synopsis : living next door to lee heeseung has always been a nightmare loud, cocky, and impossible to ignore until one reckless night at a party leaves you waking up in his bed and running before it can mean anything you try to forget it ever happened, until two lines change everything, and suddenly the one person you can’t stand is the one you can’t escape.
pairing : basketball captain heeseung x neighbourf!reader
trope : accidental pregnancy + forced proximity
word count : 19.6k
warnings : heeseung is a an absolute asshole, accidental pregnancy, alot panic and guilt, abortion / termination discussion, fear of the future, alcohol use, one night stand, dirty talking, cursing, foreplay, dry humping, oral, drunk sex ( consent is present ) , unprotected sex, mild degradation, hair pulling, creampie
🗯️ JO’s NOTES < 🐻❄️ 3 ! : omggg finallyy juno part one is out, hope you have an absolute amazing time when reading. navi did the proofreading for me ilysmm <3333
The bass from the apartment next door was so loud it made your pencil roll off the desk for the third time tonight thump thump thump. Each beat vibrated through the thin wall like it was personally trying to ruin your life.
You stared at the half finished notes in front of you, frustration bubbling hot in your chest. Midterms were in two weeks. Two weeks and Lee Heeseung, the campus golden boy, basketball captain, and your personal nightmare of a neighbor was throwing another one of his legendary parties like tomorrow didn’t exist.
This was the nth time. The nth damn time since you’d moved in six months ago. With a sharp exhale, you shoved your chair back and stormed out of your apartment, not even bothering to change out of your oversized hoodie and sweatpants. The hallway reeked of spilled beer and expensive cologne.
You could already hear the chaos before you even reached his door. Laughter, glasses clinking, some girl’s high pitched giggle cutting through the music.
You banged on the door harder than necessary. It took a few seconds before someone inside yelled over the noise, “Yoo Heeseung! Someone’s banging at your front door!”The door finally swung open.
Heeseung stood there in all his infuriating glory tall, broad shouldered, black hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it. His button up was half undone, revealing a silver chain that rested on his collarbones and a glimpse of toned chest. Behind him, the party pulsed with red solo cups, dim lights, and at least half the basketball team.
A pretty girl with long hair and a tight dress was pressed close to his side, her hand resting possessively on his arm. He’d clearly been in the middle of charming her into his bed by the end of the night.
The second his dark eyes landed on you, that signature cocky smirk curved his lips.“Hi, miss morals,” he drawled, voice low and teasing, like he’d been waiting for this exact interruption.
You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “Can you turn it down? The music is too loud.”
Heeseung didn’t move. Instead, he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, crossing his arms in a way that made his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt. The girl behind him shifted, clearly annoyed at the sudden attention shift, but Heeseung didn’t spare her a glance now.
“Miss morals strikes again,” he laughed, the sound rich and mocking. It sent an unwelcome spark of irritation down your spine. “What’s the problem this time, neighbor? Come to bless us with your righteous presence?”
“I’m serious, Heeseung,” you said, voice sharp as you folded your arms tightly across your chest. “Not everyone has the pleasure of partying all night. Others have to actually study to pass their exams whereas others can just have daddy pay for everything when they fuck up.”The words hung in the air between you.
Heeseung’s smirk faltered instantly. His jaw tightened, and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. For a split second, something raw annoyance, maybe even hurt flashed across his face before he quickly shoved it back into that indifferent mask. His eyes darkened, the playful glint gone.
“Whatever,” he muttered, voice suddenly flat and cold. “I’ll lower the volume.”He said, “Thank you,” you replied curtly, refusing to let the small victory show on your face even though your heart was hammering.
Heeseung didn’t say anything else. He simply stepped back and shut the door right in your face with a firm click that echoed down the empty hallway.
You stood there for a moment, staring at the closed wooden door, fists clenched at your sides. The music inside dropped almost immediately, not completely off, but low enough that you could finally breathe. Muffled laughter and voices still filtered through, but at least your walls wouldn’t shake anymore.
“Asshole,” you whispered under your breath, turning on your heel and heading back to your apartment.As you closed your own door behind you, you leaned against it for a second, eyes closed. Why did he always have to make everything so difficult? Why did one look from him always manage to crawl under your skin like this?
You shook your head, forcing the thoughts away. Back to studying. Back to pretending Lee Heeseung didn’t exist. But deep down, you already knew tonight’s silence between you two had just gotten a little louder.
You were halfway through rewriting your notes when your phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up with a new message.
yunjin : you know sunghoon righttt? he’s throwing a massive party after midterms and he personally invited me. pleeease come with me?? i don’t wanna go alone 🥺
You stared at the text, already feeling the familiar dread settle in your stomach. Another party of course. You typed back quickly
you : No thanks im good have fun tho
The two dots appeared immediately.
yunjin : babe come onnnn
yunjin : it’s after midterms!! you deserve to relax
yunjin : sunghoon’s parties are actually fun i swear
yunjin : there’ll be good music, free drinks, and i heard the basketball team is coming too 👀
You groaned, rubbing your temples. The last thing you wanted was to be anywhere near the basketball team especially not after tonight’s lovely encounter with their captain.
you : exactly why I’m not going pass
yunjin : please please please i really like sunghoon and this could be my chance
yunjin : i’ll owe you big time i’ll even help you study for the next round of exams i’ll buy you that expensive matcha you like for a month!!
You leaned back in your chair, biting your lip. Yunjin was relentless when she wanted something. And honestly she had been there for you through every late night breakdown this semester. Saying no felt a little cruel the pleading texts kept coming
yunjin : i won’t leave your side the whole night ( she is lying )
yunjin : we can leave early if you hate it , pretty please with cherries on top?? 🥺🍒
You sighed deeply, already knowing you were about to lose this battle.
you : fine, ONE HOUR that’s it if it sucks, we’re out.
yunjin : YESSSSS!!! you’re the best i love you so much
yunjin : we can dress up together at my place okay , see you tomorrow <33
You tossed your phone onto the desk and dropped your head into your hands. Great, just what you needed. Another night surrounded by loud music, drunk athletes, and the very real possibility of running into the Lee Heeseung again.
You glanced at the wall that separated your apartment from his. The music was still playing faintly, but at least it was bearable now. Just one party, you could survive one party right?
The next morning, the art history lecture hall was already filling up with the usual mix of sleepy students and last minute crammers when you slipped into your regular seat in the middle row.
The faint scent of fresh coffee and old books lingered in the air. Yunjin dropped dramatically into the chair on your right, her long hair still slightly damp from her morning shower, eyes bright with far too much excitement for a 9 am class.
On your left, Soobin settled in quietly, tall frame folding gracefully into the seat. He placed his neatly organized notebook on the desk and pulled out a perfectly sharpened pencil, offering you a soft, reassuring smile.
Soobin was always like this calm, steady, the kind of friend who showed up without making a fuss. He was the complete opposite of the loud, chaotic energy that seemed to follow Heeseung everywhere.
Yunjin, however, was already completely distracted. She was leaning forward, chin resting on her hand, openly staring toward the front rows where Sunghoon sat chatting with a couple of friends. Her gaze was soft and dreamy, a tiny smile tugging at her lips every time he laughed at something.
You nudged her arm with your elbow, voice low and teasing. “You’re oogling him again it’s getting embarrassing at this point.”Yunjin didn’t even pretend to deny it. “I’m not oogling, im appreciating art,” she whispered back, still not tearing her eyes away. “Look at him he’s literally perfect.”
Soobin let out a quiet chuckle beside you, shaking his head as he flipped open his notebook. “Sure ‘appreciating’ that’s why half your notes from last week were just little hearts around his name.” He teased her, to which she replied,
“Traitor,” Yunjin hissed playfully, finally glancing at both of you as her cheeks flushed pink. “You two are supposed to be on my side.”The light banter continued until Soobin turned to you, lowering his voice a little. “Hey, I heard there was a party at Heeseung’s last night, did you survive the noise?”
You let out a long, dramatic groan and slumped back in your seat, the memory of last night’s confrontation still fresh and irritating. “Barely. That idiot had the music blasting so loud my textbooks were literally vibrating on the desk. I had to march over there in my hoodie and sweatpants like some angry neighbor from a sitcom again.”
Soobin listened attentively, his expression patient and sympathetic. He never interrupted your rants or told you to just ignore it. He just nodded along, dark eyes focused on you, making you feel genuinely heard.
It was one of the many reasons you treasured his friendship he was thoughtful, kind, and never loud or arrogant for the sake of it. The polar opposite of Heeseung.
“And of course he answered the door half dressed with some girl hanging off his arm like a trophy,” you continued, voice dripping with annoyance. “Called me ‘miss morals’ like it’s the funniest joke in the world.
Then when I pointed out that not everyone has a rich daddy to bail them out when they party instead of studying, he got all pissy, sucked in this dramatic breath, and slammed the door right in my face. He’s such an entitled asshole.”
Soobin hummed softly, a small frown creasing his brow. “That sounds exhausting, you should’ve texted me you know, i could’ve come over with snacks and we could’ve studied together instead of dealing with his nonsense alone.”
You smiled faintly at the offer, warmth cutting through the irritation. “Next time, maybe at least someone in this building has basic human decency.”
Yunjin finally tore her gaze away from Sunghoon long enough to grin at you. “Heeseung’s just bored and likes getting a rise out of you if you stopped reacting, he’d probably get bored and stop.”
“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “You don’t have to live next door to the human equivalent of a walking migraine.”The professor walked in moments later, cutting off any further complaints.
The next hour passed in a blur of projected slides on Renaissance techniques, quiet note taking, and the occasional whispered comment from Yunjin whenever Sunghoon shifted in his seat.
When class finally ended, the three of you packed up your things and joined the stream of students flowing out into the crowded hallway. The air was filled with chatter about upcoming midterms, weekend plans, and the usual campus gossip.
As you walked side by side, Yunjin suddenly looped her arm through yours, her excitement bubbling over again. “So, about Sunghoon’s party after midterms you’re definitely coming, right? And Soobin you should come too! It’ll be so much more fun with all three of us there.”
Soobin blinked, surprised, his eyebrows raising slightly. “Wait you’re actually going?” He looked at you, genuinely shocked. “I thought you hated parties, especially ones thrown by the popular crowd.”
You shrugged, already regretting your decision a little. “Yunjin begged a lot and guilt tripped me with matcha promises. One hour max, if it sucks, I’m dragging her out.”
Yunjin squealed happily and squeezed your arm. “See? She’s coming! So you have to come too, Soobinn please?”Before Soobin could respond, a familiar voice cut through the hallway noise from behind you.
“Can’t imagine miss morals at a party but I’m looking forward to seeing you there.” Your stomach dropped, you didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.
Heeseung was leaning casually against a set of lockers a few feet away, arms crossed over his varsity jacket, that signature cocky smirk playing on his lips. He must have overheard the entire conversation.
His dark eyes locked onto yours with clear amusement, like he lived for these moments of catching you off guard.
You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response. Heat crept up your neck partly from annoyance, partly from the embarrassment of him hearing your plans.
Yunjin stifled a laugh beside you while Soobin just shook his head quietly, a small, amused smile tugging at his mouth.
Heeseung’s low chuckle followed you as the three of you kept walking, but you kept your gaze fixed straight ahead, jaw tight. God, you really, really hated that guy.Midterms week stretched into a brutal two week marathon, and as an art curator major, you felt every single hour of it in your bones.
Your apartment had become a war zone of curated chaos towering stacks of books on museum exhibition design, printed slides from Art Conservation and Curatorial Practices, mood boards pinned to the wall for your upcoming gallery proposal project, and color coded flashcards scattered across every surface.
Late nights blurred into early mornings as you hunched over your laptop, drafting proposals for hypothetical exhibits while trying to memorize the intricate history of 19th century European collections. Sleep was a distant dream. Caffeine was your only reliable companion.
And then there was Heeseung.
He didn’t blast music or bring girls over every single night that would have been almost predictable. No, he was crueler than that. He chose random days, like he knew exactly how to keep you off balance, turning your already exhausting study schedule into a minefield of unwanted interruptions.
The first time hit on the second night of midterms. You were deep into analyzing a case study on museum ethics when the wall behind your desk started to vibrate faintly. At first it was just low music.
Then came the giggles two distinct female voices, breathy and flirtatious. Heeseung’s deep laugh cut through it all, followed by the unmistakable sound of bodies moving against furniture.
“Fuck, Heeseung you’re so good at this,” one of the girls moaned loudly, the words carrying crystal clear through the thin shared wall. The headboard started thumping a slow, steady rhythm against your wall rhythmic, insistent, growing faster.
You could hear the wet slap of skin, her exaggerated gasps turning into full throated cries every time he thrust.You yanked your noise canceling headphones on so hard the band dug into your temples, cranking the volume until classical music drowned most of it out.
But you could still feel it, the steady bang bang bang vibrating through your desk, through your chair, through your skull. Your cheeks burned with secondhand embarrassment and pure rage.
'Of course he’s fucking some random girl while I’m trying to memorize the difference between Baroque and Rococo curation techniques.' You thought bitterly, stabbing your highlighter across the page. Must be nice to have zero responsibilities except basketball and dick appointments.
It stopped around 2 a.m., but the damage was done. You only managed three hours of sleep before your 8 a.m. lecture.
The next morning, you were running on pure spite and too much coffee when you caught Heeseung in the hallway just as he was stepping out of his apartment. He looked annoyingly fresh — hair still damp from a shower, varsity jacket slung over one shoulder, that perpetual cocky smirk already in place.
You stopped right in front of him, arms crossed tightly. “Keep it down next time,” you said flatly, voice low but sharp. “Some of us are actually trying to pass our midterms instead of auditioning for porn.”
Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Aw, miss morals heard everything? Didn’t know you were such a light sleeper.” You glared at him, heat rising to your cheeks. “Just tone it down, the headboard banging is ridiculous.”
He chuckled lowly, the sound sending another spike of irritation through you. “Noted.” Then he leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “Though from the sounds of it last night, she seemed to enjoy the banging.”
You rolled your eyes and walked away without another word, his soft laugh following you down the hall.The next disruption came four days later. A random Thursday when you had a massive group project due on modern curatorial strategies.
You’d just settled in with your laptop open to a half finished exhibition proposal when his door slammed open down the hall. One girl this time, but she was even louder.
The moment they got inside, the sounds started again her high pitched whimpers, Heeseung’s low, cocky murmurs “Yeah? You like that? Tell me how much you want it” followed by the unmistakable wet sounds of them going at it on what sounded like his couch first, then migrating to the bed.
The headboard slammed against the wall so hard your framed print of Van Gogh’s Starry Night rattled. Her moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure, each one punctuated by Heeseung’s grunts and the filthy slap of bodies. “Harder fuck, right there, Heeseung don’t stop—”
You ended up studying in your bed instead, laptop balanced on your knees, pillows stacked around you like a fortress. Headphones on full blast. Still, every thrust made the wall tremble.
Every moan crawled under your skin and made focusing on your notes feel impossible. By the time they finally finished (or at least quieted down) around midnight, your eyes were burning and your proposal was only half done.
You hated how your body reacted sometimes not with attraction, but with pure, simmering resentment that made your stomach twist.That same night, after the noises finally stopped, you grabbed your phone in a fit of exhausted anger and texted him.
you : keep the noise down, some people are trying to study for actual grades, not coast on basketball talent and daddy’s money
His reply came faster than you expected. A picture popped up first. A close up selfie of Heeseung lying in bed, shirtless, messy hair, lazy smirk on his face, with the caption
heeseung : sorry, miss morals hard to stay quiet when they scream my name like that
heeseung : next time i’ll try to fuck quieter or maybe you can just join and tell me how to do it right?
You stared at the message, face flaming with a mix of rage and disbelief. You immediately blocked the image from your mind ( and definitely did not linger on the way his abs looked in the dim lighting ) before typing back a single furious reply
you : delete my number, asshole
The worst random night came during the final stretch, just three days before your last exams.
You were pulling an all nighter on your capstone project a full digital mock up of a contemporary art exhibit you’d spent weeks perfecting when the noises started again around 11 p.m. This time it was two girls.
Their laughter spilled into the hallway first, then straight through your wall. Heeseung’s voice was low and teasing, the kind of filthy charm that probably worked on every girl on campus.
Soon the bed was creaking loudly, headboard banging in a frantic rhythm while both girls moaned in tandem one breathy and high, the other deeper and more desperate.
“Heeseung oh god, yes fuck me like that—” mixed with wet, obscene sounds that left zero doubt about exactly what was happening next door. The wall vibrated so intensely your coffee mug slid an inch across the desk.
You sat there in your oversized hoodie and sweatpants, staring at your glowing screen, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Every moan, every dirty encouragement from Heeseung, every rhythmic thud felt like a personal attack on the one thing you actually cared about your future.
Your grades, your dream of curating real exhibitions someday. While I’m over here trying not to fail out of the only thing I’m good at, you thought, fingers flying angrily across the keyboard, he’s over there living his best life with a rotating cast of girls screaming his name.
You wore the headphones until your ears rang. You even tried white noise apps, earplugs underneath nothing fully blocked it. The sex noises went on for nearly two hours that night, loud and shameless, until they finally quieted around 1:30 a.m.
By the end of the two weeks, you were running on fumes dark circles under your eyes, caffeine shakes in your hands, and a permanent knot of irritation lodged in your chest whenever you passed his door.
The random nights had been spaced out just enough to feel like psychological warfare instead of constant chaos.Heeseung never once toned it down. Never once seemed to care that someone on the other side of the wall was actually trying to build a future that didn’t involve daddy’s money or NBA scouts.
When Friday morning finally arrived and your last exam was over, you dragged yourself back to the apartment building, shoulders heavy with exhaustion. The hallway was quiet for once. Heeseung’s door looked innocently closed.
You unlocked your own door, stepped inside, and immediately collapsed face first onto your bed, still in your clothes midterms were done.But the resentment toward the boy next door had only grown sharper and Sunghoon’s party was tonight. You groaned into your pillow one hour in and out. Just don’t kill Heeseung on sight.
You took the quickest shower of your life, and changed into the first comfortable outfit you could find—a simple black crop top that showed just a sliver of your midriff and your favorite pair of dark jeans—comfortable, practical, safe.
You texted Yunjin that you were ready to head over to her place to “get ready together,” secretly hoping she wouldn’t make a big deal out of your clothes—big mistake. Yunjin’s apartment was only two blocks away, and the second you stepped inside, she took one look at you and gasped like you had personally offended her.
“No no absolutely not,” she declared, hands on her hips, eyes scanning you up and down with pure horror. “You cannot go to Sunghoon’s party looking like that.”
You glanced down at yourself, confused. “What’s wrong with this? It’s cute it’s comfortable.”“Cute? Comfortable?” Yunjin repeated, already dragging you toward her bedroom like a woman on a mission.
“Babe, we’re going to a party, not the library. You just survived two weeks of hell tonight you’re supposed to look hot, not like you’re about to give a museum tour.”
Before you could protest, she flung open her closet and started pulling out clothes with frightening speed. She held up a black mini skirt dangerously short, made of soft leather like material and a sheer black button up shirt that was practically see through.
“Try these,” she ordered, shoving the hanger into your hands. You stared at the outfit like it might bite you. “Yunjin, no way, that skirt is barely legal and the shirt is see through i’m not wearing that.”
“Yes way, you are,” she sang, already pushing you toward the bathroom. “You agreed to come to the party that means you’re under my styling jurisdiction for tonight go change now”
You argued the entire time you were changing. “This is ridiculous! im going to freeze, people are going to stare i look like I’m trying way too hard—”
But Yunjin was relentless. The second you stepped out in the mini skirt and sheer shirt ( with a black bralette underneath so you weren’t completely exposed ), she clapped her hands and squealed.
“Oh my god, yes! Look at you!” She spun you around in front of her full length mirror. The skirt hugged your hips and ended high on your thighs, making your legs look longer.
The sheer shirt draped softly over your shoulders, the black bralette visible underneath in a way that was teasing but not outright scandalous. “You look insane like, dangerously hot.”
You tugged at the hem of the skirt, cheeks burning. “I feel naked. Can't I at least wear the jeans over this or something?”“No,” she said firmly, already sitting you down in front of her vanity. “We’re doing makeup now sit still.”
For the next twenty minutes, Yunjin worked her magic. Winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass, soft smoky eyes, a touch of highlighter on your cheekbones, and a bold red lip that made your mouth look fuller. She even styled your hair into loose, effortless waves that framed your face perfectly.
When she finally stepped back, she let out a satisfied sigh.“Anyone would worship the ground you walk on looking like this,” she said, grinning proudly. “Trust me tonight, you’re not the stressed out art curator girl who yells at her neighbor. You’re the girl who turns heads even Heeseung won’t know what to do with himself when he sees you.”
You rolled your eyes, but a small flutter of nerves mixed with reluctant confidence settled in your stomach as you looked at your reflection. The outfit was way bolder than anything you’d normally wear, but you had to admit it looked good.
“Fine,” you muttered, smoothing down the skirt one last time. “But if I hate it, we’re leaving early and if Heeseung says one word about ‘miss morals’ in this outfit, I’m pouring a drink on him.”Yunjin laughed and linked her arm with yours. “Deal now let’s go make Sunghoon’s party unforgettable.”
You and Yunjin barely made it out of her apartment before your phone buzzed with a text from Soobin saying he was already waiting downstairs. The three of you had agreed he would drive so none of you had to worry about getting home later.
The elevator ride down felt too short. Your heart was already beating a little faster than usual partly from the unfamiliar outfit, partly from the knowledge that you were actually going to a party after surviving two brutal weeks of midterms.
The black mini skirt kept riding up slightly with every step, and you kept tugging nervously at the hem while Yunjin wouldn’t stop complimenting how good you looked.
When you stepped out of the building into the cool evening air, Soobin’s car was parked right in front, engine idling. He was leaning casually against the driver’s side, scrolling through his phone, but the moment he looked up and saw the two of you approaching, his eyes widened noticeably.
Especially when they landed on you. Soobin froze for a second, his usual calm expression cracking into pure, genuine shock. His gaze traveled slowly from your loose waves and sharp winged eyeliner, down to the sheer black shirt that subtly revealed the black bralette underneath, then to the dangerously short leather like mini skirt that made your legs look endless.
He blinked once, twice, before quickly clearing his throat and straightening up, ears turning a light shade of pink.“Wow” he said, voice a little higher than his normal soft tone. “You both look really nice like, really nice.”
Yunjin grinned triumphantly, looping her arm through yours and squeezing. “See? Told you! Even Soobin is shook, she looks hot, right?”
You felt heat creep up your neck and quickly crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly hyper aware of how different you looked from your usual oversized hoodie and jeans self.
“It’s all Yunjin’s doing. She basically held me hostage in her room until I changed. I tried to wear my normal clothes and she acted like I committed a crime.”
Soobin gave a small, shy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he opened the back door for both of you like the gentleman he was. “No, it really suits you, you look great tonight.” His compliment was sincere and gentle, making the awkwardness feel a little softer. “Ready to go? Sunghoon’s place isn’t too far from here.”
The car ride was filled with easy, light chatter that helped calm your nerves. Yunjin sat in the front passenger seat, already buzzing with excitement about seeing Sunghoon, while you sat in the back, occasionally tugging at your skirt and staring out the window at the passing streetlights.
Soobin kept the conversation flowing comfortably, light complaints about how brutal midterms had been, predictions about how wild the party might get, and Yunjin’s endless teasing about how
Sunghoon had “personally invited” her. Every now and then Soobin would glance at you through the rearview mirror, still looking a little flustered whenever your eyes met.
Before you knew it, Soobin was pulling up to a large off campus house that was already pulsing with loud music and flashing colored lights. Cars lined both sides of the street, and groups of people were laughing and chatting on the front lawn, red cups in hand.
The three of you climbed out of the car, and the heavy bass from inside immediately hit you like a wave. The night air smelled like a mix of cheap beer, sweet perfume, and fresh cut grass. Yunjin practically bounced on her heels with excitement as the three of you walked up the pathway toward the front door.
Sunghoon was standing right at the entrance, playing the perfect host in a simple black shirt and jeans. His sharp, handsome features broke into a warm, genuine smile the moment he spotted your group approaching.
“Hey! You guys actually made it,” he greeted cheerfully, voice carrying easily over the noise from inside. His eyes lingered on Yunjin for an extra beat, a soft grin tugging at his lips. “Yunjin, glad you came and you brought friends, nice.”
He gave Soobin a friendly nod and then turned his attention to you, eyebrows raising slightly in pleasant surprise as he took in your bold outfit. “Hey! you clean up really well. Welcome to the party, hope you guys have fun tonight.”
You managed a small, polite smile, still feeling slightly out of your element. “Thanks for inviting us.”Sunghoon handed each of you a red solo cup filled with something fruity and strong smelling a sweet cocktail that had a sharp kick of alcohol when you took your first cautious sip.
“Drinks are flowing inside help yourselves to whatever you want. There’s food in the kitchen, beer pong in the living room, and dancing. Pretty much everywhere enjoy!”
Yunjin thanked him brightly, her cheeks already a little flushed with excitement, and steered you and Soobin further into the crowded house. The interior was packed wall to wall with people.
Students were laughing loudly, dancing in the middle of the living room, playing intense games of beer pong, and making out in dimly lit corners. The music was loud but not yet overwhelming, colorful lights flashing across the walls and bodies.
For the first few minutes, the three of you stuck close together, weaving through the crowd while sipping your drinks. Soobin stayed protectively near your side, occasionally leaning down to say something quiet and reassuring whenever he noticed you looking a bit overwhelmed by the chaos.
Then you felt it. That familiar, annoying prickle on the back of your neck, like someone was watching you. You turned your head slightly, and there he was.
Heeseung was leaning casually against the wall near the staircase, a red cup dangling from his fingers. He was surrounded by a small group of his closest friends—Beomgyu laughing at something on his phone, Jake with his usual bright smile, and Jay nursing his own drink while scanning the room.
Heeseung looked effortlessly good tonight in a black button up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms, and dark jeans that sat low on his hips. His hair was styled in that signature messy but perfect way.
The moment his dark eyes found you across the crowded room, his conversation with the guys stopped mid sentence.
His gaze dragged slowly and shamelessly down your body, taking in the short black mini skirt that hugged your hips and thighs, the sheer shirt that teased the black bralette underneath, the way the outfit accentuated your curves before snapping back up to your face.
For once, his usual cocky smirk didn’t appear instantly. Instead, there was a flash of genuine surprise, followed by something darker, more heated, and appreciative.
He pushed off the wall and started walking straight toward your group, completely ignoring whatever Beomgyu was saying behind him.
“Well, well, well,” Heeseung drawled when he was close enough, his voice cutting smoothly through the music. His eyes were still shamelessly roaming over you. “Look who decided to show up. Miss morals in a mini skirt i almost didn’t recognize you damn.”
You felt your stomach twist with that familiar mix of irritation and unwanted warmth. Before you could even open your mouth to snap back, Yunjin jumped in defensively, stepping slightly in front of you with a bright but sharp smile.
“Excuse me, Heeseung? She looks amazing, and she doesn’t need your backhanded compliments,” Yunjin said, tilting her head with fake sweetness.
“Unlike some people who only know how to throw loud parties and bring random girls over during midterms, maybe focus on your own game instead of commenting on her outfit.”
Heeseung chuckled lowly, clearly amused by Yunjin’s quick defense, but his eyes never left you. Jake, Beomgyu, and Jay were now watching the exchange from a few feet away, Beomgyu smirking like he was enjoying the show and Jake looking mildly entertained.
“Relax, Yunjin,” Heeseung replied smoothly, taking a sip from his cup. “I’m just saying that she cleaned up dangerous tonight, didn’t think our neighbor owned anything shorter than ankle length. Beomgyu, Jake, Jay back me up here. She looks good, right?”
Beomgyu grinned and raised his cup in a lazy toast. “Yeah, she do be looking fire tonight.”Jake nodded with a bright laugh. “For real, new look suits you.”Jay just shook his head with a small smile, staying quiet but clearly entertained.
You rolled your eyes, lifting your red solo cup to your lips to hide the flush creeping up your cheeks. “Don’t start with me tonight, Heeseung i’m only here for one hour, and I’d rather not spend it dealing with your nonsense.”
Heeseung tilted his head, that signature cocky smirk fully back in place now as he took another slow step closer. The way he was looking at you made the noisy room feel suddenly ten degrees warmer.
“Gonna dance tonight, or are you just here to supervise everyone else’s fun like usual, miss morals?”
You didn’t even give Heeseung the satisfaction of a proper reply. Instead, you flipped him off with a sharp middle finger, turned on your heel, and grabbed Yunjin’s arm. “Come on, let’s go.”
Yunjin laughed loudly, clearly proud of your reaction, and let you drag her deeper into the crowded house while Heeseung’s low chuckle followed behind you. Beomgyu, Jake, and Jay were already teasing him in the background, but you refused to look back.
For the first half hour, the party actually felt manageable. You stuck close to Yunjin and Soobin, sipping from your red solo cup and people watching from a quieter corner of the living room.
The music was loud, the lights flashed in rhythm with the bass, and the alcohol slowly started to loosen the tight knot of stress that midterms had left in your chest. Then Sunghoon appeared again.
He approached your group with that easy, charming smile, eyes mostly locked on Yunjin. “Hey want to dance?”Yunjin’s face lit up like he’d just offered her the moon. She turned to you quickly, squeezing your hand. “You’ll be okay for a bit, right? I’ll be right back!”
Before you could even answer, she was gone, disappearing into the sea of bodies on the dance floor with Sunghoon’s hand on her waist, now it was just you and Soobin.
You tried to keep the conversation light, but the longer you stood there, the more the party energy started to pull at you. The drink in your cup was strong and sweet, and after two weeks of pure academic hell, the idea of letting loose felt dangerously tempting.
“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath. You downed the rest of your drink in one go, the burn sliding warmly down your throat. Then you grabbed another cup from a passing tray and started sipping again. Why not? Midterms were over. You deserved this.
Soobin noticed and raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t judge. He stayed beside you, chatting quietly, making sure you weren’t completely alone. But after a while, you started feeling guilty. He was sweet, always listening, always there and here he was babysitting you instead of enjoying the party.
“Go talk to your friends,” you told him, giving him a gentle push toward a group of guys waving at him from across the room. “Seriously, Soobin i’ll be fine, i don’t want you wasting your night stuck with me. Go have fun i’ll text you if I need anything.”
He hesitated, looking concerned, but you begged him with your best pleading eyes until he finally nodded. “Okay but stay safe, text me if anything feels off.”
Once Soobin walked away to join his friends, you let yourself drift toward the dance floor. The alcohol was hitting nicely now a warm, fuzzy buzz that made the music feel better and your body lighter.
You moved to the edge of the crowd first, swaying gently, then slowly worked your way deeper into the pulsing bodies.
You didn’t notice him at first. But Heeseung had been watching you the entire time. From the moment Yunjin disappeared with Sunghoon, his eyes had followed you. He watched you down your drinks. He watched you convince Soobin to leave.
And now he watched as you finally stepped fully onto the dance floor, hips moving to the heavy beat, the short black mini skirt riding up just enough to draw attention, the sheer shirt catching the flashing lights.
Heeseung set his cup down and started moving through the crowd toward you, slow and deliberate. When he was close enough, he didn’t just grab you like most guys would. Instead, he leaned in slightly, voice low and surprisingly respectful against the loud music.
“Hey can I dance with you?”
You turned your head, alcohol making you bold. Your eyes met his, and for once, you didn’t immediately snap at him. The buzz in your veins, the way he was looking at you like he couldn’t look away…it made something reckless spark inside you.
You nodded “Yeah okay.” Only then did Heeseung step closer. The moment he did, the space between you disappeared. His body pressed lightly against yours at first, hands hovering respectfully before you started moving together.
The music was sensual, slow and heavy, and your bodies naturally fell into rhythm. It didn’t stay innocent for long. Heeseung’s hands gradually grew bolder one sliding to your waist, the other brushing up your side, fingers grazing the sheer fabric of your shirt.
You moved closer, hips rolling against his, the short skirt brushing against his thighs. His touch grew hotter, palms sliding down to grip your hips, then slowly roaming over the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him.
The air between you thickened. Your breathing grew heavier. Every brush of his body sent sparks through your skin. Heeseung leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke, voice low. “fuck, not being able to kiss you right now is actual torture.”
The words hit you like a shot of pure heat. The alcohol, the weeks of built up tension, the way his hands felt all over your body everything crashed together in one reckless moment.
You didn’t think, you just acted. turning your head as you grabbed the front of his shirt, and crashed your lips against his.
The kiss was messy, desperate, and instantly wild. Heeseung groaned into your mouth the second your lips met, one hand flying up to cup the back of your neck while the other tightened possessively on your waist, pulling you even harder against him.
You kissed like you were angry at each other—teeth clashing, tongues sliding hot and deep, lips moving with raw hunger.
Heeseung kissed like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. His mouth was demanding, devouring, tilting your head to kiss you deeper. You moaned softly against him, fingers threading into his hair and tugging, which only made him kiss you harder.
The dance floor disappeared around you. The music faded into background noise. There was only the heat of his body, the taste of alcohol on his tongue, and the way his hands roamed greedily over your curves sliding up your back under the sheer shirt, gripping your hips, pressing you so close you could feel exactly how much he wanted you.
The makeout was crazy sloppy, passionate, breathless. You bit his lower lip, and he responded with a low growl, sucking on your tongue before kissing you even harder.
Your bodies moved together to the beat, grinding slowly while your mouths stayed locked in a heated battle.
When you finally pulled back for air, both of you were panting, lips swollen and shiny. Heeseung’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide as he stared down at you like he wanted to devour you right there on the dance floor.
“Shit” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “You’re going to kill me tonight.”The kiss finally broke, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen and glistening under the flashing party lights.
Heeseung’s forehead rested against yours, his hands still gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
His eyes were dark, pupils blown with want, and the way he looked at you sent another rush of heat straight through your body.
You didn’t think. The alcohol, the weeks of hating him, the way his hands had felt all over you everything made you reckless. You leaned in closer, voice low and breathless against his ear. “Wanna go back to your apartment?”
Heeseung pulled back just enough to look at you, a dangerous smirk tugging at his swollen lips. For a split second, surprise flashed across his face, but it quickly melted into pure hunger.
“Fuck yes”
He didn’t waste another second. His hand slid down to grab yours firmly, fingers lacing tight as he started pulling you through the crowded dance floor. People moved out of the way as Heeseung cut a path toward the front door, his grip on you possessive and urgent.
You barely had time to register anything else Yunjin and Soobin were somewhere in the house, but right now, none of that mattered.The cool night air hit your flushed skin the moment you stepped outside, but it did nothing to calm the fire burning in your veins.
Heeseung’s car was parked a little down the street. He didn’t let go of your hand the entire way, and the second you reached the passenger side, he opened the door for you with surprising speed before rounding the car and sliding into the driver’s seat.
The moment the doors closed, the tension exploded again. Heeseung started the engine, but you were already growing impatient. The short drive back to your apartment building felt too long. Every red light, every stop sign made the ache between your legs worse.
You kept stealing glances at him his jaw tight, hands gripping the steering wheel, the way his shirt was slightly undone from your earlier tugging. At the third red light, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.“Fuck this,” you muttered.
Before Heeseung could react, you unbuckled your seatbelt, climbed over the center console, and straddled his lap in one swift motion. The mini skirt rode up high on your thighs as you settled on top of him, your hands immediately cupping his face as you crashed your lips back onto his.
Heeseung groaned loudly into the kiss, his hands flying to your waist to steady you. The kiss was even wilder than on the dance floor desperate, messy, all tongue and teeth. You rocked your hips against him, grinding down slowly at first, then harder, feeling him harden beneath you through his jeans.
His hands roamed greedily, one sliding up under your sheer shirt to palm your breast over the bralette, the other gripping your ass and pulling you tighter against his growing bulge.
“Shit you’re driving me crazy,” he muttered against your mouth between kisses, voice rough and wrecked.
You moaned softly, grinding down harder, the friction sending sparks through your entire body. The car windows started to fog up as you moved together, lips never leaving each other for long.
Heeseung’s tongue slid against yours, deep and filthy, while his hips bucked up to meet your movements, the steering wheel pressing into your back.
You were completely lost in him hands in his hair, tugging, lips sucking on his bottom lip, hips rolling in desperate circles when the sharp sound of honking suddenly pierced through the haze.
Once, twice, then a chorus of angry car horns blaring behind you reality crashed back in.
You pulled away from the kiss with a gasp, lips shiny and swollen, breathing ragged. The light had turned green, and the cars lined up behind you were laying on their horns, some drivers shouting out their windows.
Heeseung let out a breathless laugh, his hands still gripping your thighs tightly. His eyes were dark, hair messy from your fingers, lips red and kiss bitten.“Fuck,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “We’re gonna cause an accident if you keep this up.”
You quickly scrambled back into the passenger seat, heart pounding, cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and lingering arousal.
Your skirt was hiked up dangerously high, and you tugged it down with shaky hands while Heeseung adjusted himself in his seat, clearly struggling to focus on the road.
He shot you a heated sideways glance, smirk returning as he pressed the gas pedal.“Almost home,” he said, voice low and promising. “Try not to jump me again until we’re inside or don’t. I'm not complaining.”
The rest of the short drive was torturous. The air in the car was thick with tension, both of you stealing glances, the memory of your grinding still fresh and electric.
When Heeseung finally pulled into the parking spot outside your shared apartment building, he killed the engine and turned to you, eyes blazing.
The second you were both out of the car, he grabbed your hand again and practically dragged you toward the entrance, the promise of what was about to happen hanging heavy between you.
The second the door to Heeseung’s apartment slammed shut behind you, all restraint vanished.He had you pinned against the wood before you could even catch your breath, mouth crashing back onto yours in a filthy, open mouthed kiss.
His hands were everywhere one sliding up under your sheer shirt to palm your breast roughly, the other gripping your ass and yanking your hips flush against the hard line of his cock already straining in his jeans.
“Been thinking about this since you walked in wearing that tiny fucking skirt,” he growled against your lips, biting your bottom lip hard enough to make you moan. “Look at you acting like such a good girl all semester and now you’re begging to get fucked in my bed.”
You didn’t deny it you couldn’t. The alcohol and weeks of pent up hatred had turned into pure, desperate need. You tugged at his shirt buttons, popping a few open in your haste, and Heeseung chuckled darkly before ripping the rest off himself.
The shirt hit the floor. Yours followed a second later, then your bralette, leaving your tits exposed to the cool air of his apartment.
Heeseung’s mouth was on your neck instantly, sucking a mark right below your jaw while his hands squeezed your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples until they were hard and aching. “So fucking pretty when you’re needy like this,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “Bet you’re already soaked for me, huh?”
You whimpered when he shoved the mini skirt up around your waist and cupped you over your panties. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric, rubbing slow circles over your clit.
“Shit you are dripping already.” He smirked against your throat. “Such a dirty little secret you’ve been hiding, miss morals.”
You didn’t have time to snap back. Heeseung dropped to his knees right there in the entryway, hooked your panties to the side, and buried his face between your thighs without warning. His tongue dragged a long, nasty stripe up your pussy, groaning at the taste of you.
“Oh my god—” Your head thunked back against the door as he licked and sucked like a man starved, two fingers sliding inside you easily because you were so wet.
He curled them perfectly, pumping fast while his tongue flicked mercilessly over your clit. The sounds were obscene wet, sloppy, loud and he didn’t care. He ate you like he wanted to ruin you.
You came hard on his tongue within minutes, thighs shaking, fingers yanking at his hair as you cried out his name. Heeseung didn’t stop until you were trembling and pushing at his head, then he stood up, lips shiny with your arousal, and kissed you deep so you could taste yourself.
“Bedroom now,” he ordered.
He didn’t wait for you to walk. He grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted you like you weighed nothing, carrying you down the short hallway while your legs wrapped around his waist.
Your skirt was still bunched around your hips, panties shoved to the side. You could feel his cock pressing against your soaked core with every step.
The second he kicked his bedroom door open, he dropped you onto the bed. You barely had time to bounce before he was stripping the rest of his clothes off. His jeans and boxers hit the floor and his cock sprang free—thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip.
Your mouth watered at the sight. Heeseung climbed over you, caging you in with his arms. “You want this?” he asked, voice dark, one hand stroking his cock slowly as he looked down at you. “Tell me you want it.”
“I want it,” you breathed, reaching down to wrap your hand around him. “Fuck me, Heeseung.”That was all it took.
He shoved your legs apart wider, lined himself up, and pushed in with one long, brutal thrust. You gasped at the stretch, nails digging into his shoulders as he bottomed out inside you, so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.
“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned, forehead dropping to yours. “Taking me so well already.”Then he started moving hard fast and filthy.
The headboard slammed against the wall with every thrust, the same wall that separated your apartments. The irony wasn’t lost on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
Heeseung fucked you like he’d been imagining this exact moment for months.Deep, punishing strokes that made your tits bounce and your breath hitch.
He grabbed one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder, folding you in half so he could fuck you even deeper. The new angle made you cry out, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room.
“Look at you,” he rasped, eyes locked on where his cock was disappearing inside you. “Taking every inch like a good little slut, who would’ve thought the girl next door gets this fucking nasty?”
The degradation was light, just enough to make your pussy clench harder around him. You moaned louder, hips trying to meet his thrusts.
Heeseung’s hand slid between your bodies, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit while he pounded into you.
“Come on, baby. Come on my cock again, wanna feel you squeezing me.” You shattered for the second time, back arching, walls fluttering around his thick length as your orgasm crashed through you. Heeseung fucked you through it, hips never slowing, chasing his own release.
“Fuck— I’m close,” he growled, voice strained. “Where do you want it?” He asked, “Inside,” you gasped, still riding the high. “Come inside me.”
Heeseung cursed loudly, thrusting a few more brutal times before he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. You felt every pulse, every hot spurt filling you up as he groaned your name against your neck, hips jerking through the aftershocks.
For a moment the only sounds were both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat.
Heeseung stayed inside you for a long minute, forehead pressed to yours, before he finally pulled out slowly. A trickle of his cum leaked out of you onto the sheets, and he watched it with dark, satisfied eyes then collapsed beside you.
Instead of pulling away, Heeseung immediately reached for you. He wrapped one strong arm around your waist and tugged you against his chest, your back flush to his front in a tight, warm hug. His other hand gently pulled the duvet up over both of you, cocooning your naked bodies in soft warmth.
You were still sticky with sweat and cum, thighs trembling, but the way he held you possessive yet surprisingly gentle made something soft flutter in your chest despite everything.
Heeseung pressed a lazy kiss to the back of your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.“Stay,” he murmured, voice already thick with sleep as he tightened his arm around you. “Just stay.”
Exhausted, fucked out, and strangely comforted by his warmth, you let your eyes drift shut. His steady heartbeat against your back and the heavy duvet wrapped around you lulled you quickly into sleep, safe in Heeseung’s arms for the night.
ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ. next morning !
The first thing you registered was the pounding in your head. Your eyes fluttered open slowly, the dim light filtering through unfamiliar curtains making everything feel hazy. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed red 4:28 a.m.
Your mouth was dry, throat scratchy, and a dull throb pulsed behind your temples the unmistakable aftermath of too many drinks and not nearly enough sleep. You shifted slightly under the heavy duvet, and that’s when you felt it.
A warm, solid body pressed against your back. An arm draped heavily over your waist, holding you close skin against skin. The faint scent of cologne, sweat, and something distinctly masculine filled your senses.
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Memories from last night crashed over you like ice water.
The party, the red solo cup dancing. Heeseung’s hands all over your body on the dance floor. The reckless invitation. The car ride where you’d climbed into his lap like you had no shame.
The way he’d pinned you against his door, dropped to his knees in the entryway, fucked you hard on his bed until you were crying out his name. The filthy sounds. The way he’d filled you up. The way he’d pulled you against his chest afterward, hugging you tight under the duvet as you both drifted off.
You had fucked Lee Heeseung
You had fucked your loud, cocky, insufferable neighbor the basketball captain you’d spent months complaining about, the one who called you “Miss Morals” like it was the funniest joke in the world.
Mortification burned hot through your entire body. Your stomach twisted violently. What the hell had you been thinking? The alcohol had stripped away every ounce of common sense, and now you were lying naked in his bed, his cum still faintly sticky between your thighs, his arm wrapped around you like you belonged there.
Heeseung was still sound asleep behind you, breathing deep and even, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back. His face was relaxed in sleep no smirk, no cocky grin but you knew the second he woke up, everything would change.
He would never let you live this down. The teasing would be relentless. “Miss morals” would turn into something far worse. He’d smirk every time he saw you in the hallway, make dirty little comments about how loud you’d been, how desperate you’d sounded begging for him.
The walls between your apartments were thin he’d probably bring it up every time you complained about his noise again. Your life next door would become a living hell.You couldn’t stay here.
Panic clawed up your throat. You had to leave before he woke up. Before this became real. Before he opened his eyes and looked at you with that knowing, satisfied smirk.
Carefully, so carefully, you lifted his arm from your waist. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, murmuring something incoherent under his breath. Your heart hammered as you slowly slid out from under the duvet, the cool air hitting your naked skin and raising goosebumps.
You moved like a ghost around his room, gathering your scattered clothes as quietly as possible. Your sheer black shirt, the black bralette, the dangerously short mini skirt, your panties all crumpled on the floor where they’d been tossed in the heat of the moment.
You dressed as fast as you could, fingers trembling as you buttoned the sheer shirt and tugged the mini skirt down your thighs. Your hair was a mess, makeup probably smudged, but you didn’t care. You just needed to get out.
Barefoot, shoes in hand, you tiptoed toward the bedroom door. Every creak of the floorboards felt deafening. You glanced back once at Heeseung still asleep, one arm now stretched across the empty space where you’d been, dark hair messy against the pillow.
A strange, unwelcome pang twisted in your chest, but you shoved it down hard. This never happened.
You slipped out of his bedroom, quietly closing the door behind you. The living room was dark and silent. You navigated through the unfamiliar space, heart racing, until you reached the front door. The lock clicked softly as you turned it.
The hallway was empty and dimly lit when you stepped outside. The cool air felt like freedom. You didn’t even bother putting your shoes on yet you just hurried the few steps to your own apartment door next door, fumbling with your keys until they finally slid into the lock.
The moment you were inside, you locked the door behind you, leaned against it, and slid down to the floor, breathing hard.
Your body still ached in the best and worst ways. Thighs sore, a faint bruise forming on your hip from his grip, the ghost of his touch lingering everywhere. You could still feel him inside you, still taste the heat of his mouth.
You buried your face in your hands, mortified beyond words. What had you done?You had slept with the one person you couldn’t stand and now you had to live right next door to him, pretending it never happened.
Because if Heeseung ever found out you’d run away like this, the teasing would only get worse much, much worse. You spent the rest of that early morning in a haze of denial.
Your phone vibrated then again. You reached for it with a heavy sigh, squinting at the bright screen.
yunjin ( 3 new messages )
yunjin : babe where did u go?? one second u were dancing and then u disappeared 😭
yunjin : sunghoon said he saw u leave with someone?? pls tell me ur okay
yunjin : im worried call me when u wake up!!
soobin ( 4 new messages )
soobin : hey, you okay? you left pretty suddenly last night without telling both of us yunjin’s freaking out a bit
soobin : let me know if you got home safe
soobin : if you need anything or want to talk, i’m here no pressure
soobin : hope you’re resting well ❤️
You stared at the messages, throat tightening. The kindness in Soobin’s texts and Yunjin’s worried energy made fresh tears prick at your eyes. They had no idea what you had done. No idea you had spent the night in Heeseung’s bed, letting him touch you, kiss you, fuck you like you’d lost all common sense.
You typed back with trembling fingers, keeping it short and vague
you : got home safe, just drank too much and needed to leave early sorry for worrying you guys i’m okay, just tired talk later ❤️
You sent it and immediately turned your phone on silent, burying your face in your hands the memories wouldn’t stop replaying. Heeseung’s hands on your hips, his mouth on your neck. The way he had groaned your name when he came inside you.
How safe and warm his arms had felt when he pulled you under the duvet afterward. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push it all away this never happened.
After sliding down your front door and sitting on the cold floor for what felt like hours, you finally dragged yourself to the shower.
You scrubbed your skin until it was raw, trying to wash away every trace of Heeseung his scent, his touch, the sticky evidence of what you’d done between your thighs. The hot water did nothing to erase the soreness or the vivid flashbacks that kept playing on loop in your head.
By the time the sun came up, you had made a decision this never happened. You would bury it so deep that even you would start to believe it. No one needed to know. Not Yunjin, not Soobin, not even yourself on most days.
You would go back to normal go to classes, focus on your art curator projects, complain about the noise next door like always. And most importantly, you would avoid Lee Heeseung at all costs.
ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ. flashback !
Heeseung stepped out of his apartment with a half empty water bottle in hand, planning to grab the last box from his car before the evening practice. The hallway was quiet until it wasn’t.
A girl came rushing around the corner, arms overloaded with a massive cardboard box that completely blocked her line of sight. She collided straight into his chest with a startled gasp.
The box flew out of her hands and crashed to the floor, spilling books, notebooks, and what looked like art supplies everywhere across the hallway carpet. Heeseung instinctively reached out and grabbed her arms to keep her from stumbling backward.
She looked up at him, flushed and clearly annoyed, strands of hair falling across her face from the chaotic move. She was pretty, sharp eyes, determined expression the kind of girl who didn’t seem impressed by campus status.
A smirk tugged at his lips before he could stop it.“Easy there, neighbor,” he drawled, voice laced with amusement. “You always run into people like you’re trying to tackle them, or am I just lucky?”
She blinked, then quickly crouched down to gather her scattered belongings, avoiding his gaze.“Sorry,” she muttered, tone tight and clipped. “Didn’t see you.”
Heeseung crouched down as well, picking up a thick book on museum curation that had slid toward his foot. He turned it over in his hands, raising an eyebrow.“Art stuff, huh?” he asked casually. “You moving in next door?”
“Yeah just today,” she replied shortly, snatching the book back from him with a little more force than necessary.
He stood up first and leaned against the wall, arms crossing over his chest as he watched her struggle to reorganize everything into the box. Most girls would have smiled, maybe even recognized him as the basketball captain.
This one? She looked like she already wanted nothing to do with him.“I’m Heeseung,” he said, flashing his most charming grin. “Lee Heeseung, your new neighbor. Need help carrying that? Looks heavy.” He offered,
“I’m good thanks,” she answered without even looking up, standing quickly and slinging the tote over her shoulder.
Heeseung didn’t move out of the way. Instead, he tilted his head, studying her with open curiosity. There was something refreshing about her indifference that it made him want to push a little harder.
“Just so you know,” he added, voice dropping into a teasing tone, “The walls here are pretty thin, try not to be too loud when you’re studying or doing whatever it is, serious art curator girls do at night.”Her eyes finally snapped up to his, narrowing with clear irritation.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said flatly. “And maybe you can try keeping your parties down some people actually have to study to pass their classes.”
Heeseung let out a low, genuine laugh that echoed down the empty hallway. She had bite and he liked that.
“Welcome to the building, miss morals,” he called after her as she turned toward her door, the nickname slipping out naturally. She didn’t respond. She fumbled with her keys, unlocked her apartment, and slipped inside without another word, the door shutting with a firm click.
Heeseung stood there for a moment longer, still grinning to himself. The girl next door already hated him, and he hadn’t even thrown his first party yet. This was going to be interesting.
The gym echoed with the sharp squeak of sneakers and the rhythmic bounce of basketballs. Afternoon practice was in full swing, but during a water break, Heeseung leaned against the bleachers, towel draped over his shoulders, a cocky grin already plastered on his face.
Jay tossed him a bottle of water. “You look way too happy for someone who just ran suicides.”Heeseung laughed, taking a long sip before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Can’t help it ran into the new neighbor again this morning.”
Beomgyu perked up immediately, spinning the ball on his finger. “The girl next door? The one who already hates your guts?”
“miss morals herself,” Heeseung confirmed, his smirk widening. “I was just leaving for practice when she came out, i told her the walls are thin and she should try not to be too loud at night. You should’ve seen her face, she looked like she wanted to throw her coffee at me.”
Jake, who was stretching nearby, let out a loud laugh. “Dude, you’re obsessed! that’s like the third time this week you’ve mentioned her.”
“I’m not obsessed,” Heeseung shot back, but his grin betrayed him. “It’s just too easy. She gets so worked up over the smallest things. Last week I had a couple of people over, nothing crazy and she banged on my door at midnight like the apartment was on fire, called me an entitled asshole who only passes because ‘daddy pays for everything.’”
The group burst into laughter. Sunghoon shook his head, amused. “She’s got balls, most girls on campus would be throwing themselves at you the second they find out you’re the captain.”
“Exactly,” Heeseung said, tossing the towel aside. “That’s what makes it fun, she doesn’t give a single fuck who I am. No flirty smiles, no asking for tickets to games, nothing. She just glares at me like I personally ruined her life by existing next door it’s hilarious.”
Beomgyu grinned mischievously. “So what’s your plan? Keep annoying her until she moves out?”
“Nah,” Heeseung replied, bouncing the ball once. “I’m just getting started, next time the music’s on, I might turn it up a little louder to see how long it takes before she comes marching over again. Bet she’ll have that cute little angry face on.”
Jake, who had been quietly listening while stretching his hamstrings, suddenly straightened up with a knowing look.“Don’t you think you’re in love with her or something?” he asked casually, but loud enough for the whole group to hear.
The gym went quiet for half a second before the guys exploded with laughter and teasing whistles. Heeseung nearly choked on his water. “What the fuck, Jake?”
Jake shrugged, completely unfazed. “Think about it, she’s literally the only girl who doesn’t give a shit about you no ego stroking, no chasing after the basketball star. She treats you like any other annoying neighbor and instead of leaving her alone, you keep poking at her like a kid with a new toy. That sounds like a crush to me.”
“Bullshit,” Heeseung scoffed, but his ears turned slightly red. He dribbled the ball harder than necessary, trying to play it cool. “I’m not in love with her, she’s just entertaining. It's fun watching her get all riled up, that’s it.”
Jay raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Sure ‘Entertaining.’ that’s why you bring her up every single practice.”
“Exactly,” Jake added with a grin. “If she suddenly started being nice to you, you’d probably be bored in a week but because she ignores you and calls you out, you can’t stop thinking about her.”
Heeseung pointed the ball at Jake threateningly, though his smirk was fighting to stay hidden. “Keep talking and I’ll make you run extra laps, Sim.”
The team laughed again, but Jake just held up his hands in surrender, still smiling. “I’m just saying, man. One day you’re gonna realize you’re not annoying her because it’s funny, you’re doing it because you like the way she fights back.”
Heeseung rolled his eyes and turned away, dribbling the ball toward the court to end the conversation. But as practice resumed and he sank a clean three pointer, Jake’s words lingered in the back of his mind longer than he wanted to admit.
Maybe there was a tiny bit of truth to it. Or maybe he just really, really enjoyed getting on your nerves.
The laughter from the team slowly died down as practice resumed. Heeseung shook off Jake’s teasing comment, channeling the slight irritation into sharper shots. He sank another clean three pointer, the ball swishing through the net with satisfying precision.
For a few minutes, the court felt like the only place where everything made sense no annoying neighbors, no complicated feelings, just the game. Then the gym doors swung open with a loud bang.
Everyone turned as a tall, sharply dressed man in a tailored coat strode in, his presence immediately sucking the casual energy out of the room. Coach paused mid instruction, nodding respectfully.
Heeseung’s stomach dropped the moment he recognized the figure his father. Mr. Lee didn’t smile. He never did when he showed up unannounced like this. His eyes scanned the court with cold calculation, lingering on Heeseung with clear disapproval.
“Take five, boys,” Coach called out, sensing the shift in atmosphere. Heeseung wiped the sweat from his brow and walked over, jaw already tight. “Dad what are you doing here?”Mr. Lee stopped a few feet away, arms folded behind his back. His voice was low but carried easily across the quiet gym.
“I came to see if my son is actually putting in the work that’s supposed to get him into the NBA,” he said flatly. “From what I’ve been hearing, it doesn’t look like it.”Heeseung’s friends lingered nearby, pretending to drink water but clearly listening.
“I’ve been at every practice,” Heeseung replied, keeping his tone even. “Coach said my shooting percentage is up this week—”
“Don’t make excuses,” his father cut him off sharply. “Your brother Heedo was never this distracted at your age, he was laser focused top scorer captainfull ride to the best program in the country. And you? You’re out here laughing with your little friends during water breaks, probably thinking about parties and girls instead of the game.”
Heeseung’s grip tightened on the basketball until his knuckles turned white.“I’m not distracted,” he said through gritted teeth. Mr.Lee stepped closer, voice dropping into that familiar, cutting tone that always found its mark.
“You’re good for nothing if you can’t even focus on what matters. All that talent wasted because you’d rather play around and act like some campus king. You think the scouts care about your popularity? they don’t, you will never be enough if you keep this up and you will certainly never be better than your brother.”
The words landed like punches. Heedo — the golden child. The one who had already made it pro overseas. The one their father never stopped comparing him to.Heeseung’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. He wanted to snap back, to defend himself, but years of this had taught him it was useless. His father never listened.
Mr. Lee straightened his coat, expression unchanging. “Fix it or don’t bother coming home for the holidays, i didn’t raise a failure.”Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked out of the gym, the heavy doors swinging shut behind him with a final, echoing thud. The silence that followed was uncomfortable.
Heeseung stood there for a moment, staring at the floor, chest tight with anger and something heavier he refused to name. The team slowly went back to practice, but the energy had shifted. Jake shot him a concerned look, but Heeseung ignored it, dribbling the ball harder than necessary as he moved back onto the court.
Inside, the familiar bitterness churned.His father’s words echoed louder than any cheering crowd ever could. You will never be enough. You will never be better than your brother. Heeseung sank another shot, but this time it didn’t feel satisfying.
All he could think about was how easy it was to annoy the girl next door because at least when she glared at him and called him an entitled asshole, he felt something other than this hollow, crushing weight.
The heavy gym doors swung shut behind Mr. Lee, leaving an awkward silence in his wake. The team tried to resume practice, but the atmosphere had soured.
Heeseung stood frozen for a few seconds, staring at the spot where his father had been. The familiar sting of those words good for nothing, never enough, never better than your brother settled heavy in his chest like lead.
Jake jogged over, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, man don’t let him get to you, your dad’s always been like that you’re killing it out here.”
“Yeah,” Beomgyu added, spinning the ball on his finger. “Ignore him, you’re the one who’s gonna make it to the NBA, not Heedo.” Jay nodded. “Come on, let’s run some more plays we’ll crush the next game.”Heeseung forced a half smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah sure.”
He went through the motions for the rest of practice dribbling, shooting, defending but he was quiet. No cocky jokes no teasing his teammates no loud laughter. Every time someone tried to pull him into conversation or hype him up after a good play, he gave short, one word replies and kept his head down. The usual spark was gone.
Even Coach noticed, shooting him concerned glances but saying nothing.The moment practice officially ended, Heeseung grabbed his bag and left first, ignoring the calls from his friends asking if he wanted to grab food. He needed air. He needed to get away from the echoes of his father’s voice.
He walked aimlessly for a while, the cool evening air doing little to clear his head. Eventually, his feet carried him toward the small café just off campus the one with decent coffee and quiet corners where he sometimes went to think.He pushed open the door, the bell jingling softly, and scanned the room out of habit and then he saw you.
You were sitting alone at a corner table near the window, surrounded by textbooks, notes, and your laptop. Your hair was tied up messily, a pen between your teeth as you frowned at something on the screen. You looked focused serious and annoyingly cute in that concentrated way of yours.
A small, familiar spark ignited in his chest the one that always appeared whenever he spotted you. Before he could think better of it, Heeseung walked straight over and slid into the seat across from you without asking.You looked up, startled at first, then your expression quickly shifted into pure annoyance.
“What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, voice sharp but low enough not to disturb the other customers. You closed your laptop slightly, glaring at him. “This is my table, go sit somewhere else.”
Heeseung leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms, that signature smirk slowly returning despite the heavy weight still sitting in his stomach. Seeing your irritated face felt lighter somehow. Easier than dealing with everything else.
“Relax, miss morals,” he said, voice teasing. “I’m not here to ruin your precious study time. Just saw you and thought I’d say hi to my favorite neighbor.”
You rolled your eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “Favorite? We barely tolerate each other and I’m trying to work unlike some people who can afford to slack off because ‘daddy can pay for everything.’”
The jab should’ve stung more, especially after his father’s visit, but instead it made Heeseung’s smirk widen. There, it was that fire. That complete lack of care for who he was or what people usually said to him. You didn’t tiptoe around him. You didn’t try to impress him. You just called him out.
It felt strangely nice. Not in a romantic way, just refreshing ( liar liar liar he is totally in love with her ) He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Ouch straight for the throat today. What are you working on that’s got you so grumpy? Another museum thing? Planning to curate an exhibit called ‘Why Heeseung Should Shut Up’?”
You gave him a flat look, clearly not amused. “It’s for my capstone project and yes, if it helps keep loud neighbors quiet, I might include a whole section on it.”
Heeseung chuckled softly, the sound genuine even if it was quiet. For the first time since his dad had shown up, the tight knot in his chest loosened just a fraction. He realized something in that moment. Your company wasn’t bad.
In fact, sitting here watching you get all annoyed and snappy at him felt better than sitting alone with his father’s words ringing in his head. It was simple predictable in the best way. You gave him a reaction real, unfiltered and for a few minutes, it made everything else fade into the background.
He loved annoying you. Not because he wanted to hurt you but because when you pushed back, it reminded him he was still here. Still capable of feeling something other than pressure and disappointment.
“Fine,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender, though he made no move to leave. “I’ll behave for now but only if you tell me what that exhibit is actually about.” You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, clearly debating whether to kick him out or just ignore him. Heeseung waited, smirk still in place, secretly hoping you’d keep arguing with him a little longer.
ꪆ୧ ─── ドラマ. heeseung’s pov !
Heeseung woke up to a heavy, unfamiliar silence.
His eyes opened slowly, the soft gray morning light filtering through the curtains. His body felt sore in places that reminded him immediately of last night a dull ache in his shoulders, the faint stickiness between the sheets, the faint scent of sex still hanging in the air.
He turned his head to the side the bed was empty. The spot where you had been lying was cold, the pillow slightly dented but untouched now. No clothes scattered on the floor no shoes by the door nothing.
Heeseung sat up slowly, rubbing his face with both hands. The memories came back in quiet, unflinching flashes the party you in that short black skirt.The heated dancing that turned into something reckless.The desperate makeout in his car while horns blared behind you.
How he’d carried you inside, how urgently you both had moved against each other against the door, then on this bed.The way you had moaned his name.The way he had finished inside you.
And how, afterward, he had pulled you close under the duvet, your back against his chest, both of you falling asleep in silence.
Now you were gone. He glanced at the clock. 7:23 a.m. You must have woken up in a panic sometime in the early hours and slipped out while he was still asleep. The realization settled in his stomach like a stone heavy, uncomfortable, and strangely final.
Heeseung let out a long, tired breath and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat there for a moment, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. This was a mistake, a stupid, drunken mistake.
You had always made it clear how much you couldn’t stand him. The constant complaints about his noise, the glares in the hallway, the way you called him entitled behind his back.
Last night had been nothing more than too much alcohol and bad judgment on both sides. You waking up and running away only confirmed it.He didn’t blame you. If anything, he felt a quiet wave of regret wash over him. He should have known better.
He should have stopped things before they went that far. Now things between you two were already tense, this was going to be even more awkward.
Heeseung stood up and walked to the bathroom. While the shower heated up, he looked at himself in the mirror. There were faint scratch marks on his shoulders and a small bruise near his collarbone. Physical proof that last night had really happened.
He stepped under the hot water, letting it run over his face and shoulders. It never happened, he told himself. That was the only way forward.He would forget about it. Pretend the entire night was a blur he couldn’t quite remember.
No teasing no comments in the hallway no bringing it up ever again. You clearly wanted to erase it, and honestly so did he. The last thing he needed right now was more complications in his life especially with someone who lived right next door.
After the shower, he got dressed in a simple black t-shirt and sweatpants. He made coffee in the kitchen, moving on autopilot. The apartment felt too quiet now.
Heeseung leaned against the counter, sipping the bitter drink, and stared at the wall that separated his place from yours.From now on, things would go back to normal. You would keep avoiding him like you always did.
He would keep his music at a reasonable volume when he remembered. And neither of you would ever speak about what happened last night. It was better this way, cleaner and simpler.
He finished his coffee, rinsed the mug, and set it in the sink. Last night was a mistake and as far as Heeseung was concerned, it was already forgotten.
For the next two weeks, you turned your life into a carefully orchestrated mission of avoidance while your body slowly started betraying you in ways you couldn’t ignore. The mantra remained the same this never happened.
Every morning began the same way. Your alarm went off at 6:15 a.m., pulling you from restless sleep. The moment you sat up, a familiar wave of nausea rolled through your stomach, not violent, but persistent and queasy, making the room feel slightly off balance.
You’d sit on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, breathing slowly through your nose, waiting for it to pass. Some mornings it did. Others, you’d rush to the bathroom and dry heave over the sink, nothing coming up except bitter bile and a metallic taste that lingered on your tongue.
Once the worst of it subsided, you’d quickly get ready, choosing simple, comfortable clothes that wouldn’t draw attention. Then came the listening part. You’d press your ear to the front door, heart beating a little too fast, straining to hear any sound from Heeseung’s apartment next door.
If you caught even the faintest click of his lock or the low murmur of his voice on a phone call, you’d wait sometimes ten minutes, sometimes twenty pretending to reorganize your bag or check your notes until the hallway was silent again.
Leaving became a tactical exercise. You slipped out as quietly as possible, taking the side staircase instead of the main hallway whenever you spotted his car in the parking lot. The fatigue hit hardest during these moments.
Your legs felt heavier than usual, and by the time you reached campus, you were already drained, needing to sit down in the library for a few minutes just to catch your breath. Coming home was even more stressful.
You started timing your returns obsessively. If practice usually ended around 6 p.m., you’d stay late at the library or in an empty classroom, working on your capstone exhibition proposal until you were sure Heeseung was either out with friends or already inside. One evening, the dizziness caught you off guard.
You had just turned the corner into your hallway when the world tilted slightly. You had to lean against the wall, breathing shallowly, while a strong wave of nausea made your stomach churn.
The faint scent of someone’s dinner cooking nearby sent you rushing the last few steps to your door. The moment you got inside, you barely made it to the toilet before vomiting actual, forceful vomiting that left you trembling on the cold tile floor.
You told yourself it was stress. The constant hyper vigilance. The lack of proper sleep. The emotional weight of pretending that night had never occurred. But the symptoms kept creeping in, growing harder to dismiss.
Smells became your enemy. The aroma of coffee from the café near campus, which you used to love, now made your stomach revolt. You switched to plain crackers and ginger tea, keeping a secret stash in your bag.
Even the scent of your own shampoo sometimes triggered a gag reflex. Food tasted strange too salty, too sweet, or completely off. You lost interest in meals altogether, surviving on small portions that you could keep down.
The fatigue settled deep in your bones. You’d come home from classes, collapse on the couch, and wake up hours later feeling like you hadn’t rested at all.
Your breasts felt tender and slightly swollen, brushing against your shirt making you wince. Mood swings hit at random. One minute you were focused on your work, the next you felt inexplicably teary or irritable. All of this made the avoidance even more draining.
One Thursday night, your timing failed you had stayed late at the library, hoping Heeseung would already be inside. When you finally dragged your tired body back to the building, the hallway lights felt blindingly bright.
Just as you reached your door, fumbling with your keys, you heard the unmistakable click of his lock opening.Panic surged through you. Your hands shook so badly that the keys nearly dropped. You managed to slip inside just as his door opened, pressing your back against the wood, heart hammering wildly.
You held your breath, listening to his footsteps pass by. The moment they faded, the nausea hit like a wave. You barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up again, knees weak, tears stinging your eyes from the force of it.
Afterward, you sat on the bathroom floor with your forehead resting on your knees, breathing shakily. This was getting worse.You were exhausted from the constant calculation when to leave, when to return, which route to take, how long to wait in the stairwell. The thin wall between your apartments felt like a constant threat.
You’d hear him moving around sometimes. The low sound of his music ( mercifully quieter these days ), the murmur of his voice when he was on the phone, the occasional laugh. Every sound made your stomach twist with anxiety and unwelcome memories.
You became hyper aware of everything. You avoided cooking anything with strong smells. You did laundry at 2 a.m. when you were sure he was asleep. You even changed the time you took showers, worried the sound of running water might coincide with him coming home.
Yunjin and Soobin noticed the changes. “You’ve been canceling plans a lot,” Yunjin said during one quick lunch. “And you look really tired, are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” you lied, forcing a weak smile while fighting the nausea brought on by the smell of her food. “Just stressed about the capstone deadline it’s taking everything out of me.”
Soobin watched you quietly, concern clear in his eyes, but he didn’t push. Inside your apartment, the symptoms continued to build.
Mornings were brutal. You’d wake up with tender breasts and that persistent queasy feeling. Some days the vomiting was so bad you had to keep a small bucket discreetly by your bed.
The fatigue made it hard to focus during lectures. You'd find yourself zoning out, head heavy, fighting the urge to lay your head on the desk. Yet you refused to connect the dots .It’s just stress, you told yourself repeatedly. The avoidance the guilt the lack of sleep.
You pushed through, continuing your careful dance of avoidance. You timed every exit and entry with military precision. You became an expert at predicting Heeseung’s schedule ( she should become a dispatch employee )
You kept your headphones on to drown out any sound from next door. You buried yourself in your art curator work, sketching exhibition layouts late into the night until your eyes burned.Two full weeks passed in this strange limbo.
You were pale, exhausted, and constantly on edge. The nausea came in unpredictable waves. The fatigue made simple tasks feel monumental. And the fear of accidentally seeing Heeseung in the hallway kept you trapped in this self imposed isolation.
Deep down, a small, terrified voice in the back of your mind whispered that something was very wrong. But you silenced it the same way you silenced every memory of that night this never happened.
You would keep avoiding him. You would keep pretending everything was normal.Even as your body screamed louder and louder that nothing was normal anymore.
One ordinary afternoon, everything shifted. You were sitting in the small campus café with Yunjin and Soobin, the three of you squeezed around a corner table. Yunjin was dramatically slumped in her chair, one hand pressed to her lower stomach, complaining loudly.
“Ugh, my period is literally killing me today,” she groaned, stirring her iced latte with a pout. “Cramps are so bad, I can barely sit straight why does it always hit the worst during the worst season? I swear my uterus hates me.”
Soobin chuckled softly, offering her a sympathetic smile. “Do you want me to grab you some painkillers from the convenience store?” You tried to smile and nod along, but the words barely registered.
Her period is killing her…..
The sentence echoed in your head like a siren your own period. You mentally counted the days. It should have come a full week ago. Seven days late. Maybe more.
You had been so caught up in avoiding Heeseung, dealing with the constant nausea, fatigue, and vomiting that you hadn’t even noticed the date slipping by. Your heart started beating faster.
You pulled out your phone under the table and quietly opened your cycle tracking app. The screen glowed with the familiar calendar. A bright red notification stared back at you
period : 7 days late
You stared at the words until they blurred. No no, no, no. You tried to push the thought away immediately. It had to be stress. The irregular sleep, the constant anxiety of avoiding Heeseung, the vomiting all of it could easily throw your cycle off. That was normal right?
But then the symptoms started flashing through your mind like warning lights. The persistent nausea every morning. The vomiting that left you weak on the bathroom floor. The crushing fatigue that made it hard to stay awake in lectures.
The dizziness, sensitivity to smells, tender, swollen breasts. Your stomach dropped, could you be pregnant?
The word felt foreign and terrifying in your head. No. Absolutely not. You wouldn’t get pregnant from one night. One reckless, stupid night. People had unprotected sex all the time and nothing happened.
You were on the pill…wait, were you? You had been so stressed with midterms that you couldn’t even remember if you had taken it properly that week. The thought made bile rise in your throat again.
Across the table, Yunjin and Soobin were still talking something about upcoming assignments and a group project. Their voices sounded far away, like you were underwater.You couldn’t focus on a single word they were saying. Your mind was spinning, heart pounding so hard you were sure they could hear it.
Yunjin waved a hand in front of your face. “Hello? Earth to you! you’ve been spacing out the entire time are you okay?”You blinked, forcing yourself back to the present. Your mouth felt dry.
“I—yeah, sorry just tired,” you mumbled. “Guys, I think I’m gonna head home early today my head’s killing me.”Soobin frowned, concern clear in his eyes. “Do you want me to walk you back?”“No, it’s fine,” you said quickly, already standing up and grabbing your bag. “I’ll text you later promise.”
You left the café before they could protest, walking fast, then almost jogging once you were out of sight. The nausea was back, stronger now, mixing with pure terror. Your hands were shaking as you headed straight for the small convenience store two blocks away.
Inside the store, you felt like every camera was watching you. You moved quickly through the aisles, heart hammering, until you found the family planning section. There were several pregnancy test kits.
You grabbed the most reliable looking one with trembling fingers, not even reading the brand properly. The cashier gave you a neutral look as you paid, but you couldn’t meet her eyes.
Bag clutched tightly to your chest, you practically ran the entire way back to your apartment building. You took the side stairs again, praying Heeseung wasn’t around. The moment you were inside your own apartment, you locked the door twice and leaned against it, breathing hard.
You pulled the kit out of the bag with shaking hands. The box felt heavy dangerous. You read the instructions carefully, twice. Pee on the stick. Wait three minutes. One line = not pregnant. Two lines = pregnant simple but terrifying.
You went to the bathroom, heart pounding so loudly it echoed in your ears. You followed every step exactly, hands trembling so badly you almost dropped the test. When you were done, you placed the stick on the counter and set a timer on your phone three minutes.
You paced the small bathroom, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Every second felt like an hour. The nausea was back, but this time it had nothing to do with morning sickness. It was pure fear.
What if it was positive?
What if you were actually pregnant with Heeseung’s baby?
The thought made your knees weak. You slid down the wall until you were sitting on the cold tile floor, staring at the test on the counter like it was a bomb about to go off.The timer was still counting down.
Two minutes left. You hugged your knees to your chest, eyes fixed on the small plastic stick that now, held your entire future in two little lines. You were so scared.
The timer on your phone hit zero with a soft chime that felt deafening in the small bathroom. You stayed frozen on the cold tile floor for several long seconds, knees drawn to your chest, staring at the pregnancy test lying face up on the counter like it was a live grenade.
Slowly, you pushed yourself up on shaky legs and stepped closer. One line was already dark and clear the control line. The second line was faint at first, but unmistakable. A pale pink line slowly darkening right beside the first one.
two lines = positive
You blinked hard, once, twice, as if the result would magically change if you stared long enough.“No…” you whispered, voice cracking. “No, that can’t be right.”Denial crashed over you like a wave. You snatched the test off the counter and held it closer to the light, turning it at different angles. Maybe it was a faulty test.
Maybe the line was an evaporation line. Maybe you had read the instructions wrong. You grabbed the box again and reread the instructions three more times, your hands trembling so badly the paper shook.
But no matter how many times you checked, the two lines stared back at you, clear and undeniable. It was positive. You were pregnant. The reality slammed into you all at once.
Your knees buckled. You sank back down to the bathroom floor, the test still clutched tightly in your hand. A sob tore out of your throat before you could stop it. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks as the full weight of what this meant crashed over you.
You were pregnant with Heeseung’s baby. The boy you couldn’t stand. The neighbor you had spent months avoiding. The one person you had sworn to pretend never touched you.
A broken sound escaped you half sob, half laugh of pure disbelief. Your free hand moved instinctively to your stomach, pressing lightly against the still flat surface. There was a life growing inside you right now. A tiny, real consequence of one reckless, drunken night.
The crying came harder. You curled in on yourself, forehead resting on your knees as sobs wracked your body. All the symptoms you had tried to blame on stress the nausea, the vomiting, the fatigue, the dizziness suddenly made perfect, terrifying sense.
You were going to have a baby. And the father was the last person on earth you wanted to be tied to. After several long minutes, the tears slowed, leaving you drained and hollow. You wiped your face with the back of your hand, staring blankly at the two pink lines.
You made a decision right there on the bathroom floor. You were not telling Heeseung anything, not a single word.He didn’t need to know. He would never know. Telling him would only make everything worse the teasing, the drama, the forced proximity, the endless complications with someone you already couldn’t stand.
You could barely handle living next door to him as it was. Bringing a child into that mess was unthinkable. This was your problem. Your body, your choice. You would handle it quietly. You would get rid of it.The thought made fresh tears sting your eyes, but you forced them back. There was no other option.
You were still in school, chasing your dream of becoming an art curator. Your life was barely stable right now. A baby, especially one with Heeseung as the father would ruin everything.
You stayed on the floor for a long time, clutching the test, letting the weight of the decision settle over you.
Eventually, you stood up on unsteady legs. You wrapped the test in toilet paper and hid it deep in the trash can under some tissues. You washed your face with cold water until the redness in your eyes faded a little.
You looked at your reflection pale, exhausted, terrified and whispered to yourself “This never happened.” You would schedule an. appointment. You would end this quietly.You would move on with your life and never speak of that night again.
But as you turned off the bathroom light and stepped into your silent apartment, the weight in your chest felt heavier than ever. You were pregnant. And for the first time since that night, the wall between you and Heeseung felt like it was closing in.
The decision sat heavy in your chest like a stone. You weren’t going to tell Heeseung. You were going to end this quietly and move on with your life. The very next morning, you tried to make the appointment.
You sat on your bed with your laptop open, hands shaking as you searched for clinics near campus that offered termination services. Your stomach was already churning with nausea again, but you forced yourself to focus.
You found a few options a women’s health clinic downtown and a Planned Parenthood branch about twenty minutes away. You clicked on the booking page for the first one. The form asked for your name, date of birth, contact number, and reason for visit.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time. You couldn’t do it. Every time you tried to type your real information, panic surged through you. What if someone recognized your name? What if the clinic called or sent confirmation texts while you were near Heeseung?
What if the appointment somehow got back to campus gossip? The thought of walking into a clinic alone, explaining your situation to a stranger, and going through with it made your throat close up.
You closed the laptop without saving anything. You told yourself you’d try again tomorrow when you felt calmer. But tomorrow came and went. Then the next day. And the next. Meanwhile, the symptoms grew worse.
The nausea was no longer just morning sickness it hit you at random times throughout the day. The smell of food in the cafeteria made you gag. Even walking past the coffee shop near campus triggered violent waves that left you rushing to the nearest bathroom.
You started carrying saltine crackers and a small bottle of ginger ale everywhere, but they barely helped anymore.
Vomiting became more frequent. One afternoon during a lecture, you had to excuse yourself midway through and barely made it to the restroom before throwing up.
You returned to class pale and sweaty, mumbling something about food poisoning when Yunjin looked at you worriedly.
Fatigue wrapped around you like a heavy blanket. You fell asleep in the library twice that week, waking up with your cheek stuck to your notebook. Simple tasks like climbing the stairs to your apartment left you breathless and dizzy.
Your breasts were constantly tender, and your mood swung wildly one moment you were numb, the next you felt like crying over nothing. Yunjin and Soobin started noticing. During lunch on Thursday, Yunjin set her chopsticks down and stared at you.
“Okay, something is seriously wrong,” she said, voice firm but concerned. “You’ve been looking like a ghost for days, you barely eat anything, you keep disappearing to the bathroom, and you look exhausted even when you say you slept are you sick? Is it stress? Talk to us.”
Soobin nodded, his gentle eyes filled with worry. “You’ve been canceling plans and spacing out a lot. If something’s going on, you don’t have to deal with it alone. We’re here.”You forced a weak smile, pushing your untouched food around your plate. The smell of it was making you nauseous again.
“I’m okay, really,” you lied, voice quieter than usual. “Just… really behind on my capstone. The deadline is stressing me out more than I thought. I’ll be fine once I catch up.”
They didn’t look convinced, but they let it drop for the moment. Still, you could feel their eyes on you for the rest of the meal. Even Heeseung started noticing something was off.
You had managed to avoid direct contact with him for weeks, but it was impossible to hide everything when you lived next door.
One evening, you were coming home later than usual after another failed attempt to book the appointment online. You felt dizzy and nauseous, moving slowly up the hallway with your keys already in hand. As you reached your door, Heeseung’s door opened.
He stepped out, wearing a simple black hoodie, hair slightly messy like he’d just come back from practice. His eyes landed on you immediately.
You froze for half a second, then quickly turned your face away and fumbled with your lock, trying to get inside before he could say anything. But Heeseung didn’t tease you this time.
Instead, he paused in his doorway, brow slightly furrowed as he watched you. You looked pale. Thinner. There were dark circles under your eyes, and the way you moved seemed off fragile.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. For once, the usual cocky remark didn’t come.“You good?” he asked quietly, voice lacking its normal edge.
You didn’t answer. You finally got the door open and slipped inside without looking at him, shutting it quickly behind you
Heeseung stood there for a moment longer, staring at your closed door with a strange, unsettled feeling in his chest. Something wasn’t right with you. He could see it.But after everything after that night you both had silently agreed to forget he didn’t know if he had the right to ask.
Inside your apartment, you leaned against the door, breathing hard. Fresh tears stung your eyes as another wave of nausea hit you. You slid down to the floor, hugging your knees. You still hadn’t been able to book the appointment.
The symptoms were getting worse every day, your friends were worried and now even Heeseung had noticed something was wrong. You pressed your forehead to your knees, whispering to yourself again and again
“This never happened… this never happened…” But the lie was starting to feel impossible to keep. Heeseung had noticed. For the past two weeks, it had become painfully obvious that you were avoiding him like the plague.
At first, he thought it was the usual the cold shoulder after that night you both had silently agreed to forget. But it quickly went beyond that. You timed your movements with military precision.
He would hear your door open and close at odd hours, always when he was either inside or already gone. You took the side stairs. You left earlier than usual in the mornings and came back much later at night.
Even at university, catching a glimpse of you had become nearly impossible. You seemed to disappear into the library or empty classrooms the moment practice ended.It was clear you were doing everything in your power to never cross paths with him.
Heeseung told himself it didn’t bother him. He had decided to forget that night too. No teasing. No bringing it up. Just normal or as normal as things could be when you lived right next door
But something was wrong. You looked terrible lately. He first noticed it in passing the dark circles under your eyes, the way your shoulders seemed to slump with exhaustion. Then it got worse you moved slower.
Your face was paler than usual. You barely left your apartment except for classes, and even then you looked like you were running on empty.
One evening, after a long basketball practice, Heeseung was walking back to the apartment building, gym bag slung over his shoulder. The sun had already set, and the streetlights cast long shadows on the path. That’s when he saw you.
You were a few meters ahead, heading toward the entrance. Your steps were unsteady, one hand pressed lightly against the wall for support.
Even from behind, he could tell something was very wrong. Your posture was slumped, your breathing looked shallow, and you looked like you were barely holding yourself upright.
Heeseung’s stomach tightened. He quickened his pace without thinking and caught up to you just as you reached the building door.“Hey,” he said, voice low and serious, no trace of his usual teasing tone. “Are you alright?”
You turned your head slightly, eyes glassy and tired. The moment you recognized him, your expression hardened.“I don’t have time for your teasing right now, Heeseung,” you muttered weakly, trying to push past him toward the elevator.
Heeseung felt a flash of annoyance, not because you were dismissing him, but because he was genuinely worried and you clearly didn’t believe it.“I’m not teasing,” he said, more sharply than he intended. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
You didn’t respond, just kept walking toward the elevator. Heeseung followed, stepping in right after you. The doors closed, trapping the two of you in the small space. The silence was thick and uncomfortable. He could hear your breathing too fast, too shallow.
When the elevator reached your floor, you stepped out first. But the moment your feet hit the hallway, your legs buckled. You swayed dangerously, one hand reaching out blindly for the wall as the world spun around you. Heeseung moved fast.
He dropped his gym bag and caught you before you could hit the floor, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other supporting your back. Your body went limp against him for a few terrifying seconds.
“Shit—” he muttered, heart pounding. “Hey, stay with me.” You were half conscious, mumbling something incoherent about being fine. Heeseung didn’t waste time arguing. He adjusted his grip and lifted you carefully into his arms in bridal style, your head lolling against his shoulder.
Your apartment was right next to his. He fumbled for a moment with your keys ( which had fallen from your hand ) until he managed to unlock the door. He carried you inside, kicking the door shut behind him, and headed straight for your bedroom.
The room was neat but clearly lived in textbooks stacked on the desk, a half finished sketch on the table, a small trash can near the bed. Heeseung gently laid you down on the bed, pulling the blanket over you. Your face was pale, forehead slightly damp with sweat.
He stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. You looked so small and fragile like this. Nothing like the fiery girl who used to bang on his door and call him an entitled asshole.
Heeseung grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and placed it on your nightstand. Then he pulled up the chair from your desk and sat down beside the bed, watching you carefully.
Your breathing slowly evened out. The tension in your face relaxed as you slipped into a deeper sleep. Heeseung stayed there, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what was going on with you.
He didn’t know why you looked so sick. He didn’t even know if you’d want him here when you woke up. But right now, leaving you alone didn’t feel like an option. So he stayed quietly waiting.
Until your breathing became steady and deep, and he was sure you were fully asleep. Heeseung stayed. He told himself he’d only wait until you fell into a proper sleep, but the longer he sat there watching your pale face and shallow breathing, the harder it became to leave.
You looked exhausted, truly exhausted in a way that went beyond simple tiredness. Dark circles under your eyes, lips slightly chapped, skin lacking its usual color. Something was clearly wrong, and the protective instinct he didn’t know he had kept him rooted to the chair.
After almost an hour, when your breathing had deepened into steady, even inhales, Heeseung stood up quietly. He couldn’t just sit there doing nothing. He moved silently through your apartment, careful not to make noise.
Your kitchen was small and neat, but the fridge was nearly empty a few bottles of water, some crackers, and not much else. Heeseung frowned. No wonder you looked so drained. He opened the cupboards and found rice, a couple of eggs, and some ginger.
Simple gentle on the stomach. He decided to make congee something light that his mom used to make for him when he was sick.
He worked quietly, chopping what little he could find, boiling water, and stirring the pot on low heat. The smell of ginger and warm rice slowly filled the small apartment. He hoped it would help when you woke up. Maybe it would make you feel a little better.
He kept glancing toward the bedroom every few minutes, making sure you were still resting. Almost two hours later, you started stirring.
Heeseung was just turning off the stove when he heard movement from the bedroom. He poured some congee into a bowl, added a bit of water to make it lighter, and was about to bring it to you when
You bolted upright in bed, eyes wide with sudden panic. The smell of the food hit you like a wave. Your face went even paler, hand flying to your mouth as nausea surged violently. Heeseung’s eyes widened. “Hey—”
You didn’t wait. You scrambled off the bed on shaky legs and ran straight to the bathroom, barely making it in time.
Heeseung followed right behind you, worry spiking through his chest. He reached the bathroom door just as you dropped to your knees in front of the toilet and started throwing up violently.
“Shit—” He moved quickly, kneeling beside you without hesitation. One hand gently gathered your hair, holding it back from your face. His other hand rubbed slow, soothing circles on your back. “It’s okay I’ve got you, just breathe.”
You retched again, body trembling with the force of it. Heeseung stayed right there, murmuring quiet reassurances, his hand never stopping its gentle motion on your back.
When the worst of it seemed to pass, he reached over and flushed the toilet, then grabbed a clean towel from the rack and dampened it with cool water.“Here,” he said softly, handing you the towel. “Wipe your face.”
You took it with trembling hands, still breathing hard. Heeseung stood up briefly to get a glass of water from the sink and brought it back to you.“Small sips,” he instructed, crouching down again. “Don’t drink too fast.”
While you rinsed your mouth and took careful sips, Heeseung’s eyes wandered around the small bathroom, looking for anything that might help. His gaze landed on the trash can beside the sink. Something white and plastic was poking out from under some tissues.
Curious, he reached down and pulled it out, it was a pregnancy test. Two distinct red lines stared back at him clear, unmistakable, and positive. Heeseung froze.
His brain short circuited for a second. The test felt heavy in his hand as the reality sank in. Positive you were pregnant. He slowly turned his head toward you. You were already looking at him.
Your eyes were wide with pure terror, face drained of all color, lips parted in shock. You looked caught completely and utterly caught like the worst secret in the world had just been ripped open. The glass of water trembled in your hand.
Heeseung’s mouth opened, but no words came out at first. His gaze flicked between the test in his hand and your terrified expression.
The pieces clicked together horribly fast the avoidance, the exhaustion, the vomiting, the way you looked like you were barely holding yourself together for the past two weeks.
This wasn’t just stress this was because of that night because of him. Heeseung swallowed hard, his voice coming out quieter than he expected.
“…Is this yours?” The bathroom fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. You were still staring at him, tears already gathering in your eyes again, looking like you wanted the floor to swallow you whole.
Heeseung didn’t know what to say. He only knew that everything had just changed. Heeseung stared at the two red lines on the pregnancy test for what felt like an eternity.
The bathroom was deathly quiet except for your shaky breathing. When he finally looked up at you, your face was pale, eyes wide with pure terror, tears already spilling down your cheeks. He swallowed hard, his throat tight.
“…Are you pregnant?” he asked, voice low and rough. You didn’t speak at first. Your lips trembled as fresh tears rolled down your face. Then you gave a small, barely noticeable nod.
Heeseung felt something twist sharply in his chest. He looked back down at the test, then at you again. His next question came out quieter, almost hesitant.
“Is the baby mine?” The moment the words left his mouth, your face crumpled completely. You broke into heavy, broken sobs, shoulders shaking as you tried to cover your mouth with one hand.
“I’m sorry…” you choked out between cries. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t want this to happen, i never meant for any of this, it was just one stupid night and I— I’m planning on getting rid of it. I won’t bother you with any of this, i won’t get in your way. You don’t have to worry about anything, i’ll handle it quietly.”
Heeseung’s expression shifted the instant you said those words. Hurt flashed across his face raw, unguarded hurt. His brows drew together, jaw tightening as he processed what you were saying.
The idea that you were planning to terminate the pregnancy without even telling him felt like a punch to the gut. His hand holding the test lowered slowly to his side. You kept crying, words tumbling out faster now, desperate and apologetic.
“I’m really sorry. I know you didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for this either, i’ll take care of everything. You can just forget about it…i promise I won’t drag you into anything.”
Heeseung stayed silent for a long moment, staring at you as you sat on the bathroom floor, looking small and devastated.
The hurt in his chest mixed with something heavier confusion, disbelief, and a strange ache he couldn’t quite name. Finally, his voice came out low and strained.
I need to say this, and it's gonna be rude as fuck. But... Is enough with overlooking all this shit. We have to admit that these people who call themselves Engenes are seriously fucked in the head. The level of stupidity they're showing is honestly shocking. At this point, there's no other way to call it.
What a fucking embarrassment. How is it possible that Park Jongseong himself had to tell them to stop with the same bullshit? And even worse, a lot of their responses were "Now Jay is trying to discourage us too." And don't even get me started on the hate that's being thrown at Hee and his personal fans, as if they were the ones to blame for this. Jungwon had already said it before, and just like back then, they just disrespected him. The ridiculous part is that a lot of people initially said they would stop everything the moment an actual ENHYPEN member or Hee told them to. So... are they stopping?
Because it's crystal clear now: these so-called fans are straight-up behaving like absolute shit. They're not supporting ENHYPEN at all, they're not even respecting them. It's obvious as hell that Heeseung is NOT coming back. Stop hallucinating those goddamn "signs" everywhere when there are none. It's already staring everyone in the face: Hee is transitioning to soloist, and ENHYPEN is moving on as six members. That's the reality, deal with it.
And don't act like you weren't warned, a ton of you were told to stay the fuck away from Weverse, to take your little protests somewhere else. But nah, you just wiped your asses with that advice and kept flooding the place anyway. Zero respect, zero self-control.
Even BELIFT has gone quiet now because they already said what needed to be said, loud, clear, and final. They laid out the new reality like a fucking hammer. Their silence isn't weakness; it's probably a smart strategy. They know that if they keep feeding the noise, you'll never shut up about ENHYPEN and Hee. This way, you do the dirty work for them, keeping the names in everyone's mouths while the group actually moves forward without your toxic circus.
And honestly? The boys deserve a massive fucking apology. They need better fans, period. Because when it comes to protesting, spreading misinformation, invalidating them, harassing them, bothering them, and straight-up refusing to support them, oh ~ you're all over that shit like flies on crap. But where the hell are you when it's time to actually vote for them and make sure things go well? Nowhere, exactly.
Your pathetic little boycott did exactly nothing, just like everyone with half a brain expected. So stop hiding behind that fake-ass excuse of "caring about ENHYPEN's well-being," because it's obvious that's not what this is about. You never had control over this situation, you never will have control, and it's time you went and touched some grass, realized your actual place in all this, and accepted that at the end of the day what you do or say doesn't matter one single shit. The company doesn't give a fuck, and they're not gonna bend over backwards just to make some parasocial snotty brats happy.
Neither ENHYPEN nor Heeseung/EVAN are obligated to live their lives just to please the rest of you. They're still human beings, for fuck's sake. And the recent sasaeng news just proves it even more the abysmal level of dehumanization you all have toward your idols, isn't some exaggeration. It's real, it's disgusting, and it's exactly why this whole mess is so pathetic.
So yeah, keep proving how little you actually care about the artists you claim to love. The rest of us are tired of watching it.
I understand you guys feel sad because Heeseung's iconic lines are being covered by other members, but can we appreciate them trying their best to still make it work even though it’s not Heeseung singing it instead of all these comparisons and backhanded compliments.
so many of you guys are ‘ot7’ and then literally don’t respect the other six?? call me a fake fan or an ‘ot6er’ as much as you want BUT spamming “touch your glasses if you miss heeseung” “enhypen is 7” etc on their lives is honestly so disrespectful. you can’t be an ot7 engene then not pay attention to how this situation might be affecting ALL of them.
yes heeseung leaving is sad, but what’s also sad is seeing the comments flooded with his name. he isn’t in the group anymore and i honestly feel like we should just leave it at that.
deep in my heart they will ALWAYS be my seven.i hate to say it but heeseung is not coming back.
i think we just all need to respect the six of them AND evan during his solo career.
After dealing with a heartbeat from your situationship ( which lasts 3 months), you swore to never fall in love again Or even talk to anyone anymore but stepping in a new university means a chance to be a new person, and also maybe a new guy to try again with? What's the worst that could happen?
Nishimura Riki x fem!reader | lowk avoidant reader, kinda downbad!riki, slow burn (?) , cursing, kys jokes, might be slightly suggestive (?), non-idol au, Riki is a producer/singer, in their early 20s, popular enha! , VERY obvious attempt at humour ( brace yourself)
FEATURING :- all of enhypen members, wonyoung + rei from Ive, Ningning + winter from aespa, Keeho from p1harmony & Sungchan from Riize. ( also Giselle from Aespa as a faceclaim for reader) never seen any1 do it so why not lolll.
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# 𝒩 ote - Lowk got this inspiration while I was listening to partynextdoor lollzzz 😹🙏🏻, there's no scheduled posting planned yet but I'll try to be consistent with posting 🆒🆒. This is my first smua ever so please forgive me if I made any mistake and english is not my 1st language🩷🩷 enjoy!!
#enhypen is seven!!
enha mstl // main mstl
series started: april 4th - ( ongoing )
|| PROFILES ⤷
1. Yo uber | 2. #Yonghos 🥟🥟
|| CHAPTERS 𖦹 ˎˊ˗
#1 - yearning but at what cost?
#2 - #newuninewme
#3 - DATING??
#4 - Dry spell hg + written
#5 - Schizo??
Cr to : @uzmacchiato for this beautiful divider <3
PAIRING: f1 racer!riki x rehab therapist!reader (f)
SUMMARY: ferrari’s newbie driver can’t outrun the guilt of a crash that wasn’t his fault. a sudden brake failure put him in a hospital bed and in his own head. but like a fenice rising from its own ashes, riki is ready to get back on track… as long as you keep watching.
WARNINGS: starring enhypen JAKE, JUNGWON & HEESEUNG and bnd TAESAN. heeseung’s gf is reader in siren sounds, mention of accidents (slight description), hospital settings, mentions of injuries, burns, fighting, riki is a little rude but that’s his coping mechanism, making out, slightly suggestive, panic attack, reader struggles financially, celebrity harassment, trauma, rehabilitation, argument, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD
a/n: you don’t necessarily need to read SIREN SOUNDS first, but for context i heavily advise it. my babies i love them sm! this fic has been my comfort zone to write for the past months 🩷 the ending is very rushed but i was running out of ideas and i didnt want to make it too long 😃 still REBLOGS & COMMENTS are appreciated!!
Riki woke up like he had been dragged upward from the bottom of a black ocean.
There was no gradual return and no soft drifting into awareness. One minute he was stuck in a burning car and the next he woke up gasping for air in a sterile room.
He tried to inhale sharply, and something resisted him. Something was inside his mouth.
His eyes snapped open in panic, but they couldn’t focus well on his surroundings.
The ceiling above him was blinding white, the lights too bright and shapes too blurry.
His vision trembled, refusing to focus. His body felt… gone, not numb in the way a limb fell asleep. Just gone, as if he had been reduced to a head floating in a field of static.
He tried to move his hand, but nothing happened. Not even a finger twitched from his will.
Panic surged like electricity through his chest. His heart rate spiked and he could hear it now, the beeping accelerating in response.
Voices cut through the haze, muffled. “His heart rate is increasing.”
“He’s trying to wake up.”
“Riki? Can you hear me?”
He couldn’t tell where the voices were coming from. They sounded underwater, like someone speaking through thick glass. He tried to turn his head toward the sound, but even that felt impossible.
A face leaned over him. A doctor, maybe. “Riki,” the doctor said slowly, shining a light into his pupils. “Follow the light.”
He couldn’t, hisis eyes struggled to track it. His vision doubled, then blurred, then sharpened just to blur again.
He tried to speak, but pain flared in his throat…. a tube. That was what was there.
He gagged slightly around it, instinctively trying to cough, but the movement sent a ripple of agony through his chest and something… lower?
His left leg. He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything below his ribs.
He tried to lift his arm, to thrash, to signal that something was wrong, but nothing moved.
The monitor screamed louder as his panic grew. “Easy, easy.” someone murmured, keeping him down by his chest.
“The sedation might still be heavy, it’s not a good time to wake up while we are cleaning his lungs.” a female voice murmured. They were cleaning his what?
“He’s disoriented.” no shit.
The light flashed in his eyes again. “Pupils are reactive now,” someone muttered.
He wanted to ask what had happened. He wanted to ask if Heeseung was alive. If the families in the stands were alive. If he had killed someone, to ask if it’d been his fault.
But his body betrayed him, because the ceiling blurred again, then the beeping softened.
And the world folded back into black.
🐦🔥.
When he woke the second time, it wasn’t violent. It was slow and thick, like surfacing through the honey in the Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs movie.
The first thing he noticed was that the tube was gone. His throat felt scraped raw, each breath dry and painful but blessedly unobstructed.
He blinked carefully and this time, the room stayed still.
Riki was in the hospital, he realised.
His head ached, but it was manageable. His chest felt tight, and heavy bandaging wrapped around his right arm.
He tried to shift his shoulders and that fortunately worked. Relief flooded him. Then he tried to move his left leg, but nothing worked. It felt strange, numb from his own body.
His stomach dropped as soon as he looked down.
The blanket rose in a stiff, unnatural angle where his leg lay immobilized.
Metal rods and external fixators peeked from beneath layers of dressing. His thigh was swollen beneath the gauze. The machine beside his bed hummed quietly, pumping fluids through tubes attached to him.
“Don’t try to move it.” A nurse stood near the doorway, watching him carefully. She approached when she saw his eyes fully open.
“You’re in the ICU. You were in surgery for several hours earlier this week after a car accident,” she inforemd, fixing his blanket, “You’ve been in a coma for two weeks.”
Fuck. two weeks felt like an eternity. His voice came out hoarse. “Heeseung?”
The nurse paused just slightly before answering. “Your teammate is alive.”
Riki shut his eyes for a second, relief mixing with something far uglier. “What happened?” he whispered.
She checked his IV fluids as she murmured, “You sustained a compound fracture in your leg. There were additional injuries, but those are healing. And the internal bleeding was minimal. You’re stable now.”
Compound fracture.
The words echoed inside his skull… he knew what that meant. Bone through skin.
The recovery was measured not in weeks— but in months.
He turned his face toward the wall, jaw tightening. His throat burned again, but this time it wasn’t from the tube. It was from the sheer urge it took him not to cry like a fucking baby.
Heeseung came to visit him as soon as he learnt the news of his awakening. Riki wasn't really himself yet, he was still high on morphine, but he felt so relieved.
Heeseung sat there on the wheelchair looking thinner, his own arm wrapped heavily in bandages, faint bruising still shadowing his face.
The burns along his neck were angry and red, partially healed but unmistakable.
He looked like someone who had run through fire, which he had and it was all Riki’s fault.
The second time he visited, Riki could see him better, his brain cooperated and so did his body.
“You’re barbecued,” Riki rasped weakly.
Heeseung huffed out that might have been a laugh. “Job hazard.”
He frowned, gulping hard. “I’m sorry I lost control.”
“And I’m glad I stepped in.” Heeseung replied, thanking the pretty nurse who placed him beside his bed and stepped outside to give them privacy.
“You should’ve let me crash alone.” He murmured.
Heeseung’s eyes sharpened. “There were families there.”
He remembered it now in flashes. The car fishtailing and . the barrier being too close. He remembered panicking when the breaks under his foot stopped working, and then the impact.
Heeseung had taken the hit full on. He had positioned himself between the trajectory and the stands. Between Riki and the worst possible outcome.
A true hero.
The media was already calling him so, he'd peeked from a nurse phone who had caved at his begging.
Riki felt like a reckless child. “You could’ve died,” he whispered.
“So could you.” Silence stretched between them. Riki looked away first as shame crawled under his skin. “It was my fault.”
Heeseung leaned closer despite the stiffness in his movements. “It was an accident.”
And despite it being the truth, Riki couldn’t help but blame himself.
Jake tried to come the next day, but Riki refused him.
“Tell him I’m sleeping,” he told the nurse flatly. “But you’re awake.” she pointed out gently.
“I don’t care, just— don’t let him in, okay?” he ran a stiff hand through his hair and the nurse nodded, closing the door behind her back.
Jake tried again the day after, and the day after the day after.
“No visitors.” He repeated and the nurses respected it. Trauma unit rules were clear, the patient consent mattered.
Riki had been transferred there after the ICU, once he stabilized. The room was quieter and less frantic, as well as less depressing, But the reality settled heavier there.
A compound fracture required at least six months of rehab, of physiotherapy.
It was uncertainty.
He stared at his leg often. At the metal and at the swelling. At the way it no longer felt like part of him.
Would he still drive the same?
Would his reflexes hesitate?
Would fear live in the back of his skull forever?
One month passed by quickly despite the boredom of the four white walls.
One afternoon, a different nurse walked in, he recognized her vaguely. She had been Heeseun’s ex-nurse, and she came to check on him some times.
She moved quietly, efficient but gentle, adjusting his IV and checking his vitals. “How are you feeling today?” she asked softly.
“Like shit,” he answered honestly. She didn’t flinch, just nodded once. “That’s fair.”
Her hands were careful when she adjusted his leg. She didn’t overtalk nor did she pity him. Just did her job with steady precision.
“You’ll start light rehab soon,” she said without sugarcoating. “It’ll hurt at first.”
“I figured.” he gritted out.
“Will Heeseung come to visit me today?” Riki asked, because he felt like he could go insane.
The nurse stopped, her shoulders stuffing. He noticed the change but made no comment whatsoever. “Probably.”
“He’ll start driving again soon.” He felt the need to reassure.
The nurse smiled softly and told him, “So will you.” before closing the door behind her back.
A few days later, he told the nurse, “Let Jake in.” when she gave him his breakfast trail.
When Jake entered the room, Riki braced himself.
He expected anger and disappointment. A lecture about contracts and sponsors and recklessness.
Instead, Jake stopped just inside the doorway.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. Riki crossed his arms defensively. “You’re going to start?”
Jake didn’t answer right away. He walked forward slowly. “Oh fuck off, I know I made a mistake—“ Riki rolled his eyes but then Jake wrapped his arms around him carefully, mindful of the injuries, and held him tightly.
He froze, blinking, suddenly at a loss of words.
Jake’s voice broke first. “You scared me.” he whispered.
Riki’s defenses crumbled so fast it almost embarrassed him. His chin trembled as he tried to hold it back and failed.
“I messed up,” Riki choked out.
Jake tightened his hold. “You’re alive.”
“I could’ve—” Jake stopped him, “But you didn’t.”
Riki’s hands clutched weakly at the back of Jake’s shirt. His vision blurred with tears. “I thought you’d be mad,” Riki admitted through tears.
Jake pulled back just enough to look at him. His own eyes were red. “Oh, I am mad at you, but…”
“I don’t care about the car, or the sponsors, or about the headlines,” Jake said firmly. “I care about you.”
The words hit harder than any reprimand could have.
Riki broke. The tears came freely, hot and humiliating and necessary. Jake held him through it, steady and unashamed.
For the first time since waking up in that white ICU room, Riki allowed himself to feel something other than guilt.
🐦🔥.
When Riki was released from the hospital, the silence of his own apartment felt louder than any beeping monitor or whining patient.
The place was not as flashy as Heeseung’s mansion, but it was still polished in that quiet, newly-successful way.
It had floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city, and the couch was modern and barely touched for weeks.
Framed race photos hung on the walls, one with him smiling with trophies, him in a helmet, him mid-turn on a track at barely eleven years old.
His bedroom was fortunately close to the living room area so he wouldn’t have to navigate the hallway.
The external cast was still wrapped around his leg during the first days home, bulky and humiliating. Crutches leaned uselessly against the wall, since he couldn’t use them yet. A wheelchair waited nearby, unused because he preferred staying horizontal.
He spent most of his time flat on his back, propped slightly by pillows, the television glowing at the foot of the bed.
The accident replayed on every sports channel.
In different angles, then in slow motion with a commentary that layered over the screech of tires.
He watched it once. Then again. And again.
The moment his car fishtailed, the split second where he overcorrected. The frame where the barrier seemed too close, the explosion when metal kissed metal… he memorised it as as if he was living it again.
“If I hadn’t pushed,” he muttered one afternoon, staring at the screen. “If I hadn’t gone full throttle.”
The commentators didn’t blame him outright. They called it “an unfortunate miscalculation.” They praised Heeseung’s intervention. They called Heeseung a hero.
Riki swallowed bitterness that tasted like rust. “If I was just less competitive,” he whispered to the empty room. “If I wasn’t so damn hungry.”
The explosion sound replayed again, loud and violent.
On the second week of bed rest, the frustration finally snapped something inside him.
The remote was in his grip as the crash replayed yet again in high definition. His own voice from an earlier interview echoed over the footage, “I always push to the limit.”
“Shut up.” He said, his eyes fixed on the scene, watching the way ambulances rushed through the race as it got suspended temporarily.
“Guess he pushed too much to the limit, will Ferrari’s golden boy and Ferrari’s newbie be able to race again?” The interviewer said and it made Riki’s blood boil.
“Shut up!” he repeated at the screen.
“News say Heeseung will be back soon in the car while Riki will be substituted by the third pilot—“ With a sudden, furious motion, he hurled the remote at the television, and the plastic cracked against glass.
The screen spider-webbed instantly, a dark fracture spreading from the point of impact by before the display fizzled into black.
The apartment fell silent, while his breathing filled the room, uneven and sharp. He stared at the ruined screen, chest rising and falling rapidly.
For a moment, the silence felt worse than the noise had.
When Jake arrived later that afternoon, grocery bags hanging from both hands, he froze at the sight.
“What happened to the TV?”
Riki didn’t look at him. “It was annoying me.”
Jake set the bags down slowly. “You threw something at it?”
Riki shrugged, jaw tight. He was in no mood for a lecture. He could buy another one if he wanted.
Jake didn’t comment further. He moved through the kitchen, unloading groceries, placing bottles of water in the fridge, fresh fruit in a bowl and some snacks on a riki’s bedside table. The normalcy of the movements contrasted painfully with the tension in the room.
“You need help to shower?” Jake asked gently.
Riki hesitated, pride flaring. Then he exhaled softly “Yeah.”
Jake helped him carefully, with steady hands, practical and respectful.
Steam filled the bathroom, and Riki clenched his jaw while Jake helped him balance, avoiding pressure or water on the injured leg.
Afterward, back in bed, Jake sat at the edge of the mattress. “The external cast is coming off tomorrow,” Jake said, showing him the hospital papers. “The doctor cleared you to start rehab.”
Riki’s eyes flicked up. “Already?”
“It’s time.” Jake’s smile was hopeful and boyish.
He swallowed. Rehab meant reality… it meant effort and pain and acknowledging weakness. Something Riki wasnt really known for.
Jake studied him for a long second. “You don’t have to be strong every second.”
Riki scoffed faintly. “Kind of my job.” Jake’s expression softened. “Your job is to heal right now.”
The next day, there was a knock at the door.
Jake opened it with a welcoming smile. You stepped inside and followed him to Riki’s bedroom.
You tried not to act too surprised by how big the apartment was. How small yours was compared to just his living room.
“My name is Y/N,” you said gently, offering a small smile. “I’ll be working with you for your rehabilitation.”
You were young, fresh out of university, your posture straight with professional determination.
Your clothes were simple but neat, and there was a brightness about you that felt almost out of place in the dim apartment.
Riki studied you from the bed. “You look twelve,” he muttered unapologetically.
You didn’t take offense. You had heard worse from older patients. “I’m twenty-four,” you replied calmly. “And fully licensed.”
Jake hid a smile and stepped aside. You moved further into the room, taking in the crutches, the wheelchair, the broken television.
“You’ll start light exercises today,” you explained, setting your bag down. “We won’t push too hard. The goal is mobility, not speed.”
Riki’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Speed is kind of my thing.”
“Not right now,” you answered softly.
You helped him sit upright, carefully guiding his leg off the side of the bed. His muscles trembled instantly from disuse.
“Breathe,” you instructed. “We’re just flexing first.”
He gripped the edge of the mattress, jaw clenched. Sweat already formed at his temples.
He tried so many times, he started losing hopes. If he couldn’t even flex his leg how could he push on the accelerator?
With your support and guidance, he managed to flex his toes and leg, but it shook violently.
“That’s normal,” you said gently. “Your muscles have been inactive.”
“I can do more than this,” he insisted through his teeth.
“Today, this is enough.” You said, it had taken him thirty minutes to fully flex it.
He hated the word enough.
You guided him through small, controlled movements. Flexing, then llight weight shifts.
He complied at first. But frustration simmered.
“This is useless,” he snapped suddenly. “I’m not an eighty-year-old.”
“You’re recovering from a compound fracture,” you corrected evenly. “Your bone pierced through your skin. It needs structured stress, not reckless strain.”
His eyes flashed. “I’m not reckless.” It had been what the cameras called him, what everyone thought of him.
He wasn’t reckless. Sure, he liked speed and to test limits but he wasn’t reckless… Was he? He hadn’t meant to crash. He hadn’t meant for the break to malfunction.
You held his gaze. “The goal is healing, not proving something.”
With sudden determination, he shifted his weight harder onto the injured leg, attempting to stand up without your cue.
“Riki—” you started but it was too late.
His knee buckled. Pain shot through him like lightning. He gasped sharply, nearly collapsing.
You caught him as best you could, heart racing. “I told you not to push!”
He gritted his teeth, breathing ragged. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” You snapped.
You helped him back onto the bed, your movements firm now rather than soft. You knelt in front of him, examining the leg carefully.
You let your fingers trace his skin. “You just strained healing tissue,” you said, frustration bleeding through despite your effort to remain professional. “If you keep doing that, you’ll delay recovery.”
He looked away, jaw clenched. “I need to get back,” he muttered.
“And you will,” you replied firmly. “But not like that.”
Silence stretched between you, heavy and awkward. You softened your tone slightly, back to your professional self. “I understand you want progress, and that’s good. But progress is measured. You can’t treat your body like a machine.”
Riki’s chest rose and fell heavily. For a moment, the anger in his eyes flickered into something else… fear, perhaps. The fear of not being enough.
“If I’m not the same,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “If I can’t drive like before…”
You stood slowly, meeting his gaze. “Then we adapt,” you answered. “But you won’t know that until you give yourself the chance to heal properly.”
He didn’t respond to that, he just turned back to the lying position and stared at the broken TV.
You gathered your things, but before leaving, you added gently, “We’ll try again tomorrow,” You emphasised, “Slowly.”
🐦🔥.
Your mornings belonged to the café.
You tied your apron tight around your waist at six thirty, with your hair pulled back and sleeves rolled up. The bell above the door chimed every few minutes as regulars shuffled in, office workers clutching laptops, elderly couples sharing newspapers, university students pretending to study.
The air smelled like espresso and warm milk foam. Taesan leaned against the counter beside you, drying a cup with exaggerated seriousness.
“Table three is on a first date,” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
You didn’t look directly, but you adjusted your stance slightly to catch their reflection in the espresso machine. “The guy keeps talking about football,” you whispered back. “She hasn’t blinked in thirty seconds.”
Taesan bit back a grin. “Do you think she’s plotting escape or murder?”
“Both.” you replied solemnly. He snorted, nearly dropping the cup.
You worked well together, with quick hands and shared glances. Inside jokes made the rush easier to survive.
When a man complained that his cappuccino foam wasn’t symmetrical, Taesan leaned toward you and muttered, “Tragic. I’ll call the authorities.” You had to turn away to hide your laugh.
For a few hours, your world was just coffee orders and sarcastic commentary.
Then the clock crept toward eleven. Your smile shifted into something more focused, as it always did when it was time to put to work the studies you did.
Taesan noticed. “Rehab guy?” he asked casually while wiping down the counter.
You nodded, untying your apron and disappearing in the kitchen to grab your bag from the hook.
“You still won’t tell me who he is?” he wiggled his brows teasingly.
“I signed confidentiality forms,” you reminded him. “Very official and very serious, unlike you.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “I respect the mystery.”
“Try not to judge too many people without me.” you said, waving your hand and hurrying to the door.
“No promises!” he replied, winking.
You stepped out into the late morning sun, the air cooler than inside the café. Your car started on the second try, and you drove faster than you probably should have, mentally rehearsing today’s plan for Riki’s session.
Weight distribution, perhaps some controlled steps if he felt ready. And much, much patience.
Jake had given you the door code days ago so he wouldn’t have to wait around. It felt strange at first, entering a client’s home alone, but professionalism overrode discomfort.
You punched in the code, the door clicking open with a soft mechanical sound.
The apartment was quiet, which was never a good sign with a toddler or with a Formula One driver named Nishimura Riki.
“Riki?” you called gently as you stepped inside, closing the door behind you.
At the absence of responde, you frowned and moved toward the bedroom automatically, your bag already sliding off your shoulder.
“Good morning,” you began as you turned the corner and froze.
Riki was halfway upright. Not upright like you had instructed. Upright like he had dragged himself out of bed without support.
“Oh no.” you breathed.
His back was to you, muscles straining as he gripped the edge of the dresser. The injured leg trembled violently beneath him, knee barely stable.
“Riki,” you said, trying to keep your tone even, even though your pulse spiked. “What are you doing?”
He didn’t turn around. “Standing.” he deadpanned.
“This is not how we practice standing.” you breathed out.
“I’m fine.” He snapped.
“No, you’re not.” You stepped forward quickly, heart racing despite your attempt at composure. Inside, panic clawed at you.
You had worked with stubborn patients before, older men who insisted they could climb stairs two days after surgery. But this was different. He wasn’t just impatient. He was desperate.
“Shift your weight back,” you instructed calmly. “Slowly.”
He replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve got it.” His voice wavered.
You saw it before it happened, the micro-tremor in his thigh and the way his shoulders tightened. “Riki—”
His leg gave out and seconds later he hit the floor hard.
The sound made your stomach flip. You were at his side instantly. “Are you okay? Tell me where it hurts.”
He sucked in a sharp breath, jaw clenched. “I’m fine.”
“You are not fine,” you repeated firmly, kneeling beside him. His height made everything harder. He was long-limbed, heavy with muscle even in recovery.
“On three, we’re getting you up,” you said. “One, two—”
He tried to push himself too quickly, grimacing.
“Stop fighting me,” you snapped before you could soften it. “Work with me.”
He hesitated, but then nodded. Together, slowly and awkwardly, you maneuvered him back onto the bed.
It took effort, and your arms strained under his weight. When he was finally seated, breathing uneven, you stepped back slightly.
“You cannot do that,” you said, voice firm but controlled. “You could have torn something.”
He looked away, embarrassed anger simmering in his eyes. “I’m not helpless.”
“I didn’t say you were. But you are healing.” you tried to make your point.
Silence filled the room. Then, without another argument, he nodded faintly.
The session that followed was slower than usual, because he would never be ready for more if he kept pushing. You guided him through measured movements, adjusting his posture and counting repetitions softly.
Two hours passed by slowly and by the end, both of you were tired.
You were crouched beside the bed, writing notes in your folder, when your stomach betrayed you.
A loud, unmistakable growl echoed through the quiet room.
You froze, embarrassed. Riki blinked at you, then he chuckled. “You didn’t eat?” he asked. “I’m fine,” you replied quickly, snapping your folder shut.
Your stomach growled again, louder than the first time, betraying your words.
Riki’s eyebrow lifted. “I can cook,” he offered.
You shook your head immediately. “Absolutely not. I don’t need my patients cooking for me.”
“You helped me off the floor,” he countered. “Seems fair.”
“That’s my job—“ Another growl interrupted.
You sighed, cheeks warming slightly. “It’s not appropriate.”
He tilted his head. “You’re starving.” You crossed your arms defensively. “I had a busy morning, but I did have breakfast.”
“Before you can say anything, coffee doesn’t count as breakfast.” He replied matter-of-factly.
You stared at him for a moment. He smiled faintly. “Let me.”
Reluctantly, you helped him into the wheelchair. In the kitchen, sunlight poured through the tall windows, illuminating the marble counters.
“What do you even have?” you muttered, opening the fridge cautiously.
“Enough,” he said.
You hovered nearby as he maneuvered carefully, one hand steadying himself against the counter. He moved slower than before the accident, but there was determination in every motion.
The wheelchair made him smaller, but he could reach the counter just fine. He moved effortlessly, taking eggs from the fridge, adding them in a pan with butter, bread and cinnamon.
“You’re good at this.” You commented from where you were watching, leaning against the counter.
“I remind you that I live alone,” he replied, placing the french toast on the plate, “It’s either this or take out.”
He turned around, pushing the wheelchair with one hand and before handing you the plate, “Voilà mademoiselle.”
“Thank you.” You replied, taking it in your hand. He wheeled himself to the fridge and took out a can of coke, handing it to you. You noticed he had beers stacked inside as well as energy drinks.
You didn’t think it was very healthy, but you didn’t comment on it. Perhaps you’d secretly take a couple away when he wasn’t aware. You didn’t really want him to drown his guilt on alcohol.
You bit down the french toast and the taste melted in your mouth, the cinnamon mixing with the bread and eggs. Your eyes widened and you sighed contentedly, “This tastes so good!”
Riki shrugged with a smirk, leaning back on the wheelchair, “Glad you like it.”
You ate eagerly and gulped down the can of coke, then you wiped your mouth and smiled at him, “Thank you, Riki.”
“No biggie.” He wiggled his brows. You went behind him and took him to his bedroom, helping him on the bed again.
You tucked him under the cover, “Everything’s good?”
“Nothing is truly good in this world,” he replied, wiggling, trying to find a more comfortable position. “You can go now.”
You just nodded and stepped away, “Goodbye, Riki.”
He waved his hand, “Bye Y/N.”
🐦🔥.
You were supposed to arrive at Riki’s house at eleven sharp, however, fate was cruel because it was 11:15 a.m. and you were still in your apron.
Taesan had called in sick that morning, he had caught a cold and could hardly get out of bed, and nobody could fill in his shift.
You had called your boss at least five times, and he hadn’t picked up once.
You were tempted to just close the shop and call it a day, if you didn’t desperately need it.
But you needed the job as the rehab nurse too…
“Come on…” You tapped your foot impatiently, hurriedly making an espresso and giving it to a customer, “That’ll be one and fifty.”
The old man took out the wallet from his pocket and tried to open it, but his hand shook too hard. He could barely hold the zipper.
Your eyes softened and you quickly slipped in caregiver mode, taking the wallet from his trembling hands and opening it.
You showed him the amount of money you took out and gave the wallet back to him. He smiled widely, “Thank you so much, young girl.”
“Have a nice day!” You replied.
After some minutes, the bell on top of the door chimed. “Welcome—“ You said, but as you turned around you realised it was not a customer, but Han Taesan.
“What are you doing here?” You asked, walking towards him. He really didn’t look well.
“Kai told me he couldn’t cover my shift.” He smiled, already stepping behind the counter despite being worryingly pale, “And I figured the only kind enough to do it was you, but you have to go to the rehab guy, right?”
“Yes,” you frowned. “But you’re sick.”
“Meh,” he shrugged, “I’ve been worse, now go.” He hushed you out of the door.
You turned around and kissed his cheek gratefully, “Thank you! I owe you.”
You probably broke eight different laws of the road to get there in five minutes. You punched in the code to Riki’s apartment, breath slightly uneven from hurrying up the stairs. “Sorry,” you muttered to no one in particular as the door clicked open.
The apartment smelled faintly… toasty.
You stepped inside and immediately noticed it.
On the kitchen counter, neatly placed on a small white plate, sat a sandwich9, with slices of bread cut diagonally and lettuce peeking out. A folded napkin was beneath it like it had been presented deliberately.
You blinked and stepped closer, staring at it like it might explain itself.
“What…” you murmured.
You set your bag down and walked quickly toward the bedroom.
He was propped up against the headboard when you entered, phone in his hand. He looked up when you appeared.
“Good morning,” he said.
You crossed your arms automatically. “Did you make that sandwich?”
“Yes.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “You were in the kitchen?”
He shrugged faintly. “Obviously.”
“Riki.” Your tone carried the beginning of a lecture.
“You’re not supposed to move around unsupervised,” you continued, stepping further into the room. “You could have fallen again.”
“I didn’t,” he replied calmly. “That’s not the point.” You nagger again.
He sighed and shifted slightly. “I figured out how to get onto the wheelchair without putting weight on my leg.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Show me.”
There was a flicker of pride in his expression. “Watch.”
He moved carefully to the edge of the bed. You hovered close, ready to intervene.
Instead of trying to stand upright like before, he positioned the wheelchair at an angle, locked the wheels, and used his arms to lift his body in a controlled motion. His injured leg stayed elevated, barely brushing the floor.
It was awkward, but precise. He transferred himself fully into the wheelchair without grimacing.
You blinked. “That’s…” You paused. “Impressive.”
He smirked slightly. “I told you I’m not helpless.”
“That doesn’t mean you get to experiment without supervision,” you shot back automatically, though your tone softened.
He rolled his eyes lightly. “Eat the sandwich,” he said. “Before you faint.”
You hesitated. “I won’t faint.”
“You look like you might.” You sighed, walking back into the kitchen. The sandwich was still warm. You picked it up, taking a cautious bite.
“Did you toast it?” you called out.
“Yes! i’m a pro.”
You finished it faster than you intended to. Hunger had a way of humbling pride.
When you returned to the bedroom, wiping your hands on the napkin, he was watching you with faint amusement.
“Thank you,” you muttered.
“You’re welcome.” he shrugged.
You clapped your hands lightly. “All right, now it’s rehab time.”
The session began normally. You guided him through controlled leg lifts, assisted stretches, slow weight shifts. He followed instructions, but something felt off.
He kept adjusting in his seat, his responses were delayed and his focus drifted.
“Riki,” you said gently after noticing him wince for the third time. “If it hurts too much, we can stop.”
“It’s fine.” he murmured.
“It doesn’t look fine.” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.
You crouched in front of him to meet his eyes. “Talk to me, are you tired?”
He looked… frustrated. But not in the usual way. There was a sheepish tension in his jaw.
You waited patiently. Finally, he muttered, “I need to pee.”
You blinked. “Oh.”
Silence hung between you for half a second.
“Jake didn’t come today,” he added quickly, as if that explained everything.
“Okay,” you said carefully. “We’ll pause.” You stood, processing the logistics.
“Why don’t you have someone assisting you full-time?” you asked before you could stop yourself. “You could afford it.”
His expression hardened instantly. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you meant.”
“I meant support,” you corrected calmly. “There’s nothing wrong with having help during recovery.”
His jaw tightened. “I’m not paying someone to follow me around twenty-four seven.”
You crossed your arms, meeting his glare evenly. “Needing help doesn’t make you weak.”
His voice dropped. “It feels like it.”
That landed heavier than you expected. You softened slightly. “Let’s just get you to the bathroom.”
Without further argument, he positioned the wheelchair again.
“Watch,” he said, a little sharper now, as if proving something.
He performed the transfer trick again, controlled, careful, avoiding pressure on the injured leg. You stayed close but didn’t intervene.
It was smoother this time.
You wheeled him down the hallway and into the bathroom. The space was wide, adapted with grab bars that you were sure Jake had installed without Riki’s permission.
“All right,” you said, steadying the chair. “On three.”
He gripped the bar and pushed himself up carefully. His good leg bore most of the weight while the injured one hovered lightly.
He couldn’t lean fully on you, the angle didn’t allow it. So he braced one hand against the wall as well, breathing controlled.
“Turn around,” he said quietly.
You nodded immediately and pivoted, facing the opposite wall. “I’m not looking,” you assured him.
There was the faint rustle of fabric. The sound of his uneven breathing. Then the soft, unmistakable sound of relief.
You focused on the tiled wall in front of you, counting silently to give him privacy.
When it ended, you turned slightly. “Do you need help?”
“I can manage.” He gritted out.
You stepped closer cautiously anyway, prepared to assist if needed.
He adjusted himself awkwardly, his movements stiff and awkward.
You reached instinctively to steady him. “I’ve got it,” he said quickly.
You paused. “I can help you clean up,” you offered gently, professional tone intact. “I’ve done it with other patients already.”
He stiffened. “No.”
“It’s part of recovery. There’s nothing embarrassing about it.” you pressed on.
His cheeks flushed faintly. “I said no.”
There was a fragile edge to his voice now, you recognised it as pride.
You studied him for a moment. “All right,” you said softly, stepping back.
He finished on his own, slow and deliberate. When he was ready, you helped him ease back into the wheelchair.
The trip back to the bedroom was quieter. You could feel the shift between you, an understanding of boundaries being tested and reset.
Once he was settled again, you spoke carefully. “You don’t have to do everything alone.”
He stared at the floor. “I know.”
“But you don’t believe it,” you said gently.
He didn’t answer and you didn’t push further.
Instead, you adjusted your notes and said, “We’ll finish with seated exercises today.”
He nodded once.
And this time, when you guided his movements, he followed without trying to prove anything.
🐦🔥.
You had chosen a day where the sky was clear. Not too hot and not too windy. The sunlight felt intentional, like it had decided to show up for a reason.
When you told Riki you were taking him out, he had stared at you like you had suggested skydiving.
“No,” he said immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“You need fresh air.” You smiled, pointing to the world around.
“I have windows.”beh replied matter-of-factly.
“You need sun.” You now pointed a threatening finger towards his pale skin.
“I have vitamin D supplements.” Riki raised a brow in challenge.
You crossed your arms. “You also have cabin fever.”
He glared at you from the edge of the bed. “I’m not going outside like this.”
“Like what?” You tilted your head.
“In a wheelchair and with people staring.” you rolled your eyes, “They won’t stare.”
“They will.” You softened your tone, stepping closer. “Then we’ll make it harder for them to recognize you.”
Ten minutes later he was wearing a dark hoodie, the hood pulled low, and a cap shadowing most of his face. If someone wasn’t looking closely, he was just another tall guy recovering from an injury.
You adjusted the footrests of the wheelchair carefully before pushing him toward the elevator.
“Y/N,” he muttered as the doors closed, “if this ends badly, I’m blaming you.”
“You blame me for everything already,” you replied lightly.
Outside, the park felt alive. Children ran across the grass, their laughter bright and uncontrolled. A dog barked somewhere near the fountain and leaves rustled softly overhead.
You guided him along the paved path, careful over small cracks. His shoulders were tense at first, hunched slightly inward, as if trying to shrink.
“No one’s looking,” you said quietly. “That’s because they’re being subtle about it” he muttered.
You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. You stopped near a sunny patch by a bench and locked the wheelchair in place.
“Sunlight is good for bone healing,” you explained, crouching in front of him. “It helps your body produce vitamin D naturally.”
“I already take supplements.” He murmured, watching you with his intense eyes.
“But this is free.”
Before he could protest, you gently lifted the hem of his sweatpants slightly to expose part of his injured leg to the warmth. The skin was still pale from weeks indoors.
He inhaled, surprised by the simple sensation. “It feels… weird,” he admitted.
“It’s just warmth.”
You sat beside him on the bench, close enough that your shoulders almost touched. For a while, neither of you spoke. You watched a little boy chase pigeons, tripping over his own feet and laughing as if falling was the funniest thing in the world.
Riki’s voice came quieter than usual. “When I was in Japan, in kindergarten, I cried all the time.”
You turned your head slightly toward him. “For what?”
“For everything,” he said with a faint huff. “If someone took my toy or if my mom left me at school. I hated it.”
“Why?” you questioned.
“Because the other boys didn’t cry. I felt weak.” You studied his profile beneath the cap’s shadow.
“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” you said gently. “It’s your body’s way of signaling that something hurts, physically or emotionally. It’s… a wayv of communication.”
He stayed quiet for a few moments, “I stopped eventually,” he added. “I told myself it was embarrassing.”
“Or maybe you just learned to hide it,” you replied softly.
Before he could answer, footsteps approached. A couple walked past you, young and laughing at something between them. The boyfriend slowed mid-step, eyes narrowing.
“Wait,” he said, squinting. “Is that…?”
Your stomach dropped, bracing for Riki’s fear materialising.
He stepped closer without invitation. “Yo, you’re Riki, right? The Ferrari driver?” Riki’s hands tightened on the armrests.
“Not now,” you said calmly but firmly. “He’s recovering.”
The boyfriend ignored you. “Dude, that crash was insane. What did it feel like? Did you think you were gonna die?”
Riki’s jaw clenched and he lowered his face, trying to hide it with the cap.
“Please,” you said, standing slightly. “We’re not doing interviews.”
The guy laughed awkwardly. “I’m just asking. It’s public news.”
His girlfriend tugged at his sleeve. “Babe, leave him alone.”
But he stepped even closer, peering at Riki’s leg. “Man, that looks brutal. You think you’ll ever race again?”
“Step back,” you said, sharper now.
He brushed past you slightly as he leaned in, and the sudden shift unbalanced you. You stumbled backward, your foot catching on the edge of the pavement.
You hit the ground as pain shot through your palms.
Riki’s head snapped toward you. “Y/N!”
He gripped the wheels instinctively, as if he could stand, as if he could do something. But he couldn’t.
The wheelchair stayed locked and he stayed unmoving.
The boyfriend froze, startled. His girlfriend rushed forward immediately.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said, helping you up gently. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you muttered, brushing dirt off your hands.
She turned to her boyfriend sharply. “What is wrong with you? He’s clearly not okay.”
The guy mumbled something defensive but allowed himself to be pulled away.
Silence settled heavy after they left.
Riki didn’t speak, even as you braced for his crash out. You knelt beside him. “I’m sorry.”
But didn’t look at you.
You decided to take him home, unlocking the wheelchair and pushing it.
The park noises faded behind you. His shoulders were tense again, maybe more than before.
“Wait here for one minute,” you said suddenly.
His head snapped up. “What?”
“Just… wait.” You stepped away before he could argue.
“Y/N!” he hissed after you. “Don’t leave me here.”
You ignored the tightness in your chest and hurried down the street toward the small ice cream vendor you had spotted before.
You came back less than three minutes later, and the look on Riki’s face told you he wasn’t mildly irritated. “You can’t just—”
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw what you were holding.
A cone of chocolate ice cream, slightly melting at the edges.
You walked toward him slowly, holding it out like a peace offering. “I assumed you liked chocolate,” you said softly.
He blinked at it. “What is this?”
“Ice cream,” you replied gently. “When I was sad as a kid, my mom used to buy me ice cream. It didn’t fix anything, but it made things better.”
He stared at you as if you had grown three heads.
“You don’t have to eat it,” you added quickly. “I just thought maybe it would help.”
He looked down at his hands. Then back at the cone. “You left me alone in the street for ice cream?” he asked, incredulous.
“Yes…. well, with good intentions.”
He took the cone carefully from your hand and licked it slowly, tentatively. “Thank you.” he murmured.
“Anytime.” You smiled.
🐦🔥.
Riki sat on the edge of the bed wit his left leg extended stiffly.
You knelt beside him, your hands gentle but firm as you adjusted the brace around his leg. It had been full months of hardship, bickering and trying to get the F1 racer to collaborate with you, and with great effort, you managed to establish a relationship based on collaboration and bribing.
“Alright, Riki.” you said softly, your voice carrying the encouragement that had become your shared language. "Let's try walking again. Remember, slow and steady, no rushing."
He nodded, his dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, those sharp eyes, usually so fierce on the track, now softened by frustration and determination.
The limp was pronounced, a halting drag that pulled at your heart each time, but progress was there, inch by inch.
That day, though, the session felt heavier, the lateness of the hour weighing on both of you. You'd noticed how his energy flagged earlier than usual, the pain etching deeper lines into his young face.
To lighten the mood, you'd invented a game earlier that week, something simple to turn the monotony of rehab into a challenge. "Okay, let's play 'Track Lap,'" you announced with a playful smile, helping him to his feet.
He leaned on the sturdy cane you'd provided, its rubber tip thudding softly against the floor. "You have to 'lap' the hallway and back to the room without stopping. I'll time you, but the goal isn't speed— it's completing the circuit. Winner gets bragging rights."
Riki's lips quirked into a rare grin, the first genuine one you'd seen all evening. "Bragging rights? You're on. But if I win, you owe me a weird story from your physiotherapy sessions." His voice was low, laced with that competitive edge that hadn't dulled despite the accident.
You chuckled, steadying him as he took his first step. The hallway stretched out from the bedroom door, a long corridor lined with abstract art and a few framed photos of Riki on the podium, his helmet tucked under one arm.
He moved deliberately, the cane planting ahead, his injured leg swinging forward with effort.
You walked beside him, not touching unless needed, your presence a quiet anchor. "One lap down," you murmured as he rounded the corner, his breath coming in measured puffs.
The game worked its magic: his focus sharpened, the limp less about defeat and more about strategy.
Back in the room, after two full circuits, sweat beaded on his brow, and his grip on the cane tightened. He paused by the bed, chest rising and falling. "I think that's enough for today," he admitted, his tone apologetic, as if pushing himself was the only option he knew.
You nodded, concerned,. "You did great! better than last time. Let me help you back." But as you reached for his arm, he shook his head, a spark of stubborn pride igniting.
"I can do it alone.” he insisted, his jaw set. Slowly, painfully so, he shuffled the remaining steps to the bed.
Each movement was a testament to his resilience, the way his good leg bore the weight, the subtle tremor in the injured one, and the soft grunt he let escape when he finally lowered himself onto the mattress.
It took what felt like an eternity, the room silent save for the distant hum of the air conditioning, but he made it without your aid. Pride swelled in your chest as you watched.
Once settled, you moved to tuck him under the covers, pulling the soft duvet up to his waist with care.
The fabric whispered against his skin, and he sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders. You sat on the edge of the bed beside him, your hand resting lightly on the blanket over his leg.
The proximity felt natural now, after weeks of shared vulnerability, the boundaries of professional distance blurring in the quiet intimacy of these late sessions.
"I'm very happy with the results, Riki," you said, your voice warm with sincerity. "You've come so far. I’m sure in just a couple of weeks, you'll be walking without that limp holding you back. Back to striding like the champion you are."
His eyes met yours, a mix of gratitude and something deeper flickering there, a gratitude that bordered on affection. "Thanks to you," he murmured. "Couldn't do it without... this." He gestured vaguely between you, his fingers brushing the air.
To help him unwind further, you shifted closer, your hands returning to his leg. "Let me give you a quick massage to relax the muscles.” you offered.
Gently, you worked your fingers over the taut flesh above the brace, kneading in slow circles. The skin was warm under your touch, the scar a textured map you navigated with care.
Riki closed his eyes, his body melting into the bed, a low hum of contentment escaping his lips. The room seemed to shrink around you both, the outside world fading as his breathing steadied.
As your hands moved, conversation drifted to safer topics, but your mind wandered to the news you'd caught earlier. "I saw Heeseung on the news today," you said casually, though you knew the topic was a raw nerve.
Heeseung, with now only minor burns marring his skin, was already back on the track, dominating practice sessions while Riki still languished in recovery.
The substitution by the third pilot, Noah, a talented but unproven rookie, had been a bitter pill, splashed across headlines as the team's pragmatic move.
Riki's body tensed slightly under your hands, but he didn't pull away. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken resentment. You pressed on gently, hoping to acknowledge the pain without dwelling "It must be tough, seeing him out there while you're sidelined."
He exhaled slowly, his eyes still closed. "Yeah, tough." The words were clipped, laced with the frustration of a man caged by his own body.
Curiosity, or perhaps a need to connect on that shared scar tissue, prompted your next question. "Were you burnt during the accident too? The reports were vague about your side of things."
He didn't reply at first, the quiet amplifying the soft sounds of your massage.
Then, with a deliberate motion, he lifted the sleeve of his loose shirt, exposing his forearm. The skin there was marred by a jagged scar, pale and healed, twisting like a frozen lightning bolt from wrist to elbow.
"Heeseung's car was the one that blew up," he said finally, his voice even but distant. "He took the hit for me. I got this when they pulled me out, because the flames were close, but I was already fading. It healed on its own while I was in the coma for those two weeks. Didn't feel much... or anything, really."
Your fingers paused, drawn inexorably to the mark. You traced it lightly, the pad of your index finger following the raised edges, feeling the story etched into his flesh.
The texture was rough yet smooth in places, a testament to time's imperfect healing.
Something stirred in you, an impulse born of empathy and the closeness of the moment. Without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a featherlight kiss to the center of the scar, your lips brushing the warm skin in a gesture that was tender, almost reverent.
Oh shit.
The realization hit like a cold splash— very unprofessional. Heat flooded your cheeks as you pulled away sharply, your heart pounding. "I-I'm sorry," you stammered, ready to retreat.
But Riki's hand moved swiftly, fingers tangling in your hair, gentle yet insistent. He tugged you back, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath. Before you could protest, he pressed his lips to yours.
The kiss was electric, a spark igniting the air between you. You melted against him, a soft moan escaping your throat as his mouth moved with surprising urgency.
His tongue invaded, teasing at the seam of your lips until you parted them, allowing him deeper.
The taste of him flooded your senses, your body responding instinctively. Your hands found his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as your lips danced together, the rhythm building from tentative to fervent.
Emboldened, you shifted, and he guided you, his hands on your hips as you swung a leg over to straddle him.
The position was awkward with his injury, your weight was carefully distributed to avoid pressure on his leg, but neither of you cared.
The bed dipped under the new balance, sheets rustling as you settled atop him. Experimentally, you ground your hips down, the friction sending a jolt through you both. He rewarded you with a deep groan, the sound vibrating against your lips, his fingers tightening in your hair.
Concern pierced the haze of desire. You broke the kiss just enough to whisper, "Am I hurting you? Your leg—"
His response was immediate, his voice rough with need. "Only if you stop."
Reassured, you dove back in, your mouths fusing once more. The making out intensified, tongues tangling in a heated exploration and breaths mingling in short gasps.
Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your palm, while his free hand slid up your back, pulling you closer. The grind of your hips became rhythmic, a slow roll that elicited more groans from him, his body arching slightly despite the restraint. Heat built between you, the room charged with the scent of arousal and the soft sounds of lips smacking, moans muffled against skin.
Time blurred in the cocoon of the bed, the world narrowing to the press of his body, the way his scar brushed your arm as you leaned in.
His fingers traced patterns on your spine, sending shivers racing down your body. You nipped at his lower lip, drawing another low sound from him, your own desire pooling hot and insistent.
Then, abruptly, the front door burst open with a resounding thud that echoed through the hallway. The spell shattered.
You jumped away from him, scrambling off the bed in a flurry of motion, your face burning with mortification.
With your heart racing, you gathered your things fumbling as footsteps approached. Riki sat up straighter, his expression shifting to casual nonchalance, though his lips were still swollen from the kisses.
Jake entered the room without knocking further, arms laden with grocery bags bulging with fresh produce and protein shakes.
He was oblivious, his focus on the task, whistling a tuneless melody. "Hey, man, got the stuff you asked for, extra greens for that rehab diet. Traffic was a nightmare, sorry I'm late."
“Oh, hi Y/N.” He said as he entered the bedroom to check on his driver, “Are you okay? You look flushed.”
You straightened, clutching your bag like a shield, words tumbling out in an awkward stutter. "I-I should go, the session’s over. Great progress tonight, Riki. See you tomorrow."
Without waiting for a response, you hurried out, brushing past Jake in the doorway, your pulse thundering in your ears as you escaped into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you.
Jake frowned, glancing at Riki. “Did you say something to her?”
Riki sighed, sinking further on the mattress, “I wish.”
🐦🔥.
The evening sun had dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the half-drawn curtains of Riki's bedroom.
The room, still carrying the faint scent of your perfume, felt heavier now, charged with the residue of unspoken tension.
Riki lay propped against the pillows, his injured leg elevated on a cushion, staring blankly at the wall.
The king-sized bed seemed too vast for him alone, the white sheets rumpled from the day's exertions.
The front door clicked open again, but this time, the footsteps were heavier, more purposeful.
Heeseung stepped into the apartment, his presence announced by the faint jingle of car keys and the rustle of a jacket being shrugged off.
He'd been absent for over one month, swallowed by his own whirlwind of rehabilitation sessions and relentless press conferences.
The media hounded him as the hero of the accident, the driver who'd sacrificed his car to save his teammate, but the glow of that narrative couldn't mask the toll it took.
His own recovery was a grind, physical therapy for the burns that mottled his hands and arms, sessions where he gripped steering wheels only to feel the skin pull tight and raw.
He pushed open the bedroom door without knocking, his eyes immediately drawn to the broken TV.
The sight of hit him like a punch to the gut: he knew Riki's temper, the way frustration boiled over when the world moved on without him.
Glass shards glinted under the lamp light, a stark symbol of the isolation Riki had been stewing in. Heeseung's expression softened, a mix of concern and understanding etching deeper lines into his face.
He crossed the room in a few strides, pulling a chair from the corner desk and positioning it beside the bed. The wooden legs scraped softly against the floor, breaking the silence.
Riki's gaze flicked to him, surprise flickering before settling into something weary. Heeseung sat down, the chair creaking under his weight, and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Look who finally showed his face after I got out of the hospital.” Riki teased.
"Hey, man," he said. "I’m so sorry, I’ve been busy with press conferences and practice, but I know Jake was taking care of you, no?”
Riki nodded faintly, his fingers twisting the edge of the blanket. Heeseung launched into the update, needing to fill the space with something normal, something racing-related to bridge the gap.
“Want to hear something funny? No matter how much rehab I have, my hand won’t collaborate! I finished tenth in the last race. Tenth. Can you believe it?" He flexed his right hand experimentally, wincing as the scarred knuckles protested. “I give you the permission to laugh at me.”
He spoke for a few more minutes, but Riki's attention wandered. His eyes drifted to the window, then back to the ceiling, his responses limited to hums and nods that lacked conviction.
Heeseung paused, studying his teammate's face, the distant look that spoke volumes. He'd seen it before, in the garages after a bad qualifying, but this was deeper, laced with something personal.
"Alright, spill it," Heeseung said, straightening up. "You're not even hearing me. What's eating you?"
Riki sighed softly, the sound escaping like a deflating tire. He shifted against the pillows, his injured leg twitching slightly under the covers.
For a moment, he hesitated, chewing on his lower lip, but the weight of the evening pressed too hard to keep it bottled. "Hypothetically speaking," he started, his voice tentative, eyes fixed on a spot on the blanket, "what would you do if you accidentally made out with your rehab therapist?"
Heeseung's eyebrows shot up, surprise rippling across his features. He leaned back in the chair, processing the question, a low chuckle escaping despite himself. "Oh shit. Well, first of all, my girlfriend would be very mad." The words hung in the air, casual but loaded.
Riki's eyes widened, snapping to Heeseung's face with genuine shock. "Wait— you have a girlfriend? Since when?"
Heeseung nodded, a huge smile tugging at his lips, softening the edges of his exhaustion.
He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that pulled at the collar of his shirt, revealing faint scarring along his collarbone. "Yeah, it's the nurse who followed me in the hospital after the accident. The one with zero tolerance for my bullshit, I believe you remember her. We made it official a few weeks back, but we kept it quiet. She doesn't want any part of the press life, and i respect it.” His voice warmed at the mention, a rare glimpse of vulnerability from the unflappable driver.
Then, Heeseung cleared his throat,"But hypothetically," he pressed, "how much of that making out would be a mistake, and how much... right?"
The room fell quiet again, and Riki sighed deeper this time, running a hand through his hair, disheveling it further. "It isn’t hypothetical," he admitted, his voice dropping. "I kissed my therapist. And she kissed me back. But maybe it wasn't... I don't know, anything about feelings? We see each other every day, and she's the only one who doesn't look at me like I'm Riki the Ferrari driver, the guy who crashed out. She sees just... me. But maybe that's all professional, you know? Just her job."
Heeseung watched him, the pieces clicking into place.
Oh man, Riki was truly fucked.
Heeseung leaned forward again, his expression turning serious. "Sounds like it's more than professional to me.”
He gave Riki a small smile “But yeah, it's a minefield. You've got to figure out what it means before it derails everything." He didn't push further, letting the advice settle.
“Ah, whatever, I’ll figure it out.” Riki sat up straighter, “Now tell me about you and the pretty nurse, uh?”
Meanwhile, the following morning dawned crisp and bustling in the heart of the city. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mingled with the sweet tang of pastries, steam rising from the espresso machine like a fog.
Sunlight filtered through the large front windows, casting warm patterns on the wooden counters and the mismatched stools lining the bar.
Your shift started early as always, but today, your mind was elsewhere, replaying the heated press of lips, the tangle of fingers in your hair, and the abrupt interruption that had sent you fleeing.
Clumsiness plagued you from the moment you clocked in. The first mishap came during the breakfast rush, when a customer ordered a latte,p and as you reached for a cup, your elbow knocked into a stack on the shelf.
Two ceramic mugs tumbled, shattering on the tiled floor with a sharp crack that drew stares from the line.
Shards scattered like confetti, white and blue fragments glinting under the lights. "Sorry," you muttered, grabbing the broom from the back, cheeks flushing as you swept up the mess.
Taesan, your dear coworker, shot you a concerned glance from behind the register. Not even ten minutes later, disaster struck again. While prepping an Americano, you fumbled the syrup bottle, but it was the espresso that did you in.
As you pulled the shot, your hand slipped on the hot portafilter, the scalding metal brushing your palm.
Pain bloomed instantly, a red welt rising as you hissed and dropped the tamper with a clang. The machine hissed back, oblivious as steam curling upward. You plunged your hand under cold water at the sink, biting your lip to stifle a yelp, the cafe's chatter fading into a dull roar in your ears.
Taesan hurried over, wiping his hands on a towel, his brow furrowed with worry. "Y/N, you okay? You’ve broken two cups today and now this? You don't look well— did you even sleep?"
You shook your head, drying your hand gingerly on a clean cloth, the burn throbbing like a guilty heartbeat.
"I did something very unprofessional last night," you confessed, your voice low to avoid the ears of the patrons. The words tasted bitter, laced with regret.d
Taesan raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. He glanced around to ensure no one was eavesdropping before grinning playfully. "Unprofessional? What, did you kiss your rehab guy or something? Come on, spill, you've been hiding his identity like it's state secrets." His tone was light, teasing, the kind of joke that usually elicited a laugh from you.
But you didn't reply, your silence stretching as you busied yourself wiping down the steamer, avoiding his gaze.
The lack of denial hit him like a revelation. His eyes widened, and he gasped so hard it echoed over the soft jazz playing from the speakers.
Heads turned from nearby tables, customers raised their eyebrows in mild curiosity before they returned to their own worlds.
"Wait, seriously?" Taesan whispered urgently, pulling you toward the back of the counter, away from prying eyes. "You actually did? Oh my god, Y/N, sit down and tell me everything. Now."
You sank onto a stool behind the espresso machine, the wooden seat cool against your jeans while your burned hand cradled in your lap.
Taking a deep breath, you let it out in a rush. "It was after the session. He showed me his burn scars on his arm, from the accident that broke his leg. He looked so... sad, Taesan. I just traced them with my fingers, and then... I kissed it.”
You gripped your hair in your hands, “But it was so stupid, so unprofessional. And then he…. he pulled me in, and we kissed. Really kissed. But we're still working together. He just started walking with the cane properly, and now this? Gosh, I'm so stupid. He could report me for harassment!”
Your words tumbled out, laced with self-reproach and your free hand gesturing wildly before you caught yourself.
The burn on your palm pulsed in time with your racing thoughts, a physical echo of the inner turmoil. Taesan listened, his initial shock giving way to a thoughtful nod, though his eyes sparkled with a mix of concern and intrigue.
He crossed his arms, tilting his head. "Okay, hold up— did he kiss you back? Like, was it mutual?"
You hesitated, the memory flashing vivid in your mind: the tangle of his fingers in your hair, the groan against your lips, the way he'd insisted you continue. "Well... yes," you admitted, your voice softening. "He kissed me back. But that's so not the point! I initiated it, I crossed every line. It was unprofessional, full stop. I need to apologize and set boundaries. I'll do it after my shift ends. Clear the air before it poisons everything."
Taesan placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding amid the cafe's bustle. "Hey, breathe. if he kissed back, maybe it's not all on you. Just... be careful. Apologize if it feels right, but don't beat yourself up too hard. You've got this."
You nodded, though doubt lingered, the weight of the impending confrontation settling like steam on the counter.
🐦🔥.
That afternoon, the weight of what had happened before seemed to follow you all the way up the stairs to Riki’s apartment, pressing against your chest with every step until even the simple act of breathing felt deliberate.
It hadn’t been planned, hadn’t been calculated, and that made it worse, because it meant it had been honest.
And honesty, in your line of work, could be dangerous.
By the time you entered the code and stepped inside, your fingers felt colder than usual, despite the mild weather outside. The apartment greeted you with its usual quiet, a stillness that had become familiar over the past weeks. You closed the door softly behind you, almost as if loud sounds might break something fragile that lingered in the air.
“Hello?” you called out, your voice carefully even.
“In here,” Riki answered.
You found him in the bedroom, sitting upright against the pillows, his injured leg stretched out in front of him.
He looked better, there was no denying that. Less pale and less hollow. But there was something in his gaze when it met yours that made your stomach tighten.
You looked away first. “Let’s start with cleaning the skin around the case,” you said, moving into routine as if it could shield you.
You set your bag down and pulled out gloves and ointment. your hands moved automatically, muscle memory taking over where your thoughts faltered.
You sat beside him on the edge of the bed, close enough to feel the heat of his body, close enough to notice the faint scent of his soap.
You focused on your work, gently lifting the edge of the case padding, careful not to irritate the skin underneath.
the silence wasn’t uncomfortable in the usual sense. It was heavier than that, filled with something unspoken, something waiting.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry,” you said suddenly, your voice quieter than you intended.
Your hands didn’t stop moving, but your fingers slowed slightly against his skin.
“For yesterday,” you continued. “That shouldn’t have happened. It was unprofessional, and I really hope you can forget it. And… forgive me.”
The words felt rehearsed, like you had practiced them in your head too many times, worn them thin before even saying them out loud.
Riki didn’t respond immediately. You felt his gaze before you saw it, the weight of it settling on your face, studying you in a way that made it impossible to pretend nothing had shifted between you.
“Do you really want me to forget it?” he asked.
The question caught you off guard, even though you should have expected it.
Your heart stuttered. Truthfully? No.
Truthfully, you didn’t want him to forget the way his hand had tightened slightly against your waist, the way his breath had changed, the way it had felt so natural to be that close to him.
You didn’t want to forget how it had stirred something in you that had nothing to do with professionalism and everything to do with something softer, deeper and more dangerous.
You wanted him to kiss you again, to pull you closer and to bury his fingers in your hair like he had almost done.
But you couldn’t say that.
So you looked down again, focusing on the careful motion of applying ointment along the edge of his skin, your voice steady despite the quiet storm inside your chest. “Yes,” you said. “I really do.”
“Okay,” he said simply, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. And somehow, that made it worse.
You continued working, finishing the cleaning, rewrapping the padding with practiced care. The routine steadied you again, grounding you in something familiar.
Rehab that day was quieter than usual, but not tense. There was a strange kind of understanding settling between you, one that didn’t need to be spoken aloud.
He followed your instructions without pushing too far, without trying to prove anything. His movements were more controlled now and the progress was subtle but undeniable.
Days turned into weeks. And then, at the end of the month, something shifted again. “I want to go outside,” he said one late afternoon.
You blinked at him, surprised “Really?”
He nodded, a little uncertain but determined. “Yeah. I think… I think I’m ready to try again.”
The smile that spread across your face came before you could stop it. “Okay,” you said, almost breathless with relief. “Okay, yes, we can do that.”
You helped him get dressed carefully, adjusting the brace, making sure everything was secure.
He wore a cap, a mask, and a hoodie, layers of anonymity that made him feel safer.
Outside, the air was cooler than expected, the sky a soft gray that hinted at rain.
The streets weren’t crowded, which helped. You stayed close to him as he walked, his hand gripping the cane, his steps slow but steady.
The limp was still there, but it was less pronounced now. “You’re doing really well,” you said quietly.
He shrugged, but there was a flicker of pride in the movement. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
“It will,” you replied. “You’re getting there.”
After a while, he spoke again. “You never really talk about yourself.”
You glanced at him, surprised. “There’s not much to say.”
“I don’t believe that,” he said.
You hesitated, then exhaled softly. “I graduated recently from university.”
“What did you study?” he questioned genuinely
“Rehabilitation therapy,” you answered, smiling faintly. “Obviously.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I also work at a café in the mornings,” you added. “To pay rent. And… finish paying my fees.”
He glanced at you, something thoughtful in his eyes. “Why this job?” he asked. “Why rehab?”
You looked ahead, your gaze softening as the memory surfaced.
“My best friend,” you began slowly, “her name is Karina and in high school, she was…. an increible gymnastic. The kind that made everything look effortless.”
You paused, the image vivid in your mind. “She fell during a routine and broke her knee badly. It wasn’t just the injury… it was what came after. She lost herself for a while, completely. She stopped smiling… stopped caring about anything.”
Riki listened quietly, and you continued. “But then she went through rehab,” you continued. “And it wasn’t easy, it took months, but she got better. She found her way back. Not just to gymnastics— but to herself.”
You smiled faintly. “I want to do that for people. To help them find their way back.”
There was a silence after that, not empty but full. “And you?” you asked gently. “Why racing?”
He let out a quiet breath, his gaze drifting ahead. “My dad used to take me to watch races,” he said. “When I was a kid. I didn’t understand everything, but I loved the sound… the speed, the feeling of it all.” He shifted his grip on the cane.
“I think… I wanted to feel like that. Like I was part of something bigger. Like I was in control.” You nodded, understanding more than you expected.
Something wet hit his cheek, and he frowned. Then, something wet hit your head too.
It took only a couple of seconds for the sky to open completely, rain pouring down. “Oh—” you laughed softly, looking up. “Of course.”
You turned around, walking back to his apartment. People all rushed to find shelter, but there was no need. Riki could not run, and you were content just by being by his side.
Riki groaned. “I hate this.”
“You hate rain?” Your eyes widened.
“Yes.”
You shook your head, smiling. “I love it. It makes everything feel… free.”
“Free?” he echoed, incredulous.
“Yes. Especially when you’re inside, under a blanket, listening to it.” He huffed, but there was no real annoyance in it.
The rain soaked through your clothes, your hair clinging to your face and your shoes growing heavier with each step. But there was something strangely peaceful about it, something that made the moment feel… alive.
By the time you reached his apartment, both of you were drenched. “Okay,” you said, pushing the door open. “First priority: getting you dry.”
You helped him out of his wet clothes carefully, mindful of his leg, his balance. You handed him a towel, then moved to the wardrobe to grab something clean.
“You should change too,” he said.
“I’m fine—” you dismissed, but he insisted. “You’re soaked.”
He pulled out a hoodie and sweatpants, handing them to you. They were too big, the fabric soft and warm. “Here.”
“Thanks,” you murmured.
You changed quickly in the bathroom, the dry fabric a relief against your skin. When you stepped back into the room, the clothes hung loosely on you, sleeves too long and the waistband gathered awkwardly at your hips, tied with a hair tie
Riki looked up and stilled. There was a shift in his expression, it made your breath catch. You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of the space between you.
“So, today…” you began softly, your fingers curling slightly into the fabric of the hoodie. “Today is the last day.”
He frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“The contract,” you explained. “It was for five months, today marks five months from our first session.”
Understanding flickered across his face. “Oh.” He nodded slowly. “Of course, yes.”
But there was something in his eyes now. Something that hadn’t been there before. “You went a long way, uh? From being stubborn to almost being my best patient. I might even give you a star sticker.” You joked, trying to lighten the mood.
He pushed himself up, not using the cane this time. He just had a slight limp as he crossed the space between you.
And then he wrapped his arms around you. “I’m glad you helped me,” he said quietly, his voice close to your ear. “You gave me my hope back.”
Your chest tightened and you smiled, even if he couldn’t see it.
“I hope I see you on TV again one Sunday,” you replied softly.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. “You will.”
You nodded, stepping away before the moment could stretch any further.
You gathered your things slowly, your movements deliberate, as if rushing would make it harder to leave.
“Goodbye, Riki.” You said for the last time.
“Bye, Y/N.”
🐦🔥.
The clearance to go back racing wasn’t dramatic. There was no dramatic announcement, no applause abd no flashing cameras waiting outside the hospital doors.
Just a doctor flipping through a chart, nodding once, and saying, “You can start driving again. Slowly and no pressure. Listen to your body.”
Riki had nodded too, but the words hadn’t landed the way everyone expected them to.
They didn’t feel like freedom, not yet. They felt like a door opening to something he wasn’t sure he could step through.
Still, that evening, he went to the track.
The city circuit stretched out under a fading sky, the asphalt still warm from the day with lights flickering on one by one as the sun dipped lower.
The place smelled the same way, of burnt rubber, fuel and metal. It was familiar in a way that should have been comforting, but instead, it made something in his chest tighten.
He stood near the pit boxes, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, cap low over his eyes.
The sounds of engines roaring past surrounded him. Noah was on track with Riki’s car. He watched it pass once, then again, the sleek red body slicing through the circuit like nothing had ever happened to it. There was no trace of the crash that had nearly ended everything five months ago.
It almost looked like a stranger’s car.
When Noah finally pulled back into the pit lane, the engine whined down as the car rolled into position, Riki didn’t move at first. He just stared, his gaze fixed on the vehicle like it might shift if he blinked too hard.
Noah climbed out, pulling off his helmet with a grin. “As good as new,” he said, clapping Riki on the shoulder as he passed. “All yours.”
Riki barely reacted, he was somewhere else. Maybe he was still inside it as it almost crashed against the bleachers, or maybe he was still at the hospital, in a coma.
So much so that he didn’t notice Heeseung approaching until an arm suddenly hooked around his shoulders and a sharp nudge hit his side, a knee, quick and familiar.
Riki jolted slightly, blinking out of whatever trance had held him. “What the fuck—”
Heeseung grinned. “Payback.” Because that had been the joke Riki always did to Heeseung when he was nervous.
Riki exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You’re annoying.”
“You started it,” Heeseung shot back easily, his arm still loosely draped over Riki’s shoulders. “So, you ready to get back on track, huh?”
Riki’s eyes flicked back to the car. Ready… the word felt heavy.
“Jake even had your racing suit fixed and polished.” Heeseung informed, pushing Riki towards a table where his old racing suit rested.
He reached out, fingers brushing the fabric before gripping it fully. “Thanks.”
The changing room felt smaller than he remembered. Or maybe it was just him. The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The suit hung from his hands, heavier than it should have been.
He changed slowly, pulling the fabric over his body felt strange after months of loose clothes, hoodies, and sweatpants. The suit hugged him tightly, outlining muscles that had weakened and then rebuilt, reminding him of every inch of his body that had been broken and stitched back together.
He stared at himself in the mirror and for a second, he didn’t recognize the reflection.
Then he grabbed his helmet and stepped back out, reaching for his car.
He slid into the seat, his movements more careful than they used to be. The harness clicked into place across his chest, the familiar pressure grounding and suffocating all at once.
His hands wrapped around the wheel, then he flexed his injured leg slightly, testing it against the pedal. It responded, stiff and a little sore, but functional.
“Radio check,” a voice crackled through his helmet.
Yang Jungwon. His trusted radio friend. “Yeah,” Riki replied, his voice steady but quieter than usual.
“Conditions are clear, the track’s yours and the brake system was fully checked and fixed,” Jungwon continued. “Take it easy. No need to push.”
Riki swallowed the lump in his throat “Got it.”
The engine roared to life beneath him. The vibration traveled through his body, up his spine and went into his chest.
For a moment, it felt like coming home. he eased out of the pit lane. Slow and controlled at first, then faster.
The straight opened up in front of him, long and inviting. His foot pressed down on the accelerator, the engine responding instantly as the car surged forward.
He was at 100, then the number climbed, reaching 200 km/h.
The wind roared against the chassis, the world narrowing into speed and motion.
For a split second, everything aligned. his muscles, his memory, the feeling of control…
But then the turn came.
A familiar one. One he had taken hundreds of times without thinking.
But now his mind was filled with something else. It was somewhere else.
His foot slammed on the brake, too hard. The car jerked violently, swerving slightly as the tires protested against the sudden force.
“Riki, ease up,” Jungwon’s voice cut in, sharper now. “Control the car.”
Riki’s grip tightened on the wheel as his breath peaked up. “Move the car off the racing line,” Jungwon continued. “Heeseung’s coming up behind you.”
But the words barely registered, because that turn wasn’f just a simple turn. It was again that moment. That crash. That loss of control.
“I can’t—” he muttered under his breath. Instead of correcting, instead of continuing, he pulled off abruptly, stopping near the edge of the track.
He unlatched the harness with shaking hands, ripping the helmet off as he climbed out.
He left the car there, left himself behind and rushed back toward the pit building, his limp more pronounced now.
The changing room door slammed shut behind him. A silence, heavy and suffocating filled the room. He sat down hard on the bench, elbows on his knees while hands gripped his head.
Then, during his not so internal turmoil, the door that connected the reception to the changing rooms opened.
“Hello?” a voice called softly.
As Riki looked up, he noticed that it was you. You stood there, slightly out of place among the harsh lighting and metallic surroundings, a cartoon-patterned bag in your hand.
Your hair caught the artificial light, your expression shifting quickly from neutral to concerned as you took in the sight of him.
“Y/N?” he said, confused.
“I— Jake texted me,” you explained, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. “He said to bring your clothes back here because you weren’t home.” You paused, studying him more closely.
He was still in his racing suit, half unzipped, damp with sweat. His chest rose and fell too quickly while his hands trembled faintly.
“Are you okay?” you asked gently.
Something in your voice, soft and familiar, something he’d heard for five whole months, broke whatever fragile control he had left.
He dropped his head into his hands again, fingers digging into his hair. “I can’t do it,” he said, his voice cracking.
You stepped closer instinctively. “I can’t,” he repeated, louder this time, frustration and fear tangling together. “I got in the car and it was fine, and then the turn came and I—” He sucked in a sharp breath. “I froze.”
You set the bag down slowly, approaching him as if he was a wounded animal. “I thought I was ready,” he continued, his words rushing now. “Everyone thinks I’m ready. But I’m not. I’m—” He let out a harsh laugh. “I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared.”
The confession hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. “I’m a coward,” he finished quietly.
You didn’t hesitate. You moved in front of him and dropped to your knees, the motion quick but deliberate, forcing him to look at you.
“No,” you said firmly.
His eyes flicked up, surprised.
“I have never seen cowardice in you,” you continued, your voice steady despite the intensity in your chest. “Not once.”
“You didn’t see me out there,” he shot back bitterly. “I slammed the brakes like I’d never driven before.”
“I saw you fight to get back on your feet when you couldn’t even stand,” you replied. “I saw you push through pain every single day. I saw you rebuild something you thought you’d lost.”
He shook his head. “That’s different.”
“It’s not,” you insisted. “It’s the same strength.”
He looked away, jaw clenched. “I see fire in you,” you said softly.
His laugh was hollow. “Yeah. I saw fire too, right before i slammed the break.”
You leaned forward slightly, your voice gentler now but no less certain. “You saw it because it scared you. Because you remember what happened. That doesn’t make you weak, it makes you human.”
“I believe in you,” you added quietly. “You’re not going back to who you were before,” you continued. “You’re going to be better. Stronger. You’ve been through something most people wouldn’t survive, and you’re still here.”
You reached for his helmet, which lay discarded beside him, and picked it up. For a moment, you just held it. Then you stood and placed it gently into his hands.
“If you want,” you said softly, “I’ll watch you.”
He stared at the helmet, foreign in your hands, and something shifted in his expression.
He exhaled slowly, then he stood. He didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you for a long second, something unspoken passing between you.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Follow me.”
He held out his hand, and despite everything in your brain telling you not to take it, to turn around and go back to your life, you took it.
🐦🔥.
The pit lane was louder now, harsher after the silence inside.
The entire place felt like a world built on precision and speed, and you stood there, just slightly out of place.
Riki was already back at his car, standing beside it with the helmet in his hands, shoulders squared in a way that looked more like resolve than confidence. Noah had brought it back, parked neatly in the pit box, the red body gleaming under artificial lights as if it had never betrayed him before.
You watched as he slipped the helmet on again, the motion more deliberate this time, less rushed, like he was bracing himself instead of escaping.
As he climbed in, the engine roared back to life, vibrating through the ground beneath your feet.
It startled you slightly, even though you had heard it before ci.
You stayed near the edge of the pit area, unsure where you were allowed to stand, unsure of the invisible rules that seemed to govern everything around you. No one stopped you, but no one acknowledged you either.
So you stayed still..
The car pulled out again, smoother this time, merging back onto the track.
Your hands clasped together unconsciously. You didn’t know how this worked. You didn’t know what you were supposed to look for, what was considered good or bad.
All you knew was him, the way he had looked in that room and the way his voice had broken when he admitted he was afraid.
That was what you were watching for. Not the car, but him.
“Hey.” The voice pulled you out of your thoughts.
You turned, and a tall man stood a few steps away, studying you with mild curiosity.
His posture was relaxed, but there was something sharp in his gaze, something observant.
“Who are you?” he asked suspiciously.
You hesitated for a second, caught off guard. “I— uhm…” you started, suddenly aware of how out of place you must have looked. “I’m with… Riki?”
The sentence came out unsure, like you weren’t entirely certain what you were to him anymore. “And your name?” he asked.
“Y/N, I was his rehab therapist.” you shuffled on your feet awkwardly.
He frowned before recognition burned in his eyes. “So you’re that Y/N.”
“That?” you echoed, confused.
He smiled faintly, extending a hand. “Heeseung.”
You shook it, his grip was warm and firm. You noticed then, the faint scars that wrapped around his neck, peaking out from under the collar of the racing suit.
“Come,” he said, gesturing for you to follow. “You probably shouldn’t just stand there, let’s go watch him.”
You fell into step beside him, weaving through the organized chaos of the pit lane until he led you to a set of monitors set up under a shaded structure.
A man with headphones sat in front of them, eyes glued to the screens while his fingers moving quickly over controls.
“This is where we watch everything,” Heeseung explained, nodding toward the screens. “Positions, speed… well, all the fun stuff.”
You nodded, even though most of it went over your head.
The screens showed Riki’s car from different angles: onboard views, overhead shots with data scrolling alongside in numbers and lines you couldn’t decipher.
“He’s out again,” Heeseung added, glancing at the main monitor.
You leaned slightly closer, your eyes fixed on the moving image.
As the car approached the turn, a simple one, it slowed down until it stopped aburptly.
A frustrated groan came from the man with the headphones. “Again.” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“That’s Jungwon,” Heeseung said quietly to you. “Our radio technician.”
Jungwon leaned forward, pressing a button. “Riki, you need to keep moving.” he said into the mic, his tone controlled but strained.
On the screen, the car stayed still for a beat too long. Heeseung exhaled slowly beside you, but then something shifted in his expression.
He looked at you, then back at the screen and then at you again. “I have an idea,” he said.
Before you could ask what he meant, he reached over and gently, but very decisively, lifted the headphones off Jungwon’s head.
“Hey—!” Jungwon protested immediately, turning around. “What are you doing?”
“Relax,” Heeseung replied easily, already placing the headphones into your hands. “We’re trying something.”
“I need those—”
Heeseung rolled his eyes “You’ll get them back.”
Jungwon looked like he was about to argue more, but Heeseung had already turned his attention to you.
“Talk to him,” he said.
Your eyes widened. “What?”
“Talk to him,” he repeated. “Maybe he needs to hear you.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the headphones. “I don’t know what to say…” you admitted.
Jungwon leaned closer, clearly still annoyed but focused. “Just tell him what I tell you. He’s alone on the track right now, but he needs to keep moving.”
You swallowed, and then you put the headphones on. You pressed the button hesitantly.
“Riki?” you said, your voice softer than expected.
There was a pause, a shaky exhale. “Yes?”
Your chest tightened at the sound of his voice. “I—” you glanced quickly at Jungwon.
“He’s alone,” Jungwon whispered. “Tell him that.”
“You’re the only one on the track,” you said, trying to keep your tone steady. “There’s no one around you. You can take it slow, but you have to keep going.”
“I’m right here,” you added, softer now. “And… I believe in you.”
There was another pause before the engine roared again and the car on the screen began moving.
Your eyes locked onto it, your entire body tense with anticipation.
“Keep your line,” Jungwon murmured beside you. “Keep your line.” you repeated into the mic, your voice steady now.
The car turned, not perfectly, definetly not, but it went over the turn and continued on the track. A breath you didn’t realize you were holding escaped your lips.
“He did it.” Jungwon muttered, almost to himself.
You relayed every instruction Jungwon gave you, about speeds, adjustments and small corrections. Your voice became a thread he could hold onto.
Until finally, he pulled back into the pit boxes.
You removed the headphones slowly, as ykur hands slightly trembled.
Heeseung was already walking toward the car, and you followed, your steps quick despite the lingering uncertainty in your chest.
When his eyes found you, he smiled. He flexed his leg slightly, almost instinctively, as if showing you without needing to say anything.
You stepped closer immediately. “Does it hurt?”
You dropped down slightly, your hands already reaching to check, your instincts taking over.
But he caught your wrist gently. “Hey,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not working right now, remember?”
You blinked, then let out a quiet breath, straightening. “Right.”
Behind him, Heeseung watched the exchange with a knowing look, something almost amused flickering in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, though. He just gave Riki a light pat on the shoulder.
“I’ll give you two a minute.” he said casually, already stepping away.
The space around you shifted again. Riki looked at you for a moment, before speaking “Did you come here with your car?” he asked.
You shook your head. “No, it broke down a few days ago. It’s at the mechanic, but…” You hesitated slightly. “I don’t really have the money to fix it right now. So I took the bus.”
He frowned. “Wait here,” he said suddenly.
Before you could ask anything, he turned and walked back toward the building.
You stayed where you were, confused but oddly calm, watching as he disappeared inside.
A few minutes later, he came back , he had changed out of his racing suit, back in normal clothes and carrying the bag you had brought.
He walked straight to you and without a word, he reached for your hand. His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and steady as if it was a normal thing.
“Come on,” he said.
His car was, well, expensive, here was no other way to describe it. A black, sleek Cadillac. It felt like stepping into a different world entirely as you got in, the interior smelling faintly of leather and. You gave him your address quietly as he started the engine.
You watched the city pass by through the window, the lights beginning to glow as evening settled in. When he pulled up in front of your building, the engine idling softly, neither of you moved immediately.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
He nodded once. “Anytime.”
You reached for the door, then paused.
Before you could overthink it, you leaned slightly toward him and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
You pulled back immediately, your heart racing slightly. “Goodnight, Riki.”
Riki smiled, “Good night, Y/N.”
And he started the engine again only when he was sure you were safe in the house. You knew it because you had peaked from behind the curtain, your heart fluttering.
🐦🔥.
The café wasn’t supposed to be busy, that was part of its charm, the reason people loved it, the reason you had chosen it in the first place.
It was tucked away between two narrow streets, almost hidden unless someone already knew where to look.
The kind of place where regulars came for quiet mornings, where conversations stayed low and unhurried and where the sound of the espresso machine was usually the loudest thing in the room.
But that day, something had shifted.
From the moment you tied your apron and stepped behind the counter, there had been a steady flow of people, the bell above the door chiming over and over until it lost its meaning.
Orders piled up, cups lined the counter, and the air grew thick with the scent of coffee and warm pastries.
You moved quickly and taesan was beside you, just as quick, though less composed.
“What is happening today?” he muttered under his breath as he wiped the counter for the third time in five minutes.
“I don’t know,” you replied, adjusting a cup beneath the espresso machine. “Maybe the world discovered us overnight.”
“Or maybe they’re all lost,” he said dryly.
“I’ll take the orders.” you called, turning toward the tables instead of the counter this time, a small notepad already in your hand.
A man sat near the window. His presence didn’t match the others. While the café buzzed with chatter and movement, he seemed… still.
You approached him anyway. “Good afternoon, what would you like to order?” you asked, your voice professional, neutral.
He lifted his head… and everything in you stilled.
You knew that face. Even partially hidden under the cap, even softened by natural light instead of flashing cameras and polished interviews— you knew it instantly.
Nishimura Riki.
Your eyes widened before you could stop yourself, your breath catching sharply in your throat as recognition hit all at once.
“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear, but loud enough that your own shock echoed in your ears.
“What are you doing here?” You asked, “I never told you the name of the cafe where i work.”
He tilted his head slightly, something almost amused flickering in his eyes. “I have my ways,” he said simply.
You stared at him. “Of course you do.” you replied flatly, trying to regain control of yourself.
“A cappuccino, please.” he said, as if this was a normal interaction, as if he hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere and shattered your sense of order. “With cocoa.”
You scribbled it down mechanically. “Anything else?”
He shook his head.
You nodded once and turned away, your heartbeat still uneven as you walked back behind the counter.
Taesan noticed immediately. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” he said, leaning closer as you set the notepad down.
His gaze went to the man you had just taken the order of, “Oh my God,” Taesan breathed, his voice rising before you could stop him. “Is that—”
You grabbed his arm instantly. “Lower your voice,” you hissed.
His eyes snapped back to you, wide. “That’s Nishimura Riki,” he whispered harshly. “What is he doing here?”
You busied your hands with the coffee machine, focusing on the mechanical process just to ground yourself.
“I don’t know.” you muttered.
“Wait,” he said slowly. “The way he’s looking at you—”
“He’s not looking at me.” You snapped too quickly.
Taesan raised a brow “He is looking at you.”
You ignored him, concentrating on pouring the milk inside the coffee, the steady motion helping you keep your composure.
“You said your rehab client was private,” Taesan continued, his voice dropping into something more curious than teasing. “You never told me who it was.”
You didn’t respond again and that tipped you off.
“It was him!” he said suddenly, realisation hitting him all at once.
Your head snapped toward him. “Shut up,” you snapped under your breath.
He leaned back slightly, stunned. “You kissed Nishimura Riki?”
“If you say his name one more time, I will throw this coffee at you.” you threatened, your voice low and deadly serious.
He raised his hands in surrender, though his expression was still full of disbelief.
You turned back to the counter, finishing the cappuccino with steady hands despite everything swirling inside you. You added the cocoa on top, just like he had asked, the small detail grounding you.
When you brought it to him, the café had shifted.
People had started noticing, a dad was trying to get his kid to get Riki’s autograph, while others had cameras clearly aimed at his face.
He sat there, completely at ease in the attention, as if it were just another part of his day.
It felt strange, seeing him so confident in his own skin.
You placed the mug in front of him. “Cappuccino with cocoa,” you said, your tone carefully neutral.
“Thanks.” he replied, his voice softer than the chaos around you.
You worked through the rest of your shift mechanically, your thoughts circling back to him over and over.
When he finally stood, the movement caught your attention immediately. The limp became less pronounced each time you saw him.
He walked toward the counter. “How much?” he asked.
“Two and thirty.” You replied, typing on the register. “Alright,” he said, reaching in his pocket, “Can I tip?” he added casually.
You hesitated. “Sure.” you said, though something in his tone made you wary.
He pulled out money. Too much money. Way too much. “Take it,” he said.
“No.” you replied instantly, your voice sharper than intended.
“It’s fine.” He said, holding it out for you. “It’s not fine.” You took only what was needed for the cappuccino, pushing the rest back toward him.
“I’m not a charity case.” you said firmly.
His brows furrowed slightly. “I didn’t say you were.”
“Then don’t treat me like one,” you snapped.
“Okay.” He didn’t argue. He just took the money back and left.
The rest of your shift dragged heavy. Your mood lingered somewhere between frustration and something heavier, something harder to define.
Who did he think he was?
You stepped outside for your break, needing air, needing space away from the noise and the constant motion.
The door closed behind you, but it didn’t bring salvation.
Because there Riki was, leaning against his sleek Cadillac parked just outside, his arms crossed loosely and his head tilted slightly as if he had been waiting.
He straightened immediately when he saw you, pushing off the car and jogging the short distance toward you.
“I told you to go away,” you said before he could speak, your voice still edged with irritation. “I’m not working for you anymore.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “Just— hear me out.”
Hesitation flickered in your eyes before sighing, “Fine.”
He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly less composed than he had been inside.
“This is new for me,” he admitted.
You frowned slightly. “What is?”
“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between you. “Feeling like this.”
“I’m good at flirting,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “At being… cocky, at saying the right things. But this?” He shook his head slightly. “This is different.”
You didn’t interrupt, afraid to shatter the vulnerability of the moment.
“The way you make me feel,” he said, meeting your eyes, “it’s not something I know how to handle.”
“I wanted to help you,” he added. “To fix things. To make things easier for you.”
“That’s not your job.” you said.
“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to.”
He took a step closer. “I wanted to take away some of your burdens. That’s why I gave you that money.”
Your jaw clenched slightly as he continued. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”
His voice softened. “I just… wanted you to be okay.” he added more quietly, “Can you let me do that?”
You frowned. “Do what?”
“Take care of you,” he said.
The words were simple, but they carried weight.
“We don’t have to rush anything,” he added quickly. “We can take it slow. Just… see where it goes.”
You looked at him, really looked at him.
At the boy who was so stuck in his own head just months ago. At the boy who blamed himself for something that wasn’t his fault.
At the man Riki had become, not Riki the driver.
“It’s weird hearing you say you don’t want to rush,” you said lightly. “Considering you’re very good with speed.”
He huffed a small laugh. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Guess this is different too.”
You nodded slowly. “Okay,” you said. “I can give you a chance.”
The word hung in the air for a second, and then his hand found your waist. And he kissed you.
This time, there was no hesitation, no interruption. Just warmth and certainty and something that felt… right.
You melted into it for a moment before pulling back slightly. “People might see us.” You murmured.
“I don’t care.” he replied.
And then he kissed you again, your hands grasping his shirt while his fingers pulled you flush against his chest.
When you finally pulled away, with your breath uneven and your heart racing, he smiled faintly.
“I might have done something else that could make you mad.” He announced sheepishly.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “What did you do?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys.
Your breath caught when you recognised them. “No way…”
He held them out. “Your car,” he said simply. “I picked it up from the mechanic. It’s fixed.”
“You’re unbelievable!” you muttered, hitting his arm lightly.
He winced dramatically. “Ow.”
You grabbed the collar of his shirt, kissing him again. You weren’t sure of many things: you didn’t know if you could manage paying rent, or if you could actually make a living with rehab.
You didn’t even know what to eat for breakfast, always debating whether you preferred toast or cereal.
But what you were sure of was that if you gave your heart to this man, he wouldn’t break it.
summary: reader is a uni student in nyc whose life is upended when she travels to brisbane for her nineteenth birthday, where she meets a local boy and a fleeting summer begins to mean more than it should. ⊹ ࣪ ˖
genre: angst · summer romance · ldr · smut ೀ
word count: 7.4k
taglist: status -> {open} comment ᝰ.ᐟ
warnings: angst, argument, degration/praise, dirty talk, edging, emotional conflict, fingering, making out, pet names, p. licking, riding, smut, strong language, tits play, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!) -> MDNI ⸝⸝
⤷ notes: hii, thank you all for the support on my first fanfic. this is a story that sat in my drafts for a month, but i finally finished the first part. i will start working on the second part as well, so i hope it turned out well! 𑣲
──── ୨ৎ ────୨ৎ──── ୨ৎ ────
nineteen birthday.
not special or different. just another number i had somehow ended up inside. it meant nothing for me, but my parents insisted to make it big.
the hum of the airplane was constant, almost calming if i let it be, but my thoughts were still in nyc.
uni, exams, grades and mid-terms.
i lightly pressed my forehead against the window, watching nothing but endless clouds stretch beneath us. the time felt suspended, like i was no longer really in nyc, but not yet anywhere else either.
my mom was next to me scrolling through hotel photos for the tenth time, my dad was reading something he had already read twice, and my little brother kept kicking my seat whenever he got bored. it felt chaotic, but mostly it just felt distant.
“are you excited?” my mom asked suddenly, not looking up from her phone.
i hesitated. “yeah. i guess.” i gave her a small smile. that wasn’t really a lie. it just wasn’t the full truth either. the truth was i didn’t know what i was supposed to feel.
turning eighteen had been scary enough on its own, and now this felt even heavier. more grown-up and real in a way i couldn’t quite explain.
hours blurred together after that, movies i didn’t pay attention to and snacks i ate without tasting. and then, the captain’s voice came through the speakers.
“we are beginning our descent into brisbane.”
something in my chest shifted, i looked out the window again. my birthday was close, too close. the clouds were breaking apart now, revealing a wide stretch of blue underneath. sunlight hit the water in sharp flashes like someone had spilled gold across the ocean.
the airport felt warmer the second we stepped out, not just temperature, everything. the air, the light and even the way people moved. slower and softer. i didn’t feel i belonged here, even if it was only for a week.
my dad handled the luggage while my mom tried to get everyone organized, she always overthought everything. my brother was already complaining about how tired he was, even though he had slept most of the flight.
i followed them through the airport quietly, still half stuck between time zones, until we finally stepped outside. brisbane hit me properly then, the sky was too big. that was the first thing i noticed. bigger than nyc. the roads, the buildings and even the noise. it was nothing compared to the city life. palm trees lined the streets like they belonged there more than anything else ever could. the air smelled different too, it was clean, warm and salty.
our driver was already waiting, holding a sign with our name. it made me smile, because he had written my name wrong. my parents exchanged polite smiles and loaded the luggages into the trunk while i just kept looking around.
“this is just vacation.” i whispered to myself. “you deserve it, just a birthday trip..”
the hotel was worse than i expected, in the best way. not fancy in a cold and untouchable way. just more like, bright and alive.
the lobby was full of natural light, glass walls, and soft music. the kind of place that made you lower your voice without realizing it. our room was on the tenth floor. i was sharing it with my brother, who immediately started jumping on the bed the second we walked in. i stepped out onto the balcony. brisbane stretched out in front of me like a painting. i leaned on the railing and for the first time in a long time, my thoughts finally quieted down.
⸻
my brother’s whining pulled me out of my dreams. my eyes slowly adjusted to the morning light coming through the window. i tilted my head toward my phone to check the time.
06:05.
“fucking hell.” i thought to myself.
“come onnn~” alex started whining. “you promised we were gonna go to the beach to see the sunrise.” he began hitting my shoulder lightly.
“fine, fine.” i groaned as i sat up and pulled out a cute sundress from my luggage. i quickly put it on and tied my hair into a bun with a hair clip, letting a few strands fall loosely on both sides of my face.
“come on, captain.” i smiled at him as we started walking out of the room. i quickly grabbed his hoodie, because i knew he would whine later that the water was too cold for him.
the hallway of the hotel was quiet at this hour. our footsteps echoed against the polished floor as alex walked ahead of me, still half-asleep. i followed him with his hoodie loosely in my hand, the air-conditioning brushing against his bare arms.
when we stepped outside, the warmth hit immediately.
brisbane mornings didn’t feel like nyc mornings. there was no sharp edge to the air, no rushing noise of cars and impatience. just softness and calmness. a slow kind of silence that made everything feel slightly unreal.
alex stretched dramatically beside me. “it better be worth it.” he mumbled.
i smirked. “you’re the one who begged.”
he didn’t argue, just pout. he started walking faster down the path leading away from the hotel. the streets were almost empty. we passed closed cafés, quiet buildings, and palm trees swaying gently. the sky was beginning to change, not fully sunrise yet.
the beach wasn’t far. i could already hear it before i saw it, the steady rhythm of waves.
when we finally reached the sand, alex ran ahead immediately.
“cold, cold, cold— oh my god!” i laughed under my breath, as i watched alex running into the ocean.
the ocean stretched endlessly in front of us, calm but alive, reflecting the sky in broken pieces of gold and blue.
for a moment i just stood there. the noise from uni crept back into my mind.
the constant anxiety and panic i felt before exams. the pressure that always came when i didn’t get the perfect grade i had studied for.
alex was already running into the water, laughing and smiling.
that’s when i noticed a group of local boys sitting a few feet away from me. they were barefoot, shirtless and holding beers in their hands.
“already..?” i whispered under my breath.
they were laughing about something, their swim shorts already damp and their hair wet from the ocean.
one of them bent down, picking up a small stone and tossed it into the water, as he laughed about something.
alex called my name behind me, complaining about the cold again, but i didn’t answer immediately. i jut let him to enjoy the water.
alex was still half-dramatically suffering in the shallow water when he suddenly decided that it was my time.
“wait- alex, please don’t run-“ i yelled after him, but it was too late.
he took off across the sand, small feet kicking up grains as he laughed to himself, completely ignoring me calling after him.
“alex!”
i started running after him, but he was fast in his chaotic, five-year-old way where every direction looks like a good idea. he ran straight toward the group of boys further down the beach.
“alex, stop- !”
and then it just happened. he bumped straight into one of them. not hard enough to knock anyone over, just enough to make the boy shift his weight and look down in surprise.
alex just looked up at him with his innocent eyes. i reached for him a second later, slightly out of breath, but he was already running back to the water like nothing happened.
“i’m so sorry, he just ran off, i swear he didn’t mean-“
“it’s fine.” the boy cut in easily, voice calm. i finally looked up properly, and for a second, i forgot what i was going to say.
he had that kind of presence that didn’t feel loud. the sunlight caught slightly in his black hair, and he looked like he had been there forever. his skin was sun-kissed, his hair slightly messy and still wet from the ocean. he had really pretty brown eyes that made you forget where you even were.
“look, i’m really sorry.” i said again, softer this time.
he shook his head. “you don’t need to keep apologising.”
“i’m y/n.” i said quietly after a moment.
he nodded once, like he was remembering it. “i’m jaeyun.” he said. “but my friends call me jake.”
i looked back to alex to check if he was still alive.
jake broke the silence first.
“so.” he said lightly, glancing toward alex for a second before looking back at me, “you’re here on holiday? i have never seen you here before.”
i nodded. “yeah with my family.”
“from…?”
“new york” i said quietly.
he raised his eyebrows slightly, like that actually surprised him. “long way.” he said finally. “i was born and raised here.” a small smirk tugged at his lips, the kind that would probably make most girls weak in their knees.
“yeah” i let out a small breath. “it’s a birthday trip.”
“oh?” there was a faint curiosity in his voice. “happy birthday then.”
i blinked a little. “it’s not my birthday yet, but soon.”
behind me, alex suddenly shouted something about a wave, completely breaking the tension between us.
jake glanced past me, a small half-smile on his face.
“he seems energetic.”
i let out a short laugh. “that’s one word for it, his name is alex.”
“alex.” he repeated. “he’s fun.”
i looked over my shoulder for a second, watching alex dramatically fall into the water again.
“you don’t really seem like a morning beach person.” he said suddenly.
i smiled. “you’re right about that. i have to wake up early for uni every morning, so i was hoping i would get a bit of a break.” i gestured toward alex. “but apparently not.”
jake nodded as his friends called his name. the sun caught on his sharp jawline as he turned toward them for a second.
my eyes lingered a little too long, over his sun-kissed skin, the way his hair was still damp, his lips soft but plump, his sharp edged nose that made me a bit too wet in my panties. eventually he turned back to me.
“i have to go now, but tomorrow same spot? i will show you the beach’s secret places.” he asked, as he was already walking back to his friends.
i nodded, as my eyes focused on his bare chest, but before my thoughts could get any more dirty, he called out once more.
“by the way, pretty dress.” he added, pointing briefly at my cream-white sundress with delicate pink flowers on it.
⸻
the next morning felt different, i woke up with a rush of anxiety, but a good kind. his smile was still a fresh memory in my mind. i looked over to alex, and smiled as i saw he was still asleep.
“sleep tight, captain.” i kissed his forehead.
i ran a hand through my hair, trying to ignore how aware i suddenly felt of the time, silence and the fact that i was actually getting ready for someone. i slipped into the bathroom, made a soft makeup then put my hair again into a loose bun with a hair clip.
i put on my cute little pink bikini top and bottoms, then searched for a white long skirt to wear over it, just until i walked down to the beach.
the beach was quieter and softer than yesterday. the sky was still in that in-between state, pale and unfinished, like it hadn’t fully decided what kind of morning it wanted to be.
the ocean felt like a comfort, the sound of my footsteps in the sand and the ocean pulling me closer.
my eyes immediately searched for him, and there he was, his hair was wet again from the ocean, standing near the water, like he hadn’t left since yesterday.
his head turned slightly, eyes landing on me almost instantly. a small smile appeared on his lips.
“thought you wouldn’t come.” he said with his morning voice.
“hi.” i smiled as i moved closer, to gave him a shoulder hug.
shit. i thought it in myself, as i felt how masculine one of his biceps was.
“you came alone today.” he added, glancing briefly behind me.
“yeah.” i said. “alex’s still asleep.”
“shame.” he said lightly. “i was starting to like him.”
“i thought myself is enough.” i smiled, as i give him a shoulder bump.
jake nodded, then tilted his head slightly toward the water. “more than enough.
“come on.” he said. “i told you i would show you something.”
we walked along the shoreline, away from where we had met yesterday. the sand felt softer and more untouched.
jake slowed down after a while, stopping near a stretch of rocks slightly hidden from the main beach.
“here.” he said simply.
“wow.” i looked around. the waves moved differently here. they rolled in quietly, breaking against the rocks instead of crashing, like the whole place existed on a lower volume than the rest of the world.
the water looked clearer here, catching the early sunlight in slow, golden reflections that shimmered across the surface.
“how do you even find places like this?” i asked quietly.
he shrugged. “grew up here, dummy.”
i smiled. “already a nickname?”
he smiled, as he stepped closer to the water, letting it brush over his feet.
“come on.” he smiled as he hold his hand out to me.
i glanced back at him, as i took his hand. his hand was warm, bigger than mine. it closed around mine easily, like it had always been meant to fit there, calm and unbothered. “it’s cold.” i said, as i walked more into the water.
he tilted his head slightly. “you will survive.”
i let out a small breath, then took another step forward, letting the water reach my ankles. i hesitated for another second, then walked in further, the water slowly rising, wrapping around my legs.
he stepped into the water without any hesitation. no reaction or flinch.
“show off.” i mumbled.
he moved a little closer, the water shifting around us.
a small wave rolled in stronger than the others. i stepped back instinctively, losing my balance for a second as the sand shifted beneath my feet.
“wait-“ i touched jake’s hand.
before i could fully react, i slipped slightly forward, and then his hand caught my waist, as he pulled me closer. he stepped closer without hesitation, holding me in place before i could fall completely.
“careful.” he said with calm voice.
i blinked, suddenly aware of him how close he was, how easily he moved, how my balance had just completely depended on him for a second.
“thanks.” i said as i steadied myself, but he didn’t let me go immediately.
“you sure?” he asked, quieter now.
i nodded, finally meeting his eyes.
“yeah.”
then his grip loosened slowly, like he was making sure i really had my balance back before stepping away.
the water moved around us again, like nothing had happened, but my thoughts didn’t. i looked down at the water.
it felt like a beginning.
⸻
over the next two days, everything started to blur together in the softest way.
my parents let me to spend time with jake, while they explored the city with my little brother.
jake showed me parts of brisbane i would have never found on my own, small streets tucked away from the city noise, quiet cafés near the water, and hidden spots along the coast where the ocean felt calmer, like it was keeping secrets. it felt like he knew the city in a way that wasn’t just familiarity, but belonging.
he grew up here, i learned slowly, in between conversations and short silences that didn’t feel awkward anymore. brisbane wasn’t just where he lived, it was part of him.
we talked more than i expected to. about small things, mostly. about nothing important, which somehow started to feel important anyway.
i glanced at him for a second. “so… what do you actually study?”
he looked over at me like he was thinking how to answer. “business.” he said after a moment. “pretty boring, i know.”
i shook my head. “it’s not boring.” i smiled. “you have to be smart to get the chance to study that major.”
that made him raise his eyebrows slightly.
“it’s just what i’m doing for now.” he added with a small smirk. “not sure it’s what i will do forever though.”
“really?” i asked.
“yeah.” he said simply. “i don’t really like the idea of planning everything too strictly. feels like you miss stuff that way.”
i looked down at the sand for a second, kicking it lightly. “that’s kind of nice actually.”
he glanced at me. “you think so?”
“i don’t know,” i admitted. “ i feel like i’m always planning everything. uni, grades, what comes next.”
jake nodded like he agreed. “yeah, i get that. but I think there’s more than just that.”
i looked at him. “like what?”
he thought for a second, his eyes on the ocean. “traveling maybe. living somewhere else for a while. just seeing what’s out there.”
“have you never traveled to other countries?”
he shook his head.
“you will get the chance to travel, i know it” i said quietly.
he smiled a little. “yeah, it feels exciting to think about my future.”
he turned his head slightly toward me. “what about you?”
i hesitated. “i don’t think i have ever thought about it like that, for now i’m studying communication… but it doesn’t really feel like my path.”
on one of those nights, he paid for dinner before i could even argue. i remember the way he just handed the money over like it was nothing, like it was normal for him to do things without making them a big deal. i remember telling him he didn’t have to, and him just shrugging like it wasn’t worth discussing.
and then tuesday night came.
we ended up back at the beach.
the same place, but different somehow, quieter, darker, the waves less playful and more steady.
we didn’t talk much at first. there wasn’t really a need to, but i saw how he glanced at me when he thought i wasn’t paying attention.
i broke the silence.
“it feels different at night.” i said quietly.
jake nodded. “yeah. it’s my favourite time here.”
“why?”
he thought for a second. “feels like the world finally shuts up.”
i let out a soft laugh at that. “that’s a way to put it.”
“you know.” he said slowly. “i don’t usually bring people here.”
i turned my head toward him. “why me then?”
the air felt heavy in a way i couldn’t explain, like everything between us had been building up to that exact moment without either of us saying it out loud.
when he finally looked at me fully, it didn’t feel like the first time anymore. his hand gently brushed against my cheek, it was warm, comforting and safe. a safeness i never wanted it to end.
“let me show you, pretty..” he murmured under his breath.
i smiled shyly as i immediately looked away.
“come on~” he said softly, a faint smirk on his lips. “let me see you.” his hand gently turned my face towards his. he leaned in closer, close enough that i could feel his breath against my lips. my eyes met his warm brown eyes, searching like he was trying to read something he hadn’t figured out yet. then he leaned down hesitantly to connect our lips together.
it wasn’t heavy or fast, he gave me time to adjust, not rushing a single second. he didn’t pick up the pace, he just stayed there to savour every moment and etch it into his memory.
it felt like something that had already started long before either of us noticed.
the conversation naturally came after the kiss. small and random things, things that didn’t matter but still felt like they did.
at some point, jake pulled out his phone.
“do you have instagram?” he asked.
i blinked slightly. “yes.”
he nodded once. “let me see.”
i hesitated for a second, then handed him my phone after opening it.
he took it without rushing, thumbs moving slowly as he searched. the sunlight caught on his jaw again.
“got it.” he said quietly after a moment.
then he passed it back to me.
his profile had already popped up on my phone.
@jake.sim
simple, 856 followers, friends from uni.
a few posts, mostly photos of the ocean, streets at night and blurry sunsets. some selfies of him, in the gym. biceps and abs flexing.
his profile picture was simple. just him, half-turned toward the camera, sunlight on his face, expression calm like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone, but he already impressed me.
“bold.” i said as i smirked.
when i opened mine for him, i could feel his eyes briefly flick over the screen.
@your.name
private but a little more chaotic than his. 200 followers.
soft aesthetic posts, random photos from nyc, coffee cups, blurred party pictures with my friends, mirror selfies in bold outfits that weren’t meant to be posted, but somehow it ended up on my instagram. a mix of everything, a life that didn’t feel fully still in one place.
my profile picture was messy too. smiling, slightly messy hair with a drunk expression.
jake nodded slightly as he focused his eyes more on the pictures where i wore revealing clothes.
“you party a lot? he asked.
i nodded. “in new york everyone goes to parties.”
he nodded. “i didn’t know you’re this wild.”
“if you ever come to new york, you can come with me and i show you.” i smiled.
he smiled. “i will visit you.”
“promise?”
he nodded. “yes, i promise.”
his phone lit up.
june 2 - 00:00, wednesday
“happy birthday, dummy.” then he connected our lips again.
⸻
i looked down at my phone.
no notifications from jake.
june 2 — 18:34, thursday.
for a second, i just stared at the screen, like if i looked long enough something would appear out of nowhere. his name or a message, but the display stayed the same quiet and blank.
i locked the phone and set it aside, forcing myself to breathe normally.
it was my birthday.
i should have feel happy.
the hotel restaurant was warmer at night, lit up with soft golden lights that made everything feel softer than reality. the kind of place where even silence didn’t feel uncomfortable, just soft background music and the clinking of glasses.
my family was already there when i arrived.
“happy birthday!” my mom said immediately, standing up to hug me before i even properly reached the table.
“thanks.” i smiled.
my dad followed with a small smile, the kind he always had when he was trying to make a moment feel important without overdoing it.
my brother, of course, didn’t wait.
“finally” he said. “cake time.”
i let out a small laugh. “typical.”
slipping into my seat as everyone greeted me at once. it felt warm and safe in a way i didn’t always notice until i was far away from it.
the table was already full, plates of food we definitely didn’t need, glasses of juice and champagne, little details my mom had probably overthought earlier in the day without telling anyone.
“thank you, mom.” leaning in to kiss her cheek.
my dad asked me how was my day with jake, i answered automatically, saying it was “good.” even though my mind felt split in half.
one part was here.
the other… somewhere else entirely.
my brother kept talking about the beach like it was the most important thing in the world, interrupting himself mid-sentence to steal bread from the basket again.
“stop eating before cake.” my mom warned him.
“i’m preparing.” he said seriously.
i smiled, but it felt slightly delayed, like my face was catching up to the moment a little too slowly.
after dinner, they brought out the cake.
it wasn’t huge or extravagant, just simple with candles placed on top, flickering gently under the warm light. my name written in icing that wasn’t perfectly centered. but it didn’t need to be perfect.
my mom clapped her hands lightly. “okay, birthday girl. make a wish.”
i hesitated.
the room got quieter in that soft way it does when everyone is waiting for a moment to mean something. i looked at the candles. the small flames blurred slightly in my vision. it felt stupidly hard to choose one.
because anything i thought of immediately led back to something i didn’t want to admit out loud. i had feeling for jake. i didn’t know if he felt the same, and it scared me. something i had only known for a few days, but somehow already took up too much space in my head.
so i closed my eyes anyway. and wished for something i couldn’t name, then i blew out the candles.
applause filled the table, my mom smiling proudly, my dad nodding like the moment had gone exactly how it was supposed to, my brother already asking when he could have cake.
they poured champagne after that, alcohol was never my kind of fun, but i wanted to drink my feelings away.
my mom raised her glass first.
“to you.” she said softly, smiling at me like she was trying to remember every version of me at once.
“to you.” my dad repeated.
my brother lifted his glass too, slightly clumsy. “to cake.”
that made me laugh for real this time.
we finally ate cake that was too sweet and too soft and somehow still perfect in its own way. it was a chocolate chip cake, that was my dream cake since i was five. the conversation moved around us, travel plans, funny stories, things my brother interrupted with random comments that made everyone laugh.
my hand kept drifting toward my phone under the table without me thinking about it.
i told myself i wasn’t expecting anything.
i told myself i didn’t care, but every vibration that wasn’t jake felt louder than it should have.
and i smiled anyway, because i didn’t know what else to do with the feeling sitting quietly in my chest.
eventually i told my parents i want to go upstairs, because i felt tired.
my mom barely looked up, still smiling from the dinner table. “don’t stay up too late, okay?”
“i won’t.” i said with with a smile.
my dad just nodded, already half-distracted by something my brother was saying. my brother didn’t even notice, me he was too busy trying to steal the last piece of cake when he thought no one was looking.
i gave them one last small smile, then stepped away from the table.
the elevator ride up felt slower than usual.
each number lighting up on the panel felt louder in my head than it should have. the soft hotel music, the quiet hum of movement, everything felt heavy, like i was moving through something i couldn’t quite name yet.
when the doors opened on my floor, the hallway was almost empty. i walked towards my room slowly, i felt exhausted mentally and physically, i just wanted to sleep it off.
i turned the key in the room’s door, and as i looked up i saw jake.
“happy birthday, sweet girl.” he said before i could even step into my hotel room. jake was sitting in one of the expensive armchairs, like he belonged there. he was manspreaded, wearing a white button-up shirt with a few buttons already undone.
his hair was styled in a way that made my breath catch for a second. in his other hand, he held a small gift bag.
i stopped for a moment. “how did you even-?”
“i asked.” he gave me a small smirk. “your brother told me which floor.”
my smile widened. “i didn’t think you would come.”
“why wouldn’t i?” he asked with a smirk. eventually i moved closer to him. his free hand pulled me between his legs by my waist. i settled down on his thighs, as i put my legs around his waist.
“you really came just to say happy birthday..?” i asked quietly.
“i won’t miss my favourite girl’s birthday.” he brushed his lips against my jaw.
“i saw alex is still with your parents so we could have a bit fun.” he said, as his hand already moved to take my sweater down.
i stopped his hand for a moment, but the puppy eyes he gave me, immediately softened my thoughts down.
his hands gently pulled my sweater over my neck, and tossed it away. his lips immediately brushed against my neck and collarbone.
“what a pretty girl.” he smirked against my skin as he kissed my neck with open mouth kisses. “fucking gorgeous.”
he continued his way down to my bra. “can i..?” he looked me up to me with those soft eyes again.
i looked down as i brushed my fingers against his cheek. i leaned down to hover over his lips, but before i could lean closer he captured my lips in a hungry kiss, his tongue immediately pushed deep, claiming my mouth like it was air for him. his arms wrapped around my waist,
holding me close like he couldn’t bare the thought me being away from him.
jake broke the kiss, as he painted against my lips breathlessly. “i can’t wait anymore. i fucking need you. i need to taste you, to feel your cunt clinging around my fingers. mhm.. pretty please.” i nodded to him, as he picked me up and walked over to the bed to toss me on it.
he hovered over me, his hands already working between my back, to unfasten my bra. “fuck..” he let out a breath while his hands cupped my breasts, weighing them in his palms, his thumbs brushing over my nipples circling and teasing in a way that made my back arch.
“mhm.. jake..” i let out a soft moan.
he leaned down to capture one of my nipples between his lips, worshipping the sensitive peak. his tongue swirled around it, as i moaned his name.
“mhm.. i’m so lucky..” he murmured against my skin as he trailed his fingers along my inner thighs, towards my already drenched panties.
“already so wet for me” he smirked, as he pulled my panties aside to draw circles on my clit.
“aahh.. jaeyun” i arched my back.
“already moaning my full name?” he smirked. “we just only started it.”
his fingers found my wet folds as he parted them slightly. “gorgeous.” he whispered, as he pushed two fingers knuckles deep into my cunt.
a low moan escaped from my lips. “shit..”
he curved his fingers towards my sweet spot, as he scissored his index and middle finger. i arched my back more as i chased my own orgasm. “yeah.. jake there.” i moaned. he edged a bit to watch my reaction, then eventually let me fell apart.
“pretty.. i need you.” he let his hard length slip free from his boxer. “this.” he pointed to his dick, as he gave a few stroke to it with his lazy hand. “this is already hard for you.” he started rubbing his cock between my wetness.
“come on, gorgeous.” jake laid down to the bed. grabbed my hips to slowly guide me onto his cock. i let out a loud moan, as i slowly let him to go inside me.
“yes.. angel, there.” he said as he started slowly trusting into me, his hand grabbed my hips to guide me and meet me hallway.
“mm.. jake there.” i moaned, as i picked up the pace, my hands grabbed his biceps to feel some safeness. his hands grabbed my ass, to make me feel every inch of him. my hands tried to search his to find some comfort but eventually i gave up, as his cock hit my sweet spot.
“aahh.. jake please.” i begged as i arch my back, one of his hands flew to my ribs to grab me and keep me there.
“yes.. angel, don’t slow down.” he continued guide me towards our orgasm. “mhm.. good girl.”
“mhm.. yes.. yes..” i moaned loud as jake came inside me. my body fell against his, to catch my breath.
“that was…” i started saying with a smile.
jake shook his head lightly, already standing up like his skin was burned by fire. he was already putting his shirt back on. “it was nothing.”
the words hit harder than they should have. “nothing?” i repeated.
jake looked away for a second, jaw tightening slightly. “yeah. i mean-“ he let out a short breath. “you’re leaving anyway.”
“that doesn’t make it nothing. i thought we had sex because-“
“no!” he said it louder than he wanted to. “it was a birthday sex, okay? nothing more.”
“it meant nothing because i’m leaving?”
he laughed under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “you’re making it into something it’s not or you’re clinging this hard to everyone who fucked you? or are you just this fucking stupid?”
“geez, why are you so rude..?” i asked quietly.
jake shook his head again, softer now but more distant. “look, we fucked, you’re good in bed, that’s it. you will fly back to new york, so there’s nothing else to talk about. please don’t be pathetic, be lucky i put up with you.” he looked to me. “and geez- stop being so clingy in bed.”
that was it.
that was the moment it actually hurt.
“maybe it was just sex” i said quietly. “or maybe you’re scared to feel anything real.”
“don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“make this into something it’s not.” he repeated.
“why are you acting like these days meant nothing for you?” i yelled.
jake let out a chuckle with a smirk. “angel, we met like five days ago. you were good for sex but don’t overthink it. i do relationships but not long distance ones.” he packed his stuff and tossed the birthday gift to my bed. “it’s just a necklace, my mom told me to give it to you. don’t worry i didn’t spend any money on you.”
then he left like he was never there.
⸻
the next morning i didn’t feel like getting out of my bed. my mind kept replying the argument over and over.
what went wrong?
we had just started to get to know each other so well. he had been so gentle with me then he dropped everything like it meant nothing for him. like giving my body to him after only a few days we met meant nothing. he treated me like i was a cheap whore, threw me away after he got what he wanted.
i was sitting on the floor with alex, half-playing, half-listening as he kept talking about something i wasn’t really paying attention to.
a toy car rolled across the floor between us.
“watch this.” he said. completely focused, like it was the most important thing in the world.
i nodded slowly, pushing it back to him.
my mind was still stuck on earlier, the argument, the way his voice sounded.
i pressed my lips together slightly, trying to focus on alex instead.
“hey, you’re not even looking.” he complained.
“i am.” i said quickly. “go again.”
before he could respond, the door opened.
my mom stepped inside, already talking.
“so-” she started speaking then stopped when she saw us on the floor. “what are you two doing?”
“playing.” alex answered immediately.
she looked… excited, it was suspicious.
“we’re going out for dinner tonight.” she said. already walking further into the room.
“we actually met a really nice family here, and we have been talking the past few days and they invited us to join them for dinner.”
i frowned. “what family?”
she smiled. like it was nothing. “the sim family. the boy you have been spending time with- jake, right?”
for a second, i thought i had heard it wrong. there was no way my parents had met the boy’s parents who just broke my heart.
“what?” i asked.
“they’re really kind.” she went on.
“we ran into them a few times, started talking, and it just happened. small world, right?”
i just stared at her. “you’re kiddin with me, right?”
my mom shook her head. “don’t be so grumpy y/n.”
“you’re friends with his parents?” i asked slowly.
“well, i wouldn’t say friends.” she laughed lightly.
“but we get along. they’re lovely.”
“lovely my ass..” i muttered under my breath. i didn’t understand it. how had i missed this chapter? i hadn’t known. not once had jake mentioned it, or said that our two separate worlds had already connected like that.
“dinner’s at seven.” my mom added.
“so start getting ready, okay?”
she turned and walked back out like it was the most normal thing in the world.
alex looked at me. “what’s wrong?”
“play.” i said quickly and pointed to the toys.
i stood up, brushing my hands against my legs and started pacing around without realizing it. out of all people, of everywhere, or every possible situation.. this.
“i don’t want to go.” i muttered under my breath.
eventually i dragged myself to the bathroom.
i stood in front of the mirror for a long moment before actually starting to get ready. i watched my face in the mirror.
“why life hates me so much..?” i murmured.
my reflection felt unfamiliar, even on my face you could see how uncomfortable i was with this situation but my mom still insisted that we go.
i exhaled quietly and reached for my dress.
the fabric slipped through my fingers as i pulled it on. it was a cream satin midi dress. the material catching the light in a subtle glow every time i moved. it fit perfectly. the dress hugged my waist, tucked just enough to shape everything without feeling tight and giving me a silhouette that looked more put together than i felt.
the neckline dipped into a soft sweetheart shape. it was held up by thin spaghetti straps that rested lightly on my shoulders.
i turned slightly, looking at myself from the side, for a second i didn’t recognize the girl staring back.
i reached for my heels next. a pair i hadn’t worn yet on this trip. slipping them on made me stand a little taller, even if it was just physically.
i fixed my hair after, letting a few strands fall naturally around my face.
my fingers paused for a second as i reached for my phone again.
no notifications.
“just survive it..” i whispered, as i followed my parents out of the door.
we arrived at the restaurant just as the sky was starting to darken and the city lights reflecting softly against the glass windows.
the place looked elegant, too elegant for me.
warm lights, quiet conversations and the soft clink of glasses. it felt like one of those places where everything was supposed to go smoothly.
i followed my parents inside, my heels clicking lightly against the floor as my hand brushed against the fabric of my dress with every step.
jake was already there with his parents.
he was dressed differently than i had ever seen him before.
a black suit, clean and fitted, sitting perfectly on his broad shoulders like it was made for him. the fabric was smooth, sharp in contrast to the softness i was used to seeing on him at the beach.
a white dress shirt underneath, slightly undone at the collar, like he hadn’t bothered to make it perfect.
and of course a tie loosened just enough to make it look effortless rather than formal.
he looked older, more put together and distant.
i looked away a bit to bite my knuckles to stop myself from letting out a moan, because fuck.. my panties were already soaked. he was extremely attractive in that suit.
i turned back to them and in that exact moment, his eyes lifted and met mine.
i saw his eyes roaming over my dress and body, he let out a small cough as he turned back to his parents.
i followed my parents to the table. jake pulled out my chair for me. i saw the look his dad gave him so i knew it, it was out of courtesy.
“thanks.” i said automatically.
he nodded, then sat next to me.
the tension between us was so uncomfortable that even a blind person could feel we had argued.
his parents were already talking to mine like nothing had ever happened, like two families meeting was completely normal.
“i’m so glad we could do this.” jake’s mom said kindly.
my mom smiled. “it really has been a beautiful trip.”
i nodded politely, hands fidgeting in my lap.
“did you two manage to see much of brisbane together?” his mom asked casually.
i felt my stomach tighten, but i nodded. “yes, he showed me around a bit.”
jake finally spoke. “just a few places.”
my mom said. “y/n told us about a pretty secret spot jake had found for them.”
i nearly choked on my food. “he definitely find his way to my secret spot, in my pussy.” i thought, but i nodded.
“yes, it was beautiful.”
the waiter came, interrupting the moment to place down the dishes.
i took a sip of water just to have something to do.
“so what’s next for you, jake?” my dad asked.
jake leaned back slightly. “Uni.” he manspreaded.
“fucking bastard..” i murmured under my breath.
“what are you studying again?” my mom asked.
“business.”
“that’s impressive.” she replied. “very practical.”
“he is a smart guy.” his mom replied.
“it’s fine.” jake exhaled. “i don’t really think about it too much.”
“and you’re heading back tomorrow?” jake’s dad asked me again.
“yes” i said. “early flight.”
“that’s always the hardest part.” jake’s mom said kindly. “leaving somewhere you have just started to settle into.”
my dad nodded. “that’s life, i suppose.”
we finished dinner slowly, like no one really wanted to be the first to say it was over.
the conversations softened into final words and small gestures of “it was nice meeting you” and “we should do this again sometime.”
i stood up with my parents, smoothing down my dress without thinking.
“thanks you for dinner.” my mom said warmly. “it was really lovely.”
“of course.” his mom replied, smiling. “it was so nice meeting you properly.”
my dad shook jake’s hand, then his dad’s. “take care.”
my brother already distracted again, waved quickly before going back to my mom.
“thank you.” i said softly.
“safe travels tomorrow.” his mom said finally.
we turned away to leave as i slightly turned back towards jake.
he had already been looking at me.
i hold his gaze, silently asking with my eyes. “that’s it?”
his gaze didn’t move away immediately, but his dad snapped him out of his thoughts, and the connection broke before either of us could hold onto it any longer.
⸻
the airport felt louder than it should have been. it was 5 am and still it felt too alive.
announcements echoing through the high ceilings and people moving in every directions.
my family walked beside me. my dad handling the luggage, my mom checking the documents one last time even though she had already checked them ten times before and my brother dragging his feet slightly.
we reached the gate slowly and joined the small crowd already waiting to board.
i held my phone in my hand the entire time. hoping for something i knew wouldn’t happen.
eventually we found our seats on the airplane.
i sat down next to my mom, pressing my forehead against the window. for a moment i just stared outside.
i looked down at my phone and opened our chat.
my fingers hovered over the screen.
then i typed the message.
“you promised me you will visit me in nyc.”
i turned my phone over in my hand and switched it to airplane mode.
genre: academic rivals to lovers, rich jay au, university au, angst, slow burn
part one word count: 19.6k
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
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: Well it looks like two part fics are just my thing now so I hope that’s alright with youuuuu. This one is a rollercoaster of angst but also hopemaxxing and optimismmaxxing and yes, eventually lovemaxxing so I hope you enjoy!! Do note the tags for triggers, but don’t let the angst scare you I’m too much of a baby to write anything with a sad ending. Also, younger uni track star Jungwon is still in the works and in the drafts I just needed a quick change of pace after writing so much for him lately. And finally, FIRST STLLMNSTR JAY FIC!!!! EVERYBODY CHEEREDDDDDD
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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.
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The back of Park Jongseong’s head is almost as annoying as the rest of him.
Haloed in a well-kept array of perfectly styled dark hair, it currently blocks your view of the last slide in today’s lecture. Eyes tracing the perfectly mussed strands, you can’t help but roll your eyes.
It’s an illusion of a carefree nature you know Park Jonseong certainly does not possess. Every strand of hair, down to the very last follicle is exactly where he wants it to be, no matter how hard he tries to pretend like it was nothing but a few strokes of his fingers and the grace of the light afternoon breeze.
You scoff. As if that control freak would leave anything up to the whims of nature. You’ve seen his planner, even if only in passing. And by accident, of course.
Filled to the brim with reminders and deadlines and memos, all etched in his infuriatingly neat handwriting, you doubt he’s ever left anything up to chance.
You’d admire the incessant diligence if it came from anyone else. Or at least, you’d respect it. But with Jongseong, or Jay as he insists on being called, you can only resent it.
Every minute he dedicates to his own meticulousness is only another hour you have to spend studying. Writing. Editing. Practicing. Perfecting your own work and hoping the final result looks half as effortless as his.
Effortless. That word tastes more bitter on your tongue than it has any right to. But it’s hard not to resent someone that was handed everything on a silver platter and loves to dangle it just out of your reach.
Park Jongseong. He’s the only son and surefire heir to the conglomerate his father has been grooming him to run since he could check boxes on a spreadsheet. Part of you wonders if his enrollment in university is just for show. Surely there’s nothing he could learn from a bachelor’s in business that he didn’t learn on his father’s lap at the age of ten. That only makes you even angier.
Mentally, you begin to sift through the day’s to-do list.
Finish econ homework. Assign roles for your insurance law midterm project. Email your marketing professor for a finalized version of the midterm schedule. Send it to your manager at the cafe so he doesn’t schedule any overlapping shifts. Call your mom. Text Sunoo back. Make sure this month’s stipend didn’t get blocked during transfer again. Ask Kaia if she got an update from the landlord about next year’s rent increase.
The longer the list extends, the more the words start to swim in your mind. The sound of your professor’s voice begins to lose its sharpness. It fades to a lulling wave before it disappears entirely, replaced by a sudden ringing in your ears.
Your vision starts to swim, too. Blinking, you try to clear the black spots that suddenly halo Jay’s head. Quickly, the effort begins to strain. Screwing your eyes shut, you lower your head, hoping it will ease the sudden nausea beginning to rise from the pit of your stomach.
Your skin feels hot. Too hot. Sweat beads at your temple as you fight the urge to be sick.
Not on the laptop, you pray. Even through the haze in your mind, you’re well aware of just how many notes and assignments you would lose if your laptop died. Never mind the fact that you wouldn’t be able to afford a replacement for at least five months, and even that leaves no room for error in your finances or emergency spending.
Palm supporting the weight of your clammy forehead, the ringing in your ears sharpens to something piercing. You can feel your consciousness slipping, thoughts fading as soon as they come.
The urge to be sick is still there, but it’s distant now, fading into some corner of your mind that you can’t quite access.
I’m not going to puke, you realize. But I am about to pass out.
Forcing breath in through your nose, you feel your heartbeat pounding in your throat. It echoes between your ears as you do your best to hold onto your last threads of coherence.
You think you hear your name, maybe, somewhere in the distance. Grinding your teeth, you do your best to focus on it. Reach out like it’s a lifeline pulling you through the waves.
You hear it again, louder this time. You’re closer. The nausea has faded now, more of a mild discomfort than an imminent threat. The vertigo that sent your mind swooping is calming to a gentle rock.
Hesitantly, you try opening your eyes, just barely. The bottom of your keyboard looks back at you, blurry through your eyelashes.
Again, you hear the sound of your name. Only this time, it’s clear enough to realize that it’s not a figment of your imagination.
Too quickly, you lift your head, opening your eyes fully. Doing your best not to wince at the sudden movement, you suppress the sudden chill that traces your spine in a shiver.
Sat halfway up the bowl of the lecture hall, you meet your professor’s eyes. Your face, previously clammy, suddenly feels impossibly warm as you realize nearly everyone in the lecture hall has their eyes locked on you too.
Their expressions are a mix of concern and confusion. You can’t decide which one is worse.
Pointedly, you avoid the weight of the stare coming from directly in front of you. The last thing you want to know is how Park Jongseong is looking at you right now. Because he is.
You can feel it, the heaviness of his lingering gaze. What expression does he have? Is he confused like the rest of them? Or maybe his eyes are full of nothing but contempt, a sick sense of vindication at your humiliation.
You did just barely edge him out of the top score on last week’s econ quiz, after all. Maybe he’s been praying for a moment like this. Karmic justice for taking what he must be sure is rightfully his.
Or, worst of all, his eyes could be shrouded in sympathy. Worry. A reminder that no matter how many sleepless nights you spend studying and extra shifts you pick up just to afford the used versions of the pristine, brand new textbooks he arranges on his bookshelf, you will always be nothing to him.
Not a threat, even if your GPA rivals his. Not competition, even though the two of you are always fighting for the last word in class discussions.
You’re just another student. A girl whose place in the lecture hall behind him is funded by scholarships he’s never had to think twice about. A business major who studies the field and knows that ultimately, connections are the only thing that make your name worth anything in this cutthroat industry.
It doesn’t matter how many networking functions you attend, how many professors you build relationships with, and how much of your own blood, sweat, and tears you pour into this.
The blazer you found on clearance with loose threads and a stubborn wrinkle that your old iron can never seem to entirely erase will never turn heads the way his limited edition, perfectly pressed designer brand suits do.
The name your parents gave you, will love and consideration and pride, will never hold the same weight, the same value, as Park Jongseong.
“I—” you try, but your voice comes out dry, scratched raw. Forcing down a reluctant swallow and hoping your humiliation goes down with it, you try again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the question. Could you repeat it?”
Your professor hesitates for a moment, frowning. Eventually, she says, “That’s alright. We’re just about out of time actually.”
You glance at the clock. Class isn’t scheduled to finish for another eight minutes. And Professor Jung never ends early. Ever.
Addressing the entire hall now, she adds, “Don’t forget that this semester, we’ll be doing an exam and a project for your midterm. Again, my recommendation is that you find someone to partner with for the project. It’s extensive, and I designed it intending for the work to be split between two people. I won’t stop you if you choose to work alone, but the deadline will come sooner than you think. Finalize your plans and topic now, and send me an email or come see me at office hours if you have any questions. I’ll see you all next time.”
With her reminders, students begin to shift, gathering their things as a few glance around in disbelief at the early dismissal. Thankfully, the gesture has eased most of the attention off of you.
But before you can slide your laptop into your bag, her voice cuts through the hall once again. “And, ____?” Startled by the sound of your name, you look up to find her eyes already on you. Her expression is unreadable. “Stay after class for just a minute.”
Shit.
Nodding, you bend to grab your bag. As soon as you stand from your chair, you feel it again. That same pair of eyes.
This time, he catches you off guard. You don’t have enough of a warning to avoid the gaze you suddenly meet.
Over his shoulder, Jay isn’t looking at you with disgust or contempt or even vindication. He’s just… looking. The same way you’ve seen him fine comb a spreadsheet or double check a report when the numbers don’t quite add up.
Like he’s searching for something. Trying to figure something out.
Your eyes widen slightly before you turn your head, breaking eye contact.
When Park Jongseong looks at you, the only thing you want to see is the mild annoyance he has whenever you beat him to a correct answer. The strained frustration whenever you edge him out of setting the exam curve.
Not his scrutiny, his searching assessment like you’re someone worth a second glance. No matter how much you resent him for largely treating you like a pesky fly, it’s what you’ve come to recognize as the status quo. It’s comfortable. Safe.
Him giving you any sort of actual attention is very much not.
Pulling your bag over your shoulder with a bit more force than necessary, you’re pleasantly surprised to find your legs quite stable beneath you, even if that shaky, jello-like feeling lingers slightly.
Approaching Professor Jung’s podium with trepidation, you do your best not to fidget. She busies herself shutting down the projector and gathering her notes as the rest of the students file out of the hall.
After a handful of moments, she closes her laptop and looks up at you. Her eyes shift over your shoulder, somewhere near the door.
“Is there something you need, Jay?” she asks.
Immediately, a surge of unease pulls at your stomach. The last thing you need is for him to bear witness to this conversation.
“I…” you hear behind you, hesitant in a way he almost never is. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll ask you next time, Professor.”
You watch as she nods towards him. “You can always send an email, too, if it’s urgent.”
“Right.” His voice is smooth. Sliding around your shoulders and settling in the air. “Thank you, Professor.”
She nods again, a final dismissal. “Take care, Jay.”
You can’t bring yourself to look. Instead, you wait for the soft thud of the door closing behind him.
Your professor waits, too. She parts her lips to speak, but the words are spilling from you before she can.
“I’m so sorry, Professor,” you plead. Participation isn’t weighted particularly heavily, according to the syllabus she handed out at the beginning of the semester, but you need all the points you can get. “I promise it won’t happen again. And I really was paying attention, I just had this weird headache all of a sudden, and—”
“Woah,” she reaches out a hand. “Slow down.” Confusion creases her brow at your reaction. “I didn’t ask you to stay to chastise you.”
“Oh,” you breathe. Relief is short lived as confusion begins to take its place. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Don’t apologize.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry that I gave that impression.” She sighs. Silence stretches for a moment before she continues, “Look, ___, you’re one of my top performing students. Maybe the top performing student.”
For a second, you almost wish Jay had stuck around, just to hear that.
“I’m not concerned about your academic abilities or your focus in class,” she continues. “I am, however, starting to become a bit concerned about you.”
“Me?” you echo.
Nearly halfway through the semester, Professor Jung has solidified herself as one of your favorites. She’s in her mid-forties, demanding but receptive, and an absolute genius in the accounting world.
She’s pushed you to see numbers, data, in a new way. To stop looking at them as some cold, detached thing and start looking for the implications. To consider how salaries and bonuses and business expenses affect not only a company’s bottom line, but also the employees that make it possible.
Numbers, she always says, are a reflection. They tell you about customer satisfaction, employee well-being. Factors that matter if you care about longevity. Continued success. Ethics and morality. Conversations that are all too often missing or pushed to the side in this industry.
You’ve been hoping that come finals, she’ll be willing to write you a recommendation letter. Maybe even ask you to TA for one of her lower level classes if your schedule allows.
In short, you value her opinion. Not just as someone with significant authority over your GPA, but as someone with experience who seems to share your values. In the business world, it’s as rare as striking gold.
Now, she stands across from you with concern etched across her features. “You’ve been quieter in class,” she says. “And today isn’t the first time I’ve seen you like that.” She nods towards your earlier seat. “Hand on your head like you’re in pain.”
“Oh,” you exhale, not sure what to do with her worry. You never imagined she, or anyone for that matter, would notice. You shake your head, prepared to brush her off, “I’m fine—”
She won’t let it go so easily. “Are you sleeping?”
“What?” you flounder for a moment. “I mean, it’s almost midterms, so I’ve been doing some extra studying, but—”
“So you haven’t,” she concludes, disapproval in her eyes.
“I have,” you insist. “Just less.” The concern in her gaze doesn’t ease. “A little less,” you amend.
“Are you eating?”
“Yes,” you nod. Extra hours in the library and the pressure of a potential rent increase might mean your meals are a bit less regular these days, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I even get free things from the case at the cafe during shifts, so—”
“You’re working?” Another flicker of concern crosses her face.
Shit.
“Oh, I…” you trail off, unsure what to do with the sudden interrogation. “I mean, yeah. But only part time.”
“You’re taking nearly double the recommended course load and you’re working. No wonder you’re nearly fainting in the lecture hall.”
Swallowing your pride, you admit, “I’m trying to graduate early. My scholarship depends on my class rank, and I—” you bite at the inside of your bottom lip. Your throat suddenly feels full, words getting stuck on the way out. “I can’t—”
“I know what it’s like,” she says, voice gentle. “Believe me, I do.” She pauses for a moment, weighing her words. “You’re brilliant, truly. One of the most impressive students I’ve had in my classroom in a long time. And you have grit, talent, perseverance. A commendable work ethic. You have what it takes to make it in this industry. But you need to take care of yourself, too.”
It’s humiliating, the way a tear catches in the corner of your eye. It spills, despite your stubbornness. You feel small, helpless as it tracks a hot, wet streak down the curve of your cheek.
Professor Jung’s voice softens even further. “Is there someone nearby that can help? A family member? A friend?”
You’re biting the inside of your lip so hard you’re worried you might draw blood. Another tear escapes as you shake your head in a miniscule movement.
Friends have long since fallen off your list of priorities. The few relationships you formed during freshman year have long since fizzled after you left one too many texts without a response and canceled on one too many plans. Kaia is the closest thing you have now, but your schedules are nearly opposite each other and as a nursing student, she’s nearly as busy as you. Even after two years of living together, you still call her your roommate. Not your friend.
Your family is far away. Back in your hometown, the distance between them and the city your university campus sits on feels like an uncrossable ravine. Besides, they have their own worries to take care of. Namely, the restaurant that’s been in your family for generations. An enterprise that has cost your family more than it’s earned them for the last decade.
Your father, mother, and younger brother all work multiple jobs to make ends meet. It would be nothing short of selfish to ask them for help now.
“Okay,” your professor nods. The sympathy in her eyes is almost unbearable. “Then I’m going to request that you go visit the university clinic. I’ll call now and make you an appointment for this afternoon.”
“No,” you shake your head. “I mean, really, I’m fine—”
Professor Jung is firm. “Their services are free for students. It’s a university resource. Your tuition funds it.”
“I work this afternoon,” you protest.
“What time?”
“Three thirty.”
She’s already pulling out her phone. “I’ll see what’s available before then.”
“Really,” you try to stop her, “I’m fine. I’ll eat a good meal tonight and make sure I go to bed early—”
“Frequent headaches and dizziness can be a cause for concern.”
“I’m sure if I just rest, then—”
“But you won’t rest.” Her gaze is heavy, something almost protective in it. “I know how it is. You tell yourself you just need to push through until midterms. But then there are events and presentations and research conferences. And then there are finals and you’re doing the same thing over again. It doesn’t end with graduation. This line of work rewards people who never sleep, who never rest, who never take a breath. Your competition is always trying to get one step ahead of you, to edge you out. You wear yourself to the bone until you make enough money to pay someone else to do it for you.”
Your breath catches in your throat. You feel that familiar sting at the edge of your eyes again. The urge to cry, but this time for an entirely different reason.
“I believe in you,” she says. “I know you have big dreams, and I believe in those, too. So take an hour out of your afternoon and go visit the university clinic. Do it once and the next time you’re feeling unwell, it will be a little easier. Find ways to take care of you, too.”
The hesitation must still be apparent on your face, because she adds, “I’m more than happy to resort to threats if I must. I’ll make the midterm project a mandatory partner assignment.”
Your gaze wavers. “You wouldn’t.”
She just nods. “And I’ll assign partners. Why not pair up the two best students in class? I’m sure if the two of you put your heads together, you could come up with something truly commendable.”
The two top students. That would mean you and—
No.
“This doesn’t feel aligned to the Business School code of ethics,” you point out.
“Then go to the clinic,” she instructs, a note of finality in her voice. “And you’ll never have to find out just how terribly malleable that handbook is.”
You clench your jaw for a moment, looking for a loophole, a way out. And then, finally—
“Fine,” you acquiesce.
“Good,” she nods. “I know the director at the university health center. I messaged him before the end of class. Go now. They’re waiting for you. They’ll see you right when you arrive.”
“You already…” your jaw drops slightly. “But what if I—”
“Just go,” she urges, nodding towards the door. “The sooner you go, the sooner you can get back to running yourself into the ground studying.”
There’s more you want to say, to argue, but she’s right. The quicker they diagnose you with stress induced headaches and fatigue and recommend resting more, the sooner you can get back to doing the opposite.
Nodding, you make your way towards the door. Fingers around the handle, her earlier words echo through your mind.
I believe in you. It’s been a long time since anyone told you that.
Turning back, you meet her gaze one more time, trying to swallow the emotions that threaten to rise. “Thank you.”
Professor Jung nods once, an expression you can’t quite read in her eyes. “I’ll see you next week, ___.”
Halfway between the lecture hall and the health center, your phone dings with an incoming notification.
You smile as the image spreads across your screen. Sunoo poses next to one of the cutest dogs you’ve ever seen, both of them tilting their heads at the exact same angle.
A surge of fondness is quickly followed by a pang of loneliness. You’d give anything to see your little brother in person right now. To see that smile in person and wrap him in the biggest hug as he laughs in your ear.
Looking at the picture a moment longer, you send a quick response before tucking your phone back into your pocket.
Sunoo. Your brother is only one year your junior, but the protectiveness you feel towards him makes the gap feel bigger.
He hates it, the way you coddle him. But after a life-threatening tumor nearly took his life when the two of you were in elementary school, you’ve felt more like a guardian than an older sister.
It’s hard to remember how things were when you were just a kid. Your memories are hazy around the edges, and the passage of time has only dulled them further.
There was never a time when your family was wealthy, but things were different back then. Your mother smiled more. Her back didn’t ache yet. She came home from long days of taking telephone orders and covering waitress shifts at your family’s restaurant with a smile on her face and enough energy to chase you and Sunoo around the neighborhood playground for hours.
Your father came home later, usually. After all the cleaning was done and the restaurant was prepped for the next day. After the books were balanced and the cash register was double checked. But he laughed when he saw the two of you. Entertained your requests for endless rounds of hide-and-seek no matter how exhausted he was.
Sunoo was always a sweet kid. The kind of shy that people gravitated towards. He was gentle, thoughtful, good. His teachers sang his praises and his friends’ parents were always happy to have him over.
You were a bit rougher around the edges. Not mean or misbehaved, but something in you was always trying to run, to take, to push, even when everyone around you was resting. You had a fierce competitive streak and a hard time losing at anything, especially at school.
You wanted to be the best at math, at science, at language arts. You wanted to run faster than all of the boys who treated the playground like their domain and draw better than all of the girls who spent every second of free time at the arts and crafts table.
You wanted to do everything. Be everything. An astronaut. A scientist. A famous singer. A doctor. A lawyer. The president. Your dreams, your hopes, your goals for the future were always shifting, never standing still.
And then, on a rather ordinary Thursday afternoon when you were in the fifth grade, your world fell apart.
You rode the bus home alone that day. Sunoo hadn’t gone to school. Complaining of a stomachache and his head hurting in the morning, your mother took a day away from the restaurant to stay home with him.
When you finally arrived at your stop, the elderly woman who lived next door was waiting for you there. You still remember it now, the awful, aching look of sympathy in her eyes as she greeted you. Called you sweetheart and told you that your family wasn’t home right now. That they had asked her to bring you to them.
You remember the confusion, the anxiety as she pulled her small car into the hospital parking lot. The terrible ache in your heart, the panic in your chest as you met the tearful, desperate gazes of your parents. The crushing weight of their arms around you as they pulled you into a crushing embrace.
The utter agony of looking at your baby brother unconscious on a hospital bed, skin pale. So pale. Too pale.
A tumor, the doctor called it. You were too young to know what he meant, but you understood the weight of it. The implications. The sickening feeling in your gut as you heard him tell your parents to prepare for the worst. That he likely had no more than three months left to live.
The clang of your mother’s knees hitting the hospital floor still rings in your ears sometimes. The desperate, hushed tones of your father’s whispers as he pleaded with the doctor, begging him to save his son’s life.
The next year was the worst of your life.
Week after week, treatment after treatment, doctor after doctor, and your brother only got worse. Sicker, paler, weaker.
It was a rare gene mutation that caused the tumor, the doctor explained to your family one afternoon. His voice was strange as he tried to juggle the appropriate amounts of professional detachment and sympathy all at once. And it was likely the same mutation making it so resistant to treatment.
The hospital was doing everything in their power, but they thought his chances might be better if he went to a larger hospital, one with more resources, with dedicated departments and doctors who specialized in this kind of treatment.
Sunoo was moved to a different hospital less than a week later. Your parents took turns staying with him while the other kept the restaurant running. It killed them not to be at his side, you know, but the longer treatment took, the more bills began to stack up.
There was a silver lining within it all, though. The three month estimate that the doctors gave came and went. And still, Sunoo was alive. Even if only barely.
Your community was supportive beyond words. Donation drives were set up, meal trains funded by strangers you’d never seen before. Your family's restaurant had more visitors than it had seen in decades. But even with their generosity, it wasn’t enough.
When the revenue ran dry, keeping Sunoo alive was funded by your parent’s meager savings. And when that evaporated, they turned to loans.
You watched as they worked themselves to the bone. Trying to keep their sick son alive and their only source of income afloat.
Your parents wanted your life to remain as normal as possible. You still went to school, still lived at home, still rode the same bus.
The same elderly woman who brought you to the hospital that day was the one who made your meals most nights. Who made sure you were taken care of and got to bed at a reasonable time. She even came to your parent-teacher conference. Knitted you a new sweater and a pair of mittens when autumn turned to winter.
But no matter how much normalcy they wished for, your life was a shadow of its former self. School was different. Teachers treated you like broken glass. The high expectations they once had were whittled away into nothing in the name of sympathy.
The friends in your class did their best to be kind, and the easygoing friendships you’d built before were lost somewhere in the rubble of their pity.
You had never felt more alone in your life.
You only got to visit your brother on the weekends. You remember the way you would sit at his bedside for hours, telling him stories, tidbits from school, random thoughts no one else had the time or ability to listen to. He was unconscious for most of it, but you told him everything anyway.
And when the weight of your grief was too heavy, when your throat was aching and sore from all the talking, you’d fall asleep like that, curled awkwardly over the edge of the hospital bed, his limp hand gripped tight between your fingers.
In the midst of it all, somewhere in the tangle of agony and grief and loneliness, you lost your dreams.
You didn’t care about being the fastest runner on the playground anymore. You spent most recesses in the school counselor’s office now, anyway. Whenever you tried to draw, your hands weren’t sure what to do. It was as if they’d lost their spark, their creativity.
It didn’t matter if someone else was better than you at times tables or if another classmate’s essay won first place.
You didn’t want to be an astronaut anymore. Space suddenly felt so far away and so terribly cold. You didn’t want to be a singer or a lawyer or a scientist, and you’d had enough of doctors to last a lifetime.
The only thing you wanted was for your brother to get better. For him to come home so the two of you could ride the bus together again. For your mom to smile like she used to. For your dad to take the two of you berry picking on a sunny day again.
When spring finally bloomed, so did the first glimmers of hope. Sunoo was responding to his latest treatment. Much better and quicker than before.
He was actually awake now when you would visit him. He laughed at your stories, even if it did usually end in a coughing fit that made your mother sick with worry. He would respond to you, ask you to tell him more.
One weekend, just as the daffodils around your school began to grow, he was even sitting upright when you walked into his hospital room. The next time, you brought him one, and he smiled when the nurse helped find a vase to keep it in the windowsill.
Slowly but surely, color started to return to his cheeks. Life started to take root in his body again.
The day after you finished the fifth grade, he stood up from his hospital bed, with his hand on the table for support. You hugged him so tight that your parents nearly had to pry you off of him when his heart monitor started to jump.
At the agonizing pace of a snail, things got better. Day by day, he got stronger. Healthier. Until eventually, finally, he was given a clean bill of health.
It wasn’t the same as before. A year in the hospital had taken its toll. Your brother was still fragile, still needed the extra support that everyone around him was more than ready to bend over backwards to give.
By the time summer came, Sunoo was back home. His weekly hospital visits became monthly, then quarterly, and eventually biannual. When autumn arrived, he was back in school.
Even after a year in hell, life started to become normal again. But some things had changed fundamentally.
Your family, once financially sound, had begun to struggle immensely with money. Irregular operations at the restaurant made profits plummet to nearly irreparable levels. Beyond that, every penny your parents had saved was gone.
The hospital bills had submerged them in immense debt. Put simply, your family had no money anymore and nothing but a now failing restaurant to try and dig yourselves out of a hole that felt more like an abyss.
And you, once fueled by visions of grandeur, dreams that stretched beyond your wildest imagination, lost every desire to become something amazing. It just simply didn’t matter to you anymore. The only thing you wanted to be was Sunoo’s older sister. Someone that could help him and take care of him and stay by his side no matter what.
You still had drive, still had this fire deep that burned deep within you, but now it was fueled by something else.
At eleven, it meant helping Sunoo with homework and threatening the boys that teased him on the playground until they cried.
At sixteen, it meant canceling last minute on your date to the junior prom to take Sunoo to the movie he’d been wanting to see in theaters.
And when Sunoo, much to your parent’s dismay, decided that he wanted to take over the family business and inherit the restaurant they had never quite managed to make profitable again, you decided to shoulder that burden, too.
Your brother loved to cook, loved to use food as a means of connecting with other people. He treated food like a remedy, like a gift. He used a warm meal to comfort people in despair and baked cookies whenever he wanted to show his appreciation. For him, he could think of no better way to spend his days than making, preparing, and serving food to all kinds of people.
You had no talent in the kitchen, but it didn’t matter. Sunoo was the chef, not you. In your senior year of high school, you realized that what your family’s restaurant, what Sunoo, needed was someone who could handle the business side of things. Someone who could look at impossible numbers and make them work in their favor. Someone who could breathe life into a failing business and turn it into the bustling diner of your brother’s dreams.
You needed a business degree. And not just a degree, but an education. One from a top university where your professors could give you the tools you needed to make Sunoo’s dreams a reality. Of course, that was never going to come without a hefty price tag.
So you made a plan. You were smart. Academically gifted. You already had impressive college entrance exam scores on your side, but you needed more. While your classmates enjoyed their last months of time together, you worked. Day in, day out applying for scholarships, internships, fellowships. Writing essays, email professors, scouring the internet for every bit of information you could find on business schools.
You could count on one hand the average number of hours you slept each night senior year. But in the end, it was worth it. You graduated high school with an offer into the most prestigious business school on this side of the country and the scholarship to fully fund it as long as you maintained a high enough GPA and class ranking.
On top of that, you were even granted a modest living stipend. One to help cover the rent, textbooks, and grocery expenses you could never bring yourself to ask your parents to help cover.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. It was enough.
It didn’t matter that your dreams fell by the wayside all those years ago. It didn’t matter that before all of this, you had no interest in business.
Your brother, your miracle of a brother, had been given a second chance at life. And now, you had the opportunity to help him achieve his only dream.
Walking across your university campus now, you almost decide to just ditch the health center. You have work to do. You don’t have time to waste sitting in a doctor’s office.
Besides, the selfie Sunoo sent with the dog, no matter how adorable, is only a reminder of what you set out to do. The longer you take to graduate, the longer Sunoo has to keep the restaurant afloat through a combination of long hours at odd part-time jobs.
Right now, his current gig is as an assistant at the local veterinarian’s office. Your brother loves animals, but it kills you knowing how much he’d rather spend that time cooking. Restoring your family’s restaurant to its former glory. Surpassing it.
It would be such a relief to tell him he doesn’t have to pick up extra shifts anymore, to tell your mom that she doesn’t need to keep the job she hates at the grocery store anymore. To tell your dad he doesn’t need to keep taking all of the contract construction work that takes such a hard toll on his body.
Your family, all three of them, have been through so much. It’s the least you can do to ease some of their strain. To lessen some of their burden.
But then you hear Professor Jung’s words again.
Find ways to take care of you, too.
Should you? Part of you is still resistant. But regardless, you realize, you’re no use to your brother’s dream if you run yourself entirely into the ground.
Besides, maybe the clinic will give you something a bit more effective than Tylenol for your headaches and you can actually get a bit more studying done before your vision starts to swim.
So, even with feet that want to drag, you force yourself all the way to the university health center.
You don’t make a habit of spending time in hospitals, but much to your relief, this is one of the more pleasant waiting areas you’ve been in. The ceilings are high, and the windows are large. Afternoon sunlight warms the space where a dozen odd people wait for their names to be called.
It has a relaxed feel to it. There are patterns on the chair cushions. Conversations in the corner. It doesn’t have that awful, lifeless, sterile feel you’ve been trying to avoid since you were ten.
When you give your name to the receptionist, she immediately ushers you towards the small hallway of exam rooms. Glancing towards the half full waiting area, a flicker of surprise crosses your features. Professor Jung must have really pulled some strings for you.
You follow her to room number six, offering a tight smile when she says the nurse will be with you shortly.
Glancing around the small examination room, it looks how you’d expect. There’s a layer of paper beneath the table you sit on, and it crinkles loudly every time you shift your weight. There’s a computer in the corner, two low stools, and a handful of medical tools whose name you know about half of.
A handful of posters cover the walls. Reminders about good handwashing hygiene, dates for the latest flu shot, a list of symptoms for upper respiratory infections. There’s nothing unusual, but you can’t quite get your body to relax fully.
Before long, you hear a quiet knock on the other side of the door. The nurse that enters introduces herself before settling onto one of the stools in front of you.
Glancing down at her clipboard briefly, she looks up to you with a perfunctory kindness in her eyes. “What brings you in today?” she asks.
“My professor suggested I come, actually.”
“Mm,” she hums. “Anything in particular bothering you?”
You take a deep breath in. Part of you is still itching to just brush her off, but you came all the way here. Might as well be honest.
“I’ve been having headaches,” you admit. “They don’t usually last long, but they’re… intense. Sometimes they make me dizzy, too. Or nauseous. I haven’t vomited or passed out, but I’ve come close a couple of times.”
The nurse nods, reaching for the stethoscope. “How frequent are these headaches?”
“It depends,” you nod. “Usually no more than once every couple of days, but it’s been happening more often for the past few weeks.”
Pressing the stethoscope against your sternum, she instructs you to take a deep breath in. Exhale.
She jots something down on her clipboard. “When you have these headaches, what do you usually do to treat them?”
“Take a Tylenol,” you explain. “Maybe lay down for a while if it’s really bad.” Most of the time, you just grit your teeth through it, but that doesn’t seem like the right answer.
“Would you describe the pain as manageable?” she asks, picking up another tool. This one, she presses gently into your ear.
“Usually, yeah.” You think back to your lecture today, the spinning in your head. “Sometimes it’s really intense, but it passes pretty quickly.”
She takes a step back from you, recording another note on her clipboard. “Do you have any other symptoms, anything strange that you’ve noticed since the headaches started?”
“Not really,” you shake your head.
“Are you sure?” she presses. “No night sweats? Fever chills? A clammy forehead?”
“I’m sorry,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “It’s really just the headaches that are bothering me. I actually have to get to work soon. Is there any—”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the nurse frowns. “You’re running a bit of a fever, and your heartbeat is slightly irregular. I’d like to check a few more things. Draw some blood and do a chest x-ray, at least.”
“Is that really necessary?” You don’t mean to be so curt, but the sudden shift in tone has panic starting to claw at your throat. “Midterms are soon, so I’ve been a bit more stressed than usual. I’m sure it’s just that—”
“Regardless,” she interrupts, not unkindly, “it’s best to be sure.”
So you acquiesce. Push up your sleeve with no resistance so she can draw a vial of blood. Don’t mention your upcoming shift as she guides you to the x-ray imaging room.
The more rooms she leads you to, the more tests they run, the more a sense of unease begins to build in your stomach.
Not because you’re worried you’ll be late for work. Not because you’re thinking of your to-do list or an upcoming midterm.
Because for the first time, you’re beginning to wonder if your headaches aren’t quite as benign as you’ve dismissed them to be. That’s the thing about spending so much time focused on everyone but yourself. You never stop to consider that something could actually be happening to you.
You’re sure it’s just paranoia. Lingering trauma from all your previous time spent in hospital rooms at your brother’s bedside, but whatever it is, you can’t seem to shake it.
After another handful of minutes, she gives you the final update. There were no abnormalities detected in any of the x-rays. The blood tests will take a bit longer to process, but they’ll call you within three days.
Until then, you’re to take it easy and come back immediately if you notice worsening headaches or any other symptoms.
With a nod, you gather your bag again. Walking past the receptionist, you offer her a tight smile. Glancing at your phone, you check the time. You still have a little over an hour before your shift.
You should probably eat something, take a quick break before you’re on your feet for the rest of the afternoon, but that lingering feeling of dread in your gut makes both options seem unfavorable.
Instead, you force your feet to come to a standstill. Not caring that you’re still in the middle of campus, surrounded by other students passing you by, you screw your eyes shut.
You take a deep inhale. Hold it. Count to five. Exhale.
You’re fine. You’re just fine. You have to be.
If you play your cards right, you’ll graduate in two semesters. Sunoo will finally have the restaurant of his dreams. Your parents can enjoy a true retirement.
You’re better than this. Stronger than this. A couple of fucking headaches are not going to ruin everything you’ve worked for.
You’ve survived worse, and you’ll survive this too. No matter how many sleepless nights and skipped meals and bottles of Tylenol it takes. You’ve worked too hard to watch it all go down the drain now.
Again, you tell yourself, you’re fine.
Even in the privacy of your own mind, you can’t quite tell if it’s a lie or not. But at the end of the day, you suppose it doesn’t really matter.
You’re so close. Fine or not, you know what you need to do.
…..
Three days later, you’re pouring over your insurance law notes in a library study room when the vibration of your ringtone breaks the silence.
Checking the caller ID, you hesitate for only a moment before answering.
Inconclusive, the nurse from the university health center tells you, and you hate that answer more than you expect to. You’ve spent the last three days more anxious than you care to admit, and this only adds fuel to the fire.
According to the nurse, there are some abnormalities in your blood test. Namely in your blood count. Proper diagnosis is outside the scope of the university health center, but they’ve written you a referral to the nearest hospital proper for further testing.
It’s called Saint Mary’s. It’s pretty close. Should only take you about thirty minutes on the bus.
Mentally, you scramble. You’re not sure what tests they’ll need to run or how much they’ll cost, but you’re sure the answer isn’t free. Your finances are already tight, and part of you wants to just ignore the nurse’s advice and hope that whatever’s causing irregular numbers will resolve itself.
But the sheer anxiety of it all is killing you. Maybe the hospital can get you set up with some sort of payment plan. If your rent increase isn’t too high, then you can mitigate this with some extra shifts at the cafe.
It’ll be fine. Your headaches haven’t been nearly as debilitating for the last three days. Visiting the hospital will give you the peace of mind you need to push through these last few semesters.
So you make time in your schedule the next day. Erase a study session from your planner and replace it with the hospital’s name.
Pull out the exact change for the bus fare and sink down into a window seat, pulling your headphones over your ears as you watch the city begin to pass you by.
It strikes you then, just how little of your surroundings you’ve explored these past two years you’ve been in university. You can hardly remember the last time you stepped foot off campus for something other than a visit back home.
It feels strange, seeing so many buildings and parks and places so close to you and realizing just how unfamiliar they all are.
The hospital is only a handful of stops away. You exit the bus just as quickly as you got on, and then you take a deep, steadying breath.
The process is nearly identical to your university health center. They ask for your name and identification, but this time, they direct you back to the waiting room. It’s the bad kind, this time. The type of sterile, lifeless room that makes you want to run back out the front door the way you came.
Thankfully, you’re not left to wait long.
This nurse is kind, too. She asks for your name and gives you hers. The testing they conduct is more extensive now. You’re shuffled from one machine to another, listening as they explain the purpose for each one without really processing anything they tell you.
And then, when it’s done, they send you to a private room. Inform you with a tight smile that the doctor will be with you shortly.
You sit alone for long minutes, waiting. You tap your fingers against the top of your thigh, a steady rhythm that grounds you to reality and allows you to escape it in short bursts.
The doctor enters quietly, introduces himself. You don’t remember his name. You hardly remember yours.
It’s difficult to focus on anything he says. The ringing in your ears is back, now. Even stronger than before.
You only gather bits and pieces of what he tells you. But it’s enough.
Three months. The universe must have a strange, sick sense of humor. Must love the vertigo induced by the worst sort of deja vu. Must revel in the irony of doling out death sentences.
Three months.
Sat in an uncomfortable chair in the dead center of a sterile, lifeless office, the doctor pushes his glasses a little further up his nose. Then, he repeats himself with just as little fanfare.
You have three months to live.
It’s only an estimate of course, but he’s seen this kind of tumor before. A rare genetic mutation.
Genetic. Of course.
You should have been tested, ten years ago. But money was so tight, and everyone’s attention was on Sunoo, and it just never happened. You slipped through the cracks, along with the identical malignant gene mutation you share with your younger brother.
Yours is small still, just behind your heart. That’s why the x-ray didn’t pick it up. But the MRI today did. It’s why your blood count is all over the place, why your heartbeat is arrhythmic.
It’s why you’ve been having headaches, why you’ve come dangerously close to fainting multiple times in the past few weeks.
Three months. It may just be an estimate, but no matter how you look at it, it’s not a lot of time. It’s no time at all.
Grief, pure, raw, aching, hits you with the force of a tsunami wave.
The realization strikes you, in the middle of the doctor’s office, that you aren’t going to do it. Any of it. You aren’t going to graduate. You aren’t going to see your parents retire. You aren’t going to give Sunoo the restaurant of his dreams.
No, instead, you are going to die.
You can already feel it. Sunoo was the exception to the rule, the anomaly. He may have survived this once, but he was always meant for better things. He had the care he needed, got the treatments that brought him back to life even if they bled your family dry.
Your parents, even if they wanted to, couldn’t do that again. They barely scraped by the first time. And even if they could, you wouldn’t let them. The guilt of it all would be too unbearable. Maybe even a fate worse than this. Your own savings are laughable. Not anywhere near the amount needed for something of this magnitude.
When the doctor asks if there’s anyone he can call for you, you shake your head. You won’t burden your family with this. Not yet. Not for as long as you can. The weight of their worry would only make it worse.
He looks at you with pity, then. With sorrow. You hate them both. He writes you a prescription for a pharmacy’s worth of medication, tells you that these will ease the worst of your symptoms but that you shouldn’t expect to be fully functional for more than a month or so with medicine alone.
He gives you the list of treatment plans and watches as you half heartedly pretend to look them over. The bold faced font seems to mock you. The pictures of smiling families and spring air that you’ll likely never see again.
All of the treatments have fancy names, medical terminology you don’t understand. Glancing over the list, the only thing you see is dollar signs. Money you don’t have.
When you ask for time before making a decision, the doctor advises against it. Reminds you that time is of the essence, that you’re lucky they caught the tumor now before it progressed further.
That waiting longer is nothing but a death sentence.
You thank him and tell him you’ll be in touch shortly. You can’t tell if he knows you’re lying through your teeth.
The bus ride back to campus passes nearly the same as the journey here did. Again, you sit by the window, pulling your headphones over your ears. The buildings you pass blur into an undistinguishable mix of colors and shapes you realize you’ll never get the chance to parse between, to sort through.
The ride to the hospital felt like an opportunity, a reminder that there was so much of the world left for you to see. The journey back feels like a prison sentence. The taunting fear that outside the tiny bubble you’ve built for yourself, the rest of the world will remain a mystery to you forever.
When you reach the stop for your university, you stand, thanking the bus driver as you exit.
He looks almost surprised at your gratitude, pleasantly shocked someone remembered him at all.
And then you walk, not in the direction of your apartment, but instead towards the cluster of buildings that make up the School of Business. It’s evening now, and students are far and few between.
There’s an unseasonal chill to the air, and you pull your jacket a little tighter around your shoulders. You walk until you reach the edge of the campus, the place where a singular, half hidden bench sits just out of view. Sinking down onto it, you let it absorb the weight of your body. Pray that it will hold steady as you unleash the weight of your grief.
For a moment, you just sit. Your emotions feel out of reach, untouchable in some part of you that’s been locked away for too long you can’t remember how to get there again.
But eventually, you find them. It starts slowly, a detached feeling of loss, of mourning, before the floodgates open. Before long, you’re sobbing. Alone on the bench, tears stream down your face with little restraint as choked sobs catch in your chest, your throat. You’re nearly screaming at the sky, your entire body shaking with the force of it all.
Above it, a question circles your mind.
Why?
Why this? Why me? Why now?
You cry for so long you think you must surely be out of tears. There can’t be anything left in your body besides this horrible disease, this awful fate your own failing nervous system has sealed in stone.
And then your sobs start to change. Until it’s not tears you’re choking on anymore, but laughter. Terrible, gut-wrenching, bone-cracking laughter at the sheer irony of it all.
You’re not sure how long you sit there, caught somewhere in the crossfire of all your mixed emotions. But eventually, your sobs subside entirely.
As the night begins to close around you, you’re left with nothing but the weight of reality, the gravity of truth. The disorientation of your world that’s been flipped on top of its head within the span of hours.
Every impossible deadline, every bit of effort you’ve put into achieving all of your goals these past few years – it suddenly all feels so fucking useless.
Every sacrifice you’ve made, every self-serving desire you’ve pushed to the side, buried beneath your commitment to your family, they all start to bubble to the surface one by one. Until you're left with something that tastes all too much like regret.
You’ve never thought about it twice, your decision to pursue business for your brother. Ever since Sunoo’s miraculous recovery, his goals and yours have felt inseparable, like one, united thing.
But now, alone on a campus bench with a knife hanging over your head, you think, for the first time in a long time, of that little girl who dreamed of being an astronaut. A singer. A scientist.
You wonder what she’d say to you now. If she’d admire your determination, your grit. Or if she’d take one look at your business degree and simply think, how boring.
You suppose it doesn’t really matter now. She’s not here anymore. But you are. Even if only for three more months.
You imagine telling her the truth, that shadowy version of you that the past has long since claimed.
You part your lips. They feel dry against your breath, dehydrated from your sorrow. “I only have three months to live,” you whisper to the wind.
You’re not sure how she’ll react. She’s only ten, after all. Death still feels like some abstract concept, you’re sure, not a finite reality. Time still feels malleable. Birthdays still feel far aways. Nights still feel endless. Dreams still feel worth chasing.
Three months? She whispers back to you, tilting her head in thought.
You nod.
Okay, she whispers again. Then live for three months.
It’s not that easy, you want to explain. I have plans, hopes, goals. Things I still need to finish.
But maybe you underestimated her. She had her life taken from her too, after all. Maybe she understands your grief more than anyone else ever could.
And no matter what you tell her, her answer remains the same.
Live, she insists. For three months.
So instead of crying or laughing or cursing the universe any longer, you reach into your bag, fingers closing around the spine of your favorite notebook. Pulling a pen out, you open to the next clean page. And then you start to write.
…..
The back of Park Jongseong’s head is even more annoying than usual today. Has his hair always been this shiny? Even the fluorescent lights that wash everything else out only seem to make it richer, more luscious looking.
You’re so wrapped up in debating how much pride you would lose by asking him what shampoo he uses that you almost miss the tail end of his argument.
“Laying off unnecessary staff is the only way to remedy the situation,” he states. Plainly, firmly, as if his opinion is law. As if there’s no room for argument. “Of course the accounting error would have ideally been caught much earlier in the process, but if the company is already in secondary audits, it’s practically a losing battle. It’s best to just cut the losses and preserve what they can.”
“An interesting perspective as always, Mr. Park,” Professor Jung nods from her place at the podium. Glancing around the lecture hall she asks, “Did anyone have a different interpretation? An alternative recommendation for how the company should proceed?”
Nearly every pair of eyes in the lecture hall turns to you. Even Professor Jung glances up at your seat, although she’d never admit if you called her out on it.
But your hands remain planted firmly on your lap. Instead, you play dumb. Pretend that it’s strange of them all to assume you’d have something to say. Act as if you haven’t spent every single other class this semester countering every single one of his points. Today, you remain silent as you too glance around the hall curiously, as if expecting someone else to counter Jay’s idiotic analysis.
Perhaps idiotic is too harsh. A better word might be obvious. That’s Jay’s problem, you think. He’s always had everything he needs. He’s never had to get creative, to think outside the box. He looks at a poorly balanced accounting book and thinks, “How would Dad handle this?” instead of “What would be the best solution for this unique situation?”
Even Jay himself, who sits nearly directly in front of you, tries to shift in his seat subtly enough to take a glance back at you. You don’t think you’re imagining the frown on his face when he finds you sitting silently, a mask of indifference on your face as you pretend to type another row of notes on your laptop.
“Okay,” Professor Jung continues from the front after the silence extends a moment longer. “If no one else has anything to add, then we’ll look at our next case.” She changes the slide, showing a new set of sample data from year end accounting books. “Business A had a profit margin of roughly 6.2% in the third quarter of the previous fiscal year…”
Her words trail off as you glance down at your nails. They’re pink. A pretty shade that you selected with spring flowers in mind, even though it’s just the beginning of fall. Call it nostalgia or stupidity, but spring has always been your favorite season. You’ll take it in any form you can. Besides, the shade is gorgeous against your skin. The tip of your ring finger even has a tiny cherry blossom painted on it.
You smile, thinking of the nearly two hours you spent yesterday afternoon at the nail salon getting them done. You’d never been before, but the process was just as fun as you imagined. The nail artist was sweet, too. She graduated from your university just a few years ago with a history degree. Changed her mind a few months after earning her diploma, and after some time in cosmetology school, here she was. Running her own nail salon.
Changing her mind and seeing where life takes her. Not worrying about wasted time in the pursuit of a happy ending. It’s not jealousy, exactly, but something unpleasant pulls at your heart when you think about it.
You get why she likes her job so much. You feel pretty, feminine. Love the way it feels when your nails tap against the screen of your phone as you type a message. Or click against your keyboard as you type your class notes.
They weren’t cheap, though. Despite that, you’d only smiled and nodded when she suggested coming back in three weeks for a fill. You’d have to scratch out another study session to make time, just like you did for this appointment. Old habits may die hard, but no matter how hard you search, you can’t quite seem to find a part of you that cares.
You’ve always wanted to get your nails done. Always wanted to be one of those girls that walks around with glowing skin and nice hair and new clothes and pretty nails that you fund with disposable income. It doesn’t matter if it’s frivolous or ridiculous or hopelessly girly.
You’ve spent years with jagged cuticles and short, plain, nails because it was practical. Because it saved you money and time and effort that you could spend studying or networking or planning for the future.
When you finished at the nail salon, you imagined showing your ten-year-old self how they turned out.
Very pretty, your past shadowy self told you, and the smile that spread across her face made it worth it all over again.
Even now, Professor Jung’s voice fades to a pleasant blur in the background. You’re going through the motions more than anything. Pretending to write notes even as you alternate between tabs. One for your lecture and one for flight tickets to the nearest beach town that nearly every student at your university has been to at least once for a drunken spring break vacation.
You’ve never dreamed of going, have never even been to the beach, but you think it might be nice. You can already imagine the feeling of sand between your toes. Of warm ocean water lapping against your skin. The sound of waves lulling against the shore.
A pleasant seaside breeze rustling through your hair.
The sound of Professor Jung wrapping up the lecture for the morning drags you back to reality. There’s no sunlight in the lecture hall, and there’s certainly no sea breeze.
There is, however, a reminder.
“Don’t forget about the Goldfellow’s annual charity gala this weekend. As upper division students, you’re all welcome to attend. It’s an excellent opportunity to network and share space with some of the top executives in our local community. If you do decide to attend, remember that it is a formal event and proper attire is expected.” At that, class is dismissed.
The Goldfellow charity event. Although a better label might be ‘a gathering of every silver spoon raised twenty-something within a fifty mile radius.’ You have serious doubts about how much charity is actually being done.
Then again, perhaps you shouldn’t judge. You’ve never attended the event yourself, after all. Usually you would jump at any kind of networking opportunity, but this one is different. Exclusive.
The stipulation of proper attire has always made it dangle just outside your reach. Until now, it hasn’t bothered you much. You’re sure that most people are there for the ridiculous venue and open bar. And you use that to convince yourself that no real networking is done.
Standing from your seat, you pull your bag over your shoulder. Glancing up, you find that Park Jongseong has yet to leave his seat, too. He is standing, though. And, even more alarming, he’s looking right at you.
More specifically, his gaze is fixated directly on your hands, your fresh manicure, as if it’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve.
Then, he looks up at you. “You’re quiet today.”
His tone is infuriatingly neutral. You can't tell if he’s mocking you or deliberately trying to incite your rage, but with Jay, you’ve made a habit of assuming the worst.
“Perhaps you should take notes,” you suggest, voice even.
Jay shakes his head. “If I have something to say, I’ll say it.”
“Well, do you?” you ask. “Have something to say, I mean. Or are you just determined to waste a few more minutes of my time?”
His mouth opens, closes again. This time, his already sharp jawline clenches into something lethal. As if he’s biting back words. Ironic, given what he just said.
“I suppose I don’t,” he finally tells you.
“Great,” you intone flatly. “Well, then.” And then you're pushing past him, all the way down the stairs to the door of the lecture hall. You’re not sure if he watches or follows or stays right where he is. You don’t look back, not even once.
A handful of minutes later, you’re in the library. For nearly the first time since you began your degree program, however, it’s not class notes you pour over.
Instead, you pull your notebook out from your bag. Your personal notebook. The same one from that night, alone on the bench, screaming at the stars and asking for advice from hallucinations of your younger self.
Its pages are mostly blank. You don’t use it for much. Grocery lists, mostly. Occasional reminders that aren’t related to school. Over the past two and a half years, you’ve only managed to fill about twenty pages.
Turning to the last one, you half expect to not find what you’re looking for. Parts of that day still feel like figments of your imagination.
But there it is. Looking back at you in your own neat handwriting.
Bucket List, it reads across the upper margin.
You nearly snort. You suppose there was no need to get creative, but you really were putting things in blunt terms.
Kicking the bucket. You’re not sure where the idiom comes from, but you guess it doesn’t really matter. There are other things to focus on now. Namely, the neat, bullet point list beneath it.
Get my nails done professionally, the first line reads. You smile, glancing back down at your hands. With a satisfying stroke of ink, you write a checkmark through the hand drawn box next to it.
Done, you think.
Lip caught between your teeth, you scan over the rest of the list.
Get my hair cut and colored professionally
Buy a really expensive dress
Go on a beach vacation
Ride in a convertible
Kiss a stranger
And then at the bottom, the item you scratched out almost the second after you wrote it.
See the Northern Lights
You remember the documentary you watched in elementary school, how magical the sky looked, all lit up in colors, glowing shades of green and blue. But it just isn’t realistic. Auroras haven’t been sighted in your city in, well, forever. And it’s not like you have the ability to fly to an Arctic country on a whim.
So your list is complete with just six items, one already checked off.
It’s a mismatched list. A short jumble of whatever random desires struck you in the moment. You can already think of things to add, to amend.
But part of you hesitates. These were the first things you thought of that night. Your most selfish, vanity driven, purely inconsequential desires that you wanted to do just because.
It feels wrong to edit them now. So you don’t. Instead, you push your planner to the side, ignoring your perfectly curated study schedule.
It doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter if you’re the top scorer on the midterm or if you’re just painfully average. You’re not even sure you'll get the chance to take it.
So instead, you open your laptop and search for hair salons in the area. You don’t filter them with the lowest priced options first. You just look. See which ones have a nice interior and friendly looking stylists.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re pressing on the ‘confirm booking’ button, despite the fact that the listed prices are nearly a quarter of your monthly rent.
It doesn’t matter. You’ve never gotten your hair done. You’ve never even let yourself think about getting your hair done.
But alone on the bench with the weight of your imminent mortality heavy on your shoulders, it was one of the things you wanted to try.
Like your nails, it’s frivolous. Unnecessary. And that’s what makes it perfect. It’s something entirely for you. For no reason other than the fact that you simply want to.
Glancing at the next list item, your mind starts to turn. A new hair style and an expensive dress deserve to be seen, after all.
The Goldfellow charity gala is hardly your ideal party, but you’re not sure how many formal events you’ll be invited to in the next three months. This might be your only chance.
Sifting through your emails, you find the invitation Professor Jung forwarded to all her students. And then, before you can overthink it, you RSVP yes.
And then you start looking up department stores in your area.
…..
The dress you wear looks just as good when you put it on Saturday night as it did in the fitting room two days ago.
It fits you like a glove, flattering your body in a way you didn’t even know was possible based on your experience with the clearance rack. And it’s satin. Has a beautiful, subtle shine and glimmers gorgeously under the soft chandelier lights.
Walking into the charity gala, the man at the front smiled as he offered to take your coat for you. Didn’t look at you with pity or confusion or poorly hidden disgust.
He just smiled. Like you belong here.
For once, you actually feel like you do. At most networking events, especially the ones hosted by the upper echelon, you feel a bit like a toddler in her mother’s closet. Playing dress up with the big kids in a way that’s painfully obvious.
But not tonight. Tonight, you feel pretty. Worth the second glances people are giving you. You understand it, why people with the resources go through so much trouble. Their attention feels good. You like the way people look at you like they want to know more.
Settling further into the tastefully decorated convention room, you can picture it all, a life you could have had if you’d been born with money and ambition for this particular field.
You’d be a charmer, you decide. The kind of girl that needs nothing more than a good dress and thirty seconds to have investors begging at her feet. A true conglomerate sweetheart that understands how the best of deals are made with champagne and well-timed fleeting glances.
Kind of like the girl your eyes land on now. On the opposite side of the room, her long, dark hair shines under the low chandelier light. She’s gorgeous, and it’s not just because of the deep, red dress that favors her.
Even from a distance, even at a glance, you can tell she comes from money. She carries herself with that kind of grace, that self-assurance that wealthy people always have. Like the room belongs to her.
Whoever she’s talking to seems to agree. It’s a man, you can tell. He has his back to you, but you can imagine his expression easily enough. His eagerness. The way he hangs off her every word, hoping she’ll deem him worthy of her time a little longer.
You watch for another moment, until he turns. It’s his side profile you see now, and it’s unmistakable. Jay.
Of course. You want to roll your eyes.
The two of them are perfect together. A match made in heaven, or maybe a CEO’s board room.
Either way, it has you adjusting your dress, a bit uncomfortably. All of a sudden, it starts to feel like an illusion again.
One hair cut, one expensive dress. You’re still playing dress up. You just did a better job this time. The truth is that you can wear whatever you want. It will never be enough to make you belong here. Not really. Not in the way they do.
The next time a waiter passes with a tray of champagne flutes, you don’t hesitate to reach out and grab one.
Taking a long, slow sip, you allow yourself one final look at Jay. At the girl he’s with. He laughs at something she says, and she puts her hand on his arm.
You pretend like there isn’t something unpleasant starting to swim in your gut.
And then you make yourself busy. It is a networking event, after all.
The first person you find is another girl from your class. She hardly recognizes you, and you can’t quite decide if you like that or not. The champagne is starting to form a pleasant, light sort of haze in your mind, and you feel like you can’t be bothered by anything.
You speak for a minute before moving on. Before long, you start to lose track of all your conversation partners. Another boy from your class. A recent graduate. A startup leader who’s always looking for interns to join his team.
One conversation bleeds into the next, and your glasses of champagne do the same.
The lights start to feel warmer, or maybe that's just the proximity of bodies. Either way, your cheeks are flushed when the waiter passes again.
Reaching out, you replace your empty glass with a full one. But you never get the chance to bring it to your lips.
A hand suddenly encircles your wrist, plucking the champagne flute from between your fingers.
“Hey—” you begin to protest, but a glance upwards stops you dead in your tracks. The hand around your wrist, the champagne thief, is none other than Park Jongseong.
He’s looking at you with something furious in his gaze. “What is wrong with you?”
For a moment, you’re too stunned to respond. And then— “What’s wrong with you?” you return. “I was drinking that.”
You try to reach around him for your stolen champagne, but he’s faster. He steps to the side, effectively blocking your path. You hate to admit it, but he looks good.
Of course he does. This is his domain, after all. It comes naturally to him, you’re sure, the styled hair, the spotless suit that’s been tailored to perfection.
Across from you, he’s looking too. You watch as he swallows, throat bobbing with the action.
Just like in the lecture hall, his gaze makes you fidget, brings back your previous uncertainty tenfold.
You’re hoping he’ll get lost, but Jay does the opposite.
“I don’t know what sorrows you’re trying to drown,” he intones flatly, “but a charity event hardly seems the place to do it, don’t you think?”
“I’m not drowning anything,” you argue. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. “It’s only my second glass.” Another lie.
His lips pull into a thin line. “It’s at least your third.”
God damnit.
You roll your eyes. “What are you, my father? I’m not even drunk.”
“And it’s probably best we keep it that way.”
“There is no we.” Your eyes narrow. “I can handle myself and my alcohol. So give me back my champagne and go back to flirting with whatever oil tycoon’s daughter you were talking to earlier before she thinks I stole you from her.”
A flicker of surprise crosses his features, and you curse your misstep. It appears he wasn’t the only one keeping tabs tonight.
“I wasn’t flirting—”
“I don’t care what you were doing. Champagne.” You nod towards it pointedly. “Now.”
Jay makes no move towards the glass. Instead, he just looks at you for a moment. Assessing. “You’re acting strange these days,” he finally says. He scans you again, all the way down to where your hemline brushes against your heels. “And you look different. Your hair…”
You roll your eyes again. “Yes, well you’ll be delighted to know that even scholarship students have the privilege of getting a haircut sometimes.”
“What?” he blinks. “I didn’t even know you were—” he shakes his head. “Never mind. It’s not just that. The color is different.”
Your hair, the hair you were so terribly fond of less than five minutes ago, you suddenly want to rip out of your scalp. “Try not to faint from the shock,” you say, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “but we do occasionally splurge on a box of hair dye, too.”
“In class, too,” he presses, ignoring your sarcasm. “You’re quiet. I mean, the other day in Professor Jung’s, you didn’t even counter my suggestion for mass layoffs from that sample data set.”
He really has some nerve. Some sheer fucking audacity. “Believe it or not, my sole purpose in life is not to correct every one of your idiotic takes in class. I think I’d run out of oxygen if I had to do that.”
“You had no problem doing it before,” he points out.
“And now I’m not. Shouldn’t you be relieved?” Champagne momentarily forgotten, you take a step forward, praying your argument will be final enough to get him to leave. “I mean, the way I see it, you should be thanking me. Everyone else is way too scared to go against you because of your family name. Now that even I’m silent, the entire lecture hall is officially your echo chamber to conquer.”
“I don’t want an echo chamber,” he shakes his head. “You’ve always had good, I mean, interesting ideas,” he amends. “You made me have to think harder, approach problems in a new way. It’s made me a lot better at analysis.”
You thought you had all but run out of rage, but that comment incites a new flame you hadn’t realized was still there.
“Well I’m terribly sorry that I can’t be your stepping stone to becoming a better analyst anymore,” you say, eyes narrow as your tone goes dangerously low. “I suppose you’ll just have to do it on your own now.”
“Wait,” he protests as he realizes how you interpreted his words. “That’s not what I meant—”
But you’re over it. Over this conversation. Over this event. And most certainly over him.
“To be completely honest, Jay, I’m not really interested in hearing about what you meant. In fact, the only thing I really want is to have my champagne and some peace and quiet again. So, I’m just gonna just take my glass back, and you can shove whatever you meant by that right up your—”
He steps to the side again, this time just as your fingers are closing around the stem of your glass. Knocking into your wrist, he sends the contents of your glass flying, spilling down the front of his ridiculously expensive suit.
It’s his fault, technically, but even with your renowned flippance on finances, you don’t want to be responsible for footing that dry cleaning bill.
“Shit,” you breathe. He just stands there for a moment, shellshocked. Useless, you think.
“Here,” you open your purse, pulling out the wad of napkins you keep stashed in case of accidents just like this. He takes them from you wordlessly as you search for more. You’re sure you have another handful somewhere in your bag. “It’s a light liquid, so it should be okay. Just dab at it gently, and then—”
You look back up, the words dying on your lips.
Because Jay is not dabbing gently at the stain on his suit jacket. In fact, he doesn’t seem concerned with the spill at all. Instead, he’s intently examining one of the napkins you gave him, eyes narrowed in concentration.
Confusion flickers across your features. Did you accidentally give him a napkin that was already stained with something? Is there a weird brand name written on it?
“What?” you ask. “Why aren’t you—” you look at the paper in his hands again. With a sinking feeling in your gut, you realize that along with the napkins, you handed him something else. Something you never intended for anyone else to see.
Panicking, you reach for it. Jay is quicker. Holding it above his head, he keeps it firmly out of your reach. Even in your heels, your fingers can’t quite close around it.
“___,” he says your name. His voice is entirely too close to your ear. Stopping your struggle for a moment, you look at him. Involuntary, you let out a small gasp at the sudden proximity. As if you’ve been burned, you take a half step back.
Looking at you with his hand still stretched above his head, he asks in a low tone, “Why do you have such a weird bucket list? And why do you carry it around in your purse?”
“It’s not a bucket list—”
“It literally says ‘Bucket List’ at the top.”
God damnit. Why did you write that?
“It’s nothing. Just give it back to me—”
He continues to dangle the paper just out of reach. “Does someone have a hit out on you or something? Do you terrorize students in all your classes and now one of them is finally taking revenge?” There’s a playfulness in his tone, but you don’t miss the concern hiding there, too. Even if he tries to disguise it.
“You know,” he presses on, “‘She’s smarter than me and I hate her for it’ isn’t a legally mitigating circumstance for murder. You can tell the authorities if someone’s acting like it is.”
“No one’s trying to kill me.” In your panic, you almost miss his mangled attempt at a compliment.
“Then why are you acting like you’re going to die?” He says it so bluntly, so plainly, that you swear you nearly feel the world slip from underneath your feet.
He doesn't mean it. There’s no way he actually means it, but it sobers you in a startling way. The thought that Jay, someone you’ve only come to know through contempt and competition, can read you like an open book.
“I’m not—” Your words suddenly feel like chalk in your throat. You’re no stranger to lying, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to say it. Not with the weight of his gaze, with the weight of your diagnosis, pressing against you from all angles.
You feel it again, that sickening and all too familiar sensation. It starts as a sharp, localized pain, just above your left eyebrow. You wince. Your breath is suddenly a difficult thing to catch.
In front of you, Jay’s posture eases slightly. You’d be able to grab your list again now, surely. If only you could get your limbs to cooperate.
Pain spreads quickly, first through your head. The ringing in your ears is back, too. That high pitched sound you can’t seem to shake as your vision starts to swim. You feel unsteady on your feet as nausea begins to roll in your stomach.
Beneath you, your legs feel useless. Made of jelly, feeble, about to buckle under your weight. You sway slightly, hand coming to your forehead as you try to think through the pain, through the haze.
You can’t collapse. Not now. You have to stay standing. You have to be okay.
“Woah,” Jay says. It’s lost somewhere amongst the high pitched frequency in your ears. Your pathetic bucket list lies discarded on the table behind him as he reaches forward, as if to steady you. His hands never find you, though. They just linger awkwardly in the space between your bodies, still half outstretched. “You okay?”
You try to answer, try to brush him off and grit through your teeth that you’re fine, but it feels different from before. The nausea, the worst of the dizziness should be passing by now. Your consciousness should be coming back to you, not fading into darkness the more you try to cling to it.
“Hey,” you think he says. Gently, so gently, and you can barely hear him, can barely distinguish words from one another. “Hey, why don’t you sit down. I’ll get you some water or something, and—”
You don’t hear the end of his suggestion. With one final breath, your last tie to consciousness is severed. You feel your body teetering, before you start to slump forward. You think you feel it then, the warmth of his hands on your skin. The weight of your body against the soft fabric of his suit instead of the unforgiving surface of the hardwood floor beneath you.
Your head rests against his chest. Even as your consciousness fades, you can feel his heartbeat, the way it pounds beneath your cheek. You think you hear him call out, loud at first and then louder. There’s desperation in his voice as he begs, pleads for help.
With warm hands against your skin, and your pulse ringing loudly in your ears, the world around you fades entirely until there’s nothing but darkness.
…..
Squinting, the only thing you can make out is light. It’s bright, too bright. The sudden influx of light only makes the dull ache against your temples more pronounced. Blinking slowly, you try to ease away some of your confusion.
You’re not in your bedroom, that much you know for sure. Eyes opening fully, your surroundings begin to take shape. The ceiling above you is tiled, lined with fluorescents. Turning your head to the side, you see two chairs. A bedside table. A vitals monitor.
You’re in a hospital.
Trying not to panic, you push at the bed beneath you, moving your body into an upright position. The monitor next to you doesn’t seem to appreciate your effort. The second you sit up, it starts beeping incessantly, flashing a warning sign you’re not sure how to interpret.
A handful of seconds later, the door bursts open, a nurse flying in.
“You’re awake,” she assesses. “Good.” Hands pressing against your shoulders gently, she urges you back to a laying position. “You shouldn’t try to sit up for at least a few minutes. Your body is still a little out of sorts right now.”
A little out of sorts. That’s a mild way of putting it, you suppose.
“I…” you trail off, still a bit dazed. “Which hospital am I in?”
The nurse frowns at you, sympathy in her eyes. “You’re in Saint Mary’s, sweetheart. My name is Hana. I’ve been overseeing your care since your boyfriend brought you in yesterday evening.”
“My… boyfriend?” you echo.
“Mhm,” Hana nods. He should be back any minute. I’ll let him know you’re awake. He stayed here all night, you know. You found a good one,” she winks. Scanning the vitals machine, she adds, “You seem to be pretty stable now, but you took quite a fall last night. You’re lucky he was there to catch you. The doctor will want to speak to you again and get a final prognosis, but I think you should be free to go before the end of the day unless we find anything new.”
“Okay,” you nod, still a bit stuck on the word boyfriend. “Thank you…” you trail off, not able to remember the name she gave you.
“Hana,” she finishes helpfully.
You nod again. “Thank you, Hana.”
Just as she turns to leave, the door to your room opens again. This time, it’s Jay that comes tumbling in. Like Hana, he seems to have been in quite a hurry, if the shallowness of his breath is anything to go by.
His eyes lock on you. You have the sudden urge to fidget under his stare.
“They told me you woke up,” he states. In the middle of your hospital room, he looks more unsure of himself than you’ve ever seen him. His hands, usually folded neatly or busy with work, hang awkwardly at his sides.
His hair is mussed. It still looks good, of course, but it’s messier than you’ve ever seen it.
He’s still wearing his suit from last night, from the gala. It’s not so pristine now. He’s removed the jacket, for starters. And the champagne stain still spreads across the front of his white shirt, more obvious now that it’s dried.
His collar is askew, the top button undone by what appears to have been frantic hands.
You wish you were here under different circumstances, so you could truly revel in the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see Park Jongseong looking disheveled.
“She’s awake,” Hana confirms. “Vitals look good for now.” Looking at you again, she points to the red button on the table beside you. “Press that if you need anything.” Glancing between you and Jay, she ends with, “I’ll give the two of you some privacy.” She winks at you again, and it takes every ounce of your willpower not to correct her assumptions.
But then she’s gone. It’s just you and Jay.
“You told them you’re my boyfriend?” You arch an eyebrow.
Jay shakes his head. “I didn’t tell them anything.”
“But you let them assume.”
“It was either that or they called your family.” At the mention of them, something cold and sharp pierces through your gut.
Still, you bluff, “What makes you think I don’t want them to call my family?”
“Do you?” He calls it. “I can go tell Hana right now.” His gaze narrows, once again assessing you like you’re a particularly stubborn spreadsheet. “But I don’t think you want me to do that. In fact, I don’t think you’ve even told your family you’re sick at all.”
You freeze. “Why would you assume that?”
“Am I wrong?” he challenges.
Your silence is confirmation enough.
“I knew it.” He laughs in disbelief, looking at the ceiling for a moment before he returns his gaze to you. “That’s so like you. You know, I get not telling your family when you have the flu or some weird infection you picked up from a party you shouldn’t have gone to, but Jesus Christ, ____. Cancer?”
Your body goes cold at the word. He knows. Jay knows.
His anger is confusing. And, you think, entirely unfair. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I exactly chose to have it.”
“No, but you did choose to drink. You know, the doctor told me he specifically warned you about the side effects of alcohol with your medication.”
“That has to be a HIPAA violation. I should sue for dubious ethics—”
“Then I hope every doctor you come across has ‘dubious ethics’ so they can get someone else to help keep you alive,” he exasperates, volume rising, “since you don’t seem very interested in doing it yourself.”
The silence that follows is deafening. You must have misheard him. There’s no way he actually has enough audacity to say that to you. But this is Park Jongseong you’re talking about.
Of course he does. Of course he fucking does.
Your voice is low when you enunciate with an unnatural level of precision, “Excuse me? What did you just say to me?”
Jay has a mind of his own. “I mean, seriously, what the hell were you thinking—”
This time, you won’t let him finish. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you don’t know the first thing about me or my family or my situation. I know you’re used to walking into a room and having your opinion matter more than everyone else’s, but you don’t get to do that here.” Your chest is heaving now. You’re half afraid your vitals monitor is going to start beeping at you again. But you’re angry. “This is my life. My burden to bear. Thank you for helping me get to the hospital safely. Truly. But that doesn’t give you the right to dish out your opinion unsolicited.”
Across from you, Jay takes a deep inhale. Releases it.
His eyes scan your face. He sees the anger there. The resentment. He drags a palm across his forehead, and on his next exhale, he says, much more quietly, “I’m sorry.” You can hardly believe your ears.
“What?” You have to make sure. Surely you heard him wrong.
But he says it again, more audible this time.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “You’re right. I’m just… confused, ____.” He’s looking at you again, in that way that you hate. Like he’s trying to see all the way down to your bones. “I can’t figure this out at all. I mean, the ___ I know fought tooth and nail for every class assignment, no matter how small. You practically ran yourself into the ground every exam season since freshman year. I’ve never met anyone who works as hard, who tries as hard, as you at anything. And that was for test grades. And now… this is… this is your life. And I may not know everything about you or the situation, but from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve just accepted it. I’ve never seen you go down for anything without a fight, and now I’m supposed to believe that you’re just gonna let death take you?” He shakes his head. “It’s just not you.”
“It’s different.” You shake your head. You don’t expect him to understand. The last thing you want to discuss with a conglomerate heir is family finances. So you’ll tell him in vague terms. “Assignment grades, test scores, those are things I can control. The outcome is directly related to my effort. This is… different. There’s something broken in my body. It doesn’t play by the rules, and it doesn’t care about the effort I put in. No matter what I do, it’s just broken.”
“But the doctor mentioned treatment plans. He said there were options to consider—”
“Not for me,” you shake your head. “Those options aren’t things I can do.”
“But why?” he presses. “This is your life. Even if there’s only a small chance, isn’t anything worth trying?”
“I don’t know,” you admit. It’s more honest than you planned to be. But his searching gaze, his rising desperation, have you feeling vulnerable. “I don’t know if it’s the right choice. If I’ll regret it. But it’s still my choice, and this is what I’m choosing now.”
“So what?” he pleads for a bit of understanding. “You just stick it out for a couple of years and then say goodbye to everything?”
“Three months,” you correct.
“What?”
“The doctor estimated I have about three months left. I suppose it’s a little less now,” you amend. “It’s already been nearly a week.”
“Three m—” His voice breaks on the last syllable, eyes wide where they meet yours. Something releases in his body. The breath that was holding him upright. He deflates. “That’s not— You won’t even graduate. You’ll hardly finish the semester.”
“I know,” you nod. You’ve had time, albeit not much, to process some of your grief, your shock. Watching it play out across Jay’s features in real time is jarring, to say the least. “That’s why I made that stupid list I accidentally handed you at the gala. I know it’s not exactly a good bucket list, but they’re things that I want to do. Things that will make the next three months feel meaningful.”
He just stares at you for a moment. “I… you’re so calm.”
“Believe me,” you smile ruefully, “I’ve had my fair share of tears and screaming and throwing things. But none of it changes anything.” You look away from him now, eyes on the window. “I don’t want to spend the next three months angry. Not at myself or anyone else or the universe.”
You feel his eyes against the side of your face. He won’t say anything in response. Won’t give any sort of acknowledgement or approval to your acceptance.
Instead, he tells you, “You have to stay away from alcohol.”
At that, you roll your eyes. “Cut me some slack. You tell a girl she’s got three months to live and you don’t even let her drown her sorrows in a glass of champagne?” It’s meant to be a joke. Or at least a bit lighthearted. Something to diffuse to stifling tension.
Jay doesn’t seem to appreciate the punchline.
“Do you know how fucking terrified I was when you collapsed like that?” His voice is low, urgent. Your gaze meets his again, and there’s something desperate in his eyes. “I’m serious, ___. No alcohol.”
The gravity of his tone hits somewhere deep within you. Even if it’s only fleeting, even if it wasn’t intentional, it’s nice to think for a moment that someone else shares this burden with you. That there’s another soul in this world that understands what’s happening, that cares about the choices you make and their effect on you.
“Okay,” you breathe, voice small. “No alcohol.”
“Good,” Jay nods. His relief doesn’t feel fabricated, not when you watch some of the tension ease out of his shoulders. “Okay,” he nods. “Hana mentioned that the doctor will want to talk to you again. He should be stopping by soon. I’ll wait for you, and then I can drive you back to campus.”
“You don’t have to do that.” You shake your head. “I can just take the bus—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he cuts you off. “I’m already here.”
“Okay,” you nod. You could argue further, but you have the feeling it would be useless. Suddenly, you’re the one feeling unsure of yourself. “Thank you,” you tell him, more a force of habit than anything.
Silence stretches between you, both of you avoiding direct eye contact.
As you look around the room, a question strikes you. “I know that this is Saint Mary’s but which ward am I in? It looks different from before.”
“Ah,” Jay nods. “That’s because you’re not in a ward.” Confusion flickers across your features. He’s quick to explain, “This is a private room.”
“A priv—” You nearly choke on your words. You don’t even want to imagine the hospital bill you’re currently racking up. “I didn’t request that.”
“I know,” he says, either oblivious to your panic or ignoring it. “I did.”
“You…” You try not to let anger be your primary emotion, but it’s difficult in the moment. “Jay, I can’t afford a private room.”
At that, he only looks surprised. “What are you talking about?” He balks. “You don’t have to… I wasn’t going to ask you to pay.”
“Of course I’m paying,” you argue. “You think I’m going to let you cover my hospital bills?”
“You’re not paying me back,” he shakes his head.
“Don’t do that,” you warn as soon as you see something dangerous start to enter his gaze. “I might be sick and I might not have money, but you don’t get to pity me.”
At that, he looks genuinely surprised. He’s quiet for a moment. And then, soft but firmer than you expect, he says, “I don’t pity you. I don’t, can’t even begin to understand you, but I don’t pity you. Not today, not ever. My family donates regularly to this hospital,” he explains. “They offered to put you here as soon as I said my name. There’s nothing to pay back.”
“Oh,” you say. Your voice comes out smaller than you mean for it to. And then, just because it feels due, “Thank you.”
Jay looks at you for a moment, expression unreadable. “You can thank me by actually listening to what the doctor says this time. And then by following his advice.”
“I will,” you nod.
“Seriously. Medication side effects are no joke. You have to—”
“I will,” you repeat, firmer this time.
“Okay,” Jay accepts. “Good.”
As if on cue, you hear a quiet shuffling outside your door. Muffled voices exchanging words, feet turning towards the entrance. The doctor must be here.
Jay hears it too. He looks at you one last time and instructs, “Behave. And listen.”
Something about the way he says it has your spine feeling rigid. “I already told you I will—”
The knock interrupts your protests as the doctor enters the room. It’s the same middle-aged man you saw the last time you visited Saint Mary’s. The one who gave you your diagnosis. The one who told you you have three months left to live.
You don’t remember his name now. Doctor…
Your eyes land on his name tag. That’s right. Doctor Kim.
He looks at you now with an expression that’s hard to decipher. Not pity. Not sympathy. Now that he knows you have someone willing to come to the hospital for you.
You wonder if he’s curious about it now, the reason you told him you had no one to call before.
It’s impossible to tell. Doctor Kim’s expression is unreadable. He’s a malignant tumor specialist, after all. He’s used to giving out terrible news, to putting even the worst of circumstances in plain terms.
Jay greets him before excusing himself. He reminds you he’ll be waiting, when you’re done. And then, he's gone.
At first, Doctor Kim rechecks your vitals, jots down a couple of notes. And then he says, “I can’t lie, Miss ____. I was hoping the next time I saw you, we’d be discussing treatment plans.”
“Ah,” you intone. You try to keep your voice light, but you can’t quite look at him when you say, “I’m sorry to disappoint.”
“Champagne, was it?” He pulls a stool up next to your beside and sits. There’s no judgement in his voice, not even the frustration that Jay had. He’s just confirming the facts, but that somehow feels even worse. Like you’ve disappointed him.
“Only a few glasses.”
“A sip of alcohol is enough to trigger serious side effects with the medication you’re on. You’re lucky all you did was lose consciousness. You’re very lucky someone was there to catch you. If you had fallen, we’d be having a very different conversation right now. If you were able to talk at all, that is.”
The gravity of his words hit you with full force.
“What?” The syllable is small, breathy.
Doctor Kim sighs. “Perhaps the gravity of the situation was not fully conveyed at our previous meeting. I’ll be more clear now. Miss, ____, your body isn’t able to heal itself right now. Your blood cells, even the healthy ones, are deteriorating rapidly. If you fall, if something breaks, if you cut your finger and it becomes infected, the three month estimate I gave you becomes much shorter.”
There’s no ringing in your ears, but his words feel muffled, like you’re listening underwater.
He continues, “That’s why my primary treatment plan includes a specialized, targeted version of chemotherapy that can—”
You shake your head. “I’m not interested.”
“You’re not interested in what, exactly?” he asks. “Living?”
You’re quiet for a moment. Can’t quite meet his gaze. “Am I free to go?”
“You’re stable for now, but I’d like to keep you one more night if—”
“Is that a yes?”
He sighs. “If you insist on going, then I won’t force you to stay.”
“Thank you, doctor. I’ll be more careful.”
He has more to say, you’re sure of it, but the room remains silent as he helps detach the monitors from your body.
And then that’s the end of it.
The drive back to campus is quiet, mostly. Jay has some old classic rock album on shuffle, but he keeps the volume low. Lets you look out the window and doesn’t say much. Doesn’t expect you to either.
The truth sits heavy between the two of you now.
It interrupts your plans, shatters the mirage you’d constructed.
For the last week, you’ve imagined your death and the moments leading up to it as a solitary endeavor. You know you’ll have to tell your family eventually. But you have to time it right. If there’s any hope, they’ll insist on treatment. Even though it would mean losing the threadbare pieces of their lives that they’ve managed to scrape back together.
You told Professor Jung that your health checkup went well, told Kaia that the two hundred dollar rent increase coming next year was something you still needed time to think about.
You’re prolonging it. Delaying it. Death is your dirty little secret. Well, was.
The evidence of that currently has his eyes trained on the road ahead, knuckles slightly pale against the steering wheel.
And that presents a problem.
As you approach the outskirts of campus, you break the silence. “Please don’t tell anyone,” you request.
Jay sighs. Resigned, like he expected this. “Does anyone know?”
“No,” you shake your head.
“Your family?”
He already guessed in the hospital, but you confirm it again now. “I’ll tell them when the time’s right.”
“When it’s too late, you mean.” He’s stealing glances at you now. You school your features into something neutral as he does it again. Reads you like a damn open book. Predicts even the darkest of your plans with ease.
“It’s complicated,” you argue. You’re not sure why you feel the need to justify your choices to him.
“How so?” he presses.
You deflect. “It’s a long story.”
Jay won’t give it up. “I have time.”
You’re quick, too. “Yeah, well I don’t.”
He doesn’t get it at first. “What? What urgent plans could you possibly have on a Sunday afternoon?”
You’re silent for a moment, just giving him a look while you wait for the ill timed joke to sink in.
“Oh,” he finally says, slow on the uptake. And then he’s glaring. “That’s not funny.”
“I think it is.” You shrug.
“Do you really? Or is it just easier?”
That catches you off guard. “What?”
“It is easier,” he repeats, “to treat it all as some big joke? Something meaningless? To pretend like your life doesn’t matter to you, like none of this scares you?
You’re quiet for a moment. Silent, while the wake of his words settles around you. It extends a bit too long, and despite all the boundaries he’s already broken today, he worries he’s overstepped.
“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I—”
“Of course I’m scared,” you whisper. In the passenger seat of his car, the admission feels like defeat. You feel like you’re on that bench again, by the business buildings. Only this time, you aren’t alone. “Jay, I’ve never been more fucking terrified in my life. Death is so… unknown. I’m scared it will hurt. I’m scared that it won’t, that I’ll feel nothing at all. I’m scared that three months will be over before I have the chance to do anything that matters, and I’m fucking scared that I won’t even actually get all the time the doctor estimated. When I close my eyes and try to sleep, I see my parents. My little brother. I imagine them seeing me like that – pale and stiff and wrong – and they just keep—” Your voice breaks. “They’re always crying. And then it’s not just fear anymore. It’s guilt too. I made them feel that way. I couldn’t just stay alive for them. It was my fault, and deep down, maybe they resent me for it, too.”
“Then why—” He whispers, voice cracking too like he’s the one who’s suffering. “Why won’t you get help? Why won’t you tell them?”
“Because believe it or not,” you whisper back, “I think it would be worse if I did. I watched them lose everything, give everything up once. I can’t ask them to do it again for me. The guilt would eat me alive. I can’t be that selfish.”
“And this isn’t selfish? Making their choice for them?”
You shake your head. “It’s my turn to make a sacrifice.”
“Are you insane?” He’s louder now, as if sense can be forced into your head with volume. “Love isn’t some transaction you pass back and forth. You’re lying to yourself,” he accuses. “You’re not telling them because you already know what they would do. They’d do anything for you. It doesn’t matter if they’ve been through hell before. They’d choose to do it again. Always. So put your guilt aside for a second and let people that love you take care of you when you need it.”
He’s dangerously close to striking a vein you don’t want him to find. His arguments are making too much sense, eroding the decisions you thought were set in stone. You need him to stop. “You don’t get it—”
“Because you won’t tell me anything!” His palms splay against the steering wheel now, open in frustration.
“I don’t have to!” You’re loud now too. “I barely know you. It’s not like you would even begin to understand, anyway. You were born with the world at your fingertips, but in case you need a reality check, that’s not what life is like for the rest of us—”
Jay switches into the left lane so suddenly it cuts through your words. Thrown by the force, you grip the armrest for support. “What are you doing? You’re about to miss the turn—”
“I hope,” his voice is low now. Steady, controlled but just barely. “That I’m misunderstanding you.”
He waits until the light is green, then he spins the car through a U-turn.
“Jay, what are you doing? I need to go back to campus—”
He’s done hearing your excuses. “Are you telling me this is about fucking money?”
In the passenger seat, your blood runs cold. Shit. Shit. You said too much.
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but you said I wouldn’t understand. Because of my family. Their resources. Their money.”
“I did not say that,” you argue, but it’s futile. Weak to even your ears.
“You implied it.”
“So what,” you scoff. “I’m done talking about it. Like I said, you wouldn't get it. And why did you turn around? Where are you even going?”
“I’m taking you back to the hospital.” His tone leaves no room for discussion.
“What?” For the second time, your blood runs cold. “Why?”
“Why do you think?” He says it like it’s obvious. Like nothing you’ve said in the past few hours has gotten through to him. “So you can tell the doctor you changed your mind and start treatment.”
You’re panicking now, pulling at your seatbelt. “I didn’t change my mind,” you protest. “I’m not starting treatment—”
“And I’m not gonna drive you back to campus and act like everything’s okay. I’m not gonna sit here and watch you die.”
His words hang in the air, the implication obvious. He has the money, after all. Probably won’t even notice it’s missing. You hate the way it makes you feel small, like you owe him something. Like he’s doing this out of some misplaced sense of obligation.
Your voice is barely audible. “You told me you didn’t pity me.”
“I don’t,” he reaffirms. “This isn’t pity.”
Your words bite, even more than you mean for them to. “Well, I’m not a fucking charity case either.”
“Then it’s not charity.” He shakes his head. “It’s a deal.”
“A deal?” you echo. “What deal could you possibly make with me—”
“Let me finish first in our class,” Jay says, and it catches you entirely off guard. “In all of our remaining courses and overall class rank,” he clarifies. “Let me take first.”
You scoff. “You don’t need me to do anything for that.”
“I do,” he insists. “You and I have been neck and neck since our first year. Competing against you, there’s no guarantee.”
“That’s hardly an equal trade,” you point out. “I can’t even imagine how much money—”
“It is for me.” His jaw tightens. “If I don’t rank first, my father won’t officially initiate me as a shareholder. I won’t have any position or power in the company. And he’s not fond of second chances. I won’t have an opportunity to remedy my mistake later.”
At that, you turn to face him fully, surprise coloring your features. His eyes are still on the road, but you’re sure he can feel that way you scan his side profile, the tense set of his jaw and shoulders.
You can’t get a read on him, on what he’s thinking. Does it humiliate him to ask? Is he even telling the truth? You can’t imagine someone in your family ever treating you so coldly, but the sudden tension doesn’t seem fabricated.
You know you’d be stupid not to agree. You don’t need to rank first to keep your scholarship, and that accolade won’t mean much past graduation. You glance at him again. Well, at least not for you.
And regardless of the consequences, you’d get a fighting chance. Something akin to hope blooms in your chest. You haven’t let yourself feel it, not since that first night. It’s almost addictive now, like water in a desert. You stop yourself just before you start scooping mouthfuls with your bare palms.
“I can’t—”
“Please,” he whispers. It’s not an argument now. Not a debate. He’s begging you.
And that’s what does it. Unties the last knot of your resistance.
You’re quiet for a moment longer, and then—
“Okay,” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. Jay keeps his gaze forward, but you watch a flicker of relief ghost across his features.
“I have two conditions,” he tells you.
It’s so like him, you think. To get his way and then ask for more.
“You’re really gonna push it? I could change my mind, you know.” But you won’t. Not when you’ve already tasted water from the oasis. Not when hope is already curling deep within you. Not when you could live.
Jay calls your bluff, too. “First, you tell your family.”
“But—”
“It doesn’t have to be right now,” he adds. “But within three days.”
You want to argue, to protest. But they’ll want to come see me. They’ll have to take time off work, away from the restaurant. And the transportation costs will be too high.
Jay beats you to it. “I’ll cover any related costs that you let me. I’ll help you hide it, too. Pretend it’s part of a donation program or a special fund for university students.”
It’s generous. It’s so terribly considerate that it makes your head spin. You can’t linger on it too long without feeling uncomfortable.
Instead, you say, “Fine. What’s the other condition?”
“Your bucket list.” Jay nods to your purse that rests on your lap. You realize he must have returned it while you were unconscious, the list you accidentally gave him last night. “You still spend the next three months checking everything off.”
“What?” you frown. You weren’t expecting that. “Why?”
“Treatment is hope,” he explains. “Not a guarantee. You took the time to write it, so you should see it through.”
Part of you hesitates. If you’re really going to do this, if you’re really going to live, then you’ll need every last penny you’ve saved. Sunoo will need it. Your parents will need it.
But you suppose you can take a sleeper train to the beach to avoid hotel costs and find some old convertible with a cheap rental fee to drive around for an hour. And kissing a stranger doesn’t exactly cost anything.
Suddenly, the thought of Jay reading that particular list item has heat rising in your cheeks. It’s probably too much to pray he’s forgotten about it.
But you’ve left enough of your pride in his car and at his feet.
For a moment, you imagine what this feels like for him. What it would be like to give out such an impossible amount of money so easily. To have a father that gives ultimatums that could change the trajectory of his entire future in an instant.
And then you think of you. Of the simple truth you’ve been dodging and denying and ducking from since reality slapped you across the face a week ago.
You don’t want to die.
You think of that little girl. The one who wanted to be an astronaut, a lawyer, a singer. She wouldn’t want you to die, either.
And like Jay said, this isn’t a guarantee. But it is hope.
For you. For Sunoo. For your parents. For her. Maybe, you think, even for Park Jongseong, who's been slowly edging further and further past the speed limit for the last five minutes.
“Okay,” you tell him, looking out at the buildings you pass. You still don’t know most of them, but there’s another word there now, and it makes all the difference.
summary you and your boyfriend went on a cold adventure and you’re very sensitive to the cold. So he he helps you warm up. w. content fluff kissing ✿ 316
🦢 FATE ゙✿
🪽SHORT BLURB ❕
✉️ if you wanna be added to the tag list comment or text me, i hope you enjoyed this one! i have a few more that are coming soon so stay tuned!🗯️🖇️🦢🍭
it’s like you were allergic to the cold
you hate to see winter coming
especially because Jungwon, your boyfriend adored going on adventures during winter
halfway through December and snow is attacking the whole part of the world
sitting in the living room while siping hot chocolate, tucked in a blanket
that was not available for you unfortunately
“babe look at the mountains!!” jungwon pointed out
yes, right now you were on some adventure on some mountain with other people
you’re like a human big ass pillow,—in the most warmest skiing jacket along with a winter cap, gloves, boots, scarf and sweatpants
it’s still not enough
you’re shivering from the cold and of course Jungwon noticed
“you cold baby?” he asks looking at you through his scarf that’s covering his mouth and half nose
those doe eyes looking at you
you nod moving closer to him as he hugs you, he was much warmer tho and that’s what you liked about him
“gimme your hands” he reached out and took the, blowing hot breath into them as he stuffed them into his warm pockets
“better?”
“mm” you nod leaning against him making him chuckle
“i hate you for making me do this…”
“it’s too cold wonnie…” you sniffle from the cold, your nose red song with your lips
he stared at them,
he kissed your nose
“i know baby, but that means i can warm you up” he smirked
“my lips are so cold that i can’t even talk normally without stuttering!” you pout
he grinned and leaned down pulling you closer
“i can help with that~”before he leaned down and kissed you
his lips were so warm
gentle and soft
you melted and felt warm like it was summer
when he pulled away you mumbled
“offfff its still cooooold…!” you whine even if it means getting another kiss from him
so many engene are acting really strange and still delusional about this situation. the double standards toward enhypen and heeseung are getting out of hand.
i respect that everyone can make their own choices, but it makes no sense to push a boycott while also being hypocritical about it? telling others to boycott the other six members while supporting heeseung like he’s not under the same company just shows where some of you actually stand.
the whole “7-1=0” mindset is extreme, and saying “oh we only want heeseung in enhypen” is disrespectful to the years of work he’s put into his own album. reporting his insta and picking apart his photos to call them ai is unnecessary and just nasty. i seriously can’t stress this enough — stop overanalyzing everything and pushing your own parasocial narratives onto the members. this is not normal behavior.
at some point, you need to step back and really think about what you’re doing. some of you are choosing to stay in this mindset and turning it into a movement just to feel like you’re helping, when in reality it’s doing more harm than good for all of them.
he liked watching you under the solace of the moon. [ written ] [ oneshot ]
she made a statement so trash . . .ㅤ✿
in which your beloved boyfriend makes you overthink because of the way he texts!
[ texts ] [ oneshot ]
prancing in leopard print . . .ㅤ★ ✿
in which nishimura riki falls head over heels for the silver-studded, pink-embellished goddess at one of his band’s fansigns. six months later, he’s waking up in your bed while on tour. [ written ] [ part two ]
i want sigh hex . . .ㅤ★ ✿
cutesie texts with your softie but nonchalant ahh dealer who clearly has feelings for you! [ texts ] [ part two ]
the air that i breathe . . .ㅤ✿
after a long day at the studio, riki comes home to the smell of red velvet cupcakes and your sudden curiosity regarding his japanese. [ written ] [ oneshot ]
honey blonde . . .ㅤ★ ✿
you are pleasantly surprised to see that your boyfriend has dyed his hair. again!
[ written ] [ oneshot ]
fluttershy(?) and discord(?) . . .ㅤ✿
in which riki consumes a weird-looking granola bar and ends up discovering fluttershy in human form—you! too bad your older brother has a tendency to be overprotective… [ smau ] [ oneshot ]
waiter! one cup of attention, please! . . .ㅤ✿
some random stranger thought you’d be easy when he offers to buy you and your friends multiple rounds of drinks. little did he know… [ written ] [ oneshot ]
there is a difference between being ot6 and respecting enhypen as a 6 member group moving forward. just because I have decided to continue to support enhypen in the future with 6 members does not mean I have lost hope on heeseung coming back? in my heart enhypen is always going to be 7 and nothing can ever change that, I have been standing by them for nearly 6 years theres so many memories we have together, we quite literally grew up together.
yes I do believe something sketchy is going on behind the scenes because literally nothing about this whole thing makes sense. but I am not going to dissect every little thing the members do as a sign heeseung is coming back, that’s all you guys have been doing. they are people too and they can’t do or say anything anymore without it becoming a conspiracy theory.
all 7 of them are going through a hard time right now and people should be more respectful of that. I support them all in whatever path they take, whether that is 7 members or 6 members and a soloist.
stormborns
origamiaround
vaporwave
dailybridgerton
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
