walk away, how they never apologize for the damage they leave behind. How they shrink from softness because they're scared of what it says about them."
He rubbed at his chest with the heel of his palm like it might ease the tightness building there, but the pressure only grew heavier. "I always swore I'd never be like that. And then I went ahead and did it anyway. I made her feel that way, Jungwon. Like she was something to be ashamed of. Like she was just a mistake I wanted to keep hidden. Like the feelings she gave me were inconvenient." He let out a shaky breath, shoulders caving in slightly. "And the worst part? I never even told her how much I liked her. How much she meant to me."
Jungwon's mouth opened slightly, stunned into silence by the sight of Sunoo—the usually sharp-tongued, composed Sunoo—sitting beside him with tears slipping quietly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," Sunoo whispered. "You can laugh at me now. Tease me. Say I got soft. Say I turned my back on my sexuality. Or that I lost my mind over a girl when I always said I wouldn't—"
"Girl," Jungwon interrupted, his tone softer than as he scooted closer and draped an arm across Sunoo's back. "Relax. Why the hell would I laugh at you for this? You're clearly hurting. I'd have to be heartless to find that funny."
Sunoo sniffled, wiping his face. Jungwon sighed, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "You know, I think sometimes we get so wrapped up in the idea of who we're supposed to be, or what we're supposed to feel, that we forget we're just... human. You always said you didn't want to be like the guys who hurt others, right? Well, maybe you fucked up. Maybe you acted like one of them. But you realized it. You're sitting here crying because of it. That already makes you different from most."
Sunoo didn't speak, but his jaw trembled, and the tears didn't stop. Jungwon tilted his head, speaking more gently now. "Men can be assholes. A lot of them are. But being born with a dick doesn't mean you're destined to be one. What makes someone a real man is taking responsibility. Owning up to your shit. Making it right when you can."
He paused, then smiled faintly. "We might be one of the girls, sure. We squeal, we wear blush, we cry over small things, and we talk too much when we drink—but we also carry the weight of things like this. Of hurting people we care about."
Sunoo's breath hitched again, and this time when he wiped at his face, he was a little slower, a little calmer. "You know what you need to do," Jungwon said, nudging him gently. "If she meant something to you... you owe her more than silence. And you owe yourself more than sitting here pretending you're okay."
"Do you think it's too late?" he asked finally.
"I don't know," Jungwon admitted. "But people forgive stupid things when they see you're actually sorry. And you are. I see it. Maybe she will too."
"You're definitely insane," Jay said. "Because why the hell would you decide to do your nails when you know you have to play electric guitar tomorrow?"
You didn't even look up. Your fingers were too focused on the torn fabric in your lap, guiding the needle carefully through the jagged tear. You tugged gently at the thread, the tension sliding through the cloth as you murmured, "It's just minor chords."
Jay groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Minor chords and you're still skipping practice like you've got this down. God, you're making my head hurt."
"I said I'll show up," you replied flatly.
Jay scoffed in the background, but you ignored it. Let him roll his eyes. Let him sigh and throw another fit about perfection. It wasn't like he'd understand anyway. The nails weren't the problem. Jay and his perfectionist self always had something to complain about when people didn't bend to his rhythm. But you liked your nails. You liked how they shimmered when the light hit them. They made you feel decent—like maybe, just maybe, you were still capable of taking care of yourself.
Except you were too stupid to realize you'd chosen that exact shade of mint green. That soft, sweet color he once said reminded him of summer. The one he jokingly suggested would look cute on your nails if you ever ditched the blacks and reds you usually wore. The color had haunted you since then, just like everything else tied to him.
You stared down at your fingers, freshly painted and curled slightly as you guided the needle through the torn seam of the dress. You had sworn to never touch it again, but here you were, piecing it back together with trembling hands.
Heard from someone that Sunoo made it into the Latin honors list. Top of his class, just as you expected. And good for him. Really. You hoped he was sleeping well, smiling like he always did, charming everyone with that beautiful, soft voice and those ridiculously perfect eyes.
You hoped he forgot you — Because it wasn't fair that you were still waking up thinking about him.
"Fuck," you hissed, jerking your hand back as the needle pricked the pad of your finger. Blood welled up, a small drop blooming at the surface. It smeared faintly against the fabric—right over the seam you'd been trying to fix. "Ugh, shit," you muttered, staring at the new stain forming on the pale material.
Perfect! Just perfect. You sucked on your finger for a second, breathing hard through your nose, trying to hold everything back. "You could've just bought a new dress, you know." Jay said, looking at your face.
"I didn't want a new one," you said quietly, still looking at the ruined thread. "I wanted to fix it."
If someone asked you what exactly you were feeling right now, you wouldn't know how to answer. There wasn't a word that fit—nothing specific. You were functioning just fine. You got out of bed. You drank your coffee. You worked. You smiled when people talked to you, even laughed when the joke was decent enough. So, you were fine, right?
But then why did everything feel so dull? Why did the silence in your room stretch too long, and why did the nights feel colder, even when the fan wasn't turned on?
Maybe it was because you quit your part-time job. Maybe it was because you'd thrown yourself into freelance commissions, desperate to stay busy, desperate to drown out the thoughts by making yourself useful. Drawing until your eyes hurt, until your hand cramped. It worked for a while—until even the deadlines stopped scaring you.
The truth was, you had too much space now. And all that extra room made it harder to ignore the feeling gnawing at the edges of your chest.
Jay had once said, "That's why it's hard for me to watch you fall in love. You're the kind of person who gives everything without realizing it. You show up without fail, but somehow still feel so far away."
You didn't understand what he meant back then. Thought he was being dramatic, maybe too sentimental. But now you did. You were always present, always dependable. But your heart? You'd locked it away for years, guarded and watchful, convinced no one would be careful enough to hold it.
And when you let your walls down. You gave in completely, all at once, as if you'd been waiting your whole life for a reason to. And he didn't stay... Now you sat alone again, trying to rebuild the barricade you'd once worn. You tried patching yourself up with work and distractions, thinking if you filled your days enough, the ache would fade. But some nights, it came back stronger. A ghost knocking on your ribs, reminding you of the softness you once allowed.
You regret letting him see you that clearly. Regret peeling yourself open, showing the tender parts you swore no one would ever get close to. You used to be so good at keeping people at a distance, but you ruined yourself when you made an exception.
"Putting my defenses up, 'cause I don't wanna fall in love."
Your voice rang out, echoing through the crowded room. You stood at the front of the stage, clutching the mic, and the lights hit your face just enough to make everything outside the spotlight blur into nothing.
"Never put my love out on the line..." The lyrics spilled from your lips. Your eyes drifted to the floor where your foot tapped in rhythm, then to the strings of your guitar as your fingers pressed down the chords. "Never said yes to the right guy. Never had trouble getting what I want..."
A faint smile tugged at your lips. "But when it comes to you, I'm never good enough..."
You looked up then, stealing a glance toward your bandmates. They were all focused on their instruments, lost in the music like they always were, eyes down or closed, rocking slightly with the beat. None of them looked at you. You were glad for it. You didn't want them to see the way your hands were trembling on the fretboard, or how your throat threatened to close the moment his face flickered in your mind. "When I don't care, I can play 'em like a Ken doll..."
You swallowed thickly and tried to stay in rhythm, tried to keep your tone playful like the song intended—but your mind was far from the lyrics now. It drifted elsewhere. To him.
"Won't wash my hair, then make 'em bounce like a basketball..." Your breath hitched, but you kept going. "But you make me wanna act like a girl..."
You closed your eyes then. "Paint my nails and wear high heels..." Your fingers slid along the guitar strings automatically. And then, without warning, his face appeared—soft eyes, dimpled smile, that maddeningly gentle voice. Sunoo.
"Yes, you—" You faltered. "—make me so nervous that I just can't hold your hand."
You pushed through the chorus, the words twisting in your throat. The beat thundered in your ears, drowning out the sound of your own thoughts. You didn't miss a note, but you felt every crack forming inside you. And when the song finally ended, the stage lights dimmed and the crowd's cheers erupted like static in your chest, you barely smiled.
You brushed your hair back, exhaling hard as you stepped off the stage. The adrenaline was already wearing off, leaving only the sweat sticking to your skin and the tightness in your throat. You grabbed the water bottle waiting for you and took a few long gulps, letting the cool liquid settle your nerves.
"I thought you hated pop songs."
You turned your head slightly, recognizing Sunghoon's voice before you saw his face. He was already beside you, grinning. You sighed, long and loud, then handed him the water without looking, forcing him to take it. "You're annoying," you muttered, adjusting your loose sando, tugging the strap back up your shoulder and trying to fix your tangled hair with one hand. "You know I didn't pick the setlist."
"But you sang the hell out of it."
"Don't push it," you warned.
Then his voice dropped again, quieter but curious. "You got a new tattoo?"
You stilled for a moment. Your hand went to your nape instinctively, brushing over the still-healing skin just below the red ink etched across your upper spine. You didn't answer, just gave a hum of acknowledgment before slipping your hand down your back. Without shame, you reached beneath your shirt and unhooked your bra, letting your chest finally breathe after hours under the stage lights.
Sunghoon didn't say anything for a moment, but you felt his gaze linger. "Are you free tonight?" he asked. "Thought maybe we could hang out. Talk or something. Just us?"
Another sigh escaped you, this one heavier than the last. You didn't try to hide the exhaustion in your voice this time. "Sunghoon..." you started, turning to finally face him properly. "You're a good friend. You've been sticking around for longer than most people would, and I get it. You think there's something here, maybe because I let you hang around or because I'm too tired to fight your flirting half the time."
He opened his mouth to say something, but you raised your hand. "But I'm not interested," you said, carefully but clearly.
He blinked. The corners of his mouth twitched, like he didn't know whether to frown or fake a laugh, but then his lips settled into a small, almost understanding smile. "You're not interested in boys," he said, a little too quickly, trying to soften the blow for himself.
"No," you cut in, sharper this time. "I'm not interested in you."
Sunghoon looked down, then up, that crooked smile still hanging on his lips. "You know I won't stop, right?" he said, brushing off rejection with a joke.
You raised an eyebrow. "That's your choice," you replied plainly. "But don't expect me to change my mind."
"Okay," He nodded, his gaze dropped before you even finished your sentence, trailing down lazily across your chest.
Your fingers snapped in front of his face. "Seriously?" you said with irritation.
Sunghoon blinked, caught, his mouth twitching up. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled quickly. His eyes flicked back up to your face. "Is that a new piercing?"
You didn't respond right away. You crossed your arms instead, trying to hold onto your patience and bite back the exhaustion blooming across your shoulders. The days had been long, your emotions threadbare. "Ni-ki did it," you said finally, eyes narrowing as your annoyance deepened.
When your gig finally ended, you let out a long breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. You made your way toward the bar where the owner usually handed out the cut for the night, hoping it wouldn't take long because all you wanted was to go home and lie down. But before you could even reach the counter, you were nearly knocked off balance by someone throwing their arms around you.
"Oh my God! I haven't seen you in forever!" You tensed instinctively, blinking as you looked up—Jake. He pulled back slightly, still gripping your shoulders, eyes shining.
You forced a small smile. "Hi. How are you?" you asked politely, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. "I've been... busy. Really busy. You know how it gets."
Jake nodded eagerly, releasing you as he leaned against the edge of the bar. "Yeah, I get it. It's fine. Just figured I'd bump into you sooner or later. Hey—are you attending Sunoo's graduation this week?"
You froze. Your fingers twitched slightly as you curled them into the hem of your shirt, the smile on your face faltering before you managed to hold it steady again. "I—" you started, stumbling over your words. "You know we're not... that close anymore. So..." You trailed off with a shrug, trying not to look too affected even though your heart had suddenly picked up its pace.
Jake tilted his head, eyes narrowing like he was about to laugh. Not in a cruel way, but in that clueless, teasing way. You didn't give him the chance. You pushed the conversation forward before he could press further. "But how was he?" you asked quickly, pretending not to care too much even though the question burned on your tongue.
Jake leaned back and sighed dramatically. "I don't know! That bitch is ghosting everyone—just like you!" He chuckled, nudging your arm. "The only time I ever saw him was when he was at the university doing paperwork for his graduation. He's been MIA otherwise. You? Any dating updates?"
You gave another tired smile. "Not really my priorities lately," you replied, brushing your fingers over your wrist, suddenly aware of how cold your skin felt. "I'm glad he's graduating though. That's good for him."
There was a pause. Jake didn't seem to notice, already moving on with a laugh.
"What about you?" you asked before he could dig any deeper. "When's your graduation? I pity you guys. I still have two years."
Jake groaned, rubbing his face. "Ugh, don't remind me. I'm stressing because my coat won't fit."
You laughed softly as Jake rambled beside you, jumping from topic to topic like someone trying to make up for lost time. He was always like this—talkative, friendly, too eager. You tried your best to follow along, nodding when appropriate, giving short answers even though your energy was already hanging by a thread. Every bone in your body felt heavy after the performance, your shoulders stiff from standing so long, your throat dry even after the water.
He launched into another round of questions, asking about your gigs, your commissions, and whether or not you'd finally taken time off. Then, inevitably, he brought up Park Sunghoon.
"People still think we're together? Fuck that shit." You let out a grunt.
"They just like to talk," Jake offered with a shrug, as if that made it any less irritating. "You know how it is."
You rolled your eyes and tucked the bills into your bag, already thinking about what cheap meal you could get on the way home. "Then they should talk about how I'm not interested in anyone right now. Spread that."
"Not even Shin Ryujin?" he said, clearly enjoying how far he could push the conversation. "I swear you used to have the biggest, fattest crush on her. I mean—she agreed to model for you! That's a move, right?"
You tilted your head slightly. "Or maybe she just liked my art."
Jake paused for a beat, as if waiting for you to say more, but you didn't. He smirked, already forming a thought to your answer. You just shrugged, like you didn't care anymore, you wish it did. None of them ever made you feel the way he did.
Let Jake think what he wanted to think. Let people gossip and spread whatever they wanted. You were too tired to keep defending your disinterest, too tired to explain that the only person you'd really wanted was Kim Sunoo. Fucking Kim Sunoo.
And ironically, the universe had its own cruel sense of humor.
Jake didn't expect to see Sunoo the very next day—standing in front of a flower shop. Without warning, Jake squealed and slapped him on the back so hard that Sunoo's entire frame jolted forward. His eyes flew wide, mouth parting in surprise as he turned to glare.
"Fuck you," Jake laughed, hitting him again before he could dodge. "Who's the lucky person, huh? Don't tell me you're finally confessing to someone?"
Sunoo winced, rubbing his stinging shoulder and trying not to groan. "Can you not hit so hard? Shit."
It had taken him three whole days just to muster up the courage. Three days of Jungwon talking sense into him, helping him run through scenarios and worst-case outcomes, of typing and deleting countless drafts of what he wanted to say. Three days of checking your schedule like a lovesick stalker, memorizing the time and place of your fashion show just to make sure he'd catch you when you weren't buried in fabrics or fixing last-minute outfits.
He didn't really know what he was doing. The idea of bringing flowers felt old-fashioned, maybe even stupid, but he clung to it because it gave him something to hold—something to fill his trembling hands with when he finally stood in front of you. Because if he admitted it to himself, he really fucking missed you.
Jake, as usual, wouldn't shut up. He rambled about school, his thesis, some fight in a group chat he got dragged into, asking random questions in between like Sunoo was giving him the attention he wanted. Sunoo tapped his foot impatiently, nodding absently, eyes flicking to his wristwatch. He knew your show was scheduled to start soon. Jungwon had confirmed it just last night. If he moved now, he could probably sneak into the venue and find you. He wasn't sure how it would go, but he knew he didn't want to delay it any longer.
But then, Jake said your name.
"She looked so good last night, by the way. I talked to her after her gig," he said, chewing on his gum, unaware of the way Sunoo's shoulders tensed. "And I think she's dating that model of hers."
Sunoo stopped tapping his foot. Slowly turned to face him. Jake kept going. "You know Park Sunghoon? He really, really likes her! But she's totally into this girl—Shin Ryujin. If Sunghoon finds out he got rejected again for a girl, he's gonna be pissed."
The bouquet almost slipped out of Sunoo's hands. "Wait, what?" he asked.
Jake blinked, startled by the shift in tone. "Well, I mean—not confirmed or anything. But it looked like it, right? I mean, come on! If you know Ryujin, she's hot! They had crazy chemistry onstage."
But Sunoo didn't hear the rest. His pulse pounded so loudly in his ears it drowned everything else. The bouquet in his hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, the crinkling paper suddenly unbearable beneath his tightening grip. He could feel that familiar burn in his chest. The weight pressing down on his lungs, stealing the air from him. It wasn't just surprise, or confusion. It was anger.
No. That can't be true. Jake said it wasn't confirmed. He said maybe. But even maybe was too much for Sunoo.
Because that wasn't just anyone. That was you. His you. Even if he hadn't been able to say it properly before, even if he spent weeks keeping his distance, fumbling over his feelings, even if he was too much of a coward to tell you when he should've—he never once stopped wanting you.
And the idea of someone else having you, touching you, making you smile the way he used to, hurt more than he thought it would. His stomach twisted with jealousy. His mind raced with every memory he had of you—your laugh, your stubbornness, the way you always acted like nothing touched you until he looked close enough to see it did. He hated the thought of anyone else getting that close. It didn't matter if it was a guy or a girl. No one else could understand you like he did. No one else deserved to.
"I need to go," Sunoo muttered, already turning on his heel.
Jake blinked again, stepping forward. "Wait, go where? Sunoo—hey!"
But Sunoo didn't answer. He didn't look back. He walked faster, feet moving, bouquet still clenched tightly in his hand.
All he could think about was the image of you standing beside someone else. Laughing for someone else. Looking at them with the kind of softness you used to show only to him. The thought alone made his blood boil. He wasn't just jealous. He was angry. How dare someone else think they could have you like that?
No. That's not how this ends. He wouldn't let it. Even if it was his fault for waiting this long, even if he messed everything up from the beginning—he wasn't going to let someone else win. He wasn't going to stand on the sidelines any longer. Not when he still had something to fight for.
You were his. You've always been his. And he was going to prove it.
Sunoo made his way toward the university, his stomach twisting with every step. Most of the Fashion Design majors were still holed up on campus despite the start of summer break, preparing for the big event. He didn't know fashion shows involved this many people, this much movement, or noise. Navigating through all of it felt like trying to breathe underwater. He should've asked Jungwon for more specifics.
The halls were lined with racks of clothes, students rushing in and out of rooms, arms full of fabrics, makeup brushes, clipboards, and coffee. Sunoo tried to ask where the waiting room was, but everyone was too preoccupied to answer. He turned corner after corner, scanning every face with increasing frustration—until his eyes landed on someone painfully familiar.
Standing outside the theater room, arms crossed and relaxed was Park Sunghoon. Just seeing him made Sunoo's eye twitch. His jaw clenched so tightly he thought it might crack.
"Sunoo, right?" Sunghoon greeted him, smiling as if they were old friends. Sunoo glanced down at the flowers in his hands. Suddenly, they looked ugly. The colors didn't look as soft anymore. The petals looked dull. He couldn't believe he ever fell for a face like that.
He forced a polite sweet smile, his lips twitching with the effort. "Sunghoon," he returned. "Where do fashion majors usually stay? I need to deliver this to someone." His tone stayed casual, but he had to bite down the irritation growing inside his chest.
Sunghoon beamed. "Oh! I was just heading to the backstage area too. Come with me."
Sunoo's jaw ached with how hard he was grinding his teeth behind another fake smile. Every muscle in his body screamed to walk the other way, but he needed to get to you. If that meant dealing with this guy, so be it. Still, it took everything in him not to roll his eyes or punch the smirk off Sunghoon's face. How dare he stand there so casually, acting like he belonged beside you?
"Is the eyelash glue irritating your eyes?" you asked Ryujin, checking the final touches of her makeup. Your fingers hovered near her temples, adjusting the corner of her lashes even though they looked fine. "And your heels? Are they stable?"
"They're fine, I promise. You don't have to worry," she said gently, offering a small smile.
You turned to Beomgyu, voice tighter this time. "The fabric on the lining—is it itchy? Are you uncomfortable at all?"
Beomgyu tilted his head at you like he was trying not to laugh. "You need to stop freaking out. I already told you I feel great in this."
Your chest was heavy with nerves, and your stomach churned, not just with anxiety but with the familiar, dull pain of your first-day period cramps that made everything ten times worse. The weight of responsibility was pressing on your shoulders. What if the seams tore? What if the models tripped? What if the fabric wrinkled wrong under the lights?
And before you could spiral further, a voice cut through your thoughts. One you recognized instantly.
"Sunghoon," you said wearily, not even trying to hide the exhaustion in your voice.
He stood there with a smile too bright for the atmosphere, holding out a bouquet of flowers to you. "Good luck later! I know you're going to get so many compliments for this."
You took the flowers without much thought, fingers curling around the stems as you exhaled through your nose, trying to keep yourself from snapping. You closed your eyes, drawing in a deeper breath. "Why are you here?" you muttered, already rubbing your temple. "This is our waiting room. You shouldn't be—"
"I came with Sunoo!" Sunghoon interrupted brightly. "Didn't know he was your friend too!"
And that stopped you. Your body tensed instantly. The flowers in your hand suddenly felt like they were cutting into your skin. You looked up, already feeling your throat tighten. And there he was.
Sunoo approached you slowly. Without saying a word, he reached out and gently took the flowers from your hand—the ones Sunghoon had just given—and replaced them with the bouquet he brought. Then, with a calm that felt almost too controlled, he handed the previous bouquet back to Sunghoon, whose brows furrowed in confusion.
Your fingers stayed frozen around the fresh flowers now in your hands. Sunoo stepped closer, voice dropping low as he met your eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Can we talk?"
Something in your chest pulled tight. You forced yourself to swallow the lump rising in your throat, jaw tensing as you tried to stay composed. You could already feel Ryujin and Beomgyu watching silently, even as Sunghoon stood there, confused and observant, his brows lifted like he could sense there was something here. "I'll be back," you muttered under your breath, barely glancing at them. Then, turning to Sunoo, you gestured with a subtle wave of your hand for him to follow.
You walked fast, ignoring how your heart was pounding too hard in your chest. The backstage halls were tight and filled with noise, but the moment you stepped into the music room and closed the door behind you, everything else faded out. The silence between you was loud. "What are you doing here, Sunoo?" you asked, turning to face him. You hated how soft your voice sounded. You hated that he still had that effect on you.
Sunoo didn't answer right away. He just looked at you, his lips parted, trying to decide how to speak, what words wouldn't end in a disaster. Then he said, carefully, "Is it true? That you're dating your model?"
You blinked. That's what this was about? You let out a harsh breath and rolled your eyes, pressing the heels of your palms into your forehead. "Seriously? That's why you're here?"
He flinched at the tone. "Is it true?" he repeated, almost like he was afraid to hear the answer. "You and your model. Are you—"
"Where the fuck did you even hear that?" you snapped, your patience finally cracking. "You think I'd seriously let rumors decide who I'm sleeping with now?"
Sunoo opened his mouth to speak, but you didn't let him. "Why are you even here, Sunoo?" you pushed. "To say sorry? To wave some flowers around and pretend like that's enough?"
He didn't answer. He just stood there, looking at you, his silence impossibly loud. You exhaled, your shoulders sinking with the weight you'd been carrying alone since he left. Your voice dropped out of emotional exhaustion. "I'm tired," you whispered, almost like admitting defeat. "I have a show to finish. I have deadlines. People are counting on me. And if all you came here for was a half-hearted apology, then don't bother—because I've stopped thinking about that night."
But your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated that he might've heard it. "I still think about that night." He said and that made your heart clench.
"You were right," he said quietly. "I came here to say sorry." He looked at you fully now. "And to tell you that I want to make you mine."
You blinked, stunned. "What?"
Sunoo stepped forward, his voice trembling even though he tried to sound certain. "I hurt you. I pushed you away. I made you cry and I said things I'll never stop regretting. I ran because I was scared, and I was selfish enough to believe I could come back when it was convenient for me."
And then, to your absolute disbelief, he lowered himself to the floor, dropping to his knees. His hands found yours, gently curling around your fingers, then pressing your palm to his face. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into your touch. "Every time I close my eyes, it's you," he murmured. "Every time I wake up, I hope it's a day I get to see you again. It's always you. "
Even though his voices cracked, Sunoo pushed through it. "I hated seeing that Sunghoon guy give you flowers. I hated thinking about you with your model even if it's not true. Because I want to be the one. I want to be the person you choose, over and over again, even when I don't deserve it. Even when it's hard, and messy, and complicated."
"I didn't come here just to be forgiven," he continued, voice cracking now as his forehead nearly pressed against your hand. "I came because I want you. Because I love you. And because if there's even a part of you—any small part—that still wants me, then I'll do whatever it takes to prove that I'm worth that second chance." He looked up at you, eyes glistening, his knees still on the ground.
You didn't realize you were crying until you felt the tear slide down your cheek. The warmth of it startled you. No matter how much you tried to build walls around yourself, he had always been able to slip through. Even now.
He looked up at you from where he knelt, eyes glassy, red-rimmed. Your fingers trembled in his hands, but you didn't pull away. "You hurt me, Sunoo."
His expression broke completely, a quiet whimper escaping from his lips as he held your hands tighter, desperate. "I know," he choked out. "And I hate myself for that. I'd take it all back if I could. But I can't... so all I can do now is ask you to let me fix what I ruined."
The silence stretched again, before he whispered, almost breathlessly, "...Please?"
That single word cracked something inside you. You sniffled, blinking fast as more tears welled in your eyes, and without thinking, you slowly lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. You leaned in, heart pounding wildly, and kissed him. It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was tender—heartbreaking in its softness, and yet full of everything you'd been holding back. The pain, the longing, the anger, the love—it was all there, pressed into the seal of your lips against his.
When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of your eyes closed, breath mingling in the small space between you. "I never stopped wanting you," you whispered, your voice hoarse from the tears. "Even when I tried. Even when I told myself I should."
He shuddered at your words, his breath catching, fingers lifting to cup your cheeks. "I swear I'll spend every day proving I can be someone you deserve," he murmured.
You nodded faintly, your forehead still resting against his. Then, slowly, you leaned in again, brushing your lips against his—soft at first, searching, before you kissed him fully. This time, you didn't hold back. Your lips moved against his with purpose, and he responded just as eagerly, his head tilting to meet you, to match your rhythm.
When you deepened the kiss and your tongue slipped into his mouth, his breath hitched. He moaned softly, the sound catching in his throat as he melted further into you, hands tightening at your sides. "I missed you," he whispered breathlessly between kisses.
You smiled into his mouth, sniffling as your hands cupped his damp cheeks, wiping at the tears that kept trailing down. "Missed you too," you whispered, your voice breaking as you kissed him again, even longer this time. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
He kissed you like he was making up for lost time, like every second he spent away from you had left him starving. His hands slid gently under your arms before he lifted you and your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. You could feel the way his breathing picked up as he moved, sitting down on the old couch in the corner of the room, never letting his lips stray too far from yours.
You settled on his lap, knees bracketing his hips, your mouths still moving together in sync. You could feel the way his body was reacting—how tightly he held you, how his hands gripped your back. "I love you," he whispered against your lips.
Your breath caught, your heart thudding as he pressed a trail of kisses down your neck, slow and open-mouthed. His hands, once tentative, slid to your chest, cupping you through your clothes before he gently kneaded one breast in his palm. The sensation made you shiver, your back arching into his touch instinctively as you sucked in a breath.
"Say it again," you murmured, your eyes fluttering shut.
He leaned back just enough to look up at you, both hands still resting on your waist. "I love you. I'm not letting you go again."
You leaned forward to kiss him again, your lips brushing over his. His fingers slipped under your shirt, tugging it up carefully, revealing the curve of your breast and the soft lace of your bra. His breath hitched when he saw your nipple, the silver glint of the heart-shaped piercing catching the light. He paused, stunned, swallowing hard, the outline of his arousal now pressing clearly against his pants.
"W-wait," you breathed, your hands clutching at his shoulders as his face dipped lower. "It's not fully healed yet..."
Sunoo froze, his lips just grazing the swell of your breast. He pressed the gentlest kiss on your areola, lips lingering as his thumb toyed with the other nipple through your bra, tracing slow circles that made your hips twitch above him. Your body reacted, grinding slightly against the solid pressure beneath you. His breath grew ragged against your skin, hands sliding up your back, holding you tighter.
You rocked your hips against him with slow pressure, letting the friction build until the heat between your bodies felt like it might burn right through your skin. His hands moved restlessly, tugging at your waistband, already working to unbutton your pants.
But your hand caught his wrist, halting him. "N-No... we can't," you murmured, your voice ragged from panting. You glanced down at him beneath you—his brows were drawn together in frustration and confusion, his face flushed with heat, sweat starting to gather along his hairline, and his lips—red and kiss-swollen—were parted.
"I... I have my period."
He blinked, then tilted his head slightly like he couldn't understand why that would matter. His hand slid back down, cupping you through the fabric of your underwear, right over your pad. You gasped, the heat of his touch making your body tense with shame and anticipation. Your cheeks flared hot with embarrassment.
"I-It's not clean," you whispered, voice wavering. "It's messy..."
"And?" he muttered, his gaze never left your face. Without waiting for your approval, his hand dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, carefully maneuvering around the pad as his fingers brushed against your pussy.
His finger slipped in, and your jaw dropped open, a soft cry catching in your throat. The feeling was slow, filling, a deliberate push deeper until he bottomed out and curled his finger inside you, testing your sensitivity. "You know," he began, "orgasms help relieve cramps. The body releases endorphins that ease pain. It's not gross... it's your body asking for what it needs."
You whimpered, unable to argue. Especially not when his finger began to move—slow at first, then building pace, retreating and sinking back in until your hips were grinding helplessly against his palm. Each stroke hit something deeper than just your body, pulling breathy moans from your throat.
"S-Sunoo—" you choked, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. His other hand slid up your shirt again, pushing the fabric away so he could lean in and press his mouth to your chest. His lips wrapped around the soft swell of your breast, and the sharp contrast of your piercing against his tongue made him groan. "I-It's gross."
"No, it's not." He whisper, biting your neck, tongue swirling at it, he mumbled against your skin before adding another finger, spreading you wider. "It's hot. You're hot."
Your only answer was a louder moan, your thighs trembling as you rode his fingers, your body clenching around him. The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, until everything snapped all at once. You came hard, body clenching around him as your head tilted back, breath stuttering and vision swimming.
Sunoo shifted you easily, guiding your body until you were bent over the couch, his grip firm and sure as he moved you exactly how he wanted. But then he stilled, breath catching when his eyes landed on your back. His palm slid over your spine, tracing the ink.
"Fuck," he hissed. You felt the way his fingers trembled slightly, how he cupped your hips and coaxed you into an arch, dragging his touch down the trail of black lines and crimson lilies that ran from your shoulder blades to the curve of your lower back. "You always know how to drive me crazy... and now you go and get this?"
You tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sound as he pulled your pants lower, exposing the heat between your legs. He groaned behind you, dragging the tip of himself along your entrance, already soaked and messy, your blood mixing with everything else. It should've made you feel embarrassed but instead, it only made the tension between you burn hotter.
"Please," you breathed, turning your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.
Sunoo didn't need to be told twice. He eased into you slowly, his body pressing close, chest flush against your back as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, anchoring you to him. His breath stuttered against your skin, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he moved deeper, his other hand gripping your waist so tightly.
Your eyes caught sight of his hand, streaked with red from earlier, and instead of disgust, all you felt was a strange kind of thrill that twisted low in your belly. You clenched around him involuntarily, another moan slipping from your lips.
He kissed your jaw, then your cheek, then finally your mouth again, hungrily this time, tongue sliding against yours as his hips found a faster rhythm. His hands trembled where they held you, but his movements were certain, desperate. "Ah—fuck—I love you," he gasped, his voice cracking open as the pace quickened. "I love you so much. So fucking much."
Your breath caught, heart slamming in your chest. "Sunoo—wait—" your voice was barely audible between moans, "you're not wearing—ah—no condom—!"
He stilled for a second, his breath rough in your ear. But instead of pulling away, he leaned in closer, murmuring, "I know."
Your pussy clenched around him on instinct, as if reacting to the rawness of it all, to the fact that he was really inside you like this. The feeling of his bare cock dragging against your soaked walls was overwhelming, hotter, slicker. Your eyes rolled back as a loud moan escaped your throat, your fingers tightening on whatever they could grab.
"F-fuck," he whimpered, as your walls fluttered around him. Sunoo sounded like he was unraveling in real time. His hands gripped your waist harder, his breath shaking as he slowly pushed back in, deeper this time. He whined against your skin, overwhelmed, almost breathless at how good it felt. "I missed you. Missed this—missed you so fucking much."
His voice cracked, raw emotion bleeding into every word. "Don't leave again, hmm? Please. I'll treat you better this time. I swear—I love you. Fuck, I love you. I'm so fucking in love with you."
He didn't give you time to answer. His fingers slid down between your thighs, finding your clit without hesitation, rubbing slow, dizzying circles that made your knees buckle. His cock hit your g-spot mercilessly and your voice broke into a scream, loud and unfiltered, but you didn't care—the music room was soundproof, and even if it wasn't, you wouldn't have stopped him.
"S-Sunoo—I'm gonna cum," you choked out, your voice hoarse, hips jerking uncontrollably from the way his fingers pressed harder into your clit. Your pussy clenched down around him, and the orgasm crashed into you so fast it nearly knocked you off your feet. Your whole body shook and your thighs quivered, but Sunoo held you tight through it, one hand gripping your waist as the other kept you grounded, kept fucking into you with more force, chasing his own high.
"God, I love you, my baby," he whined. His hips started stuttering, the sound of skin slapping echoing faintly against the padded walls, getting messier, needier. "C-can I cum inside you? Please—let me?"
You couldn't speak at first, just nodded frantically, your fingers digging into his arm where it hugged around your waist. "Yes," you breathed, still panting, "Yes, yes—Sunoo, please—cum in me. I love you."
He let out the loudest, rawest moan of the night, something close to a sob, his whole body tensing as he came hard. You could feel it flood inside you, the warmth of it thick and hot as he kept fucking you through it, like he couldn't stop, like he needed to push it deeper, make sure it stayed.
Even after he was spent, his hips kept rocking slowly into you. His cum leaked around his cock, dripping down your thighs, and still he stayed buried inside, forehead resting against your shoulder, breath warm on your skin.
Neither of you spoke for a long moment, just the sound of ragged breathing filling the space between kisses—gentle ones now. He kissed your neck, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. "I love you," he murmured, then kissed your temple, eyes shut, holding you.
You turned in his arms, legs shaky, body still pulsing from the aftershocks, and cupped his face with both hands, pulling him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. "I love you too," you whispered.
EPILOGUE
Sunoo made his way to the stage with a confidence he hadn't felt in a long time, holding up his medal and certificate for the photographer with a proud grin. Applause echoed through the auditorium, and for a moment, all the weight he had carried over the years—every sleepless night, every self-doubt, every quiet breakdown—seemed worth it. Sitting down on the chair at the side of the stage, his heart swelled with something deeper than relief. He wasn't just happy—he felt fulfilled. Things were finally going his way, and more than that, he had done it on his own terms.
"You look so good—God, I love your makeup!" Giselle said beside him, nudging him with her shoulder. He turned to her with that signature Sunoo smile, wide and sweet. "Your blush is perfect. It suits you so well," she added.
He smiled softly, cheeks glowing with more than just the highlighter dusted on them. "Thanks. My girlfriend did my makeup."
Giselle blinked, then gasped. "Wait—did I hear that right?"
Sunoo didn't respond, just chuckled to himself. When the program ended and the crowd was released into the open hall, he barely waited before slipping into the crowd, eyes scanning eagerly for one person. He weaved through clusters of families and graduates, ignoring the flashes of cameras, until his eyes finally landed on you. His whole face lit up instantly.
Without a second thought, he squealed and ran straight into your arms, wrapping you in a tight, all-consuming hug. You squealed too, and the sound made a few people turn their heads, curious. But Sunoo didn't care. You were in his arms, and that was all that mattered.
"Congratulations, my love!" you beamed, pinching both his cheeks before kissing his forehead.
He immediately slapped your hands away with a playful pout. "Stop! You're gonna mess up my makeup."
You laughed and leaned in. "I could always retouch it, dummy. I was the one who did it, remember?"
Sunoo squinted, finally taking a proper look at you now that he wasn't rushed or nervous. You had left before him earlier, after helping with his look, and now he was seeing you fully—your hair tied neatly in a bun, soft clean makeup that felt too tame for you, and a bright, modest outfit that covered every inch of your skin.
His gaze lingered. "You... took off your piercing?"
You nodded and gave a small shrug, your smile faltering. "Yeah. I figured... maybe you'd want me to look presentable today. Like, for your big day. It felt like the right thing to do."
He tilted his head slowly, eyes narrowing as he looked you over again. "Presentable?" he repeated. "I love the way you look with your piercings on, your tattoos showing, your red lipstick. That's you."
Your chest tightened, emotion catching in your throat so fast you couldn't even respond with words. Instead, you stepped forward and hugged him again, burying your face into his neck as your arms wound around his waist. "I love you," you whispered against his skin.
Sunoo's eyes widened slightly. Then slowly, he melted into your hug, wrapping his arms around you just as tightly. He rested his chin on your shoulder, and for a moment. "I love you more," he murmured softly. Then, pulling back a little to meet your eyes, his brows furrowed. "Wait—did I make you feel like I didn't want you to be yourself? Like I was forcing you to be someone else? I'm sorry."
You shook your head, tears beginning to pool despite the smile on your lips. "No... It wasn't you. I just... I didn't want to mess anything up today. I thought maybe if I toned myself down, it'd be easier."
Sunoo's eyes shone with emotion as he wiped your tears with his thumbs. "You could never mess anything up just by being yourself," he whispered. "Especially not with me. I want you loud, and messy, and bright. I want you with the piercings, with the tattoos, with whatever the hell makes you feel like you. That's the person I want beside me, every day. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like I was changing you. Forgive me, hmm?"
You leaned into his touch, forehead resting against his. "Then I'll never tone myself down again."
"Good," he smiled, brushing a kiss to your nose. "Because we've got a lot more milestones coming. And I want all of them with the real you."
You laughed lightly, the tension in your chest finally melting as you cradled his face. "Our only problem now is how to tell Jake without him fainting."
That made Sunoo snort before leaning in again to kiss you properly, his smile still pressed to your lips. You could hear a few surprised gasps from the crowd nearby, but you didn't care—and clearly, neither did he.
"It's fine," he whispered playfully, nuzzling close again. "We'll just plan a sleepover. That way, when he faints, we'll already be somewhere private... and have all the time in the world to celebrate without interruptions."
You smirked, squeezing his hand as it found yours. "I have a gift for you later when we get home."
His eyes sparkled with mischief as he raised a brow. "Hmm... A blowjob?"
You gave his shoulder a soft shove, rolling your eyes with a laugh. "No, not that, idiot."
He broke into a laugh too, the sound warm and carefree, then reached for your waist and pulled you in close again. His hand rested securely there, thumb drawing small circles, grounding you both in that moment. "Thank you for loving me as I am," he whispered against your ear. "Even on the days I forget how to love myself."
You leaned in, letting your head fall against his shoulder, smiling as his lips pressed a kiss to your temple. "I love you in every version of you, Sunoo," you whispered, and you meant every word.
The two of you continued walking hand in hand through the crowd. And if someone had asked you what you were feeling at that exact moment you would've said that you were in love. You were content, completely at peace with who you were and who you were becoming. And more than anything, you were happy, so much more happier than ever. Because Sunoo was beside you.
𑣲⋆ ⌗ (🚬) You’re the kind of girl who gets peonies for breakfast, so Riki Nishimura would really like to know why you’re buying weed from him.
西村 力 riki nishimura x cheer captain! reader
˗ˏˋ riki as a plug, i promise its not as bad as it sounds, romcom, fluff, crack, profanity, homewrecking but not really, cheating (not really) but not on riki dw, explicit content, smut, oral sex, m receiving, porn with plot, unprotected sex, dom ni-ki, size kink lowk, weed, toxic, mdni !
wc: 20 766
p: d.a.m. - fetty wap ; homewrecker - sombr ; i get lonely - drake ; lowkey - niki (fcking hilarious)
Riki Nishimura was a conformist by all means possible, and even prides himself as a law-abiding citizen to the normalized standards.
He does think some fractions of the government system can totally be tweaked, but he isn’t some reformist that would go out of his way — he actually really likes the stability of society and how it’s structured. He’s comfortable with the status quo.
That includes knowing who to follow on Instagram, who not to approach in the hallway, who to invite in group projects, and who to sit with in lunch. He goes by what makes sense and knows who the hell doesn’t belong in his circle, who rightfully has his phone number, and who can comment on his Instagram posts.
Except when it comes to substances. He’s not a drug addict but he does enjoy good weed.
He did listen during chemistry lectures, which basically means he knows a thing or two about pharmaceutics — at least the important parts like which produce larger surges of dopamine and intense euphoria. So while they get drug orientations every start of the school year and the addition of the entrepreneurial mindset of a businessman his father has passed down to him; Riki’s a fucking a jackpot. He simply believed every structure had blind spots, and if someone was smart enough to notice them, then maybe they deserved to profit a little.
Maybe that made him a hypocrite. He knew that. Sometimes, in the middle of his own judgment, the thought would occur to him that he was not exactly living inside the moral boundaries he pretended to respect.
So with all of these in mind — weed-seller and social scale follower — imagine his surprise seeing a text from you.
You, an A-tier cheer captain with perfect grades and perfect friends and a perfect boyfriend and someone he doubts even has ever touched weed within a 10 feet radius because of how goody-two-shoes and slightly more socially-conformed you are, texted him:
you:
hi
you sell right
The kind of surprise a priest might feel if the Virgin Mary asked to borrow a dildo.
Riki stared at his phone for a full thirty seconds. Not because he was shocked by the question itself — he’d gotten worse, far more incriminating messages from people with nothing to lose – but because of who it was from. Your name sat there, attached to a profile picture he never thought would sit on his chat log. Someone who followed the rules so well she barely seemed to touch the ground and practically flew up the school field with the school banner.
This was not how the structure worked. Nope.
He knew you didn’t look at people like him unless it was to borrow a pen or unwillingly get assigned to a lab partner. You definitely weren’t supposed to be asking him this.
Riki leaned back in his chair and rethought the logistics. He wasn’t paranoid – paranoia implied irrationality. This was risk assessment, you’re high visibility, you’re a liability, you’re a cop in disguise, you’re a prig who’ll ruin his cloak and dagger, you’re holier-than-thou. You’re interesting.
riki:
????
is this a test loll
you:
?
its a question
riki:
u fr????
you:
js tell me if its a no
i have money
riki:
3pm behind the science building
you:
ok thanks
But more than whatever you are, he knows this was stupid. This was the kind of deviation that got people caught and into the most flouting position he’ll ever be, therefore ruining his very wish to stay within a lawful system. It was, unequivocally, a very bad idea.
And yet he finds himself at the back of the building while he reevaluates the measures of bad-ness in the idea. If math really has been on his side along with his really athletic stature, he can run when you pull out as witness to his little dissenter mood. It halts when he sees you rounding the corner in your cheer uniform — ponytail perfect, knee tape slightly crooked, eyes darting like you weren’t sure you belonged back here — he realizes something his knees will give out before he can even try to walk away.
You stop a few feet away from him, awkward, out of place, glowing like a wrong answer circled in red. You stare at him with your arms crossed, hyperaware when his eyes follow the silhouette of your frame like he’s finding a covert surveillance device underneath your pleated skirt.
Riki talks calmly, like this wasn’t insane at all, like he hasn’t been in his head for the past hours: “So,” he starts, hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie. “What do you need?”
The question should’ve been easy. You’d rehearsed it in your head on the walk here, timed it with your steps, told yourself not to sound like an idiot. But standing this near — near enough to notice the faint, clean smell of cologne and something green and earthy — you blank.
You shift your weight, arms tightening across your chest. “Um. Weed.”
Riki blinks once, and immediately he knows what this is. He studies you the way he did with lab results that didn’t line up with the predictions — or maybe it did exactly, and he can’t believe it was that easy.
“…Okay,” he said. “What kind?”
Your mouth opens. Then closes.
“What kind.” he repeats.
You felt heat crawl up your neck. “Just… normal?” you say, immediately hating yourself. “Like. The kind people use?”
A corner of his mouth twitches before he can stop it. Then he licks the inside of his cheek, shaking his head when he realizes that yeah, his guess is right. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” he says.
You bristle. “So?”
“You don’t even know dosage. Or strain. Or why you want it.” His eyes flick up to yours. “Do you?”
Your confidence wobbles, the polished composure you wore so easily in hallways cracking just a little now. He pulls out a small, neatly labeled bag and holds it between his fingers instead of handing it to you. “This is low THC,” he explains. “Won’t make you freak out. But I need to know what you specifically need so you don’t… panic.”
This was supposed to be transactional, quick, something you could tuck away and forget about. Yet every risky glance you take, he doesn’t look like someone who’d hold anything against you.
Riki sighs, about to put the bag away. “Look, let’s just forget —“
“I just,” you start, then sigh because there’s no cool way to say it. “I don’t know. I had a bad week. I wanted to try something.”
When you finally look up, he’s watching you differently. Not like you’re stupid or embarrassing, though you feel plenty of that on your own. His brows have lifted slightly, the faint amusement in his mouth fading into something quieter as he takes you in properly: your tight grip on your own arms, the way your eyes keep darting away.
And it makes it worse.
You meet his eyes for half a second before looking away with a small huff, embarrassed by the sudden attention.
He puckers his lips slightly, staring at the thing in his hand like he’s thinking. At first, you think he might be deciding if you’re worth the trouble, but then he nods once. “Okay,” he says. “So you’re not becoming a stoner. You’re just trying a new cuisine.”
You blink at him, then laugh under your breath before you can stop yourself.
His mouth twitches, but hides it. He steps closer, just enough that you can see the smoothness of his skin, like he owns expensive skincare. He’s very tall, in a way that surprises you maybe because you’d just never stood this close before.
Really, you never spent time looking at Riki Nishimura. You’ve known the name, because who can ever look past the opulent sound of it, but to know the man behind it didn’t matter. After texting him, you don’t know what you expected either, maybe someone grubbier and smelled like smoke, someone with dry lips from all the ash. You thought he’d smell like one of those hippie guys who sold sketchy shit while wearing the same beanie for three years.
But no, he smells like a familiar perfume your father owns in his fragrance wardrobe.
And his clothes are annoyingly nice, like the hoodie is probably more expensive than it looks and the loose pants are intentional, not lazy.
Also, he’s 6’1.
“This,” he taps the bag lightly, “will help you relax. Body high, mostly. You’ll still be functional. But since it’s your first time, better not fuck around too much.”
He’s still standing in front of you, close enough for you to notice the way his lashes lower when he looks at the bag in his hand, and you feel deeply, horribly stupid for only realizing now that he looks like that.
Your gaze lingers, and he catches it. Riki clears his throat, spine straightening a little. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you say too fast.
He only hums. You tighten your arms across your chest. “Just give me the thing.”
He finally hands you the bag, and you eye it once you feel its weight in your palm; leafy and green and brown and not you — but it doesn’t look so bad right now. It looks enticing, even, which you won’t try to admit out loud.
“Twenty,” he says, not planning to converse himself with the sudden discount.
You dig into your bag, finding for the vintage pink wallet that screams the contrast of cannabis in your palm right now. “You know,” you say, hesitant but honest, “I don’t know. It’s weird how we’ve never talked before.”
That gets him. He chuckles even if there’s nothing funny about what you said, but there is something humorous about the fact he remembers shit you obviously forgot. He’s quick to question the lack of indifference, because he remembers it well that this is definitely not the first time you two talked.
“We were partners in freshman year,” Riki says.
He watches your face blank in real time, and something about it makes his mouth lift again, but not kindly enough to be mean. More like he expected it and still finds it a little funny that you are proving him right.
“English lit,” he adds. “The mythology presentation.”
For a second, he looks at you like someone who’s always known you, and you look at him like you’re seeing him for the first time. He sees it flash in your eyes, that maybe you remember him more than just some guy who sells weed to irresponsible decision-makers.
“Oh,” you say.
Riki nods once, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Oh.”
Until your phone buzzes to drag you back from this little bubble you’re in – your boyfriend’s name lights up the screen and Riki notices it too.
“Oh,” you say again, clearly out of your own head. “I — sorry.”
Something shifts, like the structure rebuilds and reasserts itself back into proper footing. You pull the bills from your wallet and press them into his hand. “Thanks,” you say. “For, um. The stuff.”
He closes his fist around the money, nods once. “Yeah.”
You hesitate like you might say something else, so you just tuck the bag away and step back. “I’ll go,” you say.
You turn the corner first. Riki exhales only when you’re out of sight, and chews on his bottom lip before hitting the side of his fist against the wall without real effort. He turns the other corner, parting from the rendezvous kept between eng lit and discounts.
The thing is, Riki knows you before whatever you are now. Miss Perfect who buys weed from Mister Lowkey Weed Seller — it’s a whole tangle in his brain in which he can’t exactly comprehend, but while he smokes a joint and music blasts through the speakers from the house party he’s dragged into, your picture’s pinned with red strings.
He’s known you since third grade. You’ve been part of the cheer team before puberty, and since then you’ve accumulated likable girls your age into your circle, then the guys from the football team after. It becomes a whole coupling session when the age came right, which Riki is convinced is just some orgy labeled friendship goals in curated Instagram. He thought you were mean mostly because that’s what someone like you would be — but he does know a thing or two about you, other than the assumption of character. You’ve been in the same group projects against your will, sometimes you’d stand next to each other by the queue lines in the cafeteria, sometimes you’d bump against him in the hallway when you’re chasing time.
Is it weird he kept tabs? Maybe.
He always noticed, obviously, why wouldn’t he? You are not exactly unnoticeable. You’re nicer than your friends, you say sorry when you accidentally bump into someone, you say thanks to the staff, you say good morning to strangers, you’re pretty, you’re talented, you’re smart, you laugh at his jokes, you bought weed from him, you’re pretty, you’re perfect, you’re funny, you’re ridiculously pretty —
Riki takes another puff, too fast and too harsh, earning a rough cough from his throat. Heeseung chuckles, giving him an aggressive pat on the back when he leans his elbows against his knees. “Geez, first time?”
Riki shoves his arm away with a laugh, unsure where this is coming from. Because on top of every other noticeable trait you have, you have a boyfriend. So. Yeah. He knows better than to think about you.
He sinks deeper into someone else’s couch — leather, cracked at the seams — while the bass rattles the walls and bodies blur together in the dim lights. Smoke hangs thick in the air, clinging to his clothes, his hair, his thoughts. He takes another drag, slower this time, lets it sit in his lungs until the noise dulls around the edges.
Across from him, someone’s laughing too loud, then a couple is making out like it’s an Olympic sport. Heeseung steals the joint from his fingers and flicks the ash into an empty cup.
“You look fucked,” Heeseung says.
“I’m not,” Riki replies automatically.
“Mhm.”
Riki pushes himself up from the couch, suddenly restless. He just wants a drink — something cold, something that doesn’t make his head spiral because even the thought of weed pulls him back to this cheerleader. So he goes to the kitchen, instinctively saying half-assed sorry’s to strangers without meaning them.
Until he bumps into someone.
For half a second, he genuinely wonders if the side effects are finally catching up to him, because his head feels several feet away from his eyes and the kitchen lights look more hazy than they should.
But it’s you, he knows that because your kind voice apologizes; the way you always do, the way your friends don’t. Your shoulder knocks into his chest and you’re already stepping back, eyes wide a fraction of a second when you look up. Riki freezes too, unsure what to do with his hands or his feet or where to look without threading too close to the sternum your lowcut top exposes. Up close, under dim kitchen lights instead of school hallways, you look unreal — hair loose, lips parted like you’ve been laughing.
“Riki,” you say, breathless, like his name slipped out before your brain could catch it.
His name on your mouth does something stupid to him.
“Hey,” he says, too softly. He’s just thankful you don’t notice the slight roughness of it.
You smile, small and polite — but there’s something else underneath it now. Recognition that shouldn’t exist, not in the structure where you’re meant to forget that you know; one where he looks up at you from beneath your echelon, now he’s standing close enough that you have to tilt your chin to look up at him.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you say.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “I didn’t either.”
You glance past him, toward the other room, toward where your friends probably are — or your boyfriend. Then back at him, polite in a way he’s sure is because you’re you and not because he’s him.
“I don’t usually see you in… parties,” you say.
He puts both hands in his pant pockets, shoulders loose, eyes on yours like the noise around you doesn’t have enough authority to interrupt.
“You don’t usually look,” he says.
It’s not said rudely, just calm, like he’s stating something obvious enough that both of you should stop pretending around it.
Your fingers tighten around your cup. “That’s not true.”
Riki tilts his head, eyes moving over your face. “Yeah?”
You hate how it sounds coming from him, low and slow and almost amused, like he knows you’re lying before you do. You scoff a quiet laugh, eyes looking away because you can’t keep looking at him.
“I mean, I know you exist.” You look back up at him when you say it, bottom lip catching between your teeth before you can stop yourself.
His eyes drop for half a second, then he smirks and looks away, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to say something.
When he looks back, his face is calmer. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
The question is casual enough that it almost sounds harmless. You glance elsewhere instinctively, like you’re going to find him close. “Somewhere.”
“Specific.”
“He’s with his friends.”
Riki just nods, doesn’t wanna push, even though he’s pretty sure you don’t actually know where he is. Leaving is the smarter and normal thing to do. The thing a girl with a boyfriend and a reputation and a phone full of unread messages from her friends would do.
Instead, you stay there. And Riki’s got that tabbed already.
You hesitate, fingers worrying at the rim of your cup. “I, um. I haven’t — used it yet.”
Riki blinks. “The stuff?”
You nod, cheeks warming. “I just… don’t really know how.” It’s weird being this honest with someone you barely know, yet your bones don’t buzz with the prompt demand to pause. It must be the slight slosh, it’s the only real thing to excuse why you’re not pulling away.
For a second, he just looks at you. Then his mouth curves, slow and amused. “You bought weed without knowing how to use it?”
Your face warms, but you try not to look embarrassed. “Okay, well.” You lift your cup a little, like that somehow helps your argument. “You can teach me.”
Riki grimaces immediately, playful but clear. “Sounds like a bad idea.”
You blink. “Wow. Rude." You huff, looking away, but you’re smiling a little because he doesn’t sound scared of you. Or impressed by you. Or desperate to keep you there. He just sounds like he already knows better and hates that he has to be the one saying it.
He sighs, looking away for a second. “Fuck, fine.” his jaw clenches. “But not here.”
You try not to smile and fail almost immediately. You take one step back, still looking at him. “I’ll text you. Maybe later?”
Someone calls your name from the other room and you exhale, dragging back through the fracture. The music spikes and someone bumps into you again, closer this time, and Riki’s hand lifts instinctively, hovering over your waist without touching.
Your eyes flick down, then back up to his. “Nice seeing you,” you say finally, voice softer now.
“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”
You step around him, brushing past just close enough that he catches your scent — which is bad, because now he’ll have to remember that too. When you disappear back into the crowd, Riki stays rooted in place for a beat too long.
He exhales, rubs a hand over his face, and laughs quietly to himself.
He really, really knows better.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Riki glances back to see you’re sitting on the couch now, legs tucked in, your boyfriend’s arm slung easily around your shoulders. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, which makes you smile and ease back into him. Riki turns away to open the fridge and grabs the coldest beer he can find. He lifts it and downs it in one go, throat burning at the coldness and bitter taste.
He shouldn’t do this.
He really shouldn’t.
Later, in that strange lull when the party has gotten worse and louder — you text him.
You:
bathroom upstairs
The bathroom is cramped and clean but gross in concept: flickering light, foggy mirror, the smell of cheap air freshener. You’re perched on the edge of the sink when he slips inside and locks the door behind him, eyes bright, a little nervous, because being in a bathroom with you feels worse than any sketchy deal he’s made.
“Okay,” you whisper, like you’re conspiring. “So. Teach me.”
He winces, glancing around. “This is… not ideal.”
You just grin. He laughs despite himself and sets the weed down on the closed toilet lid, grimacing when he starts rolling paper against it. Once he’s done, he holds the roll up to your mouth and he tells you to lick it. You follow through, leaning down and sticking your tongue out to lick the side. He clears his throat, trying not to think about the way you looked doing that, trying not to imagine anything else.
He’s careful, not clinical or a lecture when he instructs, just calm and reassuring like he’s trying to keep you comfortable more than correct. When he hands the final roll to you, your fingers shake a little as you take it.
“Like this?” you ask.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Slow.”
You cough immediately after trying, sharp and sudden, bending forward with a surprised laugh. “Oh my god — why does it — ”
“Hey,” he says, too fast, stepping closer, hand hovering at your back. “You okay?”
You wave him off, still laughing, eyes watering. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
He watches you like you might disappear if he looks away. You’re laughing, which isn’t comforting Riki even in the slightest because the last thing he needs is to not be a conformist and end up in jail for accidentally supporting your homicide.
You try again, better this time. You still cough, laugh, cough again, but way more manageable as time goes by.
“Sorry,” you say, breathless.
“Don’t apologize,” he says. “You’re doing fine.”
You keep at it, stubborn in that way of yours, until the coughing eases and something in your shoulders loosens. You lean back against the wall, head tipping gently, eyes half-lidded.
“Oh,” you murmur. “That’s… actually really nice.”
Riki lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a nervous laugh slipping out. He leans back against the wall, hand through his bangs, exposing the skin of his forehead. “Jesus fucking Christ,”
You nod slowly, smiling to yourself. “My brain’s quiet.”
He watches you for a moment: relaxed, unguarded, glowing in this tiny bathroom because you don’t belong here at all, holding a joint Riki himself rolled for you. Really, you never belonged anywhere that tried to put you in a box, and he wasn’t going to make himself an exception to that opening.
He tries thinking about who you really are, beyond what most people would take you as. Though he knows not to fantasize a tale where he saves the damsel from her golden label. He takes you with memory and not assumption: cheer girl, disciplined afternoon drills, academically smart, socially competent, good. But tonight, while you lean against the cracked sink and stand diagonally across him, he sees a side he never thought he’d secretly behold.
Your eyes flick to him. “You’re a good teacher.”
He swallows. “You’re an easy student.”
Riki rolls another one for himself, hands steadier now that you’re settled, and lights it with a quiet flick. The bathroom fills with a softer haze this time, the kind that wraps instead of hits like a downer high school series. He takes a drag, exhales toward the ceiling, letting the room reek with shouldn’ts and endorphine boosters.
You smoke more confidently now, less harsh and rough when you let the smoke run down your throat. Your eyes are a little red, lashes heavier, the sharp edges of you blurred into something warmer and looser, less polished and picture perfect the way your boyfriend would like. Riki thinks — stupidly — that he’s never seen you look better.
You lean your head back against the wall again, staring at the ceiling like it’s just told you a secret. He doesn’t stare, actually. He keeps his eyes narrowed to the broken tile in front of him like he’ll discern the reason it’s cracked (maybe someone opened the door too hard, maybe someone once stood there trying to look normal while his heart acted stupid over a girl, which was especially humiliating when the whole point of being high was to feel less insane). Sometimes he’ll permit himself to glance, but even the very glimpse of your smudged lipstick makes him look away and inhale the fuck outta that weed.
Then, suddenly, with eyes still trained to the dim bathroom light — “I thought you were,” you start, then laugh, a little too loud before clapping a hand over your mouth. “Sorry. I thought you were, like… this weirdo.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “Wow. Honesty hour already?”
“No — ” you groan, waving the joint like you’re conducting an orchestra. “I mean it nicely. You always stayed away from everyone. I figured you were judging us.”
“Us?” he repeats, amused, cocking a brow when he glances at you.
“You know. People like me.” You squint at him, trying to focus. You gesture at yourself ineptly, clearly out of the ordinary intellectual capacity you clench tight, not when rickety makes up for your feet.
He quickly looks away, trying not to smile.
“Loud. Annoying.” you clarify, hand gesturing around.
He tilts his head, considering. “Was I supposed to be friends with people like you?”
You blink, like you’re thinking about what he said and calculating the rationale behind his causes. It was a hit, one that steadies a thought in your brain.
“Is that so bad?”
The question knocks the breath out of him, especially when you look up at him like that, eyes bright and wide. He blinks, and then he laughs, coming out quieter this time, looking away because he can’t keep eye contact with you. “I didn’t think you’d want that.”
“Why not?”
Because there’s a system. Because there’s levels to this shit. Because you have a boyfriend. Because you’re untouchable. Because you’re perfect and he’s whatever this was. Because people like him didn’t get pulled into your orbit unless it was transactional. Like weed exchanges and favors on the toilet.
For now, he shrugs. “Seemed like you already had your people.”
You hum, nodding slowly, then smile. You tap the joint, watching some ash fall to the tiles. “They’re loud.”
He smiles back despite himself. “Yeah. They are.”
The bathroom feels like it’s floating away from the music that pumps loud through the pipes, a constant reminder that there’s more than the stinky bathroom you two share as a secret. It’s risky because it’s merely wood that separates the crypticity of Mary Jane from the Average Joe you two function in individually.
You glance at the joint, then at him. “You’re not weird, by the way.”
“Oh?” he says, eyebrow lifting. He even scoffs, because he (un-admittedly) finds you adorable.
“You’re just… quiet. You keep to yourself, but that doesn’t make you… eccentric.” You grin lopsided, cheeks warm but you ignore that. “You’re nice.”
That one gets him, more than he’d ever admit to anyone. Riki looks over, and for half a second, his gaze slips lower before he forces it back to your face. You’re already looking at him, all soft eyes and honest mouth, like you have no idea what you’re doing to him.
He looks away first, rubbing the side of his jaw like that might help. “You’re high,” he says.
“Maybe,” you confess. “But I mean it.”
He’s been called quiet and nice all his life, but that was never the full truth. He just knew who deserved access to the rest of him, and most people didn’t. It wasn’t personal. He could talk when he wanted to, laugh when something was actually funny, keep a conversation going if he cared enough. He just didn’t feel the need to prove he had thoughts by saying all of them out loud.
Riki takes a drag, exhales slowly, looking over the tiles of the bathroom while he rethinks the decision he’s about to drop. He clears his throat before speaking, “You’re not mean either.”
Your eyes widen a little, gaze recklessly steady at his side profile. “You thought I was?”
“Everyone did,” he says honestly, smiling a little.
You make a face, frowning at him even though he refuses to look at you. “That’s rude.”
He laughs, really laughs this time, head tipping back. When he looks at you again, you’re smiling up at him like you’ve discovered something new and decided to keep it. For a moment, it feels like maybe there was always a version of this where you talked in bathrooms and shared smoke and didn’t belong where people expected you to.
You take another small drag, then suddenly straighten when you decide to take him in. He’s wearing a jacket over his hoodie, simple sweats loose around his hips. Only a few strands of his dark blonde hair graze over his forehead, leading down to the sharp features you only really notice now.
You never thought Riki Nishimura was ugly. Now, you can’t help but think that he’s… kinda hot.
You’re high, you’re just gone. That’s why. It also explains why you nudge closer than you have been before, letting your skirt brush slightly against his pants, thighs grazing slightly against his.
You’re both still smoking — slow now, like the room itself has decided to breathe with you. The bathroom feels even smaller than before, shrinking with every second the music downstairs gets louder but muffled through the wooden door keeping you a secret. Your head feels light, buoyant, like you’re floating a few inches above your body. Maybe it’s the weed. Maybe it’s the half-drinks you’d taken before this. Maybe it’s neither.
He stares at the tile beneath his boot like it holds the secrets of the universe, or like it had the equations for him to understand gravity’s intentions and how it led to him feeling your softness against him.
“Is there something on the floor?” you laugh.
He just huffs, shaking his head because that’s all he can do right now. You’re still leaning back and he’s still standing just a little too close. Your knee brushes his again, accidental but not corrected.
He looks down at you then. The red in your eyes, the crooked smile, the way you’re leaning just a little toward him like gravity’s doing something new. You lean closer because you’re completely zooted and smart-Riki who knows better, leans away and only lets his chest tighten. His eyes drop traitorously down to your lips, and he’s not fast enough to look back up. You notice, of course, which makes you both look away and straighten back on your feet instead of the wall.
Riki clears his throat, smoking the last of his before he rids of it against the sink. “You gotta go?” he asks out of the blue, which makes you frown a little. It wasn’t exactly a statement, but you know when things are implied and telling, so you shove back the nerves and remember that he’s different from you.
You’re not his type of person. He probably likes more chill people who actually know how to roll this shit — not the sheltered ones who’s clueless with THC or terms alike it.
“Yeah. I guess.” you smooth out your clothes even though nothing’s wrong with them.
He realizes what he just did, especially now that you’re not even looking back at him. He tries correcting himself, to backtrack, but the moment you glance back up, he’s silenced. You put your unfinished joint in his hand. “See you.” You say just before unlocking the door, slipping through it, and accidentally slamming it too hard.
Riki reels in from the solitude of the silence, like he’s now just realizing the ruins he broke himself. He sighs in resignation, head falling forward in defeat. “Shit.”
He stares at the thing in his hand, unfinished and yours, half-burnt and still warm.
“Idiot,” he mutters to himself, dragging a hand down his face. He can still feel the ghost of your skirt brushing his leg, the way you didn’t look back because he gave you a reason not to.
But the bathroom still smells like you — sweet perfume tangled with smoke — and the joint is there, remaining as an accusation wrapped in paper. He turns it between his fingers, thumb brushing the spot where your lipstick smudged faintly against the edge.
Riki exhales, then lifts it.
He wraps his lips around it carefully, stupidly aware of the fact that yours were there first. The thought alone makes his chest tighten, heat creeping up his neck and pelvis as he takes a slow drag.
He closes his eyes as he exhales, leaning his head back against the wall, heart thudding too loud for a room this small. For a split second, he imagines you still there — tilted smile, red-rimmed eyes, saying his name like it belongs to you, all while your boyfriend waits in the living room.
He laughs shakily under his breath. It’s so wrong.
After that, you two haven’t really talked for weeks.
That part isn’t weird. You both have lived the majority of your lives settling with the insouciance despite recognition, and one night in a bathroom, smoke and secrets and red eyes, isn’t enough to reroute that kind of muscle memory. Riki tells himself that over and over, like it’s a theorem he’s already proven.
He hasn’t been worried. He still goes to class, still shows up on time, still hands in assignments with some effort. The only difference — although barely worth mentioning — is that he’s been dipping into his stash more often than usual. A little before bed. A little after.
Riki exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling, telling himself — again — that this doesn’t mean anything and it doesn’t have anything to do with the cheer girl he kinda had a moment with in the bathroom.
It’s so fucked, even if you don’t think being his friend is bad, because you’re not meant to be a part of this. He was simply curious that Miss Cheerleader bought weed from him and kinda trusted him way too fast and that wasn’t just some everyday occurrence — that’s the only best psychological explanation why you’re here even when you’re not.
You have a boyfriend. He’s not about to be a homewrecker. Yet it’s not helping.
No talking for weeks, reaching a month even. That says enough. He has to stop.
“Probably about Little Miss Perfect.”
Riki flinches like someone just snapped a rubber band against the back of his neck. He sits up, glaring at Heeseung. “What the fuck,” he blurts. “How do you know that?”
Jake slowly looks up from his laptop, eyes lighting up like he just unlocked a bonus level.
“Oh my god.” Sunghoon’s grin spreads and Heeseung laughs, clapping like he’s won because technically he did, at the mental betting at what keeps Riki Nishimura downing his marijuana greenhouse.
“Ohhh,” Heeseung says, taunting and annoying. “So it is about her.”
Riki blinks. “No.”
“That was the weakest no I’ve ever heard,” Jake says immediately, pointing a finger at Riki. “You’re a guilty man, aren’t you?”
Riki scoffs, scrambling, fingers rubbing against his temple in attempts to cool. “You’re literally insane. Why would it be about her?”
Heeseung shrugs, casual. “I saw you two talking at that party.”
Riki’s stomach drops. “You — what?”
“Relax,” Heeseung says, laughing. “I wasn’t spying. You two just kinda had a freeze frame by the kitchen. Wasn’t so hard to notice.”
Riki opens his mouth, just to close it. Then he runs a hand through his hair with the irritated slant of said illegality stamped in your name. “We were just talking. Nothing happened.” Riki snaps, defensive again, hands up like he’s caught.
Jake squints at him. “Then why are you acting like that?”
Riki looks away. Usually, it’s enough answer to more teasing and mocking, but maybe not this time. Because now, it raises actual questions that regard his very bearing at this monumental association with you — a damn unicorn of a scene snatched out a comedy fantasy movie.
Heeseung asks carefully, “Are you, like, her boy toy or something?”
Riki whips around with the flush of unpredictability and utter shock. “What? No!”
Heeseung grins again, gentler this time. “Okay, not her boy toy. What now?”
Riki exhales, long and slow, falling back supine against the floor with the decency of a man with boundaries and the understanding of someone brilliant to keep himself away. “Nothing. She has a boyfriend. She lives in a different world.”
It’s realistic. He thinks he’ll drag the shit out of his stash to get his mind off this, because Riki Nishimura was a conformist by all means.
You’re where you’re supposed to be.
You laugh at the jokes while dawdling down the hallway with girls you actually consider your friends, your boyfriend’s arm heavy around your shoulders like it belongs there. You learned how to roll your own joints now, practiced with irritated little shrieks until it stopped being embarrassing, until they came out neat and perfect between your fingers. You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone, actually. Independence always looked good and natural on you.
Then Riki walks past with Heeseung and Jay.
Backpacks slung low, shoes dragging lazily against the floor, laughing about something stupid like someone’s terrible quiz score. Riki’s eyes stay forward like always, keeping his business private from everyone. Especially from you.
You don’t acknowledge each other beyond the bare minimum of peripheral awareness of two classmates that happen to be in the same class and two planets in the same orbit. Your boyfriend tightens his arm around you, leaning down to murmur something about lunch plans. You nod, glossed lips wrapped around a lollipop, sugar sweet and cherry-flavored on your tongue. You should be listening, you’re sure you are, until he passes.
Your eyes follow Riki — not openly, just enough to catch the back of his neck, the familiar slope of his shoulders, the same boy who leaned against a bathroom wall while you were high and laughing too much, knees brushing his because the room was small and neither of you moved away.
The lollipop slides down your tongue: all artificial sugar because the substance stays at home in the back of your secret drawer, while some of it just passed you down the hallway.
“I’ll catch up,” you say lightly, lifting your boyfriend’s arm off your shoulders. “I forgot something.”
You slip away before anyone can think too hard about it, weaving through the hallway with your lollipop still between your lips. You keep enough distance to make it look accidental, watching as Heeseung and Jay split off with quick fist bumps and loud voices. Riki keeps walking and pushes open the door to an empty lecture hall before disappearing inside.
You stop outside, remembering that this is probably the part where you’re supposed to turn around. Where the perfect, reasonable version of you remembers her boyfriend, her friends, her place in the hallway. Where the status quo reaches for your wrist and pulls you back into line.
Well, you push the door open.
Riki is near the front row, one hand still on the strap of his bag when he looks up from his seat, legs spread wide, thumbs midway to scroll through his phone. His eyes widen slightly, posture going still like he did not think you’d actually follow him.
For some reason, it thrills you. Because now he’s looking at you.
You pull the lollipop from your mouth, twirling the stick between your fingers as the door clicks shut behind you. “Hey.”
His eyes flick briefly to the door behind you. “You lost?”
This isn’t a bathroom of some random houseparty. There’s no smoke, no music, no excuse, just you, Riki, and an empty lecture hall in the middle of the school day — which means you came here on purpose.
“You should roll a joint for me again,” you say, like it’s so simple. “One of these nights.”
Riki blinks once. Then he huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “What, you haven’t learned since last time?”
You step closer anyway, slow and unhurried, allowed to exist wherever you want. He leans back against his seat, still careful and invisibly (but truly) restless. “I did.” you answer, then you smile small and lazy. “You’re just better at it.”
That gets him (because you’ve been knowing what to say to get him). His eyes lift to you, amused now, something low and unreadable settling there which sets you on fire because you have no idea what he’s thinking, not even a little hint.
“Flattery,” he says, then scoffs.
You hum and step closer, close enough that his knee is almost in front of your thigh. Riki leans back in his seat, one arm loose over the desk beside him, phone forgotten in his lap.
“There’s another party this weekend,” you say. “At McKay’s. You and your friends should go.”
He tilts his head. “Should we?”
“I think so.” You shrug. “Good music, large pad, beer games.”
He chuckles, eyes dropping briefly to the floor before meeting yours again. “And you’ll be there.”
“Probably.”
“And you’ll want me to roll one for you.”
You pull the lollipop from your mouth, tapping it lightly against your lower lip as you think. “If you’re offering.”
“I’m not,” he says, but his mouth twitches.
You lean back against the edge of the desk beside him, copying his ease like you have any right to be comfortable around him. From far away, it would look casual, just two classmates talking before class. Except there’s only you standing between him and the empty rows, him sitting back in his seat, looking up at you with that unreadable expression while you try not to smile too much.
He should probably feel insulted that you only do this when nobody can see — maybe he does, if he still believes in self-respect. It’s just hard to stay offended when you’re looking at him like that.
Riki nods once. “I’ll think about it.”
Satisfied, you push off the table and head for the door. “Cool.”
When the door shuts behind you, he thinks about red eyes and smoke, about how your usual crowd will be there, your boyfriend’s arm around you just before you sneak away to Riki’s.
You’re trouble, which makes Riki smile. ‘Cause he knows damn well he’s going to that party.
-
McKay’s house is already vibrating when Riki gets there with Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon — bass rattling the windows, someone yelling about cups, someone else yelling back about something incomprehensible. Riki isn’t a frat boy at all, and he doesn’t really go to parties, but the perfume layered on top of alcohol is basically familiar territory.
“This place is a fire hazard,” Jake mutters, stepping over a discarded heel.
Riki scans the room pretending he doesn’t mean to, observing layouts and people, when really he’s actually looking for one specific designer wardrobe of a person.
He doesn’t see you, but he sees your usual crowd scattered around the room, posing with red cups they barely drink from and laughing a little too loud whenever someone points a camera at them. You’re not there, nor is your boyfriend, and that usually speaks for itself already.
Heeseung nudges him, already mischievous with the smile Riki can’t see. “Little Miss Perfect?”
“Fuck off,” Riki replies, flat.
Jake’s halfway to disbelief when he narrows his eyes at Riki. “You’re already staring.”
“She’s not even here,” the former hisses.
“Looking for her, though.” Sunghoon teases, practically grinning widely.
Riki pushes past them. “I’m getting a drink.”
He doesn’t get a drink. He goes through hallways and in between bodies that nudge abruptly into him, half-assed apologies going through one ear and out the other while he properly finds footing again and again. When he gets to the bathroom and finds it locked, he groans and leans back against the wall. For now, he flicks the light on his own joint and smokes away while he waits — for you, for the bathroom, for anything to make him think going here was worth it at all.
Too many girls brush against him, too many of them apologizing with tilted heads and lashes batting. He has no interest in rewarding the performance, not tonight, not when the party is already crawling under his skin, all bass-heavy music, sticky floors, smoke in the air, perfume clinging to his throat, and people packed so tightly he can’t move without touching someone. It’s too much at once; too loud, too hot, too bright, too dark. Then he sees it, and everything in him goes still.
Your boyfriend has another girl pushed against the bedroom wall.
Riki sees this through the crack of the door, just slightly opened enough for him to see how he moves his hand underneath her skirt really fucking aggressively. They’re kissing too, and it’s not at all sweet or even arousing; it’s just straight out gross. He chokes, coughing so rough and loud and forward he has to lunge himself off the wall and straight through the crowd because his first instinct is you.
Your boyfriend is cheating on you.
What the fuck is happening? Why’s your boyfriend fucking a girl like someone who knows nothing about clits? Now, Riki isn’t an expert about pleasing women but he’s watched porn enough to know that Exhibit A over there was straight-up persecution.
He finally spots you near the kitchen, talking to one of your friends with a cup in your hand. He starts toward you, but someone shoves past from behind, and he bumps lightly into your shoulder. You turn, already halfway to apologizing until you see him, your face already changing before you can stop it.
“You came,” you say, eyes flicking around before coming back to him.
He’s kinda out of breath, from the smoke and from hurrying, but he smiles too. “Yeah.”
While you’re still smiling, Riki clears his throat. It’s casual like he’s asking for a lighter, not like he’s abput to derail your night, ‘cause truth be told, he’s not sure he knows how you’ll react to the information. To be honest, he thinks about how it’s only fair — maybe — because he doubts your boyfriend knows you sneak into bathrooms with another guy. And sure, his hand isn’t performing DJ on your pussy, but the shared secrecy of eye contact with loaded tension is much more intimate than whatever the hell that was.
“Uh,” he says, hand rubbing on his jeans. “Can we talk? Like. Somewhere quieter.”
You blink. Then you nod, already stepping closer so he has to lean down to hear you.
“Bathroom or outside?” you ask, half-teasing.
“Outside,” he says easily.
The night is cold enough to make everything feel quieter, like it’s only the two of you standing under someone’s porch light while music leaks through the walls behind you. It’s strange, because you’re not even friends, not really, but the little space between you feels private in a way Riki doesn’t know what to do with. He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath since the second he walked into the house, then leans back against the railing and looks at you standing across from him.
He tries finding the words first, but the way you’re looking at him tightens his chest faster than his brain can work out. Is this karma for your cheating boyfriend? Is he the instrument God has given you to slam notes back to the guy you’re practically cheating on too?
Then Riki clears his throat, casual as hell. “I saw something inside,” he continues, tone still chill but eyes a little sharper now. “Your boyfriend.”
Your smile falters. “What about him?”
“He’s, uh.” Riki taps ash off the joint. “He was fucking a girl. On a wall.”
You stare at him for a while, and he’s half-expecting you to lash out, on him, on the crowd, on your boyfriend, on something.
Instead, you laugh this small, amused breath that slips out of you before you shrug, like he told you your boyfriend spilled punch on his shirt and not that he had just seen him with another girl.
What the fuck is happening?
It feels a lot like you don’t care and that surprises Riki leading him down a rabbit hole of introspection. He was already expecting you to cry and sob or scream in the party about how much of a dick he is, how you trusted him and gave him everything — all things they do when they find out their boyfriends are cheaters.
No, you just, “Wow.” then huff a laugh. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
He blinks once, watching you carefully while you regather your thoughts as a woman who’s been said something paltry rather than an admission of an affair. To be honest, Riki doesn’t understand, so now he just stands there and looks stunned. And confused. Very confused, actually.
Riki squints at you like he’s trying to solve a trick question. “That’s it?” he asks. “That’s your reaction?”
You shrug, lifting your cup to your lips for a sip. “I mean. It’s been happening. “We’re just sorta together for our parents. They’re friends so… but that’s a story for another night.”
Oh. He never thought fake relationships were a thing.
That makes sense. How come Riki didn’t know? Was he so out of touch from school gossips hat he genuinely didn’t know that you’re actually not the perfect couple he thought you two were? Is that why Heeseung and Jake and Sunghoon didn’t react so badly? Has this been a thing? Oh my God, Riki’s ecstatic and he hasn’t even finished a joint yet.
He lets out a quick, unguarded sound. “Jesus.”
You lean back against the railing across from him, far too relaxed for a revelation that should have ruined someone’s eyeliner. Riki watches you for a second, waiting for the anger, the hurt, the sharp inhale before you turn and storm back inside. But you just stand there, cup in hand, looking more inconvenienced than heartbroken.
That’s when it hits him, slow and weirdly humiliating, that you might not care about the relationship at all.
“But,” you say lightly, “thanks for telling me.”
He blinks, then shakes his head a little. “Yeah.” His voice comes out slower than usual. “No worries.”
You glance at the joint between his fingers, your eyes lingering a second too long on the veins along his hand. “You always this heroic when you’re high?”
“No,” he says, deadpan. “It’s just who I am.”
You laugh, and despite everything, his mouth twitches. He looks back toward the door, half-expecting your boyfriend to come out and make the night complicated. When no one does, he relaxes, shoulders easing, but not completely.
Because this is new information.
Someone inside screams the chorus to a song, and the night’s way too cold for the silence that buzzes. Riki offers the joint without looking at you, just holds it out between two fingers like it’s nothing.
You hesitate for half a second. But you take it.
“You have a car?” you suddenly ask while you take a puff.
Riki blinks once, then lets out a quiet laugh, dragging his thumb along the bridge of his nose. Right, so this is his life now. He sells you weed one time, and somehow he’s standing outside a party while your boyfriend (?) cheats inside and you look mildly bored about it.
It’s stupid. It’s also the most interesting thing that’s happened to him in months.
So he just sighs and slumps back a little. “Yeah. I do.”
“Let’s go,” you say, completely not a question, flicking the finished joint on the pavement and trampling it beneath your heel. “I wanna smoke.”
He lets you trail after him through the side yard like this is already something you do, like he isn’t silently praying no one sees you following him away from the party. Gravel crunches under your shoes, the bass growing duller behind you as you cross the street toward his Supra, parked sleek and dark under the streetlamp. Riki unlocks it without looking back, rounds the hood, and opens the passenger door for you like it’s nothing.
You notice. You just don’t say anything.
Inside, the car actually smells clean and like coffee, for someone you’ve assumed is mad about marijuana and sorts alike (well, again, he’s proven how neat he is just for smelling so fucking good). He slides into the driver’s seat and just sits there for a second before turning the engine on, heater clicking low.
The silence settles, but it doesn’t feel awkward, which Riki finds suspicious. Maybe it’s because you’re not acting like the version of you he’s used to, all neat edges and perfect timing. Now your heels are on the floor of his car, your hair is loose around your face, and you’re curled into the passenger seat of a Supra you’ve never sat in before like your body decided to trust him before your brain could argue. He clears his throat, trying to get rid of the warmth at the back of his neck, but you only glance at him like you don’t notice. The hem of your skirt rides up consequently, and he tries his hardest not to look.
“Thanks. For caring.”
He shrugs, one hand resting loose on the steering wheel. “Didn’t feel right not to tell you.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
The radio flicks on — some pop song bleeding through the speakers. He then pulls out pre-rolled joints from his pockets, which he sheepishly apologizes for hygiene and, well, it’s a bit delated, although you just smile and take one. He lights yours up and you two stay there, settled in his warm seats, dissolving the chill with cannabis down your system like two people who doesn’t give a shit about the system and fucking power dynamics and popularity status.
Again, weird. Hanging out in his car like you’re old buddies who smoke in free time on the usual.
If he told himself a month ago that he would be smoking weed with the team cheer captain, he would have laughed his ass off about inhaling too much narcotics that totally screwed mental frameworks. Yet now, he’s stealing a few glances at you beside him, getting high off his greens, and he doesn’t feel completely off-center about it. It’s the weed obviously, but he feels steady. It’s charged because you’re not talking but your thoughts are everywhere, and even if you protrude the profile of indifference — he knows you care. Then again, what does he know about you, right? You are the odd in the equation, the alternative hypothesis that proves the difference in variables, and talks about the impact on the situation.
Now, conformist Riki Nishimura, who has spent his whole life respecting the ladder, is starting to wonder what happens if he climbs high enough to stand beside someone like you.
He stares through the windshield the second before he speaks. “You’re not what people think you are.”
You blink, caught off guard as you turn to him. “Is that good or bad?”
He huffs. “Depends who’s thinking it.”
You smile a little, your eyes moving over him before you can pretend they didn’t. Riki isn’t brawny in that loud, gym-mirror way, but he’s taller than he should be, broader than he looks from a distance, and unfairly very put together. His throat moves when he breathes in, and you catch yourself watching it for one embarrassing second too long.
You chew on your bottom lip. “And what do you think?”
Riki shifts in his seat, hand fidgeting against the wheel like he’s weighing how honest he’s allowed to be. “I think you’re quieter than your reputation.”
You study him now — the calm posture, the way he never overdoes anything, the way his voice stays even like he’s learned not to tip his hand.
He glances at you, then back ahead. “Makes it easier.”
You look at him for a second too long. “Easier for who?”
“You tell me.”
The car feels smaller and the windows are fogged enough that the streetlamp outside is just a blur of light now, like you’ve been sealed off from everything else. Away from the reality that boxes you two into something that makes sense rather than accepts.
You laugh once, but it comes out softer than planned. “You always psychoanalyze girls in your car?”
“No.”
“Just me?”
His mouth twitches. “You asked.”
You turn your head toward the window, trying to keep your face normal. “You don’t know me that well.”
“I know.”
Riki finally turns to you, one hand still resting loose on the steering wheel. His eyes are a little low, a little unreadable, but not careless — that might be the problem.
“I’m not saying I do,” he says. “I’m saying people don’t either.”
Your fingers fidget with the joint, rolling it carefully between them even though you’re barely paying attention to it anymore. The tip glows faintly, forgotten for a second, and Riki reaches over without thinking to tap the ash into the tray before it can fall on your skirt.
You look down at his hand, then back at him when he hands it to you.
“Don’t you think that’s weird?” you ask. “Like, what kind of girl is cheer captain and smokes weed? Who gets into a fake relationship because of her parents? Doesn’t that sound kind of fucked?”
He looks at you for a moment.
Then he leans back, eyes returning to the windshield. “I sell weed.”
He says it from the driver’s seat of a spotless car that smells like coffee and cologne. It’s stupidly funny, actually, the whole contrast of him that kinda looks like you.
You laugh before you can stop yourself. “That’s different.”
“How?” he snickers.
You open your mouth, then close it again because you don’t actually have a good answer. “I don’t know,” you admit, laughing a little. “It just is.”
He hums like he expected that. Then he glances at you before back through the windshield. “I don’t think you’re weird,” His eyes flick over your face. “I think you’re bored.”
Obviously, that makes you furrow your brows. Obviously, you let him continue speaking.
“Of your boyfriend. Your friends. Your parents already knowing what you’re going to do.” His mouth twitches faintly. “Probably bored at being good at the same shit every day.”
You should probably deny it. It surprises you that you don’t, even though you’ve sworn hatred towards men that think they can assume your personality because of one little circumstance.
“That’s why you’re here, right?” Riki’s eyes drop to your hand, then back to your face.
Your throat tightens.
“With me,” he adds.
He doesn’t smile like he won, he just sits there with one hand loose on the wheel, like he already knows the answer and is kind enough not to make you say it.
The air between you feels worse, like the moment before a storm cracks open into his car, and electrocutes you with a spark you’ve never experienced in your life. Which is eccentric considering you’re not the type of girl who’d be in Riki’s car instead of a party dominated by your friends, getting high off shit that would make your parents pass out.
You scoff and look away, shaking your head like the whole thing is ridiculous. “You talk like you know everything.”
“I just guessed one fucking thing.”
You roll the joint between your fingers again, slower now. “Maybe I just wanted to try something.”
“With me?”
Your eyes cut to him, and you see there’s a slight curve to his mouth, like he heard the shape of your answer before you even made it.
You huff. “You’re so annoying.”
Neither of you moves. Just suspended there, breathing the same warm air, the song on the radio dissolving into background noise, the world narrowed down to inches and intent and maybe weak will and strong urges. The tension’s palpable, solid enough that you could feel it grow between your thighs.
You’re probably one more joint away from being zooted, and Riki knows this of course, which is why he keeps his eyes narrowed across him and not the woman who’s audibly shifting in her seat.
He’s high too — faster than usual — and it makes the moment stretch in this you know kind because he’s thinking bad. He keeps his gaze trained somewhere between the fogged windshield and the blur of your reflection in it, like it’s the only thing keeping him at bay.
For the record — you’re both twenty, obviously adults, even if the world still insists on calling you kids. Which is also the very age people let you experience the paradox of being too grown and too immature for anything consistent, so the underestimation you endure as an adult, smart woman, cheerleader, and a kinda-child — wow you’re in deep detestation for that system.
So you take control of things you can handle.
You’re a conformist, no doubt. Except in areas you loathe men’s freedom in yet expect restraint for women. So… in diminutive ways, you indulge. Like weed. Like running council. Like wearing short skirts. Like Riki Nishimura.
You glance at him sideways, voice light, almost bored. Almost. “So,” you say, like you’re asking about his major or what song’s playing on the radio. “I will ask you something kind of personal.”
Riki exhales a quiet laugh. “You’re already in my car smoking my weed. I think the line’s gone.”
You smile, satisfied, then tilt your head back against the seat.
“Are you a virgin?”
The question hangs there. Unembellished and very dangerous in its simplicity. Also, of course, bold, which makes Riki actually freeze — a half-second pause where even his breathing stutters. Then he scoffs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you just dropped that between the heater hum and the low bass leaking from the house.
He blames the weed, though part of him wishes it isn’t from that.
“You always ask things like that?”
“I’m curious,” you say easily. “And a little high.” you gesture with your thumb and forefinger.
He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking to you now despite himself. “Why?” he asks. “Does it change your opinion of me?”
You meet his gaze, unblinking. “I don’t know yet. That’s why I asked.”
He huffs a soft laugh. He admits to embarrassment, even if it doesn’t cover his entire skin with flush and heat, he’s never found himself in this position. But honestly, nothing from the past few weeks has ever been something he prepared for — which he has you to blame, of course.
“Yeah.” he licks the corner of his lips, refusing to meet your eyes while he taps the steering wheel. “I am.”
Your eyebrows lift, impressed but not shocked. “Huh.”
Riki looks over. “Huh?” he mocks.
You bite back a smile and turn toward the window, but the reflection gives you away. “I just didn’t expect that.”
He scoffs, looking back at the windshield. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” You shrug, still smiling a little. “You sell weed. And you drive this car.”
“And?”
“And you look like that.”
For one second, Riki’s fingers still on the steering wheel, and he learns to shut up. He lets out a quiet laugh after, but it sounds different this time, lower and almost embarrassed. “You’re so fucking high,”
That makes him quiet, makes him adjust on his seat. He’s touched a woman before, but no one’s ever sat on his dick, nor has he ever been in anyone. So maybe he’s half a virgin, maybe he’s just a sore loser. He watches you as you move, as you turn in the seat, knees pressing into the leather, facing him fully now. The space changes instantly, the air recalibrating around your movement and maybe even pushing you further toward him.
Riki stiffens — just suddenly very aware, and perhaps a little scared. “Uh,” he says, brows knitting. “What are you doing?”
You tilt your head, resting your hands casually on the seat, perfectly balanced. “Bored, like you said,” you say. “And my boyfriend’s cheating on me. Again.”
He swallows. His gaze drops, then snaps back up to your face, like he’s trying very hard to stay respectful and failing in slow motion because you’re especially gorgeous tonight. “That’s… not a great combo,” he says.
“Not really,” you agree.
You lean in just enough for him to feel it — not touch, not yet. Just close enough that he can smell your gloss, the faint sweetness still clinging to you, and the cannabis that if he warrants himself the scary concept, is his mark on you.
“At least you don’t think I’m boring.”
Riki exhales, a real one this time, like he’s surrendering to the moment instead of fighting it because what can a simple guy like him do, right? His eyes flick to your mouth again — longer now — and when he looks back up, there’s a decision there, from someone who’s tired of conforming.
You close the distance then, slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. When he doesn’t, your lips meet in a kiss that’s brief and soft at first. Riki’s hand lifts instinctively, stopping just short of your waist, hovering there like he’s giving you the choice.
When you kiss again, you’re pressing harder, with the very intent to steal the air from his lungs. So that is what happens, you inhale and climb over the console and close your knees around his waist and he’s breathing shakily against your mouth, fighting for the oxygen he’s willingly giving away.
Your cunt presses against the zipper of his jeans, and when you roll, he pulls away like he’s burnt.
“W-wait — this isn’t — we can’t do this.” He shakes his head insistently, looking down your joined thighs while he regains composure.
You frown. “Why not?”
He looks back up at you, eyes wide and glossy from the taste of your cherry gloss and his greens in your mouth. He looks like he can’t handle this. You’re high, he’s high, this isn’t a good idea. You’re perfect, he’s not, this isn’t a good idea. You’re pretty and he sells weed, this isn’t a good idea.
“Because you have a boyfriend.” he says weakly.
You smile, fingers brushing into the hair at his nape. “Not really.”
He stares at you before he laughs, quiet and disbelieving, like the whole situation is so stupid he has no choice but to let it be funny for half a second. You’re in his lap, his car is fogged, your party is across the street, and apparently your boyfriend is more of a family arrangement than an actual person you care about.
“This is so fucked,” he mutters.
Still, he kisses you anyway. His hand finally settles at your waist, firm enough to make your breath catch. His fingers press into your flesh just before he pulls you closer and his hips thrusts up underneath you.
His bulge presses hard against your clothed cunt, and a small whimper slips out his mouth. Your thighs practically clench around him, your core tightening as you rub yourself on him. Beneath the jeans secured around his hips, the start of his v-line peeks, in which you softly graze with your thumb.
“F-fuck,” he whispers, resigned while he lets his head fall back against the headrest.
When you kiss him again this time, it’s slow and languid and licking into his mouth, and your hips start rolling against his while he unconsciously bucks into you. You gasp at the feeling of his growing erection despite the jeans, and you can’t help but feel rushed because it’s been way too long.
His body’s hot and he doesn’t understand why he can’t even talk properly. “Are you okay?” you ask, kissing his cheek. He just nods.
“This is so wrong,” Riki says softly and raspy.
You just smile and kiss him again, feeling how sloppy he’s starting to become when your tongues meet. You set the pace, careful with how you bite and suck, more of a learning curve with what you like best rather than devouring. Riki realizes this and slows down too, relaxing underneath your thighs while his cock remains bulging against you. Your soft fingers slither at the back of his hair, tugging and caressing, while he finds the courage to sneak his tongue into your mouth.
When you pull to breathe, he’s practically panting. “You can touch me.” you whisper.
His gaze practically flicks up to look up at you, silently asking for clarification. You don’t use words, you instead take his wrists and start dragging his hands from your waist to underneath your shirt. His breath hitches at the feeling of your soft skin against his, watching intently as you guide his hands further beneath your cotton top, until his fingers slightly grazes the soft swell of the underside of your breasts.
“Shit.” Riki mutters, his breath unstable when you let go. He looks for your eyes, asking for instructions, except you just smile and lean in to kiss him again with your hands on his jaw.
So he takes it upon himself to move by his own. His fingers grazes the soft skin, careful and learning, testing the underside swell by gently squeezing. After that, he gains confidence, hands going further up until they touch your nipples.
You gasp, pulling away to breathe when he starts gently pinching them, rolling them against the pads of his fingertips. He plays with them for a little while, watching your reactions when you sigh heavy, when your eyes close, when you lean further against his touch. It’s so good, he doesn’t even notice how painfully hard he is when he can feel just how sensitive your nipples are, when he can feel the weight of your breast as he cups them.
After a while, he finally stops, hands gliding down your ribs instead, thumbs still grazing slightly at the curve. Your kissing eases, reduced to pecks and softness. At rest and caress, you giggle and he chuckles, finally reeling in from the moment at how high he feels.
From your taste, your softness, your clothed pussy still pressing against his hard-on.
“You’re good for a virgin.” you say.
At that, Riki huffs and leans his head back against the rest, caressing your waist while he watches your face. You’re very pretty, even when your lipsticks smudged and you’re clearly teasing him, not touching him at all.
He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think he’ll mind for a long time. “I’m trying to make decent decisions.”
You tilt your head. “And kissing me is one?”
His jaw tightens a little, but he smiles. “It’s a very bad decision.”
“Mm.” You lean closer, but you don’t kiss him this time. “You stopped.”
“Because I don’t want to be your rebound,”
The teasing fades just a little. Your fingers, which had been lazily tracing the back of his neck, slow, and now you look at him too, at the way he’s looking at you like something cliche is about to happen now that he’s tasted something better than marijuana.
“You think I’d use you?” you ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
You study him for a moment. His nose and ears are still pink, which admittedly does something to you. It makes him look shyer somehow, less untouchable, like all that quiet control has slipped just enough for you to see he’s not as unaffected as he wants to seem.
He looks back at you, thumb moving once at your waist. “Let me take you out.”
You stare at him. “You’re asking me on a date right now? While I’m sitting on you?”
His mouth twitches despite himself. “Not my best timing.”
You laugh, soft and surprised, but he doesn’t laugh with you right away. You lean in again, slower and softer, just lips meeting and staying there, but his breath still hitches. You lets it last for a few seconds before you pull back, still close enough that your noses nearly brush.
“Ask me when we’re not high.”
Then he laughs once, quiet and disbelieving, his hand flexing at your waist. “Fine.”
Riki drives you home that night and you arrive at around 3 am, friends completely unaware of where you are or who you’re with — but you don’t care, even when your phone’s blown out of weird proportion. You laugh when he insists on walking you to your front porch, just to make sure you don’t slip and fall and he wouldn’t lose his favorite weed customer.
“You’re ridiculous, Riki Nishimura.” you shove at his arm weakly.
“And you,” he leans down enough that his nose nudges yours. “are so pretty.”
You laugh harder, admittedly a little flustered the way you never have been before. He tells you to eat something real when you head in, and you mock him for it but he just smiles and nods, agrees with the idea he is so, very stupid and funny for you.
Riki thinks the universe is testing him. Because ever since last night, every single thing reminds him of you.
The cherry gloss taste still ghosting his mouth when he wakes up, the faint perfume lingering on his hoodie, even the stupid heater smell in the car feels different now, like the seats remember the way you climbed over the console and kissed him until his dick ached for you.
“Dude,” Jake says, throwing his duffel bag. “You look like shit.”
Riki drags a hand through his hair. “Thanks.”
Jake doesn’t push it, which Riki appreciates for about three seconds before he sees where the cheer team is practicing. On the other side of the gym court, you’re standing with your friends, ponytail tied high, hands on your hips while you go over counts as the captain. You’re not doing anything special, occasionally laughing at something one of the girls beside you says, but Riki still feels his attention pull toward you like it has no discipline left.
He looks away first.
PE is already starting by the time he reaches their side of the court. He pulls his sleeveless shirt down properly and rolls his shoulders once, mostly because he needs something to do with his body. His hair keeps falling near his eyes, and he can feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck before class has even properly started.
He tells himself not to look. But then he looks.
You’re already looking too.
It only lasts a second. Your eyes meet his, then drop briefly to his arms before you turn back to your friends like nothing happened. Riki presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and looks at the ball in his hands, suddenly way too aware of himself.
Jake notices, but all he does is glance between the two of you. “Since when do you know her like that?”
Riki bounces the ball once. “I don’t.”
Jake gives him a look. Riki doesn’t look back. “Not like that.”
“Okay.”
The drill starts, and for a while, it’s just run, catch, dribble, pass, move. Riki focuses on the court, on the PE teacher’s whistle, on the ball against his palms. It works for half the time, until your voice cuts across the space, counting with the rest of the cheer team, and he misses a pass by half a second.
“Pay attention,” Jake says, not even laughing.
“I am.”
“You’re really not.”
Later, when the class breaks for water, Riki walks toward the drinking fountain and finds you there already, refilling your bottle. Your friends are a few steps away, talking among themselves, close enough to notice if either of you makes it obvious, far enough that neither of you has to pretend not to see each other.
He stands behind you to wait for his turn, and from afar, it doesn't look scandalous. You take your time refilling your bottle, eyes forward, one hand steadying the plastic under the stream. He keeps his gaze on the wall in front of you, jaw working once, because he knows exactly what you're doing when you lean a little farther than necessary and let the silence stretch.
Your skirt shifts when you bend, showing the backside of your thighs and the slight swell of your ass, and he sighs through his nose like he's deeply disappointed in both of you. Then he looks away completely.
You bite back a smile.
When the bottle finally fills, you straighten and cap it slowly, still not moving right away. He doesn't meet your eyes when you step aside, he just moves in, bends toward the fountain, and presses one hand against the edge for balance.
Then it's your turn to look away. But you don't, not even shamelessly. Because you’re the girl who got things her way and never got scared of the repercussions.
His sleeveless shirt pulls against his shoulders when he leans down, arm tense from holding himself there, the veins along his bicep showing under the gym lights. Water hits his mouth, and you watch the way his hair falls near his eyes, the way his throat moves when he swallows. It's stupid, actually, how normal he's being and how much worse that makes it.
Riki finishes drinking, straightens, and wipes the water from his chin with the back of his hand. Only then does he look at you.
You're still staring. And for a second, neither of you says anything.
His expression barely changes, but something in his eyes does, like he caught you and decided not to make it easy. "What?"
You blink, then lift your bottle a little. "You took forever."
He looks at you, calm, unreadable, except for the faint color rising at the tips of his ears and the slight lift on the corner of his mouth. "You're one to talk."
Your friends laugh at something behind you, and the sound snaps the moment thinner, not enough to break it, but enough to remind you both where you are. You glance over your shoulder, then back at him, only to find he's still watching you. Not obviously, just enough to show that he knows exactly what that night did to you, and worse, exactly what this day is doing too.
And that he’s enjoying the view.
You tuck your bottle against your chest and step back. "Try not to miss another pass."
His mouth curves. "Then don't distract me."
The second he says it, your smile gets bigger, like a shared inside joke between you two now. Then you turn back to your team, and he stays by the fountain for one extra second, pretending the afternoon heat is the reason he can't stop feeling warm. In the locker room, he pretends it’s celibacy that’s making his cock hard again, and not the picture of you bending in front of him, the fat of your ass presenting itself to him so adorably.
In the cafeteria, while pages turn and keyboards clack for an upcoming test for biology, you try your best to stay focused the way you can on the usual. Riki was right about you — you were smarter than what people thought, and the merit beside your name is shocking to a whole lot when it’s pasted on the board.
You think you’re no longer smart. Not when you’re staring at the open reviewer in front of you, color coded with little sticky tabs but you’re still distracted.
You grab your coffee and drink, just to try if that could help with your lost concentration. Something about protein synthesis and cell division. Something about how Riki’s hands looked wrapped around the steering wheel that one night while he called you weird and interesting in the same breath.
This is so inconvenient.
“Babe.”
Your boyfriend slides into the empty chair beside you like he owns the furniture, sunglasses pushed up on his head even though the cafeteria lighting could barely offend a bitch. His hand settles automatically on your thigh beneath the table, casual and familiar, and you almost flinch.
“You disappeared last night,” he says casually.
You lean back in your chair. “I told you I left.”
“Yeah, but where?”
You think briefly about Riki’s car parked under the streetlamp — fogged windows, heated air, cherry gloss smeared on his mouth, plump lips smirking in restraint, hands squeezing you in the right place, keeping you in place.
“I just went home,” you reply smoothly.
Your boyfriend hums, clearly unconvinced, but also has about three seconds of emotional stamina left for the topic, so he lets it go and steals one of your fries instead. “My parents want dinner with you this weekend.” he says instead.
He continues talking about it but you’re staring at the flashcards and reviewers in front of you, imagining what your parents would say if Riki would’ve showed up to a family dinner instead. Maybe he’d appear in different clothes, a white button-up just to sit there and attempt to look polite in ways he isn’t with you — which makes your heart jump a little.
Dinner drags on for three excruciating hours.
Three whole hours of crystal glasses and polished silverware and your boyfriend’s parents discussing investment portfolios. The restaurant is one of those stupidly expensive places where portions are microscopic and every waiter looks vaguely judgmental — you don’t complain, you’re rather very grateful for his parents (sometimes).
You sat there in a pretty dress your mother picked out. Your boyfriend talks over you twice when you try contributing to the conversation, his mother asks about your grades before asking how cheerleading is going, like academics and aesthetics are the only two things remotely interesting about you. At some point, your boyfriend likes another girl’s Instagram story right beside you at the table and everything about the night is just bad.
You just feel tired, especially on the way home.
Tired in the way performances always leave you feeling like you’ve spent hours acting inside a role you got stuck with years ago — because it mostly worked in your favor, until that one time you decided to jump out of your comfort zone and try weed. It’s the worst thing you have done, but it’s the only thing that made you feel good.
Your heels click quietly against the marble floors when you enter your house and you make it halfway upstairs before the pressure behind your eyes finally cracks. Obviously, you don’t sob out of sadness, just frustrated tears slipping down your cheeks while you struggle with the zipper of your dress. “Fuck,” you mutter.
Your makeup’s ruined now; mascara faintly smudged beneath your eyes, lipstick mostly gone except for traces still staining your mouth.
Before you can think too hard about it — which is kind of bad — you open Riki’s contact, and your fingers move faster than your dignity can intervene.
you:
he actually sucks so bad
like genuinely i think talking to drywall has more nuance
You exhale through your nose and laugh weakly at yourself because obviously Riki probably has better things to do than babysit you after 9PM, not when you’re just another weed customer and smoking buddy he had. You toss your phone onto the bed and sit in silence for a second, still in your dress, earrings discarded somewhere.
You try not to think about anything for the minutes you’ve spent staring at the ceiling: not about Riki, or your dumb boyfriend, or your (im)perfect life, or the way Riki kissed you, or the way he looked at you, or the way he thought about you.
Because that's the part that bothers you most. Not the kiss itself, not even the fact that you wanted it, but the way he seemed to actually think about you before touching you. Like you weren't just pretty or convenient or someone people liked because you made sense beside them. Riki looked at you like he was trying to understand you, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything you've ever had.
And maybe that makes you painfully average.
Maybe you’re not special at all, maybe you’re just another girl in the long, embarrassing history of girls who developed feelings for the first boy who looked at them like they were a person. Congratulations, really. Very original and groundbreaking, for being part of the emotionally confused teenage girls.
You turn onto your side and press your face into your pillow, immediately hating yourself for how dramatic that feels.
Until something taps three times against your window.
Your brows furrow immediately because your bedroom is on the second floor and nobody normally knocks on windows like some suburban horror movie, you don’t even try to look because of what could be there. For a second, you genuinely think you’re hallucinating from emotional exhaustion and expensive restaurant food and maybe (you did not do prior research) the possibility of the long term hallucinations of marijuana.
Then it happens again. Three deliberate taps.
You sit up slowly from the edge of your bed, the strap of your dress slipping off one shoulder while your heels remain abandoned somewhere near the door. When you turn to the window, your heart practically falls from your chest when you see Riki standing outside like a fucking delinquent moron. He’s standing on the roof of the first floor near your window, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, while one hand steadies himself against the frame.
You burst out laughing while fumbling with the lock of your window. Riki’s entire expression softens the second he hears you laugh and that does something unhealthy to him.
Because he drove for twenty minutes thinking about you crying over some guy who doesn’t even look at you properly, wondering if climbing a house at this hour officially qualifies as insanity (he’s never done that before, and it doesn’t sound so conformist right now either). Riki’s usually good at self-restraint, at risk assessment, at understanding what makes sense and what doesn’t.
For the record, this doesn’t make sense. Yet here he is anyway.
“Hi.”
You stare at him in disbelief once you finally open your window. “What the fuck are you doing?” you whisper-yell.
“You sounded sad.”
“Is that supposed to be an answer?”
“What?” he says defensively while climbing inside carefully. “You said your boyfriend sucks. That sounded shitty.”
The second he lands properly inside your room, he looks at you before anything else. He’s used to seeing you fixed with perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect posture, like you just stepped out of a university brochure about good conduct and that the school cheer spirit is something one definitely needs for personal development.
This version of you feels familiar, and traitorously and selfishly, he thinks it’s for him.
Your dress is wrinkled now, your jewelry sits slightly crooked against your skin, your makeup’s smudged enough to expose the eyebags underneath, and your hair’s started falling from whatever expensive style you wore to dinner.
Riki swallows once before he can stop himself. “You were crying?”
Immediately, you look away, a bit embarrassed when you realize what you look like. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird,” he says quickly, hands lifting instinctively. “I just.”
He cuts himself off because he suddenly realizes he has no idea how to navigate this. Girls usually don’t text him while being miserable and summon him to their bedroom windows like some modern romance movie directed by a bad romcom enthusiast. Nothing is romcom-y about this.
So instead, awkwardly, he holds the backyard vegetation toward you.
“I got you these.”
Flowers. They aren’t roses and lilies, especially not the peonies your boyfriend orders because it looks better in pictures. They’re not anything arranged like the bouquets your boyfriend’s family sends during competitions and birthdays and events where impression matters. They usually screamed ‘I have money’ so I had my manager fix these for you.
Riki brought you wildflowers, which are tiny white, yellow, and purple ones bundled unevenly together like he picked them himself on the side of the road and decided, yeah, these ones are perfect. They’re crooked and asymmetrical and a little pathetic, and it weirdly looks a lot like you.
You take them carefully, looking down at the tiny flowers bundled together with what suspiciously resembles a broccoli rubber band.
“Oh my God,” you laugh quietly. “These are so ugly.”
He looks offended immediately. “Okay, first of all, fuck you.”
You laugh, open and loud. “They’re literally weeds.”
“I mean. Matches us, no?” he argues.
You’re still smiling when you bring them closer to inspect, and he notices your eyes when you admire them because he notices everything when it comes to you now, apparently.
“He made you cry?” he asks quieter this time.
You look up at him, flowers resting against your chest while you slump a little. “Not exactly.”
He raises his brows. “That means yes.”
You sigh, gaze dropping to the petals between your fingers. “He’s just…” You shake your head slowly. “I don’t know. I guess I’m really sick of it.”
Riki stays quiet — not because he doesn’t have thoughts, but because he has too many.
The thing is, he understands that social hierarchy is basically one giant theater production and he’s spent his entire life studying how to survive inside it correctly — he’s admitted to live in it quite comfortably. Which people to talk to, which ones to avoid, what behavior keeps life stable and uncomplicated, who not to sell weed to.
You were supposed to be part of that stable world, the part that he shouldn’t have had any associations with. Instead, you’re now standing barefoot in front of him holding ugly flowers with watery eyes while confiding in him like he’s become something safe. Now he’s giving a girl weeds for flowers, while his own cannabis has become untouched for quite a while now.
You narrow your eyes up at him suddenly, a teasing smile on your lips. “You could’ve used the front door.”
“And say what?” he snorts. “‘Good evening, your daughter texted me so I’m here to comfort her?”
You laugh again and Jesus Christ, he thinks he’d probably climb ten more roofs if it meant hearing that sound a second time.
Which is not good at all.
He looks around your room now, and he finds that is not in the dramatic movie sense where he’s overwhelmed by femininity and candles or whatever bullshit directors think teenage girls do in bedrooms. It’s just your space and that feels undeniably you in a way he’s never gotten access to before — never thought he would, actually. There’s a stack of annotated reviewers on your desk beside skincare products, then a half-folded cheer uniform hangs over your chair. Your bookshelf is organized by color at first glance, but he notices that some books are stuffed sideways and doubled-up like gave up halfway through organizing.
You’re contradiction after contradiction. Which feels fitting considering Riki’s currently inside the bedroom of a girl he once categorized under absolutely not my problem.
This is exactly why social structures exist. To prevent situations like this where a guy who sells weed ends up standing in the bedroom of a girl who looks expensive enough to kill him.
You set the flowers carefully on your vanity like they’re not random plants held together by produce rubber. Riki watches how gentle your hands are, watches the way your dress slips slightly higher on your thigh when you move.
You step closer to him after, eyes peeking through your lashes, and he starts to feel drunk from your perfume. “You really came all the way here because I was sad?” you ask softly.
Riki opens his mouth automatically with something sarcastic prepared because that’s safer, because joking is easier than admitting the truth. But then he looks at you looking at him like he’s become something important frighteningly fast.
Honesty slips out before he can stop it. “Yeah.”
Your eyes soften in a way that completely wrecks him, because nobody’s ever looked at him like this before — like he did something meaningful instead of useful.
You step even closer now until there’s barely space between you. “You’re really bad at being casual,” you murmur.
He huffs a laugh. “You climbed into my lap the first time we kissed.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I was high.”
“And what’s your excuse now?”
Your lips twitch and his gaze drops there instinctively.
Big mistake, because now he’s thinking about kissing you again and suddenly being in your bedroom at midnight feels significantly more dangerous than it did when he drove here. Riki clears his throat and looks away first. Usually he’s good at eye contact, good at keeping composure, good at staying levelheaded even when situations become complicated, because he knows emotional regulation keeps things orderly, predictable, and safe.
You are none of those things anymore.
Standing this close to you feels like someone slowly dismantling every sensible thought process he’s ever had and replacing it with bad decisions and pretty girls in wrinkled dresses.
Riki swallows, eyes still not fully on yours. “Do you know what you’re gonna do?”
You sigh, shoulders dropping a little as you look away. “I don’t know.”
Riki nods, though he doesn’t look surprised. “Well,” he says quietly, “you aren’t happy.”
The honesty in his voice catches you off guard, because it isn’t dramatic or possessive or demanding — it’s actually the complete opposite. He says things carefully. Your boyfriend never talks to you carefully.
You study Riki for a second — the slight flush across his cheeks, the hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, the fact he literally climbed your house because you sounded sad over text.
Clearly, he’s lost the plot somewhere. He might find it in your room, but why would it be there?
You look at the boy who notices everything about you, who reads you better than anyone ever did. And maybe that’s pathetic, but after a long time of performance and image, you can’t quite find irrationality when something finally sees you so clearly.
You don’t even realize you’re crying again until his expression changes. The tears just spill over quietly, slipping down your cheeks before you can catch them, and for a second, you don’t understand why his eyes drop there with so much concern because you aren’t sad, nor overwhelmingly happy.
His hand lifts and his fingers touch your cheek lightly and carefully. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the tear before it reaches your jaw. Then the other hand comes up too, steadying your face with a gentleness that makes your throat tighten worse than the crying did. You stare up at him while he wipes your face like it’s something important, his hands warm, his touch steady even though his breathing isn’t. He just keeps his palms against your cheeks, thumbs soft under your eyes, focused on you.
Riki’s thumb slows beneath your eye, his gaze moving over your face with something almost pained. “You’re too pretty to cry over him,” he says quietly.
Your hand lifts before you can think better of it, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist to keep him there. His skin is warm beneath your palm, and for a second, his whole body seems to still when you touch him. You look up at him because he’s so tall this close, broad enough to block out half your room, and he’s holding your face like you might bruise if he moves wrong.
“I’m not crying over him,” you say, and your voice comes out quieter, “I think I’m crying because I want someone else.”
His hand stays against your cheek, but his thumb stops moving entirely. He has no immediate answer right now, no dry comment waiting in the back of his throat, no clever way to make the moment smaller than it feels. He just looks at you, like he heard you perfectly and still needs another second for it to reach the rest of him.
He shifts closer, but only slightly, careful enough that you notice the restraint. “Are you sure?”
You let out a tiny, breathless laugh. “Yes.”
Then your gaze drops from his eyes, not because you’re embarrassed exactly, but because looking at him straight on feels like standing too close to something bright. Your eyes settle on his chest instead, on the front of his hoodie rising and falling with a breath he’s clearly trying to control. His hands move from your cheeks, careful and slow, until his palms settle just beneath your jaw while his fingers slip behind your ears, curling gently at the back of your neck.
For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you.
Actually, you know he is. You can feel it in the way his breathing changes, in the way his eyes drop to your mouth and stay there this time, no pretending it was an accident. He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne and whatever terrible decision-making brought him to your window.
Then something in you panics — not because you don’t want him to.
That’s the problem. You want him so much it feels insulting to every sensible part of your life (even though you’ve made many irrational choices that have shamed them anyway). You want him in your room, in your space, in the middle of all the pretty, curated pieces of yourself nobody else gets to see messy. You want him, and it would be so easy to lean up and let that be the answer. But there is still one stupid, technical, irritating thing standing between you and that, so you pull back a little.
He freezes immediately, hands dropping like he thinks he did something wrong. “What?”
“I need to do something.”
His brows pull together. “Right now?”
You turn away before you can lose your nerve, moving toward your bed where your phone is half-buried in the sheets. Your hands are unsteady when you pick it up, which is annoying because you are not the kind of girl who fumbles — you are the kind of girl who answers essay questions with proper structure, corrects formations instinctively, and pretends she’s fine so convincingly that people believe it until it becomes inconvenient not to.
Calling your boyfriend while Riki Nishimura stands in your bedroom after midnight is, admittedly, not your most elegant moment, but there’s a kind of clarity to it too.
He stays behind you, quiet, watching as you scroll to the contact you have ignored for most of the night. His name on your screen looks strange now.
The call rings twice.
Riki moves closer, though not touching you yet, just behind your shoulder, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. It makes focusing much harder, which is extremely inconsiderate for someone who climbed into your room to be supportive.
Your boyfriend answers with your name, voice already irritated. “It’s late. I’m busy.”
You close your eyes for half a second. “I’m just letting you know. We’re done.”
There is a pause. “What?”
You swallow, your grip tightening around the phone. “I’m breaking up with you.”
Behind you, Riki goes very still. Your boyfriend lets out a humorless laugh. “Are you serious right now?”
“Yes.”
“After everything? After tonight, you’re just gonna call me and say that?”
You stare at the wall in front of you. It’s absurd, actually, how little the anger reaches you. Maybe you should be shaking or crying harder or preparing a speech that starts with all the ways he hurt you — instead, you feel strangely calm.
He starts talking again, louder this time, something about your parents, his parents, how you’re overreacting, how you both agreed, how you don’t get to act innocent either. Until Riki’s hand appears beside you, and he takes the phone from your hand.
Your eyes widen. “Riki.”
He looks at the screen, hears your boyfriend still talking, then tosses the phone onto the bed, where it lands face-up against the sheets, the call still running, your boyfriend’s voice now small and furious through the speaker.
“What are you doing?” you whisper.
His eyes stay on yours. “You already broke up with him.”
On the bed, your ex says your name again, sharp and confused, but neither of you are looking at the phone.
Riki lifts one hand, not touching your face yet, just brushing his knuckles lightly near your jaw like he’s giving you one last chance to move away.
That is all he needs before he kisses you. It is not rushed, not messy from panic, just a little harsh from jealousy. But it’s slow enough to make your knees feel unreliable, steady enough that your whole body seems to understand before your brain does. You grab the front of his hoodie and he exhales against your mouth, the sound going straight through you. His hand settles at the side of your neck, thumb brushing under your jaw while his other hand finds your waist, careful but sure.
The phone is still there, your boyfriend is still talking. It should ruin the moment, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes the whole thing feel worse in the way your heart is pounding too hard, in the way Riki keeps kissing you like he’s trying not to prove a point and failing anyway, in the way you know this is a terrible way to end a relationship and still cannot bring yourself to care.
Riki pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead almost touching yours. “He talks a lot,” he says quietly.
You laugh before you can stop yourself, and he kisses you before you can even finish a thought he physically cannot hear another word about your boyfriend tonight, earning a gasp from your mouth. It’s soft at first, his mouth catching yours that makes you go still for half a second, surprised, and then your hand tightens around his wrist as you kiss him back. He exhales through his nose, quiet and shaky, and his fingers press a little more firmly into your nape, not pulling you in too hard, just holding you.
You make this soft startled sound against his lips and he swears it nearly kills him on impact. When he pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead bumps lightly against yours.
“I don’t wanna talk about him anymore,” he says quietly.
His voice comes out rougher than before. You stare at him for a second, and your lips twitch.
“Okay,” you whisper.
He kisses you again almost immediately, and this time you kiss him back just as fast, your chests pressing against one another until you can feel the rapid beat of his heart through his hoodie. His hands find your waist, the weight of them warm and steady through the thin fabric of your dress, like he’s grounding you and keeping himself grounded too.
You tilt your head up to meet him properly, rising slightly onto your toes without meaning to, and he bends down into you like the movement pulls something out of him. His fingers press carefully at your sides, thumbs shifting once against your waist. The kiss deepens then, your hand sliding up the front of his hoodie until you’re holding onto him too.
Riki exhales against your mouth, almost shaky, and his grip tightens for one second before he loosens it again, like he’s reminding himself to be careful.
Without so much as a few words, your gaze meets his. But that’s not enough for him, not when he needs to hear that you want this too. The zipper you struggled with earlier starts undoing when his hand finds the back, before he leans in just enough for his voice to drop between you.
"Words, baby," he whispers.
He isn't teasing now. His voice is low, but careful, like he needs to hear you say it before he lets himself want anything more.
You swallow, fingers tightening lightly in his hoodie. "I want you."
Riki watches your face for a second, and when he sees the true genuineness and want in your eyes, he lets himself have it. He dips down to your height, capturing your lips in a kiss again, before fully pulling the zipper down to the small of your back. With barely any effort, the dress slides off your body and pools around your feet on the floor.
Too busy getting drunk on his plump lips, you don’t even notice his hands roaming over your skin, his fingertips memorizing the arch of your spine, before gliding up to the curve of your ribcage. You don’t notice how close he really is until his fingers find the underside part of your breasts. You pull away with a gasp, seeing him smile coyly when you finally realize you’re naked in front of him, and how he’s massaging your mounds in his hands.
He lets his thumbs brush your hardened nipples, watching your face scrunch and melt with fluster. He holds you so well, heat rushing all over your skin with the way he studies your body, eyes carefully taking in every detail about you. He continues stroking your nipples and massaging your breasts when he bends down again, kissing the corner of your lips before trailing over to your jaw. He presses open mouthed kisses on your pulse next, sucking and biting to leave love bites there.
You moan, all breathy and heavy, and his cock twitches in his sweats. For a man that’s been so cautious with you, he can’t help but fight the urge to pound into you recklessly right now.
“On the bed,” he prompts softly, taking a step forward.
You obey with no fight, pathetically stepping backward until you sit back on the soft mattress. You adjust a little to get on your knees, eyes finding his through your lashes again. He’s looking at you with half-open lids, hand already reaching up to the back of your head, fingers tangling with your hair. He likes you like this, on your knees and your face so fucking close to his bulge, he can practically see it.
And because he has been so kind to you, you want to recompense for all of it. Your fingers hook at the hem of his sweatpants, keeping your gaze steady on his face to watch the way he reacts when he realizes what you’re about to do. You drag his pants down, enough for it to slip down his legs.
His cock bulges in his briefs, begging to be set free. You cup it gently and he lets out a low moan, deeper than his usual, and when you look up, he’s just watching you. You lean in, only to lick a stripe from the bottom to top — his grip on your hair tightens, and you feel him pull you closer. Since you both don’t hold any godly kind of willpower, you waste no time lowering the fabric.
Riki’s stupidly long cock springs forward once you remove his briefs, and everything about it just makes sense. It isn’t excessively thick in girth, but it’s length makes you wonder if it can even fit at all. It’s pale at the base and turns pink towards the tip, the slit lathered with pre all over the head, all for you.
You bite your lip, not being able to help the thrilled grin on your face, eyes bright at the sight of it. He clears his throat, caressing the back of your head gently. “You good?”
You snicker, reaching up to wrap your hand around the base. He chokes out a gasp, stilling completely yet his hips buck forward. He watches you handle him so delicately, even the way you start pumping his dick, watching the way pre-cum leaks out the tip. You lean forward, tongue flat against the head, tasting him.
“O-oh, s-shit —” his breathing becomes heavy, arm flexing involuntarily as he keeps rubbing the back of your head.
You giggle, tilting your head a little to press soft pecks all over his length. “Watch me, sweet boy. Okay?”
You’re a fucking tease. That’s all he manages to come up with before his brain completely blanks out when you tilt forward and let your mouth close around the head of his dick. You start to suckle on it, tongue playing with the slit a little. Then you push forward, enough the tip touches the back of your throat and your cheeks hollow around his length.
And he’s still too fucking long.
You start choking a little, tears touching your waterline. You stroke the part you can’t reach, and he can’t help but smirk arrogantly.
Heavy breaths turns into deep groans, trying to keep his sounds to himself but the way you look as your head bobs on his dick, practically choking as you suck on it, and his hand flexing a tight grip on your hair — this has got to be better than any fucking narcotic ever. He bets morphine won’t ever feel this good. “Y-you’re fucking sublime, baby,”
You retract your mouth, going back to suckle on the tip, before taking him all back down your throat. His hips jerk forward, you can tell just how gentle he’s trying to be even when he’s losing all control.
And it’s too good, because twenty years of chastity has started to reach him faster than the way you rub him. He feels his abdomen tighten, and fuck does his balls feel tense. So as any illogical, preposterous, unsound idiot ever, he pulls you away from his cock. He holds you by your hair, slowing you down as you stare up at him, eyes wide and confused, lips wet from your saliva and his fluids.
“What the fuck?” you mutter, catching your breaths.
Riki licks his bottom lip, and you can see every restraint holding him back from breaking you. The tips of his ears are red, and his eyes, once so tender and meticulous, looks down at you like he just can’t wait to fuck you senseless. They’re sharper than they ever have been, and once since this night began, you’re scared.
“Easy,” he drawls, hand withdrawing from you completely. He takes a step back, just enough to admire the way you look, panting and on your knees, breasts exposed and perky. Then with a small smirk, he pinches the edge of his hoodie. “You always this impatient?”
He slides the hoodie over his arms, the cloth revealing flesh that practically glow from your vanity lights. His chest and shoulder width is broad and wide, flat in that boyish way you love, expanding to the chiseled arms. You can feel yourself salivating at the muscles, at his taut abs, delicate grooves that trace down to a sharp v-line. Even his obliques and traps are so defined.
“Get on your back.” he rasps, and you don’t let yourself react before lying down, head against your soft pillows. He kneels in between your legs, eyes trailing over your body. He hooks his fingers over the elastic of your panties, just before he slowly pulls them off you, slow enough to make you embarrassed.
“Riki,” you murmur sheepishly, but he ignores you, keeping his eyes narrowed to the way your cunt glistens, your own fluids leaking out of you. She’s perfect, and his already frustrated cock twitches.
Blonde hair sticks to his forehead, and his eyes are dark when your gaze meets again. He hovers over you, caging you against the bed before he leans in, kissing you again. Your lips part for him, breaths mingling, getting hot and heavy as his hand finds your ass. He squeezes the fat there, fingers digging into your skin. “You’re making it hard to think, pretty girl.”
You manage a giggle, though it quickly turns to soft moans when he kisses your jaw and presses his cock against your cunt.
“Riki, please,” you can see how swollen his cock has gotten.
“I don’t know if I can be gentle,” he breathes, his arms tensing as he keeps himself up. He strokes himself a bit, just before he aligns the tip with your aching hole.
Your brain has gone hazy, not being able to process anything other than the way he kisses your neck when the head of his cock pushes through your folds, and immediately your arms come to his back, nails digging into his muscles. He tenses too, giving a sharp exhale when his length slides past the tight muscle and rubs against your gummy walls.
“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face against your neck while your teeth bite down your bottom lip. “G-god, that’s so good,”
His hips closes against your pelvis, while his tip brushes against your cervix so good he’s pretty sure you’re sucking him in. And you feel stuffed, more than you ever have been, by Riki’s long cock. “Good fucking pussy, shit —”
Your legs are open wide for him, pressing flat against the mattress. And that’s enough for him, just to see you so spread beneath him, cunt squeezing him so tight; enough for him to pull back and watch the way your fluids wrap slick around his cock. Your hips wiggle for him, and that’s all he takes before slamming his hips back into you.
Riki’s jaw hangs open, a low moan gushing out him, strained and heavy into your ears.
“R-Riki — f-f-fuck —”
The sounds of squelching pussy and skin slapping echoes throughout your entire room, walls so tight around his cock as you gasp. The pace is set already, quick and fucking drilling into you even though you’ve known him for his care and caution — yet he pounds into you like he doesn’t give a fuck about anything but his pleasure.
“S-s-so good — ugh, Riki — fuck,” you scratch his back muscles, tensing underneath your nails. His pelvis and abs are tight, slamming himself so hard against your cunt like he can’t keep himself apart from you.
He continues groaning, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes half-lidded watching you, completely fucked out while he admires the way your tits bounce every time he rocks his dick deep into your cunt. His lips part to moan your name, and you love how he almost whimpers when you squeeze around him.
Then he stills, though only fast enough before he slides an arm beneath your waist and gathers you closer, like he’s scooping you into him without fully lifting you.
“W-what are you —”
“On your stomach.”
You can only blink and nod, before turning around, suddenly feeling empty when his dick slips from inside you. You settle on your hands and knees, then lie on your chest, face pressed to the soft pillow. “Fuck, my good girl.”
You can’t see him anymore, and you’re not sure with how you feel about it — not until you feel his warm body press against your back, his chest hovering slightly over you. He presses a hand on the back of your thigh, gently adjusting your knee higher, the position immediately spreading your folds more than you would have thought.
“Lift your hips for me, baby,” he breathes, voice low and strained.
You obey, pussy clenching around nothing when he whispers quiet praises as your ass perks up and your folds glisten for him again, slick oozing out from you. You get on your hands a little, just enough to lift yourself and look over your shoulder. Without much of a warning, he pushes his cock back deep inside you again, walls welcoming him with a dirty squelch, your breath catches, then escapes in a quiet gasp.
“There, just like that —” Riki moans, his v-line pressed tight against your ass.
Then he continues, retracting his hips only to slap back inside you. The new positions doing fucking wonders to you, stretching you a whole lot more, his dick fucking you so raw that you can’t help the screams you let out. He presses his hands against your waist, fingers ingrained to lift your ass up and pound into you right after, grip so tight it’s already bruising.
You fuck yourself against him too, slapping back against his hips, cock choking in your tight walls. His eyes are almost rolling back, if not for how obsessed he is watching your ass shake and tits bounce every sloppy stroke, his hand sliding under you to grope your mound. He fondles with it, pinching your nipple and loving the weight of it against his palm.
Sweat’s getting hot and the air’s smells too much of sex, he can feel it when his balls clench and how desperate he’s starting to get.
You look over your shoulder and he meets you halfway, leaning over to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. It’s full of saliva and it’s warm, messy in a way that tells how close you both are.
Then with so little strength (can’t compare to Riki Nishimura, really), your weight falls back to the pillow, face and chest pressed against the softness while your ass stays up. If not for his large hands keeping you up and still, you would’ve fallen over completely.
Your abdomen clenches and pressure builds in there, and he continues rutting into you while you become a puddle of sweat and moans. “R-right there — fuck, Riki — !”
“I-I’m gonna fucking cum, s-shit – I’ll blow a fucking load in you —” his hips drive into your pussy with a new kind of intensity, faster and deeper somehow, his tip hitting your cervix that has you throbbing around him.
“Cum all over me, baby, please —” he whines, face pressed against your shoulder.
You feel hot spurts of him fill you the same time your cunt clenches around him one final time, legs twitching while his hips come to a stutter. Cum settles in your hole, warm and full and sticky and practically seeping out of you. He collapses on top of you, unconsciously maybe, his heavier weight pressing over your body.
Your vision goes white for a bit, then it comes back, only for you to see hair all over your face, stuck with sweat and saliva. He’s still on top of you, but you can feel him carry himself a little, making sure not to crush you right after cumming in you.
Quiet beats stretch out the moment, and you don’t even notice his arm tucking underneath you to massage your tit, a tired laugh leaving your mouth when you do. When you both muster enough strength, he straightens just enough to lift himself off of you, while you manage to get on your hands. By the time you look over your shoulder, he’s already leaning in, his mouth finding yours again, a hand still fondling with your breast.
“Riki,” a small sheepish smile curves on your lips, all while he presses soft pecks against your mouth and jaw.
“Hm?” he hums, tired and spent, clearly having nothing else to do but to kiss you. His breaths are still shallow, eyelids heavy before shutting completely.
You giggle, putting your hand over his on your breast. “Get off me,” you say with a playful grin. “You’re so heavy!”
WIth a quiet groan, he listens. He slides out of you, unplugging you to let your fluids out. Then he lies down, and he hasn’t realized how strained his muscles are until he sinks into the softness of your bed. He relaxes inevitably, while you stay up just to admire him for a bit.
Riki Nishimura is never going to be insecure about his looks, but the way you stare at him with dilated pupils that match his, especially post-sex, he can’t help but grow a bit bashful.
He huffs out a laugh, one hand reaching out to squeeze your waist because you feel so far. "So do you have a no-cuddle policy, or," he murmurs.
You laugh before you can stop yourself because he's so stupidly funny for someone trying to sound serious. Instead of answering, you shake your head and lean more of your weight against one hand, the other resting against his chest as your fingers trace lazy, thoughtless shapes.
He watches you do it for a second, his expression going quiet in that way that makes your stomach turn. Then you glance up at him. "Can you roll one for me?"
He sighs so heavily it almost sounds personal. Before you can even react, his arm hooks around your waist and pulls you down against his chest, firm and immediate, like the idea alone offended him. Your hand lands against his abs to catch yourself, your cheek nearly brushing his shoulder as he keeps you there.
“Throw that shit away,” he says, voice low near your ear. “I swear to God.”
You blink, caught against him. “What?” His arm stays around you, warm and unmoving. “Why?”
Riki looks at you with half-lidded eyes, sleepy and a little strained, like even answering takes effort. “Because,” he murmurs, his grip softening at your waist, “after tonight, I think I found something better.”
Your jaw actually falls open. For one second, all you can do is stare at him, because there’s no way Riki Nishimura just said that to you while looking half-asleep and impossibly calm, like he didn’t just say something that made your entire stomach turn over and tighten all over again.
Then you smack his chest lightly. “Riki.”
He chuckles, low and tired, the sound vibrating against your palm. His arm stays around your waist, keeping you close even when you try to lean back enough to glare at him properly.
“What?” he murmurs, eyes barely opening more. “Use my dick instead, I won’t get mad.”
You smack his chest harder, earning a yelp from him. “Riki!”
He laughs under his breath, but before you can pull your hand back, his fingers wrap around your wrist. His eyes open a little more as he looks at you, still tired, still amused, and then he tugs you.
You land over him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips as his arm settles around your waist to steady you. For a second, neither of you moves. Your hand stays pressed to his chest, his heartbeat is faster than he's pretending. "Careful," he murmurs, like he wasn't the one who pulled you.
"You're so annoying," you whisper again, but it comes out softer this time, a quiet breath as you lean down to him. You're close enough now that your noses brush, close enough to feel his smile fade against your mouth.
Riki's gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes. Your fingers stay flat against the broad hardness of his chest while his hand stays warm at your waist, slowly smoothing over the curve of your ass.
“Ride me?” he whispers against your lips.
You sigh, rolling your eyes while your mouth curves to a grin, back straightening. You act like you think about it, only for your exposed cunt to start grinding against his cock — which, obviously, because he is a very simple man, erects again.
A simple man such as he, all he knows is that he is yours.
synopsis. heeseung loves omegas, but he doesn’t believe in mates—especially fated ones. that kind of destiny is reserved for people like riki and jay. but then he meets you. and the first thing you ask him to do is scent-mark you: an intimate activity shared only between mates. a spin-off from love me (k)not!
warnings. slightly suggestive, fated mates-coded, power imbalance, unjust system and society, harassment against omegas (not by heeseung), &team cameo but they're assholes here sorry! i love them though dw, mating mark, scent-marking, heeseung is a dominant alpha, and a bigger asshole i fear, reader is a cheerleader, alpha!jay being our target again (sorry), alpha!riki, alpha!sunghoon, beta!ahn yujin, omega!rei, sunoo is bi, heeseung is also bi, this omegaverse is partly made up by me! but it’s just a tiny portion of it just to keep the plot going, denial, rejection, angst, not beta read we die like injang, please let me know if i missed anything!
word count. 21,280 words
note. please read this before proceeding 🤎 everything here is purely fictional and it has nothing to do with the members as a person outside of this fanfiction 🤎 also idk how cheerleading works so pls bear with me...
In a private booth of a nightclub, a group of long-legged, broad-shouldered alphas huddle around the table, drinks in hands. The air is layered with pheromones and adrenaline, occasionally flashing with neon lights and blurred with thin smoke.
In the middle of the couch, Heeseung sits leisurely, manspreading with ease. On either side of him, Jay and Riki lean back in a similar posture, each of them engaged in the conversation bouncing between the team.
The team has just won a friendly match against their long-sworn rival, a university from the east, after a frustrating streak of loss for two consecutive tournaments. It wasn’t really a landslide win, considering their competitive skills, but a win is a win. A satisfied smirk curls around Heeseung’s bow-shaped lips, his alpha purring with pride.
Friendly or not, the whiskey surely tastes extra sweet tonight.
“Did you see K’s face just now?” Riki pipes up from his left, still buzzing with adrenaline. Being the last man to score and secure the win for them, it’s obviously hard for Riki to contain his enthusiasm. He’s beaming wide. “I did that. I wiped that smirk off his face, gentlemen!”
The rest of the team roars in reply, infected by Riki’s contagious excitement. Heeseung and Jay wear a fond smile on their lips, clearly delighted to see the younger alpha’s happiness. Glasses clink again as they toast to their win, and to their future wins, and to the sexy, beautiful cheerleading omegas that played a part in keeping their spirits up just now—to which Jay grimaces and Riki rolls his eyes at. Heeseung snorts.
He forgets that he’s friends with a prude and a loyal, claimed alpha.
“Speaking of omegas,” Heeseung tilts his head at Riki when the chatters break into small groups of conversations among the team, leaving him to talk to two of his closest friends. “It’s a surprise to see you here, Ki. Like seeing a four-leaf clover.”
Jay joins in, his signature lopsided grin on display. “I half-expected you to run home to your girlfriend. It’s hard to see you hang out with us at the club now, pup.”
Riki crosses his arms with a dramatic huff. His bottom lip juts out in a pout. In this light, when Riki shows this side of him, free from fake nonchalance and his cool persona, Heeseung sees him ten years younger than his actual age. Riki is so cute.
“I fully expected to run home to her too, hyung. But she forced me to come here. Said something like I should celebrate my win with y’all,” Riki sighs, messing with his newly-dyed hair and tipping his head back. “So here I am. Drinking with you idiots when I could’ve cuddled with my sweet, sweet omega at home.”
Jay feigns offence while Heeseung laughs. The both of them know too well of Riki’s devotion to his girlfriend. Maybe it’s the alpha-omega bond, or just the fact that they’ve known each other practically their whole lives, but Riki is never at ease whenever she’s not around.
But tonight, the alpha seems more relaxed than usual. He’s not playing with his fingers or toying with the hem of his shirt like he always did when his girlfriend is absent. Heeseung wonders why the sudden change until he catches a glimpse of something at the back of Riki’s neck.
His brows furrow. His movement falters mid-air.
“Riki? Is that…” Heeseung squints his eyes, trying to see better while the tips of Riki’s ears slowly redden. From his right, Heeseung can hear a soft gasp from Jay.
“Holy shit. Is that your mating mark, Ki?”
It is. It is a mating mark, Heeseung realises, when a purple neon light flashes on Riki’s wounded skin. The alpha is rubbing his neck sheepishly now, heat sweeping across his cheeks. Despite his sudden shy demeanour, Heeseung can smell the pride in his sandalwood scent, and in that moment he finally notices the subtle layer of sweet vanilla—Riki’s girlfriend’s scent—in Riki’s pheromones.
“Yeah,” Riki confirms, still red like a tomato. “I mated with her last night.”
“Wow,” Jay breathes out in amazement, eyes sparkling in the dim light. “About time, man! You’re finally mated!”
Jay’s exclamation attracts attention and soon, the whole group is congratulating Riki on the milestone. The said alpha is red down to his neck now, clearly not expecting the sudden shift of focus on him but still relishing in the pride of having his mating mark, if the musky lilt to his pheromones is anything to go by.
Heeseung remains a quiet observer, watching as Riki pulls down the collar of his shirt to proudly show the mark. Two other alphas join him as they speak fondly of their omegas, relishing in their identical mating mark on their napes. Beside him, Jay listens with an adoring smile. There’s a certain longing in his gaze when he stares at the mated alphas that doesn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung.
Heeseung averts his eyes away, trying to forget that familiar look on Jay’s face. He almost scoffs at the image.
He knows that look like the back of his hand.
Jay, too, yearns for a mate. Like Riki. Unlike Heeseung.
Mate. It’s the word that is so common in omegaverse but so foreign in Heeseung’s little world.
If Jay is a walking green flag that effortlessly attracts omegas with his gentleman charms, Heeseung is a running red flag that chases after willing omegas. If Jay stays away from wild sex life, Heeseung lives by it. If Jay dates to marry, Heeseung fucks to breathe. He’s everything Jay’s not that Riki was so bewildered when the two first met him.
Don’t get him wrong—he’s not the creepy kind of chaser. Rather, he likes to call himself the sexy one. It’s not hard for him to pull; just a few flirty comments here and a couple of filthy whispers there and the next hour he’ll have an omega to bring home and under him.
He doesn’t know if he’s the only one wired this way, but where territorial instincts stream in his alpha blood, his sexual desires run even harder and faster. It’s like an itch that just won’t get away if he doesn’t scratch at it. He’s an attractive alpha with a high sex drive, he admits it, but is he really wrong to accept any omegas with his long, eager arms?
He thinks not.
Plus, they’re omegas. Heeseung tries not to objectify them, but gosh, the scent wafting from them is always so sweet and inviting. They’re curved softly, meant to hold and love the right, physical way that he’s known how to. He’s a weak man, and an even weaker alpha; Heeseung can’t resist a good fuck between two consenting adults and he always, always consents to being sucked off dry and scratched to bleed.
Fuck, just thinking about it is already making him excited.
Heeseung’s eyes wander, tuning out the conversation about mate as he scans for any attractive omega. It’s starting to bore him—the talk about mate and having a mate and being mated—so he’s entertaining himself with the exposed skin and swaying hips of dancing omegas on the dance floor.
For someone like him that gets off on having sex with omegas and being drunk on their sweet pheromones, mating culture is a big no for him. The idea of being tied to only one omega makes him laugh; it sounds ridiculous to him. He’s an alpha capable of giving and his knot is not limited to only one hole, so why should he settle?
Only hopeless-romantic alphas believe in the belief of fated mates. And unfortunately, two of his friends do. Heeseung mentally rolls his eyes.
He decides that he’s had enough when the mated alphas start talking about having pups; another commitment that makes goosebumps rise in his skin. Wordlessly, he places his shot glass on the table, having sipped only half of it throughout the night.
“Leaving already?” Jay asks, craning his neck when Heeseung stands. The latter only cocks his head to the dance floor with a knowing look. The corner of his mouth curves into a playful smirk when Jay makes a face.
“The usual.”
Jay shakes his head. “Whatever. Just don’t do it raw.”
“I’m always clean and safe, Jongseong.” Heeseung retorts, already taking his leave. “Call me when you’re leaving.”
Whatever Jay replies is muffled by the loud bass and Heeseung couldn’t care less to know what the alpha has said. Probably throwing him insults for using him as his personal chauffeur again. Heeseung only shrugs. Jay’s not his concern tonight. He has a bigger fish, or rather, a pretty wolf, to catch.
His eyes sweep across the space. From where he’s standing, his nose can pick up different scents of alphas and omegas. Even the faint scent of betas are visible, usually amplified by alcohol and adrenaline. He’s still deciding between two male omegas throwing asses back on the dance floor and a group of female omegas giggling at a table not far from him when a spiked scent stabs at his senses.
His nose instantly scrunches, frowning as he tries to detect that smell. An omega in distress. It’s faint, coming from the direction of the exit door, but he can’t see anyone crying or visibly uncomfortable in his line of sight.
Heeseung looks around, momentarily distracted from his initial mission. Nobody seems to notice the scent, however, and Heeseung blames his dominant traits for this. He sometimes forgets that he’s a dominant alpha. Unlike Jay and Riki, his senses are more sensitive and developed, which is a blessing when he’s looking for a hookup and a curse when he’s inside the locker room after a game when the air is drenched in his teammates’ pheromones. Heeseung shudders at the memories. He’s always the first to shower and leave the room because only Riki smells good when sweating.
His thoughts are brought back when the scent intensifies. Heeseung keeps sniffing and blindly follows the trail of wilting daisies and burnt honey, his shoulders braced and jaw tense. He doesn’t know why, but the scent has awakened his senses to a new degree. His alpha is on full alert now.
He passes by dancing bodies and tables to get to the exit door but he’s stopped by a hand on his arm. Heeseung looks down.
A soft, seductive voice reaches his ears. “Heeseung-ssi?”
Heeseung blinks at the smiling omega. After a second of stunned silence, he finally recognises the logo on her varsity jacket and the makeup on her face. Realisation dawns upon him.
She’s part of his college’s cheerleader squad.
The omega is running a hand up and down his arm now, arching her back to flaunt the soft swell of her chest. Behind her, her fellow cheerleaders watch closely, hiding eager smiles behind their palms. Heeseung looks down at her hand, gulping despite himself.
“Spare me a few minutes, will you, my precious, capable alpha?”
Her voice is so enticing, dripping with the kind of allure Heeseung’s so much familiar with. There is a strong wave of her sweet scent—bubblegum and cotton candy, Heeseung notes—coming from her in full force. She’s fluttering her lashes now, hoping he’ll get the message.
Heeseung does; oh does he get the message so well. He knows what she’s hinting on and on any other nights he’ll succumb to the temptation without putting any efforts to think, melting into a puddle of juices at the slightest touch of seductive omegas. It’s a no-brainer decision for him, usually, because he’s always ready to fuck and he always brings a pack of condom with him for this sole reason.
But tonight his wolf is restless. And the reason is none other than the bitter scent still clinging to his nose.
Heeseung gives a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and removes her hand from his arm. The omega frowns, brows almost uniting at the center when the alpha takes a step back.
“Next time, yeah?”
Without waiting for her reply, Heeseung slips away from the crowd, ignoring the sour turn of her pheromones. He can feel their eyes boring into his back, but that’s not his concern now. Following the haunting scent and the sudden flaring instincts to get closer to the owner of it, Heeseung lets his legs bring him closer to the exit door.
Heeseung hates to admit it, but right now, his wolf is thrashing at the bitter scent and his chest feels like caving in. He can feel the itch in his nails; his claws are threatening to sharpen. He frowns.
He’s never reacted this way to any omegas in distress. So why now? Why this particular scent?
When he reaches the door, Heeseung doesn’t waste a second to push it open and steps outside. As he does so, a weight suddenly crashes into his chest, pushing him slightly backwards from the force.
“Oof—”
Heeseung reaches up to steady the figure by the arms. At this sudden proximity, the scent is thicker, the wilting daisies are more prominent it's making his heart constrict. Heeseung lets out a deep exhale and looks down to the person practically in his arms.
A female omega. Clearly in distress, judging by the unshed tears and the tremble in her lips. A familiar varsity jacket drapes across her frame and Heeseung feels his breath stop when he recognises that face.
It’s you. One of the cheerleaders. Heeseung knows many cheerleaders, having been in bed with most of them; but even the most forgetful alpha will remember an omega like you.
A sweet face with a sweeter scent to match, but you are always detached from alphas and their advances. You’re the shy cheerleader his teammates always talk about. The untouchable one. The politely-smile-and-then-reject omega. Heeseung remembers you too well, being one of those rejected alphas himself.
He still remembers how disappointed his wolf was, whining and pouting when a pretty omega he had his eyes on rejected him. But Heeseung is a respectful alpha. He’ll take a no as a no. And you were also so kind when doing so that he moved on from it pretty fast and well.
That was one year ago.
Now you’re crying in his arms, for whatever reasons he doesn’t know and is determined to find out. He can feel your hold on his arms tighten, the spike in your scent when you recognise him, and the hitch in your breath that follows. The bitter scent is definitely coming from you.
“H-Heeseung?” Your voice is so small, like you’re not sure if you can call his name. It’s shaky and breathless. “Please help me.”
Behind you, Heeseung can see three shadows entering the alleyway. Even from the distance, his nose immediately picks up the pheromones of aroused alphas; thick and unpleasant. Your scent lingers amidst the stench, wavering in fear, so heavy he can practically taste it on his tongue. Heeseung instinctively pulls you closer.
“Are they bothering you?”
You nod frantically, the tears now spilling freely down your cheeks. When you speak, your voice is wet from tears and fear.
Nothing can ever prepare Heeseung for the words that are about to leave your mouth.
“P-Please…Please scent me.” You sob, clutching the sleeves of his T-shirt tighter. Heeseung’s breath stutters. “Please, Heeseung.”
Scent-mark. A low rumble sounds from his chest.
You’re asking him to mark you. To…claim you. It’s basically you asking him to bond with you, to shower you with his pheromones and make you smell like him. Smell like you’re his.
This is not what Heeseung’s looking forward to tonight. The fantasy of saving an omega in distress and scent-marking belongs to Jay, an alpha that was even willing to help an omega in heat out of the goodness of his heart. But not Heeseung. That’s never Heeseung. Heeseung doesn’t play the hero; he’s the one stealing the female lead from them.
Scent-marking is way…too intimate to share between two complete strangers with no interaction—that is, if you consider being rejected to having sex together as zero interaction.
Heeseung looks between you and the shadows closing in, then licks his lips. “I can’t,” he tries, and the broken look on your face damn near makes his heart take the same fate. Heeseung schools his expression, forcing himself to push you slightly away from him.
“I—This is not right. You don’t want this.”
He can’t take advantage of you. This is just your scared omega speaking. Outside of this situation, he’s damn sure you’d refuse any kind of bonds with him. Heeseung might be a sex addict, but he’s not an asshole.
But you pull him with you, shaking your head as you keep taking a glance at the approaching alphas. “I do! Please,” you choke, failing to keep your voice steady as you plead at the alpha in front of you. Heeseung forces restraint to his instincts. “Please just scent-mark me, Heeseung. I-I can’t—They will—” You heave a deep breath, your scent taking a sourer lilt at his refusal.
“They won’t back down unless it’s another alpha.”
Something sharp stabs at his chest, rendering him speechless and frozen for a moment. Heeseung stares at your trembling figure, at your shrinking body as if to make yourself disappear, and it suddenly hits him how disgusting the whole situation is.
They won’t back down unless it’s another alpha.
Alphas only take a no when it comes from another alpha.
Heeseung feels nauseous. His throat closes in and there’s a quiet ringing in his ears. In that heavy, stilled silence, everything is muffled to his senses. Only the echoes of your words ripple in his mind.
Unless it’s another alpha.
It’s a hard pill to swallow; one that Heeseung finds it bitter to believe—because it’s so, so easy to walk away from omegas than force yourself on them. It’s so, so easy to shoot your pride down than dwell on it and go feral over a rejection. It’s so, so easy to respect an omega, even for a fuckboy like him, so why is it hard for other alphas to do so?
And the result of this harsh world, of this fucked up power imbalance is sobbing in his arms, shaking and forcing herself to be okay with an unwanted bond just to save herself. Heeseung’s heart breaks for you, for the fate that follows a beautiful being like you just because of secondary genders and because the world says so.
“Please, I-I don’t—”
“Shh, it’s okay,” Heeseung whispers, rubbing a soothing circle on your arms. Your crying subsides a fraction. “I’ll scent you if that makes you feel better. Is that…okay?”
You blink at him tearily, streaks of salty tears tainting your unblemished cheeks. Even with a swollen face, you still look as pretty as he remembers.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he nods, taking a hold of your wrist when he senses those alphas getting near. “Or we can just get inside and call the cops on them if you change your mind. You can find—”
“No,” you grip him tighter, your previously-calmed scent spiking again. “Cops are useless. T-They won’t—please, Heeseung. You know how they are.”
You know how unfair the system is.
Heeseung swallows hard before he nods, the burnt honey in your pheromones starting to get really thick and sticky. He rubs the inside of your wrists, slow and deliberate, before bringing the scent gland to his nose. It’s the most appropriate point to scent, less intimate than scenting at your neck, which he guesses the last thing you want from him right now.
The tip of his nose caresses the delicate skin tentatively, testing and tasting before he takes a deep inhale. Immediately, the scent of daisies and honey fill up his senses and Heeseung’s eyes flutter shut at the feeling. There is a rush of energy bursting through his veins, his senses tingling and his wolf purring at the sweet combination of your pheromones. Heeseung feels his wolf hum, almost singing and sighing, like his muscles are unknotting in a hot spring.
It’s strange. It’s new. But Heeseung pushes the thoughts aside.
He runs his nose over your wrist over and over again, blanketing you in his pheromones and starting to feel you relax in his arms.
The tension in your shoulders visibly disappears as you let yourself melt into Heeseung. You sigh. Heeseung’s pheromones are just like him; warm spice of cinnamon carried by cool air of sea breeze. It symbolises his fierce persona on the court and his calm demeanour when he’s out of his jersey perfectly. You lean into him further, your squirming wolf unknowingly calms down when being washed by his pheromones.
If Heeseung notices the change in your demeanour, he doesn’t say anything about it, shoving the thought to the back of his mind. His singular focus is entirely on your pulse, nosing at your wrist and pumping out his calming pheromones. When he opens his eyes, they mirror the look in yours: dazed and slightly glassy. The air is now loaded with daisies and cinnamon, intertwining with each other in a perfect, balanced mix of scent.
Heeseung tries to ignore the loud pounding of his heart, but it’s all he can hear. He tries to ignore the stars in your eyes, but it’s all he can see. He tries to ignore how perfectly balanced the mix of your scent is with his. His grip on your wrist tightens, breath caught in his throat. His wolf refuses to let you go, wanting to keep you here, tucked safely in his embrace for as long as he can.
And that thought is so foreign and scary. He really hopes that’s just his wolf and not him.
“Hey, little bunny.” A sick, twisted voice interrupts.
Oh, right.
Those fucking, disgusting alphas.
Heeseung is always slouching, making him appear shorter than he actually is. But in that moment, he’s standing so tall, dominating the space around him like the air is making room for him itself.
He instinctively pulls you behind him, shielding you from the hungry eyes of the approaching alphas. His shoulders are braced like they’re ready for an impact and Heeseung has to force a snarl down his throat when his eyes land on the wolves.
When the shadows step under the light, it takes less than a second for Heeseung to see the jerseys clinging to their bodies before he realises who he’s looking at.
They’re the players from the opposing team that his team just beat tonight.
K, EJ, and Nicholas.
Heeseung grinds his jaw so hard he might pop a vessel.
“If it’s not the mighty Lee Heeseung,” K taunts, wearing a smug smirk like a badge at the sight in front of him. He cocks his head, trying to see you over Heeseung’s shoulders. You cower. “Mind sharing your pretty little cheerleader? She’s exactly my type, shy but slutty.”
Shame spreads across your skin and you screw your eyes shut. Shy and slutty, you bite your lips. You’re nothing but a kinky fantasy for alphas like them.
As if sensing your turmoil, Heeseung stands taller, his eyes narrowing thin.
“Get lost.” Heeseung tries to hold back, but the rage he feels seeps through anyway. “And cover your gland, for fuck’s sake. You stink.”
K’s eyebrows shoot up, his grin turning cheshire. “Come on, man. Are you gatekeeping your cheerleaders?” K tries to take a peek at you, but Heeseung moves and covers you with his whole body. His frown deepens. “You had fucked her already. Don’t be greedy, captain.”
His alpha minions laugh, and Heeseung is now seeing red. Something hot spreads in his chest, burning in his vein like wildfire at the insult. Was it a hit to his ego and his shameless sexual routine? Definitely, but Heeseung never takes it to heart. Rather, it’s the way you gasp and sob into his back, shaken by the disgusting assumption of your dignity and your virginity. The storm of the ocean spikes in the air, taking his pheromones to a dangerous peak, gathering a tide to a new height.
Heeseung doesn’t think he’s ever released pheromones this bad. But something about seeing the same pattern of omegas falling victim to empty-headed alphas makes his blood boil.
Behind him, you whimper, your omega reacting to the agitated alpha in front of you. But Heeseung is now relentless. He holds out an arm around your waist, protecting you from their sight in a tight, almost-possessive grip.
“Watch your fucking mouth. Don’t you get it?” Heeseung seethes, pupils thinning as the laughter dies down. “She doesn’t want you. In what fucking language must she say no for your stupid brain to understand? She’s—”
Mine. She’s mine, his wolf howls. My omega.
Heeseung grits his teeth.
No, she’s not. Get a fucking grip, Lee Heeseung. You don’t have a mate.
“...not a toy.”
The sea-salt bite of his pheromones thickens in the alley. K scoffs, stepping forward in offense but is stopped by Nicholas. The latter has his arm shot out against K’s chest, preventing him from approaching the couple.
“No, K,” Nicholas murmurs, nose sniffing at the heavy pheromones in the air. Underneath the eye-watering spice of cinnamon and the raging storm of Heeseung’ sea breeze scent, there is a tangled sweetness of daisies and honey clinging to it. He visibly gulps. “They’re together. And Heeseung…”
Nicholas throws him a side eye, giving him a once-over briefly. He takes in the sharp glare directed his way, the downturned curl of his mouth, the tense shoulders ready to pounce. Nicholas shudders imperceptibly and shakes his head.
“…He’s a dominant alpha.”
His statement, though meant to deescalate the situation, only rages Heeseung on further. The alpha takes a menacing step forward, eyes narrowing thin at the trio. They falter back.
“Get this in your empty brains you freaks,” Heeseung grits, fuming beyond reason. Nicholas swears he sees something red flickering in his irises.
“When someone says no, you back the fuck off. Dominant alpha or not. Omega or not.” He spits out the word, the venom in his voice nearly poisons the air. “Do you fucking get it?”
His raging pheromones are turning physical, pressing on each pair of lungs like lead on a mattress. Nicholas fights the urge to cover his nose and pulls his two friends backwards with him.
“We get it. Sorry, captain.”
“Not me,” Heeseung hisses. A low growl rumbles in warning. “Her.”
Nicholas licks his lips and nods. He bows down quickly, forcing the other alphas to bend despite it hurting his pride. K reluctantly follows, though his eyes return the glare Heeseung gives him in a similar intensity.
“We’re sorry, omega. Shit, I don’t know your name, but—we’re sorry.”
In the next moment, the three alphas are already retreating. Nicholas aggressively whispers something among them while K visibly restrains himself from running back to Heeseung. He clearly doesn’t mind taking up a challenge with the dominant alpha and Heeseung finds himself not minding to dirty his hands too.
A beat of heavy silence falls upon you. You stay rooted in place, pulse racing in your ears. Heeseung is still facing away from you, ragged breathing slowing down. The air of dense pheromones is thinning out, leaving behind trails of spicy cinnamon and soft daisies.
You let out a breath and your knees buckle.
Heeseung is by your side in a flash, the same, now-familiar arms caging you against his tall frame. You put your hands on his chest, trying to steady the wobble in your legs.
“Hey, hey. You’re okay now. They’re gone.”
They really are. You cry. They’re actually gone.
An ugly sob racks through your chest and soon, the wilting daisies are back, staining the air with crumpled petals and sad flowers. Heeseung tightens his hold. He doesn’t like seeing people cry, but his alpha apparently despises it the most when he sees you in this state.
His calming pheromones pour out in waves, hands carding through your hair gently. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”
You’re safe with me.
Your crying slows down. For a few seconds, you let yourself savour the warmth of Heeseung’s embrace. Closer, his pheromones, layered with a faint trail of his body wash, are stronger, filling up the almost-nonexistent space between the two of you. Strangely, the spice and the salt work wonders on calming you down.
Your wolf—previously anxious and distressed—is now quiet.
Heeseung adjusts his hold on you, and in that moment do you only realise in horror how long you’ve been shamelessly hugging him. Like a reflex, you pull away from his embrace, cheeks now flaming red when his shirt is now stained with two big spots of your tears.
“I’m sorry!” Your palms instinctively rub at the stains, as if they can dry out the tears out of the fabric. “I’ll buy you a new shirt.”
Heeseung looks down, silently watching the small of your palms against his broad chest. There’s a strange flutter that follows, quiet and unfamiliar. He hopes that you can’t feel it through the fabric.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” Heeseung murmurs, eyes finding their ways back to your face. Red nose, swollen eyes, blotched cheeks. You really went through it, still sniffling as you still try to fix the stains on his shirt. A small part of him twists uncomfortably.
Heeseung catches your wrists, his thumbs moving almost instinctively against the soft skin.Your breath catches as you lift your gaze to look at him.
“Are you okay?” Heeseung asks, voice soft and gentle. You immediately nod, admittedly feeling better after being bathed in his calming pheromones.
“I’m okay. Just a bit thirsty.”
He searches your face, as if trying to detect any kind of discomfort or distress. But in the end, he ends up staring into your eyes, counting the lashes that guard your beautiful eyes.
It should end there. He really should just escort you back into the safety of your friend group and leave you be. Perhaps, he can go find the previous omega, seduce his way back and bring her home. The normal. The usual.
But something inside stirs in protest to that idea, and so instead he finds himself saying: “Let’s get you something to drink.”
The convenience store is bright under the dark sky, located just two blocks away from the nightclub. It’s already past one in the morning, but to the people of the night, it’s only the beginning of fun. From a distance, the queue line is only getting longer.
Beside you, Heeseung is walking on the edge of the pavement, looking out for cars despite the slow traffic. He’s been quiet since the alleyway, seemingly lost in thought. Occasionally, his hand will brush yours, a quiet graze that sends electricity in your system. You try not to react.
The convenience store is empty, save for a group of partygoers sobering up around the round table outside, leaving only a long bench beside the door empty. You stop when Heeseung does, his hand already tapping on the sensory handle.
“Wait here. I’ll buy you something to drink.”
You nod, obediently sitting down. Heeseung takes one last look at you before he enters the store, the harsh lights greeting his tired eyes. He grabs the coldest mineral water and stops in front of the necessities shelves.
Without thinking, his hand moves like it has a mind of its own, grabbing whatever his eyes land on—a heat pack, chocolate, a pack of wet tissues. It’s only when the cashier scans the items that he pauses, staring at the items with wide eyes.
Since when does he…do this?
“Anything to add, sir?”
Heeseung gulps, looks past the cashier’s head, and lands on the rows of pills behind him.
She cried too much, she might have a headache.
And so, as if on instinct, Heeseung adds paracetamol to his receipt.
Outside, the air is cooler, biting at exposed skin like a bug. Heeseung wordlessly sits beside you, placing the plastic bag on his lap. You curiously peek into the bag.
“That’s a lot. Are you hungry?”
Heeseung pauses, realisation dawns upon him. His instincts flare again. “No. Are you? Do you want ramyeon? Or packed rice? I can—”
“No! It’s fine, Heeseung,” you laugh softly, the sound like a melodious chime of a bell to his ears. “I had dinner.”
Heeseung visibly relaxes and nods. He hands you the bottle first, twisting the cap open before passing it over without a word. He watches you drink, takes the bottle from you, and gives you the heat pack next.
You blink at him. “It’s cold,” Heeseung shrugs, pulling your hand towards him and placing the heat pack on your palm. He closes your fingers over it. “This will warm you up a bit.”
For a second, you just stare at him. The warmth in your hand spreads from your fingers up to your chest, where your heart is thumping wildly at his gentle act.
You bring the heat pack to your neck, a gentle smile gracing your lips as you stare at him, cheeks blooming red. They put him in a trance, your eyes, as Heeseung finds himself unable to look away. His gaze then drops to your lips when they move, already clinging to every syllable without even knowing it.
“Thank you, Heeseung.”
The flutter comes back, now more frantic and aggressive than before, like a caged bird trying to escape. This time, Heeseung forces himself to look away, the plastic bag wrinkles under his tightening grip.
“Don’t mention it.”
“I mean it, though.” You counter back, gazing at the passing cars as you feel a gust of chilling wind breezing through. You scoot closer to the heat beside you. “It was really scary. Thank you for helping me out.”
There’s a bitter tone, faint and subtle, to your scent, as if you’re recalling the ugly incident that just happened almost half an hour ago. Heeseung clenches his jaw.
Before he can stop it, his pheromones spill out like soft waves, calming and comforting, cocooning you again like a safety blanket. His wolf hums in quiet satisfaction, watching the way your shoulders loosen, the tension melting off you bit by bit.
Heeseung doesn’t know when or how it happened, but there’s no gap between you now. But he doesn’t hate it like he thought he would. Here, you’re so close to him, your shoulder practically glued to his, seeking warmth from his body heat.
It’s a foreign feeling. A comfortable, foreign feeling.
You stay in that position, slowly getting drunk on his pheromones. Your eyes droop, fighting sleep, but the exhaustion from running away from scary alphas has finally caught up to you. Before you know it, your head dips against his shoulder, breath evening out as your fingers lose their grip on the heat pack.
Heeseung swallows. He doesn’t dare move. From the proximity, he can smell your fruity hair wash, blending smoothly with your scent.
It’s so unfair. Every inch of you smells really good, whether it’s your natural scent or the products that you use. It’s like every inch of your skin decides that you only deserve to smell the best, and Heeseung himself can’t help but agree too. It’s so unfair.
Heeseung finds his hands hover awkwardly in the air, hesitating for a second before settling carefully on your head. His fingers thread through your hair, slower this time.
“Don’t feel scared anymore,” he mumbles, gently caressing the dark strands of your hair.
It’s me who should feel scared.
His fingers freeze in your hair.
Scared. He is scared.
This is not him. If Riki or Jay were to walk in to see him in this state, they’d drag him to the nearest police station and demand they find the real Heeseung. The normal Heeseung. The usual Heeseung.
The Heeseung that doesn’t stay, or spend his time watching people breathe in their sleep. The Heeseung who’s out the door before the sheets even cool down. The Heeseung that dislikes small touches like these; like caressing the hair of the girl he just saved, because the only physical touch he brands himself with is sex.
Not this. Not whatever this is.
He wants to move, but his body doesn’t listen—he stays despite himself. His wolf, like it’s found something it’s been looking for all along, settles deeper instead, quiet and satisfied. You nuzzle closer into his body and Heeseung feels his chest tighten.
Something uneasy creeps up his spine.
This should feel suffocating. It should itch under his skin, make him want to pull away, shake you off, leave.
But it doesn’t. It feels easy. Too easy, in fact.
And it scares the shit out of him.
When your senses return to you, the first thing that greets you is someone’s scent.
Warm, spicy cinnamon and calm, salty sea air.
The memory follows not long after; of angry frowns and disgusting smirks that make your skin crawl. Amidst it all, a familiar face flashes in your mind and you feel your heart stutter.
Heeseung.
The pulse in your wrist thuds violently, as if not letting you forget the owner of the pheromones now wrapped around you like a soft blanket. You faintly remember, in your subconscious, being carried to a car and your roommate, Yujin, hugging you in panic. Unconsciously, you pull your blanket closer to your chest.
Did Heeseung send you home? Did he really…scent-mark you to help you?
You bite your lips between your teeth. The clarity is palpable now that the haziness of pheromones and distress are no longer around. There’s no way an alpha—a dominant one, at that—is willing to scent-mark an omega he has no connections to. The implications are more than the action itself. Heeseung surely knows about that, right?
It feels like a dream. It has to be a dream.
What a capable alpha, your wolf preens. Shut up, you hiss.
Then, as if the universe was insistent to prove you wrong, your eyes land on a plastic bag placed neatly on top of your vanity, a damning evidence of last night’s incident.
No way.
Your brain swirls with possibilities and your own made-up theories that it has started to throb faintly. Before you could lose your sanity, thread by unraveling thread, you rush to the bathroom to, hopefully, get rid of his scent, even when your omega begs you not to.
Unfortunately for the human-you, the cinnamon trails after you even post-showers. It clings to your clothes when you change and it doesn’t let you go even as you sit for breakfast prepared by your doting roommate. It’s strange, really. No one’s scent ever clung to you so stubbornly like this, like a chewing gum latching on shoe soles. You always cuddle with Yujin and even her green tea pheromones never stay with you after washing up.
“It’s a bit odd, yes,” Yujin munches through a mouthful of her own signature pancake. “But it’s not totally out-of-this-world. His scent will fade by this evening, I promise.”
You chew painfully slowly, eyes going wide at another possibility. “You don’t think that I conjured some kind of bond with him, right?”
It’s common knowledge that a thin, fragile bond can be easily formed when an alpha and an omega scent each other, mated or not. After all, context and intention are greatly considered, whether it’s meant for familiarity, protection, or possessiveness—each one will determine how long it’ll last.
You pull at the sleeves of your cardigan, a telltale sign of your anxiousness. The same wilting daisies accent of your scent from the night before comes back, signalling your impending distress. Yujin drops her fork and reaches a hand to yours.
“Hey, hey. Calm down for a sec, Y/N.”
“It’s just,” you swallow harshly, your traitorous mind replaying the scene from last night. Your heart thumps at the base of your throat. “I don’t know—fuck. I forced him to do this. And—and despite the circumstances, he still helped me and now…now I think…”
Your eyes turn glassy, reminded of the wolf residing deep inside you.
“I think my omega might like him.”
Yujin is silent for a moment, assessing the right words to say. It’s obvious to everyone on campus of the nature of Lee Heeseung. He’s not exactly the alpha you’d seek for companionship or commitment; he seems to be allergic to those things.
And to get your wolf to like him…well, let’s say that you’re already set for thousand-words of angst and a life of yearning. Yujin isn’t exactly fond of the idea of dishing out what you already knew. You already seem restless enough with your own thoughts.
“Okay. That’s valid.” Yujin starts slowly, treading through every syllable like a mother to her kindergartener son. “He’s super attractive. It’s understandable. But you can, you know—unlike him.”
You perk up at that, though the doubt clouding your face is more prominent now. “How?”
“Find a better alpha,” Yujin shrugs, as if explaining the world’s simplest equation. “For the record, I do think Heeseung’s a good guy, just not in the romantic department. I don’t know why your wolf is picking a fuckboy out of all alphas, but taste is subjective.”
“It’s because he stepped up and protected me!” You deflect and pause, realising how defensive of him you have become. Yujin raises a brow and you sigh, defeated, slumping in your seat.
“Fuck. Now my omega hates you for badmouthing him.”
“Sucks to be you.”
“Just kill me.”
Yujin shoots you a small smile, pushing your now-cold plate closer to you. You reluctantly take a bite. “Why not someone else, though? You could ask literally any other alpha, like—” Yujin pauses and it takes her less than a second to pick a name. “Jay. Like Jay. He’s like, the safest option, the greenest flag. But why Heeseung? And don’t tell me it’s because he was the only one there—you could’ve just barged in and found someone else. It’s a freaking nightclub.”
You freeze, unmoving for a slow second. There is, of course, an answer to that. One that you admittedly avoid to admit, because admitting it will admit that there is something underneath that only you know, and you admit that it’s scary to admit that. Fuck this admission! Yujin wouldn’t make fun of you, right?
“I…” You trail off, second-guessing your decision. Should you really tell your roommate? Seeing the eager look on her face, with her sweet, cute dimples showing up, you decide that people with dimples should be banned from this world. Promptly, you’re reminded of your junior—an alpha with Jungwon or something as his name. The both of them possessed dimples that could make any alpha (or omega) drop down to their knees.
Alas, you force yourself to tell the truth.
“I smelled him for afar.” You watch carefully for Yujin’s reaction. “Like, from outside. While I was running from those scary alphas.”
Yujin contemplates. “Did you feel some kind of a pull towards him?”
You don’t even contemplate. “Yes.”
“Holy shit,” Yujin laughs, her grin turning giddy. “This shit is actually real?!”
“What is?!” You frown, not liking being kept in the dark. A playful punch lands on Yujin’s shoulder, who’s now throwing her head back in laughter. Unconsciously, a pout is formed on your lips.
“What is it? Tell me!”
“It’s just, there’s this joke going around,” Yujin hiccups between every inhale, “that an omega will eventually crave for his knot. I can’t believe it’s happening to you!”
The lines in your forehead deepen. You regard your roommate with a look of contempt, thinking of the best spot to hide a body.
“That’s not true. I don’t crave his knot, or whatever it is.” You sigh, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. “You know what? I’m just gonna pretend last night didn’t happen.”
Resigned and defeated, you rise and bring your plate to the sink. Your class doesn’t start until the next three hours, and then the evening is reserved for your new routine practice for the upcoming tournament. The ninety-two unread messages from the group chat are still left unopened; you haven’t had time to review the routine video yet.
You put on your apron and reach for the cabinet. When in distress or deep thoughts, other than nesting in your bedroom, you often opt to stress-bake instead. The scent of baked goods always puts you at ease, and it blends sweetly with your daisies and honey pheromones. Everyone who knows you knows to empty their stomach and be ready for a mass sweet-feeding whenever you’re in your stressed baker mode.
Behind you, Yujin’s laughter dies in her throat. Then, a question that stops you in your tracks comes.
“Hey, you don’t think it’s because you and Heeseung are fated mates, right?”
Fated mates. The words settle like a heavy blanket, pressing you down with its weight and keeping you warm altogether.
It’s sacred. It’s ancient. It’s something that you never speak of lightly, afraid that a slip of a tongue would taint the purity of such a bond. Against all odds and critiques on the concept of fated mates, you’re part of the minority who believed in it, no matter how foolish or ridiculous it may sound.
You believe in fated mates. You believe in the name written in the stars, in the love that has been shaped and created just to cherish you. You believe in spending the rest of your life looking for a face that your heart would recognise in a heartbeat, feeling that inevitable pull like you’re each other’s missing half.
But after last night, do you think it’s because you and Heeseung are fated mates?
Heeseung, who’s always made it clear to everyone about his relationship with commitments?
Heeseung, who never shies away when the boys tease him about the girls he sleeps with?
You’re never one to judge someone’s sex life, but you might be a little too concerned about how they view a long-term, committed relationship. Because that’s what you’ve been looking for.
An alpha who’s not afraid to love you loudly. An alpha whose instincts are to love and protect you.
Sometimes, you really envy mated couples. You envy how loyal Riki is of his girlfriend, craving the same kind of devotion to be directed to you. You envy how proud Taesan is to show off his mating mark, like it’s a badge of honour and love that promises forever.
Eventually, your mind drifts to Heeseung. The captain of the basketball team. Someone who deceives people with how approachable he seems, but is actually the most detached.
Heeseung is a perfect and capable alpha. You’ve seen it.
He leads his team with the kind of leadership that becomes a glue, keeping the team together no matter what challenges they’re going through. You know that he’s from the music department, and there are a few songs with his name being credited as the producer, composer, lyricist—you name it. Heeseung is a dominant alpha and uses his authority well, and he knows how to fend for himself.
You admire him, you really do.
But will he devote himself to you? Will he look only for you in a crowd of beautiful omegas, and beautiful omegas who have spent the night with him? Does he share the same sentiment as you when it comes to fated mates?
The churn in your stomach provides an answer clearer than any of your exams had ever done.
You let Yujin’s question fade in the background, letting yourself lose in your element—baking and baking and baking until it feels like you could feed a whole team of athletes. Which is what Yujin has suggested before she leaves for her lab session, after saving a big jar of cookies for herself.
Fated mates.
What a scary thought.
For the first time in his life, Heeseung is actively avoiding omegas.
It’s not any omegas, though. It’s only you. But since it’s you, it’s actually a pretty big deal to him.
Heeseung doesn’t play favourites. He doesn’t believe in fated mates, remember? But last night left a lasting impact in the form of your scent still clinging to him this morning, even after showering. Not to mention how excited his wolf has been when realising that it’s you.
It’s you, for fuck’s sake! The one who rejected him one year ago, and, admittedly, one of the prettiest omegas on campus. You might as well be every alpha’s ideal type. Well, maybe not Riki, that man is proudly claimed and fiercely loyal to his mate. But it’s definitely the case for him and Jay.
Knowing his best friend, Heeseung’s sure you’re just Jay’s type. And his. No. He didn’t say that. He doesn’t have a type, remember?
As if to make it worse, you also have a scent that might just be his favourite one yet. The same scent that is currently invading his senses, dampening other pheromones in the court despite being on opposite ends from you. The same scent that his wolf decides to pick up and single out the moment he steps foot in the campus, recognising you before his eyes can even see you first. The same scent that still lingers in his lungs, mingling with his cinnamon and sea breeze notes like dancing partners.
Yeah, Heeseung is starting to think that he’s slowly going insane.
“Dude, stop staring. You’re scaring them.”
Heeseung blinks, Jay’s voice successfully snapping him out of whatever omega-spell that you have casted on him. Yeap, he nods. It’s definitely that. You’re actually a witch. There’s no other explanation to this other than that.
A blob of freshly-dyed blonde hair pops up beside Jay. “Hyung showed up smelling like daisies and honey and suddenly he’s staring at the cheerleaders like they owe him money.” Riki teases, then grins when he realises something. “Wait, that kinda rhymes—”
“I’m not staring!” Heeseung almost shouts, belatedly realising that he, indeed, has been staring at the group of cheerleaders stretching across the court. Or, to be more precise, he’s been staring at you. He glares at Riki.
“Okay. So why do you smell like one of them then? What’s her name again, Jay hyung?”
Heeseung grumbles. “It’s no one—”
“Y/N.”
“Yes, that one. The shy one.”
Heeseung groans. He kicks Riki’s shins and makes a show of turning his back facing the cheerleaders. But for some reasons he refuses to admit, as if he has eyes on the back of his head, he still can point where you’re standing just from his senses alone.
These stupid, useless alpha senses.
At least Jay takes pity on him. “Your Heeseung hyung saved her from perverts last night. He scented her to calm her down because she was reacting pretty badly.”
Heeseung mentally thanks Jay and continues warming up. He opts to just watch his teammates dribble and stretch just like him. The faint hum of scent neutraliser—a new, advanced one, thanks to that incident with Riki’s girlfriend—rumbles slowly. Somewhere behind him, he can hear you laugh and taste the sweet spike in your scent on his tongue. Heeseung grits his teeth.
What is wrong with his wolf? Please get your tail together.
Riki, on the other hand, is intrigued. “Really? Did it happen after I left? Who were those alphas?”
“Some idiots from that team we beat last night.”
Riki frowns, clearly displeased with the news he just heard. “Well, I’ll keep my eyes on them. How did Heeseung hyung find her?”
Jay shrugs and shoots him a look. Heeseung really hopes he can slap that annoying smirk off his face one day. “Dunno. Ask him. His alpha probably recognised her from miles away.”
Heeseung doesn’t like what that sentence implies. “Shut up. It’s just instinct. Normal alpha-omega reaction.”
“Keep lying to yourself. I can practically see your tail wagging when you smelled your pheromones on her just now.”
“I didn’t—” Heeseung closes his eyes, forcing himself to calm down despite the sudden flare of defensiveness exploding in his chest. He doesn’t know why he’s so reactive and not in his usual calm composure, but he’s pretty sure it has something to do with you. Jay and Riki snicker.
“The only people that believe in fated mates are you two idiots. Do you know that?”
“Yeah, I know,” Riki snorts and looks at him, amused. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean I have a fated mate. That shit is rare. It’s like finding my size in Calvin Klein.”
Jay frowns. “I don’t see the correlation.”
“There is. My dick is just too big, hyung. There’s no size for me—”
“I don’t need to know that!” Jay slaps at Riki’s shoulders while the younger alpha only lets out a full-body laugh. “Save that information for your girlfriend, Riki. I didn’t raise you like this.”
“She already knows that.”
“Nishimura Riki!”
Heeseung is back to zoning out, his energy is suddenly drained out of his soul. That’s usually the case when you have to deal with a Nishimura Riki and a Park Jongseong on a daily basis. His mind, choosing to move at the pace of a snail today, is replaying Riki’s words back like a broken loop.
The realisation hits him five seconds late. “Wait. Did you mean that you and your girlfriend are not…fated mates? I thought you were!”
Riki is trapping Jay in a headlock when he answers. “Nope. We only imprinted on each other from early on because we’re childhood friends.”
“So like…what’s the difference?” Heeseung pauses and hesitates for a moment. He glances at you and then thinks, fuck it. If curiosity didn’t kill the cat then it’ll definitely kill him. “Can you smell your girlfriend in a sea of people?”
Riki scrunches his nose, his hands busy play-fighting with Jay. Heeseung ignores them like it’s a daily occurrence to see them act this way. Which is probably not far from the truth. “Not really? If they’re too many people, like right now, with your stench and too many omega scents—it’s difficult to find her.” Jay tackles his side and Riki yelps. “B-But it’s getting better after the mating bite, though—Jay hyung! I just got my tattoo there!”
“So…you can’t like…” Heeseung licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry. He has a feeling that he’s not going to like the answer Riki’s going to give him once he finishes his sentence. Jay is now on the floor while Riki is pulling him by the legs and dragging him around like a used rug.
“You can’t single her out from her scent alone?”
There. He said it. His two idiotic friends will catch on it and grill him for the problem he partially caused. The other part is, no doubt, his wolf’s fault for deciding to like one single scent. You’re not at fault at all. Never. Wait, who said that?
Riki is breathless from the laughter and play-fight, but he still manages to listen and answer, thanks to his alpha senses. If he finds Heeseung’s questions strange, he only shares his suspicion through a knowing look with Jay.
“Sometimes. Like I said, it’s only when the crowd isn’t too big and when she’s in the same room as me.” Riki finally spares Heeseung a glance, tilting his head in a feigned curiosity. “Why are you asking, hyung? Did you smell Y/N from miles away or something?”
How the fuck did that idiot know?
Heeseung looks away from the teasing grin thrown his way. He really doesn’t like this. “No,” he grumbles. “I’m just afraid if I might be Jay’s fated mate because his pheromones are fucking everywhere.”
“Hey! What the fuck did I do to you?!”
Riki bursts out laughing and high-fives Heeseung with a cheeky smile. On the floor, Jay is already huffing and sulking, mumbling something about ‘always catching strays’ and ‘citrusy pheromones aren’t smelly’. Heeseung sighs quietly when the topic takes a turn into a debate about who has the best smelling pheromones, which is an easy win for Riki, if Heeseung’s going to be honest.
Don’t tell Jay though. Heeseung doesn’t want to lose his passenger princess privilege so soon.
Much to his relief, it’s already time for practice. Heeseung tries to ignore the prickle in his neck coming from your direction as you and your fellow cheerleaders leave the gym to go to your own practice room. He fights the urge to look back, to stride forward and ask you to stay—which is insane, by the way, what the fuck is wrong with him?
Before he slips into his captain mode, however, Jay approaches him with a more serious look on his face. “Calm your flat tits, Hee. It’s normal for her scent to linger; you kinda scented her aggressively to protect her last night.”
Heeseung weakly nods. Jay pats his shoulder. “A deep bond can’t be conjured just from scenting alone, unless you’re fated mates.”
This time, Heeseung doesn’t move, his tension visible in the rigid lines of his posture, the frantic movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.
“Yeah,” he croaks, his pulse louder than his own voice. “Hope not.”
Practice goes on for the next two hours. Heeseung eventually falls into routine, finding himself lost in adrenaline and competitiveness. The thoughts of you cease for a moment, replaced by his quick-thinking strategy and sharp reflexes. He keeps dribbling, scoring, and making passes, not even aware of the ticking clock or when the cheerleader squad comes back in to take a break.
The last whistle finally blows before the players dramatically fall in a heap of sweaty, breathless alphas. The practice was particularly grueling, which made his body ache and his shirt clung to his skin. The coach is on fire today, all because his wife has been giving him a silent treatment. Apparently, he forgot to buy diapers on his way home last night.
Source: Nishimura Nosy.
“I think I might die,” Jay huffs, claiming a bench all to himself. His chest rises and falls in a rapid motion. “But even as a ghost, I bet the coach would still unearth my grave to force me to practice.”
“I’ll be Ghost Number Two.” Heeseung deadpans, lying down on the bench next to Jay. The latter continues to talk about something else, which Heeseung would know and remember if he didn’t get distracted by daisies and honey.
Fuck. You’re in the court again.
The urge to corner you, to grab your wrist and ask if you were okay, crawls under his skin again—restless, unrelenting.
Heeseung isn’t stupid. He knows last night, ugly as it was, doesn’t just fade by morning. His alpha has been clawing at him since then, sharp and impatient, demanding he go to you.
But Heeseung doesn’t move.
For once, he’s a coward.
He shoves it down, buries it deep, treating his own wolf like a disease he refuses to catch.
Heeseung blinks at the ceiling in an active effort to not start looking for you and staring at you like a creep. This time, he wonders quietly why your scent smells stronger than before. Perhaps the adrenaline from your routine. But even so, you don’t only smell strong, but you also smell closer—
“Free cookies!”
Heeseung jolts in surprise and whips his head in the direction of that voice. Or, precisely, your voice. His heart, as if trying to shorten his life span, decides not to take a break from the session just now and continues beating even faster.
There, just a few paces away from him, is you, standing in the middle of the court with one of your cheerleader friends. In her hold, there’s a purple Tupperware, its lid nowhere to be found. You stand slightly behind your friend, shyly looking over her shoulders as she talks to his teammates.
“Oh my God, they brought us cookies?!” Jay is already standing up, stretching lazily like a cat. “C’mon, Hee. It’s free cookies.”
Heeseung’s quick to refuse, despite his wolf begging him to go. “Nah—”
But before he can spit out any excuses, Jay is already dragging him, his weeks spent in the gym working out with Riki are finally paying off. “Don’t be ridiculous. Take your portion and give it to me.”
Heeseung groans. He really should start joining their workout session. He can’t be manhandled by his two best friends easily like this.
Distracted, Heeseung fails to register the decreasing distance between you and him. It’s only when your scent spikes sweetly, which hits him in the face like a fucking tidal wave, does he catch your eyes and realises that, fuckfuckfuck she’s here ohmyGod—
“Hi, Jay. Hi, Heeseung.”
Wait hold on, why does his name sound even more beautiful coming from your voice?
He stands like a flag pole beside Jay, actively avoiding your eyes while being fully aware of that pretty pair staring at his face. The floor suddenly looks very interesting, with skid marks from their shoes and some sweat trails. Okay. Ew. That’s gross.
“Hey, pretty ladies.” Jay greets, flashing his attractive smile as he gestures at the container. “Heard there’s free cookies for the taking? Mind if we have some?”
Smooth as ever, Jay doesn’t even realise how easily he has charmed your friend with his simple greeting. Poor omega is already blinking rapidly, almost bouncing on her toes as she practically shoves the Tupperware into Jay’s chest.
“Yes! Yes, of course you can, Jay. There’s only little left! Take them all!”
Your eyes, fixated on Heeseung since he arrived, tries to search his face as you shyly interrupt, whispering into your friend’s ear.
“Offer some to Heeseung too…”
Heeseung doesn’t know whether to curse or thank the Goddess for his advanced dominant-alpha senses, because overhearing those words…it makes his chest feel warm and tight at the same time.
But your friend doesn’t pay you any mind, urging Jay to take the Tupperware from her. Jay, ever the gentleman but still a little shameless shit when it comes to food, takes it from her eager hands. He takes one bite and immediately lights up.
“This is so good! I love that it’s not too sweet.”
Like a mirror reflecting light, you beam widely, returning Jay’s enthusiasm. Heeseung tries to ignore the ugly twist in his chest. “Really? That’s…good to hear.”
“She made these, by the way!” Your friend proudly announces, which makes red blooms across your cheeks, ducking your head down slightly. You’re so shy, so pretty, Heeseung can’t stop staring.
And so good at baking. Such a perfect omega, his wolf continues. Shut the fuck up, Heeseung hisses.
“You’re really good at this, Y/N,” Jay interrupts his internal war, his voice sounding wrong in his ears. “Care to share the recipe?”
Now, is Jay flirting with you? Since when does his voice sound like that?
Heeseung tries to inhale, attempting to calm his fucking irrational wolf down, but all he can smell is the sugary scent of yours, tangling delicately and blending seamlessly with his spicy cinnamon and salty sea breeze. Somewhere in his chest, his heartstrings soften, drunk in the perfect mix of your pheromones, a ghost of a mark from last night.
Maybe that’s what possessed him to snatch the Tupperware from Jay.
Heeseung wastes no time and starts munching two cookies at once, ignoring the gasps from you and your friend and the bombastic side-eye from his fellow alpha friend. The flavour of buttery vanilla and sweet chocolate chips melt on his tongue and Heeseung almost purrs at the taste.
Outside, he makes an effort to look calm.
“These are good,” he comments coolly, trying to make it sound more like a statement than a compliment (he’s failing). This time, he dares himself to meet your eyes, and has to force down another purr when he sees the sparkles in your eyes. “Thank you, Y/N.”
There’s a strange satisfaction blooming in his chest when the blush in your cheeks deepen. You quickly look down to the floor, mumbling softly that could’ve been missed had it not been for his senses.
What kind of pull is this? Why is every sense of his attuned to you? Heeseung swears he can smell the subtle spike of your scent, the sound of your heartbeat and your soft breathing. It’s like his whole body has decided that it wants to worship you.
And Heeseung doesn’t worship. Fuck. This is terrifying.
“Thank you, Heeseung…”
There. Your voice again. Heeseung swallows. His grip on the Tupperware tightens. Seeing you under this light, flushed and softly smiling to the ground while sneaking glances at him—it undoes him in ways he never dared imagine.
The question is already at the tip of his tongue without his realisation. ‘Are you okay? Does what happened last night still bother you?’ The urge to comfort and soothe, now growing like a rolling snowball, threatening to spill from his mouth.
And the scary part is: Heeseung isn’t sure if that desire comes from his wolf or himself.
However, he never gets the chance to, because Jay with his perfect, universe-timing is already pulling him backwards. “Thank you for the cookies! We’ll eat them well!”
Heeseung reluctantly nods, the grip he has on the Tupperware turning knuckle-white.
“What the fuck was that?” Jay whisper-yells when they’re out of earshot, walking back to their previous spot. “And those are not only for you. Give them back to me!”
Heeseung dodges his grabby hand. “Why the fuck are you eating more?” He asks, failing to mask the bitterness in his voice.
“Didn’t they give all ten of them to us?”
“You’ve had two.”
“And you’ve had five!”
“I don’t care. These are mine.”
“You are being ridiculous.”
That’s what it takes for Heeseung to freeze in his tracks. Seeing an opening, Jay quickly snatches the Tupperware from his grasp and runs back to his spot on the bench, not forgetting to flip off the burgundy-haired alpha as he does so.
Heeseung is losing his fucking mind.
Sighing, Heeseung closes his eyes, a faint trail of daisies and honey still clinging to his senses. Even across the room, among the murmur of the gossiping cheerleaders, it’s your voice, the only one clear and crisp to his ears.
I’m being ridiculous.
This isn’t me.
Slowly, his human side starts taking over, all flowery images of you vanish within seconds.
Fuck, he curses. He wishes this scent-marking will be gone by tomorrow morning.
Three mornings later, much to his dismay, your scent still clings to him. On the bright side, it has been notably fading, now only the remnants of daisies and honey underneath cinnamon and sea air; like crunched petals along the shoreline, waiting to be washed away.
Against his own judgment, however, his wolf is fucking devastated.
He’s been whining like a kicked puppy ever since he walked to practice this morning and couldn’t smell his scent on you instantly. He still can spot you from two buildings away, which is still strange, but the lack of spice and salt in your scent is what does it. Heeseung has to fight the urge to march towards you and start scenting you.
His wolf has been restless. And, inevitably, it puts Heeseung in a terrible mood, too. He never knew his wolf was that desperate.
Practice ends late that night. With the tournament just around the corner, everyone is being a little shit at managing their emotions and competitiveness on the court—the downside of having an all-alpha team that people rarely talk about.
Heeseung is not excluded from the equation, though. He almost threw the ball to Taesan’s knot and made his omega pups-less and pregnancy-free when he accidentally made a bad pass. The court had smelled like tension and a barely held-together brotherhood when he left before a cheerleader came up to him to flirt and he wasted no time to drag her to an empty classroom.
Now, Heeseung finds himself making out with that omega, tongue licking up into her mouth while she breathlessly moans into his. It’s been five days since his last fuck, and while he usually can go on without sex for weeks (one month was his best record), he’s been at his wit’s end today. Add the confusion and silent wars he’s been having about you into the mix, and Heeseung is nothing more than a stressed body waiting to be relieved.
Weirdly enough, the frustration he hopes to get rid of stays as frustration. The old sparks he usually feels when having this intimate moment with an omega seems to disappear tonight. In the back of his mind, like a looming cloud carrying a storm, is a hazy image of teary eyes and red, trembling lips.
Something stirs uneasily in his chest.
His huge, veiny hands slip under her skirt and find purchase on her cunt, gathering the slick leaking from her arousal. Her scent spikes as she bucks up her hips and, to Heeseung’s own surprise, he recoils from the smell of it and breaks the kiss. The girl doesn’t stop her advances, switching to kiss down his long neck instead.
He subconsciously scrunches up his nose, his finger halting its movement for a second.
“What perfume are you wearing?” He asks, voice hoarse from the makeout session. He tilts his head back, allowing access and finding stimulation, but the usual thrill is a bit dull tonight.
“My pheromones,” she manages between kisses, “you like it?”
It’s quite the opposite, to be honest. Heeseung finds himself hating it. It’s too sweet. Too sharp. It sits wrong in his nose, burns at the back of his throat, like inhaling smoke for the first time. His eyes water.
There’s something wrong. He’s not enjoying this.
And to make things worse and more confusing, his chest hurts. It constricts, like his lungs decide to shrink into a ball of unexplained pain. Heeseung’s breath stutters, almost doubling over. His mind is a frantic buzz of noise, chanting something that he can’t seem to fully register yet.
Not my omega. Not daisies. Not honey.
Heeseung feels something twist in his gut.
The nameless omega—he forgot to ask for her name—doesn’t notice the shift yet, the way Heeseung is already a frozen statue of confusion and frustration in her embrace. She continues, trailing down hot, wet kisses along the prominent line of his collarbone and sucks the tender skin.
“Ow!” Heeseung yelps, instinctively pushing her away. The spot stings like a pulsing heartbeat, void of any pleasure that it usually would give. He staggers backwards once.
The girl frowns, clearly not happy being pushed like that. “What’s wrong? Is everything alright?”
“I—” Heeseung hisses, his shirt sitting wrong on his skin, her scent smelling wrong in his nose. He shakes his head. “Shit. I’m sorry, I—I have somewhere to be.”
The girl scoffs, disbelieving. “What?! Heeseung, you can’t just—”
But Heeseung can, and he already does. The alpha is out of the room in the next minute, deliberately the calls of his name and the strings of insults that come from behind him. He makes a run for it.
What the fuck did just happen? Heeseung is never one to refuse a good time with omega, but his wolf is quiet tonight. Too quiet, like it’s being silent on purpose in solidarity for something he’s yet to know—or yet to realise.
The hazy image comes back to his mind, slowly becoming sharp and clear. Heeseung thinks his lungs have turned into bricks when he realises that he’s been imagining you. That his head has been loud with the thoughts of you, even when he’s with someone else.
Why? Why is this happening? Why you?
Heeseung makes a turn to where the locker room is, planning to grab his duffel and leave, when he bumps into Riki and Jay, freshly out of the shower.
“Heeseung hyung?” A shirtless Riki calls his name, then raises a brow when he sees his condition. “Was wondering where you were. But those lipstick stains told me enough.”
Heeseung wipes his neck harshly. Wordlessly, he yanks his locker open and checks himself out in a mirror. He turns his face left and right, yanking down his under eyes, then sighs. Riki and Jay exchange looks. The air is slowly thickening with the pheromones of a distressed alpha, coming from none other than Heeseung.
“You good, mate?” Jay decides to ask him. Heeseung doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he’s as good as he wants himself to be. The alpha lets out another sigh and slams the door closed.
“I think something is definitely wrong with me.”
“Is it practice?” Jay softens his voice, already switching on his therapist-friend mode. “Hee, today’s just that day. Everybody was losing their shits, it’s not just you.”
Heeseung leans his back on the locker and tilts his head upwards. “It’s not that. I mean it biologically. Ever since—” Heeseung pauses, suddenly unsure if saying out loud would make things right. But Riki and Jay have already caught onto it.
“Ever since what?”
Heeseung chooses to deflect. “Look, I was trying to make out with this one pretty omega just now. But no matter how much kissing we did, I just couldn’t enjoy it.” Heeseung points to his sweatpants. Riki and Jay curiously follow with their eyes. “She was practically sucking my tongue and I’m not even bricked up, man!”
Riki furrows his eyebrows. “Not even a spark?”
Heeseung shakes his head. “I couldn’t feel anything. At all. Only,” he swallows harshly. “I only felt disgusted. By her.”
Silence hangs in the room at his revelation. Riki’s expression morphs into something akin to genuine surprise, while Jay only stares at him with a gaping mouth before he starts typing on his phone.
“This is dead serious. You can’t have sex without your dick. That's like a banana cake without bananas.”
Heeseung and Riki grimace. “Please don’t ever compare my dick to a banana again.”
“Or a banana cake.” Riki slaps his shoulder. “That’s my favourite, hyung. Don’t be gross.”
Jay waves a dismissive hand, eyes still glued on his phone. “Right, right. Anyway, I texted Sunoo.”
Heeseung’s eyes go wide like saucer plates at the name and groans. “Sunoo?! Jay, you know he’s still mad at me.”
“I know, but he’s the only one who probably knows the answer to this.” Jay smacks his lips when he reads a new text from Sunoo. “He’s staying back for a lab session. Let’s go to the medicine building.”
And that’s how Heeseung finds himself cramped into a tiny booth of a ramyeon stall, located by the road near the faculty of medicine. A pouty Sunoo is sitting across from him, shooting him his foxy side-eyes as he whines at Jay.
“Jay hyung, why did you bring this traitor with you?” Sunoo pulls at the sleeves of Jay’s hoodie, sulking away from Heeseung. It’s only the three of them since Riki had gone home with his girlfriend just now. “I thought the three of us would include you, me, and Riki.”
Jay sighs exasperatedly. “I had to, Sunoo. That traitor is having a critical dick malfunction and he needs your help.”
The waitress arrives with three bowls of steaming ramyeon. Jay and Sunoo pause their not-so-quiet argument and help her place the bowls on their table. She clears her throat awkwardly, and takes a quick glance at Heeseung before leaving. Heeseung groans internally.
Great. Now words about him and his dick problem will spread around the campus.
“Is STD finally catching up with you?”
Heeseung should know that it was never that easy to get Sunoo off his back. That boy is a professional pouty sulk-er, he’ll never let Heeseung go easily. Not after harassing him with his sass, at least. Heeseung holds back a sigh, already resigned and defeated.
With a grim voice, he apologises to the brown-haired alpha. For the fifth time.
“Sunoo, I am so sorry. I know it was my fault, but for the record, I didn’t know you were serious about pretending to be an omega. Why would you even do that, anyway?”
“Because I like the attention!” Sunoo is fast to defend himself, his pout only deepening. “And because alphas will only spoil me if I was their pretty little soft omega—which I am not! And you exposing my secondary gender to that alpha just ruined my chance to be with him. Who would even call their friend, ‘my cutie little fake omega’, anyway?!”
“I was drunk!”
“A drunk traitor is still a traitor!”
Heeseung turns to Jay, sending him signals to help him out. But his best friend deliberately ignores him, too engrossed in his own bowl, pretending to be a wall. Heeseung rolls his eyes and looks back at Sunoo.
It might not be that easy to console the sulky boy, but Heeseung is labelled a sweet talker for a reason.
“You’re already a pretty alpha, Sunoo. Prettier than any omega I know. Anyone would drop everything for you even if they knew you weren’t an omega.”
Like a switch being flipped, the frown on Sunoo’s melts away, replaced by a beam so wide it shows off his perfect teeth.
“Aw, Heeseungie hyung. You’re now forgiven. Now tell me about this dick problem of yours.”
Jay and Heeseung look at each other and relax into their chairs in relief. Heeseung sends him a look of, ‘That was easy,’ to which Jay raises his eyebrow, ‘Why hadn’t you done it sooner?’
Now, with Sunoo not threatening to kill the burgundy-haired alpha anymore, Heeseung can finally enjoy a few bites of his untouched ramyeon. It’s already a bit cold and soggy, but the broth makes up for it. He retells the story to Sunoo between bites, watching the ever expressive boy react to it with various expressions.
“It’s not uncommon, though. But since it’s you, it must have felt very concerning.” Sunoo hums in thought, tapping his full lips with the thinnest tips of his chopsticks. “Well, Heeseungie hyung, did you imprint on any omegas?”
Heeseung hesitates for a moment before he shakes his head, feeling Jay’s eyes on him.
“No.”
“Hm, okay. Even if it’s due to imprints, it has to come from both sides,” Sunoo rubs his chin, now looking every bit a live action of Detective Conan, minus the glasses. “Did you conjure a bond with anyone? Maybe accidentally?”
Heeseung’s lips part. “I…would’ve known, right?”
“Right.” Sunoo nods firmly, then tilts his head. “Did you scent one of your hookups, then?”
“An almost-hookup,” Jay cuts in, clearly enjoying this interrogation. Heeseung shoots him a look. Jay is always out to rat him out and he’s actually so close to disowning him.
He grunts. “Just…someone.”
Sunoo smiles in amusement. “So you did scent someone. Was it someone you like?”
“Define like.”
“Like them enough to want to kiss them. Like them enough to want to fuck them. Like them enough to even want to scent them to begin with.” Sunoo shrugs. “Pick one.”
Heeseung closes his eyes. Does he like you? Wanting to kiss and fuck someone don’t equal to liking them. Because if that was true, then there’s no other explanation to Heeseung ‘liking’ every omega he has fucked other than him having an insanely big heart—which he doesn’t. He liked the sex and their company; that was all there was to it.
Which leaves him option number three.
Heeseung’s never the guy to sit with his feelings—at least not the romantic kind. You’re an unfamiliar territory; something that he deliberately avoids his entire life, simply because he never sees settling down with a mate as a desirable goal or accomplishment. And, perfectly hidden under his fuckboy persona is also a thin layer of fear.
Fear of getting hurt by the thing that’s supposed to be love.
But does he like you?
Maybe he does. He’s always liked the way you laugh; you always cover your mouth with one hand when you do, like your smile is only visible in the privacy of those who really know you. He’s always noticed the way you touch the tip of your nose when people’s eyes are on you. He’s always thought the natural blush that you have when you’re shy is adorable.
In that one single minute, Heeseung realises that he’s been paying attention to you more than he thought he did.
Fuck. He does like you.
But does liking have to lead to being mated?
That responsibility is way taller and heavier than him and Heeseung is beyond freaked out.
“Earth to Heeseungie hyung?”
“Why does it even matter? What does it even have to do with me not getting a boner during a makeout session?” Heeseung demands, frustration bleeding into his voice. Is Sunoo punishing him for being the reason he fumbled that tall, hot alpha two weeks ago? Will Sunoo truly ever forgive him? He already apologised five times!
Sunoo, seeing enough of his hyung’s suffering, finally relents. “Geez, relax. I wasn’t playing with you. I asked because most of the time this happens,” he gestures at Heeseung and his crotch. Heeseung instinctively closes his long legs. “It’s because the wolf has already liked one omega. An omega they recognise as their mate. It’s the only explanation why you felt disgusted just now.”
Mate. That cursed word again. Beside Sunoo, Jay is whistling.
“Sorry. You mean my wolf, my alpha, likes one omega and decides I shouldn’t fuck around anymore?”
Sunoo nods. “Basically, yeah. But it usually isn’t that easy, hyung. A bond has to have been conjured between your wolf and their wolf by any kind of markings.”
“Like?”
“Like biting. Or scenting.”
Scenting. Heeseung didn’t just do scenting with you, he was scent-marking you.
“But that’s impossible,” Jay interrupts, confusion etching onto his handsome features. His leaning forward now, his empty bowl pushed to the center of the table, which reminds Heeseung of his own bowl. The alpha quickly finishes his noodles. “Scenting between unmated alpha and unmated omega will only conjure a temporary, fragile bond. It should’ve been gone by now—the scenting happened five days ago.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I can detect some floral scent in Heeseungie hyung’s pheromones.”
Heeseung almost chokes on his noodles. “You do?”
Sunoo leans forward, squinting his eyes at him like he’s some kind of lab specimen. “Yeah. It’s faint, but it’s there. Sweet. Floral. Clingy.” He tilts his head again. “It’s weird.”
Across from him, Heeseung is frozen. His grip on the chopsticks tightens. He swallows harshly.
Jay leans back, arms crossed. “But if it’s still there after five days—”
“It doesn’t automatically mean fated mates,” Sunoo cuts in quickly, tone sharper this time. He shoots Jay a look before turning back to Heeseung. “Don’t jump to that conclusion. That’s, like, extremely rare. And also very dramatic.”
Heeseung exhales, shoulders dropping just a little.
Right. Dramatic. His alpha begs to differ.
“It could just be a stronger-than-usual temporary bond,” Sunoo continues, more thoughtful now. “Maybe your alpha overdid it when you scented them. Or the omega was in a heightened emotional state, so the bond lasted longer.”
Jay hums, not entirely convinced.
“But the whole not getting turned on thing?” He gestures vaguely. “That still doesn’t explain it fully.”
Sunoo taps his chin again. “Mhm. That part’s interesting.” He levels Heeseung with a curious look. “Who is this girl, anyway? You seem pretty fucked over her.”
Heeseung groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Can you not say it like that? Like I’m some kind of a broken alpha?”
“You kinda are right now,” Sunoo says bluntly.
“Sunoo.”
“I’m serious!” He leans forward again, eyes lighting up. “Your body is rejecting other omegas. That’s not normal for you. Like, at all.”
Heeseung slumps deeper into his seat. As if it’s not already obvious enough, Sunoo just had to spell it out loud.
“I noticed,” he mutters, defeated.
Sunoo softens slightly at that, sighing as he rests his chin on his palm. “Okay. Look. Don’t panic yet.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You’re literally here because your dick stopped working.”
“…Okay, I’m a little panicked.”
Sunoo waves his chopsticks dismissively. “It’s probably not fated mates. If it were, you’d be way worse right now.”
Heeseung stills. “Worse?”
“Yeah,” Sunoo shrugs. “You’d be obsessing. Unable to stay away. Your senses would go crazy. You’d feel everything they feel, more or less.”
Jay slowly turns to look at Heeseung. Heeseung immediately avoids his gaze. That fucker is always eager to catch his ‘Gotcha!’ moment, it irritates him to the core.
“That doesn’t sound like me,” he says a bit too quickly, the lie tasting acidic on his tongue.
Sunoo mustn't know about the knot of uneasiness in his chest. Sunoo mustn’t know about the face that comes to his mind when he’s kissing someone else. None of his friends must know that he’s obsessing right now, itching to flee and find you in the middle of the night.
“Exactly,” Sunoo nods, unaware of his friend’s turmoil. “So relax. I’ll look into it more, yeah? Might be some weird hormonal response or delayed imprint reaction.”
Heeseung lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Yeah, okay.”
“Or you can do a try-and-error,” Sunoo suggests, reaching over to pat Heeseung’s shoulder. “Just do what you always do—try hooking up with different omegas. Maybe the one you made out with tonight was just a bad compatibility for you.”
Heeseung perks up at that. Sunoo and Jay, not noticing the shift in the air, are already moving forward with a different topic, completely oblivious to the newly-lit determination now burning up his body.
Just do what you always do.
Right. Heeseung has a high body count for a reason. He decides, with a final resolution, that he should solve this his own way.
If Heeseung spends every night for the next two weeks trying to bed different omegas, Sunoo and Jay don’t have to know.
If Heeseung fails each time, unable to enjoy every kiss and friction, Sunoo and Jay don't have to know.
If the pain in his chest worsens every time he leaves the barely-warm beds, Sunoo and Jay don’t have to know.
If Heeseung avoids looking at you, avoids bumping into you, avoids speaking to you—he hopes you don’t know about it.
A quiet voice from his wolf whispers something that he refuses to acknowledge: He hopes you’ll forgive him for being unfaithful.
You’ve been sick for two weeks.
At first it was subtle, like a faint throb in your heart that makes you stop whatever you’re doing. The first time it happened, you were in the middle of a group discussion for an elective subject.
A quiet alpha, or a wolf hybrid named Sunghoon, to be exact, had noticed the way you winced from the pain. He didn’t say anything, but you guessed he told an omega about what he saw because right before you exited the library, one of the girls had passed you a free menstrual pad.
He thought you were experiencing period cramps. You wished it was just period cramps.
Then, it gradually grew to something worse. A sudden stabbing pain in your chest. A twist in your gut, like you were expecting something bad to happen. Sometimes it was random palpitations, where your heart was skipping huge beats, as if you were about to go down on a roller coaster.
Each time it happened, you only placed your palm over your heart, hoping it’d go away. You never understood why, but those pains only came at night, preventing you from getting any good sleep and rest. And each time you tried to close your eyes, there was only one face flashing behind your eyelids.
Heeseung.
Yujin had dragged you to the clinic, but the doctor came to a conclusion that you were just having pre-heat symptoms—which couldn’t be further from the truth, because you just had your cycle one month ago. You’re not supposed to go on your quarterly-cycle of torture for another two months.
“Oh my Goddess, you’re burning up.” Yujin’s palm is cold against your forehead. Her face is pulled into a tight expression. “Let’s just skip today’s classes, okay? I’ll stay with you.”
You weakly nod, barely registering Yujin’s movement around the room. Your body feels like a furnace, the heat simmering in your veins almost rivaling a volcano’s lava. You discard the blanket to get some sort of relief, only to shiver in the cold when the air touches your skin.
After a few minutes of exiting and entering your room, Yujin finally sits by your bed. She helps you with a glass of water and a dosage of paracetamol, careful to wipe any loose drops like a concerned mother. It doesn’t get better, but at least your throat doesn’t feel like it’s being scrubbed with sandpaper anymore.
“How’re you feeling now?”
“Dying, but a bit less dramatic.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want to give Suho from True Beauty a run for his money, would we?”
You chuckle softly, though it sounds more like a seal with a sore throat.
“But seriously, though. It’s been two weeks.” Yujin purses her lips, the worriness still marring her beautiful face. “I’m so worried, Y/N. What’s happening to you?”
You don’t answer right away. “It’s my omega.”
Yujin’s eyebrow jumps. “What about her?”
You also wonder the same thing. Swallowing, you finally let your friend in on the torturous days you have been going through. “One night, after our practice ran quite late two weeks ago, she went a bit hysteric. I couldn’t stop vomiting.” You recalled, eyes distant in memory. “She kept yelling something about a traitor, about rejection. I don’t know, really. But that’s how it started.”
“Two weeks ago, at night, you say?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Yujin is quiet for a few extended minutes, caressing her thumb over your knuckles. The motion puts you at ease, and slowly, you feel the pills begin working their chemicals.
“Did you, perhaps, hear about anything that happened that night?” You shake your head, unsure if your cheerleader squad had mentioned anything. Yujin hums. “Because I think I did.”
“What?”
“So I’m friends with this one omega named Sunoo from my faculty. A pretty boy and a petty gossiper.” Yujin starts, now treading her words slowly as if walking on eggshells. “He knows everyone on this campus. Especially the hot stuff, you know—student body, athletes, cheerleaders.” Yujin eyes you but not unkindly. “He knows you too. Just the basic stuff.”
“Like?”
“Your name, your major, your Instagram account.”
You let out a breath, a bit unsure where this is heading, but listen anyway. “Okay.”
“And because of his impeccable knowledge of gossip, I heard from him about a cheerleader breaking down in the group chat after a certain alpha left her mid-making out, all slicked and horny while he didn’t even pop a borner.”
You hold onto her every word, but for some reason, a dread has settled deep in your bones, like your body is already anticipating some bad news. Your heart, previously beating fast, is now sprinting like it might escape your rib now.
“And that alpha was Heeseung.”
It hits before you can even think.
A sharp, twisting pain lances through your chest, knocking the air out of your lungs like you’ve been struck. Your fingers curl into the sheets, clutching at nothing.
Your omega whines—hurt, betrayed. And suddenly, you understand why. The cries about betrayal. His face haunts you every night, like a painful reminder of the destiny you're subjected to.
You try to swallow once, then twice, before you find your voice back.
“Heeseung?” You try. His name now tastes bitter on your tongue.
Yujin, ever the empathetic, senses it, and tightens her hold on your hand. “Yeah,” she nods. She lets a moment of quiet pass, fidgeting and swallowing like you. Like the news has more stories that she’s yet to tell; an extended part to a nightmare that’s been keeping you up at night. You brace yourself.
“And two nights ago I saw him at Jake’s frat party with a girl. Doing sexy stuff. The usual.” Yujin can’t look at your face, choosing to stare at your intertwined hands instead. “The frat boys told me that he’s been at it almost every night. For two weeks.”
Is it possible to hurt someone this much in a span of five minutes? Getting shot multiple times would’ve hurt less than this.
There’s a heavy silence, then there’s your small, quiet voice, laced with unfiltered hurt.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“I’m saying, Y/N, that you might be facing bond rejection symptoms right now.” Yujin licks her lips. “I’m saying that you and Heeseung just might be fated mates. That night he scented you? You guys conjured a half-bond. And him fucking around with other omegas like this hurts your wolf because she knows—only this kind of bond can do that.”
Is having a fated mate supposed to hurt like this? Like your chest is caving in, collapsing under the torment of unwanted love. Can you even call it love? Whatever it is that you and Heeseung unknowingly have been sharing—Is it even love?
It’s not. It’s just…fate.
You shake your head. There’s hot pain behind your eyes, a sign of an impending doom. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“It’s okay. It’s a lot to take in.”
A drop of tears rolls down your face and in the next blink, everything is already blurry. “I—I think I already knew it.” Your voice is wet from despair, the pain almost feels tangible. “He never meets my eyes anymore and—and every time I see him, I feel like I might die.”
A warm pair of arms pulls you close, and instantly the scent of green tea fills up your senses. Your roommate holds you tight, letting you rest your head in the crook of her neck as you sob into her chest.
Your wolf, the contradict that she is, hopes that it was Heeseung embracing you. Still hoping it was the alpha comforting you, soothing you with his voice and that calming pheromones of his. Still foolishly longing for him despite everything.
You feel pathetic.
Your crying subsides after a while, still curling up against Yujin like a hurt puppy. You’re already losing track of time, if it’s still proper to have breakfast or if it’s already time for lunch. It is Yujin who finally speaks first.
“Do you hate it?”
You let the question linger in the air, turning it over in your thoughts like what you’ve been doing the past hour since you woke up. “I don’t hate the bond. Nor him.”
You pause, gnawing at your lower lip. Then you exhale.
“I just hate that I was never given a chance to do this properly.”
Yujin pulls away and makes you face her. She wipes your tears using her sleeves, murmuring sweet words as you feel your chest slightly loosening at her kind gesture. “You might still have it. Go and talk to him, Y/N. If he’s avoiding you like this, he might’ve felt something too, right?”
“If he’s avoiding me like this, he might just not want anything to do with me.” A humourless chuckle escapes your lips. “And to think that I thought I had a chance.”
“Wait, I never asked you this. Do you like Heeseung? Both of you; your wolf and you.”
You don’t answer right away. The question sits between the two of you, heavy and fragile; like a mark refusing to be looked over.
Do you like Heeseung?
Your wolf stirs immediately. Yes, I like him.
The answer is quick. Certain. Definite.
But you purse your lips, forcing yourself to think harder, deeper. Forcing yourself to think about you, not her. You can only come to one conclusion.
“I don’t know,” you whisper, honest. It sounds weak even to your ears. Beside you, Yujin keeps rubbing small, grounding circles over your hand.
“I already know my omega likes him,” you admit softly. “She decided that the moment he stayed and took care of me that night.”
Oh, how pathetic is it to fall for someone for doing something as mundane as staying and taking care of you?
It’s laughable. But it makes your chest ache even more, like your heart was an empty can and fate was crushing it with its tight grip.
“But me…” you continue, voice quieter now, “I don’t even know him like that.”
You shake your head, frustration flickering through your expression.
“I don’t know what he’s like when he’s not surrounded by people, or when he’s not—” you gesture vaguely, like you can scoop up every rumour tied to his name. “That version of him everyone talks about.”
You stare at your hands. “But I wanted to.”
Yujin follows, voice soft. “Wanted to?”
“I wanted to get to know him,” you continue, voice trembling. “When I first found out how my wolf feels for him, I thought it could be like how I’ve always imagined having a fated mate would be: slowly falling in love with them. With him.”
A wistful smile graces your beautiful features, soft and vulnerable. “I wanted to know which game he remembers the most. I wanted to know if the number on his jersey means anything. Silly things like that. Not this.”
Your hand moves to your chest unconsciously, rubbing the surface softly.
“Not like this. Not when it hurts every time I—” you cut yourself off, breath shaking. “Not when it hurts every time I look at him.”
You still remember, after one grueling routine, when the pain was still kind enough to let you come to practice. The players had just finished their practice too, slicked with sweat and looking exhausted as ever. Among the tired alphas, your eyes locked onto Heeseung’s.
You had the instincts to go to him and pass him the cold mineral you’d unknowingly saved for him. But the look in his eyes—it was unreadable. Cold. An abyss that was enough to make you stay rooted in your place.
Then, without even a graze of a smile, he looked away, taking a bottle from Riki’s hand.
It had hurt more than you’d like to admit.
“I think…” you try again, more carefully this time. “If things were different, I would’ve liked him.”
Your throat tightens. This time, you’re reminded of that night before everything turned cruel like this. The warmth of his embrace that lingered. The spice of his scent that clung. The safety of his company that comforted you.
Was any of it real?
“And if things were the same…I think I would've still liked him anyway.”
That’s the truth. A quiet, terrifying truth that settles deep in your chest like an unshakeable ground. The kind of truth that makes even your most grounding friend sit still in your bed.
“And that’s what makes it worse,” you whisper.
Because now it’s not just your omega.
It’s you, too.
The one-week intervarsity basketball tournament has finally begun. Around seven universities have sent their representatives, leading to a flood of humans in different-coloured jerseys wandering around on your campus, its official host.
You’re excused from the whole week’s classes, seeing your cheerleaders and bunches of alphas more than you have ever seen your classmates since the tournament started. It was exciting at first, to participate in such a prestigious tournament that is always the talk of town. But the tight schedules between games is becoming more taxing and demanding.
It doesn’t help that the bond rejection symptoms have only gotten worse, hindering you from giving your best potential at each routine. Which, of course, catches the attention of your captain, and she’s not very amused with it.
“Y/N. If you’re not telling me what is wrong with you, then don’t make me find excuses to put you on the bleachers.” Narin once whispered to you on the third day of the tournament. You merely nodded, trying hard not to scrunch your noise at the sour smell of bubblegum and burnt cotton candy. She eyed you up and down, before she scoffed.
“Don’t get too butt-hurt that Heeseung’s fucking other cheerleaders,” she grunted. You froze. “At least you got your round that night. He fucking rejected me.”
What? The confusion must be clear on your face, because then Narin rolled her eyes, fixing the blue ribbon in her hair before she turned to face you.
“You smelled like him for weeks, Y/N. Don’t think people didn’t know that you two fucked after they won against that eastern university that night.” And then she left, leaving a dumbfounded you in the hallway, standing still like a lifeless statue.
Realisation starts settling in. Did people think you and Heeseung—fuck. You should’ve known.
No wonder many eyes were on you during those days when you still smelled like Heeseung. You thought it was just because Heeseung was one of the most sought after alphas on campus. Not this. Not whatever allegation this is.
Still, the bomb Narin had dropped wasn’t enough to stop yourself from pushing yourself past your limits. You don’t even know what your limits are anymore. They seem to keep expanding with every new pain that blooms in your chest.
You’re still a bit sluggish, but at least Narin is off your back. Whatever bitterness she harbours for you, though not forgotten, is at least tamed on the last day of the tournament.
You knew she wouldn’t understand, but you couldn’t help it if the pain worsens. You wish, for once, that Heeseung would take it slow with the cheerleaders from the opposing teams. Because the pain has become unbearable; cracks turning into holes of emptiness in your heart, faint pulsing turning into straight-up invisible stabbing in your gut. You’re actually surprised that you’re not already bleeding from how real it has felt.
However, deep down, there’s a small, barely-there gratitude for Heeseung for not doing it in front of you. At least you can spare yourself from whatever possible torment this fate has destined for you to face if you had to watch Heeseung fucking another omega in the empty locker room.
But you guess it’s time you finally, actually reach your limit, and your body can’t seem to be more dramatic to choose the last game as its last straw. As Heeseung hoops in the last score for the team, sealing their title as the champion, the audience erupts into the loudest cheer you’ve ever heard. You quickly get to your feet to perform the celebratory routine, but the world is spinning and your head is light when you stand up. You stagger backwards.
“Oh my Goddess, are you alright?” One of your cheerleader friends catches you in her arms, shaking you out of your pained daze.
“I…” you cough, your voice only scratching at your throat. “I just need to. Sit. Yeah. I need to sit down and talk to Heeseung.”
“Heeseung?” The girl, who you finally recognise as Rei, looks over at the center of the court, where almost the whole school is hooting and hollering in joy. “Wait—let me sit you down first. You’re pale as hell, damn.”
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you’re finally seated. Rei has passed you a bottle of mineral water and fans you with her pink hand-fan. She stays by your side, looking after you as the rest of the world celebrates the first champion of your university team. You’re painfully grateful to her for it.
“Hey. Can I call one of your friends? Or maybe, do you have an alpha I can contact?” Rei starts when you’re not speaking, too focused on not focusing on the pain to remember to talk. “You asked for Heeseung just now. Is he your alpha?”
Is he?
You wish you knew the answer to that too.
Instead, you shake your head. “He’s not my alpha. I just…need to have a few words with him.”
Rei purses her lips, clearly not pleased with your priority at the moment but obliges anyway. “Alright. Let me text my cousin real quick.” She says, already rummaging inside her bag for her phone.
Her statement intrigues you. “Cousin?”
“Nishimura Riki. And he’s not replying. Gimme a sec.” You watch as Rei presses the call button on her phone and puts the device over her ear. You follow her line of sight as she turns to look at the court again. The crowd hasn’t calmed down from the high of the win yet.
“Hello, adopted fuck. I need you to read my text ASAP—Nobody’s stealing your girlfriend, Riki! You can go back to kissing her face after you read my text—Okay, okay! My friend, Y/N, needs to talk to Heeseung. President-level urgent.” Rei pauses, taking a quick look at you before she continues. “Yes. It seems very important. Just get his ass here fast. Yeah—Congrats, by the way. I’m not buying you that Chrome Hearts chain. Bye.”
Rei sighs as she pockets her phone. “Heeseung will be here in five minutes. You good? Do you still need anything? I feel like I should call someone else. You’re friends with Ahn Yujin, aren’t you?” She rambles on. For someone who barely speaks to you, Rei sure is a caring omega.
You give her a small smile.”I’m alright, Rei. I’ll rest after seeing him.”
Rei hums, checking her phone when it vibrates. “Aight, if you say so. I’ll be around here until they move to celebrate at Jake’s frat tonight.” She gathers her stuff and stands up, brushing her pleated skirt with practiced elegance that you know is instilled in every cheerleader’s demeanour.
“You take care of yourself. And I better not see you at the party.”
“Thank you, Rei.” You wave at her and watch as the lines of her frame get smaller, disappearing into the crowd.
Now alone, the weight of reality is finally hitting you square in the chest. You curse, pulling your hair when you realise your stupid, impulsive decision, made in the whim of desperation to get the pain go away.
“This is stupid,” you whisper. Without thinking further, you grab your bag and stand to leave. But before you can flee the scene, a heavy presence with the familiar scent of spicy cinnamon and salty sea breeze drifts into your senses.
“Y/N?”
The sound of your name leaving his lips has locked you in place. The haunting familiarity of his voice, one that follows you into your restless sleeps and every waking hour, engulfs you almost like the night he held you in his arms.
Except this time, there’s a piercing pain in your heart that comes with his presence. A dull, throbbing ache that’s been a constant company to you, manifested into the shape of the man that your wolf yearns for.
Lee Heeseung.
“Y/N?” He repeats, but you don’t dare to face him just yet. “Riki said you wanted to, uh, talk to me.”
Licking your dry lips, you turn to Heeseung, and the sight has almost rendered you breathless.
Heeseung’s still wearing his jersey, standing tall to his height like he’s dominating the air around him. His burgundy hair looks softer under the light, some small strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. His shoulders are squared up, still lined with pride and the high from winning the tournament. He looks at you calmly, but the edges of his eyes are somewhat gentler; if the lights weren’t tricking your eyes.
You gulp, already losing the battle before it has even started. Why does he have to look so handsome?
You force yourself to say something. “Yeah. I did. I mean, I do. It’s important. I think.”
Heeseung is patient. If your nervousness is something unusual to him, he doesn’t comment on it. After all, you’re indeed known as a shy girl among the cheerleaders.
“I’m…I’m going straight to the point and be honest with you.” Is this really happening? You’re scared that if you were to speak more, your heart might leap out of your mouth from how hard it is pumping behind your ribs. You hold your bag tighter, trying to ground yourself.
“I’m listening,” he hums.
The words are simple. His voice is calm. Too calm, like he’s unaffected, like he doesn’t have a clue about what you’re about to say. It almost makes you falter.
For a second, you just stare at him. At the same face your mind has been haunted for weeks, at the same eyes you’ve been avoiding because they make everything feel too real.
Except everything is actually real. You’re just not ready to admit it yet.
Your fingers curl tighter around your bag.
“Did you…feel anything?” you ask, voice smaller than you intended. “That night.”
Heeseung’s brows pull together, confused. “What do you mean?”
Your throat burns. Stop. Turn around. Leave.
“When you helped me,” you stubbornly continue, ignoring the self-preservation act your wolf’s pulling. “When you scented me. Did you feel something? Anything?”
There’s a shift in the air. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Heeseung’s shoulders stiffen. His jaw tightens a fraction. A flash of something that leaves your heart hopeful crosses his face, but it leaves as soon as it comes.
“I was just helping you,” he finally says, almost too quickly. “You were in a bad state.”
The ache in your chest pulses, turning alive with each passing second.
“I know that,” you nod, almost too fast, the throbbing in your head comes back. The headache is well-guaranteed after this, you’re sure of it. “I know. I’m not saying you did anything wrong. I just—I just need to know if you felt it too.”
“Felt what?”
You stare at him. God, he’s really making you say it. Is he truly clueless or is he playing with you? Whatever he is trying to do, he’s succeeding at making you feel smaller and…desperate.
“The pull,” you whisper after a while, “the connection.”
Silent stretches between the two of you. Heeseung returns your gaze, but his black eyes reveal nothing about his thoughts.
You try again. “You felt it too…right?”
There it is. For a fleeting second, you think you see it. That flicker in his eyes. The subtle hesitation. The twitch in his jaw. It almost makes you feel hopeful.
Heeseung exhales through his nose, running a hand through his hair.
“Y/N,” he starts slower this time, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “There’s no such thing as that.”
If your heart was made of lead, you’re sure it’d clang to the floor so loud for how fast it drops.
“What?”
“Fated mates. Bond. Whatever you’re thinking.” He shakes his head, like he’s making a show of how ridiculous you sound. “That’s not real.”
The cracks finally shatter, allowing a big, gaping hole filled with utter anguish to take place in where your heart used to reside. Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens.
“But—” you try, voice undeniably trembling now. “Then, what is this?”
Your hand presses weakly against your chest.
“Why does it hurt like this? Why does,” your voice cracks, your omega thrashing wildly inside you, “why does it hurt so much?”
For a split second, panic flashes across his face. There’s a change in his scent. A sharp, biting spice that’s stinging your nose and thick, briny salt that leaves your throat itchy.
Because he knows. He knows this isn’t normal. He knows how he almost went psychosis the moment it happened to him three weeks ago.
But Heeseung’s always been good at leaving—it’s the one thing that’s been keeping his heart in a safe chest without any chances of getting hurt. It’s almost cruel that he never really cares if leaving right after sex would hurt any of the omegas, but he’s never felt bad enough to stop.
And you feel like someone who will make him stay.
So he does what he knows best.
“It’s in your head,” he says, firmer now. “Probably just your heat cycle messing with you. Or stress.”
The moment those words leave his mouth, your chest feels hollow. Your omega, previously hysterical and angry, is now awfully quiet and wounded.
Right. It’s just stress, he said.
You wish it was just stress.
“Oh,” is the only word you can utter. Heeseung nods, as if convincing himself too, and takes a step back.
But for you, it feels too much like a line being drawn.
“Maybe you should get some rest. You look kind of pale,” he suggests, though his voice is slowly getting small the longer he watches the changes in your expression. You’re not looking at him now, just staring at your feet with trembling fists.
The wilting flowers are back in his senses, filling up his nose and beating at his heart like a bat. Heeseung bites his lips, swallowing down the guilt.
“I’ll see you around, Y/N.”
The sight of his retreating back…why is it so blurry?
“You are so fucking stupid, Heeseung.”
Heeseung’s always wondered how his best friend’s citrusy pheromones are going to smell like when he’s mad. Because Jay never gets mad at him. His friend has so much patience that every playful banter always stays as just a playful banter.
But tonight, Heeseung finally senses it. Jay smells bitter, like overripe lemon left too long in hot water. There’s a sharp, metallic tang to it too, representing the control that he’s trying so hard to keep in check. In response to the alpha’s irritated scent, Heeseung’s dominant wolf is itching to draw his claws out, sensing it as a threat.
They’re standing at the backyard of the frat house, where the pool is glowing blue and the night sky is blinking stars. It’s quieter here, with less people hanging around. Many guests have preferred to dance inside, still in celebration mode post-winning.
“What the fuck were you thinking, trying to get into someone else’s pants right after her—her confession?” Jay scoffs in disbelief. He has his back facing Heeseung, the tense muscle of his shoulders visible through the outline of his Polo shirt.
Heeseung, on the other hand, looks more disheveled. The collar of his shirt is misplaced, and there are faint lipstick marks staining his neck and the corner of his mouth. Jay had heard from Riki about what happened between Heeseung and you and the alpha was determined to drag Heeseung out of the bedroom, not before muttering a small apology to the omega he was with. It was all shouts and aggressive whispers between the two alphas until Riki managed to shoo them out.
Which brings them to this moment, where Jay is a ticking bomb and Heeseung is trying his best to calm down. Jay didn’t exactly know who she was, just that he’d seen her face among the cheerleaders. While Heeseung, well, he’s too worked up to explain.
“Confession? What made you think—”
“You guys are fated mates, Heeseung. Can’t you fucking see it?” Jay whips his head around. “This pull you’re feeling is because you guys are fated mates. There’s no other explanation to it.”
Heeseung clenches his jaw. “Those things don’t exist, Jongseong. Not to me.”
“Oh, come on. Then explain your sex problem.” Jay hisses, his eyes turning sharper. “You think I don’t know that you still can’t get your dick wet with other omegas?”
The burgundy-haired alpha doesn’t blink. “It’s none of your business.”
“It is when she could’ve died!” Jay snaps, his scent flaring with his nose. Heeseung grits his teeth, feeling challenged.
Then, softer, like vulnerability leaking through his anger, Jay continues: “You could’ve died, Heeseung.”
Heeseung stills. “What?”
Jay lets out a harsh laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You think so little of this matter, don’t you?” His voice drops, tight and furious. “A half-bond between fated mates when left too long can cause death. And with the speed you’re going with all these nameless omegas, I bet it’ll be her turn to die first.”
Heeseung scoffs, but it’s weaker now. There’s a new fear settling in his chest. “You’re being dramatic.”
“No,” Jay cuts in sharply. “You’re being stupid. I saw her just now. She’s pale as fuck.”
Heeseung’s quiet for a moment, staring into his friend’s eyes with almost the same amount of resentment. “It has nothing to do with me.”
Like a punishment to his lie, something twists sharply in his chest. But Heeseung is quick to mask his pain under a calm facade, gritting his teeth so hard he might break his jaw. Jay scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“Oh, so you’re doing this again.” Jay steps closer, not backing away. “You’re running away again, like the coward that you are. You’ll just run and run, deflect and disappear. Typical Heeseung.”
Jay knows he’ll hit a spot if he says it, but he couldn’t care less. He watches as the expression on Heeseung hardens, giving away the emotions he kept locked in his chest.
“Don’t.”
But Jay doesn’t stop. Of course he doesn’t.
“You think I don’t see it?” Jay presses, voice rising. “Every time something starts to mean something, you bolt. New omega, new bed, new distraction—anything to avoid actually feeling something real.”
“That’s not—”
“That’s exactly what this is!” Jay gestures wildly, frustration spilling over. “You found your mate, and instead of dealing with it, you’re out there fucking anything that moves just to prove you’re still in control.”
Silence slams between them, heavy and ugly. Both alphas are holding back from spiraling, neck straining from self-control and simmering anger.
Heeseung’s laugh this time is cold. “Mate?” he repeats, like the word tastes disgusting. “You really believe in that shit?”
Jay stares at him, disbelief flickering across his face. “I believe in what’s right in front of me.”
“There’s nothing in front of you,” Heeseung shoots back. “She’s just an omega I helped. That’s it.”
“Then why her?” Jay fires immediately. “Why can you find her in a crowd? Why does your scent stick to her for days—for weeks? Why can’t you even touch another omega without looking like you’re about to throw up?”
Heeseung falters, his words failing him as Jay hits him with those facts. His shaky stance doesn’t go unnoticed by the alpha, though. He’s quick to seize the chance.
Jay inhales sharply. “You know I’m right, Heeseung. You and Y/N share a bond.”
“So what?!” Heeseung snaps, frustration finally cracking through. “So what if there’s a bond? You want me to just—what? Drop everything? Play house? Act like I’m suddenly someone I’m not?”
Heeseung meets Jay’s fiery gaze head-on and shoves his friend harshly. “Stay out of it, Jay. I swear to fucking God.”
“And what? Watch you let her die because you couldn’t care less to acknowledge the bond?” Jay lets out a hollow laugh, pushing Heeseung back just as hard. “And then I watch you die?”
“Shut the fuck up. You know nothing about this.”
Their scents clash; sharp citrus and aggressive spice filling up the space like a warning siren. It almost turns physical, Riki almost bursts through the door when he sees their chests almost touching. But it is Jay who stops first.
Not because he wants to. But because he’s thinking of you.
“My parents are fated mates, Heeseung.” Jay starts, quieter, his voice losing its harsh edges. “Doesn’t mean you don’t believe in it, it isn’t real to other people.”
Heeseung remains quiet, his chest still moving rapidly.
Jay’s eyes turn glassy. He retreats one more step away from Heeseung. “If you don’t want her, reject the bond properly,” he says, breathing hard. “You’re letting someone know that you don’t want her as your mate. At least have the decency to be kind about it.”
Jay unclenches his fists.
“Don’t drag her through this half-assed bullshit where you keep hurting her just because you can’t make a decision.”
Heeseung freezes. Out of all words being shouted tonight, it is this quiet resignation from Jay that hits his heart the hardest.
Am I being cruel? Heeseung lowers his gaze. Am I a coward?
Heeseung doesn’t wait too long for an answer.
“Stop being a coward, Heeseung. I beg you.”
The words hang between them, like unwanted vines curling around a trunk of a tree. Heeseung’s gaze stays rooted to the ground, trying to find his voice.
But he doesn’t get the chance to.
“...Heeseung?”
Your voice, soft as it is, cuts through the air like a blade. Both alphas turn to where you’re standing by the door. The faint light spilling from the moon only highlights how pale your face is, void of any warmth and colour.
You stand there, one hand gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, your other pressed weakly against your chest. Your eyes, God, your eyes. They’re glassy, unfocused, yet locked onto him like you’ve found something you’ve been searching for your entire life.
Beside him, Heeseung can sense the way Jay’s body tenses the way his does.
“Heeseung…” you call for him again and move to get closer.
But then you flinch. Your entire body recoils, your nose scrunches.
There, lingering around Heeseung like an unwanted mark, is a scent you know too well. Fruity bubblegum and cloying cotton candy; a scent that flashes pink in your head, turning into a female rage that hits too close to home. Your gaze catches the shape of someone’s mouth staining his golden skin, and something inside you breaks.
Narin.
Heeseung smells like Narin.
Your hand instinctively goes to cover your nose, eyes slowly going wide. The room goes silent, holding its breath as Heeseung feels it.
The fleeting second where something inside you shatters.
Heeseung steps forward. “Y/N—”
But you retreat faster, away from him like he’s a disease that could kill you.
“No,” your voice cracks, shaking your head as if trying to physically deny what your body is already registering. “No, no, no…”
Your breath comes out in shallow bursts, your fingers clawing at your shirt.
It hurts. It hurts so bad.
It’s like every system in your body is collapsing, failing to cope with the ultimate rejection that comes in the scent of another woman. Your fist hits your chest, forcing the air to flow in because it suddenly feels almost impossible to breathe.
Heeseung feels it now—really, really feels it. The bond is thrashing, frantic, like it’s holding onto something that’s slipping through its grasp. The pained scent of withering daisies starts filling up the air, suffocating both alphas instantly. Jay shifts uncomfortably, looking back and forth from Heeseung to you in alert.
“Hey, hey—Y/N,” Heeseung tries again, softer this time, reaching out instinctively. “Look at me. Y/N—”
“Don’t!” Your voice spikes, sharp with fear. Heeseung freezes, his throat closing up when he sees something you’re yet to realise.
That’s when you feel it—something warm trickling down your nose. You instinctively wipe it and stare at the red liquid smearing your fingers.
Blood. Then another drop falls on your palm. Before you can react properly, it already spills down your chin, past your fingers, dripping onto the floor, tainting the white tiles like a crime scene.
“Fuck.” Jay curses under his breath, his wolf perking up in alarm.
Beside him, Heeseung is beyond agitated. “Y/N!”
He doesn’t think. Heeseung lunges forward, longing to be close to you at that moment. But you’re already shaking your head rapidly, tears spilling uncontrollably now.
“Stop!” you gasp, pale lips trembling like dying petals. “I can’t do this—I can’t—”
Inside you, your omega is screaming in pain. In betrayal. In self-preservation. Her voice, raw and jagged, torn by pain, echoes in your head.
An instinct, primal and desperate, takes over your being.
Cut it off.
Cut it off before it kills you.
You clutch at your chest, lungs burning up like a wildfire. Tears spill out freely, drenching your face in anguish and agony.
Cut it off!
And finally, you let go.
Across from you, just a few paces away, Heeseung feels it like a force, stopping him in his tracks.
It doesn’t come gradually, or slowly. It rips through his body. A violent, invisible force tearing straight through his chest like something sacred being forcibly severed. His breath is knocked out of him.
“Fuck!” Somewhere behind him, Jay is also spiraling, realising what’s going down.
But Heeseung doesn’t know. He staggers, his knees almost giving up as excruciating pain spreads from the scent gland in his neck down to his chest. Something inside him—something he never fully acknowledges—finally snaps. He almost screams.
A thick veil of tears wells up instantly, blurring his vision faster than he could process it.
“Y/N,” his voice breaks, the cracks showing up like poison in daggers. Across from him, you’re already sobbing.
It’s loud and raw, a wailing that stops even the loud music from inside. Your scent, bitter and beyond distressed, is now flooding the space like a broken dam. Your body folds in on itself as if trying to contain something that’s already shattered beyond repair.
Inside of you, your omega goes silent completely.
And it terrifies him. A lot.
Heeseung clutches his neck, where his scent gland is pulsing violently, throbbing in an indescribable pain that feels like it could kill him. And when his eyes find yours, he realises with dread that the pull is no longer there.
He can’t feel you. His wolf can’t feel your wolf.
The constant, aching thread that’s been tying him to you; it’s gone.
You cut the bond from your side.
The half-bond, already fragile with doubt and cowardice, is hanging by its loose thread. If it was a red string like many people had said, Heeseung’s sure it’d waver pathetically by his finger, trembling like a thread losing its kite.
“What…What did you do?” he whispers, voice hollow and shaky.
Heeseung takes a step forward again, ignoring Jay’s warning voice from behind him. His focus becomes singular on you, not minding the many pairs of eyes watching from the other side of the door.
This time, his step is slower and careful, like approaching something fragile. Something that is already broken.
Someone wounded.
You don’t move toward him. You don’t even spare him a look. You just cry, quietly, as now it feels empty where the bond used to be. You can’t feel him.
You can only feel pain.
“Y/N…”
“...I want to leave.”
You wipe your nose, the blood still fresh and wet. You lean on the door for support, still trying to hold yourself up despite the urge to just collapse. Heeseung has to force restraint on himself, holding himself back from running to you. He searches your face, trying to catch your eyes, terrified beyond reason.
The silence is deafening.
At last, you lift your gaze, misty eyes meeting misty eyes.
“I ended it.” Your voice, used to be soft and warm, is now cold. Heeseung feels his lungs stop functioning.
-when you visit your grandparents for the summer and end up meeting their neighbor jake, a single father of two who teaches you how to fish and somehow becomes the main reason you don’t wanna leave.
𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼 ->Pairings: Jake Sim x Reader!
𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼 ->Genres: {Mdni}, Dilf fisher men jake , jake is a single father of 2 children, visiting grandparents mentioned , Caramel blonde hair jake included , slight slow-burn , both of them are consenting adults , jake is (36), reader is (24), Jake is all the way freaked out , nose riding included , spit trail kiss included , riding included ,cream pie included , jake has a big d and knows how to use it , jake big nose Appreciation, whimpering included , mentions of co-parenting with ex ,he talks you through it included , turn everyway lose included , jake veiny hands included , story with actual plot , porn with a plot , smut , happy ending , Next door neighbor mentioned , age gap included , summer romance, small town romance, fisherman au, dilf au, single father au, next door neighbor au, age gap romance, Summertime fling mentioned ,sexual tension Praise kink included , Australian kiss Included , Jake has commitment issues , Yellow flag jake included, Dry Humping included , (f ) receiving,(m) receiving , jake is a sweetheart in public but a freak in the sheets , A rocking chair sex scene included ,forbidden-Ish attraction included ,jake is a eater ,Jake teaches the reader how to fish, Happy Ending, you and jake end up together at the end, taking things slow mentioned.
Release date : soon
> ✧･ﾟ: synopsis: you came to Port Fairy, a small coastal town in Victoria, Australia, to spend the summer with your grandparents, thinking it was just gonna be quiet and boring. but then there’s jake, their next-door neighbor, a fisherman everyone in town seems to know. he’s a single dad, keeps to himself, and somehow ends up being the one person you keep running into. at first, he’s just helping your grandparents out and teaching you how to fish, but the more time you spend around him, the harder it gets to act like it’s nothing. what was supposed to be a simple summer visit slowly turns into something you didn’t expect.
genre: academic rivals to lovers, rich jay au, university au, angst, slow burn
part three word count: 22k
warnings: angst, depictions of terminal illness, scenes that occur in hospitals, use of the american (usa) health system (aka receiving medical care is expensive), swearing, slowwwww burn, kissing
playlist: this is me trying / cardigan / mirrorball- taylor swift / yellow - coldplay / BIRDS OF A FEATHER - billie eilish / safety net - ariana grande / garden (say it like dat) - sza
note: AW I am so sad/happy/excited to be finishing this fic and putting it out into the universe. This is one of the longest stories I've released to date, and I have so much love for it. It was my first time writing for Jay, and I had the best time getting to characterize him and bring this story to life using him as inspo. His personality is so endearing to me and he's so ridiculously handsome in a very classic way. Sigh. As always, I hope you enjoy!! This fic has been a long time in the making, and I hope this ending was worth the wait. If you have thoughts/comments/screams, I'd love to hear them! Happy reading ♡
part one | part two
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
Park Jongseong is everything you hate. Spoiled, entitled, and the heir to a top conglomerate in the business world you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to break into. You can’t even begin to count how many sleepless nights, skipped meals, and personal desires you’ve sacrificed just for a seat at the table he was born sitting at.
But when a piece of news in your third year of university pulls your world out from under your feet, everything starts to change. Including your feelings towards the one person you thought you’d always loathe.
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
The beach house is quiet when you wake. The first rays of sunlight beam through your bedside window. The waves look softer in morning light, somehow even more peaceful than the prior evening.
And Jay…
Somewhere between dreams and reality, you found your resolve. You’re not sure what this new sense of closeness is, where exactly it comes from. You’re sure it’s just because the two of you are truly alone for the first time.
Besides, it’s not like it necessarily means anything. You’re sure Jay is just one of those people who lets his affection be known through touch, through closeness. He did tell you he wants to be friends, after all. You’re sure that’s what all of this must be.
But the longer you look at it, the more your stomach begins to sink. Because friendship doesn’t account for a lot of things. Namely, the way he held you last night. The way he looked at you.
Shaking your head, you force yourself out of bed. It’s no use mulling over it now. You’re not operating under any illusions.
It doesn’t matter how sharp his jawline is or how nice it feels to rest your head in that space between his shoulder and neck.
You’re sick. Your future is, in generous terms, uncertain. It wouldn’t be fair, to either you or him, to let things shift too much. To let them progress towards what they teetered on dangerously last night.
Padding gently down the stairs, you realize you were the first one to wake. Good. That will give you some time to set your resolve, to plan for how you’ll go about maintaining space for the rest of your time together.
You only have one more day here, after all. You’ll sleep at the beach house again tonight and then drive back to the hospital early tomorrow afternoon. You can survive another day, another evening.
And then, upon your return, reality will do what it always done, and maintaining a comfortable distance will feel natural again.
Yawning through a stretch as you enter the kitchen, you suppose you can start evening the playing field by returning favors. You’ll make breakfast today. An undergraduate degree built mostly on ready meals hasn’t exactly made you the best chef, but your family owns a restaurant. You can manage eggs, at least.
Rifling through the cupboards for a frying pan, a small, nondescript notebook tucked away in the corner of the kitchen counter catches your eye. Drawing closer, you realize it’s his. Jay’s. The planner he always carries around with him everywhere.
You bite at the small smile that appears on your lips without your permission. It’s easy to imagine him drafting your itinerary with the same intense focus he uses to write out his study schedules.
You shake your head gently and then turn, about to move on, when a small slip of paper poking out from underneath the planner catches your eye.
It’s folded and mostly obscured by the notebook on top of it, but you swear you can make out a few letters.
And, stranger still, you swear they align perfectly with the last few letters in your name.
You shouldn’t look. You really shouldn’t. If nothing else, it’s an invasion of privacy. You wouldn’t want him poking around through your planner, after all.
He already did it one by accident, you think as you remember the way his gaze narrowed in focus when you mistakenly handed him your bucket list instead of a napkin at the charity gala. And the consequences of that have been nothing if not far reaching.
Still, curiosity eats at you. It’s your name, after all. Or at least you think it is.
Glancing quietly over your shoulder just to make sure he hasn’t somehow silently materialized since your internal struggle began, you confirm that you’re alone in the kitchen. And then you reach for that small, folded piece of paper.
Unfolding it slowly, you scan it from top to bottom. You were right, you realize. It is your name at the top. Glazing over it, this time with a more discerning gaze, your eyes widen with every uncovered line.
It’s a list. Penned in his neat, even handwriting, it details all of the medicines you’re currently taking, as well as every pharmacy within a twenty-mile radius of the beach house and their current stock of it.
Beneath it, he’s written out every nearby hospital, along with their capacity to handle illnesses of your nature and their directors’ personal contact information.
Below is yet another list. This one is of symptoms that Hana and Doctor Kim must have told him to keep an eye on. Confusion, dizziness, shortness of breath, fatigue, headaches.
Both of them also left him with their personal phone numbers.
Silently, breath shallow, you fold the paper back and tuck it back beneath the planner where you found it, heart thumping traitorously in your chest.
Again, you’re forced to confront it head-on — he cares. Enough to plan this trip, enough to face your resistance and your excuses a thousand times over, enough to research pharmacies and hospitals and medication side effects.
It’s not altruistic. It’s not for his own benefit. He cares about you. In writing, out loud, and in the way he’s always gentle when he reaches for you.
You think, then, for the first time, of just how much his life has changed since your diagnosis, too. After all, you used to just be someone that sat behind him in lecture halls. Someone that made an irritating point to argue with everything he said.
Now, he’s at the hospital more frequently than his own classes. He’s paying for your medical care. He’s asking doctors and nurses how to best take care of you, and he’s here, at a beach house on the coast, because you dreamed of seeing it one day.
You never wanted to add anyone, much less Jay, to the ever-growing list of people you owe an unpayable debt to.
But every memory, every piece of evidence at just how inextricably intertwined you’ve become, feels like a rock sinking in your gut.
When, or perhaps if the universe takes pity on you, if this all ends in flames, you’re suddenly terrified of just how deeply he’ll be affected.
His care is genuine, of that much you’re sure. You don’t want him to suffer any more than he has to when the time comes to say goodbye.
You’re so wrapped up in your sudden spiraling that you don’t notice when the scent of cooking turns pungent, when the eggs start to turn from golden-brown to coal black.
But Jay does. Startling you from your thoughts, he raises an eyebrow at you from the edge of the kitchen.
“Good morning,” he says, calmly. There’s a hint of sleepiness that still clings to his words.
“Good morning,” you return once you shake your startle, hardly able to meet his eye. You’re flushed for a thousand reasons, all of which you refuse to name.
His eyebrow arches higher. Nodding at the pan on the stove, he adds, “I think something’s burning.”
“Shit.” Rushing to turn off the burner, you pull the pan off the heat, setting it aside. “Sorry,” you mumble, sheeping. “I was trying to make breakfast.”
Jay’s lips twitch. “It’s the thought that counts,” he tells you. “Here, let me—”
You shake your head. “No, no, it’s okay. Just let me— I can handle eggs.”
For a moment, you think he’s going to tease you about it. But then he sees the defensive glint in your gaze. The way this suddenly feels like it’s about more than just eggs. You’ve had far more of your own self-sufficiency stripped from you than you’re comfortable with.
It wouldn’t be an act of kindness to assume you can’t handle this task—it would be belittling. A reminder of just how much your life has changed in recent weeks.
So Jay is just quiet for a moment longer. Then, he nods. Moving to join you, he doesn’t interfere with the eggs. Instead, he says, “I’ll start the coffee.”
Thankfully, your second attempt is much more successful.
With your eggs cooked to perfection this time and Jay’s freshly brewed coffee, the two of you find your seats at the dining table again. After a few bites, Jay asks for your opinion on his itinerary for the day.
He hasn’t planned much, just a dinner at a nearby restaurant this evening, which leaves your morning and afternoon free. He has suggestions of course — heading back down to the beach, going for another ride in the convertible, sitting in the garden and just enjoying the view.
Your indecision must play out across your features, because a beat later, he suggests starting the day close to home. You’re glad for it.
You’re starting to feel like a broken record, but the garden really is beautiful. Two adjacent lounge chairs serve as your resting place for this pocket of time.
Minutes slip into hours easily, the occasional lulls in conversation filled by the sound of waves and nearby sea birds.
He mentions something about Professor Jung’s class, and a crease forms between your eyebrows. Jay notices, because of course he does, and so you tell him about the letter from Doctor Kim, your mother’s insistence that you take an official academic leave of absence for the rest of the semester.
Jay schools his features into something carefully neutral. “How do you feel about that?”
You sigh. “I mean, of course it’s not what I want. We’re almost to midterms already, and the thought of sacrificing all that work really sucks.” You exhale, something calm in your voice now that you’ve had time to think about it. “But it’s not the end of the world. I’ve kept up my scholarship this long, and I know I’ll be able to do it again. I suppose it’s better to focus on recovery now and then return to things when I can give it my all again. Even if it feels a little bit like failure right now.”
Jay stares at you for a moment, almost as if he expects a second head to pop out from between your shoulders. “That might be the most reasonable thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“I will reach over and smack that grin off your face,” you threaten.
“I know.” He just relaxes further into his seat, grin still spread wide across his lips.
You roll your eyes. The conversation continues, veers towards lighter topics. It takes you all the way to early afternoon, when Jay suggests heading back to the beach.
“C’mon,” he urges, “We can actually put our feet in the ocean this time.”
You don’t need any more convincing than that.
It’s still slightly humiliating, the way you have to walk slowly, the way your legs don’t always seem to want to cooperate with your mind. Jay takes it all in stride. He slows even before you do, patient as he walks by your side.
Still a few yards from the water, you lose your balance on the edge of a sand bank, teetering dangerously as you try to right yourself. Jay doesn’t let you fall. Reaching out, he steadies you with one hand on your waist and the other around your wrist.
Even after you’ve centered yourself again, he doesn’t let go.
“You alright?” His brow creases deep in concern.
“I’m fine,” you nod, not quite able to look him in the eye. Not when his open palm still rests against your hip.
Slowly, Jay releases you. But the hand around your wrist doesn't leave your skin entirely. Instead, he slides it down, all the way until his long fingers are interlaced with yours. HIs touch is warm, steadying. Has your pulse thrumming in your ears.
“Here,” he says. “To help you balance.”
“Right.” You nod. “For balance.”
After a few more steps, the two of you are at the water’s edge. Jay helps you slide off your shoes before removing his own. Then, he takes your hand again. This time, he doesn’t bother with excuses.
Instead, he turns to you, eyes glittering like the sunlit sea, and asks, “Are you ready?”
Are you? You’re not sure. The ocean is one of many things in your life that you never bothered to dream too hard about, mostly because it always felt out of reach. Something frivolous not worth dedicating too much attention to.
You’re not sure how to tell him that, so instead, you nod.
Jay smiles, gently guiding you forward until the first waves can just reach you, barely brushing your toes as water trickles up the beach.
A gasp escapes your lips. It’s colder than you expect, almost shockingly so.
“You okay?” Jay asks.
You nod. “Just cold.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s warmer in the summer. We’ll have to come back.” There are a lot of assumptions wrapped up in his response, ones you don’t dare to correct now.
Instead, you follow him a few more steps forward, all the way until water pools around your feet, now ankle-deep.
It’s still cold, but you’re getting used to it now. The sand feels different here, thicker maybe, more solid. You spread your toes and giggle as it pushes between them.
Jay zeroes in on the noise, carefully tracking your expression as you venture deeper. Now it’s him that trails you, happy to be led by his hand still intertwined with yours.
The first time you splash him is entirely by accident. You swear you see a fish swimming near your toes and it startles you so bad you nearly fall over. Thankfully, you manage to stay upright, but your flailing sends a smattering of droplets right towards the front of Jay’s shirt.
“I’m sorry,” you apologize, but it’s wrapped in laughter. “It was an accident. I thought I saw a—”
The words die on your lips as Jay returns the favor by splashing water back towards you, this time entirely on purpose.
“No worries,” he grins. Nodding towards the wet hem of your shirt, he adds, “We’re even now, anyway.”
Your jaw drops at his audacity. “You little shit.” It’s the only warning he gets before your next splash comes, this one wreaking far more havoc than the first as sea water soaks through nearly the entirety of his rolled left pant leg.
You try to run before he can have his revenge, but he catches up to you easily, fingers circling around your wrist before he slides it back towards your hand, interlacing your fingers once again. Then he bends at the waist, other hand dipping dangerously towards the water as he sends droplets flying towards your jeans.
It’s funny — even though the water swirling around your ankles, being flung at your skin, is entirely novel, something you’ve been dreaming of experiencing for years, when you look back on your memory of this moment later, you’ll realize that nearly all of your focus was not on the beach or the your soaked clothes or the even ocean itself.
No, it was locked on the steady, warm feeling of Jay’s hand in yours.
…..
The sun tracks a steady path across the sky, and before you know it, it’s time to get ready for your dinner with Jay.
Despite your questioning, he hasn’t divulged many details. You’re not sure exactly where you’re going, nor what kind of attire is expected. Eyeing your small overnight bag, you’re suddenly worried that everything you’ve brought will be too casual.
Then again, maybe he’s bringing you to something a little more quaint. He said it himself — most of the businesses around here are seasonal. You doubt that the truly fine dining establishments are even open this time of year.
Before you can make up your mind on if you should just go across the hall and ask him again, a knock sounds on your bedroom door.
Opening it, Jay stands on the other side, a large box in hand.
You look at it, frowning. “What’s that?”
“For you,” Jay outstretches his arms, passing the box to you. “For tonight.”
“Jay…” you trail off. Gifts from him are nothing new at this point, but something in your pride still withers with every lavish present he lays at your feet.
“Don’t even,” he shakes his head, silencing your protest before you can put words to it. “Besides,” he adds, nodding towards the box. “This was already yours.”
Your brow furrows in confusion. “Already m—” Realization dawns across your features. You remove the lid from the box, confirming your suspicions.
Inside is the gown, the one you selected from Sunghoon’s shop.
“I thought we were going to dinner,” you breathe.
It’s Jay’s turn to be puzzled. “We are,” he confirms.
“There’s a restaurant around here where this is standard attire?” You arch an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” Quieter, you add, “I don’t feel like getting stared at all night.”
Jay’s expression softens at your confession. “You won’t be. I promise. A dress that pretty deserves to be worn, don’t you think? Besides,” he adds, a gleam entering his gaze, “I’ll be the only one staring at you.”
“Jay,” you whine.
“Okay, okay,” he puts his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll only stare when you’re not looking.”
“I’ll still be able to tell,” you frown.
“You haven’t so far,” he points out.
He grins when your cheeks warm.
And to that, you have nothing to say. Instead you ask, “What time are we leaving?”
“Whenever you’re ready,” Jay says. “There’s no rush. Take your time.”
The door closes, and you’re once again alone with your thoughts. You glance down at the box in your hands before setting it on the foot of the bed.
You sigh. You really weren’t prepared for anything so formal. Glancing at your small makeup bag, you decide you’ll have to make do.
Thirty minutes later, it’s apparent that you weren’t born with the talent of a makeup artist, but it’ll do. You give yourself another once-over in the mirror, assessing your handiwork. The work you’ve done on your makeup and hair might be simple, but it highlights the features you like most. Makes your reflection something that shimmers a little more than usual. Despite it all, you feel pretty.
Which leaves only one step left before you meet Jay downstairs: the dress still sitting on your bed. Padding over towards it quietly, you take a deep breath before reaching into the box and retrieving it with gentle fingers.
It unfurls as you pull it out, skirt falling down towards the floor in an elegant wave. Here in the evening glow of your borrowed bedroom, it’s even more spectacular than you remember.
Quietly, you step into the skirt, pulling the top of the dress up over your body and securing the straps into place.
Reaching behind you, you fumble blindly for the zipper. It takes a moment for you to find it, fingers closing around the cool metal. You tug, but the zipper hardly makes it an inch before your own dexterity fails you.
Frowning, you try again. This attempt is no better. No matter how many times you try, you can’t get the zipper past the base of your spine.
That’s right, you remember, hardly stopping yourself from cursing out loud, the store attendant helped you that day at Sunghoon’s store.
A flicker of doubt sweeps through your mind. Is it even possible to close the zipper on your own?
It has to be. Because if you can’t get it zipped on your own, the only other viable option is—
No.
That’s not happening.
Grimacing, you pull again, this time with far more force, fueled by your sudden desperation. But it’s to no avail. The angle simply won’t work.
Head lolling forward, you groan aloud to the empty room.
And then, gathering whatever fragmented remnants of dignity you have left, you call out quietly, “Jay?”
You wait for a heartbeat. Another. No response comes.
Walking towards your door, you crack it open slightly.
Louder this time, you call again, “Jay?”
“Yeah?” You hear him respond, from downstairs you think. “Are you okay?” There’s an undertone of urgency in his voice that you would have more time to ponder if you weren’t panicking yourself.
“I’m fine,” you assure. “But can you…” You trail off for a moment, losing your confidence. “Can you come here?”
He doesn’t say anything, but you hear the sound of his feet padding against the stairs. It takes him less than thirty seconds to reach the top, eyes locking on yours where you still brace yourself behind the door like it’s a shield.
His brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”
You can barely hold his eye. “Nothing, I just…” Biting the inside of your lip, you manage to get out, “I need help with the zipper.”
“Oh.” It’s quiet for a moment. You watch as realization sets in, his eyes widening before he remembers to regain control of his expression. “Oh,” he repeats, softer this time.
Then, he swallows. Once, roughly. You watch the way his throat works, jaw tightening, eyes sharpening before they soften again. He sets his resolve, pace steady as he walks towards you.
You take a step back when he reaches you, silently pulling the door open wider, allowing him into your space.
“Sorry,” you mumble, eyes on his feet. “I forgot that I needed help. I didn’t think I—”
“Don’t apologize,” Jay interrupts, voice rawer than it was before. “It’s okay,” he assures. “I don’t mind. Just…” He flails for a moment, words stuck in his throat. Then he whispers, “Turn around for me.”
You do. Quietly, steadily, all the way until you’re facing the bed. Jay’s presence behind you is an impossible thing to miss, especially when you hear the deep, shuddering inhale he takes.
And then you feel it, the warmth of his hands as he wraps his fingers around the zipper. Your breath is shallow in your chest, heart pounding in your throat.
You can feel his knuckles skimming the notches of your spine. A slow, deliberate pace as he drags them upwards.
It’s agonizingly slow. It's over entirely too soon.
You feel his fingers reach the top, hesitating for only a moment before he retracts them. You release the exhale you hadn’t quite realized you were holding.
Turning back halfway, you meet his eye.
“Thanks,” you manage, more breath than sound.
“Of course,” he returns, and you don’t think you’re imagining the strain. He recovers quickly, though. Extending his arm, he offers, “Shall we?”
Only then do your eyes rake over him. Jay, it seems, has not made you dress up on your own this evening.
Dressed in a suit so impossibly well-tailored you’re sure it must have been made with only him in mind, Jay is a vision. Dark hair falls into his eyes, loose across his forehead, flattering the angular set of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw.
Under any other circumstances, the sight would serve as a reminder of the distance between the two of you, all the ways in which Jay will always exist just outside your reach.
But his outstretched arm is an offering, an invitation. He’s not pulling away, not stepping back. He’s meeting you halfway, like he’s already decided that wherever you are is a place worth being.
So you wrap your fingers around his forearm and let him lead the way down the stairs. You let him carry your purse and open your car door and smile at you from the driver’s seat.
For a moment, it’s all too easy to pretend. That this, whatever is blossoming between the two of you, was never because of a deal.
That you’re not dying and he’s not doing everything in his power to stop it.
For a moment, just in the most secret parts of your mind, you’re just you and he’s just him. Two people that realized, somewhere between butting heads in lecture halls and always vying for first place, that you had more in common than you realized. That your differences were actually quite complimentary when you stacked them side by side.
You pretend that it’s all natural to you, that you belong in the passenger seat of convertibles, wearing an average person’s monthly salary on your body and being treated like a princess.
In your fantasy, no one feels sorry for you. No one pities you. If anything, they’re all jealous. That you’re the one on the receiving end of the ever-formidable Park Jongseong’s equally fierce affections.
Sunoo has what he needs to follow his dreams all on his own, and your family was never wrecked by circumstances out of their control.
You have room in your mind for yourself, for your own desires and hopes and goals. You have time for things outside of studying. There’s space in your life for friends and flings and maybe, you think, glancing over at Jay where he keeps his eyes trained on the road, maybe even enough room for love.
It might just be a fantasy, but you decide that you don’t want to ruminate tonight. You’re tired of wallowing in your own misery and always worrying about what comes next.
Is it so wrong? you wonder, to pretend, just for tonight, that this is nothing more than dinner with a boy?
Jay’s pulling into the parking lot before you can fully make up your mind. Taking a tentative glance at the dark building, you frown slightly.
“Are you sure it’s open?” you ask. “It looks dark.”
“It’s open,” Jay nods. Glancing at you, he amends, “Well, it is for us.”
You balk. “What do you mean, for us?”
He shrugs. “I pulled a few strings. C’mon,” he smiles at you, “you’ll like it. I promise.”
The truth you already suspected becomes more apparent as he leads you inside. The restaurant has an understated kind of beauty. The rich colors and shimmering decor of quiet luxury. It reminds you faintly of spaces like the luxury department store, Sunghoon’s shop. Made to suit the tastes of the elite.
Like the beach house, the far wall is almost entirely windows. With an hour until sunset, the view is breathtaking. The stretch of beach it faces must not be private, because you see figures in the distance. Couples walking along the shoreline, families splashing at the edge of the water.
The cool weather keeps the beach from being crowded, but the sight makes you think that it’s probably never truly empty, even when winter sinks its ice-cold claws into the world.
The restaurant, however, is strikingly empty.
A waiter, dressed head-to-toe in a sleek black uniform greets you upon your arrival. He leads you past an array of empty tables, bare even from silverware, until he comes to stop at a small, round table pressed close to the window.
Nodding gently, he smiles as Jay pulls out your chair for you. Once you’re both seated, he lays two menus down with a smile and instructs you to let him know if you have any questions.
Jay thanks him, and you take a small sip from your water glass, throat suddenly feeling rather dry.
“Jay,” you start, once the waiter is out of earshot, “why is no one else here?”
Jay shrugs, not bothering to glance up from the menu. “Must be a slow evening.”
“Jay.”
He sighs, setting it down. “Fine. You caught me. Everyone insisted this was the best dining anywhere on the coast, but when I called, they said they’d already shut down for the season. So I…” he trails off, trying to find the best words, “made a few requests.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, no real edge to your words. “I would have been happy cooking at home again, or even at that fast food restaurant we saw down the street.”
Jay’s brow furrows, something in his expression falling slightly. “You don’t like it?”
You shake your head immediately. That wasn’t the conclusion you intended him to land on. “Of course I like it,” you tell him truthfully. Something relaxes in his shoulders. “It’s incredible. How could I not? I just meant that… I don't want you to feel like you have to do all these things for me just because I’m—”
“I don’t.” He shakes his head, cutting you off. “I don’t feel like I have to. I like doing things for you. I want you to feel important and special and valued. Not because….” he trails off for a moment. “Not because of circumstances.” Meeting your eye, his gaze is imploring. “Just because you are.”
To that, you suddenly have nothing to say.
“Jay…” You’re not sure if you’re warning him or something else entirely.
He shakes his head, as if he can sense your internal struggle. “Let’s decide on food.”
There, you let him take the lead. Mostly because you haven’t heard of half of the menu items before. Jay is patient as he explains them to you. When your mind is made up, he waves the waiter over with a raised hand.
The sun falls a little further towards the horizon, the end of another day. Beneath you, families begin to pack up for the evening. Couples return to their cards, hand-in-hand as they make their way back up the beach.
Distantly, you wonder what you and Jay look like from the outside. You must seem like a couple, especially now. Dressed to the nines and sat opposite from each other at the nicest restaurant in town. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume; it would only be natural.
You can’t quite decide how that makes you feel. Suddenly, you’re rather glad there are no other patrons tonight. The only witness is your waiter.
Dinner is a rather quiet affair. Conversation lulls before it starts again, both of you skirting around delicate topics. It’s there, though—something that simmers just beneath the surface. A truth that the two of you are too afraid to touch.
The food is delicious, and dessert even more so.
When the bill has been settled, Jay guides you back to his car with a hand on the small of your back. His touch is gentle, present without demand.
Once you arrive back at the beach house, he opens your door for you, falls into place beside you as the two of you make a path towards the entrance.
Halfway to the front door, your footsteps falter. Jay turns to you with a question in his gaze.
The sun has already settled beneath the skyline. It’s dusk now. Everything is covered in the hazy dark glow of evening.
“It’s our last night,” you tell him, words barely a whisper. “Can we go down to the beach?”
He passes a questioning look over the dress you still wear, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods.
This time, it’s you that initiates contact. Quietly, traces of your hesitation plain as day in the way you bite at your bottom lip, you reach your hand towards his.
For a moment, you just wrap your hand around his three longest fingers, holding them loosely as your thumb strokes over his pointer finger.
Your eyes follow the motion. His are locked on you. Above you, the moon begins to glow.
Jay sighs but makes no effort to move. He remains motionless, pliant under your gentle touch. After another moment, you slide your hand further into his, lacing your fingers together.
Glancing up, you find him already looking at you, lips parted, eyes lidded, a distinct sense of longing in his gaze, raw and steady.
“Let’s go,” you whisper.
Jay makes no attempt to move. He only nods.
This time, it’s him that trails behind you, led by the firm grip you have on his hand and you follow the path back down to the water. Your pace is slow, but now it doesn’t feel like it’s due to the limits of your abilities.
It just feels like a moment that the two of you want to savor a little longer.
When you do finally reach the shoreline, you release your grip reluctantly. Only because it allows you to lift the skirt of your dress up past your ankles, watching quietly as the water swirls around your feet.
Next to you, Jay does the same. He rolls his pant legs, slightly unevenly, and you’d tease him about it under any other circumstances.
Now, though, there’s no laughter in your throat. Only a deep sense of calm as you look up at the sky, eyes tracing the stars that have started to shine against the inky black expanse.
The moon casts a silver reflection on the water, rippling slightly with every ebb and flow of the current.
After another long beat of stillness, Jay turns to you, eyes tracing your profile. He asks, “Should we sit?”
You look at him, considering. “We don’t have the blanket.” The evening chill is the least of your concerns. You hardly feel it at all. But the thought of letting your dress fill with sand is enough to give you pause.
Jay nods, then begins to shrug off his suit jacket. Even in the low light, you can see the way his dress shirt follows the motion of his body, the way it sits against his skin. “We can use this,” he suggests.
It’s impractical and might render the jacket ruined, but if he doesn't mind, you suppose you won’t either. Nodding, you follow him a bit further up the beach, until you’re out of the reach of the gentle waves.
He spreads it against the sand, settling down on one side. Then he looks up at you, patting the space next to him.
You hesitate, suddenly unsure. It’s far smaller than the blanket from yesterday. There’s no room for distance, no way for you to maintain space.
If Jay notices, he doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he reaches his hand towards you. You take it, because of course you do. Even with sudden doubt flashing through your mind, his outstretched fingers will always be something you accept.
Gently, he guides you down next to him, helps arrange your dress so that the fabric doesn’t spill over onto the sand.
You were right to be wary. No matter how close to the edge of his jacket you sit, your knee brushes against his. You can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin layer of his shirt.
For a moment, the two of you watch the waves.
Then he asks, voice low, “Your beach trip, the convertible, were they as good as you hoped for?”
At his side, you nod, a small smile tugging on your lips. “Even better.” Turning your head, your chin nearly brushes his shoulder. You look up at him, lips parting at the sudden proximity as his gaze falls down towards you. Your voice carries a bit more weight now, the lightness from earlier swallowed by your sincerity. “Thank you, Jay.” His eyes are heavy, laden with something indecipherable. “For everything.”
For a moment, he says nothing, quiet as his eyes search yours. The longer he looks, the warmer your cheeks begin to feel. But you can’t bring yourself to look away, can hardly dare to blink.
Slowly, he brings a hand to your temple, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen across your forehead.
He doesn’t remove his touch. Instead, he traces a steady path, fingers light as he ghosts them across the shell of your ear, all the way until they come to curve just beneath your jaw.
“Jay,” you whisper, voice nearly swallowed by the breeze.
His eyes follow the motion, falling to your parted lips before he finds your gaze again.
He leans closer, just a fraction of an inch, like the motion is involuntary. Like he can’t quite help himself.
“This was on your bucket list, too,” he murmurs, breath washing over your heated cheekbones.
“You’re not a stranger,” you point out, voice more breath than sound.
“Mm,” he hums. “Do you want me to go find one for you?” But he’s even closer now, his nose brushing against yours.
You call his bluff. “You’d do that?”
“No,” he admits, thumb stroking along your jawline, angling you slightly. “Probably not.”
“Probably?” you echo.
“Definitely,” he decides, lips brushing against your own.
You’re touching now, lips brushing, moving against each other with every shallow breath. His fingers splay against your overly warm skin. Stroking, soothing, coaxing like he can't quite stop himself.
But he doesn’t move further. Even here, even now, he won’t take what you haven’t asked him for.
“Jay,” you breathe, and he nearly groans at the sound of his name, a low breathy thing.
“Mm,” he hums again, fingers flexing, nose brushing.
“Kiss me,” you tell him.
He releases an exhale, long, deep, desperate, and then he’s finally pressing forward. His hand beneath your jaw serves as an anchor as he finally increases the pressure, lips parted against yours like he wants to breathe you in.
Your eyes flutter shut, sighing as he takes your bottom lip between his. His lips part against yours, and you do your best to follow the motion, moving with him.
The pace he sets is gentle, tentative, searching. As if he has all the time in the world and plans to spend it with his mouth on yours.
There’s nothing demanding in his touch, even as his breath begins to quicken, as his sighs start to sound more strangled, lower in his chest.
It’s not rushed. It’s not frantic. It’s gentle and sweet and so impossibly slow.
His hands, however, can’t seem to decide where to land. Once they’ve had their fill of your jaw, they fall to your neck, the pulse point that jumps in your throat. The skin of your shoulders, the length of your spine. Eventually, they settle at the small of your back, pulling gently as he encourages you further into his space.
You release a breathy exhale, head full of stars and sighs and him.
Above you, the moon glows. The ocean laps against the shore. Jay moves his affections from your swollen lips to the angle of your jaw, trailing downwards below your ear until he finds a place that makes you shudder.
But when his hand comes to your arm, he feels the goosebumps that have started to rise.
Lips still on yours, you feel him frown. “You’re cold.”
You shake your head, mind spinning as you try to catch your breath. “I’m fine.”
It’s no use. Jay presses one more kiss against your lips before moving to your cheekbone. He lays a gentle kiss there too. One last kiss finds the tip of your nose before he leans back.
“Come on,” he urges, “Let’s go.”
“But—” you start to protest, words dying on your lips. You’re afraid to move, afraid that leaving your place on the right side of his suit jacket will shatter the illusion, will send you plummeting back to a reality you’re not ready to face.
“I know,” Jay whispers, like he understands, like he feels it, too. “It’s okay.”
He helps you stand, and then he brushes off the sand from his jacket before settling it over your shoulder. The kiss he presses against your lips after securing it into place surprises you. He smiles at your wide eyes, something unbearably fond in his gaze as he catches your hand in his own.
The walk back to the house is quiet, save for the sound of your breath. Once you’re both inside, Jay turns back to you, cradling your head as you look up at him in surprise before kissing you again. Once, twice, three times before he finally pulls his lips away, resting his forehead against yours.
“Sorry,” he says. “I like doing that.”
“Don’t apologize,” you shake your head. “I…” Even with his admission laid bare, it’s hard to find the courage, the honesty to do the same. For him, you manage, “I do, too.”
Jay smiles at that, leaning back as his eyes trace over you. They catch for a moment on the unmistakable flush, on your slightly swollen lips.
He swallows, shakes his head.
He tells you, “It’s late. We should probably get some sleep.”
You nod at the suggestion. It is late, after all, and you’ll have to drive back tomorrow.
Tomorrow. The thought of a new day has sudden dread curling deep in your gut.
Jay takes your hand in his again as he leads you up the stairs. At the top, he hesitates for a moment before dropping it. Eyes on yours, he tells you quietly, “Good night.”
You return the sentiment. Your words are done, but both of you hover a moment longer. Night, this night, feels like a bubble that the sunrise will inevitably burst. Neither of you are quite ready to let it go.
Jay nods gently towards your bedroom door behind you. “Go,” he urges, even if you can see his unwillingness written across his features. “I’ll be here in the morning.”
You know he will be, but that’s not what you’re worried about, not what has you hesitating.
Still, you nod, hoping your thoughts don’t play out as openly across your features as you fear they might. Then, you turn, walking towards your bedroom. Hand hovering on the handle, you turn back only once.
“Good night, Jay,” you tell him again.
He nods, expression full of something you can only call longing. “Sleep well.”
The water from your shower falls relentlessly against your skin, sharpens the events of the day into something sobering.
You kissed Jay. You kissed him. Your thoughts swirl just as surely as the water that circles the drain, but no matter how long you search them, you can’t find anything that stings like regret.
Even as you step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body before drying your hair. Even as you pull a pair of worn pajamas over your body, you can’t bring yourself to wish it hadn’t happened.
You don’t regret it, you realize, pulling back the covers as you sink into your bed. It may complicate things, it will surely make them more difficult, but even if given the chance to relive the evening, you wouldn’t change anything.
In fact, the only thing you’d do is—
No. Even in the privacy of your own mind, the thought swims like a bad idea.
Still…
Your eyes fall on the door across from you. You debate internally for a moment, logical parts of yourself warring with the ones fueled by self-serving desire.
“Oh, fuck it,” you whisper out loud to your empty bedroom. And then you stand up from your bed.
The distance from your bedroom to his feels even shorter now. Fueled by a sudden stroke of bravery, you knock three times against his door before you can talk yourself out of it.
You’re being ridiculous. You already said goodnight. He’s probably asleep, anyway—
In front of you, Jay’s door opens, just enough to reveal him. Hair messy like he’s been tossing and turning, Jay’s eyes are wide when he looks down at you.
“Are you okay?” is the first thing he asks. You’re reminded of the list you found, of hospitals and pharmacies and emergency contact information. Of just how prepared he was to take care of you. “Is something wrong? We can go—”
“Jay,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “I’m fine.” But there, your words die. You hadn’t planned this far ahead. Haven't decided what to say now that he’s in front of you. “I just…” you try. Deciding that beating around the bush will get you nowhere, you ask, “Can I sleep with you?”
Jay’s eyes widen even further at that, lips parting as your request sinks in.
Immediately, your cheeks flame as you realize the connotation. “I don’t—” Your words die on your lips, embarrassment making you struggle through speech as you try to remedy the institution. “I didn’t mean—I’m not ready for… that.” You wince internally, then outwardly. “I just,” you sigh, fingers finding the hem of your sleep shirt. “It would be nice, I think. To be close.”
For a moment, Jay says nothing. And then he opens his door further, stepping aside to let you in.
His room is similar to yours in both layout and appearance. He hasn’t drawn his curtains shut, though. You can see the moon shining outside, casting a silver glow across the space.
You aren’t particularly concerned with the window, though. Your attention falls to his bed. There’s enough space for you to both fit comfortably, but there are no illusions to be had here. No pretence of maintaining distance.
Jay walks to the bed, pulling back the blanket as he looks back at you. “Here,” he nods. Considering for a moment, he adds, “Unless you prefer the other side.”
You shake your head. “This side is good.”
Slowly, you crawl into the space between the blanket and the sheets. Jay walks around to the other side of the bed, pulling back the blanket there as he does the same.
It’s dark. Laying down against his pillows, you turn to face him. You can make out his features — the angles of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips — but only just.
For a moment, the two of you just lie like that. Motionless, looking at one another.
Then, Jay reaches for you. Hand settling around your hip, he pulls you closer, all the way until you’re nestled against his chest.
He looks down at you, the faint trace of a smile on his lips. “Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi,” you return.
Then, slowly, he’s leaning down. All the way until his lips meet yours.
Like the beach, it’s slow, searching. Careful, like you’re something precious.
Night settles around you quietly, steadily. The moon climbs higher into the sky while the two of you trade giggles and whispers. And between it all, kisses.
Eventually, the pull of sleep becomes too strong to ignore. Your eyelids flutter shut, breath evening out while your head rests against his chest.
You’re still not sure what tomorrow will bring, what the morning light will do to whatever fragile thing has just taken flight. But tonight, wrapped in Jay’s arms with evidence of his affection on your swollen lips and flushed cheeks and somewhere deep within your heart, happiness feels like it might not be so terribly out of reach as you once thought.
…..
You wake to sunlight. Beneath your cheek, Jay’s heartbeat is steady, even.
He feels you stir, arm adjusting as you come to.
“Good morning,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss against the crown of your head.
“Mm,” you hum, still trying to shake the lingering sleepiness from your mind. The events of the previous night come back to you. The restaurant, the beach. Kissing Jay, falling asleep next to him, in his arms.
You wait for the wave of regret to crash over you like a tidal wave. But it never comes. Instead, you squint at the sunlight streaming in through the window.
“What time is it?” you ask.
“Almost noon,” Jay tells you. That surprises you. You can’t remember the last time you slept past eight. It also affirms your dread. “We’ll have to leave soon.”
You nod, pulling yourself up to a sitting position.
The coming week is not one you’re rushing to get back to. Your next round of treatment starts tomorrow, which means Sunoo and your mother will be on their way back as well. You’re excited to see them, of course, but…
Glancing down at where Jay is still splayed across the sheets, you sigh. You’re not ready to leave this behind you.
Again, you decide gratitude is in order. “Thank you, Jay,” you tell him again. “For everything. I can’t believe I actually got to come here.” Looking around, it still feels too good to be true. “I never thought I’d actually get to see the beach, to do all those things on my bucket list.”
Jay smiles up at you, a soft warm thing. “All that’s left now is the northern lights.”
You sigh, shaking your head. “That’s not going to happen. It’s okay, though. I crossed it off the same night I wrote it. It’s not an actual part of the list.”
“Mm,” Jay hums, but something in his expression tells you he’s not going to let it go so easily.
“Besides,” you argue, changing the subject. “I also haven’t technically kissed a stranger.”
At that, Jay’s lips pull into a flat line. “I’m a stranger enough,” he grumbles.
“Are you sure?” you ask, something sly in your gaze. It’s fun to tease him like this, you think. There’s something horribly endearing about watching him get sulky. “I don’t think it would be very safe or responsible of me to agree to spend the night in a new city with a stranger—”
Jay’s movement is so sudden it nearly has your heart jumping out of your throat. In one sweeping motion, he rises from his position against the pillows, hands on your shoulders until you’re the one beneath him.
Flat on your back, head on the pillows, he hovers above you.
“Hi,” he breathes, gaze falling from your eyes to your lips. “My name is Jay. Nice to meet you.”
“Jay, what are you—”
“Shh,” he shushes above you. “I’m a stranger.”
There’s a gleam in his eyes, a giggle on your lips from the absurdity of it all that dies as he lowers himself. Slowly, but with intention.
All the way until his lips find yours. Like the night before, it’s slow at first. Gentle, searching, like he’s afraid you'll evaporate beneath him.
Under him, you sigh. He swallows the sound. For a moment, his lips are slack against yours. Just there, breathing.
Then, he renews his efforts. Jay is more insistent this time as his lips find yours with a renowned fervence.
You do your best to keep up, breath becoming more shallow with every passing second. You're having a hard time catching it until Jay decides he finds the space just beneath your ear fascinating and redirects his attention there.
Your heart beats traitorously in your chest. Sighing, singing, yearning even though you promised yourself yesterday that you would maintain distance.
You sigh, out loud this time, hands splaying against his chest as his mouth works against your throat, fingers coming to your jaw as he angles you to his liking.
Moments bleed to minutes until enough sense comes back to you to remember that a world does exist outside the two of you. That the time is only getting later.
“Jay,” you sigh, just as reluctant to let go as he is. When the sound of his name seems to do nothing but encourage him further, you try again. “Jay.”
This time, he pulls back from you, only slightly. Just enough to meet your reluctant gaze.
Lips swollen, hair messy where your fingers ran through it, you have half a mind to just pull him back down to you.
“It’s almost noon,” you remind him. By now, the hour has probably arrived.
“Yeah,” he agrees, breath ragged where he looks down at you. “Yeah,” he repeats, closing his eyes. “You’re right.”
But Jay seems to feel the same reluctance plaguing you. His movement is just as slow as yours as he begins to pack up his belongings, just as hesitant as you feel when he tells you the car is ready.
When you slide down into the passenger seat next to him this time, he waits for a moment before starting the engine.
Glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, he hesitates for a moment. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was nervous. After everything, it seems almost laughable.
But his voice shakes a little when he finally says, “I have something for you.”
Another gift? You almost want to refuse, just based on the principle of it all.
“It’s nothing big,” he adds. “Just…” His words trail off as he reaches into his pocket, retrieving a small heart-shaped stone. “Here,” he holds it out to you. “For your collection,” he explains.
A confused furrow builds between your brows. Taking it, you ask, “My collection?”
Jay nods. “Didn’t you say you used to collect rocks when you were younger?” Pausing, a flicker of doubt crosses his features. “I swear you mentioned it on the drive over.”
You did. But it was such a minute detail, such an offhanded comment that you hardly remember it. You certainly never expected him to.
And you might not have added any rocks to your collection since you were seven years old, might not even know where any of your tiny treasures ended up, but that’s not the point.
The point is that he cared enough to listen. To remember. To think of you while he walked down the beach and stumbled across a rock shaped like a heart. To pick it up and slide it into his pocket thinking that you might like it, that it might feed that same youthful delight that made you start your collection in the first place.
If the last two days are nothing but an illusion, Jay has just made it a million times harder to let go of.
You run your finger around the worn edges of the rock. It really does look like a heart. Then, you set it down on your lap, your smile holding steady as he pulls out of the driveway.
Even later, once you’re back on the road, this still feels a little bit like a world that belongs to only the two of you. That neither of you are quite ready to say goodbye to.
The illusion holds steady on backroads and down highways, all the way until you’re nearly back to the hospital when the buzzing of your phone breaks through the quiet.
Pulling it out, you glance at the called ID.
“Who is it?” Jay asks.
“Sunoo,” you tell him before answering. “Hello?” you say into the receiver.
“____.” Sunoo says your name on the other end. “Where are you?”
In your sudden scramble to answer, you don’t realize how strange of a question it is for him to be asking in the first place.
Immediately, you suppose the most believable response is—
“Just at the hospital,” you tell him, trying to disguise the telltale lilt to your voice that always comes out when you lie.
Jay turns to you, a question in his gaze. You shrug in response.
“Really?” Even through the phone, your brother’s voice has a strange edge to it.
“Yes, really,” you tell him, trying not to let the speaker pick up on too much of your nervous laughter. “Where else would I be?”
“I don’t know,” Sunoo says, “But I’m at the hospital right now.” The ice cold shock of dread that pools in your stomach is immediate. “I managed to get an extra day off, so I came early. I wanted to surprise you,” he adds, every new word making you feel like you’ve suddenly been submerged in ice.
“But when I got here,” he continues, “Hana said you weren’t here. She said you left for a couple of days.”
Your pulse spikes. You have no idea how you’re going to justify this, what excuse you could possibly come up with—
Sunoo deals his last card. “With your boyfriend.”
…..
The scene in front of you would be comical if Sunoo’s scrutinizing glare wasn’t also pointed in your direction.
Thankfully, it’s now focused, and rather intensely at that, on Jay, who sits at your side. He shifts uncomfortably and the tiny motion has his arm brushing against yours. Just barely, but it’s enough.
Sunoo tracks the movement with a frown.
“So, you’re not dating?” He asks again, eyes narrowed like he still doesn’t believe you.
“No,” you shake your head.
Unbidden, you remember the feel of his arms around you this morning when you woke to sunlight. The press of his lips against—
No. This is hardly the time and certainly not the place.
“Then why did Hana say you are?” Sunoo asks.
Hana. Of course. That stupid assumption neither of you ever bothered to correct, all the way back before any of this really started. Before you made your deal, before you understood the consequences of it.
You shrug, doing your best to feign nonchalance. “She must have misunderstood. Jay is my…” you trail off, suddenly unsure how to finish the sentence. After another beat of silence, you settle on, “friend. We’re in the same major, and we have some classes together.”
I owe him more than I can even begin to describe. The words remain unsaid, but they hang distractingly in the air between you and the boy at your side.
“You never mentioned him.” Sunoo frowns.
“It’s new,” Jay says, finally breaking his silence. “We ended up sitting next to each other in class this semester.”
At that, Sunoo’s brow only arches higher. “New,” he echoes, “but you went on an overnight trip together somewhere hours away?”
“I mean, these aren’t exactly normal circumstances,” you point out. “Yes, I suppose most people would wait longer, but…” Your words trail off, the obvious implication lingering in the air.
“Right.” Sunoo nods, lips suddenly tight. He tilts his head for a moment, considering. Then, a moment later, he turns to the man at your side. “Jay, was it?”
Jay nods, eyes widening slightly from the direct address. “Yeah.”
“I suppose it’s a little late for introductions, but I’m Sunoo.”
“I know.” Jay nods. “She’s told me about you.”
“Mm,” Sunoo hums. You don’t think you’re imagining the way he sits up a bit straighter. It’d be funny if it weren’t so embarrassing—the sight of your brother, sweet, gentle Sunoo, trying to look intimidating. Turning back to you, he says, “Well, I was about to see if you wanted to get lunch. Somewhere other than the hospital cafeteria this time.” He pauses, glancing at the clock. “Although I suppose it’s closer to dinner time now.” You think you must be hearing things when he looks at Jay again and asks, “Would you like to join us?”
If he’s as surprised as you are, Jay hides it well. You only catch a flicker of it, some unnamed emotion that crosses his features, before he nods. Once, slowly.
Then, once the idea has a moment to settle, he tells Sunoo, “I’d like that.”
Dinner is a quiet affair at first.
Sunoo’s probing questions get one word answers at best, and you and Jay make a mission of avoiding as much eye contact as possible.
“Okay,” Sunoo finally says after another ten minutes of uncomfortable silence. “I believe you. You’re not dating. Actually I’m starting to wonder if the two of you even like each other.”
An assumption that’s probably safer, even if the sudden memory of Jay’s bed this morning begs to differ.
You sigh. “Sorry, Sunoo,” you apologize. “It’s just…” you glance at Jay then back to your brother. “It’s awkward.”
“Right,” Sunoo nods. “Which is why we’re at dinner. To get to know each other. To make it less awkward.”
But between the three of you, Sunoo seems to be the only one blessed with the gift of easy conversation and small talk.
To his credit, Jay tries. He answers Sunoo’s questions about his classes and his hobbies and his interests outside of school.
But when the food comes, he winces slightly when he bites into the steak he ordered. A minuscule movement that's gone as quick as it comes, but Sunoo notices.
“What’s wrong?” He asks. “It’s not good?”
“No,” Jay shakes his head. “It’s fine.”
“Fine?” Sunoo raises a brow.
“Good,” Jay clarifies. “It tastes good.”
“You winced.”
“I didn’t,” Jay lies. “I just…”
“Winced,” Sunoo supplies again.
Jay hesitates for a moment. Then he admits, “It is good. Really. It’s just a little dry.”
To both of your surprise, Sunoo nods enthusiastically. “Right?” He agrees. “I thought so, too. I’ve been researching common restaurant steak preparation methods lately. I feel like this was probably pan seared, but the heat was too high. That’s why—“
“It’s so dry,” Jay finishes for him, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah, you have to be careful when you’re searing. It’s always better to go low and slow, but the dinner rush doesn’t always leave enough time for the perfect sear.”
Watching their conversation unfold, you’d roll your eyes if you didn’t feel such a strong flash of unadulterated relief surge through you.
It would seem that the two of them have found common ground. From there, the awkward silence is anything but.
And it seems Jay was afflicted with false modesty when he told you his mom only taught him a little bit in the kitchen. Sunoo spends the rest of the evening picking Jay’s brain about different recipes and cooking techniques, all of which he seems to be intimately familiar with.
You’d be surprised if you didn’t know him better, if you weren’t already aware of how obsessive he is about things that interest him.
So instead, you breathe a sigh of relief. Suddenly, all the effort you put into keeping them from each other feels a little silly. Of course you still have no intention of letting your brother know about the deal you made, but watching the two of them talk together, you wonder if your fear of letting your family get to know more about your life was misplaced.
Jay, despite the rather unorthodox start of your friendship, seems to fit in just fine.
Even if cooking is the only common denominator they’ve established so far, there’s something heartwarming about it.
Something that makes you smile as you watch them go back and forth, debating spices and wine pairing and the merits of various cooking oils.
Not for the first time, you wish things were different. That the circumstances that brought the three of you together today weren’t shrouded in secrecy. In that terrible, looming weight of your illness.
You wonder what it would be like, under normal circumstances, to introduce the two of them.
Maybe, you think, in this fantasy world, Sunoo’s assumption would have been correct. Maybe there wouldn't have been anything holding you back from saying yes to good things that come your way and returning affection like it’s second nature.
Maybe, just maybe, Jay would be fighting for a different kind of approval from your brother.
Not as your friend, not as your classmate.
Maybe he’d be fidgeting in his seat for a different reason entirely. Trying to earn the respect and good faith of your family as your boyfriend instead of one half of a bargain you made in secret.
At first, the thought makes you smile.
Then, it makes your heart clench, sends a deep, resonant ache scattering through your bones. Then, it makes you feel a little bit like crying.
…..
Your second round of treatment begins the same morning dew freezes on the leaves just outside the window of your hospital room.
It’s winter now. The unmistakable chill in the air is evidence enough.
Sunoo and your mother visit again, both of your hands enclosed in theirs while Doctor Kim settles the IV into place. You know what to expect now. You understand the fatigue that will follow, the wide array of symptoms that you’ll be likely to experience for the next week.
It doesn’t make it easier, not exactly, but there is a small sense of comfort in facing the known. In familiary, even if it isn’t pleasant.
And this time, Jay didn’t make himself scarce upon the arrival of your family. Instead, he greeted Sunoo with a nod and looked into your mother’s eyes while he shook her hand and introduced himself.
When he turns to say hello to Hana, your mother mouths at you behind her hand with wide eyes and an approving smile, “He’s handsome.”
You wave her off with a glare. Sunoo just laughs, feigning some lie about a joke he suddenly remembered when Jay asks him what’s funny.
It feels good to have them all here with you, even if it’s only for now. Your mother and Sunoo will have to return home for a few days, but until then, you’ll cherish your time together.
Life passes similar to the way it did with your first treatment cycle. You sleep. You eat. You talk with your family, with Jay. You try reading and abandon it when your head starts to throb. Try knitting and set the needles to the side when your beginner’s mistakes make you feel more frustrated than entertained.
Then, one afternoon, you’re disturbed from a light, restless sleep with a knock at your door.
You know it’s not your family, who left this morning with teary eyes and promises to return this coming weekend. You know it’s not Jay, who’s currently sitting in his least favorite lecture, if the string of angry emojis he sent you fifteen minutes ago are anything to go by.
Hana told you she would check on you this evening around dinner, which a glance at the clock confirms is still hours away.
A frown creases your brow. Besides them, you haven’t had any other visitors.
Despite your confusion, you manage a weak, “Come in.”
Then, the door to your room opens slowly, and through it, enters a man.
Tall, polished, and clean with an undeniable aura of refinement, you’re sure you’ve never seen him before. Although, the longer you look, the more he starts to bear a certain resemblance to…
The breath that passes your lips in a shaky exhale is involuntary.
If the boy you know were older, sharper, crueler, then the man making his way towards you would be nearly identical to Jay.
“Miss ___,” he breaks the silence as he comes to stand at the foot of your bed. His voice is cold, even. “I’ve been hoping to make your acquaintance.”
Your position, lying flat against your pillows, suddenly feels like humiliation. A stark contrast of the differences between you and him. As if his gaze is an assessment you’re failing horribly. Gritting your teeth through the exertion, you push yourself up into a sitting position.
“Forgive me,” you manage, voice more strained than you hoped. “Have we met before?”
The man just shakes his head. A smile crosses his lips, but there’s no warmth in it. No reassurance. Instead, it makes the temperature of the room suddenly feel ten degrees cooler.
You suppress a shiver.
“No, I don’t believe we have. Forgive my lack of manners. I won’t waste your time, Miss ____. I can see that you’re rather…” He trails off, eyes flickering between the IV bag attached to your arm and vitals monitor at your side, “occupied,” he finishes.
Then, meeting your eye again, he confirms your worst suspicions. “I’m Park Jongseong’s father.”
Immediately, your head swims. Why is he here? What does he want with you?
True to his word, at least, he doesn’t leave you in the dark for long.
“Tell me,” he says, voice slippery as it weaves around your ears. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship with my son?”
Your lips press together. You haven’t learned much about Jay’s father, but nearly everything you know paints him in a rather unfavorable light. This current interaction included.
The contrast between him and his son is stark, you think. They both have a certain air to them, a brand of untouchableness that comes with money and practiced grace. But where Jay has learned to bend the unbreakable until it soothes like something soft, his father has only become more rigid.
In your hospital bed, you feel all of two feet tall. It pains something deep within you to admit it, but you’re suddenly terrified.
Steeling your resolve, you do your best to keep your fear from becoming too apparent.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you tell him, with far more self-assurance than you feel.
A shadow crosses his features. “I suppose it’s not,” he drawls, “but I think you’ll agree I’m well within my right to question my own family’s financials.”
Slowly, he walks closer to you, all the way until he stands just in front of your bedside table. From his suit pocket, he pulls a small stack of papers. One by one, he lays them on the surface, tongue clicking in disapproval.
The sound of paper brushing the table top is no louder than a pin drop. In the silence of your hospital room, it’s deafening.
“What are those?” you ask.
“Bills.” He returns his stare to you, eyes even colder than before. “Settled by the trust fund my son shouldn’t even have access to yet. Tell me, have your professors ever covered the potential consequences of forgery in your courses?”
You don’t understand what this is. You don’t understand how he even found you, how he knows that you and Jay are classmates. Why he’s asking all these questions.
“I didn’t forge anything,” you defend.
“No,” he agrees. “You didn’t. I suppose that’s a conversation to be had with my son. Forgery, however, was done on your behalf. I’d like to know why.”
You press your lips together tighter.
Jay’s father sighs, like he expected your refusal. “Then again, I don’t really need to know, I suppose. I could just as easily sue for misuse of funds. I’d be more than happy to pass the invoices along to you and your mother. Or your brother, if you prefer. Sunoo, was it?”
At the sound of your brother’s name, your blood runs cold.
You can’t help yourself then. “How do you—”
“I’m well-versed in due diligence, Miss ___. I know everything I need to know about you and your family. They’ve worked themselves into quite a bit of debt, haven’t they? Medical, mostly. Tell me, how are profits at the restaurant these days?”
At that, you look down, eyes suddenly stinging. It’s one of your least favorite things, the way your frustration so easily builds to tears. You won’t let them fall now, though. Even if every word is like a knife on skin. And you certainly won’t let him see.
“So, you see, Miss ____,” he starts again, voice deceptively soft. “I know everything I need to know about you. Except, of course, the nature of your relationship with my son.”
“We’re classmates,” you work out through gritted teeth.
He shakes his head. “Classmates don’t cover hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of medical debt with their personal trust funds. They don’t forge their father’s signature to gain access to it prematurely. Do you have something on him? Did he do something to you—”
It nearly makes you shake with rage, the casual insinuation that Jay would in some way hurt you, that he would use money to shut you up. The cold, clinical detachment with which his father discusses the conclusion he finds most logical. The obvious way with which he so easily misjudges his own son’s character.
“No,” you shake your head. You can’t let anyone, even him, follow that train of thought for even a second longer. “Nothing like that.”
He sighs again. “Very well. If you won’t be forthcoming, then I’ll cut to the chase. How much money did he offer you?”
You shake your head, “He didn—”
“Whatever it is, I’ll triple it.” His words slice through the air like a knife, send a shock of cold careening down the length of your spine. “I can change your life, Miss ___. The restaurant debt, the medical bills, they can all disappear. Just like,” he snaps his fingers, “that.”
At that, your lips part, exhale shaky like your gasping for breath. Your heart is suddenly in your throat.
“And in return,” he continues, “you’ll agree to never contact my son again. You won’t speak to him. You won’t see him in person. You won’t communicate with him in any way, shape, or form. You’ll also need to sign a nondisclosure agreement, in regards to this conversation, my offer, and any previous relationship you held with my son.”
Immediately, your blood runs cold. It’s as if you’ve been submerged in water, hearing everything in distorted, distant waves.
Money. Enough money. So much fucking money that everything you’ve been desperately clinging onto by your fingertips is suddenly within reach.
Your mother could finally rest. Sunoo could quit all of his part-time jobs and commit to becoming the restaurant owner of his dreams. Every tragedy that’s ever befallen you and your family could fade to a tiny, inconsequential blip. An unvisited memory instead of a knife over your head.
And Jay…
It’s hard to summarize your feelings, hard to put a name to things that have just begun to bloom, difficult to label wings that have never truly taken flight.
But what was your relationship with him if not a deal? A mutual agreement that benefits both sides.
He’ll understand, you tell yourself. He studies the same principles that you’ve dedicated your undergraduate career to. He knows that when you’re presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you’d be a fool not to take it.
He’ll forgive you. He will.
Still, something in you hesitates. The decision, even if obvious, is not one you’re ready to commit to just yet.
Quietly, you tell him, “I need time.”
It’s stupid, you think. Even dirty money, misplaced hush money, whatever the hell you want to call this, has the power to change your life. To change Sunoo’s. Your family’s.
For them, you can do it. You can ignore the discomfort gnawing at your gut, the guilt that’s begun to swirl with fervence.
He sighs, the deepest breath yet, and then nods one. “You have twenty-four hours, Miss, ___. I’ll be back at the same time tomorrow. I hope you’ll consider your options carefully. Your resume is impressive, truly. You can have a bright future ahead of you, if you act accordingly. I trust you’ll make the correct decision.”
The correct decision. It’s so obvious. It has to be.
Still, as soon as the door clicks shut behind him, the most prominent of your emotions is doubt.
It’s like you’re spitting on it, part of you pleads. All those years of effort, everything you sacrificed. Are you really willing to bury it all ten feet under just to take the easy way out?
But another part of you can already see the future, painted with previously unreachable possibilities. Why should you have to struggle? Why shouldn’t you take the easy way out?
Is it a moral failing or simply, as Jay’s father called it, the correct decision?
The headache that begins to build at the base of your skull doesn’t ebb in slowly. The onset is sudden, but it spreads with a vengeance, all the way through to your temple.
Wincing, you reach for the water on your bedside table, pointedly ignoring the stack of bills still laying there like an accusation.
Maybe, you think, through the haze that’s beginning to cloud your mind, maybe Jay will be grateful not to have you as his responsibility anymore.
The argument sounds weak even to your own ears. It’s been a long time since you felt like a burden to Jay. Mostly because he spends every second of his time with you insisting on the opposite.
Still, he’s not immune to rose colored glasses of his own. Maybe this is for the best. A clean break.
He can stop worrying about you and use his trust fund to add another car to his collection instead. He’ll move on quickly, you’re sure. People like him always do. With a plethora of distractions at his fingertips, it won’t take him long to find a new source of entertainment.
But even that train of thought will have to wait for later.
Wincing again, your eyes shutter closed as another throbbing wave of pain circulates your skull. This one feels different from before. Sharper. Glancing at the call button next to the IV stand, you consider it for a moment.
Hana did tell you to call her if you felt any unusual discomfort after all.
Biting at your bottom lip, you can’t quite commit to it. She’s probably busy, you reason. Besides, this will pass. Your headaches always do.
But as another wave of intense, narrowed pain vibrates between your ears, a tiny whimper escapes your lips.
This time, your vision starts to swim with it, black spots crowding in at the edges. You feel dizzy all of a sudden, disoriented. Forcing air in between your teeth, even that action feels labored.
Reaching towards the call button again, you decide that this is worth Hana’s attention. But before your fingers can close around in, the dark spots in your vision become wider, as if they’re searching for light to swallow.
You feel your head loll forward. Once, twice, until the darkness feels less like a threat and more like an invitation.
With your fingers halfway between you and the call button, a stack of bills on your bedside table, and an unmade decision waging war in your mind, the world around you goes dark.
…..
There is no sensation in unconsciousness.
You don’t feel Hana’s fingers on your pulse nearly an hour later, don’t hear Doctor Kim’s urgent instructions as a team of nurses check your vitals.
You don’t feel the warmth of Sunoo’s hand against yours as he keeps vigil at your bedside, praying to whoever might be listening that you’ll wake up.
You don’t feel the damp impact of your mother’s tears as she leans over you, don’t hear the quiet, choked sobs she releases in the somber silence of your hospital room.
And you certainly don’t hear Jay enter quietly, hands tucked behind his back like a child attempting a surprise. You don’t see the ways his eyebrows furrow when he takes you in, don’t see the way panic claws at his throat, plays across his features when he sees how pale, how fragile you look.
You don’t hear the way he exhales roughly when Hana finds him there, motionless. When she explains that you’ve been asleep, unconscious, for the better part of a day now.
Don’t hear his panicked questions or her carefully controlled but undoubtedly sorrowful answers.
You don’t see the way the two pieces of paper he’d been holding behind his back slip from his fingers, don’t hear the muted impact as they brush against the linoleum floor.
Don’t see the way he picks them up again silently, tucking them into his pocket with all the composure he has left.
Don’t feel his hands against your forehead, smoothing hair out of your face as his expression breaks, angry, hot tears rolling down his cheeks in the silence.
You don’t see the way Sunoo finds him like that, pausing for a moment before he lays a palm against his shoulder, a silent consolation.
“Jay,” he finally says, breaking the silence after a long moment. “I know this isn’t the time, but…”
Jay turns to your brother, eyes shadowed, face still crumpled. Next to him, Sunoo is equally hollow. The worry plays out across his features plain as day as he glances at you.
“But what?” Jay echoes, voice as hollow as he feels.
Sunoo sighs. “These were on her bedside, when Hana called us here. After she found her…” he trails off. The sight of you unconscious is enough to fill in the blanks. Jay doesn’t need to hear him call a spade a spade.
Lips dry, Jay’s mouth parts with more effort that it should. He frowns at the stack of papers in Sunoo’s hands, still half hidden between his fingers. “What are those?”
“Hospital bills.” He casts a look at Jay. Weighted, meaningful. Not accusatory, but leaden with something that carries a similar connotation. “Settled ones. In your name.”
Jay’s lips part, preparing for an explanation that his mind still hasn’t managed to conjure.
Sunoo sighs. “Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on. Here,” he nods to the bills, “or between the two of you. But my mom was told that expenses were being covered under a special university fund. If something else is happening, then…”
“It’s hard to explain,” Jay mumbles.
“Right.” Sunoo’s gaze is a bit more pointed now. “But you’re going to have to. You’ve given me no reason not to like you, but this amount of money doesn’t come for free. If my sister is being pressured into anything, then—”
“No,” Jay shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing like that.” He takes a breath. “We… we made a deal.”
“A deal,” Sunoo echoes flatly.
Jay nods. “My family has money. I found out by chance that she was sick. And connected enough dots to realize she wasn’t planning to tell anyone about it, that she wasn’t planning to get treatment.”
“What?” Sunoo’s expression falls, brows slack. “Why?”
“It’s not my place to say, but I think she was scared. She didn’t want to be a burden.”
“She’s not a burden.”
“I know.” Jay nods. “Which is why I offered.”
“That’s still…” He looks uncertain. “You said you made a deal,” Sunoo reminds him. “What did she give you?”
“First rank in our class,” Jay admits. He laughs, a humorless thing. “Not that it matters. I could come dead last for all I care, but it was the only way I could think of to get her to agree.” He casts a glance down at you, as if he expects to find anything other than your expressionless face. “To let me handle it.”
Sunoo is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, he looks directly at Jay. “And the two of you are…”
Jay shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “We never talked about it. I think she’d bite my head off if I tried to ask her.” He smiles, a distinct edge of sorrow to it. “But I care about her. More than I could ever say.”
“Then why did you bring these here?” Sunoo gestures towards the bills still tucked between his fingers.
“I didn’t.” Jay shakes his head. “I would never—” He sighs, letting the declaration fade. His anger is misplaced. Sunoo is hurting too and doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it. “Those aren’t from me.”
Sunoo’s brow furrows. “Then who did?”
Jay isn’t sure. Not entirely. But he has a suspicion that’s starting to form. That has his vision going redder with every passing second, fingers curling into fists at his sides.
His lips pull into a thin line, jaw setting in determination. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”
Jay’s childhood home is hardly deserving of the name.
Full of more carefully curated art pieces than family photos, it feels more like a museum than a home.
He’s lived in his own apartment since he started undergrad for a variety of reasons. It’s closer to campus, it gives him the space he needs to study effectively, it’s taught him valuable lessons about the responsibilities of home ownership. But more than anything, it’s given him space away from this—the oppressive perfection expected in every corner and crevice of this house.
Jay doesn’t stop to reminisce on his childhood as he storms through the foyer, footsteps even but heavy. There’s not much fondness to be had, anyway. He spent more time with his nannies and tutors than he ever did with his father.
His mother tried, but even the most noble of efforts are often strangled under the crushing weight of reality. She had her own responsibilities and appearances to upkeep. And Jay, although loved, was often left in the dust.
His father was a different story. He didn’t call upon his son or pay him any attention unless he thought there was a lesson to be learned. He was relieved when Jay was born. A son meant he had an heir. They weren’t royalty, but corporations like the one he heads value blood and tradition in the same way.
He had his legacy, and that was that. It didn’t matter that his wife had always dreamed of a big family. It didn’t matter that Jay was all alone in a room full of toys with no one to share them with.
His father made it clear from before he took his first steps. Jay was, first and foremost, the heir to the company. Business would always come first. Always.
Jay didn’t get to choose his own clothes or friends or hobbies. Children can’t be trusted to make decisions, and his father knew best.
He wasn’t allowed to finish second in anything or misspeak or do anything that could potentially tarnish the last name he was born with. He didn’t get to decide if he was competitive or self-motivated or ambitious. He was expected to be; he had to be, to survive. Jay’s entire life was a construction of someone else’s making.
And even when he did well, rose to every expectation and impossible standard, even when he surpassed them, the most he ever got from his father was a mildly pleased nod.
Never a thank you. Never a congratulations. Never a well done.
Just the same lack of admonition he watched his father use with his least hated subordinates.
Of course Jay escaped his golden cage the second he could. Even if the responsibilities and expectations remained, at least now he had a place to curse them in peace.
Jay hasn’t been back to his father’s house since his presence was required at the last family dinner, and that was nearly three months ago. Still, he walks the hallways with certainty. He remembers where everything is. He has a feeling he always will, no matter how much time passes.
He turns past the second-floor kitchen and follows the curve of the hallway all the way to the end where he knows his father’s home office stands just as solitary as ever. A home office, because the actual office he already spent nearly every waking hour in apparently wasn’t enough.
Jay wraps his hand around the handle, and without any fanfare or announcement, barges right in.
Across from the rich, mahogany desk, his father quirks an eyebrow at him.
“Surely you haven’t been out of good society long enough to forget all of your manners,” he drawls, voice even. “You were raised to knock.”
Jay ignores him. Instead, he steps forward, slamming the stack of bills from your hospital room on his father’s desk. The force sends them scattering across the surface, one falling to the floor in his rage.
Neither man bothers to pick it up.
“What the fuck is this?” Jay fumes.
At that, his father’s expression turns sharp. “I don’t know what you came here intending to do, but you are my son, and you will remember yourself. You will not come into my home, into my office, and curse at me.”
Jay’s eyebrows pinch together. Again, without the profanity, he repeats, “What is this?”
His father casts the bills a scathing glance, as if they’re little more than a buzzing fly. An annoyance he’d rather be rid of. “I should be asking the same to you.”
Jay’s lips part, shoulders tense as he tries to piece it together. “Why did you— How did you even—”
“Again,” his father interrupts, with the same cold detachment of a dictator, “I should be asking you. Luckily, our investment firm has quite good security cameras. Tell me,” he drawls, “how long did it take you to learn to forge my signature?”
Even standing above him, Jay suddenly feels like a child again. All of four feet tall. Begging for scraps of his father’s approval, his attention.
But even caught red handed, he won’t back down. “It’s my money,” Jay argues.
His father shakes his head. “It’s not, actually. Not in any sense of the law. Not until you’re twenty-five. And even that’s operating under the assumption that you’ve been formally initiated into the company. Something that I fear is becoming less likely with every… questionable decision you make.”
Jay does his best to keep his expression blank, even as the fury threatens to boil over in his chest. “Saving a life is questionable?”
His father all but rolls his eyes. “There are charities if you’ve suddenly developed a bleeding heart. Reputable ones. Take your pick, and I’ll have our publicist set up a photo opportunity—”
“I know her.” Jay’s breath is erratic now, even as he tries to control it. He sounds like he’s run a marathon. “She’s my… she’s my classmate. And she was going to die.”
In the stillness of his father’s office, the truth feels unbearable. Jay hates it, resents the way even something as tragic as death can’t seem to shake his father into something resembling empathy.
“That’s precisely the problem,” he says, with all the cold calculation of a businessman looking to cut his losses. “It’s personal. And you didn’t even take proper precautions. No contract, no non-disclosure agreement… You’ve made yourself into a liability.”
Jay shakes his head. There have to be exceptions, even to the best kept rules. “She’s not going to tell anyone. She’s the one who begged me to keep it a secret—”
“For now,” his father interrupts again, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “But what happens when she realizes just how easy it is to extort money from you? When she threatens to take her story, real or fabricated, to the press unless you cough up another thousand? Another ten thousand? Another million? When she posts something incriminating on social media and we lose half of our shareholders for it?” His eyes hold nothing but disdain when he reminds, “All from your carelessness.”
Jay realizes then that he can argue until he’s blue in the face. He can search for shreds of his father’s humanity for as long as he wants. He won’t find them here.
He asks the question that’s been dangling at his fingertips since the beginning. “So I should have let her die?”
His father sighs. “You should have spoken with me first—”
“You would have said no.”
He doesn’t deny it. “I would have acted in the best interest of this family.”
Jay scoffs, no humor in it. “This company, you mean.”
“One day you’ll understand that the line between them is not so strong as you thought.” When he looks at Jay now, his gaze is evaluative. Disappointed, as if he’s failed some test. “For now, you don’t. Which is why you aren’t yet burdened with decisions regarding our philanthropy.”
“So I’ll ask you again.” Jay won’t let it go so easily. Won’t let him wrap cruelty in niceties. “I should have just let her die?”
But his response is even crueler. “From the looks of it, she’s going to anyway. How long has she been unresponsive now? A day?”
The quiet, mangled sound that escapes Jay’s throat is involuntary. The reminder of your current state, the thought of his father keeping tabs on you, makes him feel ill. “How do you—”
“Don’t act surprised,” he scoffs. “You decided to involve our name. I have to stay informed now to clean up any potential fallout from the mess you’ve made.”
“And this was how you did it?” Jay gestures towards the scattered pile of bills. “Threatening her with medical bills you knew she could never pay?”
“I merely made her aware of the reality of the situation. Made my offer one she couldn’t refuse. I’m sure when,” he pauses, “if she wakes up,” he amends, “she’ll confirm our deal.”
Jay feels his blood run cold. “What fucking deal.” It’s not a question.
His fathers eyes turn sharp. “Watch your mouth. I won’t tell you again.”
“What,” Jay repeats, voice low, “deal.”
“Money, of course. What else?” He waves his hand flippantly. “It’s all people like that ever want.”
Jay flounders for a moment, scrambling to make sense of it. “You just berated me for giving money. How is this any different?”
“Because mine,” his father enunciates, “comes with stipulations. Protection.”
Jay can feel his heart starting to sink in his chest. He has his suspicions, but he has to be sure. “What are you talking about?”
“She’d have to sign a non-disclosure agreement, of course. She wouldn’t be allowed to speak of our agreement or any members of our family or company in private or public.” His eyes turn to his son. Assessing. “And you.”
“What about me?” Jay holds his breath.
“She agreed to cut all contact with you. Any form of communication would immediately negate the contract.”
Jay falters, for just a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. “She agreed to that?”
His father watches the way his expression falls, lips tightening like he’s just confirmed a terrible suspicion. “I gave her a day to think it over. She lost consciousness before she could sign anything.”
But still. You’d considered it. You were willing to cut Jay completely from your life for whatever amount of money his father had offered you.
The sudden punch to the gut must play out across Jay’s features. Across from him, his father scoffs.
“Let this be a lesson,” he advises. “It’s always money. Always. No one can resist the way it glitters. Whatever… affections,” his voice wraps around the word like a sneer, “you hold for her clearly aren’t returned. Cut your losses, and move on. I’ll handle it from here.”
“Like hell—”
“You’re lucky you haven’t been stripped from your titles completely,” his voice is sharper now. More reprimand than conversation. “That I’m still giving you the opportunity for shareholder initiation at all. Let me be very clear, Park Jongseong, when I tell you that you’re very lucky you haven’t been disowned. I’d have done it already if your mother wouldn’t put up such a fight.”
Jay’s shoulders slump, fight draining from his body as reality begins to sink in around him.
“You want to save that girl?” his father goads, “Then stay as far away from that hospital as you can. Focus on your studies.” And then, more mockery than reminder, “I expect great things from you.”
It’s his way of ending the conversation. Of reasserting their relative positions, his control over everything.
Jay’s footsteps feel like defeat on the way out. A coward’s retreat. He feels as if he’s been backed into a corner with no way out.
With fingers wrapped so tight around the steering wheel his knuckles have turned white, he thinks that the worst of all is that you’d agreed. Or had at least been close to it. Enough to not refuse his father outright.
You were going to do it. To take the money. To cut Jay out of your life like none of this ever happened, like he was nothing to you.
Like the time you spent together in lecture halls and hospital rooms and the passenger seat of his car was disposable. Worthless.
Like the moments you shared in the secrecy of a beach house were easy to let go of. To move on from without so much as a goodbye.
Despite his father’s assumptions, Jay is intimately aware of what money does to people. The way it warps them, the way it eats at every moral and standard and principle until they’ve rotted down to the bone.
He knows it’s hardly fair for him to pass judgement. He’s never known the struggle of missed meals or eviction notices or irregular paychecks.
He tries to understand why. And he lands on the only conclusion he can think of. You’re doing it for them, for your family.
You haven’t told him everything, but you’ve told him enough. He can guess what it would mean to you—to them—to have all those worries disappear overnight.
But it still…
It still fucking hurts.
The thought that you’d so easily agree to just cutting him out of your life completely. He knows that whatever is building between the two or you is soon, it’s sudden. He doesn’t expect to be a priority, for the connection between you to supersede your dedication to your family.
It makes him want to shout, to scream until his ears bleed. He’d give you the world if you’d let him. But you won’t. The most you’ll do is take reluctant fragments and feel guilty all the while.
And now, with his father’s iron claws embedded into everything, Jay can’t so much as see you without jeopardizing the future you’ve abandoned him to ensure.
But even those fears feel small in the face of reality. You’re unconscious. For over a day now. The doctors have you under constant monitoring. They’ve done everything they can think of, but you’re not waking up.
You didn’t even get the three months you were promised.
Jay’s never studied medicine, but he knew what the look on Doctor Kim’s face meant when he saw him speaking to your mother in the hallway, understood that deep, resigned gaze when he stood over your hospital bed, adjusting the IV dripping into your arm.
It was the face of a man who recognized what he saw. Who was looking at nothing more than a possibility he expected. Doctor Kim wasn’t surprised when you became unresponsive. Just sighed like he was worried it might come to this.
But Jay can’t… he can’t quite wrap his head around it.
There are so many things he wants to say to you, do with you. He wants to make some snide comment and watch you roll your eyes. He wants to take you out for coffee and suppress a smile when you let him hold your hand.
He wants to hold you, wants to kiss you till you’re breathless. Wants to get caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella and laugh while both of your clothes get soaked through. Wants to wrap you in a blanket afterwards and fuss over drying your hair so you don’t catch a cold.
He wants to bring you to his apartment and cook you dinner. Wants to wake up with your head on his chest and his arm around your shoulders as he scatters tiny kisses against your hairline.
He wants to watch you graduate, to earn that degree you worked so hard for. He wants to obnoxiously scream your name as you walk across the stage to accept your diploma, laughing at the way your cheeks flush red in embarrassment.
He wants to watch you realize every last one of your dreams, wants to remind you how much you’re cared for, how capable you truly are, even on the days they seem impossible.
He wants, more than anything, to be given the chance to fall in love with you.
Mostly because he knows he’s already started to.
He thinks of that night, back in his car, when you agreed to get treatment. When he watched the beginnings of hope bleed back into your eyes when you thought he wasn’t looking.
When he realized it was never never altruism that made you hesitate. When he saw for himself that with every fiber of your being, you want to live.
You have to live, he thinks. You have to.
All of it, his father’s threats, your agreement to cut him out of your life, he can face it. He can. He can find a way for it to all be okay.
You just have to live.
Minutes later, alone in his bedroom with no one to bear witness but the expanse of his own four walls, Jay lets loose the tears that have been threatening his lash line the entire drive home.
He cries, he sobs, deep, gut-wrenching, gasping.
And when he reaches into his pocket, he finds it— the surprise he planned to give to you at the hospital earlier today. The two pieces of paper he’d picked back up off the hospital floor. It already feels like a lifetime ago.
Tickets. Plane tickets to Iceland. First class on a flight leaving in three weeks, right when the northern lights are projected to reach peak visibility.
Helpless, he crumples them between his fingers, squeezing as tight as he can until they form an unidentifiable mass of jumbled letters and misplaced hope.
Still sobbing, he hurls it at the wall across from him with enough force to put a hole in it.
But empty dreams are still empty. And paper is still paper.
The mangled plane tickets bounce harmlessly off his bedroom wall and fall to the ground in a silent heap.
…..
Life moves in patterns, cycles.
And despite the unpredictability of it all, it always moves forward.
Days pass. Then weeks. Months.
Jay knows better than to anger his father, but he also knows that nothing has been signed yet. There’s no agreement to violate.
Winter sharpens its icy grip on the world, and he spends most days at your bedside. He talks to you, tells you about his day, about all the little things he wishes you could have seen too.
He holds your hand, pulls your blanket a little more snug around your body whenever your fingers feel cold. Does his best to ignore the way they always feel cold.
He talks to Sunoo, too. To your mother. Learns about their lives, about your place in them and their place in yours. He likes seeing you from their eyes, loves learning just how fiercely adored you are.
Sunoo rolls his eyes at an old memory, complaining but only half-heartedly, “She always babied me.”
Reminiscing makes them laugh until it makes them cry. But whatever it is, it beats the hollow, empty feeling Jay goes home with most nights.
December breaches the horizon, and the semester ends. Jay finishes first in the class, although most of it is due to the work he completed at the beginning of the semester. He’s been on the receiving end of more than a few conversations conveying concern for his more recent academic progress.
Your official leave of absence is given to the university, and one afternoon in early December, Professor Jung makes a visit to the hospital. When she finds Jay already sitting at your bedside, fingers interlaced together, all she does is raise an eyebrow.
“Jay,” she greets, like she’s not entirely surprised.
“Professor,” he returns, voice hoarse from overuse.
The flowers she leaves are beautiful, truly to your taste. Jay tells her as much, and all she does is offer a knowing smile.
“Take care of yourself,” she tells him.
Jay spends Christmas with your family, eating food served from the hospital cafeteria. There have been three family dinners that he’s missed since the last conversation he had with his father, but his absence for the holiday is the most egregious of all.
His mother calls him, and after staring at her name on his screen for several long seconds, he finally picks up on the sixth ring.
“Jay,” she tells him, voice full of admonishment and worry in the way only mothers can manage. “Come home. It’s Christmas.”
But Jay refuses to step foot in that house, refuses to look his father in the eye. To sit across from him like this holiday is some sort of celebration. To pretend that the blood that connects them is anything other than a formality.
“Merry Christmas, Mom,” he whispers into the receiver, guilt rolling when he swears he hears her stifle a sob on the other end. But his mother is used to masking her emotions, and the sound is gone as quickly as it came.
New Year’s passes, and Jay feels nothing. It doesn’t matter if the date’s last digit has changed. His life feels frozen, stuck in this hospital room. Watching you cling to the last fragments of life left in your body. Hoping against all odds, that today will be the day everyone’s agony can finally end.
After all, hope is the only thing that’s left. Some days it feels like a bird with wings, ready to soar and fly and sing at the first sight of morning light. Some days it feels frayed around the edges. A torn, tattered thing threatening to dissolve at a moment’s notice.
But it’s always there. Steady, constant. Alive.
Slowly, winter begins to loosen its grip on the world.
Scattered snowstorms turn to rain showers. Spring starts to take root. Jay sees flowers now, on his drive to the hospital. Sees some of the green returning to the trees that line the highway.
Sunoo and him exchange recipes. Your mother notices the way he fidgets with his hands whenever he’s been sitting at your side for two long and teaches him how to crochet one quiet afternoon.
Classes start again, and Jay’s mind is anywhere but textbooks. This is his last semester, and it should be a celebration. The end of a chapter, the segue to new beginnings.
He’s been promised a place in his father’s company upon graduation for as long as he can remember. After their last conversation and his blatant dismissal of his father’s wishes, he’s not sure if the offer still stands, and he doesn’t care to ask.
When he hounds Doctor Kim for updates, he just looks at Jay with that same resigned expression he’s come to resent. Like he’s seeing probabilities instead of you. “The same,” he always says, voice carefully controlled like he’s been practicing empathy all his life. “We’ll tell you if anything develops.”
Life continues like that, an endless cycle of days that feel repeated, until one Tuesday afternoon in early April.
Jay is sitting in the library, waiting for his next class to start, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Retrieving it, he checks the caller ID only briefly before answering.
“Sunoo,” he breathes into the receiver.
“Jay,” he hears the younger boy say. “She…” his voice trails off for a moment. “Her finger twitched.”
“What?” Jay asks, even though he’s already sitting up straighter in his seat. Already shoving his laptop into his bag.
“I was holding her hand earlier, and I squeezed her fingers, and she…” he pauses again.
“I mean, it was weak, but I swear,” he emphasizes. “She squeezed back.”
Jay feels it then, for the first time in a long time, the kind of hope that feels like wings instead of a cage.
“I’m on my way.”
You don’t wake up that afternoon, even with Jay, Sunoo, your mother, along with Doctor Kim and Hana, all practically sitting vigil around you.
But nearly a week and a half later, you do.
The light makes you squint. It’s too bright, and your eyes have been closed for… You’re not entirely sure.
Frowning, you reach for a memory, something to center yourself. Breakfast this morning, maybe. Dinner last night. A conversation with Sunoo or Jay or maybe Hana.
Sunoo. Eyes squeezed shut, you search your mind for pieces of the familiar name. Your brother, you think. Sweet, gentle, younger than you.
And Jay is a bit more disorienting. The emotions that surge at the sound of his name are more complicated, more difficult to sift through. There’s annoyance, frustration, emerald green envy, all tangled together with a strange, budding sense of affection. A deep, poignant gratitude. Bashfulness. Like a schoolgirl with a crush, you think.
And Hana. She’s… she’s your nurse. Your nurse because you’re at the hospital. Because there’s a malignant tumor sitting just behind your heart.
Suddenly, the gaps in memory feel terrifying. Why don’t you remember breakfast this morning? Why do you have the strangest, dizziest sense that time has passed without your permission?
Scanning your body, you try to make sense of it. There’s a distinct heaviness in your limbs. They feel exhausted, but not the kind that comes with exertion. No, it’s the kind that comes with disuse.
Your throat feels as if someone has taken sandpaper to it. Almost painfully dry like it’s been months since you had a sip of water.
And your head — the ache is dull, throbbing. Persistent against the front of your skull. Like someone is knocking from the inside, begging to be let out.
You don’t hear anything but the steady beep of something mechanical. The faint rush of blood from your own pulse in your ears.
Slowly, you try to open your eyes again. It’s still bright, but if you squint, you can manage.
To your left, the beeping becomes frantic for a moment before it evens out again. But it’s enough to draw attention.
You hear it then, the quiet, desperate sound of your name. The scattered scuffle of footsteps against linoleum as multiple people rush to your bedside.
A hand against both of yours, a palm against your forehead.
“Call Hana,” you hear, intelligible even through the surge of emotion in the voice. “And Doctor Kim. Tell them she’s…” The voice trails off, a sob, a choked sound of elated disbelief breaking the sentence in two. “Tell them she’s awake.”
…..
Your memories return slowly, in disjointed fragments.
Doctor Kim explains that it’s normal, that you’re lucky to be recovering your memories at all.
There’s no accurate description for the kind of disorientation that comes with missing months of your own life, but you’re grateful to have people at your side who’ve made it their mission to do their best at filling in the gaps.
For days, it’s enough to just listen. To your brother’s enthusiastic stories and your mother’s fond memories and Jay’s gentle retellings. It helps you to hear their perspective, to stack it against the reconstructions being built within your own mind.
If your memories return slowly, then strength comes at a snail’s pace. It takes you nearly two days to sit up again, almost a week to walk.
But you do.
The flowers are blooming outside of your window, and even on cloudy days, sunlight slants across the linoleum floor in a way that’s almost beautiful.
One afternoon, nearly three weeks after you wake up, Doctor Kim comes with a clipboard and something that almost looks like a smile.
“It’s working,” he tells you. “Better than before. You’ll be strong enough for surgery soon.” The final step in his treatment plan. Removing the tumor that sits just behind your heart.
At your bedside, your mother and Sunoo all but collapse into one another, tears streaming as smiles overtake their features.
Next to you, Jay interlaces your fingers with his, strokes gently with his thumb against the back of your hand. His eyes shine too, and when he looks down at you, you see hope in his smile.
It’s rare these days for the two of you to find yourselves alone. But one spring morning, nearly five weeks after you regain consciousness, your mother and Sunoo have stepped out for a moment.
And the last of your scattered memories have clicked back into place.
“Jay,” you call gently, startling him from his handiwork. In the chair next to your bed, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he works his crochet needles around a particularly difficult pattern. You haven’t told him yet how terribly endearing you find his new hobby. “What are you making?”
“Just a coaster.” He holds up the half-finished work so you can have a better look at it. “Your mom says I’m getting pretty good, though. She’s going to show me how to do dishcloths next.”
“Mm,” you hum, smiling. But there’s still something sitting heavy in your chest. After a moment, you ask, “Can we go for a walk?”
Jay’s eyes widen in surprise. “Are you up for that”
“I think so,” you nod. “We might have to go slow.”
It’s how you do everything these days, with a body that’s still learning to work again.
Jay doesn’t mind. You have a feeling he’d crawl if you asked him to. “Slow is perfect,” he tells you.
The small garden just outside the hospital is bright with fresh blooms and morning sunlight. It reminds you of a beach house months ago. Of the time the two of you spent there, of everything that happened between you.
It makes the beginnings of this conversation feel even more difficult to work out.
“Jay,” you tell him, drawing in a long breath of fresh air. You hesitate for a moment, reluctant to break the peace between you.
Jay just waits, patient as ever.
“Last winter,” you continue, “right before I lost consciousness.” You pause. Inhale. “Your father came here, to the hospital. To see me.”
At your side, Jay’s exhale is audible. Then, he tells you, “I know.”
You turn to him, eyes wide. “You do? You never said…”
“Is it terrible if I say I was hoping you’d forget?” He smiles, but there’s no joy in it. “I was afraid if you remembered, then…”
Even as his words trail off, you an fill in the blanks well enough. “You know what he told me, then,” you say. “What he offered me.”
“Not specifically,” Jay shakes his head. “But enough.”
There’s no use hiding it then. No use prolonging it any further. Breathing deep, you gather the last of your courage, your honesty.
“I was going to tell him yes,” you say. At your side, Jay’s footsteps falter. Stopping, you turn back to face him. Eye contact is suddenly difficult to maintain, but you owe him that, at least. “For a moment, I was going to accept his offer. I told myself it was for the best. That you’d forgive me.”
Jay takes half a step closer to you. He shakes his head, hair loose across his forehead, scattering with the motion. “I wouldn’t,” he vows lowly. “I wouldn’t forgive you.”
“I know.” You nod. You do look down then, if only to admit, “I don’t think I could have forgiven myself either.” You meet his eye again, gaze glassy. “Not just because of you, although I’d be lying if I said that didn’t play a part.”
You sigh, glancing at the flowers before you begin again.
“My whole life, money has felt like a knife over my head,” you explain. “LIke sand between my fingers. There was never enough of it. I learned how to stop wanting things, to stop asking for things, to stop thinking I deserved things, because it made the truth a little easier to bear.”
You look at him again, trying to regain control over the emotions that threaten to rise. “But I’ve always wanted things. I wanted a better life for my family, of course, but there were so many other things, too. Stupid things, frivolous things. I wanted nicer bedsheets that didn’t feel so scratchy when I slept. I wanted a new computer that didn’t crash every time I had too many open tabs. I wanted nice clothes and pretty jewelry and to finally feel like I belonged in the world I worked so hard to fit into. When I looked at you, all I saw was everything I never had. I resented you for it. I was so horribly jealous of you for it.”
Jay’s eyes are shining now, too. But he doesn’t say anything. He just listens.
“And then,” you continue, “you swooped in with this deal like some knight in shining armor, and I think I hated that most of all. That I couldn’t just save myself. That I needed you, at least in some capacity, if I wanted to live. I never wanted someone to save me, and I certainly never wanted to depend on anyone else. It felt like debt. Like owing you something I could never repay. I was scared, too. Accepting help meant accepting the possibility that it could be taken away, and then I’d be right back where I started. Maybe even worse off. Losing hope is worse than never having it at all, I think.”
You pause for a moment to breathe, to gather your thoughts.
“And then your father visited me, and he promised me all this money. It felt… I don’t know. Safer, somehow. Because it felt like I was losing something, too. But then I thought about it and if I took that money from him… what would that make me? I’ve made it this far without it, haven’t I? I can do it.”
You nod, resolve steeling as you voice your thoughts out loud. “I almost died. But I’m not a victim. My life isn't some tragedy. It’s just my life. There are hard things and good things and everything in between. But if I took that money from him, I’d become a victim. One of my own making. Someone that abandons people they care about and has to resort to underhanded deals just for the easy way out. That’s not me. It never has been.”
You look down at your sleeve, tugging at the hemline as doubts start to take shape in your mind. “I don’t know if it’s stupid. I don’t know if I’ll regret it. But I know that if I took that money, I wouldn’t be able to look Sunoo in the eye even if I gave him the restaurant of his dreams. I wouldn’t be able to tell my mother to rest without the words tasting bitter in my mouth. And,” you look back up at him. “I would miss you. So much. More than I even think I understand.”
You bite at your bottom lip, as if the slight, sharp pain will distract from the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.
“I can struggle. I can. I have and I will again. But I can’t lose myself. I refuse to change everything about me. Although,” you consider voice losing its edge as something lighter seeps into it, “there are a few changes I have been thinking of making.”
“Really?” Jay asks. His voice is rough as he breaks his silence, scraped raw. “Like what?”
“Well,” you tilt your head, a quivering smile crossing your lips. “For starters, I think it might be nice to have a friend.”
“A friend?” He echoes.
“Yeah,” you nod. “Who knows?” you shrug. “Maybe I’ll even get really crazy and get two friends.”
Jay wants to press the conversation further, wants to go back to the all of the admissions you’ve just laid at his feet and dissect them one by one. But he knows you. He can tell that your sudden shift in topic, in tone, is intentional.
Admitting it once was enough. For right now, at least, you want to move on. And Jay can do that for you.
So instead of demanding answers, he just gasps playfully. “I never thought I’d see the day.” A moment passes. Still, he can’t help but press his luck a little. Something in his gaze shifts, becomes heavier. “Is a friend the only thing you’re looking for?”
At that, your teeth find your bottom lip again, eyes falling down to the flowers at your feet. It’s spring. If there was ever a time to breathe life into something fragile that’s just begun to blossom, it’s now.
“I’m still deciding,” is what you tell him. But even as you look at him now, you can feel the ghost of his lips against yours, months ago in the sanctuary of a beach house he chose just for you.
It burns like a reminder, sings like a promise.
Between the two of you, at least, you’re certain of this. Things have just begun.
…..
epilogue
When your phone starts working again, the first notification that comes through is from your brother.
It’s a selfie of him and the new set of cookware he special ordered last week. As it turns out, years of saving every last penny from every part-time job added up all on their own. Without any of your help, Sunoo has nearly saved enough to turn his dream into a reality.
All on his own.
The idea still resonates somewhere deep in you, still tastes a bit bittersweet. For as long as you can remember, a huge part of your identity has come from supporting your family. You’ve prided yourself on helping Sunoo, on easing his struggles. On making his dreams come true.
But your brother has been growing up, too. He’s not a fragile little kid anymore that needs you to shield him from the world. He understands responsibility and disappointment and hard work just as well as you. He’s survived difficult things and come out the other side stronger. He’s not crumbling under the weight of life’s challenges.
Like you, like everyone, he’s learning how to live with them and get through them and thrive all the while.
The restaurant is still a long way from being profitable, and there is still work to be done. Work that you’re happy to do your share of. But the burden doesn’t feel like it falls solely on your shoulders anymore. The responsibility that you decided was your alone has been divided, shared.
It feels like a collective effort now, and somehow, that’s even more gratifying.
Trying new recipes! he writes beneath the picture, along with a ridiculously long string of smiley faces.
Beneath it, he tells you,
Have the best time ever! I want to hear about all of it when you get back. And send pictures!!
You smile at the message. From the seat next to you, Jay leans over into your space, shoulder brushing yours. “What is it?” he asks.
“Just a message from Sunoo,” you tell him. “He wants me to send pictures.”
“Mm,” he agrees. “Good.” With gentle fingers, he reaches for the phone tucked between your hands.
Confusion creases your brow as he takes it from you. “What are you doing?”
“Taking a picture,” he says like it’s obvious. Turning the camera towards you, he instructs, “Smile.”
“Jay,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “I haven’t slept since the layover, and I didn’t put on any makeup this morning. I look gross,” you protest.
But he’s not having any of it. “You look beautiful,” he tells you. “Now and always.” Gently, he wraps his fingers around one of your wrists. Not forcing, just urging. “Move your hands, pretty girl.”
Peeking from between your fingers, you don’t dare to lower them completely. “You can take my picture after I’ve showered,” you bargain.
He won’t give in so easily. You should have known better than to think he ever would, even now. “C’mon,” he urges. “It’s a memory. Your first international flight.” Pausing for a moment, he adds, “You don’t have to send it to Sunoo if you don’t want to. It can just be for you. For us,” he amends.
You sigh. “Fine,” you agree, dropping your hands. “But you have to be in it, too.”
“Deal,” Jay grins. Next to you, he switches your phone to the front-facing camera. Then, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as he smiles for the picture. Leaning into him, you do the same.
You suppose it really doesn’t matter. Whether you’ve showered, whether your makeup is done, whether it’s been thirty minutes or twenty-four hours since your last full night of rest. Whether the plane lighting washes you out or makes your dark circles look a million times worse.
You’ve just touched down in Reykjavik, after all. Over a year since you first wrote it, the last piece of your bucket list is becoming a reality.
Looking back at it now, it’s almost hard to believe how much time has passed.
So many things have changed — your energy is still low, even on good days. Sometimes, your memories feel harder to access than they should. You’ll be returning to school for your final semester after winter vacation, and you’re already preparing for extra difficulties due to the brain fog you can never seem to fully shake.
Doctor Kim assures you that it’s normal at every check-up you have. Promises that it will get better with time, that your body is still recovering from losing so many healthy blood cells, from the surgery you underwent. That it’s natural to feel more tired than you did before, both physically and mentally.
That there is plenty to celebrate, too. Namely, the fact that months after your first clean bill of health was given, there are no signs of any new malignant cells forming. That the tumor behind your heart was removed successfully. Completely.
That the three months he estimated have come and gone. That your life is, once again, yours to live.
And other things, stranger yet, have remained exactly the same.
For starters, you still feel uncomfortable whenever Jay gets a little too outlandish with his gift ideas. You made him promise you that he wouldn’t get you anything for your birthday or the next three Christmases before you begrudgingly accepted the first class plane ticket to Iceland that brought you here now.
He broke it, of course, but he at least had the decency to look sheepish.
You have gotten a bit better at it, though. At letting him love you the way he wants to, at letting things go.
Like when the gate agent apologized for difficulty sorting out the rebooking fee, and you looked at him with a question in your gaze. Jay waved it off, rattling off some excuse about inclement weather that hardly made any sense. More suspicious yet, you swore his cheekbones were dusted with a sudden rosy pink that hadn’t been there before.
Still, you let it go. The sudden avoidance of his gaze, along with the tension in his shoulders, made you think it perhaps wasn’t a memory he was quite ready to revisit.
Besides, you know that he’ll tell you in his own time, when he’s ready. That’s the way things are between the two of you now. Affection, fondness, and even something that shimmers a whole lot like love, it’s all built on a solid foundation of trust.
It’s why you didn’t press the issue in the airport. Why you didn’t hound him for updates on his status in his father’s company post-graduation, even though you saw his updated resume when he accidentally left it open on his laptop one evening.
Why you waited, until he was ready to tell you himself, that he accepted a different position, one in a much smaller company, one that he got on merit alone instead of the weight of his family name.
It’s changed things for him, you know. His mother’s smile still sometimes doesn’t quite reach her eyes when she looks at him. He still hasn’t spoken to his father since the day he threatened you in the hospital.
It took time, it’s taking time, but Jay is happier, too, you think. He’s more sure of himself these days. Trusts his decisions, his instincts, more than he did before.
It’s not perfect, not by a long shot, but the beginning of his career is something that belongs to him and no one else. He smiles when he talks about it, even the difficult parts, like he’s proud of it, like it means the world to him that he gets to call it his.
And you, even now, as the dust settles and leaves a million possibilities in its wake, you can’t find yourself to regret any of it. Not the decisions you made, nor the reasons you made them.
If you could go back in time and choose a different career path, a different field of study, you’re not sure what choice you would make. Without the tragedy of Sunoo’s childhood, if business would still be the path you followed.
But you can’t go back in time. You can’t erase the past, and you can’t change what happened. You can’t conjure wealth from thin air, and you can’t erase all of your family’s struggles or pain with a snap of your fingers.
All you can do is move forward, give every past version of yourself grace for making the decisions she thought were best at the time. Trust the version of you that exists now to make decisions going forward.
At the very least, the future isn’t something you look at with trepidation anymore. After everything, failure doesn’t feel quite so terrifying, after all.
You’re a miracle now, too. Someone that’s been through hell and back and has come out with the scars to prove it.
You don’t need perfection. Your life doesn’t have to be something that you wrap into a bow and hand deliver to someone else on a silver platter.
You’re allowed to take care of your family, and you’re allowed to want things for yourself, too. It doesn’t make you greedy or selfish or ungrateful. You’re learning, too. There are times when it’s hard, but you’re doing your best. Especially when it comes to accepting things from others.
When Jay told you he wanted to bring you to Iceland to see the northern lights, it wasn’t because he wanted to watch you squirm uncomfortably at the differences in your finances. It wasn’t because he wanted you to feel like you owe him or because he felt pity for everything you’ve been through.
No, it was because he could see it all in his head — you, eyes turned towards the stars in the night sky, a wide, barely controlled smile breaking across your lips as the first rays of light began to dance across the universe above you.
He told you already once before. Love isn’t some transaction you pass back and forth.
When you brought him a coffee and a photo of the two of you to christen his new office, he wasn’t totalling up the amount you spent on the frame. He was thinking about how lucky he is to have someone that cares enough to think of him at all, how much it means to him to have a picture of you to glance at and smile whenever his meetings start to run too long.
Even now, as the plane draws to a stop on the tarmac, he takes both your bag and his, sliding it over his shoulder like the effort means nothing to him. Like it’s as natural as breathing. Not because you’re weak. Not because you’re fragile. Just because he likes doing things for you.
And as you stand to disembark, your gaze lands, not for the first time, right on the back of his head. Hair slightly mussed from the hours you just spent in the air, the sight makes you smile.
Biting at your bottom lip, you have a sudden memory of hours spent in lecture halls, staring at the back of his head, cursing the way it always seemed so out of reach, so effortlessly perfect. How desperately you wished you could have been like that too.
Reality, you think, no matter how messy, strained, and imperfect it may be, will always be so much better. You’re grateful for every day you’ve been given, for all the ways in which you’ve been able to see through the facade and your own misconceptions. For all the ways that you’ve gotten to know him, for all the ways you’ve let him get to know you, the real you.
Reaching up, you brush a few misplaced strands back into place with your fingers.
Jay turns back to face you, a soft smile on his lips, a question in his eyes. “What was that for?” he asks.
“No reason,” you tell him, returning his smile like it’s a secret just between the two of you.
Ok I’m just gonna say it because Heeseung is getting so much hate for literally breathing, but I had the privilege of seeing them last year, and I mean it very honestly:
Heeseung is the best performer of enhypen.
Yeah and I stand by it because I literally saw it with my own eyes. You could say I’m a witness, lol. Ofc if someone had another experience their opinion would be different, but this is MY opinion based on REAL LIFE experience:
During the concert, I really tried to maintain my focus on Jay, my absolute ult bias, and I really wasn’t any fonder of Heeseung than the other 5 guys. The only one I’d say I’m more “biased” about is Jay, but Heeseung overshadowed every single member. Even my own ultimate bias.
And no one is allowed to tell me I’m “hating” the other members or I’m not “appreciating” the others because nope! If you don’t acknowledge Heeseung’s level of professionalism and passion for performance then you’re undermining HIM. Periodt. He IS the center, the core member of enhypen. I witnessed it with my own eyes!!!
When I went to their concert, I was obviously very excited to see Jay, because like I said he’s my ult bias, the other six are close seconds, but yeah I went there with the expectation of fangirling over Jay. But truth is after a short while of their concert, like 3/4 songs later, you could literally see the exhaustion in every single member except for Heeseung. He was so magical. The others were just too exhausted and this is NOT a slander! I will go batshit if someone interprets this as me slandering/hating them. I bleed enhypen. It’s just simple reality that on that day the members didn’t have as much energy as Heeseung. He was highlikely just as tired, but damn, he didn’t show one ounce of it. And that made me respect him as an artist so much.
Heeseung is a different breed! His whole aura and demeanour on stage is next level. They all had their moments to shine on stage, once again, don’t get my words twisted, for example Sunoo’s smile on stage melted my heart or the way Jake hyped the crowd over and over again was so impressive, but Heeseung… he was different. His eyes were sparkling, his smile was so genuine. I remember some moments where you could see that the others got tired but Heeseung? Not once. It looked like he had never ending energy.
It was really crazy because I REALLY tried to maintain my focus on Jay, but it was impossible when there’s a whole person with a stage presence you can’t even describe with words. It literally felt like he was pulling me into another dimension. It felt like he casted a spell on me; whenever I tried to look at another member, he naturally pulled me towards him.
And of course one could say ok maybe he just attracted me at that moment or maybe I was just bias wrecked by him. But, nope. Afterwards, I talked with a lot of engenes who also had the same experience, and they ALL said that Heeseung was DIFFERENT.
He is in a different tier.
That doesn’t mean the other members are bad! Once again I will go batshit if someone thinks I’m saying this! I didn’t become an engene because of him! I became an engene because every single member is so talented and so hardworking!
It simply means that there’s a reason why he is called the ace and is known as a legendary trainee!
And the only reason why I’m writing this is because in my humble opinion: Heeseung shines the brightest when he’s with the members. The members shine the brightest when they’re with him.
Obviously they will be just fine without each other, I mean both parties are acting like the last 5 years didn’t happen, they will be fine, they have to be fine.
But truth is: Heeseung needs the members to be 100% confident. The members need him because it feels empty without their hyung, their center, their core member, their secret leader. And before anyone thinks I’m shading Jungwon here, I will literally commit 😂😂 What I mean by secret leader: A leader needs a pillar to lean on because they have a lot of weight to carry on their shoulders, and that pillar for Jungwon was Heeseung! That’s literally the reason why Heeseung didn’t become the leader himself even though he has leader qualities, because there would be no one for him to share his worries/the weight with. That’s why I, personally, think that Jungwon is having the hardest time with Heeseung’s decision because his literal pillar is gone. But that’s another topic…
And, again, I’m not saying the members are nothing without Heeseung! I’m saying BOTH parties need each other! Heeseung IS nervous without his members which is why he seems lanky/awkward, and the members receive so much energy/aura on stage because of Heeseung’s energy. yin and yang type shit. And it applies to every other member too but obviously there’s a reason why I’m only talking about heeseung now.
And I hate to agree with that bang pd guy but when he said that Heeseung has the ability to be a center and not drag down the others on stage but rather makes the rest shine brightly, I totally understand what he meant after witnessing it myself. And I know I’m repeating myself, but, Heeseung shines the brightest when he’s with other people and he literally hit the jackpot that the others were people named Jungwon, Jay, Sunghoon, Jake, Sunoo, and Ni-ki.
Obviously, the only reason why I’m saying all of this is because people are hating so much on Heeseung and are straight up just trash talking. They literally have no clue what they’re talking about and are just hating to hate and to hide their real feelings: they’re mad at him for leaving.
I also had a very hard time accepting that this was in fact Heeseung’s decision, because damn… it seemed like he loved performing with enhypen. He was so beautiful with enhypen. I really can’t put it in words how he fitted so perfectly in there. And he loves his members so much, he’s just not the type of person to express it openly. I just want to remind you guys that Sangwon talked about how Heeseung took care of him even after he debuted and when Sangwon himself was on a break from the industry, Heeseung visited and checked up on him multiple times.
Now imagine how much he must care for enhypen. The guys he shed tears, blood and sweat with.
Yes, Heeseung is awkward and shy, but that doesn’t make him a bad guy. It’s quite the opposite. It makes him human. It makes him lovable. It makes him relatable.
And yes, this makes the whole situation even more confusing. I really can’t comprehend how he could leave his younger brothers just like that, especially after seeing how much he depends on them. But I just have to remind myself that we don’t know what happened. And that’s it. I’m done with theories and hopes. I accepted that we will never know the truth.
I think the reason why the enhypen members acted the way they acted after the departure is because they’re just as confused and it doesn’t make any sense to them either, even if they obviously know everything and had time to mentally prepare themselves (not like us lol).
“You're trying to understand something that your heart isn't ready to make peace with yet, and that's okay.”
I saw this somewhere, and it helped me so much to understand human emotions. I think this applies to enhypen and a lot of other engenes, too.
Ok holy rant where was I heading with this?
I forgot but ig this is my form of coping
Yupppp it issss that deep
Ig what I wanted to say is: Everyone who’s hating on Heeseung’s dancing/performing/singing/stage presence etc. doesn’t know what they’re talking about and are ignoring the fact that he’s a literal human being who can get nervous.
I just want to praise Heeseung amongst all of the hate he’s receiving 🫠🫠
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.
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.”
“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.
that shit of a saranghae mess fanchant getting mogged by its humble superior the OT7 gbogh fanchant whos been running this game for 6 years. July 5 blood saga in Sao Paulo I will always remember you.
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
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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.
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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.”
recommendations for enhypen, &team, txt, and seventeen
⋆.˚ ENHYPEN
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ꕀ liquid sweetner by @intromortal ⋮ wc 5.2k ♯ smut, established relationship, downbad!jake, sick!reader, sweetie jake taking care of his girl basically
ꕀ ping! we should fuck by @jaylaxies ⋮ wc approx 6.5k ♯ smut, fwb, unprotected sex, fluff, angst
ꕀ what is it, to be liked? by @dollhoonki ⋮ wc 12.6k ♯ smut, dom!jake (condenscending), sub!reader, established relationship, satisfying ending to a trip to the mountains after encountering a fortune teller
ꕀ into it? by @minhosimthings ⋮ wc 24.8k ♯ smut, ft euijoo from andteam (foaming at the mouth), dom!jake, dom!ej, threesome, fratboys kinda, obsessed obsessed obsessed
ꕀ crazy, stupid, love by @swiftjay23 ⋮ wc 31.6k ♯ romcom au, friends with benefits, smut, angst, fluff, fwb to lovers, mutual pining, emotional slow burn, happy ending, playboy!jake x fratgirl!reader
sunghoon
ꕀ first date etiquette by @simpjaes ⋮ wc 9.3k ♯ smut, strangers to fucking almost immediately, brat tamer!sunghoon (somebody sedate me), sneaky sex, cocky sunghoon, flirting/bullying banter, both are competitive, im so unwell
ꕀ 1-800-HOON by @prkhaven ⋮ wc 10.8k ♯ smut, brat tamer au, pwp if you squint really hard, jay is reader’s rich bf and sunghoon’s best friend, mean hard dom brat tamer!sunghoon, hung!hoon agenda, i'd get banned if i said all i wanted to about this one so im just gonna say its nice!
ꕀ inch by inch by @intromortal ⋮ wc 23.6k ♯ smut, f!reader x park sunghoon, besties!jaykewon, essentially just smut, hung hung hung sunghoon, brat tamer!sunghoon, theres a part 2 as well, everyone is sick of hearing me talk about this one idc i need to be put tf down
ꕀ that's right, he can't by @jaylaxies ⋮ wc 3.6k ♯ smut, dom!heeseung x switch!fem!reader x switch!sunghoon, jealousy, revenge sex, needy reader, heeseung is lowk an asshole
ꕀ birthday boy by @intromortal ⋮ wc 4.5k ♯ smut, "sunghoon's first birthday after you started dating comes around, and you two make the most of the night when a snow storm delays plans." honestly just rlly sweet
trust there is way more sunghoon ones, i just have to hunt for them in my notes somewhere :3
sunoo
ꕀ one of the girls by @mssishipi ⋮ wc 45.5k ♯ slowburn, one sided enemies to fubu to lovers, second chances, queer coded relationship dynamics, queer!sunoo x queer! reader, pwp, hung sunoo, dom!sunoo, this is THE sunoo fic. you can't change my mind.
ꕀ 06. viewer submission challenge by @heeluvv ⋮ wc ?k ♯ smut, public sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), sunoo x reader
ꕀ all the right numbers by @nephynes ⋮ wc 15k ♯ smut, college au, fratboy! sunoo, casual sex, slice of life, romance, slowburn
ꕀ sweeter than revenge by @hoonstrology ⋮ wc 11.1k ♯ best friends to lovers. fluff. romance. yearner!sunoo & whipped!sunoo. slight angst. jealousy, condescending–dom!sunoo & sub!reader. sunoo switches between soft!dom and mean!dom (put me down) hung!sunoo agenda, like just love a good sunoo fic fr
there's a severe drought of good sunoo fics here :(
jungwon
ꕀ all the right parts by @arelyvn ⋮ wc 6k ♯ smut, teasing, car sex (on top of it), freak mechanic!won (feral), mean dom!won, freakwon agenda, reader's a spoiled brat who needs to be put in her place, and jungwon's willing to, just read it omg
ꕀ 0.7 first timer by @heeluvv ⋮ wc ?k ♯ smut, masturbation, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex etc, jungwon x reader, this entire series is 10/10
riki
ꕀ 0.8 watch me by @heeluvv ⋮ wc ?k ♯ smut, unprotected sex, grinding, praise kink, teasing, handcuffs, nishimura riki x fem reader
i realised i don't have any riki ones besides this one..
areudirty
blakekathryn
izzy806
yousharknotpass
titsay
theartofmadeline
