synopsisâ§Ë°.  you have become an expert at saying "i'm fine" until the words lose all meaning. jay has become an expert at pretending he believes you, at giving you space while staying close enough to catch you when you fall. but grief doesn't follow a schedule, and when it finally cracks you open in the middle of the night, he's there to help you put the pieces back together, one whispered word at a time.
containsâ§Ë°. grief/loss (unspecified, up to your imagination) ; depression ; emotional repression ; nightmares ; detailed comfort scene with crying/breakdown ; themes of healing and recovery ; wc: 2.9k ; pet names (my love) ; jake mentioned
notesâ§Ë°. I'm kinda sorry for writing two back to back sad fics, but i lowkey haven't been feeling too hot lately, so im just trying to push out some comfort. i kinda wanted to make something for you to read when your having a rough day or something, yknow? so i hope this brings you the comfort you need if your having a difficult day :)
you've gotten very good at saying you're fine.
it's become automatic, a reflex, the same way you blink when something flies toward your face or say "bless you" when someone sneezes.
it doesn't require thought. it doesn't require feeling. it's just a noise you make so people will stop looking at you with those worried eyes, so they'll stop asking questions you don't know how to answer.
"i'm fine."
"i'm okay."
"just tired."
the lies roll off your tongue smooth as water, and you tell yourself you're protecting the people around you, sparing them from the weight of your sadness. but really, you're just scared. scared that if you start talking about the ache in your chest, you'll never stop.
scared that once you open the door you've been holding shut with both hands, everything will come flooding out and drown you.
jay knows.
you're not sure when he figured it out, but somewhere between the third time you cancelled dinner plans because you "weren't hungry" and the fifth time he found you staring blankly at the wall at two in the morning, he stopped believing you.
or maybe he never believed you to begin with. maybe he saw the truth in you the same way he sees everything, with that quiet, patient observation that makes you feel simultaneously exposed and cared for.
he doesn't push. that's the thing that undoes you, in the end.
he doesn't push, doesn't demand explanations, doesn't hover or suffocate or try to fix you with platitudes about time healing all wounds or everything happening for a reason. he just... stays. he stays in your orbit, close enough to touch but not so close that you feel trapped, and he waits.
he brings you tea in the morning, the way you like it, with honey instead of sugar.
he texts you throughout the day, not asking if you're okay, just sending little things. a photo of a dog he saw on his walk. a song he thinks you might like. a reminder that he's thinking of you without requiring a response.
he cooks dinner and doesn't comment when you only pick at it, just saves the leftovers in containers with your name on them.
he holds your hand when you watch tv, his thumb tracing slow patterns against your palm, and he doesn't say anything when your eyes stay dry even during the sad parts of movies that used to make you cry.
he knows, and he stays, and he loves you in all the ways that don't require you to be whole.
you've been sleeping at his place more often than not lately.
your apartment feels too big, too empty, too full of memories that hurt to touch. his place is small, just a one bedroom with creaky floorboards and a window that doesn't quite close all the way, but it smells like him and it feels safe and when you're there, the weight on your chest feels just slightly lighter.
he set up a drawer for you, cleared out space in his closet, bought the shampoo you like without you having to ask.
he never said "move in with me" but he made room for you, physical space that matched the space he'd already made in his life, and you gravitated toward it like a plant leaning toward sunlight.
but grief doesn't care about safe spaces. grief doesn't respect boundaries or good days or the careful routines you've built to keep yourself functioning.
grief waits, patient as a predator, for the moment when your guard is down, when you're too tired to hold the door shut anymore, and then it pounces.
it happens on a tuesday night, three months after a loss that you still can't talk about without feeling like your throat is closing up.
you'd had a good day, relatively speaking. you'd gone to class, finished an assignment, even laughed at something jay said about his coworker.
you'd felt almost normal, and you'd let yourself believe that maybe you were getting better, maybe you were finally moving on.
you fell asleep in his bed, his arms around you, his breath warm against the back of your neck, and you felt peaceful.
then the dream comes.
it's not even a dramatic dream, not really.
no monsters, no chase scenes, no horror movie jump scares. it's just... absence. emptiness.
you're walking through your childhood home, the one you grew up in, the one that doesn't exist anymore, and every room is empty. you call out, but your voice doesn't make a sound. you search, but there's nothing to find. just dust and silence and the crushing certainty that you'll never find what you're looking for, that it's gone, that it's never coming back.
you wake up with a gasp, your heart hammering against your ribs, your face wet with tears you don't remember crying.
the room is dark, just the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains, and for a moment you don't know where you are.
panic claws at your throat, sharp and suffocating, and you sit up, pressing your hand to your chest like you can physically hold yourself together.
"jay," you choke out, but it's barely a whisper, barely a sound at all.
it doesn't matter. he's already awake.
he's a light sleeper, always has been, and the moment you stirred, the moment your breathing changed from the slow rhythm of sleep to the ragged gasps of panic, he was alert.
he sits up beside you, his hand finding your back in the dark, warm and steady and there.
"y/n," he says, his voice rough with sleep but gentle, so gentle. "hey, hey, you're okay. you're safe. i'm right here."
you try to say something, try to reassure him that you're fine, that it was just a dream, but the words won't come.
instead, a sob breaks free from your chest, violent and ugly, and suddenly you're crying, really crying, the kind of crying you haven't let yourself do in months.
it comes out of you like a storm, uncontrollable and overwhelming, your whole body shaking with the force of it.
jay doesn't ask what's wrong. he doesn't tell you to calm down or stop crying. he just moves, shifting so he's sitting against the headboard, and he pulls you into his lap, cradling you against his chest with an ease that suggests he's been waiting for this, waiting for you to finally let go.
"it's okay," he murmurs, his hand stroking down your back, slow and soothing. "i've got you. let it out, sweetheart. i'm right here."
you bury your face in his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, soap and sleep and something uniquely jay, and you cry until your throat is raw and your eyes are burning and you feel like you might actually be drowning in your own grief.
he holds you through all of it, his arms tight around you, his chin resting on top of your head, his heartbeat steady against your cheek.
"i'm not okay," you finally manage to gasp out, the words broken and barely intelligible.
"jay, i'm not okay. i haven't been okay. i keep saying i am but i'm not, i'm not, and i'm so tired, i'm so tired of pretending-"
"i know," he says, and his voice is thick with his own emotion, rough and tender. "i know, baby. i know."
"i don't know how to be okay," you sob, clutching at his shirt like it's the only thing keeping you anchored. "i don't know how to stop hurting. i try, i try so hard, but it's always there, and i can't-"
"shh," he soothes, pressing kisses to your hair, your temple, anywhere he can reach. "you don't have to be okay. you don't have to pretend with me. i don't need you to be fine, y/n. i just need you to be here. i just need you to let me hold you."
"it's too much," you whisper, your voice cracking.
"i'm too much. i'm broken, and i'm sad all the time, and i don't want to burden you with-"
"stop," he says, firm but gentle, and he pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, to make you look at him even though you can barely see him through your tears. "listen to me. you are not a burden. your pain is not a burden. loving you means loving all of you, even the parts that hurt, even the parts that are broken. especially those parts. do you understand me?"
you shake your head, fresh tears spilling over, and he wipes them away with his thumbs, his touch so tender it makes you cry harder.
"you're the strongest person i know," he continues, his voice soft but insistent.
"you carry so much, and you never complain, and you keep going even when it feels impossible. but you don't have to carry it alone. let me help you. let me be here. that's all i want, y/n. just to be here with you, through all of it, for as long as you need."
"i'm scared," you admit, your voice small and vulnerable. "i'm scared i'll never feel okay again. i'm scared i'm always going to be this sad."
he pulls you back against his chest, holding you so close you can feel his heartbeat, and he rocks you gently, back and forth, like you're something precious he's trying to keep safe.
"it's okay to be scared," he whispers. "it's okay to be sad. you lost something important, and that doesn't just go away. it takes time, and it takes healing, and it takes being gentle with yourself. and i'm going to be here for all of it. i'm not going anywhere. even when it's hard. especially when it's hard."
you cling to him, your fingers twisted in his shirt, and you let yourself believe him. let yourself believe that maybe you don't have to be okay right now, maybe you don't have to have it all figured out.
maybe it's enough to just be here, in his arms, letting him hold the pieces of you together until you're strong enough to hold them yourself.
"can you sleep?" he asks after a while, when your crying has slowed to hiccuping breaths and occasional tremors. "or do you want to stay awake for a bit?"
"i don't want to sleep," you admit, your voice muffled against his chest. "i'm scared the dream will come back."
"okay," he says, and he doesn't try to convince you that dreams can't hurt you, doesn't tell you to just close your eyes.
instead, he adjusts his position, settling back against the pillows with you curled against his side, and he starts talking.
"do you want to hear about my day?" he asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. "it was pretty boring, but i can tell you about it if you want. distract you a little."
you nod, sniffling, and he presses a kiss to your forehead before he starts.
"so i woke up late, which you know because you were already gone for class, and i had to rush to get ready. couldn't find my keys, spent ten minutes looking for them before i realized they were in my pocket the whole time. classic me, right?"
you make a small sound, not quite a laugh but close, and he smiles against your hair, encouraged.
"got to work, and my boss was in one of those moods where nothing anyone did was right. he yelled at jake for like, twenty minutes about the coffee machine, which jake doesn't even use, so that was fun. then at lunch, i went to that new sandwich place on fifth, the one with the green canopy? got a turkey club that was way too big, i only ate half, saved the rest for later. thought about texting you a picture but i figured you'd be in class."
he keeps talking, his voice low and soothing, filling the dark room with mundane details and small stories.
he tells you about the dog he saw on his lunch break, a golden retriever that looked like it was smiling. he tells you about the weird conversation he had with his coworker about conspiracy theories involving pigeons.
he tells you about the song that was stuck in his head all day, and he hums a few bars of it, off-key and silly, and you feel yourself relaxing, bit by bit, your breathing slowing to match the rhythm of his voice.
"and then i came home," he continues, his hand moving from your arm to your hair, stroking through the tangled strands with infinite patience. "and you were here, and you smiled at me, and that was the best part of my day. that's always the best part of my day. coming home to you."
your heart aches, but it's a different kind of ache now.
not the sharp, hollow pain of grief, but the warm, full feeling of being loved, truly loved, for exactly who you are in this moment, broken pieces and all.
"i love you," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them, but you don't want to stop them, you want him to know. "i love you so much, jay. thank you for staying. thank you for not giving up on me."
he goes still for a moment, his hand pausing in your hair, and when he speaks again his voice is thick with emotion.
"i love you too," he says, and he tilts your chin up so he can kiss you, soft and sweet and full of promise. "i love you, and i'm not going anywhere. you're stuck with me, okay? through the good days and the bad days and all the days in between."
"okay," you whisper against his lips.
"now," he says, settling back again, pulling you close against his side, "close your eyes for me. just try. i'll be right here, and if the dream comes back, i'll wake you up. i promise. i'll keep you safe."
you hesitate, still afraid of the darkness waiting behind your eyelids, but you trust him.
you trust him more than you've trusted anyone in a long time. so you close your eyes, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat.
"that's it," he murmurs, his hand resuming its slow stroking of your hair. "you're doing so good. i'm so proud of you, you know that? for letting yourself feel things, for letting me in. that takes so much courage."
"don't leave," you mumble, already half-asleep, your exhaustion finally catching up with you now that the storm of tears has passed.
"never," he promises, his voice barely above a whisper. "i'm right here. i'm always right here. sleep now, my love. i've got you."
he keeps talking, his voice a low, soothing rumble against your ear.
he tells you about the plans he has for the weekend, about the book he's reading, about the way the light looked coming through the window this morning.
he tells you that you're beautiful, that you're strong, that you're loved, that you're safe. he tells you that tomorrow will be a new day, and you'll face it together, and whatever comes, you'll handle it side by side.
you drift off to the sound of his voice, to the feeling of his arms around you, to the certainty that he means every word.
when you dream again, it's not of empty rooms and silence. it's of him, of his smile, of the way he looks at you like you're the most precious thing in his world.
when morning comes, grey light filters through the curtains, you wake up still in his arms, and he's awake, watching you with soft, tired eyes, and he smiles when he sees you looking at him.
"hey," he whispers, his voice rough with sleep.
"hey," you reply, and your voice is hoarse from crying, but it doesn't hurt. it feels like release, like relief, like the first breath after being underwater too long.
"how are you feeling?" he asks, his hand coming up to brush hair away from your face, his touch gentle, checking, caring.
you consider the question, really consider it, and you don't say you're fine. you don't say you're okay. you tell him the truth.
"like i have a long way to go," you say quietly. "but like i don't have to go there alone."
his smile is the sun coming up, warm and bright and just for you. "never alone," he promises. "never, ever alone. i'm right here, every step of the way. however long it takes."
you burrow closer to him, hiding your face in his neck, breathing him in, and you let yourself believe it. let yourself believe in him, in this, in the possibility that healing is possible, that love is real, that you are worth staying for.
"thank you," you whisper.
"for what?"
"for seeing me. even when i didn't want to be seen."
he holds you tighter, his arms a fortress, a promise, a home.
"always," he murmurs against your hair. "i'll always see you. all of you. and i'll love you anyway. through all of it. forever."
and as you lie there in the early morning light, held together by arms that won't let go, you think that maybe, just maybe, forever doesn't sound so impossible anymore.
âËâżË°
anâ§Ë°. i hope you enjoyed this!! i promise the next fic will be happier lol, expect golden retriever energy jake soon!!! as for the plug fics, ill focus on that series as soon as i finish the jake fic :))) reblogs are always welcome! please comment any feedback and if you like my writing and would like to see something specific, send an ask!!
established relationship, use of âbabyâ, angst if a big disagreement is considered angst, comfort, age gap (undergraduate!reader/medstudent!sunghoon)
3,699: WC < 06
I have reqs for angst but Idk what angst is if it isnât someone dying đ
âHow long do you think it will take before you and I are married?â He asks lazily, rubbing your ring finger between his thumb and pointer.
Excuse you?
âIs there a specific timeline you want to follow? We just celebrated our second year together, so maybe in the next year?â He continues, moving his head up slightly so itâs resting with yours.
You donât want to have the conversation, not now, maybe not even for the next few years.
Where is any of this even coming from?
The thing is, you might be too young to have this conversation, but heâs actually at the age where itâs important that he thinks about it.
But you and Sunghoon have always had similar mentalities; so where does marriage and everything that it comes with fit into the lifestyles of two future doctors?
âUhhâŠI donât knowâŠâ you shrug, pulling your hand back slowly as you keep your head angled down.
You suddenly regret having chosen to lie down facing him now; you donât want to look at him for this.
âWhat?â
There it is.
Thereâs the disappointment you expected to hear.
âCan we not talk about this right now? Iâm tired, I want to go to sleep.â You ask, turning away from him onto your side.
Actually, no.
You canât talk about this another time.
âYou canât just say something like that and then stop the conversation there-â he sits up as he insists on it, seeing nothing but your back for a bit.
You come up on your elbows, some of your hair falls forward over your shoulders and you have to tuck it behind your ear to face him the way you wanted to.
âThis isnât the first time Iâve mentioned this.â You remind, âyou know exactly what my plans are for the next few years until I graduate.â
âI probably agreed with you thenâI mean, are you really telling me that after two years, nothing has changed?â He asks.
âNo.â You answer much quicker than you mean to, and it doesnât help.
âWhat difference does it make whether weâre married or not?â You suggest, âis there some kind of trial? Would we break up if we werenât married after three years?â
âItâs more than that, and you know that.â He says, his brows creased tightly.
âAnd you canât wait?â
Thereâs a small pause between then and when the words settle in his ears.
âIs it really so urgent that I canât at least get into medical school before you throw this on me?â
âThrow this on you?â He repeats, backing up slightly. âIâm telling you I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and you take it as some kind of burden?â
You run a hand over your face, sitting back on your heels to take some of the weight off your arms.
The break gives you both something new to focus on; something the other insinuated that only registered after you had time to process it.
âYou want kids?â
âYou donât want kids?â
And somehow, itâs the exact same thing and said almost at the exact same time.
âOf course I want themâŠwith you.â He admits.
The way his voice softens with vulnerability makes it hard to continue, but you know itâs necessary.
âItâs not a you and me thing.â You say carefully, âI meanâŠit is, because it involves meâŠbut my wish to not have them has nothing to do with you, or our relationship.â
Now that itâs out in the open, you try to focus on making sure this doesnât become a rift between the two of you.
âWeâre not like other peopleâthe things we want to achieve, they can only be done if we focus on ourselves.â You add, leaning forward to get a bit closer to him.
âWe can compromise on the marriage thing.â
âMaybe once we have the positions in what we want, we can revisit the children thingâbut do you really want to be almost 35 and having children just when your career has started to stabilize?â
Youâre not on the same level as himâthat much youâve made clear.
But why is it so easy for you to belittle his wants and needs by calling them things?
Why do your ideas take priority over his?
âI canâtâŠâ he hesitates, shaking his head a bit as he looks down at the gap between the two of you.
Canât what?
Believe it?
Do this?
Understand it?
Come on, Sunghoon, finish your sentence.
âHoon,â you call out, watching him back up until heâs closer to the edge to get up on his feet.
âI need to think about this.â He says simply, grabbing his phone and disconnecting it from his charger before he starts walking away.
âSunghoon.â Youâre firmer this time, using his full name in a way you arenât used to.
You stay still, waiting, thinking he wouldnât get far and return even if to argue.
Instead, you sit still; only coming up on your feet when you hear the front door open and close.
You donât even waste time putting shoes on.
Yet by the time youâre peeking your head out the door, Sunghoon isnât even at the end of the hallâheâs completely gone.
You step back inside, finding his keys missing from the bowl on the rack near the door.
What did he mean by âthinkâ about it?
Why does that entail taking his car with him?
Hours pass, and you wait in the living room; wanting to catch him the minute he gets his foot in the door.
And just as you start to worry now that itâs getting closer and closer to 1 in the morning, you finally get a text from him.
hoon: Iâm staying with Jay tonight.
You expect more; maybe an explanation as to why heâd spend the night with a friend so suddenly after what happened.
But he doesnât even try to type out another message; as if he wrote this, sent it, and turned his phone off.
you: please come back
you: we donât have to talk about it again tonight
you: you donât have to stay anywhere else
Of course, your messages arenât replied to.
And after 10 minutes, it becomes clear that he doesnât intend to read them, much less return.
ââ§âșâ± ââ
Jay lives alone; no roommates and he has a penthouse so entire floor his space is on belongs to just him.
It belonged to his dad whenever he did business in Seoul, and when Jay moved here for school he gave it to him.
So Jay has all this space for no reason.
It used to give the guys a place to crash on late nights or when they used to throw parties here.
Now, itâs keeping Sunghoon while he hides from his girlfriend.
Which is actually a first, seeing as none of the guys have had relationships like him.
And as nosey as the guys are, itâs not just the space Jay is giving Sunghoon; itâs his opinion and his ear.
âItâs not like I said I wanted her to quit schoolâ all I did was tell her what I wanted it for usââ Sunghoon says, standing on the fine line between staying upset and actually crying.
Jay sits on a desk chair near the bed; reclined as far back as he can while his hands are tucked behind his head for cushion.
Youâd think he isnât paying attention, but actually heâs trying to find the nicest way to tell his friend that he couldnât have expected anything from someone younger than him.
âYou should have seen her,â he continues, âlike it was so easy for her to just say no without actually hearing me out.â
Jay wonât mind if Sunghoon starts crying, but itâs going to make it hard to snap any sense into him if he does.
Jay would never speak plainly or rudely then; heâs not an asshole.
âIâm allowed to want more than what we originally planned onâthings changeââ he says, his voice shaky as his eyes start to water.
Jay sighs softly, straightening up slightly as he pats Sunghoonâs shoulder.
âMaybe you guys just need a break.â Jay says, officially giving up on any chance of a reality check as he decides to let his friend sleep in peace.
âYou donât want to break up, right?â He prompts, standing up slowly.
That thought hadnât even crossed his mind, and now that it had, Sunghoon was worse for it.
âOf course notââ he agreed, tears falling as his throat starts to lump up.
Real smooth, Jay.
âIâm sure she doesnât either.â He follows up, getting back to his original point, âtake some time apart. Sheâll see she canât live without you, and you can talk about it again after youâve had enough time to really think about it.â
Time apart?
Sunghoon just said he didnât want that.
How is a break any different from an actual break up?
âIâd say a month is a good amount for this.â Jay adds, watching Sunghoon stop for a moment as he looks up at him with his brows furrowed.
âA month??â He repeats.
âThatâs what youâll tell her,â Jay corrects slightly, âjust to scare her.â
Sunghoon considers it for a moment; maybe it would work, maybe it might make things worse.
But donât all things have to get worse before they get better?
So he agrees.
And he uses the two days in the weekend to soft-launch you into the bomb heâll drop on you that following Monday.
You share locations, and thatâs about all the comfort you get during those two days.
If itâs really with Jay that heâs staying, he hasnât left his apartment since he got there.
His contact bubble moves around the space, but never outside of it, not even a buffer in the hall before it returns.
You donât like making your relationship other peopleâs business, so you keep to yourself for those two days.
You donât cry.
You donât worry.
What could you have to worry about?
The few arguments in the last year have been over things out of your controlâthings that could have an impact because theyâre unpredictableâbut even those had no lasting effects on your relationship.
Maybe you stepped on him a little.
As long as you remind him that youâre not going against him for no reason and can compromise, things can work themselves out.
Youâve even thought about it briefly; as long as you get into med school and get through your first year, youâre more than willing to get engaged then.
Itâs less than two years away, and by then youâll be at a more respectable age and have more time to think about the extent of your futures.
So when you finally see his bubble move, youâre hopeful.
And you feel a bit better when you watch it move around and make its way to your complex.
You might be a little too eager; standing in the entranceway as he starts unlocking the door.
But itâs fine, right?
âI think we need a break.â Breaking the silence with this was definitely a choice, but he canât exactly take it back now.
The words donât register right away.
Heâs finally back after two entire days of nothing, and he needs more time to himself?
âWhat?â You ask, a lagged reply with an expression that forms after you speak.
âJay thinksââ he begins,
âIâm not dating Jay.â You interrupt, âJay doesnât get to have an opinion on something that heâs not involved in.â
Youâre frustrated now; you didnât argue at first, and you gave him the space he asked for when he left.
So yeah, if you want to raise your voice and be harsh, youâre going to.
âJay thinks itâs the only way through this without breaking up,â he repeats himself, this time getting through his entire point.
You laugh, hand coming up over your mouth before it slides down your neck and around it, rubbing the back of it as you process.
âDo whatever you want.â You scoff, âyou better be gone by the time I get back.â
You push past him, bumping shoulders before you come off the apartment floor and onto the floor mat where you change shoes.
He stands there with his back turned to you, a small sigh as he waits for you to leave before he packs his things.
It takes him 20 minutes; he doesnât take absolutely everything, but if heâs going to be gone for an entire month, heâs going to need a lot.
It doesnât feel good to end up with a nearly empty bedroom, but he doesnât want to argue with you again if you get back while heâs still here.
And he leaves despite not wanting to; packing everything into his car and waiting for a bit as he considers whether he really wants to do this or not.
In the end, he decides for it; and you watch from your carâparked only spaces away from hisâas he pulls out of the space and drives off.
You saw the hesitation, so you waited a bit to see if heâd come back.
Instead, youâre walking back to your apartment after 10 minutes; alone and with the strangest mix of anger and sadness settling in your stomach.
He texts you again later that same night, explaining the break just a little more.
He had the audacity to set rules in addition to deciding how long it would last on his own;
An entire month where youâd live separately and have no contact; not through the phone, not in person, and not through someone mediating.
You block his number then; the most likely thing is that youâll forget about the rules and text him, and youâd rather not be the one to do it.
ââ§âșâ± ââ
By the time Sunghoon returns, Jay is already back from work and cooking dinner.
He sees the bags and Sunghoonâs solemn expression and decides to leave him alone for now.
Itâs not something either of them truly acknowledges; itâs just the understanding as Sunghoon walks right past him and into the room Jay gave him.
Jay might not make Sunghoon feel uncomfortable in the traditional sense, but Sunghoon doesnât feel like he can do as he would like to.
Heâd like to wallow and rot in his bed to try and make time move faster, but heâs a guest in someone elseâs home, so he canât.
He treats Jay to things as a form of appreciation: takeout whenever Jay doesnât feel like cooking; beer on Friday and Saturday; and heâs hung out with him and Jake twice.
If you knew what he was doing, youâd think heâs enjoying his time away from you, but inside heâs miserable.
And it shows only when heâs drunk; suddenly growing distant from the guys as he thinks about you until one of them asks and he admits that he misses you.
Once Jake found out and heard the entire thing, he felt Jay was the wrong person to have gone to.
Jake believes Sunghoon shouldnât be left alone with his thoughts and needs distractions.
They go to a club once and Sunghoon managed to escape from them to hide out in the car while he looked through his pictures.
Jay catches him in this, and he goes on to see it a few more times after, and itâs when he tells Jake to back off for good.
He hasnât criedâhe doesnât think itâs been long enough for him toâbut that doesnât mean he isnât sad.
Sunghoon withdraws a lot and blanks out in the middle of things, like in the shower or just before bed.
Itâs also during all of this that he realizes how touch-starved he is.
Heâd never considered you touchy or clingy, but he realized just how badly he needed it one night that he fell asleep comfortably with the pressure of a pillow against his back and another kept close to his front side.
If you knew he was having trouble sleeping, what would you do?
Would you stay up with him?
Rub his back or play with his hair until he did?
By the two week mark, heâd actually tried it one night for himself; sliding his hand under his shirt and rubbing his own chest the way you usually did.
Itâs embarrassing.
More of a humiliation ritual, really.
He has a girlfriendâone who liked doing these things and did them without being asked to.
And because he jumped ahead he has to do without her?
ââ§âșâ± ââ
Itâs different for you;
When you think about it long enough, you become angry.
You spend the first few days that way; putting things he left behind out of view when you come across them, staying away from your phone unless someone calls or texts, and you throw yourself into other things to distract you.
But after a week, you realize how big your bed actually is.
And you stare at what would be his side for the longest before you fall asleep.
Then everything changes and youâre just upset.
You walk around like youâve been drained for everything you have, you zone out at work, and you sleep more on the couch because you wonât sleep well in your room.
Another week passes by, itâs Friday, and you find yourself wondering what youâd be doing under normal circumstances.
Maybe heâd surprise you with something; despite his seriousness, sunghoon is surprisingly good at finding new things to do in a city youâve lived in for a while.
Maybe heâd take you somewhere casual; the movies; dinner; on a walk.
It hits you then that he mightâve tried to break the silence himself, but you blocked him, so youâd have no way of knowing.
It makes you grab your phone; unblocking his number, finding your messages with him; but thereâs nothing.
But maybe it just needs to buffer, so you close the app and open it again; nothing.
Maybe he called instead of messaging you because he wanted to catch you when you werenât busy, so you check your calls; and for the third time, thereâs nothing.
Heâs really taking this seriously.
Itâs been two weeks and he hasnât tried anything?
Itâs been two weeks and heâs okay?
You only realize youâre crying when you feel like curling up wherever you can; which ironically enough is on the same large bed that makes you sad on a daily basis.
ââ§âșâ± ââ
The time apart should have given you a scare; to force you to imagine a reality where you were no longer together over something that could be fixed.
Only that effect came onto him more than it could have ever hit you.
And because the universe works in mysterious ways, the day he decided to ignore the rules he set just so happened to be the exact same day you first cried about it.
Even if he has a code to the door, he knocks because he wants to give you the option to ignore him if itâs still what you want.
But maybe if you see him trying, youâll take pity on him and let him in.
And for a good minute, it seems like you wonât open the door.
Until he hears the lock click out of its place and the door opens up just enough for you to come into view.
You might not be crying in the moment, but he can tell you were just before you opened the door.
God, heâs such an asshole, isnât he?
Do something, sunghoon, anything.
Neither of you have said a single word since you opened the door.
heâs still just standing right outside the frame and youâre blocking the way in without really thinking about it.
You sniffle a littleânot to make it obvious that you were crying or anything like thatâit was involuntary.
But it makes him react in a weird way where he feels like he has to do something about it.
Sunghoon barely realizes heâs crossing the threshold before heâs sliding one arm around your waist to bring you closer, while the other cups your cheek to angle your head the way he wants it to.
He sighs into your mouth, his shoulders dropping slightly as they relax; as if theyâd been tense the entire time you were apart and could only come down now that you were near again.
Sunghoon might not be freakishly tall, but heâs tall enough that you have to work for this.
It messes with your shared balance the way you tip up slightly and pull him down by wrapping your arm around his neck, but he catches on quickly.
âIâm sorry.â He says, stopping for a moment just to get this out.
Your eyes start to well up again; having been emotional not even an hour ago, youâre a lot more sensitive to his sudden appearance than you would have been if he showed up yesterday.
âWhatâ what are we going to do?â You sob.
Whatever burst of energy you had seconds ago is suddenly replaced by this.
Sunghoon frowns, cupping your face with both hands as he struggles to figure out how heâs going to comfort you when itâs his fault youâre crying in the first place.
âWe donât have to do anything, okay?â He says, clearing your face for you.
âPlease donât cry, babyâŠâ he begs, âthe break was a stupid ideaâ I missed you so badly, baby, youâd never believe me.â
You try to stop, but you canât help it; and you bury your face in his shoulder to continue crying.
âI can wait.â He says, stroking your hair gently, âi just want us to be together, i donât care how we do it.â
It doesnât do much to help you stop crying, and all he can think to do is try and draw you out.
âTalk to me, babyâŠI donât want to go back.â He sighs, âjust tell me I can stayâŠâ
You donât give him a proper answer, you just wrap your arms around him tightly and hope itâs enough.
âOkay, okay.â He says softly, reaching behind him to lock the door.
A car accident has turned your life upside down, leaving you with a knee and ankle that ache like they belong to someone three times your age. Navigating college with these setbacks is hard enough, but when your overprotective dad insists you take an internship with the menâs hockey team, youâre thrust back into the world youâve spent years avoiding. The rink represents everything youâve lost, and then thereâs Heeseung, the captain whom you somehow cannot stop thinking about.
đż SOUNDTRACK ăąđ SERIES MASTERLIST ăąâžïž PART ONE ; THREE
wc pt 2 à Ë. á”á” 21,704
á”!á” WARNINGS ââââ GRAPHIC CONTENT! car accident, PTSD, chronic pain & disability, depression, Y/N is very, very frustrated and kinda angry at the world for a second, overprotective/controlling dad & brother, sports injuries, alcohol, mild drunkenness, hurt/comfort, panic attack, mentions of zombies, mentions of dying by said mentioned zombies, smooching (each other, not the zombies!!)
# TAGS ââââ SLOW-BURN friends-to-lovers, coach's daughter x hockey captain, mutual pining, very much bed-sharing, and a lot of napping, Y/N is a napper, they very obviously have crushes on each other, angst with happy ending
Heeseung looked up from his laptop, startled as you stood in front of him. He had been hunched over the metal table outside the campus cafeteria, his brows furrowed as he typed something, only to delete it again seconds after.Â
He seemed surprised, his dark eyes ranking over your figure, while he blinked in confusion. His hair was styled just as nicely today as it was yesterday, a few strands falling into his face while the rest was loosely combed back. âWhat?â
Your heart was racing in your chest, and you tried your best to get your breathing under control while you lowered yourself to a chair next to Heeseung. The metal was warm, the sun had been shining the whole day, bathing the campus in bright light, the trees and their golden leaves making your surroundings seem like a painting.Â
Heeseung reached for one of your crutches and lowered to the floor before looking up at you again.
You grinned sheepishly at him, reaching into your bag to get out the to-go cup you prepared just before you went to the campus. âI brought you some coffee.â
He accepted the cup, looking between you and his hands. âYou brought me coffee? I didnât askââ
âI know,â you cut him off quickly, shaking your head slightly. âJustâŠtake it.â
He blinked at you, processing for a moment. âThanks,â Heeseung finally said, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smile. âButâŠwhy?â
You let out a breathy laugh, feeling heat rush to your face. âAs a thank you,â you said, shifting in your seat, âfor you knowâŠdriving me home and listening to my sap story.â
Heeseung raised an eyebrow, taking the cup from the table, but his expression softened. âI donât need a thank you, Y/N.â
You nodded and gave him a weak smile. âI know,â you mumbled, âbut it felt like I should do something. ToâŠyou knowâŠthank you.â
He was silent for a second, just looking at you, mustering you. You felt nervous under his stare and tucked a stand of your hair behind your ear, trying to avoid eye contact. You werenât sure if this was too much, if bringing him coffee was weird. Â
But before you could think of a way to get out of the situation, Heeseung gave you a soft smile and took a sip. He nodded and hummed, his tongue darting out to swipe over his upper lip. âThank you for the coffee, but donât feel guilty for talking to me. Iâm gladly listening to you, if it's about how youâre doing or even if it's about our plans in a zombie apocalypse. You donât owe me anything for it.âÂ
You nodded and averted your eyes, pressing your lips onto each other, pulling in your lower lip. The lipstick you put on earlier felt silly now; it tasted weird, fruity and nutty at the same time.Â
His gaze felt heavy on you, while you struggled to find something to say. After a few seconds of silence that felt like an eternity, he slowly reached out and gently took your hand, which was resting on the table. âI am serious, Y/N. I like spending time with you, being around you is nice, and everyone has bad days. Youâve been listening to me complain about my classes for almost three weeks now, so itâs only fair if I listen to you talk about the most traumatic day of your life, okay?â
You sniffled, cursing yourself for feeling like crying again before nodding slowly, looking up again. His dark eyes were searing your face, and he carefully turned your hand around, intertwining his fingers with yours.Â
âOkay.âÂ
He squeezed your fingers and gave you a small smile before letting go. âGood. Are you hungry?â
You blinked at him in confusion. âHungry?â
âYeah,â he nodded, tilting his head to the side. âIâve been out here for like three hours, and Iâm starting to get hungry.âÂ
âYou want to go eat now?â
âIf youâd like to?â Heeseung grinned sheepishly. âIâm craving ramyeon.â
âI haveâŠclasses in like ten minutes? After that?â You bit your lip, debating for a moment before offering, âGyu claims you make the best ramyeon he's ever eaten? Maybe we could cook them together?â
His eyes lit up at your suggestion, and you felt a flutter of excitement in your chest. âIâd love that! When do your classes end? Iâll have everything ready.â
You hesitated for a second. Your eyes are darting between his suggestions. âAt your place?â
He nodded. âYeah, I can get you from the campus if youâd like?â
âIâŠIâll have to study a bit today. Maybe we could do that afterwards?â Your voice was small when you asked that.Â
âAbsolutely,â he agreed, nodding seriously, though a smile tugged at his lips.
What was he thinking?
Heeseung couldnât believe himself.
He had invited you over.
He had invited you over.Â
After his last class of the day, he raced into his dorm, the realisation hitting him two hours too late.Â
Heeseung nearly slammed the entrance door to his apartment against the wall as soon as the unlocking sound came from the lock. Jake and Jay were sitting around the kitchen table studying. Both their heads shot up at the sound of Heeseung entering.Â
âGuys, I might have messed up!â
Jake blinked a few times, confusion etched across his face. âWhat happened?â
âI invited Y/N over to eat Ramyeon,â he said, trying to slide out of his coat, but one of his arms got stuck in the sleeve. âBut our dorm is a disaster. I donât have any Ramyeon left. My room is a mess!âÂ
Jay stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying the drama. âSo you want us to speed clean so you can impress Y/N?â
âYes!â Heeseung exclaimed, already kneeling down to pick up the shoes littering the entrance. âPlease, help a guy out. I canât let her see this place!â
âHyung, what the fuck,â Jake laughed out loud before shaking his head.Â
âPlease! I promise Iâll clean the bathroom for the next month,â Heeseung wasnât above begging. He couldnât let you come in here only for it to look like a mess.Â
âYou donât have to beg, Hyung,â Jake said with a chuckle, standing up and grabbing the takeout boxes scattered around him. âOur dorm needs a cleaning session anyway. And honestly, Iâm so done with thermodynamics right now. If I see another heat transfer mode, I might bang my head into a wall hard enough to skip out the next semester. I am suffering.â
Jay joined in. âIâll take the living room and vacuum. Hyung, just focus on your room and run down to the GS25 to get some ramyeon.â
âYes, thank you,â Heeseung said, practically sprinting to his room.
Once inside, he was greeted by the mess that was his room: clothes sprawled across the floor, bed, and desk, a collection of empty water bottles. On top of that, his hockey gear was spread haphazardly around the room, gloves, sticks, bags. He immediately began tackling the mess, grabbing clothes, checking which ones were clean, which needed to be folded and put away.
He picked up a discarded hockey glove and tossed it into a corner before realising heâd have to deal with the smell somehow.
By the time he emerged from his room, he felt a sense of accomplishment. Sure, it wasnât perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than what it had been. He glanced over at Jay, who was in the living room, vacuuming with an exaggerated flourish, as he pulled on his shoes.
âIf she comes while I am goneâŠâ, he tripped over his foot. âJust be normal?â
The taxi stopped in front of a tall, sleek structure.
A few seconds later, you stood in front of it, your gaze drifting upwards.Â
14th floor, Heeseung said.Â
The apartment complex was just a few minutes away from the one your parents were living in, but it felt like entering a different universe. You knew Heeseung came from a rich family, his father being an NHL hockey player himself before he retired and moved back to Korea, but you didnât realise he was this rich.Â
You laughed in disbelief before making your way to the entrance. With each step, your heart seemed to beat a bit faster.Â
You havenât really had the chance to be over at a boy's house sinceâŠever. The only male friends you had were Soobin's friends as well. Technically, Heeseung was as well, but this didnât count.Â
He was yourâŠfriend.Â
The elevator ride up didnât help with easing your nerves; you shifted your weight onto your good leg, adjusting your crutches slightly.Â
Over the past few weeks, you had grown used to Heeseung hanging out in your office, almost like it was his second home. Some days, he was already there when you finished your last class, quietly studying or taking notes. His presence had become a strange comfort, one that didnât bother you.
If anything, it helped you stay focused.
But this, being invited into his space, felt like a new step, one that made your heart race a little.
When you reached his door, you hesitated for a second, taking a deep breath. You could hear muffled voices and the sound of something being moved around inside.Â
The door swung open almost immediately after you pressed the doorbell. Heeseung stood in front of you, his hair was a lot messier than when you saw him a few hours ago.Â
âHi,â he said, sounding breathless.Â
âHi,â you gave him a small smile and peeked behind him. Jake stood behind him, waving at you with one hand while holding a full trash bag in the other.Â
âHello, Y/N. Nice to see you!â He dumped the bag next to the entrance to the hallway, where another one was already lying.
âIâŠwe are cleaning today,â Heeseung said, his ears turning red. You chuckled watching him helplessly look between Jake and the trash bags.Â
âThatâs okay,â you grinned at him and leaned your crutches against the wall to take off your jacket.Â
âOh, wait! Let meââ, he reached forward, taking your crutches and helping you with sliding off your backpack.Â
âThank you.â
âSure!â Heeseung beamed at you while you crouched down to take off your sneaker. By now, you were able to stand on your foot with the cast on for a few minutes a day, and you usually used those minutes to get dressed or undressed. So you did just that, leaning onto your injured foot to slip out of your shoe.Â
âOh fuck sorry,â he reached forward to steady you, his hand wrapping around your elbow.
You straightened up again, giving him a small smile. âThank you, Hee.â Â
His eyes met yours before he averted them, almost shyly. A few seconds later, he seemed to notice that he was still holding your arm, and he let go fast enough for you to almost lose your balance, before catching you again.Â
âI âm-I-sorry,â he laughed breathlessly before handing you his crutches. âAre you hungry?âÂ
You blinked at him and then caught Jake's gaze. He was stifling a laugh, his shoulders shaking a bit.Â
âYeah,â you nodded once, pressing your lips onto each other to stop each other from smiling. âI have to take my meds soon, so I gotta eat.â
Heeseung nodded. âOkay,â he nodded again, before turning towards the kitchen. âIâll get going then.â
He walked a few steps only to stop mid-movement. âWait, Iâll get your bag.â
Jake started laughing out loud now, before crossing the hallway to take your bag. âHyung, go and coo. Iâll bring Y/N to your room. Just cook, if she has to take her meds.â
âIââ, Heeseung looked between you and Jake, blinking, so you nodded at Jake, wanting to save Heeseung from more humiliation in front of his roommate. âSure!â
Jake shook his head with an amused grin, slinging your backpack over his shoulder before gesturing down the short hallway. "Letâs go then."
You snorted, grabbing your crutches from where Heeseung had leaned them against the wall and following him deeper into the apartment. It was big and spacious but furnished rather cosily, with dark wooden elements here and there and a few framed NHL posters and jerseys on the walls. You recognised the name on one of them.
âLee Manseokâ, Heeseung's father.
"So," Jake said over his shoulder as he pushed open a door to a tidy room that had barely any decoration in it, a faint cedar scent hitting you. "How's your day been? You have classes on Wednesdays, right?"
"Yeah," you said, easing yourself onto the edge of the bed with a small sigh, putting your crutches on the floor next to it. "Itâs been excruciatingly boring today, but that's alright. We donât have an exam, just one paper and one group project, so I spend my time online shopping."
He giggled again.
He dropped your bag on Heeseung's gaming chair, eyes flicking to your cast. "And the foot? How's that doing? Youâve been walking a lot better. I haven't seen your wheelchair for a while now."
You shrugged, rubbing your thigh absently where the pain had been spiking more lately.
It was true, you were using the wheelchair less, putting more weight on your foot, you should have been able to walk without a cast for almost a week now, but your physiotherapist recommended you not do so yet.
You werenât ready.
It left you incredibly frustrated, but you weren't about to unload that on Jake; it was bad enough that you did just that with Heeseung yesterday.
"Alright. Getting there. I can stand on it for a few minutes now. Itâs still gonna take like three or four weeks until Iâm getting rid of the cast."
"Cool, cool," Jake nodded toward the closet. "Do you want a pair of joggers or something? Iâm sure your jeans must be uncomfortable as hell. With your hip and all? Heeseung has an impressive amount of joggers. I swear.â Â
You laughed, the sound lighter than you felt. "Sure, why notâ"
Jake was already rummaging in the closet before you finished your sentence, pulling out some joggers with a triumphant grin. "Boom. These'll do. Comfy as hell. I steal those from the wash so often, I love these."
You shook your head, still chuckling. "Thank you."
Just then, the door swung open wider, Heeseung stepping in with two steaming bowls of ramen balanced carefully in his hands. His eyes widened at the sight of Jake elbow-deep in his closet. "Dude, what are you doing in my stuff?"
Jake straightened up, holding the pants like a trophy. "Iâm graciously giving our dearest social media manager a pair of comfortable pants from your gigantic collection!"
Heeseung's ears went red again, but he set the bowls down on the desk with a huff, shooting Jake a look. "Out. I've got it from here."
Jake smirked and tossed the pants onto the bed beside you. "Alright. Have fun with your ramyeon, you two."
He winked at you on his way out and pulled the door mostly shut behind him.
Heeseung exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his messy hair. He grabbed the bowls and handed one to you. The chopsticks were already tucked inside. He kicked off his slippers and settled cross-legged on the bed beside you. Your knees bumped lightly when you both balanced the steaming ramen. The rich, spicy smell filled the room.
"Thank you," you murmured, waiting for him to start eating first.
He hummed and blew on a bite before glancing at you sideways. His tone was casual but careful. "So, did you sleep okay after last night? You were pretty out of it when I dropped you off at the rink."
You shrugged and twirled your noodles slowly. You had tossed half the night after you had woken up at around ten. You decided to be honest with him.
"Not that well, actually. The weather flipped to this sunshine today. It makes my leg throb worse most of the time. It's the pressure drop or whatever. I kept waking up every hour."
His brows knit tight at that, and his chopsticks paused mid-air. Genuine concern etched his face. "Shit, yeah. I forgot about that. Coach mentioned it once. He said barometric changes mess with injuries. Do you need ice or anything? Physio gel? I can grab it from the freezer. Or heat? Whatever helps."
"No, I'm good for now," you said. You managed a small smile around a mouthful of the ramen. "Just gotta pace it. Iâll take painkillers after weâve eaten. How about you? Did you finish whatever you were brooding over today? You seemed annoyed before I came."
He groaned dramatically and set his bowl on his knee for a second. "Don't even get me started. I've got this song arrangement due Friday for my music production class. The girl I'm paired with is not doing anything. She was supposed to handle the melody and vocals. But there had been radio silence for three days now. I haven't touched her. I'm basically rewriting the whole damn thing from scratch later tonight." Annoyance bled through as he stabbed at a piece of egg. âIâll have to sing the whole thing, even though she is the one in the Singing and Vocal undergrad.âÂ
You laughed and leaned back against his pillows to take some pressure off your leg. âI didnât know you were singing.â
âIâI am occasionally?â Heeseung said, giving you a sly smile. âI am not the best, but whatever. I do what is needed for a good grade.âÂ
âI still havenât found your Soundcloudâ, you grinned at him, before taking another bite of the ramyeon. âThese are really good, by the way.âÂ
Heeseung spluttered and coughed. âYou tried finding that?â
You shook your head, reaching forward to gently pat his back when he continued to cough. âI havenât, no. I respect your privacy, but it makes sense that youâre singing when, you know, youâre releasing music and stuff.â
He nodded, and the coughing stopped. âIâll show you some. Later. Maybe.â
âIâd love to, Hee,â you gave him a warm smile before digging in again. âI understand why Gyu loves your ramyeon.â
Heeseung shook his head and laughed at that. âHeâs an idiot.â
You agreed to that. âHe is, but I love him, so itâs alright.âÂ
Heeseung was chewing a bite of the noodles, looking at you intently all of a sudden. âLike love love? I didnât know you and Guy were together.â
You stared at him, chopsticks suspended halfway to your mouth. âTogether? Beomgyu and I?â
Heeseung nodded slowly, suddenly looking a lot less sure of himself. âYeah, the two of you seem pretty close. I just kind of didnât want to⊠You know, ask and make it weird.â
You blinked once. Twice. Then a laugh burst out of you, loud and incredulous. âOh my god, no. No. Beomgyu isââ You shook your head, still laughing. âHe is like my annoying older brother. I have never had anything with him. Ever.â
Heeseungâs chewing slowed to a stop. He watched you carefully, like he was trying to figure out if you were joking. âReally?â
âReally,â you said firmly. You set your bowl down on your lap so you could gesture properly. âHe has been friends with Soobin for like ten years now, and they had to always take me everywhere and shit. He and my family go on family holiday trips once a year. That man is family. Thatâs it,â you wrinkled your nose in disgust. âThat would be like⊠dating Soobin. Iâd rather die.â
He huffed out a quiet laugh at that, but his eyes stayed on you, lingering a little longer than usual. The room felt smaller for a second, the space between you shrinking even though neither of you moved.
âOkay,â he said at last, voice softer. âGood to know.â
You tilted your head at him. âWhy? Were you worried I was secretly in love with Beomgyu or something?â
He looked away then, down at his bowl, jaw working like he was choosing his words. âI just didnât want to assume anything,â he muttered. âOrâŠcross a boundary or whatever.â
It took you a heartbeat to catch up. When you did, your stomach flipped. You shifted against the pillows, your leg twinging as you did, but you barely registered it. âWell,â you said quietly, âthereâs no boundary to cross. Not like that,â you paused for a moment, your heart slowing down as you formulated the next few words. âIf Iâm into someone, itâs⊠definitely not him.â
Heeseung went very still at that. His gaze slowly drifted to yours, and for a long moment you just looked at each other, the glow of the lamp throwing soft shadows across his face. You could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed, the way his fingers tightened slightly around his chopsticks.
âOkay,â he said again, but this time there was something different in his voice. âIâm⊠kind of glad, then.â
Your heart kicked up at that, beating loudly in your ears. âYeah?â you asked, your voice coming out softer than you intended.
He let out a small, breathy laugh and scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. âYeah,â he admitted. âWouldâve sucked if IâŠâ He trailed off, eyes flicking away for a second before forcing themselves back to your face. âIf I was reading this wrong.â
You swallowed, the warmth in your chest spreading out to your fingertips. âYouâre not,â you said quietly.
His eyes widened just a fraction.
You rushed on before your courage could evaporate. âI mean⊠I like being here. With you. Like this,â you gestured vaguely between you, cheeks heating, your voice growing quieter with each word. âItâs not just theâŠramyeon.â
Heeseungâs mouth curved into the smallest, almost disbelieving smile. âYeah,â he said. âMe too. Itâs⊠definitely not just the ramyeon.â
You both went a little quiet after that, suddenly aware of how close you were sitting, how your knees still touched, how his comforter bunched under your legs where they almost overlapped.Â
He cleared his throat softly. âSo,â he said, a little tentative, âWould you like to watch Nteflix?â
You matched his tone with a small smile of your own. âYeah.â
He reached for the remote, fingers brushing yours for half a second longer than necessary. Neither of you pulled away. Then he hit play, and the room filled with eerie music, both of you settling back against the pillows.
You shifted around slightly, trying to find a position that made the cast not press into your skin as uncomfortably, while trying not to spill any of your noodles or jostling Heeseung too much.Â
His eyes flicked to your leg and lowered his bowl to his lap. "Do you need something to drink with your painkillers? Have you eaten enough for them?"
You sighed and rubbed your thigh lightly over the cast. The pressure was a small relief. "Yeah, I think I should take some now. I donât think it will get better today. Usually, the only thing that really helps is phyiso."
"Massage gun? Would a massage gun help?" Heeseung perked up, handing you his bowl, getting up before you could even utter a word. "I've got one in a drawer somewhere. Wait, give me a second"
You blinked at him. "A massage gun?"
He scooted off the bed with a grin. âYeah,â he rummaged in his nightstand until he pulled out a sleek black device. He held it up triumphantly. "Itâs a gift from my dad. I donât really know why he thought I needed one, but whatever.âÂ
He shrugged and then focused on the buttons on the bottom of the gun. âIt sounds a bit like a gigantic vibrator.âÂ
It came to life, vibrating for a few seconds before dying down again, with a rather pitiful sound.
You both stared at it for a beat before you burst out laughing at the exact same time.Â
âI sure hope you didnât use it as a vibrator? That would have been a quick session?â, you said, causing Heeseung to snort. His shoulders shook as he dropped the gun back in the drawer. "I havenât, no. The others just joke about it. Our walls are thin.â
You flopped your head back against the bedframe with a sigh. âYou all have the humour of a bunch of thirteen-year-olds.â
Heeseung shook his head at that and eased back onto the bed, taking his bowl from you. âSaid the one who just made a joke a thirteen-year-old would make.âÂ
You hit his shoulder, which caused him to yelp and snort, before your laughter faded. The slow pulsing in your leg and the uncomfortable pressure around your ankle seemed to dislike your constant shifting.Â
"I'm a bit annoyed," you admitted after a moment of silence. You pushed the rest of your noodles around in your bowl, trying to separate them from the egg that Heeseung had added. "My leg's just not cooperating today. I'm behind on the walking schedule, too. It's fine, but likeâŠI donât even know. I never thought that the surgery would help. I just,â you gestured vaguely with your hands, âwish the pain would stop? Iâve come to terms with the fact that my life will be different compared to everyone else's. Being disabled, especially in Korea, comes with a lot of accommodations I have to think about. Thatâs shit sometimes. The hills and the stairs.âÂ
Heeseung's face softened completely. He gently nudged your good shoulder. "It's not fine. Iâm sorry that the crash happened and that you donât think the surgery helped. Iâm not pitying you, but I want you to know that itâs all right to feel shit about the whole situation, Y/N. You donât have to be strong all the time.â
You stared at him for a second, taking in his presence, the soft smile on his lips, his eyes looking so sincere, it made your heart stop beating for a second, warmth spreading in your ribcage.Â
âI know. Itâs just hard sometimes,â you whispered.Â
âThatâs alright,â he hummed, and nodded before giving you a small smile. âAs long as you donât let that take over. It might be hard, but there is so much you enjoy doing, isnât there? Even if it is making us dance to those random TikTok dances.â
You giggled at that, rolling your eyes, while smiling at him. âI really like doing that, donât I?â
âWell, itâs fun for us as well,â Heeseung took a bite of his noodles, slurping them down with a loud sound. You hummed and copied him, eating the remaining noodles you had left.
Heeseung shifted slightly on the bed, stretching his legs as the second episode ended. He turned his head, ready to ask if you wanted to start another one, the question already on his tongue, until he actually looked at you.
You were fast asleep.
For a moment, he just stared at your figure. You were curled up against his pillow, wrapped in his blanket. One of your arms was tucked under your head, propping it up slightly.
His heart skipped, then stumbled into a faster rhythm.
Your chest moved in slow, steady breaths, while your eyes fluttered from time to time. You looked so relaxed, your shoulders loose, your jaw relaxed, your breathing slow and steady.Â
He didnât dare move.
He became painfully aware of everything: how loud his breathing sounded, how the AC hummed quietly in the background, how the mattress dipped where you lay. He swallowed, tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt, heat crawling up his neck.
What was he supposed to do? Wake you up? Ask if you want to go home?Â
In a rush of mild panic, he fumbled for his phone and opened a chat with Soobin.
Heeseung
Hey man, Y/N fell asleep at my place.
Is it cool if she stays over?
I donât want to wake her up.
He glanced from the screen back to you while he waited for an answer. His eyes were tracing the way your fingers were loosely curled near your cheek, the way a strand of hair had fallen across your face. You shifted just a little, nuzzling deeper into the pillow, and his chest clenched.
When he found you in the office yesterday, with your shoulders hunched and your leg up on that horrible armrest, his heart had sunk. You had been crying, your eyes were puffy, and you were sniffling, even in your sleep. He had wanted to reach out and smooth your hair back, to wipe away the dried tears, to do something to make it better.Â
He hadnât.Â
He hadnât been sure he was allowed to, hadnât been sure youâd even want him close.
Now, his hand hovered awkwardly halfway between his lap and your face, fingers twitching. He wanted to tuck that strand of hair behind your ear, just once. To see your face clearly. To fix the tiny, meaningless thing he actually could fix.
But touching you while you slept felt⊠weird, right? Too much. Too intimate. He froze there, hand suspended in mid air, feeling ridiculous.
You sniffed softly in your sleep, and he panicked, yanking his hand back as heâd almost burned himself.
His phone buzzed.
Soobin Hyung (New)
Sheâs an adult, dude.
Iâll let my parents know sheâs sleeping over, though.
Heeseung let out a breath heâd been holding, shoulders dropping with relief.Â
Okay.Â
This is fine.Â
Youâre fine.
He is fine.Â
Heeseung sent a quick thank you, then set the phone aside and, moving as slowly as humanly possible, shifted a bit closer in the process, not enough to crowd you, just enough to tuck the blanket a bit higher over your shoulder. The fabric brushed your chin, and you let out a tiny, content hum, making his heart thud painfully hard once.
âSorry,â he whispered, even though you didnât wake.
He eased himself back toward the edge of the bed, trying to give you space without falling off. Every movement felt too loud in his own head: the rustle of the blanket, the creak of the mattress, the hush of his breath.Â
The TVâs soft glow painted a faint light across your face. From here, he could see the way your lashes rested on your cheeks, the way your mouth relaxed when you exhaled.Â
His hand hovered near your face again, closer this time, fingers stopping a few centimetres from your hair. He could almost feel the warmth of your skin, even without touching. He wanted to smooth his thumb along your brow, to check if you were really as relaxed as you looked, to erase the memory of you asleep with tear-streaked cheeks and a clenched jaw.
But you werenât crying now. You werenât in pain, or trapped in that crammed office room, or fighting to breathe through sobs. You were just⊠resting. In his bed. In his space.
And he was not going to risk ruining that.
He let his hand fall back to his side with a quiet sigh, fingers curling into the blanket instead.
âIâm going crazy,â he muttered under his breath, more to himself than anything.
He leaned his head back against the wall, eyes drifting from the ceiling to you and back again. Sleep felt impossible.Â
He turned his head for one last look before forcing himself to try and rest. There you were: tucked under his blanket, your crutches leaning against the wall, your shoulders loose, your face free of tension.
He still didnât really know what to do with all of the feelings crowding his chest, but one thing he knew for sure was that if this was what you looked like when you felt safe, he would do whatever he could to keep it that way. Even if it meant sitting perfectly still all night, overthinking every breath, just so you wouldnât wake up.
You woke up slowly, like someone was gently turning the world back on one switch at a time. You kept your eyes closed, refusing to open them, trying to convince your body to fall back asleep, to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of the low humming pain. After a few seconds, you forced your eyelids open, your lashes sticking a little to each other.
This⊠was not your room.
The ceiling was wrong. The comforter was too light and felt different. Your brain tried to piece that together, but you were so tired you couldnât be bothered to panic properly. You just made a small noise in your throat and instinctively curled onto your side, trying to find a more comfortable position.
You rolled toward the warmth beside you and nearly bumped straight into him.
Heeseung was lying on his side, facing you, one arm tucked under his head. He was on top of his blanket, his styled hair was a bit mussed, smushed from the pillow. A low snoring sound came from his partly opened lips, while his chest was moving in slow, steady breaths.
For a second, your brain completely stalled.
You were in his bed.
You were in his bed.
Under his blanket.
Hogging his blanket.
Oh.
Heat shot up your neck at light speed as the realisation properly hit. You tugged instinctively at the covers, eyes widening as they slid with you.Â
Your movement was enough to disturb him.Â
His brows twitched first, then his lashes fluttered before his eyes blinked open, unfocused for half a second. He looked dazed, caught between sleep and waking.
For a moment, neither of you said anything.
You lay there, barely a handâs width of space between you, faces close enough that you could see the tiny moles along his cheekbone, could feel the warmth of his breath ghost against your cheek. The room was quiet, washed in soft, blueâgrey light, and the eye contact was suddenly so intense it made your stomach flip.
âIââ you whispered, your voice rough with sleep. You swallowed. âSorry. I didnât mean to wake you.â
He blinked slowly, then the corners of his mouth tipped up in a tiny, sleepy smile. âItâs fine,â he murmured, voice low and husky from sleep. âYou didnât. Not really.â
His eyes scanned your face, a quick flicker of worry passing through them. âYou okay?â
You hummed, a small noise, and gave the faintest of nods. âJust⊠tired.â
He huffed out a quiet breath, something like a laugh. âYeah. I figured.â There was a pause, his gaze dipping down for a second, as if he had only just realised you were wrapped tightly in his blanket. âDo you⊠Want something to sleep in? Like actual sleepwear?â
You scrunched your nose, already preemptively protesting. âI donât wanna get up,â you mumbled, eyes slipping halfâclosed again. âIâm tired.â
He let out a soft, amused exhale. âI understand now why Beomgyu was so insistent you get a sofa,â he said, tone teasing, barely above a whisper. âWith how much you sleep, he mightâve been onto something.â
Your eyes opened a little wider at that, just enough to send him a weak, offended look. âRude,â you muttered, fake scandal bleeding through the sleep in your voice. âI just need a lot of sleep, okay? Itâs called recovery.â
He smiled, softer this time. âI know,â he said quietly. âIâm just teasing.â
For a beat, he just looked at you. His face was so soft, his expression so gentle, it made your heart beat faster. Then his hand lifted, hesitating in the air between you for the tiniest second before he reached forward. His fingers brushed against your temple as he pushed a strand of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear with almost absurd care. The touch made your skin tingle, warmth blooming where his fingers had been. Your breath caught without your permission.
âIâll get you something else to wear,â he whispered, his hand lingering for half a heartbeat near your cheek before he pulled it back. âSo youâre comfortable.â
You just nodded, suddenly unable to string words together. âOkay,â you breathed.
He offered you one more sleepy, reassuring smile, then carefully pushed himself up, moving slowly. You watched him pad across the dim room to his closet, the blanket still wrapped snugly around you, heart doing that annoying, fluttery thing in your chest.
He came back to the bed with an armful of clothes, the soft rustle of fabric breaking the quiet.
âHere,â he said, voice low as he held them out to you. On top was a shirt made of heavy, soft cotton. Underneath, he handed you a pair of shorts.
Your stomach dropped a little.
âI figured these would be more comfortable than your pants,â he added, smiling lazily at you. âThey should fit. Or, you know, be huge.â
Your fingers tightened on the fabric. You knew they wouldnât cover them, the scars littering your legs, the discolouration, the deformations on the muscles.Â
The thought of him seeing everything made your chest squeeze, nausea curling low in your stomach. You hated it, seeing and feeling the odd texture. You knew most people tried not to look when you wore something that showed off your leg, but they still did. They always did. Â
You opened your mouth, trying to find the words to not sound unthankful, to ask for different pants.Â
It looks ugly.Â
My leg looks wrong.Â
I donât want you to see.
But nothing came out. Your throat just closed around the sentenceÂ
âYeah,â you said instead, swallowing hard. âThis is⊠good. Thanks.â
He nodded, apparently satisfied. âIâll turn around,â he said, already moving. He stepped around the bed and sat down on the floor on the other side, his back against the frame, facing the wall. âTake your time. I wonât look.â
He folded his arms loosely over his knees, head tilted away, giving you space in the most literal way he could.
You stayed frozen exactly where you were.
The shirt lay in your lap, the shorts beside it, and your hands didnât move. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thicker. The thought of standing up, of peeling off what you were wearing and exposing your leg, your scars, in his room, even if he was turned away, made your stomach twist. Your skin prickled, a familiar wave of embarrassment and something like panic creeping in.
You hated this.Â
Hated how much space it took up in your head.Â
Hated that you could break bones and survive surgery and drag yourself through physio, but the idea of someone you⊠liked seeing the marks it all left behind, made your body want to shut down.
Seconds passed, a minute, maybe more, maybe less, without you moving.
Heeseung shifted a little. âY/N?â he asked quietly, not turning around. âYou okay?â
Your fingers tightened around the hem of the shirt.
âCan youâŠâ You paused, swallowing around the lump in your throat. âCan you give me long pants instead?â The words came out small, almost guilty. âI donât⊠I donât want you to have to look at the scars.â
There was a beat of silence.
Then he shook his head once, more to himself than at you. âY/N,â he said softly, still facing the wall, voice steady. âI wouldnât care.â
You let out ahumourlesss huff. âYou say that now.â
âI mean it,â he insisted, and there was something so firm, so sure in his tone that it made you pause. âItâs part of you, isnât it? Part of what you went through.â He drew a slow breath. âIâm⊠glad itâs scars. Thatâs just that. Thatâs not your whole leg missing. Or you⊠not being here at all.â
Your throat tightened at that, the nausea mixing with something else, something heavy and warm and terrifying.
He kept going, gently, like he knew if he stopped, you might retreat completely. âIâm not going to think youâre ugly because you have scars,â he said. âIf you want to, I can give some to you, but you donât have to wear long pants. I donât care about your scars, I promise.âÂ
You stared at his back, at the way his shoulders were set, at how he still hadnât turned around, like he was physically holding the boundary for you.
You swallowed hard, the words you wanted to say piling up.Â
I hate them.Â
I hate that you might see.Â
I hate that I care so much what you think.Â
Instead, you just muttered, barely audible, âIâŠokay.â
Your hands finally moved.
You changed quickly, fingers clumsy with exhaustion and nerves, skin prickling every time the fabric brushed over the rougher parts of your leg. You moved as quietly as you could, as if noise might draw his eyes even though he had promised he wouldnât look. The shirt fell over you, heavy and soft and smelling like him, the hem almost comically long on you. The shorts sat higher on your waist than you were used to, but they were loose and easy to move in.
When you were done, you sat down on the bed again, wrapping the blanket over your legs, clearing your throat. âOkay,â you said again, a little louder. âYou can⊠turn around.â
He pushed himself up and turned, careful, like he was afraid of startling you. His eyes flicked over you quickly, then softened when he saw you properly wrapped in his clothes.
âLooks comfortable,â he said simply.Â
You nodded, suddenly too tired to do much else. He settled back on top of the blanket next to you, taking less than half of the bed.Â
âLie down,â he said gently. âYou need sleep.â
You did as he said, turning onto your side, facing the wall this time.Â
The room fell quiet again.
You stared at the fabric bunched in your hand and tried to ignore the way your chest still felt tight.Â
Behind you, you heard him shift slightly. The mattress dipped a bit as he moved into your direction and then back onto his back. You waited for him to say something, anything, but he just let out a slow breath and stayed where he was, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth along your back, while he wasnât touching you.
You lay there for a while, staring at the shadowy outline of his wall, listening to the soft shift of sheets as he settled behind you.Â
You swallowed, then slowly rolled back over.
Heeseung was on his side again, propped slightly against his pillow. When he noticed you turn, his eyelids fluttered open, and his eyes met yours, surprise flickering briefly across his face before it melted into something softer.
âHey,â he murmured, voice low.
âHey,â you echoed, your own voice small. You fiddled with the edge of the blanket for a second, then cleared your throat. âUm⊠good night. And⊠thank you. For⊠all of this. Letting me sleep here. The clothes. Just⊠everything.â
He shifted a little closer on top of the blanket, careful not to crowd you, so you were facing each other with only a small space between. His lips curved into a tired, warm smile.
âYou donât have to thank me. Really,â he replied quietly.
You held his gaze, the dim room making his eyes look softer, darker. The closeness felt strangely intimate and oddly gentle at the same time, like neither of you wanted to break the moment.
âIâve got training in the morning,â he added after a beat, tone apologetic, âbut Iâll get you home after, if you want. Or before, if youâd rather not wait. Whatever works for you.â
You shook your head, the blanket rustling slightly. âNo, itâs okay,â you said. âYou donât have to. I can just grab a taxi in the morning. Or whenever I wake up. You donât need to worry about it.â
His brows knit for half a second, like he wanted to argue, but he let it go. âOkay,â he said softly. âIf youâre sure.â
âIâm sure,â you murmured.
Silence settled again, but it felt different now, less heavy. He studied your face for a moment, something gentle and almost painfully fond in his expression.
Then his hand lifted, slow and unhurried, giving you enough time to pull back if you wanted to. When you didnât, his fingers brushed against your cheek, the back of his knuckles barely grazing your skin as he gently petted the side of your face, thumb smoothing over a spot just below your eye.
âLetâs sleep now,â he whispered.Â
The touch made your eyelids grow heavier than they already were. Your cheek leaned into his hand without you meaning to.
âOkay,â you breathed, the word barely more than air.
He let his hand linger for a second longer, then slowly pulled it back, tucking it close to his chest.
âGood night, Y/N,â he said, just above a whisper.
âGood night, Heeseung,â you mumbled back, your voice already thick with sleep as you let your eyes finally close, his face the last thing you saw in the soft, dim light.
âA little bird told me you didnât return home last night,â Beomgyu teased as he entered your office without knocking first.
You looked up from your laptop and sighed, already bracing yourself for his relentless teasing. âI didnât,â you admitted, rolling your eyes. âDid that little bird also tell you I fell asleep after watching, like, one and a half episodes of Gyeoseong creature? And that absolutely nothing else happened?âÂ
You knew exactly who the âlittle birdâ was: your brother, who had left several messages on your phone after he had claimed you fell asleep at his dorm and not as Heeseungs, saving you from your father's wrath.
âHe did mention that, actually,â Beomgyu smirked, shaking his damp hair free from his hat.
âBut I have to say, Iâm a little disappointed.â He leaned in closer, lowering his voice dramatically. âYou had the perfect opportunity to get something going with,â he paused for effect, âa hot guy that Yeonjun hyung, and I fully approve of, and you did nothing? And donât give me the âIâm not interested in Heeseungâ excuse. I know all about your little evening sessions in your office.â
You ignored the last part of what he had said. âYou and Yeonjun? What about Soobin? Wouldnât he approve of Heeseung?â Bromguys's grin grew in size as he leaned onto your desk, his face in his hands. âWhy? Should he?â
Your face heated up when you realised you essentially just confessed to Beomguy that, yes, yes, your brother should approve of Heeseung. âI-no? Yes? Maybe?â
âOh my god, Y/N,â Bromguy laughed once in disbelief, but his face grew soft as he leaned back, leaning onto your desk with his hip. âYou like Heeseung?â
Your eyes darted away from your friend, back to your screen, where a clip of Heeseung and Sunghoon racing through the arena was currently looping. It did not help. At all.
Your face burned now, heat crawling all the way up to the tips of your ears. âIâŠâ You clicked your mouse for no reason, just to have something to do with your hand. âCan we not talk about this?â
Beomgyu huffed out a soft laugh. âSo thatâs a yes.â
You slumped back in your chair, staring stubbornly at the monitor. âI didnât say yes.â
âYou also didnât say no,â he pointed out gently.
You chewed the inside of your cheek.Â
You did like him, you really did.Â
You liked how he made your heart race, you liked talking to him, you liked being around him. ButâŠsaying those words out loud felt heavy and awkwardâŠit would make everything real.
You had never really liked someone.Â
You didnât really have the opportunity to do so, at least that is what you told yourself. Ryjin always claimed you just refused to let anyone into your heart that didnât know you before the accident, before life had turned upside down.Â
You knew she was right.Â
But it was hard, letting someone in.Â
Letting them see the burden you had to carry, the burden they would have to carry, the uncertainty of what would happen next. Of when the next surgery would put your life on hold again, of when it might be too much.Â
Your cursor hovered over the pause button, but you did not press it. You kept watching Heeseung race across your screen, frame by frame, over and over.
âYeah,â you said finally, voice small. âI thinkâŠIâŠI like him.â
The admission hung between you. You did not look up.Â
Your heart was beating too fast, like it was trying to escape through your ribs.
Beomgyu was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke again, his voice had lost its teasing edge. âHey,â he said softly. âLook at me.â
You forced your eyes away from the monitor. He was watching you with that annoyingly perceptive gaze he got sometimes, the one that made you feel sixteen again and caught sneaking out.
âThere she is,â he said, lips quirking into a small, fond smile. âYou like Heeseung.â
You exhaled, a shaky little puff of air that was almost a laugh. âYou donât have to say it twice.â
âI kind of do,â he said. âItâs cute.â
You groaned and slapped a hand over your face. âI hate you.â
He laughed once, but it was soft, not mean. âNo, you donât.â
You peeked at him through your fingers. âIâm serious. This is embarrassing.â
âWhy?â he asked. He shifted his weight, hip still propped on your desk, arms loosely crossed. âYou like a guy who is nice to you, makes you laugh, and clearly cares about you. Thatâs not embarrassing, thatâs⊠normal. Healthy, even.â
You rolled your chair back an inch, the wheels squeaking. âItâs not just that,â you muttered. âHeâs my dadâs player. Heâs in and out of the rink all the time. If it goes weird, I still have to see him. And Soobin is going to freak out. And my leg is a mess. And Iââ
âHey.â Beomgyu reached out and wrapped his hand around your wrist lightly, pulling on it enough to make you drop your hand from your face. âBreathe.â
You did, grudgingly.
He held your gaze. âYou donât have anything to worry about with him. Heeseung is a great guy. Like, objectively. Yeonjun and I donât hand out the âwe approveâ stamp for fun, you know?â
You snorted despite yourself. âYou literally do.â
âOkay, for other people it doesnât count,â he conceded. âBut for you, we would never, you know that, Y/N. Heeseung is my friend, yes, but I also know that he makes you happy, and you make him happy. Youâre one of the most important people in my life, you know that. I only want the best for you, and if that is Heeseung, Iâll gladly support and defend the two of you. Heâs respectful. Heâs not going to mess you around. Soobin knows that too. Heâs justâŠâ He hesitated, searching for the word. ââŠSoobin.â
You let out a slow breath, shoulders slumping. âProtective,â you finished for him.
âYeah,â Beomgyu agreed. âHe watched you almost die in a hospital bed. He watched you learn how to walk again. It fried his brain a little. Heâs always going to be twitchy about anyone getting close, because he doesnât want to see you in pain.â
âI know,â you said quietly. You fiddled with the edge of a sticky note on your desk, peeling it up and pressing it back down. âDoesnât make it less annoying.â
âTrue,â he said, a smile tugging at his lips. âBut heâs not stupid. He likes Heeseung as a player and as a person. Heâs grumpy because youâre his little sister, not because Heeseung is bad news.â
You huffed, looking back at the frozen frame on your screen, Heeseung mid-laugh, eyes almost closed, shoulders relaxed in a way they rarely were on the ice. Your chest squeezed.
âSo,â Beomgyu continued, voice lightening a bit, âyou like him, he clearly likes you, and both Yeonjun and I approve. Soobin will come around, Iâm sure.â He straightened and spread his hands. âHonestly? Youâre pretty much out of excuses.â
You glared half-heartedly. âYouâre very irritating when youâre right.â
He grinned. âItâs a gift.â
You hesitated, then let the corner of your mouth lift. âYou really think I donât have to worry?â
âI really think,â he said, his tone warm and sure, âthat if there is one person youâre allowed to fall for, itâs Lee Heeseung. Please donât literally fall. I donât think anyone around you would survive seeing you fall to the floor without having a heart attack. Me included.â
You groaned again, but this time there was a laugh tucked into it. âShut up.â
He pushed off the desk and headed for the door, tossing a look back over his shoulder. âIâm just saying: if youâre going to like someone, heâs a pretty good choice. And if Soobin freaks out, Iâll tell him it was my idea.â
You blinked. âIt wasnât your idea.â
âI know,â Beomgyu said, winking. âMakes the sacrifice more heroic.â
You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt a little lighter. âYouâre an idiot.â
âYeah,â he said. âAnd you like Heeseung.â
âGet out of my office,â you said, cheeks burning.
The living room in Yeonjunâs, Beomguyâs and Soobinâs dorm was loud and stuffy with ten people crammed in the tight space. Game night at their flat was usually chaotic and filled with loads of unhealthy food and alcohol, which is why it didnât happen too often during the season, but they had this weekend off and decided it was time to just come down for a second. Someone was screaming about being blue-shelled in Mario Kart, and laughter echoed through the room. Heeseung barely registered any of it.
He was sunk into one end of the couch, shoulder pressed against the backrest, and you were stretched out along the cushions, your back resting against the opposite arm, both of your legs draped over his lap. Your right ankle was propped carefully, and he had his hands wrapped around your calf, thumbs moving in slow, deliberate circles into the tight muscle. He could feel the tension under his fingers, the way your leg slowly, gradually relaxed.Â
He had come a bit later than the others, having had a meeting with the coach about the new recruits for the team. They havenât integrated themselves as well as anyone would have wished, and the coach was looking for ways to change that, asking his captain for his intel. Heeseung doubted that his opinion on the whole situation mattered much, seeing how your father was set on benching most of the new players. You told him to just tell your dad what he thought, that maybe he would listen, even if you yourself doubted that.Â
When he finally entered the living room, you were already stretched over the sofa, Beomguy in the position Heeseung was in now, while he played an intense match of Mario Kart against the others. Beomguy had lost and excused himself to go to the toilet, when Heeseung had just finished greeting the rest and getting himself some pizza, so he took the opportunity and sat down in Beomguy's place.Â
You tentatively asked if you could use him for stretching out your legs, and he had carefully guided them into his lap. âYou are never allowed to stop doing this,â you muttered, as he started to work on the muscles, or well, whatever muscle was left in the calf. It was surprisingly soft when he first touched it.Â
Your head tipped back, eyes half-lidded. âI will sue you.â
Heeseung huffed a quiet laugh, looking down at your leg so he would not stare at your face too much. âI am pretty sure that is not how suing works.â
âIt is now,â you said, not even trying to inject real threat into it.Â
âSure,â he said softly. âIâm shaking with fear, Y/N.â
You snorted at that, but the sound dissolved into a breathy, involuntary noise when his thumbs pressed into a knot just above your ankle. It was not a polite little sigh. It was a low, almost obscene groan that punched straight through his chest and settled somewhere hot and uncomfortable in his stomach.
Oh. Oh no.
He felt his ears burn instantly, heat creeping up his neck. Heeseung kept his gaze firmly on your ankle, fingers continuing the same slow, steady motion as if nothing had happened.
âOh my God,â you muttered, voice coming out rough. âMarry me.â
He laughed, but it came out a touch higher than usual. âI have to decline, Y/N. I want a more romantic proposal. â
âRude,â you sighed. âThat was very romantic.â
He swallowed a smile and focused on his hands. âIs it bad today? You seem tired?â
You hummed, your head resting on the backrest of the sofa. âA bit? My hip and my back have been acting up, so I took the legally allowed dosage of painkillers. So Iâm a bit,â you gestured vaguely in the air with one hand. âTired? But itâs fine.â Â
It didnât feel fine to him, so he just nodded and hummed, caressing your knee for a second. Even through your jeans, he could feel the unnatural shape of the bone and the tissue underneath.Â
âHow was your meeting with my dad?â you asked a few seconds later, watching his hands work. âI'm sorry if he was pissed. We fought a bit because I wanted to come even though I am in pain.âÂ
Heeseung's gaze wandered up, his hands halting for a second before he continued. He didnât agree often with his coach, but not letting you come seemed like a good idea, considering how exhausted you looked. âIt was fine. He is pretty set on benching the others for the next few games until they finally get it in their heads that we wonât play as violently as they do.â
You hummed and closed your yes, nodding in agreement. "He's right tho. Woojin and Seojong should stop trying to start fights on the ice. It wonât get you anywhere.â
âI know,â Heeseung muttered.Â
A shadow fell over the two of you, and a hand appeared in his peripheral vision, holding a bottle and a glass with a milky fluid inside. âAnother drink for you, Y/N!â Beomgyu announced, already flushed and grinning. âHeeseungie, do you want a drink?â
Heeseungâs hands stilled for a second. You turned your head toward Beomgyu, eyes lighting up just a little. âFor me? Hell yeah.â
âNo, Y/N,â Heeseung said at the same time.
Both you and Beomgyu looked at him. âWhat?â you asked.
Beomgyu blinked. âShe said yes, captain.â
âShe is on meds,â Heeseung replied, keeping his voice calm but absolute. âShe is not drinking on top of that.â
Your bottom lip pushed out immediately. âJust one?â
âNo.â He met your gaze, forcing himself not to soften.Â
Beomgyu raised his free hand in surrender. âOkay, no Milkis shots for Y/N.â He backed away toward the kitchen again, calling over his shoulder, âMore for me then!â
You let your head fall back against the cushion with a dramatic groan. âYou are no fun.â
âI am very fun,â Heeseung said, starting to move his thumbs again, slower now. âI am also not interested in seeing you passed out on your brother's floor because you mixed meds and alcohol.â
You huffed, pouting at him. âIt wouldnât have been that bad,â you muttered while you reached for a class filled with what he assumed was Coke. âIâve done that a million times.â
âWell, not on my watch, Y/N,â he said. Then he added, quieter, âAlcohol will make your foot feel worse, and if youâre already feeling like shit, you donât have to add fuel to the fire. I would love to not have to worry about that, Y/N.â
He felt, rather than saw, the way that landed. Your shoulders relaxed a little, your mouth softened around the straw of the Coke you had. You did not comment on it, but you did not pull your legs away either.Â
âI promise Iâm usually careful,â you mumbled after a moment, âYou wonât have to worry about me.â
He smiled, eyes flicking to your face. âI know.â
âGood,â you said.Â
The two of you went silent for a long moment, just watching the TV screen where the four characters were driving through Bowser's castle. You made another sound when he found another knot, half sigh and half something that sat too close to that earlier groan for his sanity, and your eyes slipped closed. He kept massaging the spot, his finger gently pressing into your calf, while you took deep, relaxed breaths.Â
He loved this more than he should.
He loved that you trusted him enough to pass out like this in a room full of people, your leg over his lap, your face turned toward him.Â
He loved that he could say no when you wanted something that would hurt you, and you would pout, complain, and then listen.Â
He knew exactly what it was at this point.Â
He didnât just like you.Â
He had a crush, full-on, warm and terrifying and relentless.Â
And he was pretty sure you were reciprocating those feelings to a certain degree. And he loved knowing that even more than anything else.Â
At some point, the volume in the living room dipped. Mario Kart had finally been abandoned, and someone had put on a movie. Yeonjun had dimmed the lights, only the TV and a floor lamp casting soft pools of glow across the room.
Soobin wandered back in from the kitchen, a fresh drink in his hand. His gaze swept the room, landed on you and Heeseung on the couch, and softened.
âMove,â he said quietly, nudging Heeseungâs knee with his own.
Heeseung shifted without complaint, scooting a bit closer to the middle so Soobin could squeeze onto the other side of you. Your legs were still draped over Heeseungâs lap, his hands resting lightly around your calf now instead of working into the muscle. Soobin settled down with a small sigh, one arm draping over the back of the couch behind his shoulders.
You were clearly fighting sleep, your blinking slower, your breaths deeper. Every so often, your foot twitched against Heeseungâs thigh, and he adjusted his hold automatically, checking without thinking that your ankle was still in a position that would not hurt later.
Then your head started to dip forward.
He watched it happen in slow motion, your chin tipping toward your chest, shoulders hunching as gravity won. You jerked awake at the last second, catching yourself with an embarrassed little inhale, eyes blinking wide for a moment.
âSorry,â you mumbled, straightening, rubbing at your face. âI am awake.â
âIt is fine,â Heeseung said, voice low so he would not disturb the others. He shifted a bit closer, angling his shoulder toward you deliberately. âJust use my shoulder.â
You looked at him like he had suggested you climb onto his lap instead. âNo. That is weird.â
âIt is not weird,â he insisted. âYou are tired. Your neck is going to die if you keep doing that.â
âIâm fine," you muttered, and stayed upright, staring stubbornly at the screen.
He let it go for about five minutes. In that time, your head bobbed forward twice more, each time snapping back up with a soft curse. Soobin glanced down at you once, worry flickering over his face, but you just waved him off, insisting you were fine.
Heeseung gave it one more minute, then spoke again, quieter. âSeriously. Just use my shoulder. It is okay.â
You blew out a breath, somewhere between annoyed and resigned. âYou are very persistent, you know that?â
âYes,â he said, a smile ghosting over his lips. âI get told that a lot.â
You rolled your eyes, but this time, when your head dipped again, you let it keep going. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you leaned sideways until your temple found his shoulder. You adjusted for a second, a small frown appearing as you shifted to find a better angle, then your muscles unwound bit by bit. He felt the exact moment you gave in, your weight settling more fully, your body sinking into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.
âThere,â he murmured. âNot weird.â
You hummed something faint that he could not catch. It might have been an insult, might have been an agreement, but your eyes slid closed fully this time and did not open again. Your breathing evened out, warm against his neck. One of your hands, which had been resting on your stomach, slipped sideways, fingers brushing his forearm before going limp.
He kept his shoulder steady, barely daring to move. He adjusted his arm just enough to keep your leg from sliding, his fingers resting light against your shin. On his other side, Soobin watched the screen, but from the corner of his eye, Heeseung noticed the way Soobinâs gaze flicked down to you every so often.Â
There was something soft there, something protective, but there was no tension directed at him. If anything, Soobin looked⊠relieved.Â
Heeseung's heart made a weird movement at that. His gaze wandered to your face again before he turned his eyes back to the TV, even though he was not really absorbing anything on it.Â
All his senses were full of you, the weight of your head, the warmth pressed along his side, the occasional small twitch of your foot.Â
An hour later, the movie credits rolled slowly across the screen, casting pale blue light over the living room. The volume had been turned low at some point, just enough to hear the soft synth music over the occasional snore from Yeonjun. Some of the others got up to get something to drink or to go to the toilet, but Heeseung didnât move.Â
His shoulder was stiff, his right leg numb under the weight of yours, but he stayed still as stone. Your head was still tucked against him, temple pressed warm to his collarbone, your breaths slow and even. One of your hands had curled into the fabric of his t-shirt sometime while you slept, fingers loose but holding on, like you had reached for him without thinking.
He glanced down at you, careful not to shift too much. Your face was relaxed in sleep, mouth parted just slightly, the tension gone from around your eyes. It made something ache in his chest, sharp and sweet.
He noticed that Soobin had been watching him for a moment, his eyes narrowing just a fraction. "You alright?"
Heeseung blinked, tearing his gaze away from your sleeping figure. "Yeah. Why?"
Soobin shrugged one shoulder, but there was a knowing tilt to his mouth. "Just checking. Sheâs been sleeping on you for a while now."
Heat crept up Heeseung's neck before he could stop it. "Yeah, she was tired. I figured my shoulder was more comfortable than her sleeping without any support.â
Soobin hummed, not quite buying the casual tone. "She sleeps like a baby, apparently. Especially when you're around."
Heeseung's ears burned hotter. "She was tired," he said, aiming for defensive but landing somewhere closer to flustered. "Painkillers and everything. You know."
"Mhm," Soobin said, clearly amused now. "And she apparently likes to do that, resting on your shoulder. Very cosy."
"Shut up," Heeseung muttered, but there was no heat in it. He could feel his face going red, scrambling for an out. "She was just comfortable. It is notâ"
Beomgyu looked up from his phone, cutting in before Soobin could twist the knife further. "Leave Heeseung alone. You are not Y/N's dad."
Soobin snorted, uncrossing his arms. "I might not be, but Iâm still her older brother. And I just wanna make sure they are being safe and happy before I go on and ruin Heeseung's life."
Heeseung choked on air. "We are notâ"
"Relax," Soobin said, waving a hand. "I am messing with you. Mostly."
Beomgyu cackled quietly, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "My god, Hee, you should have seen your face."
Heeseung groaned, rubbing his free hand over his face, but the rest just chuckled quietly.
âSo are we gonna watch part two?, Yunjin asked after she came back with another round of drinks for the rest and water for Heeseung.Â
âSure,â Soobin shrugged and searched for the second instalment of whatever movie they were watching, while Heeseung leaned back into the sofa, adjusting your body a bit and carefully brushing some loose strands of hair out of your face, not caring that the whole room was watching.Â
When the second movie ended, almost everyone was asleep or close to falling asleep. Heeseung was sure he himself had slept for a bit, his head now resting on yours. He couldnât remember a big chunk of the movie and couldnât understand the plot twist, not that he cared much.Â
Soobin reached for the remote, turning the TV off before he slowly got up, squatting down next to Chaewon, who was curled against the wing chair Yunjin was sleeping in, slowly waking her up.Â
Heeseung watched them for a second, the way she blinked her eyes open, how Soobin lovingly stroked her hair, her face, until she seemed more awake. She stretched, and they whispered something before he leaned down to press a kiss against her forehead. He straightened up and collected a few of the cups standing around, carrying them to the kitchen.Â
Heeseung followed his figure for a few seconds, thinking about what to do next. He decided that he should wake you up, so you could go to bed properly. He dipped his head a little, voice barely above a whisper near your ear. "Y/N. The movie's over. Letâs get you home."
You stirred immediately, but not in the way he expected. Your eyebrows pulled together in a grumpy little frown, and instead of lifting your head, you curled closer. Your hand tightened in his shirt, fingers fisting the cotton, and you made a small, displeased noise deep in your throat. "No," you mumbled, face pressing harder into his shoulder. "Five more minutes."
Heeseung bit back a smile, heat creeping up his neck at the way you burrowed into him. "Come on. Donât you want to get changed and sleep in your bed?"
"Mm," was all you managed, stubbornly clinging.
Soobin watched the exchange, amusement flickering in his eyes before it shifted to something more serious. He chuckled softly, taking the empty Coke cans on the table. "Just let her sleep. I will carry her to my bed."
Heeseung's stomach did an unhelpful flip. He looked down at you again, your fingers still curled in his shirt, your weight fully relaxed against his side.Â
âAre you sure? Donât you and Chaewon noona sleep there?â He asked with uncertainty. âI can bring Y/N home, itâs no problem.âÂ
Soobin's eyebrows lifted slightly, wariness sharpening his gaze. He studied Heeseung for a long moment, glance flicking between his face and the way your hand gripped his shirt. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah." Heeseung nodded once, firm. "I have her. Do not worry."
Soobin held his eyes a beat longer, something unreadable passing there. Heeseung knew this facial expression. Soobin was calculating, thinking, but then he exhaled slowly and nodded. "Can you take her to your flat? I am sure neither you nor she wants my dad to know about the two of you."
"I will," Heeseung promised.
Your brother hummed. âOkay. Let me get Beomgyu. Heâll help with her stuff. Iâll get Chae to bed in the meantime.âÂ
Heeseung nodded wordlessly, and Soobin seemed satisfied enough, turning back to Chaewon, who seemed a bit wobbly on her feet when she stood up.Â
A minute later, Beomgyu stumbled in from the kitchen, cheeks flushed and eyes a bit glassy, carrying your crutches in one hand and your bag and shoes dangling from the other.Â
âGot it,â he slurred cheerfully, swaying just a bit. âReady, loverboy?â
Heeseung huffed a quiet laugh despite himself, carefully shifting to gather you up, one arm behind your back, the other under your knees. You were lighter than he expected, even with the dead weight of sleep, your head lolling to rest against his shoulder.Â
He stood slowly, adjusting his hold, silently thanking his coach, Jay, and Sunghoon for every gruelling gym session that made him go through.
Your hand stayed fisted in his shirt the whole time.
Beomguy walked ahead, balancing your crutches and bag, kicking open the door with his foot. On the way down the hallway, he glanced back over his shoulder.
âIâm glad youâre taking such good care of her, hyung,â he said over his shoulder, voice a little thick from the alcohol but warm, sincere. His eyes met Heeseungâs for a moment, soft and trusting. âShe needs someone like you. Donât mind Soobin too much. Heâll come around. Youâre a great guy for her.â
Heeseung blinked for a second, stunned from the statement, before he swallowed. âThanks, Gyu. It means a lot to me to hear that from you.â Heeseung adjusted his hold on you. âI donât mind,â he answered honestly. âI mean Soobin, and the coach. I like being there for her, even if I have to defend myself from them.â
Beomgyuâs mouth twitched into a small, knowing smile. âYeah. I figured.â He pushed the buildingâs front door open, letting the cool night air wash over all three of you. Rain tapped softly against the pavement outside. âYou two will be fine. Just⊠keep her out of her dadâs line of sight until youâre ready for that talk, okay?â
âOkay,â Heeseung said.Â
They crossed quickly to his car. Beomguy opened the back door and set your crutches and bag on the seat, tucking your shoes beside them. Meanwhile, Heeseung opened the front passenger door with his elbow, then shifted you carefully to settle you into the seat. Your head lolled toward him, eyes blinking open for a second.
âHm?â you murmured, voice heavy with sleep. âWhereâre we going?â
âTo my place,â Heeseung said softly, buckling your seatbelt and adjusting the strap so it did not dig into your neck. âYou can sleep. Iâll get you home tomorrow.â
You hummed, eyelids already drooping shut again. ââ Kay,â you breathed. ââS fine.â
Heeseung chuckled and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over you like a blanket, tucking it gently around your shoulders. You made a small, content sound and snuggled deeper into the seat.
He closed the door quietly and walked around to the driverâs side. Beomguy watched him with a mixture of fondness and something like amusement. âDrive safe. Text me when youâre there.â
âI will,â Heeseung repeated, meaning it.
The drive was mostly silent. The radio was off, leaving only the hum of the engine and the occasional swish of tyres on the damp road. You slept through almost all of it, your face turned toward him, breaths slow and even.Â
Halfway to his building, you stirred, blinking groggily. âHee?â you asked, voice rough. âWhere are we?â
âAlmost at my flat,â he said gently. âYou okay with that?â
You stared at him for a moment, eyes heavy, brain clearly fighting through sleep fog. Then you nodded once. âYeah,â you whispered. ââ M tired.â
He smiled to himself. âThought so. Go back to sleep.â
By the time he parked and turned off the engine, you were out again. He sat there for a second, just watching you, the way his jacket had slipped half off your shoulder. Then he shook himself and climbed out, circling around to your side. He opened the door carefully and slipped one arm under your knees, the other around your back, lifting you out of the seat and cradling you against his chest again.
You mumbled something unintelligible, your head dropping to his shoulder. He nudged the door shut with his hip and made his way into the building. The elevator came quickly, and he stood in there, your weight solid and warm in his arms, your breath brushing his collarbone in little puffs. He shifted you a little higher as he reached his door, fishing his keys from his pocket with his free hand. It took him two tries, but he managed to unlock it without dropping you.
Inside, the apartment was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the city through the windows. He nudged the door shut with his heel and walked straight to his room, moving by muscle memory. At the edge of his bed, he paused for a second, lowering you slowly, like you were made of glass.
He eased you down onto the mattress, one hand behind your head until it met the pillow. Then he slid his arms out from under you, careful not to jostle your leg. You sank into his duvet, his jacket still wrapped around you, a soft exhale leaving your lips.
But before he could fully pull away, your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.
"No," you mumbled, eyes still closed, voice thick with sleep. "It's cold. Stay."
Heeseung froze, heart thudding hard against his ribs. "Iâm gonna get the two of us pyjamas, Y/N."
You tugged weakly at his wrist, not opening your eyes, curling toward his warmth. "Just a minute. Please."
He exhaled slowly, glancing at his closet, then back at you. You looked so small there, half-buried in the duvet, fingers loose around his wrist. He gave in to your plea.
"Okay," he whispered. "Just a minute."
He sat carefully on the edge of the bed. You curled into him almost immediately, your head resting against his thigh, a content little hum escaping as you settled. His hand moved on instinct, fingers threading gently through your hair, petting slow, slow, careful strokes from crown to nape, the strands soft and cool under his touch.Â
"Mhmm," you sighed, your body going fully limp.
Heeseung sat there, barely breathing, one hand in your hair, the other resting light on the duvet near your arm. The room was dark except for the sliver of light spilling from the city lights outside. Your breathing evened out deeper, face smoothing completely now, and he could not make himself move.
His thumb brushed your temple lightly, tracing the edge of your hairline.Â
One more minute, he told himself.Â
Then he would get up, get changed, get ready for bed, maybe even coax you into changing into pyjamas.
But he stayed put.Â
Petting your hair, feeling the soft strands slip through his fingers, listening to the quiet rhythm of your breaths.Â
After a few minutes, he did get himself to stand up. He slid his hand free from your hair with infinite care, lifting your head just enough to settle it back onto the pillow. You stirred faintly but did not wake, curling into the warmth of the duvet instead. He stood up, his legs a little numb from sitting so still, and moved quietly to his closet. He pulled out a loose t-shirt and drawstring pants that would not press on your leg, then laid them neatly on the bed beside you.
"Hey, Y/N. Iâm going to the bathroom," he murmured, unsure if you were still awake enough to hear him. "You can change into them if you want to."
You hummed faintly, a small, incoherent sound, but did not stir further.
Heeseung chuckled lowly and grabbed his own sleeping clothes before he headed to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth quickly, splashed water on his face, changed into a t-shirt and sweats. He caught a glimpse of his reflection, of his messy hair, the stubble along his chin, the faint blush on his cheeks. He shook his head and slipped back into the bedroom.Â
He was surprised to see that you had also changed into the pyjama he had laid out for you. Your hoodie and pants are lying in a small pile on the floor, next to your cast. Heeseung cursed under his breath when he realised that your bag and more importantly, your crutches were still in his car. He turned around and begrudgedly made his way down to his car again. Â
When he carefully closed the door to his room, your stuff in his hands, he had to suppress a laugh. You had shifted positions again, lying spread out almost horizontal in his bed, one of your arms hanging off his bed.Â
Heeseung set your bag and crutches against the wall, then eyed the tiny strip of bed still technically "his." There was no way he was fitting without moving you a bit.Â
He eased onto the mattress carefully, trying to shift your limbs just enough to carve out space, one hand nudging your dangling arm back onto the bed, the other sliding your sprawled leg over a few inches.
You stirred immediately, whining low and petulant without even opening your eyes. "Mmm... nooo, stop moving me," you mumbled, flopping dramatically back into your original position, reclaiming every inch. "My spot."
Heeseung laughed softly, the sound escaping despite his efforts to stay quiet. "Y/N, this is my bed. You've taken the whole thing. There's no space left for me."
Your eyes cracked open just a sliver, bleary and unimpressed, before you huffed and pushed yourself up with a groan. "Fine," you slurred, scooting toward the headboard just enough to let him slide in fully. The second he was settled, his back against the pillows, legs stretched out, you let yourself drop right onto him like dead weight, burying your face in his chest with a contented sigh. Your arms looped loosely around his waist, cheek squishing against his t-shirt, legs tangling carefully around his to avoid your bad one.
He froze for half a second, heart stuttering at the sudden closeness, then relaxed with a quiet chuckle, his arm coming up to wrap around your shoulders. "There. Happy now?"
"Mmhm," you hummed into his chest, already drifting again, your breath warm and even against him. "Perfect."
He smiled into the dark, fingers threading lightly through your hair once more. "Night, Y/N."
You did not answer, already gone, and he let his eyes close, the weight of you grounding him perfectly into sleep.
You woke slowly, the world filtering in piece by fuzzy piece, first the soft glow of morning light sneaking through the blinds, then the steady rise and fall of Heeseung's chest underneath you. Your cheek was squished against the soft cotton of his shirt, one of your arms slung across his waist, while your legs tangled up, with your injured one resting upon his. One of his arms was resting behind our neck, the other one behind his head, his breathing deep and even, face slack in sleep.
You blinked up at him carefully, not daring to twitch a muscle. His hair stuck up in every direction, lips parted just a little, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw catching the light. He looked younger like this, softer, completely unguarded. Your heart did a slow, warm flip.Â
For a second, you were embarrassed for having apparently decided to cling to him like a monkey for the night, but if you were honest, you couldnât care less. Youâve been in pain ever since you woke up the day before. Not even the pain killers helped, the only thing they did was make you incredibly tired and leave you nauseous the whole day.Â
Your leg was still throbbing, but you didn't know exactly why. The position youâve fallen asleep in wasnât exactly the best for your body; your hip felt stiff, and the pressure against the scar wasnât helping, nor was the fact that your ankle was still wrapped in a sock and not elevated. You could feel the swelling, your foot pressing against the compression in pulses that mirrored your heartbeat.
You slightly moved your leg, experimentally flexing the muscles, only to suppress a wince. You took a deep, resigned breath and just closed your eyes, trying to fall asleep again, ignoring that you should get up and take your meds, maybe even go to the toilet, only to rip your eyes open.Â
You couldn't remember going to the bathroom, nor could you remember brushing your teeth, nor removing your makeup.Â
That thought got a real groan out of you before you pressed your lips onto each other, praying that Heeseung didnât wake up from the sound.Â
You glanced at his face, but he didnât even flinch in his sleep. You chuckled lowly, remembering how the others had mentioned that an atombomb could go off next to Heeseung without waking him. You slowly moved your leg a bit, trying your best to ignore the pain and adjust your upper body a bit, feeling his heartbeat thump steadily and strongly under your palm.
A few minutes after you had closed your eyes again, doing your best to fall asleep again, a knock came from Heeseung's door. It creaked open cautiously, Jayâs head poking in. He froze mid-step, eyes widening at the sight of you curled into Heeseungâs side, his arm draped protectively over you, both of you tangled deep in the duvet.
Jay cleared his throat quietly, suppressing a grin. âUh⊠heyâŠY/N. Good morning.â
âHi Jay,â you answered, smiling at him, not lifting your head from Heeseung's chest.
âIâm going to go grocery shopping because I was planning on cooking galbi jjim later and wanted to know if Hyung wanted something from E-MartâŠor if the two of you are here for dinner?â
You blinked at him for a second, warmth spreading in your chest at the more or less casual invitation. âI would love to stay for dinner, but I should probably get home. I donât have my meds here, and I need a change of clothes? But Iâll ask Hee if he needs something from E Mart and make it text you?â
âSure, thank you,â Jay gave you a small, but warm smile. âHave a nice day then, Y/N.âÂ
You nodded at him. âYou too, Jay.â
He quietly closed the door again, only for Heeseung to stir awake a few seconds after. He blinked groggily, his arm tightened instinctively around your shoulders for a split second, cheeks flushing as he sat up a little straighter. âY/N?,â he rasped, voice rough and gravelly with sleep.
You hummed, leaning onto your elbow to look at his face. âGood morning.â
He groaned low, moving his free arm up to his face, trying to block the weak light coming from his curtains by draping it over his eyes. âToo early,â he mumbled. His voice was muffled and whiny, cursing you to chuckle.Â
âYou just missed Jay,â you whispered, watching him run his hand over his face, before he slowly put his gaze on you. âHeâs going to e-mart and asked if you need anything?â
He grunted low in acknowledgement, the vibration rumbling through his chest into you, his fingers coming up to brush your hair back gently. âIâll text him later. He spends hours grocery shopping.â
You nodded and hummed contentedly, nestling deeper into him despite the persistent throb in your leg and the slow but growing need to use the toilet. His warmth seeped into you, while his heart was still beating slow and steady beneath your palm.
You were silent for a while, and if it wasn't for his fingers still brushing your hair back with the gentlest touch, you would have thought he fell asleep again. His hand had drifted lower after a while, tracing light, lazy lines along your arm, fingertips grazing from your shoulder to your elbow and back again, so feather-soft it sent goosebumps prickling up your skin in warm little waves.Â
You shivered faintly at the sensation.
"You were really out of it yesterday," he murmured after a moment, his voice low as he broke the silence in the room. "Like, completely gone. You barely stirred the whole time I carried you."
You cracked one eye open. "I sleep like a baby after taking pain killers,â you said softly. "Those things always knock me flat. I am a truly deep sleeper on them. Like, you could not wake me up if you tried."
He nodded slowly, his thumb continuing those slow circles on your arm, raising fresh goosebumps every pass. "I noticed." He paused, his touch lingering a little longer at your elbow. "I like that you feel safe enough to crash like that around me. Even though youâve missed both movies."
Your heart squeezed, warmth blooming deeper in your chest. You tilted your head up just enough to meet his eyes, soft and sleepy in the morning light. "Were they good?"
Heeseung let out a sheepish laugh, his cheeks tinting pink as he scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. "I didnât really pay attention, if Iâm honest. Iâve been pretty tired the last few days as well, and zoned out during most of it. I fell asleep for at least half of it myself, I think."
You grinned up at him, your eyes crinkling despite the quiet discomfort in your body, which was now rapidly growing, the more awake you were. "We both suck at movie nights."
"I donât care if itâs only that weâre bad in," he said, smirking back, his arm tightening around you just a fraction. His fingers resumed their path along your arm, slow and tender.
You let out a soft sigh, your hand curling a little tighter into his shirt. "I really like this," you admitted quietly, voice barely above a whisper, your cheek pressing warmer against his chest. "Waking up here. With you. Like this."
He went still for a heartbeat, his hand pausing mid-stroke. Then he smiled down at you, eyes crinkling soft and full of something warm and unspoken. "I like it too," he murmured, his voice low and sincere, thumb brushing your arm again like a promise. "A lot."
You both fell quiet after that, just breathing together, his hand petting lazy patterns on your skin, your body soaking in his warmth despite the ache, before you decided to break the spell and use the toilet.Â
âêłâ *°ââ.àłàż*:*â âêłâ *°ââ.àłàż*:*â ââêłâ *°ââ.àłàż*:*â â
It had been raining all week.Â
Thick clouds were above the skyscrapers of the city, relentlessly blocking out any late autumn sunrays that could have lightened your mood just a little bit.Â
Since youâve gotten home from Heeseung's flat on the weekend, youâve been caught up trying to get on track with your classes. Midterms were coming up soon, and you really had to start taking them seriously.
You had been sitting in a random classroom in the business department, clicking through your flashcards, trying to memorise everything you had noted down for over an hour now. Beomguy had promised to pick you up after his classes ended for the day, the two of you wanting to go out and get something to eat together.
The rain pelted against the windows, thick drops coating the whole thing into streaks of water.Â
You hated the sound of it.
But you couldnât study while listening to music, so you did your best to ignore it.
And it did work, you did get through at least half of your flashcards when the first rumble of thunder rolled low in the distance.
You flinched before you could stop yourself, your shoulders jumping, the cursor stuttering where your hand jerked.Â
You froze, eyes on the screen, then forced your jaw to relax.
It was just thunder.
It was fine.
You were inside.Â
You were safe.
You took a slow breath and tried to focus back on your laptop, only to flinch when it thundered a second time, much closer this time. You raised your head and caught the exact moment a lightning strike hit. It felt like the following thunder rattled the whole building, a bright white flash bleeding at the edges of your vision.
Your hand tightened around your mouse, your nails scraping along the plastic, while the next flashcard appeared.Â
The screen started swimming in front of your eyes, your pulse suddenly thudding in your throat. You tried to close your eyes and control your breathing.
This was only thunder.Â
Nothing happened.Â
You were safe.
You fumbled for your phone while trying to keep your breathing as steady as possible. Heeseung's contact was on top of your recent caller list and, without thinking, you pressed the button.Â
He picked up a few seconds later. âHi Y/N. Whatâs up?â His voice was hushed, but he sounded upbeat.Â
You swallowed and tried to collect your thoughts as best you could. âAre you... Are you on the campus?â
âYes, I am in the library. Why? Whatâs up, Y/N?â he sounded alarmed, his voice a bit louder now.Â
âI-â, another rumble of thunder interrupted you, and you had to grip your phone tighter, so it wouldnât escape your sweaty palm. âCan you get me? Iâm in the business building. Itâs- I-,â you took a rapid breath. âPlease.âÂ
âFuck,â Heeseung cursed under his breath, and you heard rustling on his side of the phone. âIâll be there in a second, Y/N. Where in the building are you?âÂ
You tried to remember to think of where you were, but it felt like your thoughts were racing too fast for you to grasp any. âI-I upstairs? Third floor?âÂ
âOkay,â Heeseung said, his voice still hushed. âCan you try to go to the door and open it for me? So I can find you better?âÂ
You nodded and made a sound that he hopefully interpreted as an agreement. He said something else, but the words didnât reach your brain.
The room felt smaller all at once, the air tighter when you willed your legs to stand up. You were still pressing your phone against your ear, and you were pretty sure that Heeseung was talking to you, but your sole focus was on trying to get to the door, to get away from this, from here, to safety.
Your feet felt like they belonged to someone else, your crutches forgotten next to the chair you had been sitting on. You couldnât feel the pain of putting your full weight onto your foot, underneath the panic racing through your veins.Â
You had made it to the door, it was barely ten steps from your seat, before another crack of thunder hit, so loud it vibrated through the walls and turned your legs to lead. Your whole body jerked, your phone slipping from your hand, clattering onto the floor.
The room spun more slowly, and your vision tunnelled, while nausea built up in your stomach.Â
You couldnât see the grey vinyl floor or the door frame that you were clinging to; instead, you saw rain-slick road, wipers slapping frantically, headlamps blinding white in the downpour.Â
It wasnât real.
This was not real.Â
But your breaths came faster, ragged gasps that barely filled your lungs, heart slamming so loud it echoed in your ears. Sweat prickled cold down your spine.Â
You wanted it to stop.Â
Someone had to make it stop.Â
Your thigh burned, a deep, vicious phantom pain flaring up, knives twisting in scar tissue, bone-deep fire racing up your leg like it was happening all over again.Â
No.Â
Stop.Â
You pressed your palm hard against your stomach, but it only made the nausea roll thicker, bile surging hot in your throat. It was as if you could feel it, blood pooling warm on your thigh, your leg going numb, then exploding in white-hot agony, every nerve on fire. You squeezed your eyes shut, sliding down the doorframe, your forehead grinding into your knees. You were starting to hyperventilate, short, desperate pulls of air that left you dizzy. Black spots were dancing behind your lids.Â
You couldn't breathe.Â
Couldnâtâplease stopâ
A scream out of pure terror ripped free from your mouth when two hands suddenly touched your shoulders. Â
Your head shot up, and when you realised that it was Heeseung, who was gently holding you, you lurched forward, flinging yourself into him, your nails clawing into his wet hoodie, your face smashing into his neck.
"Hey, hey," he soothed, hands rising then wrapping firm around your body, pressing your shaking form against him. "Itâs okay. Youâre fine. Youâre safe."
"Iâit hurtsâ", you didn't even know what you had tried to tell him, through your frantic gasps, but he seemingly understood. âHeeseungââ
"Itâs okay," he murmured, his voice low and soft. "Youâre okay, I've got you."Â
He manoeuvred you a few inches inside the room, pulling the door closed behind him, before he sat down on the floor, sliding you into his lap, your legs draped over his. He rocked you gently, one arm locked around your back, the other cradling your head to his shoulder. "Breathe. You're safe. Everything's fine. Itâs just you and me. We're inside. Weâre safe."
His rocking was slow, rhythmic, as he whispered against your hair. "In slow, out now, that's it,â his hand rubbing firm circles on your back while you did your best to regain control over your breathing again.Â
When your sobs quieted to sniffles, he pulled back just enough to cup your face, thumbs swiping tears. "Wanna talk about it?" he asked softly.
You shook your head and squeezed your eyes closed.Â
"Okay," he said instantly, no pressure. "That's fine. We don't have to."
The sound of thunder cracked through the room again, this time quieter, the storm having slowly moved on, but your heart still lurched,d and it sent a fresh wave of panic through you.Â
"Hee," you whispered, voice breaking. "Get me out. Please. I need to go home. I can't stay here."
"Yeah," he said, no hesitation, arms tightening. "Yeah, Iâll bring you home."
"I... I need my crutches," you rasped, voice raw, glancing toward the desk where you had left them. Your legs felt like jelly, and pain flared up from your ankle, but staying here wasn't an option.
Heeseung nodded once. "Okay."Â
He eased you off his lap gently, steadying you on your good foot while he grabbed the crutches, handing them to you, before walking back to your desk, packing up your laptop and the rest of your things. âI forgot my umbrella in the library. Do you have one here?â
You sniffled and belatedly realised that he was soaked from head to toe. His dark hair was sticking to his forehead, and his hoodie as well as his jeans were dark from the moisture of the rain outside.Â
You swallowed and sniffed before nodding. âI think there is one in my bag.âÂ
He hummed and rummaged in your bag until he found the foldable umbrella at the bottom of it. "Letâs get going,â he said, crossing the room with long strides, after he slung your bag around his shoulders, his hand coming around your elbow.Â
You gripped the handles of your crutches tightly, your knuckles turning white, as you slowly made your way to the elevator and towards the main entrance. Heeseung stayed glued to your side, his free hand hovering at your elbow. "Easy," he murmured when you stumbled once.Â
Outside, wind whipped rain sideways, but he held the umbrella firm, guiding you to the passenger door. He tossed your bag in the back, helped you fold the crutches down, then buckled you in gently and efficiently, like he'd done it a hundred times. You shivered slightly. The rain had soaked your pants and even your coat, despite his best efforts to keep the two of you dry.Â
As soon as heeseung started the car and the windscreen wipers came to life, you had to do your best to suppress a wave of panic.Â
The car moved smoothly through the parking lot, and you realised that Heeseung had put on his favourite playlist, turning the volume down, but your hand darted forwards, stopping him.Â
âLouder,â you said, closing your eyes, a laboured breath escaping your mouth. âI hate the sound. Please make the music louder.â
You felt his eyes on you, but his fingers moved worldlessly, and the music coming from the speakers increased in volume.Â
Your hand was still gripping his wrist, and you dropped it, as if the touch was burning. âBoth hands. Use both hands.â
His hand flew to the wheel.Â
You stared straight ahead, your eyes fixed on the streaks of water sliding up the windshield as the wipers dragged them away, only for more to take their place.Â
The music was loud now, but even your favourite songs in his playlist could not fully drown out the soft hiss of rain on metal.Â
You focused on the sound of the engine instead, on the steady hum beneath your feet, on the way the car responded smoothly when Heeseung braked at a light or eased around a corner. One of your hands was fisting the damp fabric of your pants, while the other one was braced against your knee, as you counted each breath in and out.Â
The phantom ache in your leg had settled into a heavy throb, but your stomach still twisted with leftover nausea.Â
Beside you, Heeseung drove with both hands on the wheel as you had asked, knuckles pale against the dark leather. His jaw was tense, eyes flicking between the road and you more often than any driving instructor would recommend.Â
He didnât speak to you.
You would probably not have been able to answer him anyway.
Every few minutes, you felt his gaze on you again, checking your breathing, the way your shoulders rose and fell.
âAlmost there,â he said quietly after a while, more to fill the silence than anything. âJust a few more turns.â
You swallowed and nodded, keeping your eyes shut for the next stretch of road, letting the music wash over you, clinging to the fact that it was his playlist, his car.Â
This was not that night.Â
You repeated it in your head like a mantra.
When he pulled off the main road toward your apartment complex, you forced your eyes open again. The familiar outline of the buildings rose out of the rain. He flicked on his blinker, slowing down in front of the entrance like he always did when he dropped you off.
âIâll justââ he started, preparing to stop at the curb.
âCan you drive into the parking garage?â you cut in quickly, your fingers tightening on your knee. Your voice sounded small and hoarse. âTake my momâs spot. Please.â
He glanced over at you properly then, reading the plea in your expression, the way your shoulders still trembled faintly. âDo you want me to come upstairs with you?â
You nodded slightly. âYes. Please. I donât want to be alone.â
âOkay,â he said immediately. âYeah. Weâll park.â
He steered past the entrance and pulled into the underground garage, the sudden absence of rain on the roof making the car feel strangely quieter.Â
Concrete swallowed the outside noise.Â
The lights were dim, casting long reflections on the wet floor. He eased into your motherâs usual spot, shifted the car into park, and turned off the engine. The wipers stopped mid-swipe, leaving a half-moon of clear glass in front of you.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
With the storm muffled by concrete, it was easier to breathe.Â
You could still hear the rain distantly at the garage entrance, but it no longer felt like it was pressing in on you from all sides.Â
Your shoulders dropped a fraction, and your grip on your pants loosened.
Heeseung stayed very still, hands resting on his thighs now, giving you the space to decide. âWe can sit here as long as you want,â he said quietly. âNo rush.â
You stared at the dashboard, at the faint reflection of your own tired face on the dark screen. The frantic pounding of your heart had dulled to a heavy, exhausted beat.Â
Your breathing was still a little uneven, but at least it did not scrape anymore.Â
After a minute, you nodded, wiping the back of your hand under your nose.
âOkay,â you murmured. âI think⊠Iâm okay to go up now.â
He nodded once. You watched him unbuckle first, then he reached for your own seat belt with clumsy fingers. The click echoed in the small space. He slipped out and circled the car, opening your door before you could reach for it.Â
Cool, dry air from the garage brushed your face.Â
He grabbed your crutches from the back and set them within easy reach, then offered you his hand without a word.
You took it.
Your legs still felt unsteady when you swung them out of the car, the brace heavy, muscles sore from the panic. Heeseung slung your bag over his shoulder and locked the car, falling into step with you as you headed toward the elevator.
In the enclosed quiet of the lift, you could hear nothing but the soft hum of the motor and your own breathing. He stood close enough that his arm brushed yours slightly, but he did not crowd you.Â
You focused on the numbers ticking upward, on the reflection of the two of you in the mirror, your tired eyes, his worried ones.
When the elevator dinged and the doors opened onto your floor, he looked to you again as if asking for permission before stepping out. You gave him a small nod and moved forward, the rubber tips of your crutches tapping a slow, steady rhythm down the hall.Â
At your door, you fumbled with the keypad. Your hands were still a little shaky, but you managed to get it open on the second try.
âCome in,â you said quietly, stepping aside to let him pass. âJust for a bit. I donât⊠I donât want to be alone.â
Heeseung hesitated for a second before he took off his wet sneakers on the threshold. You leaned against the wall, ignoring that your damp clothing would touch the wallpaper, as you fumbled with your shoe and then with your cast, freeing both your feet. Â
He watched you silently, waiting for you to finish up, before reaching for the bot, the cast and your one sneaker, to neatly put them next to his shoes.Â
You waited for him to straighten up before you limped through the apartment, towards Soobin's old room. The door opened up quietly, and you beelined for his old closet. You flicked on the overhead light, harsh yellow spilling out, and yanked open the cabinet door, before grabbing the first oversized hoodie and sweats you could find. "Here," you muttered, thrusting them at him. "Yours are soaked."
"Thanks," he said softly, taking them.
You hummed and gave him a small smile that didn't reach your eyes, before gesturing for him to leave the room again. âThe one to the right is my room.â
He turned around and opened the door to your room softly, revealing the mess that was your room. A few pieces of clothing were strewn across the floor, accompanied by your physio bag and a basket full of freshly washed clothing.Â
Heeseung took a few steps inside, putting your bag onto the floor next to your desk before looking up at you again. You hummed a quiet thanks before dropping your crutches onto the floor.Â
Exhaustion hit you like a wave, and everything felt wrong: your wet clothes clinging cold to your skin, your smudged makeup, the compression tights that did not stop your leg from throbbing relentlessly.Â
You just wanted it off.Â
Wanted to rest.Â
To sleep.Â
Your fingers went to the hem of your shirt, peeling it off in one damp, heavy motion, letting it slap to the floor. Your wet jeans followed next, before you let yourself drop onto your bed to peel the tan compression sock off your leg. The scars on your thigh glared under the light, jagged lines from surgeries, from the accident, colouring and deforming the pale skin in different shapes and colours. You heard Heeseung shift, and when you looked up, his back was turned towards you, and you realised belatedly that you just got undressed in front of him.Â
You pressed your lips onto each other and closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, a sinking feeling spreading in your chest, before you turned around on your bed to grab your pyjamas.Â
You saw Heeseung tentatively move, where he was standing before he raised his hands and pulled his hoodie over his head, leaving him in a plain t-shirt that clung to his shoulders, jeans still dark and heavy. He hesitated, glancing back, eyes widening when he saw you watching him. Heat blossomed in your face, and you quickly turned towards the wall, "Uh, sorry," you mumbled,â I didn't want to stare.â
Heeseung laughed softly, low and warm. "It's fine."Â
Fabric rustled behind you, as you kept staring at the texture of your wall, you heard him unzip his jeans, before he spoke up again. âWhereâs the bathroom? We should put our stuff up, so it can dry properly.â
You turned around and hummed in agreement. He was carrying both his and your wet clothes, standing patiently next to the door.Â
âIâll come with you,â you mumbled, already reaching for your crutches. âI want to undo my makeup.âÂ
Heeseung nodded, adjusting the bundle of damp fabric in his arms, your shirt tangled with his hoodie, jeans slung over one shoulder. You crutched down the short hall after him, the rubber tips thumping softly on the wood floor.Â
He moved efficiently, draping everything over the shower curtain rod and the edge of the tub, hoodies unfolded to let air hit the wet spots, jeans hung straight so water wouldn't pool.
You propped your crutches against the wall and leaned in, twisting the faucet with shaky fingers. Your hands were almost working on autopilot, grabbing your cleanser first, the oil dissolving your makeup into milky brown and black rivulets, dripping from your chin into the basin. You watched it for a second, the grime of the day washing literally away, before scrubbing harder, splashing until your face felt raw and clean.
Heeseung waited patiently by the door, arms crossed loosely, eyes on the floor but flicking to you every few breaths, checking without staring.Â
"Done," you rasped finally, shutting off the water, grabbing a towel to pat dry.
He followed you back to your room without a word, the air between you comfortable. Heeseung eased onto the bed first, stretching out on his back against the pillows. His arms opened slowly, inviting you in.
You didn't hesitate and crawled in, curling tight into him. Your head found his chest, nose tucked into the crook of his neck, his heartbeat steady under your cheek. His arms wrapped around you, firm but gentle, one hand splaying across your back.
"Are you feeling a bit better?" he murmured, fingers tracing slowly along your spine.
You nodded against him, eyes heavy. "Yeah."
Silence settled for a few breaths, just the soft thud of his heart under your ear, the faint whoosh of cars far below your window. Then the words that had been chewing at you forced their way up.
"Iâm⊠Iâm sorry," you whispered, your voice cracking on the last word. "For all of this. For calling you. Forâ"
Heeseungâs hand stilled on your back. "Hey," he cut in gently but firmly. His fingers slid up to your jaw, guiding your face away from his chest. "Look at me."
You resisted for a second, shame clawing at your ribs, but he waited you out, thumb brushing soothing circles over your cheek. Finally, you let your gaze drag up to his. His eyes were soft, but there was something steady, almost fierce, behind them.
"You did the right thing by calling me," he said, every word deliberate. "Okay? You did the right thing."
Your throat tightened. "But Iâ"
"No." His brows knit, grip gentle but unyielding as he kept your eyes on his. "Listen to me. I would rather you call me a thousand times like that than sit alone and be terrified. I want you to call me when youâre scared."
Heat burned behind your eyes. "I donât want to scare you," you whispered. "I know that being there for someone during a panic attack is terrifying."
He let out a breathy, humourless laugh. "Yeah, I was scared shitless," he admitted, lips quirking in a small, self-conscious smile. "Especially when you dropped your phone. One second youâre talking, the next I hear a crash and nothing. Iâve never run so fast in my life." His thumb swiped at the corner of your eye where moisture had gathered. "But Iâm glad you did call. Iâm glad I could get to you. Iâm glad youâre okay."
That did it. The first tear slipped free before you could blink it back, hot against his thumb.
"Iâm so tired of this," you choked out, the words tumbling over each other. "I hate that Iâm like this. Not just my leg, but⊠all of it. My head. Iâm soâ" Your voice fractured. "Iâm so sick of being sick."
You dropped your face back into his chest before he could see more, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. A few more tears broke loose, dampening the cotton. Frustration burned sharp and bitter, shame twisting in your stomach.Â
You knew you were a burden to your mom, to Soobin, to your friends, and nowâŠnow you were it to Heeseung as well. Calling him during an episode.
His arms closed around you again, holding you tighter, one hand rubbing slowly up and down your spine, the other coming up to cradle the back of your head.Â
He didnât hush you, didnât tell you to stop.Â
He just let you cry, his fingertips occasionally tracing along your cheekbone, catching stray tears and brushing them away as they fell.
"I know," he murmured after a while, voice low and rough near your ear. "I know it sucks. I know itâs not fair. But youâre not alone in it, okay? Youâre not too much. Not for me."
More tears slipped out at that, a soft, broken sound leaving your throat.Â
You felt awful, heavy and raw.
He pressed his cheek against the top of your head, breath warm in your hair. "Y/N," he said softly. You donât have to be okay right now." His hand smoothed over your back again, slow and rhythmic. "Just try to sleep a bit, yeah? After some sleep, everything will feel a little less shit. I promise."
You sniffed, swallowing hard, fingers still twisted in his shirt.
"Will you stay?" you whispered, the words barely there.
His chest rose and fell beneath your ear, steady and sure. "Iâm right here," he said, no hesitation. "Iâm not going anywhere. Close your eyes."
Sleep wouldnât come, no matter how hard you tried, how exhausted you were, you couldnât fall asleep. You were still lying in your bed, tangled up with Heeseung, his arm resting warm and heavy across your stomach. He had fallen asleep a while ago; his breathing rose and fell in deep, even rhythms against the back of your neck.Â
The storm had faded to a distant drizzle outside your window.Â
You felt tired down to your bones. Your leg was throbbing with pain now; it wasnât bad, but uncomfortable enough for you to struggle falling asleep.Â
The silence in the room left your mind enough space to try to piece together what had happened today.Â
You havenât had an episode as bad as today in a while.Â
It was so frustrating, not knowing when your brain might shut down, being triggered. You should have known better today. You knew there would be a thunderstorm, you justâŠignored it. You ignored the fact that you knew it was a risk, going anywhere when it might thunder.Â
You sighed and tried to shake, but he thought away, letting your fingers lightly trace over his hand. You caressed the knuckles where they draped across your stomach.Â
His skin was warm under your touch.Â
His fingers twitched faintly in sleep.Â
You hated how it stole your control, the ghost of the accident haunting you years after it happened. How it turned loud noises into crash, crunch, and blood. How it left you shaking and sick to your stomach.Â
You were so tired of fighting it.Â
Tired of the pain that came with it.Â
The nausea that still sat heavy in your gut.
But Heeseung was here.Â
He was right, you did the right thing. You were glad you called him. You were grateful he had come running. Grateful he held you through the worst without a single complaint.Â
Your thumb brushed slow circles over his wrist. Thank god for you, you thought.Â
The ache in your chest softened just a little.
Your ears perked up at the familiar sound of the keypad unlocking the front door. You heard the sharp sounds of your mom's heels clicking against the flooring before she changed them to the ridiculous Apeach slippers you got her a few years back.Â
You glanced up at Heeseung's face. It was relaxed, his eyelids closed and his mouth slightly open, small snoring sounds occasionally escaping them. You knew your mom would check your room. It was the first thing she did whenever she came home.Â
You should probably warn Heeseung, wake him up, untangle yourself from his hug, but you couldnât care less. The two of you were consenting adultsâŠcudding in your bed, there was nothing wrong with that.Â
A few seconds later, you heard a small knock coming from your food before your mom carefully peeked in, only to freeze. Her eyes widened at the sight of you being wrapped up in a random stranger's arms, his face half-buried in our hair, while your legs were tangled under the covers.Â
A gasp escaped her. "Y/N?!"
You hummed and freed your hand enough to wave to you, Mom. âHi, Mom.âÂ
Even to yourself, your voice sounded tired and exhausted, and you saw her face soften for a second before Heeseung stirred slightly, blinking groggily.Â
His gaze shifted from you to your mom in the doorway, and his eyes opened comically wide, his cheeks and ears turning red.Â
"Iâuhâshitâsorry, Iâ" he made an attempt to sit up, only to be stopped by your hand gently pressing him back into the mattress.Â
Your mom stood there, one hand covering her mouth while she processed the fact that there was an unfamiliar man lying in your bed.
 Your own cheeks burned, but your voice stayed steady as you introduced them. "Mom, this is Heeseung. Heeseung, this is my mom."
Heeseung went rigid underneath you, and his face turned even redder. "M-Mrs. Choi," he stammered. His voice cracked high. "I am Heeseung. Lee Heeseung. From the team. Hi. Sorry. I mean, good evening. Nice to meet you."
Your mom blinked. Shock rippled across her features.Â
Her mouth opened.Â
Then it snapped shut.Â
For a heartbeat, the room hung silent.Â
But she pulled herself together faster than either of you, smoothing her expression into something composed. She looked almost amused.
"Heeseung," she repeated, nodding once. "Nice to meet you too. Do not panic. You two look cosy. I will cook dinner. Will you be eating with us?"
You answered before he could open his mouth. âYeah, he will.âÂ
âOkay, Iâll make sure to cook enough then. I hope you are hungry, Heeseung,â she gave him a teasing smile, and Heeseung just wordlessly nodded, his eyes flickering between you and your mom.Â
She nodded and backed out of your room, pulling the door shut with a decisive click.
The second she was gone, Heeseung let his head fall back onto the pillows. He slapped his hands over his face.Â
"Your mom," he moaned. His voice was muffled. "She saw me in your bed. I am done. My career is over."
You laughed fully now, the sound was warm and light, before you reached up and pried his hands down slowly. He peeked through his fingers at first. Then he let you peel his hands away completely.Â
"Itâs not," you murmured. You reached up to fix his sleep-mussed hair. Your thumb brushed his cheek in a gentle caress. "My dad fucking adores you. My mom has never heard him or any of us mutter a bad thing about you."
"Fuck me," he muttered. But his eyes crinkled softly when they met yours.
âI donât think weâre there yet,â you teased, before leaning in to press a quick kiss to his temple. Surprising him and yourself with the action, but he just sighed and pulled you back down against him.Â
Heeseung's stomach was a knot of pure mortification as the smell of sizzling meat and rice drifted through the gaps in the door.Â
Your mom had just seen him, wrapped up in her daughter's bed, sleeping on her daughter, and she invited him for dinner?
You were resting on his chest again, swiping through TikTok on his phone, while he tried to stop himself from panicking. He couldnât understand how you were so chill about this situation.Â
Your mother, the wife of his coach, saw the two of you!
He would get killed.Â
Your father would kill him.Â
You were still lounging on his chest, thumb flicking lazily through TikTok on his phone, your breath warm and even against his collarbone.Â
How were you this calm?Â
He cleared his throat carefully, and your eyes flicked up, soft and searching, locking on his. âDo you⊠Do you know if your dad will be there for dinner?â he asked, voice cautious.
You hummed, thumb pausing. âMaybe. But usually not. Thursdays, heâs out with friends.â
He hummed back, strained, fingers twitching restlessly against your shoulder. âYou donât think itâs⊠weird?â
Your head tilted against him. âMaybe? Do you?â
âYeah,â he admitted, cheeks heating fresh. âYour mom saw us. Like this. And now Iâm⊠what? Staying for dinner?â
You shrugged one shoulder. âI donât think she minds? Do you want to go home?â
âNo,â he rushed out, arm curling tighter around you on pure instinct. âI want to stay. I want to make sure youâre okay.âÂ
His eyes dropped to your mouth without meaning to, then snapped back up to your eyes, his pulse kicking harder. He was sure you could hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest now.
You shifted, propping yourself up on one elbow, your expression turning tentative, almost shy. Your hand lifted, careful, hesitant, fingers ghosting the air before brushing his jaw in an almost feathery-light touch. They trembled faintly as they traced the line of it, cupping his face fully, thumbs sweeping slowly under his eyes.Â
âIâm okay,â you whispered, voice thick and low. âI promise I am. Thank you, Heeseung. For⊠everything.â
His free hand slid up instinctively, covering yours, pressing it firmer against his cheek, his thumb stroking your knuckles softly.Â
âAnytime,â he rasped, voice gravel. âI mean it. Always.â
His gaze dropped to your mouth again, in an almost helpless motion. You were close enough for your foreheads to almost touch. He could feel the heat of your breath against his lips, your gaze focused on his lips, as he carefully leaned in, only to stop millimetres before touching your lips.
âDinnerâs ready!â your mom called from down the hall, her voice warm and welcoming, breaking the moment.
You both froze, chests heaving, eyes locked wide. Neither of you moved for a moment before his forehead dropped the last centimetres to yours instead, your noses nudging, and your breath mingling together.
âDinnerâs getting cold!â she called louder, laughter threading through now, footsteps padding closer down the hall.
Both of you huffed out laughs before slowly leaning back after lingering a beat longer.Â
You slid into chairs at the small kitchen table, the scent of galbi and steamed rice thick in the air, steam curling up from the dishes your mom had set out with practised ease. Heeseung hovered awkwardly for a second, eyes darting between the spread and your mom bustling at the counter.
"Can I help with anything?" he asked. "Plates? Anything at all?"
Your mom waved him off with a warm laugh. "Sit, sit! You're a guest. Relax."
He sank down beside you, his knee brushing yours under the table. The wooden chair creaked under him, amplifying the sudden quiet. He was hyperaware of every sound, every movement you or your mom made, but he forced a small smile on his face, trying to look at least a bit relaxed.
Your mom didn't let the silence stretch. She slid into her seat across from you both, her focus landing straight on you. "You doing okay, sweetheart? You look tired."
You hummed, swirling your spoon through rice, your hand flicking side-to-side in a so-so wave. "Iâm fine now. I had a pretty bad episode earlier today. I completely freaked out during the thunderstorm, but Heeseung got me home safely; luckily, he was on the campus.â
Your mom's gaze shifted to him then, warm gratitude lighting her face. "Thank you for that, Heeseung. Iâm glad you were here for Y/N."
Heeseung's neck went hot, his fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "N-no problem. Really. Happy toâglad I could help."
Smooth.
Really smooth.Â
He winced internally, his ears burning as he stabbed at a piece of meat.
She nodded, satisfied, then turned back to you. "Honey, do you want me to call Dr. Kim and schedule an appointment? Just to talk it through?"
You shook your head firm. "No, thanks. I'll handle it myself if I need to. I promise. I know how."
She sighed but nodded, letting it drop.Â
"I think Iâll need to vist her soon. Work is going to drive me crazy one day. One of our indie acts just landed a collaboration with that big group everyone's buzzing about. You know the one youâve told me about," she gestured into your direction. âBut we arenât able to come up with a contract that all parties will agree with. Itâs horrible, Dazed is so hard to work with. I can feel my hair turning gray, every time I walk into that office.â
Heeseung's head snapped up, eyes wide. "Wait, you work at a Dazed Labels?"
She grinned, popping kimchi in her mouth. "No, I am at A&R at Big Ocean Records. Been there eight years now."
"No way." He leaned forward. "I've been trying to get an internship there for three years in a row now. "
Your mom lit up, and launched onto a berate of questions about him and his music. Questions he gladly answered, if it mean that he now knew someone working at his dream label, even if you now knew his soundcloud id.Â
You and Heeseung were standing in the hallway after you had wrapped up eating dinner.Â
âThat wasnât so bad, was it?â you asked, watching him put on his still wet shoes.Â
He hummed in agreement, before he straightened up again. âIt wasnât. Your mom is nice.â
âShe is. And she loved you, Hee, I could tell.â Your grin softened, but you glanced at the clock on your phone, and our expression turned serious. "Speaking of... You should head home soon. Dad might be back any minute."
Heeseung's face fell immediately. âOh, Lord help me.â
You giggled at that and shook your head. âI think no one can help you, not even the lord, if my dad catches you here.âÂ
He shook his head and stood there for a second, just watching you smile up at him, before you took a step forward, almost stumbling into him, as you pulled him into a hug, your arms looping tight around his neck despite the awkward brace. He melted into it instantly, hands settling carefully on your waist, pulling you flush against him.
"Thank you," you whispered into his collar. "For today. For everything."
He held on a beat longer than needed, breath warm against your hair. Then he tilted your chin up gently with one finger.Â
He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, your skin soft and warm under his lips.Â
"Always," he murmured, lips brushing your skin. "Text me when youâre going to the rink tomorrow. Iâll come to the office."
Thank you so much for reading!
Lots of Love,
Patty
synopsis! â working as a veterinarian meant you had seen all sorts of pet owners, but when minho steps into your office, you can tell heâs going to be a handful. surely, the way you talk is more than patient and professional behavior?
g! â strangers-to-lovers, sarcasm & banter, fluff, veterinarian-reader! au x cat-dad-minho, gn! reader, mention of pet âillnessâ.
wc! â 1.8k
an! â i recently found these pictures of lino & iâm obsessed. i knew i loved his blonde hair but oh my goodnessâŠ
you notice him before you notice the cat. itâs always like that, the way owners carry their worry into the room before they ever set the carrier down. minho holds the handle too carefully, like the weight inside matters more than anything else, like if he grips it wrong he might somehow make things worse. you smile gently anyway, because youâve learned that calm is contagious in exam rooms and right now he needs it just as much as the small, striped fluff tucked behind plastic bars.
âhi,â you say, soft, measured, the voice you use when youâre trying to make the room breathe a little easier, âwhat brings you in today?â
he exhales like heâs been holding it since the parking lot. âsheâs not eating,â he says, brows pulled together, jaw tight. âshe slept all yesterday morning. and sheâs just⊠off.â his hand moves without thinking, fingers slipping through the door to rest against familiar fur. the cat presses into him immediately, trusting, unbothered, as if this is just another strange room instead of a place meant to confirm or deny fear.
you nod, already moving, already slipping into the rhythm of care. you ask questions while unlatching the carrier, your hands steady as you coax the cat out and onto the table. heâs watching anxiously the whole time. you can tell he loves her the way dads love their kids. fiercely, quietly, with the unshakable belief that itâs his job to notice when something is wrong.
you run gentle fingers along the catâs spine, feeling for tension, for anything out of place. your hands are warm, practiced, sure. you listen to her heart, then her lungs, your stethoscope cool against fur. minho watches every movement, eyes tracking your hands like they might suddenly do something miraculous or devastating. you explain everything as you go, because you know that silence leaves room for panic.
âher vitals look good,â you tell him, smiling when the cat leans into your palm, purring despite herself. âsheâs alert, responsive. thatâs a good sign.â
his shoulders drop just a fraction. âso⊠itâs not serious?â
âweâre not there yet,â you say gently. you press her abdomen, careful, slow, watching her face for discomfort. she barely flinches. âsheâs not showing signs of pain. just a little sensitive, maybe. stomachs can get upset for lots of reasons.â
he nods, but he still looks unconvinced, like worry has dug in and refuses to leave without proof. âi switched her food,â he admits. âthe brand i usually get was out, so i thought⊠same protein, same texture. shouldâve been fine.â
you glance up at him then, meeting his eyes for the first time since he came in. thereâs something earnest there, something vulnerable. âcats donât always agree,â you say softly. âeven when everything looks the same to us.â
you finish the exam, jot notes, offer reassurance. you suggest probiotics, a bland diet for a day or two, maybe fluids if she seems lethargic later. nothing invasive. nothing frightening. when you finally step back, the room feels lighter, like everyone can breathe again.
âso sheâs okay?â he asks, quieter now.
you smile. âsheâs okay. just dramatic. takes after her owner, maybe.â
that earns you a startled laugh, brief but real. âhey,â he says, mock-offended, but thereâs relief in it now. gratitude. âi was worried.â
âthat means youâre doing it right,â you reply. you pass him the carrier, but your fingers brush his, just barely. the contact lingers longer than necessary, and you both notice.
as he gathers his things, he hesitates. âthank you,â he says, sincere, eyes warm. âfor explaining everything. for⊠not making me feel stupid.â
you shake your head. âyou werenât stupid. you were attentive. sheâs lucky to have you.â
the way he looks at you then, soft, almost shy, feels like this wonât be the last time he brings worry into your exam room, or leaves it there with you.
you tell yourself you only recognize the sound of his footsteps because the clinic is quiet that afternoon. itâs a lull between appointments, the kind of stretch where the fluorescent lights hum a little louder and the smell of disinfectant settles into something almost comforting. youâre halfway through updating a chart when you hear the familiar pause outside the door, the soft shift of weight, the careful way someone opens it like theyâre not entirely sure theyâre welcome yet.
you look up anyway, already knowing.
minho steps in with the same carrier, held the same way, both hands wrapped around the handle like itâs precious cargo and not a mildly annoyed cat who would rather be anywhere else. he looks less frantic this time, but no less attentive. the worry hasnât disappeared; itâs just learned how to sit quietly, how to wait its turn. when his eyes meet yours, thereâs something like relief there.
âhi,â he says, softer than last time, like he doesnât want to disturb you.
you smile before you realize. âhi,â you echo, âwhatâs going on?â
he exhales through his nose, something between a laugh and a sigh. âsheâs⊠picky again. i just wanted to make sure.â thereâs a hint of embarrassment in it now, like heâs aware this might be unnecessary but still canât quite bring himself to ignore it.
you stand, washing your hands as you move closer, the ritual grounding you. âthatâs okay,â you tell him. âthatâs what weâre here for.â
as you unlatch the carrier and lift the cat out, she greets you like an old acquaintance, stretching into your hands, purring immediately. the familiarity surprises you â not just hers, but yours too. you hadnât realized how easily your body remembers certain weights, certain rhythms. you set her gently on the table, letting her sniff you before you begin.
âsame symptoms?â you ask, already running your hands along her sides.
âmostly,â he says. âeating less. acting offended. you know.â he watches closely, but thereâs a different energy now. less panic, more trust. his shoulders arenât up around his ears anymore. his hands rest on the edge of the table instead of hovering helplessly in midair.
you nod, listening to her heart, then her lungs, explaining as you go. you always do that, but with him it feels less like a professional courtesy and more like conversation. âshe sounds great,â you say. âno fever. no tenderness.â you feel her stomach slowly, carefully, watching her face. she blinks at you, unbothered.
minho huffs a quiet laugh. âsheâs dramatic.â
âthey all are,â you reply, smiling at his hypocrisy, âsome just have better acting skills.â
as you work, he asks questions â not rapid-fire like last time, but thoughtful. how sensitive are cats to diet changes, really? how do you tell the difference between discomfort and preference? you answer honestly, sometimes pausing to think, sometimes shrugging when the truth is simply that animals donât always give us neat explanations.
âyouâre really good at this,â he says at one point, almost absentmindedly. like the thought just slipped out.
you glance up, caught off guard. âat⊠explaining things?â
âat caring,â he says, meeting your eyes without flinching. âyouâre not so⊠clinical, you know?â
something in your chest tightens, warm and sudden. âthank you,â you say quietly, âthat means a lot.â
you finish the exam and step back, hands resting on the table for a moment. âsheâs healthy,â you tell him again, gently. âi really think this is a preference issue. maybe try mixing the old food with the new one. or switching brands entirely.â
he nods, thoughtful. âiâll do that.â
thereâs a pause after that, the kind that doesnât rush to fill itself. the cat hops back into her carrier on her own, clearly done with the whole ordeal. minho closes the door, slower than necessary, like heâs not quite ready to leave yet.
âi hope itâs okay that i came back,â he says. âi didnât want to seem, like, i donât know... overbearing.â
you shake your head immediately. âiâm glad you did, really.â you hesitate, then add, âi wish more people paid attention to their pets the way you do.â
his mouth curves into a small smile at that, something shy and pleased. âi just want her to be okay.â
âshe is,â you reassure him, âsheâs lucky to have you.â
he looks at you for a beat longer than needed, like heâs weighing something. then, âyou must see this all the time,â he says, âpeople panicking over nothing.â
âyes,â you admit. âbut i donât think this is nothing. worry comes from love. i donât mind it.â
that seems to settle something in him. his shoulders ease, his grip on the carrier loosens. when he steps closer to the counter to pay, the space between you narrows, close enough that youâre aware of his presence in a way that has nothing to do with professionalism. when you hand him the receipt, your fingers brush again, warmer this time, unmistakable.
neither of you pulls away right away.
âif itâs okay,â he says carefully, âwould it be⊠too much to ask if i could call? if she gets weird again?â
you smile, soft. âthatâs fine,â you say, âiâm here.â
he nods, then hesitates. âwait, i meanâ not the clinic. i know how busy it gets. i justâŠâ he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.
you study him for a second, the way he looks uncertain again, not about his cat but about you. something in you decides before your brain catches up. âyou can have my number,â you say. âfor follow-ups, questions, peace of mind.â
his eyes widen just slightly. âyeah?â
âyeah.â
you grab a scrap of paper, scribbling your number quickly before you can overthink it. when you hand it to him, he takes it carefully, like it might disappear if he grips it too hard. then, after a second, he pulls out his phone. âcan iâŠ?â
âof course.â
you recite it again while he types, your voice steady even though your heart isnât. his phone buzzes a moment later â a new contact, unnamed, but suddenly present. he looks at the screen, then back at you.
âso,â he says, a little braver now. âif you ever want to⊠i donât know. see her in her natural habitat.â he clears his throat. âi mean, sheâs got opinions. i think sheâd like you.â
you laugh softly, âa house call?â
âpurely professional,â he says, eyes flicking to yours. âunless you donât want it to be.â
you tilt your head, considering. âi could stop by,â you say, âjust to check on her. make sure everythingâs settled.â
his smile this time is slow, warm. âsheâd love that.â
âand you?â you ask, gently.
he meets your gaze, steady now. âyeah,â he says. âi think i would too.â
you walk him to the door, the clinic suddenly too bright. as he steps out, he turns back once more. âthank you,â he says, âfor everything.â
you smile. âanytime.â as the door closes behind him, your phone is still warm in your pocket. you wait to watch him leave then save his contact in your phone, knowing youâll be hearing from minho a lot.
singular 'good girl' and i think that's it :) fluff !!
OCTOBER 14
2:34 PM and you're perched on riki's back while he's laying on his stomach on your shared bed, scrolling on his phone. the afternoon light is warm and golden through the window, making his skin glow. you've got a marker in your hand, uncapped as it hovers over his bare shoulders. his back is so broad beneath you, smooth skin and lean muscle.
2:41 PM and you're already drawing, letting your hand move without thinking. curves and lines across his shoulder blades, something delicate and branching on his bare skin. the marker glides smooth and easy and he's so warm beneath you. your thighs bracketing his spine, you can feel every breath he takes, slow and steady but equally calm.
2:58 PM and he shifts slightly under you, adjusting his position. comfortable? you ask, pausing your work. yeah, he mumbles, voice getting drowsy. keep going, it feels nice. so you do, adding more details and watching the design come to life.
3:18 PM and his phone screen has gone dark beside him. his breathing is different now â deeper and even, completely relaxed. riki? you whisper softly. nothing. he's fallen asleep under you, trusting you enough to drift off while you're still drawing on him. something warm blooms in your chest at the realization.
3:34 PM and you're being extra careful now, feather light touches so you don't wake him from his slumber. the design finally coming together, consisting of branches and wings spreading across his shoulder blades â delicate but bold. it feels like him somehow, like growth and freedom and strength all in one.
3:52 PM and you're finally done. your hand is cramping slightly but the drawing looks perfect, better than you imagined. you place the cap on the marker again and just sit there for a moment, admiring your work on his skin, and the way it moves with his breathing. you lean down to press the softest kiss to his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth. his lips are slightly parted in sleep and he looks so peaceful.
4:03 PM and you're climbing off him carefully, slowly, trying not to wake him. the bed dips as you settle beside him and his arm moves automatically in his sleep, reaching for you as if his body knows you're there. you guide it over your waist and tuck yourself against his warm chest, listening to his heartbeat.
4:47 PM and you wake up from your own nap. he's still asleep, breathing steady, arm still around you. you trace lazy patterns on his chest until his eyes flutter open.
6:12 PM and you're both finally awake, stretching the sleep away with a groan. you drew on me, he states, voice rough from sleep. you did fall asleep, you point out. he grins. what'd you draw? curiosity washing over his feautures you'll see eventually, you tease. he tries to look over his shoulder but can't see it properly. guess i'll have to wait then.
8:34 PM and you're both in the kitchen making dinner. he keeps trying to catch a glimpse of the drawing in the reflection of the refrigerator. you're obsessed, you laugh. can you blame me? he counters, pulling you against him. you drew on me. that's like, permanent. he breathes out, it's marker, you say. it'll wash off. he makes a unsatisfactory sound at the thought of it disappearing from his body and kisses your temple.
OCTOBER 15
8:47 AM and you wake up alone. the space beside you is empty but still warm, sheets rumpled around you as they carry the scent of your lover and late night activities. there's a note on the nightstand next to a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies, still warm. had to run out for something. be back soon. eat these before they get cold. â đĄ âĄ
9:03 AM and you're eating the cookies slowly, still half-asleep in his oversized shirt. they're perfect, slightly gooey in the center just how you like them. you finish the last one, licking chocolate off your fingers, just as you hear the front door open.
9:17 AM and riki appears in the doorway, hair messy from the outside air, carrying a convenience store bag. you ate all of them? he asks, grinning. you told me to, you remind him. he crosses to the bed and flops down beside you. good girl, he murmurs, kissing your shoulder before biting down on the sensitive skin there.
the days blur together after that, and you assume the marker drawing does the same so you forget about it completely.
OCTOBER 21
11:23 AM and riki's been gone for a few hours. claiming he had errands to run. you're cleaning up the apartment while his hoodie drowning your frame.
2:47 PM and he comes home, moving a little carefully. you okay? you ask. yeah, he says quickly. just sore from the gym. you accept it without question, going back to your book.
5:38 PM and you're both on the couch. he's lying on his stomach with his head in your lap, your fingers running through his hair while you read. he's practically purring under your touch, content and warm.
OCTOBER 28
4:36 PM and you're in the kitchen grabbing snacks. riki reaches up for a mug on the top shelf, the same one you can never seem to reach without a chair to help . his shirt rides up and you see it â dark lines on his skin, permanent dark lines. your drawing. the exact drawing you made on that sleepy october afternoon two weeks ago, now forever inked into his skin.
4:37 PM and you freeze completely, bag of chips long forgotten in your hands. your mouth falls open. riki notices you staring and looks back over his shoulder, a slow smile spreading across his face that makes your stomach flip. finally found it, huh? he says casually, like he didn't just turn your temporary doodle into permanent art on his body.
4:38 PM and you can't seem to move. riki, you finally manage. when did youâ you start. a week ago, he softly interrupts you, setting the mug down and turning around fully. he lifts his shirt higher so you can see it fully. surprise?
4:39 PM and you're crossing over to him without thinking. your fingers reach out with trembling hands, tracing the healed lines. every curve and detail is perfectly preserved, professionally done. you actually got it tattooed, you breathe. you said it was 'just marker', he says simply, catching your hands in his own. so i made it permanent.
4:40 PM and your vision blurs with tears. riki, that's not what iâ you hiccup. i know, he interrupts again, gentler this time, cupping your face with both hands. his thumbs brush away the wetness on your cheeks. but i wanted to. you made this. for me, on me. you drew it while i was sleeping like i was your canvas. why wouldn't i want to keep it forever?
4:41 PM and you're trying not to full-on sob. you didn't have to do that, you whisper. i wanted to, he says firmly. i thought about it since i first saw it that day. went the next morning to get it started, had two more sessions to finish it. wanted it to be perfect.
4:43 PM and you're laughing through tears now, overwhelmed by him, by this gesture, by everything. he's grinning, forehead pressed to yours so close you can count his eyelashes. thank you, you tell him. i love you, he repeats his thoughts.
4:45 PM and you're tucked against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around you. your fingers trace the tattoo from where your hands lay against his back. best decision i ever made, he confesses into your hair. the tattoo? you ask. you, he corrects. the tattoo's just a bonus. proof that i'm yours.
7:23 PM and you're still processing it. he's cooking dinner shirtless now, showing off the tattoo freely. you keep staring at it from where you're perched up on the counter. like what you see? he teases. maybe a little, you say, but you're smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.
9:47 PM and you're in bed. he's on his stomach and you're tracing the tattoo again in the dim light, following every line you drew that afternoon. he shivers under your touch. never getting tired of this, are you? he asks quietly. never, you admit, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, right in the center of the design. good, he says softly. because i'm never getting tired of carrying you on my skin.
NOVEMBER O3
7:15 AM and you wake up to him getting dressed for the day. the tattoo is visible in the morning light and you can't help but stare, still not used to seeing it there. he catches you looking in the mirror and smiles, winking at you.
NOVEMBER 10
11:52 PM and you're tracing the inked lines with your fingers in the dark again. your art is on his skin forever. i still can't believe it's real, you whisper. believe it, he murmurs back, half-asleep. you're stuck with me now.
NOVEMBER 17
3:28 PM and you're both out and about when his shirt rides up from the breeze. you see the tattoo peeking out and your chest feels so full with how much you love him. he notices you staring and grins, tugging his shirt down. later, he mouths and you flush at the thought.
DECEMBER O1
9:02 PM and you're curled against his back, fingertips following the inked lines you drew that sleepy october afternoon. he's almost asleep but he catches your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing kisses to your knuckles. still obsessed with it, he says. with you, you correct. same thing, he argues.
and every single time you see it â mornings when he's getting dressed, afternoons when he reaches for something high, nights when you trace it in the dark, you remember. the trust of him falling asleep beneath you and the permanence of him choosing to carry your art on his skin forever.
because you're his and he's yours, and now it's written on his skin for everyone to see.
A car accident has turned your life upside down, leaving you with a knee and ankle that ache like they belong to someone three times your age. Navigating college with these setbacks is hard enough, but when your overprotective dad insists you take an internship with the menâs hockey team, youâre thrust back into the world youâve spent years avoiding. The rink represents everything youâve lost, and then thereâs Heeseung, the captain whom you somehow cannot stop thinking about.
đż SOUNDTRACK ăąđ SERIES MASTERLIST ăąâžïž PART TWO ; THREE
wc pt 1 à Ë. á”á” 24,868
á”!á” WARNINGS ââââ GRAPHIC CONTENT! car accident, PTSD, chronic pain & disability, depression, Y/N is very, very frustrated and kinda angry at the world for a second, overprotective/controlling dad & brother, sports injuries, alcohol, mild drunkenness, hurt/comfort, panic attack, mentions of zombies, mentions of dying by said mentioned zombies, smooching (each other, not the zombies!!)
# TAGS ââââ SLOW-BURN friends-to-lovers, coach's daughter x hockey captain, mutual pining, very much bed-sharing, and a lot of napping, Y/N is a napper, they very obviously have crushes on each other, angst with happy ending
â AN â ââââ I really loved working on this fic and am SO excited to republish it! I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. I've not finished the whole fic yet, but I assume it's gonna be about 55 to 60k long! We also ignore that she would not be at rehab this shortly after a surgery! Things had to be changed for the plot!!
all feedback and reblogs are welcome â.á
The sound of crunching metal and the violent jolt of impact were the last things you remembered clearly from that day six years ago.Â
It was louder than the music on the radio. Louder than your dadâs panicked shout.Â
Louder than your own scream as the world folded in on itself.
It had been raining for days, thundering even, thick, dark clouds hanging above the skyscrapers of the city, blocking out any sunlight.Â
You had been sitting in the front seat of your dadâs car, your legs tucked comfortably into the seat as he drove through the rain on what was supposed to be a regular, boring Saturday morning.
You remembered the music, a song you had heard a million times already. You desperately wished to change the radio station, but didnât dare to ask.
You had fought with your dad in the morning, you couldnât recall what it was about, you knew it was probably something stupid, something meaningless, but it was enough to dampen his mood, making the whole ride to the ice rink uncomfortably tense.Â
You remembered the car coming to a stop at an intersection just a few streets away from the ice arena.Â
You hated going past that intersection now.
There wasnât even a single trace left of what happened that day. The traffic light had been changed, the tyre marks washed away after years of cars driving over the asphalt, and yet it left so many scars on you.
You remembered the horn that cut through the silence in the car. A loud, long, shrill sound.
Seconds later, time seemed to slow down.Â
The impact was deafening.
You heard everything at once. Felt everything at once.
The high, tearing shriek of brakes.
The heavy, hollow boom as metal slammed into metal.
The feeling of your head connecting with the window in a sharp, sickening thud, and the white, hot pain that would follow. It exploded through your body, radiating from your foot up into your chest, stealing the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping, choking on your own breath.Â
For a moment afterwards, everything was silent.
You knew it was never silent, but it was like you had dislodged all your senses for a few seconds before the world came rushing back in a torrent of pain and noise.
You remembered the rumble of thunder, the rain drumming harder on the crumpled roof, a sharp staccato against the twisted metal. For a few seconds, you were able to hear your dad over all of the noise, his voice full of panic.
âYN!â His voice sounded far away, buried under the ringing in your ears. âStay with me, okay? Stay with me!â
You blinked. Your vision was blurry, your eyes stinging. You tried to move to rub your eyes, find a way to make it stop hurting.Â
Another rumble came from overhead, thunder chasing the storm across the sky. It blended in with the sirens, with the echo of the truckâs impact replaying in your skull.Â
Everything after that was gone.
You couldnât remember the ambulance coming in, the process of freeing you out of the wreck, the drive to the hospital, the surgeries, or the days in the ICU.Â
The only thing you could remember from the weeks afterwards was the dull, never-ending pain.Â
A hand landed gently on your shoulder, startling you into ripping your open eyes, almost jolting upright. Your heart was hammering against your ribs until you recognised the white ceiling of the room in the rehabilitation centre.Â
"Whoa, easy," Jihoon, the physiotherapist in charge of the EMS machines, chuckled.
The pads placed along your clave went silent, the current fading to nothing, leaving a faint prickling feeling. He peered at you over his glasses, that soft smile in place, that he always used when he knew you were exhausted.
You blinked hard, swallowing dryly while heat crept up your neck. "Sorry. I zoned out."
"Again?" He raised an eyebrow, peeling the electrodes off one by one, before attaching them to your thigh. His touch is brisk but kind, years of working making it almost automatic. "Youâve been stuck in your head a lot lately. Everything alright?"
You forced a laugh, nodding. "I am just dreaming of the day when I donât have to come close to this building ever again." Your ankle throbbed without the distraction, a deep, insistent pull.
Jihoon hummed. "I really love our sessions together, but for your sake, I am hoping the same."
"Thanks," you muttered, clenching your teeth when he started up the machine again.Â
âDo you want me to let you sleep while youâre hooked up to the machine?â Jihoon asked, cleaning his hands from the gel he had used to attach the pads.Â
You made a sound in agreement, not trusting your voice, while the little electrode pads hummed steadily against your skin.Â
It was almost routine by now, the gruelling physio sessions and lymphatic drainages that were leaving dark bruises blooming across your skin, the agonising moment of having to get up and get home despite the exhaustion.Â
Soobin's car idled close to the entrance, its hazard lights blinking.
Your brother leaned over to pop the passenger door as you approached, crutches clacking unevenly on the pavement. "Hey," he said, voice light, his eyes scanning your face.Â
âHi,â you eased into the seat with a wince, folding the crutches across your lap.Â
You hated this, having to be chauffeured around like a helpless child. Having to wait for someone to get you home.
Soobin grabbed your bag and placed it on the back seat before turning back to you with a soft smile. "How was your day?"
"Hard. Tiring." The words came out flatter than you meant, edged with frustration you couldn't quite bury.Â
Soobin caught the bite in your tone, glancing over as he merged into traffic. He was quiet for a second before he started talking again. "My media ethics class was a circus today. The professor had us debate whether deepfakes should be straight-up illegal or just watermarked to hell. This one guy, a total idiot, argued that those who have deepfakes created by whatever AI just had to tell people it wasnât them. Sometimes I really wonder how those people got into Decelis. I thought it was supposed to be a top university.â
You nodded, half-listening to his rambling; his voice was a steady hum over the engine. When he killed the engine a few minutes later, you had to force your eyes open again, squinting against the bright light in the underground garage.Â
Your brother glanced over, smirking as he unbuckled his seatbelt. âI see, youâre truly interested in my life, Y/N.â
You hummed, letting your eyelids close again. âIâve paid attention. You told me something about deepfakes and laws andâŠyeah.âÂ
Soobin chuckled and got out of his seat, rounding the car. By the time you fumbled with the door, Soobin had already grabbed your crutches with one hand and slung his and your bag over his shoulder. "C'mon, Sleeping Beauty. Up you go."
You groaned, but obediently swung your legs out of the car, reaching for the crutches and heaving yourself upright with a huff. Your brother was waiting patiently, holding the car door open wide until you had made your way out of it. He led the way, propping doors open through the dim garage halls, up the elevator, and right to the apartment.
Soobin entered the hallway with a loud, âWe are home!âÂ
Inside, it was cooler than the warm, humid August air. âHello, you two," your mom's voice came from the kitchen, followed by her head appearing in the doorframe. âGet changed and come eat.âÂ
âHi mom,â you answered, giving her a tired smile.Â
Soobin dropped your bag in your room, and you thanked him before letting yourself drop onto the bed with a huff.Â
For a long moment, you stayed there, the only movement coming from your ribcage, slowly lifting and lowering with each breath you took. You crossed your arms over your head, your skin sticky from a faint sheen of sweat.
âY/N, arenât you hungry?â Your father was standing in your doorframe, mustering your figure.
You slowly dropped one arm after the other, still staring ahead at the ceiling. The small glow-in-the-dark stars that Ryujin and Beomguy glued onto your ceiling during your first stay in the hospital were slowly peeling off, leaving holes in the constellations.
âIâm tired, Dad.â
âYou still need to eat Y/N. And I will not bring dinner to your bed, so come on,â his eyes were ranking over your figure, as you heaved yourself upright. âI can get your mom if you need help changing, and then you can join us.â
You hummed. âItâs fine. Iâll change later.â
âHeeseung!â the voice of his coach ripped Heeseung from his thoughts. âDo you have a minute?â
Heeseung came to a stop and turned around to face Coach Choi, standing near the bench, his clipboard tucked under his arm.Â
His eyes darted from the older man to the entrance to the changing rooms. It has been nearly a week since the season started, and he couldnât remember anyone doing anything that could have gotten him or anyone else in trouble. âSure, Coach.â
A few strikes over the ice were enough to reach the boards before he stepped onto the rubber flooring. The Coach gestured for him to sit down.Â
âHeeseung, my boy, Iâve been thinking about the teamâs image,â the Coach began, his tone casual but deliberate. Â
Heeseung raised an eyebrow. âImage?â Â
The Coach nodded, tucking the clipboard under his arm. âYeah. You boys are doing great on the ice, and itâs a pity we donât showcase that more on social media. Iâve had a meeting with the athletic department, and it has agreed that we need someone to handle not only your social media but also the figure skaters' social media. They want to have more exposure for the teams and for your students.â
He looked at Heeseung expectantly, and he nodded slowly, waiting for the older man to continue.
âScouts, sponsors, even alumni donors, they pay attention to more than just your games. They want to see personalities, professionalism, something marketable for their teams.â Â
Heeseung crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the boards. âI am aware, sir. But what does that have to do with me?âÂ
The Coach hummed. âWeâve come to an agreement that we will build a social media team this semester. Students and professionals alike. We would like to give students a chance to get internships done and have someone who has an eye on the situation.â
Heeseung tilted his head, curious. âA PR manager?â
He wasnât aware that the team had the funds to hire a person to post a few pics of them on Instagram to appease the sponsors. He knew the swimming team had a PR-manager, a sweet girl being tasked with filming them while they swam and making them partake in ridiculous TikTok trends.
âYes. I was thinking about asking my daughter for now, until weâve officially built a team and publicised the applications,â the coach said, nodding, âI want to start posting as soon as possible, so that we already have a few followers when the games start.â
âY/N?â Heeseung blinked, caught off guard. Â
The Coach nodded, his expression softening slightly. âShe knows hockey inside and out. And sheâs good with this kind of stuff, social media, PR, that kind of thing. Itâll be good for her, and itâll help the team.â Â
Heeseung hesitated for a second.Â
The coachâs expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable passing across his face, as he spoke up before Heeseung could answer. âSheâs been looking for something to focus on, and this is a good opportunity for her. Plus, itâs not like sheâs starting from scratch; she grew up around this sport.â Â
Heeseung nodded slowly, uncertain what influence your prior knowledge of hockey had on you filming some cringe TikTok videos. âOkay. What do you need from me?â Â
âI need you to help make this transition smooth,â Coach said, his tone firm. âSheâs going to be around a lot, and I donât want her feeling like sheâs an outsider. Make sure the guys treat her with respect, and if she needs anything, you help her out.â Â
Heeseung frowned slightly. âYouâre not asking me to babysit her, right?â Â
The coach let out a low chuckle. âNo, she doesnât need babysitting. But youâre the captain. Itâs part of your job to make sure the team stays cohesive. Sheâs going to be part of the team.â
Heeseung was standing under the hot stream of the showers in the arena, washing away the layers of sweat that had collected on his skin during the last three hours of drills on the ice. The muscles in his back started to relax slowly under the heat.Â
âHee, do you wanna come over later? Yeonjun, Beomguy and I were thinking about inviting Tae and Kai as well. They are in Seoul today and tomorrow, and we want to get something to eat.â Soobin was rubbing his hair with a hot pink towel, standing in front of Heeseung's cabin, ripping him out of his thoughts.Â
He nodded and hummed a âsureâ before stepping out of the cabin, reaching for his towel.Â
âYou tired?â Soobin asked, lifting one of his brows.Â
Heeseung hummed again. âI havenât slept much last night.â
âOh, believe me. Iâve heard,â Soobin chuckled. âGyu was screaming around until like 3 am. What did you play?â
âWe played Catan online,â Heeseung shrugged. âLetâs say, we all united against him and used the robber well.âÂ
âCatan?â the older mustered him with an amused smile.
âI have no clue. Jeongin wanted to play,â Heeseung wrapped his towel around his lower half and stepped out of the showers, towards the locker room.Â
He glanced at Soobin, who was still scrubbing at his hair with that ridiculous pink towel.
Soobin insisted it was a lucky charm.Â
"Hey," he said after a few beats, pulling a shirt over his head. "Your dad mentioned something about an internship? A PR intern for the team or whatever. He said his daughter might take it to catch up. He claimed Y/N needed something to âfocus onâ. Not gonna lie, he seemed pretty set on me babysitting her. Any idea what's up with that?"
Soobin's hands froze, and his towel dropped a fraction, a frown making its way on his face. âY/N? Are you sure he said Y/N and not another name?â
Heeseung stopped adjusting his shirt and turned his gaze towards the older, nodding slowly. âHe said âmy daughterâ, and you only have one sister that I know of?â
Soobin closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath before continuing to towel his hair dry, now with a bit more force than necessary. âWhatever he is talking about, no. She would never do that. She isnât supposed to do that.â
Heeseung blinked, his hands stilling as he reached for his pants. "Oh. Why that? He claimed that, you know, since she grew up around the sport, she'd be doing just fine?"
Soobin's expression darkened further, a flash of real upset crossing his face, shaking his head like he couldn't believe it. "She will absolutely say no. No chance."
Heeseung turned fully now, brows raised as he zipped up. âWhy? She's not into it?"
Soobin exhaled sharply through his nose, as a mix of confusion, disappointment, and annoyance flickered across his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, pacing a single step before stopping,. "Into it? Man, she'll hate every second. Turn it down flat, no question. My dad has this obsession with dragging her back into the hockey world. He thinks being around the rink, the team, all that will 'motivate' her, get her excited about life again after everything. But it does the exact opposite. She shuts down hard. He just... doesn't get it."
Heeseung raised a brow, leaning against his locker as he grabbed socks from his bag. He knew of the accident, of the surgeries. Soobin never really talked much about it, about you, and Heeseung wasnât one to ask. Soobin was touchy about the topic. "Opposite how? I mean, PR's not even on-ice stuff. She wouldnât have to skate?"
Soobin hesitated longer this time before answering. "She just had her fifth surgery, Heeseung.â he was quiet for a second, pulling a white shirt out of his locker before he continued. âShe loved hockey before the accident. She had a sharper wrist shot than most of the guys here. Sheâs on crutches or a wheelchair most days now. She barely watches my games anymore and avoids the rink unless she has to. I donât think she would ever say yes to anything that has to do with hockey ever again."
Heeseung felt a twist in his gut. "The coach made it sound so straightforward."
"Yeah, he always does," Soobin muttered, disappointment heavy in the words as he slung his bag over his shoulder. "I know he thinks he's helping, but heâs justâŠclueless.â
You first heard them in pieces, muffled voices coming from the kitchen.
ââŠdonât you think you should have told me first before you ask Heeseung?â Soobinâs voice was low and tight.
It was uncommon for your brother and father to fight, even more so for Soobin to sound this pissed. You sat up quietly on the sofa, the blanket your mother had thrown over you, slipping down your shoulders.Â
âI was going to,â your father answered in a clipped tone. âBut the athletic department needed an answer. This internship is perfect for her. It gives her credits, a routine, something to focus on. She is not taking classes this semester.â
There was a pause before Soobin answered with a hiss. âPerfect for her?â he repeated, incredulous. âYou mean the Y/N who hasnât watched a full game since the accident? The one who hates everything that reminds her of the time before the crash with a passion? That Y/N?â
Your heart climbed up your throat, and as quietly as possible reached for your wheelchair, pulling it towards the sofa, so you could slide into the seat. The corridor light spilt in as you nudged the door open a little further, not wanting to interrupt them, but also wanting to know what they were discussing. They were standing in the narrow hallway just by the kitchen door.
âYouâre exaggerating,â your father said, though his eyes flickered towards your mother, who was wordlessly watching the two. âShe used to love the rink. Being around the team will do her good. Motivate her. Sheâs been doing nothing for months now, just physio and classes when she still had some. She needs a hobby, something that she actually enjoys.â
Soobin let out a short, humourless laugh. âA hobby? Dad, youâre talking about throwing her into a job in the loudest building on campus. You want her sitting behind the bench while thirty guys slam into the boards and pucks hit the glass. You think thatâs going to magically fix things?â
âShe doesnât have to be behind the bench,â your father retorted. âSheâd be in the office most of the time. Running social media, filming short videos, and organising content. She always liked making videos with her friends when she was younger.â
Your fingers curled around the cold metal of the wheels. What were the two talking about? An Internship?
âMeaningful for who?â Soobin fired back. âFor her, or for you? Because from where Iâm standing, it looks like youâre trying to drag her back into your world whether she wants it or not.â
Your father straightens, shoulders squaring.Â
âThatâs not fair,â he said sharply. âIâm trying to help her. Sheâs twenty and stuck in her own head. I know how bad the recovery is going, I know that this surgery was the last try, Soobin, believe me, I know. But I canât watch her sitting at home and rot, she has so much life to live. And maybe getting back into something she loved will help with that.â
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, forcing your heart to calm down.
You hated it, you hated it so much, how they tried to decide over your life as if you werenât there. âThis isnât good for you, Y/Nâ.
âDo this, and youâll feel better, Y/NâÂ
âMaybe she wouldnât feel stuck if people stopped treating her like a broken project,â Soobin snapped.âSheâs allowed to want things that arenât hockey. Not everything has to lead back to the rink.â
âAnd what does she want, then?â your father shot back. âShe wants to drop her minor, barely talks about her major, and every time I ask about physio, she shuts down. At least this internship gives her structure. Colleagues. A reason to get out of bed that isnât just rehab.â
âI can ask her,â Soobin said, stabbing a finger toward your room. âYou could have asked her too, you know, instead of deciding for her and talking to Heeseung first.â
âHeâs the captain,â your father snapped. âI needed to make sure he understood the situation. The team has to respect her.â
âAnd maybe your daughter shouldâve been the first to know?â Soobinâs voice cracked on the last word. âSheâs going to hate this. You know she will.â
âI know she needs something,â your father said stubbornly. âShe always lit up around the rink. She used to film everything on that old camera, remember? Tournament vlogs, locker room interviews with you and the boys. Why is it wrong to try to give her that back?â
âOkay, thatâs enough.â
Your own voice surprised you. Both of them turned at once.
You rolled into the hallway, having to crane your neck to look at them. âCan you two please stop yelling like Iâm not here?â
Soobinâs expression softened immediately, guilt flashing across his face. âY/N, weâre notââ
âYouâre exactly what I think you are,â you cut in, looking from him to your father. âArguing about my life as if I had nothing to decide here.â
Your father exhaled, some of the anger draining into a frown. âWe didnât want to upset you. I was going to talk to you after dinner. Itâs just an internship, Y/N. Helping the hockey team with PR, filming a few videos, and taking pictures. It could be good for you.â
You stared up at him. âNo.â
The word left your mouth before you even thought it through.Â
His brows knit. âYou havenât even heard the details.â
âI donât need the details,â you replied, heat rising behind your eyes. âIf I could, I would never do anything with hockey again. Not as a player, not as a manager, not as a mascot, nothing. I donât want to work for your team. I donât want to sit in that rink, listening to sticks smack the ice and pucks hit the glass and pretend I wouldnât die to be down there, to play.â
A muscle jumped in his jaw. âY/Nââ
âAnd Iâm so tired of you acting like forcing me back into that world is some kind of cure,â you pressed on, voice tightening. âI am healing. Slowly. Miserably. With more pain than you want to admit. You deciding I need a âhobbyâ is not going to fix my leg.â
âYou do need something,â he insisted. âYou canât just exist between physio appointments and your bed. This isnât about hockey, itâs about your life. You need a reason to get up, a project. You always loved filming and editing; this combines what youâre good at with something that gives you real working experience. Why is that so terrible?â
âBecause youâre not listening,â Soobin said sharply. âYouâre not listening to what she wants, Dad. Youâre listening to what you want. What you miss.â
âStop it!â you raised your voice, now almost louder than the two of them. âI get it! Youâre worried about me, but I am the one deciding what I want and whatâs good for me, okay! I already feel like shit with everything going on, you donât have to make it worse!âÂ
Your fatherâs shoulders sagged, and he was the first to break the silence that followed your outburst. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter. âYouâre right. Both of you.â
He dragged a hand over his face, the years suddenly visible in the lines around his eyes. âI shouldnât have talked to Heeseung before I talked to you. That was wrong. I still think this could help you, but⊠Itâs your life. We can discuss it properly. Without yelling at each other like idiots.â
Soobin nodded, moving to stand beside you now. âThen maybe actually listen when she says no,â he said, but there is no heat in it anymore.
You exhaled slowly, tension leaking out of your shoulders. âWe can talk,â you agreed, your voice tired. âLater. When we have all calmed down and had something to eat. You two tend to get hangryâ
A corner of your fatherâs mouth twitched, reluctant. âFair enough.â
You shuffled into the bathroom after dinner, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling that hadnât disappeared since you interrupted your father and brother. There was a chair already set up in the shower, positioned under the handheld nozzle youâve installed there after the last surgery. Your mom followed you, grabbing fresh towels from the linen closet.Â
âNeed help?â she asked softly, though she already knew the answer.
You nodded silently and let her help ease you onto the chair, after wrapping up your leg in a plastic bag. You sat hunched forward, one leg extended awkwardly, while she knelt on the bathmat with a loofah and body wash. Her hands were gentle, methodical, washing your back first, then your good leg, avoiding the cast with practised care.
You hated how all of this was routine already, how your mother had to sacrifice so much of her time for you, to care for you, when you should be able to do all of this by yourself.
The steam rose slowly, fogging the mirror, distorting your reflection until the only thing you saw was blurry silhouettes.Â
âHoney,â your mother said after a while, watching you rinse soap off your shoulders. âDo you really think the internship is such a bad idea? Your father only means well. He worries about you. Maybe⊠maybe you would have some fun with it? Filming the boys and girls, making videos. You used to love that.â
You kept your eyes on the drain, watching suds spiral away. âI have friends, Mom. I do things.â
She pauses for a second. âI know you do. But youâve refused visitors for weeks. You donât leave the house except for rehab. Youâre just⊠sleeping. All the time.â
âIâm tired,â you said, sharper than you meant. âThatâs all.â
âI know youâre tired,â she murmured, taking the loofah from your hand and gently cleaning your injured side. âBut Iâm worried too, Y/N. You used to be so bubbly, so outgoing, you had so much fun. Now⊠Itâs like youâre fading. And we all see it.â
Frustration bubbled up hot behind your eyes. âBecause even three months ago, I still could have fun mom,â you burst out, water splattering as your hand clenches. âI knew this surgery wasnât a good idea. It's stealing another nine months of my life again, Mom. And look at me now. Iâm exhausted, my hip aches so bad from the bone graft that I canât sit up alone some days. Itâs not healing. You and Dad keep acting as if I just try harder, that with a hobby, an internship, whatever, itâll magically get better. But it wonât. Iâm stuck like this, and pretending otherwise just makes me angrier.â
Your motherâs hands stilled completely. She sat back on her heels, water dripping from the sponge onto the mat. Her eyes met yours, sad and searching.
âWe donât know how to help,â she admitted quietly. âYour father pushes you because heâs scared. I⊠I miss my girl. The one who was always in a good mood, who always had a smile on her face. But I also know that we will never understand what you are feeling, Y/N.â
You swallowed hard, throat tight. âI miss her too.â
She reached out, cupping your cheek despite the spray of the water. âThen let us try. Not to fix you. Just⊠to be with you.â
The air wasnât particularly cold where you were sitting in the bleachers.
It had been three days since you had spoken properly to either your father or Soobin.
You were hurt. It hurt, hearing them say that, them all somewhat agreeing that you were letting your life just go by withoutâŠliving it.Â
The worst part about everything was that they were right. You were just sitting around doing nothing, but what were you supposed to do? All you could do at the moment was go to rehab, spend your day with grandmas who have gotten new hips or knees, and have to hear how you were too young for your injuries. You did your best with the exercises, taking it easy, but you had the feeling that it wouldnât be enough.Â
You were watching a Sunghoon float across the ice. He was tall and slim, jumping around the ice as if it were nothing.
Your dad had wanted you to start figure skating as well. He had enrolled you in a class, but you hated it. You werenât elegant or willing to go through the grueling training to get flexible enough to actually do some of the elements; you wanted to play hockey, like your brotherâŠlike your father.Â
The figure skater jumped, and his toe pick got stuck in the ice, causing him to stumble and fall onto his side. He stayed on the floor for a few seconds. His face was turned away from you, but you could imagine the frustration on his face. Sunghoon had fallen five or six times while doing this specific element already.Â
Getting stuck over and over, having to repeat one step over and over.Â
You knew that feeling, being stuck.Â
But he got up every time, started his music anew and ran the program again and again and again.Â
The door to the rink opened with a soft metallic groan. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw another tall person stepping inside. He was dressed in all black, baggy clothes, shaking out his hair. He stepped to the boards, watching Sunghoon gather his speed again and stumble into a jump he had landed with ease before. You recognised Heeseung even from afar. You had spent the last few days stalking the team, or well, teams on their social media accounts.Â
Sunghoon made an annoyed sound and skated to the boards where his phone rested, and Heeseung stood. They talked for a bit, Heeseung looking amused, if not a bit worried.
You couldnât hear what they were talking about; the low hum of the rink was louder than their conversation. After a while, Sunghoon went back to his starting position, and for a moment, the hockey player just stood there, watching before his gaze drifted up, scanning the stands.
You straightened a little when it landed on you.
You had met Heeseung a few times, at parties or when he came over while Soobin was still living at home. He was nice, polite.Â
You lifted one hand in a small wave, trying to tug your mouth into something that could pass as a smile. He blinked, surprised for a fraction, then his features softened, and he waved back, lips curving. A moment later, he disappeared from view, heading out of the rinkâs sightline.
You assumed he had gone to the locker room, but a couple of minutes later, you heard the faint echo of footsteps on the metal staircase. You turned your head and saw him coming up towards your row, duffel thumping lightly against his hip.
He didnât say anything at first, just reached the top and crossed over to your row. He lowered himself onto the seat next to the one where your crutches lay, balanced awkwardly against the bench.
You blinked before turning your head to the ice again, watching Sunghoon skate.
He hadnât restarted his music, so the silence in the rink was only broken by the sharp sounds of blades scratching over the rough ice.Â
You glanced to the side, where Heeseung was now leaning back into the seat. He had to fold his legs slightly, too tall for the tight space in between the rows. His gaze was focussed onto the ice, watching the figure skater.Â
It felt awkward, the silence between the two of you.
You averted your eyes and mustered the grey plastic of your cast, hoping for him to go back down again.
This was supposed to be your escape. You wanted to be alone for a second. To not see anyone, to not talk to anyone. You didnât know why you decided the rink was the best place to go.
You hated coming here.Â
You hated the rink.
It reminded you of everything you had lost, of the future that would never be a possibility. But somehow, when you had finished your rehab earlier than planned today, and got into a taxi, you ended up coming here.Â
âIâm Heeseung,â he said after a while, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, and his eyes were fixed ahead. âBy the way.â
You huffed a breath that was almost a laugh. âI know who you are.â
He nodded once, accepting that, and silence settled again, thicker this time.
Sunghoon stumbled on the ice and fell hard onto his hip. You frowned at the sight.Â
Heeseung spoke up again. âHow long have you been here?â he asked quietly.
âA while,â you answered, shrugging one shoulder. âHeâs been struggling with that sequence for⊠I donât even know how long. It keeps tripping him up.â
Heeseung nodded, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. âHe wonât care,â he said, like heâd seen this happen a hundred times already. âSunghoon will stand up and do it again as many times as he needs to. Heâs preparing for the Olympic qualifiers.âÂ
You hummed this time, watching as Sunghoon pushed off the ice again, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed in concentration.Â
Of course, that was the right thing to do.Â
When you were that talented, giving up was not an option.
It never had been.
âAre you training for the Olympic team as well?â you asked after a beat, turning your head slightly towards Heeseung.
He let out a short laugh, glancing over at you. âNo,â he said, amusement tugging at his mouth. âItâs hard enough being captain under your dad. Iâve already been drafted by a team. I want to play with them first, see where that goes. Maybe then Iâll think about the Olympics. If they even want me.â
You nodded, accepting that answer.
You sat like that for a while, both of you watching the streaks of motion on the ice. Eventually, a dull ache started spreading up your calf, into your thigh. You shifted, carefully adjusting the position of your leg, trying to find a spot where the pull lessened.
âYou alright?â Heeseung asked, his head turning a fraction towards you.
âYeah,â you said, biting back a wince. âJust⊠aching muscles. My physiotherapist had me try a new exercise today.â
âOh.â He nodded slowly. âThat sounds good, though. Thatâs how healing works, right? At least that's what building up muscles is like. It hurts a bit?â
You let out an annoyed little huff, the corner of your mouth twitching. âUnfortunately,â you admitted. âIt is.â
He smiled to himself, eyes drifting back to the ice, and you followed his gaze, both of you letting the quiet settle over you again, the sound of blades and distant music filling the spaces.Â
âI canât do the internship,â you said finally, the words tumbling out of nowhere, surprising even yourself.
He hummed low in his chest. âYeah,â he replied. âSoobin told me already.â His gaze didnât leave the ice. âItâs alright. I get it.â
Down below, Sunghoon went into the troublesome pass again. You watched his blade catch, just slightly off, and he went down hard on his hip this time. The music kept playing, while he got up slowly, his chest heaving.
"Do you need a ride home?" Heeseung asked after a while, breaking the silence , his voice casual, eyes still fixed on the ice.
You turned your head slightly, surprised by the offer. "Oh," you said, shaking your head. "No, thank you. I will take a taxi."
He let out a soft huff of laughter, the corner of his mouth lifting. "If Soobin knew you were here, and knew that I was, that we met, he would probably kill me if I let you take a taxi home." He nodded towards the ice where Sunghoon was gliding into position again. "So let me drive you. It would save us both some trouble. The men in your family are quite protective of you, in case you havenât noticed."
You shook your head again, though a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. "You just arrived. Do you not want to train or something?"
He hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. Then he shook his head. "No. I will not get Sunghoon off the ice anytime soon."
"I am only here because I was feeling bored," he continued, as if it explained everything. "I wanted to procrastinate on one of my essays, and what better way than going to the ice instead of being stuck behind my desk?âÂ
You hummed. Sunghoon took off again, his blade catching just enough to make him stumble, and glanced back at Heeseung. He leaned back against the bench, taking your hum as an agreement, stretching his arms along the top row behind him.
"How is your rehab going?" he asked, his tone shifting to something gentler.
You exhaled slowly, nodding slightly. "Iâm not sure. Worse than my doctor had anticipated? I donât really know what to do with myself at the moment, if I am honest.â With a shrug, you turned to him. âThis surgery was meant to restore the little mobility I had left and ease the scar tissue pain in my leg. But I am just more exhausted than before. The hip where they took the bone for the graft aches so badly on bad days that I cannot even sit up alone."
He winced visibly. "That sounds horrible."
"Yes," you agreed. "It is."
The silence returned, softer this time, with Sunghoon's music looping faintly in the background. After a moment, Heeseung spoke again. "Do not worry about the internship, by the way. I am sure they will find someone else."
"Yes," you said, nodding. "It does sound like fun, in a way. I am sure someone will love it."
He tilted his head slightly, studying you. "Would you not love it?"
You would.
The thought stung because part of you really would love it if you gave it a chance.Â
"I would," you admitted after a moment, your voice heavy. "But I would hate coming here every day. Seeing what I could have had."
He nodded slowly, understanding flickering in his expression. "Were you ever on the ice during the phases when you could walk?"
"No," you replied, averting your gaze from him to the ceiling, before closing your eyes. "I was too scared I would hurt myself even more."
He hummed. âDo you think you could try skating again? After youâre done with rehab, even if it isnât completely healed. You would not have to be some crazy hockey player. Just skating. It could be nice, no?"
Sunghoon landed cleanly below.
You watched the motion of his blades, the way he moved as the ice belonged to him, and felt that familiar ache.
You would love to, you were almost desperate to.
"Maybe," you said quietly.Â
âYou would have some pretty good coaches on your side, if you ever want to try,â Heeseung joked, and you huffed out a laugh.Â
âI would, wouldnât I?â
âêłâ *°ââ.àłàż*:*â âêłâ *°ââ.àłàż*:*â ââêłâ *°ââ.àłàż*:*â â
You were stuck in traffic almost as soon as you exited the rink's parking lot.
Heeseung cursed under his breath, not letting go of the brakes fully, barely letting the car roll forward even after the light turned green for the second time.Â
He was still in disbelief at what was happening right now.
He had come to the rink to clear his head, maybe get some solo drills in. But he knew that there was no chance he would be able to get Sunghoon off the ice today, as soon as he stepped inside. His friend had been sick for days, and this was the first time since then that he had time to go over his routine, so he didnât want to impose. He scanned the empty stands out of habit, than anything else.
He was surprised to see someone actually sitting in there.
You sat high up in the bleachers, crutches propped beside you, your expression distant as you watched Sunghoon glide across the ice. There was no particular cold in the air, but you looked small somehow, hunched into yourself, like the weight of something invisible was pressing down on you.
Heeseung paused by the door, surprised at himself for even recognising you.
He barely knew you beyond team events and Soobin's warnings to "be nice but don't get too close."
For a second, he wondered if he was crazy.
What was he supposed to do, walk up to his Coach's daughter and strike up a conversation?
But you looked⊠miserable. Sad, even. And you seemed nice enough from the handful of times you'd exchanged words.
He wasnât a person who went up to others to just start up conversations; he was rather awkward most of the time with new people, but before he could talk himself out of it, his feet were already carrying him up the stairs. And now he was driving you home.Â
Heeseung took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down enough to not start cursing out the poor drivers in front of him and noticed how you shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat next to him. He imagined the cast to be uncomfortable, especially now in the hot, humid summer.Â
"Is it very bad?" his voice was gentle, when he broke the silence in the car for the first time, since you got in.Â
"Just sore," you answered with a shrug, repeating your answer from before. He would have been fine with that as an answer, but you continued talking. "I swear my physio is trying to kill me. I know to rebuild muscle, I have to actually work on it, but he thinks of the worst exercises."
He huffed out a soft laugh at that. "Sounds like your dad. He claims that if we are not sore by the end of a gym session, we are pussies who haven't done enough."
That made you smile, small but genuine. "Sounds like him, yeah."
A car honked behind you, and Heeseung sighed, resting his forehead briefly against the steering wheel, closing his eyes in resignation, before turning his head towards you. "I think we're going to be stuck here for a while."
You snorted and raised a brow. "You think?"
He ignored the remark and sat up properly again, trying to strike up an actual conversation this time. "Which year are you in?"
"Third," you answered. "You?"
"Same," he replied. "Well. Technically. I took an extra semester."
"Hockey?"
"Hockey," he confirmed.
The music from the speakers shifted quietly between R&B and pop. He kept his eyes on the traffic ahead. "So, what are you studying? Your major."
"Business administration," you replied, staring out at a couple walking their dog on the sidewalk next to Heeseung's car. "With a minor in media production."
"That fits," he nodded. "With the internship, I mean. PR stuff. Content creation."
You hummed in acknowledgement but did not say anything further, and Heeseung bit his lower lip, thinking he had fucked up by mentioning the internship again. He glanced at you, but you were still staring out of the passenger window.
Great, seems like he did fuck it up.Â
"What about you?" you asked after a long moment of silence, turning your head towards him.
"Music production," he answered, almost relieved. "Sound engineering, mixing, that kind of thing."
Your eyebrows lifted slightly, interest sparking. "Music production? Have you done anything like⊠professionally? Or just as a hobby?"
He smiled faintly, tapping the steering wheel with the beat. "Right now, it is mostly me in my flat at three in the morning, trying to layer vocals over beats that sounded better in my head. My roommates have to suffer a bit with it.âÂ
"That sounds cool," you cocked your head a bit to the right. "Do you make whole songs? Or just remixes and stuff?"
"Both," he gave you a small smile, counting it as a win, that you seemed at least a bit interested. "I started with remixing songs I liked, speeding them up, adding drops, that kind of thing. Now I am trying to write originals. Lyrics are harder than the production, though."
You nodded thoughtfully. "What kind of music? Like⊠pop? Electronic?"
"Bit of everything," he admitted. "Pop, hip-hop, some lo-fi. Depends on my mood. Lately, I have been messing around with ambient stuff."
"Have you put anything online?" you asked, leaning a little closer to the centre console now. "Like on SoundCloud or something?"
He felt his ears heat slightly; he usually didnât talk much to strangers about his music.
Most of the stuff he did write or produce was close to his heart, had a lot of meaning to him, or was the person to whom he gifted the songs. "A few tracks, yeah. "
You were smiling properly now, eyes bright. "What is your artist name?"
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Youâre gonna have to try to figure that out by yourself, Y/N."
âAw, Heeseung,â you pouted, a mischievous gleam in your eyes. âI thought we were friendly now. Why would you make me work for it?â
He raised an eyebrow. "Friendly?"
"Are we not?" you said simply. "You came up to me while I was moping around, and you are driving me home now. In a weird way, you were able to even lift my mood a bit!"
Heeseung giggled at that, a real, full giggle breaking out of him, and he felt his ears reddening before he caught himself. âI am glad I could lift your mood, Y/N. But youâre not gonna get my user. You have to work for that.â
You huffed out a breath and pretended to be upset, crossing your arms in front of your chest. âUnfair!âÂ
"What do you do in your free time, aside from now probably trying to figure out my Soundcloud handle?" Heeseung asked, his curiosity genuine as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. The traffic had finally started to ease up a little, but you were still crawling along at a snail's pace.
You let out a small sigh, your gaze drifting back to the window. "Lately? I sleep a lot. I do not really do much aside from physio and sleeping at the moment. Maybe watch some Netflix if I have the energy."
He nodded slowly, processing that. "And before? If you are in media production, you probably did a lot of video stuff, right?"
Your smile returned, but it did not reach your eyes. "Yes, I did. A lot of video editing. It was actually a lot of fun. I used to vlog, make edits for friends, little projects for classes. I even had a small following on TikTok for a while."
âOh, what did you upload?â he tried to keep his tone light.
âDifferent things? Mainly edits of a few idols?â, you answered, sounding a bit embarrassed at that.
Heeseung nodded, smiling, amused at your reaction. âLike those thirst traps of them being half naked?â
âNo!â you gasped and shook your head. âDefinitely not that. Usually, it was just a few videos cut to a song I thought was cute with a few filters and stuff like that.â
Heeseung laughed at that, and you nodded, averting your face, but grinning. Â
âDo you do anything aside from playing Hockey and cooking up some crazy beats that I am not allowed to hear?â You asked a few seconds later.Â
He hummed and nodded, switching lanes before he answered. âNot much? I like to play video games. Do you know Beomgyu? We tend to play League a lot.â
That made you snort and shake your head. âOh, believe me, I do know Gyu rather well. He claims gaming is helping his strategic thinking on the ice. I call it bullshit.âÂ
Heeseung chuckled, nodding along. "Fair enough. But you have to admit, his game sense is pretty good sometimes. Gyu reads plays two steps ahead, sets up those perfect give-and-gos like he sees the whole rink in his head."
You raised a brow, turning fully towards him now. "Dude, what the fuck? If he wasn't as good with his wrist shots, he wouldn't be any good on the ice at all."
Heeseung blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "His wrist shot?"
You shrugged, but your eyes lit up just a fraction. "Gyu's release is filthy. He hits the top shelf before goalies even track it. Without that, his 'strategy' wouldn't save him from anything."
He stared for a second, lowkey impressed. He had forgotten, not just that you were Coach's daughter, but that you had played yourself. "Damn," he said, grinning despite himself. "Spot on. How do you know all that?"
You huffed a small laugh, glancing out the window. "I catch highlights sometimes after you play. And yeah, Gyu's shot carries him."
"He did a reel with his best shots of last season," he said carefully. "It got a few million views on his TikTok."
âI know,â you went quiet for a moment, your fingers tapping lightly against the armrest. âI cut the videos. I helped out with most of his videos when he was still actively posting.â
Heeseung hummed at that, not knowing what to say now. The playlist shifted to another soft pop track, filling the space.Â
"I don't know," you finally admitted. "Part of me thinks it could be good. To do the internship, I mean. I think my dad is right, and I would love it. But coming to the rink every day⊠being surrounded by hockey again. It is hard."
"Why not try it?" he pressed gently. "Just for a bit. If you like it, great. If not, you quit. I will even play babysitter.â He huffed out his chest a bit and winked at you. âIâll be rude to anyone who does not participate. Make sure everyone behaves."
You let out a small laugh, genuine this time. "Ohh the scary captain saving the poor social media girly in need? I donât think youâre scary enough to get the others to film stupid TikTok trends."
He grinned, playing along. "Oh, I am terrifying. Ask the freshmen. They cry into their pillows every night."
You snorted, shaking your head. "Such a bad captain. The team must hate you."
"They worship me," he shot back, mock-serious. "Fear and respect. Perfect balance."
The laughter faded into a comfortable quiet, but he could see you thinking, turning the idea over in your head. "Just say the word. I will make sure everyone is on their best behaviour."
You smiled tiredly, but nodded. "Deal."
âêłâ *°ââ.àłàż*:*â âêłâ *°ââ.àłàż*:*â ââêłâ *°ââ.àłàż*:*â â
Crazy. You had to be batshit crazy for what you were about to do.
You had just finished brushing your teeth when your father shuffled into the bathroom, yawning wide as he reached for the cup where he kept his toothbrush. The morning light slanted through the frosted window, catching the tired lines around his eyes. Before he could even start his routine, you turned from the sink.
"I'll do it," you burst out, watching his reflection in the mirror halt mid-motion. His hand froze over the cup, toothpaste tube half-squeezed in the other.
He blinked, setting the tube down slowly. "Do what?"
"The internship," you said, taking a deep breath that did nothing to steady the sudden hammering in your chest. "I'll try it. I'm not promising anything. If I hate it, I will quit. But I'll give it a shot."
Your father straightened up, toothbrush forgotten entirely now. Shock flickered across his face, eyebrows shooting up, mouth parting slightly as if he thought he had misheard you. He turned fully to face you, leaning one hip against the counter. "Wait. You-you're serious? After everything you said the other night?"
You nodded, gripping the edge of the sink behind you. "Yes. I'm serious."
He stared at you for a long moment, processing, then a slow smile started to spread across his face, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him look ten years younger. "Y/N, that's⊠that's great. Really great." He stepped closer, clapping a hand on your shoulder gently. "What changed your mind?"
You shrugged one shoulder, avoiding his gaze by focusing on the toothpaste flecks in the sink. "I do need something to do, no matter how hard it might be. You and Mom are right, sitting around all day⊠It's not helping. I think I need to really live my life again.â
The words tasted bitter, like admitting defeat, but they were true.Â
He nodded eagerly, hand lingering on your shoulder a second too long. "Exactly. This is perfect for you. With your eye for video, knowing the game inside out, you could do hockey media afterwards. Analyst, journalist, or something in the industry. Build a real future around it. This is such a good opportunity for you! I am glad youâre finally seeing that aswell."
You froze, closing your eyes, while your heart slowed down for a second, before beating faster than before. Disappointment washed over you.Â
"Dad," you said, your voice tired. "I told you that Iâm having a hard time doing literally anything and want to try to get my life started again, and you want me to already turn that stupid PR thing into a career? The last thing I am thinking about is building a future around something I would be close to but could never have."
He frowned, hand dropping. "What do you mean, can't? Youâve always lovedâ"
"No." You turned fully now, gripping the counter edge so your knuckles whitened. "Dad, how can you still not understand what I am saying? Youâre right, I loved hockey. But I have to leave that in the past; I had to reinvent myself dad. I will never be the girl who lived and breathed hockey. I canât even sit up without help for fucks sake!â
His expression softened into pity. You pressed your lips onto each other, turning away, trying to blink away your tears. "Y/NâŠI didnât mean it like that. I always imagined that when youâre healthy again, youâd go back onto the ice, help me with the summer camps, and have fun joking around. You were such a talented player."
Tears pricked in your eyes. "So you still see me as a prodigy lost, got it."
Silence hung heavy between you. He stepped back, deflated. "I⊠thought the rink would help."
"You thought wrong,â you snapped. "This isn't about your dreams for me. I regret letting Heeseung talk me into this now. Iâm such an idiot. How could I think youâd ever understand me?"
He exhaled slowly, rubbing his neck. "Y/N I was driving the car. I saw you almost die. You think seeing you not getting better is something I enjoy? I am trying to understand. But I actively lived my life after the crash, and I know you can too.â
You laughed; it was a hollow, pained sound. "Your surgeries were nothing compared to mine, Dad. You walked weeks later. I got crushed. Pinned. Itâs been six years, those six years that are the most important ones. Hell, I was in the hospital on my eighteenth birthday, I can barely remember my sixteenth, I was too high on pain and anxiety meds! You don't get it."Â
The bathroom felt too small suddenly, air thick between you.Â
"Alright," he said finally, his voice quieter. "You're right. I got ahead of myself. Iâm just⊠trying to help."
You swallowed hard, the fight draining as quickly as it came. "I know," you muttered. "But let me try this my way. Okay?"
He nodded, reluctant but genuine. "Okay. Your way."
You grabbed your crutches, brushing past him towards the door.Â
Heeseung was lazily shooting a puck into the goal. He had actually finished his essay this morning and had handed it in as soon as Jake had read over it, wanting to get rid of the stupid document and never look at it ever again. He loved his major, and he did enjoy the lectures he had with that particular professor, but this essay stole away every ounce of motivation Heeseung had going into the summer break. If one could call it summer break. He had spent it training either by himself, with his younger brother or helping his older brother move and renovate. If Heeseung was honest, he didnât catch much of a break.Â
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, and the heavy door to the rink opened. He didnât see anyone in the doorframe. The door closed again.
Heeseung skated towards the boards opposite the door, when it opened again with more force than necessary, revealing you. You were sitting in a wheelchair and struggled to get over the threshold, getting caught on the door while it closed on you.Â
âY/N?â, he heard himself ask over the music coming from his headphones.Â
You looked up and immediately back down, muttering something under your breath while pushing open the door again.Â
âHi, Heeseung,â you greeted him, giving him a tired smile, when you finally made it into the rink. âThat door is heavy, Jesus Christ.âÂ
âIâ,â he was at a loss for words for a second. The view of you in a wheelchair took him by surprise; you looked like you knew what you were doing, casually rolling closer to the boards. You were wearing oversized clothes, a shirt with the logo of a band you couldnât recall and a pair of what looked like Soobin's basketball shorts, judging by the size. It made you seem small, almost fragile, in combination with the wheelchair.Â
âHave I shocked you into silence with my fabulous wheelchair skills, oh scary captain?â you joked, pulling him out of his thoughts.
He felt heat creep up his neck, and he coughed once in embarrassment before catching himself. âNo. Sorry. I justâŠI just didnât know you needed a wheelchair? I would have opened the door for you?âÂ
âNah,â you waved dismissively. âItâs fine. As you see, no door is heavy enough to stop me and the immense levels of willpower I have when weâre talking about opening doors on my own.â
He chuckled and skated along the boards. The two of you were silent for a long moment; it wasnât uncomfortable, rather the opposite of it.Â
You were rolling into the direction of the opening to the rink, him doing the same, glicidng over the ice before jumping over the railing as soon as the thick plexiglass stopped.Â
You came to a stop a few meters from him, watching him.
âI said yes,â you said, suddenly.
Heeseung looked up from where he was just putting on his bladeguards, leaning against the bench with his thigh.Â
âTo what?â, he blinked at you in confusion, his hand stilling.Â
âThe internship,â you hummed, not looking at him. âI kindaâŠfought with my dad a bit about itâŠBut I agreed.â
âYou⊠said yes,â Heeseung repeated, just to make sure his ears werenât lying. âThatâs⊠good. I meanââ He cleared his throat, eyes dropping to his hands as heat crept up his neck. ââIâm happy for you. I guess?â
You snorted softly, the sound cutting through the rinkâs chill. âYou guess?â
He shrugged, feeling a little helpless under your gaze. âI donât know. It sounded like a sore spot last time. I didnât want to say the wrong thing and scare you off because I am an idiot, in case you really wanted to do it?â
Your expression softened, just a fraction, as you let out a breath through your nose. âIt is a sore spot. But you were right.â
Heeseung hummed, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering surprise âWellâŠIâm glad, then.â
You rolled your eyes, but a hint of a smile ghosted your lips. âYouâll have to protect me, though. Make them take part. Iâm not begging twenty overgrown kids to lip-sync for TikTok.â
He laughed, the echo bouncing sharply off the empty boards. âSure. I can do that. Iâll be the bad cop. Very scary captain, remember?â
Or else.
They probably wonât listen to him, but to the coach, who was your father, they definitely would.
âOh, absolutely terrifying,â you deadpanned. âTheyâre all shaking in their skates.â
He grinned and shook his head, then his gaze dropped for a second to the chair again before flicking away. His fingers fiddled with the edge of his glove. He wanted to ask why you were suddenly not able to walk at all anymore. He knew you werenât healing as fast or as well as you had wished, but having to use a wheelchair? âCan I⊠uh,â he started, then stopped, grimacing slightly. âThis is going to sound stupid.â
You tilted your head, scrunching your nose and smiling, making him feel even worse. âItâs okay. Just ask.â
He scratched his neck, feeling his cheeks heat up again. âI just⊠didnât know you were⊠using the chair now. You had crutches the last time. Is it⊠worse?â
You glanced down at your hands on the wheels, then back up at him. âNot really worse,â you said. âJust different bad. When the weather changes and the rain comes in, my leg and hip hurt more. The bones and scar tissue get⊠angry, I guess. Today, the wheelchair is just easier than forcing myself to hobble around.â
He hummed in acknowledgement, the tension in his shoulders easing a little. âMakes sense,â he said quietly. âLess strain.â
You nodded and pushed yourself a little closer to the gap in the boards, resting your forearms on the ledge. âI was just hoping to sit here for a bit,â you continued. âBe nostalgic. Watch Sunghoon or whoever might be training. Then, you know⊠eventually get my shit together.â
He followed your gaze to the empty rink, only a few stray pucks scattered over the surface. âIf you want to watch properly,â he said after a moment, âthere are disabled seats in the upper ranks. Itâs not as high up as your seats last weekâŠbut youâd have a better view? I can take you up there later, if youâd like.â
You made a face, half amused, half resigned and he feared again that he might have said the wrong thing.
âItâs fine,â you shrugged, sitting up again. âIâll just give my commentary to your playing instead.â
He huffed out a laugh, honestly surprised at that answer. âOh? Youâre going to roast my shot selection?â
âObviously,â you said. âSomeone has to keep you humble, captain.â
His eyes lingered on your profile, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.Â
Then you looked up at him expectantly, as if you were waiting for him to say something else.
He shifted his weight, and cleared his throat. âDo you⊠want to see your office?â he asked. âYour dad told me that the room would be for the social media team. We started dumping some stuff there. I can show you.â
You hesitated, glancing once back at the ice, then at the hallway behind him. âStuff?â
âA desk and a chair? The room has been used for storage for at least half a decade now, so itâs a bit stuffed.â He admitted.Â
That made you smile. It was small but seemed genuine. âYeah,â you said. âOkay. Show me.â
He nodded and moved to the side, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He wasnât sure if he should push you or leave you on your own, but decided to just let you do your thing. âI handed my essay in, by the way,â he explained, walking backwards a few steps as you rolled toward the staff door, leading towards the offices and media rooms of the rink. âI did finish most of it after I drove you home, actually.â
You snorted. âWell, then I donât have to feel bad about stealing your time in the rink.â
âYou sure donât, Y/N,â he held the door open this time, letting you wheel past into the corridor. The air was warmer here, laced with the familiar mix of sweat, detergent and faint rubber, even though the players rarely came here. Heeseung assumed the smell he had come to love and grow familiar with carried through the whole building.Â
As you started down the hall together, your chair clicking softly over the uneven floor and his bladeguards thumping with every step, it was silent for a few seconds before you started talking again.Â
âI didnât know Iâd get an office,â you hum, while Heeseung opened the door. It was rarely locked, it was in a locked part of the building and mainly used for clutter that is yet to be thrown away.
âI think they want to have a whole social media team? So think youâre not only getting an office but colleagues as well,â he opened the door and revealed the small room. It was lit by a small window, one side of it stuffed full with clutter, stacks of paper, scattered office supplies covered multiple surfaces, including an old wooden filing cabinet. A half-empty bookshelf leaned under the weight of folders, some piled haphazardly on top of one another. Boxes of miscellaneous items were stacked in a corner, threatening to topple.
In one corner stood a seemingly clean desk that Heeseung and Yeonjun had cleared up a few days earlier. They had dumped everything that was on there onto the other side.
âIâm sorry, itâs still a mess. I honestly didnât think youâd say yes, and then you know, your dad would have had to officially search for someone, and that would have given us a bit of time?â Heeseung leaned down and picked up two boxes to make space for your wheelchair.Â
âIs my dad making you clean the room?â Your voice sounded annoyed, and he turned around. Your gaze was fixed on him, and he blinked again. â...No? Yes? What answer would you prefer?âÂ
You laughed teasingly and hit him with your healthy leg. âItâs not your fault if he made you. My dad is an asshole.âÂ
He knew Soobin wasnât the closest with his dad, and apparently you werenât either.Â
âHee, you donât have to keep being so careful,â you giggle, and that confused me even more than using a nickname. âMy dad is an ass, for the record. I still love him, but he can be annoying as fuck.â Â
Heeseung laughed once and leaned against the desk in the room. âHeâŠyeahâŠhe is an asshole, especially if you donât do what he wants to do.â
âAnd you know what I really like doing?â You stopped for a second, but answered your own question before he could even open his mouth. âTo not do what he wants me to do. I think if he knew I was here instead of at home, he would scold the shit out of me.âÂ
Heeseung raised his eyebrows. âReally? Why?â
âWell, for starters, he gets really paranoid when I sit in the chair. I have no idea why, because usually people have even more pity with me and try to help me, but he hates it. And that I am here technically alone, cause I couldnât know youâd be here, would get me scolded,â you shrugged and let your gaze wander across the room.
He mustered your face, let his eyes wander across your face, your hair, and the blue shirt. You were smiling; it was a small smile, but at least you were smiling. When he met you last week, you seemed so down, so frustrated; seeing you be so upbeat today made him smile as well.Â
Your face snapped back at him. âWhatâs got you smiling like that, Captain? My dad possibly scolding me when I get home?â
âAh-I-no-â, he stumbled, being caught staring at you the second time today. âI was just thinking about how you look a lot better than last week, even though youâre going to get scolded.â
âOh, you just had the pleasure of meeting me in a bad mood. I promise I can be fun?â, you joked, shooting finger guns at him, causing him to laugh lowly again. âNo, seriously. I just havenât had the best time doing anything after the surgery; itâs been hard.â
âIâm glad youâre feeling a bit better than,â Heeseung grinned.Â
You were sitting on the floor of Soobin's living room, your head resting against the side of Beomgyu's thigh. He was deeply immersed in a rather intense game of FIFA, his focus unbreakable as his thumbs flew over the controller. Yeonjun, Beomgyu, and your brother had decided to invite a few people over for a pre-semester get-together at their flat. When they said âa few peopleâ it really just meant the three of them, their girlfriends, and you. While Chaewon and Yunjin were in the kitchen reheating the pizza you had all ordered for dinner a few hours earlier, you had decided not to move an inch. Your eyelids felt heavier than they should have, especially after the unhealthy amount of Diet Coke you had consumed all evening long. So, you simply curled up closer against your friend's leg, letting his warmth seep into you.
Beomgyu huffed in annoyance when his team lost to whoever he was playing against online. A few seconds later, his hand landed gently in your hair, softly caressing your scalp. The motion only lulled you further toward sleep, your body growing heavier by the second.
"Hey, Y/N," Soobin's voice startled you, forcing your eyes open again. "Do you want to go to sleep?"
You took a deep breath and rubbed your eyes, ignoring the smudges of mascara from the excessive amount you had applied that morning. "No, I'm fine. Gyu is warm."
Beomgyu laughed loudly at that. "Damn right. You heard that, everyone? Y/N agrees that I'm hot!"
You reached up and slapped his calf playfully, while the boys made various sounds of disagreement and mock disgust. Beomgyu whined in protest, but he did lift your head slightly so he could look down at you properly. "It's fine if you want to sleep a bit. You can use literally any bed in the apartment. I'll even personally carry you to bed if you want."
You just shook your head and gave him a tired smile. Then you sat up a bit straighter, wincing as a sharp pain shot through your hip from the sudden movement.
"You're basically asleep, Y/N," Yeonjun said from the couch, pausing his own game to look at you with clear concern in his eyes. "Seriously, go crash in a bed."
Soobin nodded in agreement, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. "Use my bed"
"I'm not gonna sleep," you protested, though your voice came out weaker than you intended. "Iâm fine. Iâm just resting my eyes a bit."
Beomgyu paused his game with an exaggerated sigh, then shoved Yeonjun's leg off the coffee table and hip-checked Soobin just enough to claim more space on the sofa. "Scoot over, you losers. Make some room for her." The other two grumbled playfully but shifted aside, clearing a spot as he patted his lap insistently. "Come on, Y/N. Get up here and rest your eyes properly."
You laughed softly and let him tug you up without much resistance. You settled with your head properly in his lap as he sprawled back against the cushions. His hand found your hair again, fingers carding through the strands in gentle, rhythmic strokes. Your eyes fluttered shut almost immediately, the steady warmth and motion pulling you right back under.Â
You were just on the edge of sleep when your brain snagged on something important. Your eyes cracked open again. "Oh, wait," you mumbled, your words slurring slightly with exhaustion. "I took Dad's internship offer."
Soobin froze mid-sip of his soda, his eyes widening over the rim of the can. "You did what?"
"I said yes," you clarified, shifting a little to peer up at their stunned faces. âOn my terms and conditions tho. Youâll have to be nice to me and let me film you for some stupid Tiktoks or Iâll get dad involved.â
Your brother stared at you, his sodacan now slowly sinking into his lap. âY/N did he make you say yes?âÂ
You let yourself sink back into Beomguys' lap, appreciating once more how muscular hockey player thighs were. You had spent many hours napping in various laps over the last few years.Â
 "No, he didn't make me do it. I justâŠthought about it. I did like making those TikToks for Gyu last year, and I like the team. Youâre fun. Plus, I'm only taking two classes this semester. Rehab ends soon, and I'll be bored out of my mind otherwise."
Somehow, you didnât feel like telling your brother about how you met his captain, how talking with him for a mere two hours was enough to convince him. You still didnât understand how or why, he didnât even have to do any convincing, but somehowâŠsomehow it was enough.
Soobin set his can down on the table with a sharp clink, his brow furrowing deeply. "Y/N, I don't know if that's such a good idea. Youâ"
"Yo, that's actually dope," Yeonjun cut in immediately, grinning wide as he leaned forward. "Iâll sort things out with the others if they refuse to film with you, donât worry, Y/Nie."
Beomgyu nodded enthusiastically, his thumb still tracing lazy circles on your scalp. "Hell yeah, exactly. I told you it would be fun."
Soobin opened his mouth to argue further, clearly not convinced, but the kitchen door swung open right then. Chaewon and Yunjin came back balancing stacks of pizza boxes and plates, steam rising from the reheated slices. "Okay, what's going on? Why does Soobin look like he just bit into a sour apple?" Yunjin asked with a laugh, dumping her pile onto the coffee table.
"YN's doing the media internship for the hockey team," Yeonjun filled them in quickly, already reaching for a slice loaded with pepperoni. âAnd Soob isnât the biggest fan.âÂ
Chaewon's face lit up with genuine excitement. She dropped straight into Soobin's lap like it was the most natural spot in the world, making herself comfortable. "No way, that's so cool! Iâm sure the boys will love having to dance to weird TikTok sounds, just get them drunk, and your jobâs gonna be easy." She winked at you over his shoulder.Â
Soobin sighed deeply, his arms looping loosely around Chaewon's waist as she stole a bite from the slice he had just grabbed.Â
"I guess it's cool, yeah," He trailed off with a half-grumble, relenting under her steady gaze.
Yunjin clapped her hands together sharply. "Anyway! Who's up for Mario Kart next? The loser has to grab the next round of drinks from the kitchen."
You nodded faintly in agreement, already sinking back into Beomgyu's lap as the chatter erupted around you once more.Â
The locker room was warm and smelled faintly like perfume and deodorant. The figure skaters had just ended their training session when Heeseung came into the rink. He had watched for a few minutes before heading deeper into the building, his bag heavy across his back.
Some of the other players, mainly his roommates who had driven with him, were already changing when the sound of laughter came in through the doors. Beomgyuâs head appeared in the doorframe.
âIs everyone dressed?â
Heeseung glanced at his teammates, all in various states of undress, and shrugged. âYeah? Mostly?â
âPerfect!â Beomgyu stepped fully into the room, followed by â you?
Heeseungâs brows shot up, and he had to stop himself from gawking.
You looked a little embarrassed, hovering awkwardly just behind Beomgyuâs shoulder. It was the first time he saw you in something that wasnât athleisure or oversized clothes. Your hair was done, framing your face, and there was a bit of makeup on your skin that softened and sharpened you at the same time. It was a bit weird, seeing Soobinâs face on a female with makeup on, but it was pretty. You were pretty.
âThis is Y/N, she is going to be our social media manager for this semester,â Beomgyu announced, gesturing into the room like he was presenting a prize. âThis is our locker room. Youâre not welcome in here unless you want to see dicks, Y/N. So donât come in. This is Heeseung, our captain.â
You gave him a small, amused smile and waved, lifting your crutch slightly in greeting.
He smiled back at you. âHi, Y/N. Nice to meet you.â
âNice to meet you as well.â
He had to laugh a bit at how stiff and formal that sounded, while Beomgyu continued introducing the rest of the team that was standing around. Jake was holding his jersey against his naked chest, his face blooming red as he stuttered out his name. You glanced Heeseungâs way every so often, and he just shook his head in amusement.
âThe coach will introduce her to the rest of the team later and, like, explain why we have a social media manager now,â Beomgyu continued, ignoring that the rest of his teammates were a bit taken by surprise at Soobinâs sister, their coachâs daughter, standing in the locker room. âTell the others to stick by later. The coach asked me to tell you all.â
âSure. Iâll text the rest,â Heeseung said, dusting imaginary dirt off his jersey pants. âAre you gonna show her the office? Have you finished cleaning it out?â
âYeah, and not yet,â Beomgyu shook his head and jerked his chin toward the door. âYou wanna come along, Hee? Show her around as the captain? Iâm doing your job now.â
You laughed at that and boxed Beomgyu in the ribs with your elbow. âLet him be. You just pulled me into the menâs locker room, and now you want to make him show me around because you wanna change?â
Beomgyu shrugged. âYou know your dad could have also just made your brother or Yeonjun hyung show you around? I didnât choose this job. Let me graciously hand it over and get ready, woman.â
That made you giggle and roll your eyes, before shaking your head and looking at him fondly. The two of you seemed pretty close.
Heeseungâs legs and mouth worked faster than his brain. âIâll show her around. Iâm almost done anyway, Gyu.â
âCool! Perfect!â Beomgyu seemed surprised but genuinely happy about that. âHave fun then!â
You rolled your eyes again when he patted your shoulder, but when you turned to Heeseung, there was a small, careful smile on your lips. âLead the way then?â
âSure.â
He crossed the room in three strides and opened the door for you, letting you step out first. Today, you were much faster and almost agile on your crutches compared to when you first met. The movement looked practised, a bit stiff around the hips, but confident.
âThank you, oh dear scary captain,â you said once you had crossed the threshold.
He huffed out a quiet laugh and let the door fall shut behind him. âYou really gonna keep that going?â
âYes,â you replied without missing a beat. âYou have a reputation to uphold, Lee Heeseung. I canât ruin that by calling you nice.â
âOuch,â he placed a hand over his heart dramatically. âSo I open doors and volunteer tour guide services and still get slandered. Tough crowd.â
You smiled, the corners of your mouth twitching. âYouâre recovering from it just fine.â
You walked side by side down the corridor, your crutches clicking on the slightly uneven floor.
He stopped in front of the small office door, pushing the handle down and nudging it open with his shoulder.
âHere we are, Miss Social Media Manager. Welcome back.â
You stepped inside, eyes sweeping across the room, letting out a little huff. âWow. Still depressing.â
He leaned against the doorframe, watching your expression. âHey, the desk barely wobbles now. Thatâs an upgrade.â
âI really need to bring some decoration or something,â you muttered, moving closer to the window and looking back at the desk. âPlants. Posters.â
Heeseung chuckled. âJust let me know what you need, and Iâll arrange everything as the big scary captain. One word from me and weâll have fairy lights and a coffee machine in here.â
You turned halfway to look at him, one eyebrow raised. âSure, Hee.â
The nickname slipped out so casually that it took him a second to register it. Something warm tugged at his chest before he could stop it. He really liked the way it sounded, simple and familiar, like you had known him a lot longer than you actually had.
âDo you think we could rearrange a bit?â you asked, turning around, a pout on your lips.
He pushed off the doorframe and walked over to the desk. âSure. What do you want me to do?â
âCould you push the desk under the window?â you said. âIâd prefer some natural lighting while staring into a screen all day. Gotta work on my tan. I am sick of looking sickâ
He snorted and grabbed one side of the desk, dragging it across the floor with a dull scrape. âI assure you, youâre looking a lot less sick today. Itâs nice to know you are owning jeans.â
You laughed at that, the sound soft but real. âI sure do. I think I have at least two, you know, for some diversityâ
Heeseung bit back a smile.Â
As he adjusted the desk under the window, he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. The fondness in the way you had looked at Beomgyu earlier stuck with him. He wouldnât be surprised if there was something going on there. The two of you were the same year, had clearly known each other for a long time, and with how close Soobin and Beomgyu had been since school, it would make sense.
He didnât say anything, though. It wasnât his business, and assumptions never helped anyone.
âThere,â he said instead, giving the desk a small shove to straighten it.
You moved forward and leaned your weight onto the edge, then gave it a small shake. It didnât wobble. âNot bad, captain.â
âI do what I can,â he replied lightly, brushing his hands off as if he had just completed major construction work. âIâm sure we can get this room to look a bit more inviting in no time.â
âI sure hope so,â you said, looking around the room again. This time, your gaze lingered a bit longer, less unsure, more thoughtful. âItâs weird, but⊠I kinda feel stupid for doing this. My dad just nepoed me into this job. I am sure there are so many others who would have loved it and actually want a job in this industry later.â
He nodded once, understanding more than he knew how to say. âHe did, yeah. But the edits you made for Gyu were really cool, and I feel like youâre just as qualified as anyone else that might have applied. If you donât like it, you can always stop. You said youâd only do it on your terms.â
You glanced at him, and for a brief moment, there was something open and vulnerable in your eyes. âYeah, my terms.â
He cleared his throat, stepping back toward the door. âI should get back to get changed, before your actually scary father scolds me later.â
âGod forbid,â you said, lips twitching again. âGo protect yourself from getting scolded by my very scary father.â
He grinned, hand on the handle. âIf you need anything, just come find me. Or, you know, call your big scary captain to move furniture.â
A few hours later, you found yourself sitting in front of a flipchart, surrounded by notes and scribbles of ideas for content. Your research had turned up dozens of trends and challenges that could work for the hockey teamâs social accounts, but your enthusiasm was running low. The chair you were sitting on felt like it was designed for maximum discomfort, and you were seriously considering bringing your wheelchair the next time. You sighed, shifting your weight in a futile attempt to find a more comfortable position.
Just then, the door creaked open slightly, and Heeseungâs head popped in. âYou surviving in here?â
Without looking up, you muttered, âBarely. What do you need, Heeseung? Is my scary father done torturing you?â
He chuckled and stepped fully into the room, leaning casually against the wall. âWeâre done for the day, actually,â he said, flashing you a grin. âHe asked me to get you, so he could introduce you to the rest?â
You took a deep breath, resting your face in your palms, âCan I say no? I feel like doing that once a day should be enough.â
âI fear you canât,â he replied, chuckling, pushing himself off the wall and taking a step closer to the desk. âI will try to make sure youâre not seeing any half-naked men or dicks, and compared to Beomgyu, I will wait for a proper answer and not burst into the locker. I donât want to scare you away when you just started. And potentially get killed by either Soobin or your dad.â
You snorted despite yourself, leaning back and stretching your arms. âI donât think any male creature will ever be safe from that, if I am completely honest, not even his star student. So you better take good care of me, but don't get too close!â
He laughed and crossed the room to hand you your crutches. As he moved closer, you noticed a faint, fresh scent, like soap and something woody, maybe a hint of citrus.Â
âDid you get any work done in here?â he waited patiently for you to pack your bag while holding out your crutches.
You shrugged. âTell me why some of you post random pictures of food with 20 filters slapped onto them.â
âAh, come on,â he said, leaning forward with a grin. âItâs not that bad. My Instagram is pretty and aesthetic!â
âSomething like that,â you muttered, unable to suppress a small smile, as you stood up slowly. âI found some trends and figured we could hop on a few of them. Iâve got ideas for locker room Q&As, pre-game routines, that kind of thing.â
âSounds like youâve got it all figured out then,â Heeseung said, nodding as he moved to grab your bag. âSo, when do we start?â
âWe?â you scoffed, raising an eyebrow.
He laughed, shaking his head. âYour dad made me responsible for everything you do and makes me babysit you, so yes, we.â
You couldnât help but roll your eyes again, though it was becoming less from irritation and more out of habit. âJesus Christ.â
âAt least I have all of my teeth. And we have some pretty faces on the team, that should help,â he teased.
The air in the locker room was a thick haze of sweat, body spray, body wash and perfume. You scrunched your nose in disgust for a second before doing your best to even out your facial expression, when Heeseung pushed the door open. You hovered just behind him, your crutches digging into your arms, trying not to breathe too deeply as the full team turned to stare. Two dozen pairs of eyes locked on you and Heeseung from the benches and stalls. Your father was standing next to the door with a clipboard in his hands, while he nodded appreciatively at Heeseung and gave you something like a welcoming smile before he turned to the team.Â
"Alright, listen up," he clapped his hands once, and the chatter in the room died. "This is Y/N. My daughter.â You pressed your lips onto each other in embarrassment while he continued talking. âShe's taking over social media for the semester, content, TikToks, Instagram, whatever gets eyes on us. You all participate when she asks. There will be no whining, no skipping. She is here to get you known by sponsors and teams, so cooperate, understood?"
Murmurs rippled through the team, a few nodded, and there were even a few agreeing grunts. You shifted your weight and searched for Soobinâs face, hoping for him to save you, but his face made it clear that he still did not like the idea of you being here. You blinked before forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Yeah. Hi, everyone. Um, nice to meet you all?"
They greeted you back by waving and nodding, while you turned back to your dad, waiting for him to say something else, but he just stood there in silence.Â
You nodded, and your gaze flicked automatically to Heeseung, though. He was leaning against his stall near where you were still standing, arms crossed over his jersey, now giving you a small smile.Â
A few seconds later, your father seemed to realise that you had nothing else to say and cleared his throat. "Alright, show's over. Until tomorrow, everyone."
Ryujinâs sofa was uncomfortable.
It usually wasnât.
Youâve spent many hours here, watching movies or talking until deep into the night, but today the old, worn fabric rubbed at your skin wrong, the pillows were too hard and too soft all at once. You tried to adjust your position, but the only thing that happened was the pack of frozen peas that were resting on your ankle slowly sliding down your leg, causing you to shiver.Â
The apartment was filled with the smell of bacon sizzling on the stovetop, where your friend was cooking dinner for the two of you. The food in the cafeteria didnât seem too appetising, so the two of you decided to cook at her place.Â
With a grunt, you sat up, reaching for the improvised ice pack. âI donât understand how anyone can enjoy being massaged. All I get from a âmassageââ, you made quotation marks in the air, âare bruises. My legs and my left ass cheek are going to be black and blue tomorrow."
"Nobody is seeing your legs or your ass, girl. Aside from your physiotherapist, who might add some new bruises," Ryujin shot back, stirring the pan with a wooden spoon. The warm, buttery smell mingled with the salty scent of bacon, making your stomach growl in anticipation.
âUnless you want to show someone else your ass?â she wiggled her eyebrows playfully.
"Not really. Who would want to see my blue and black scarred arse unprompted? Do you want to see? I'll undress just for you," you grinned at her, letting the frozen peas drop unceremoniously to the floor before reaching for your crutches.Â
Ryujin rolled her eyes, laughing as she scooped the cooked pasta into the pan. "I love you, and I have seen plenty of your naked ass already, but I don't need you to erotically strip for me, Y/N. You're not really my type, I'm sorry."
You sat down on one of the chairs around her kitchen table, the plastic groaning, when you adjusted yourself. "You wound me, Ryujin!" You clutched your chest in mock offence.Â
"Ha ha! I'm sure we can find someone who would like to see your ass. There are plenty of guys on campus that are horny 24/7," she shot back, glancing over her shoulder as she added a sprinkle of cheese to the mix.
âYeah, number one problem: my brother is also at that campus and knows everyone and would scold me for doing that. He and his big brother complex,â you sighed and rolled your eyes, before resting your chin in your hands. âI feel like itâs gotten worse since Iâve started working with the team.â
âReally?â She stepped over and handed you one of the forks she and Lia were borrowing from the cafeteria. âWhy do you feel like that?â
âIââ, you groaned and shrugged. âI canât even pinpoint single events, but he hates it. I think he really hates that I am there. Not in a he-wants-hockey-to-be-his kind of way, more like he is afraid it wouldâŠI donât know, trigger me?â
Ryujin plated the carbonara, sliding one over to you before settling on the chair opposite yours with her own bowl. Steam curled up between you as she twirled pasta onto her fork. âDoes it?â
You poked at the noodles, thinking of what to say.
You werenât good with feelings or talking about your feelings. . Â
After a long moment of silence, you hummed and nodded slowly before answering. âBoth?â
You leaned down and took a bite of your noodles while Ryujin waited for you to continue, chewing slowly.
âI think he is afraid that Iâll go back and hide in my shell when I realise that all of the dreams I once had are dangling in front of my feet, but are so unattainable?â You swallowed, the sauce leaving a creamy film in your mouth. "Don't get me wrong, that can happen. Iâve done my best to try to not interact with the women's team, but Soobin should just let me do my thing, let me live my life. Maybe my dad is right, and I just need to finally come to terms with what my life is now and have to, you know, still have fun? They both do their best in trying to tell me what I am supposed to do, which is annoying, but at least they care, I guess.âÂ
You took another bite, the noodles flicking a bit of sauce on your face.
Ryujin hummed. "Have you told him that?"
You nodded once, slow, the tangle easing a hair. âI did. Iâm just not sure if he understood.âÂ
The air in your office was stuffy and warm, the open window doing little to let in some fresh air. The sun was still relentlessly blazing down, even two weeks into September, and you were suffering from the heat.Â
To help with the airflow, you had opened the door to your office, had pulled a chair into the doorway with more effort than necessary, your wheelchair getting in the way.
Your mom had taken you shopping for the office a few days ago, after she had visited your office for the first time, so now there were a few plants and a floor lamp standing around.
It wasnât much, but it was something at least.Â
You were sitting with your healthy leg pulled to your chest, and the injured one stretched onto the desk, mindlessly scrolling through TikTok, for the better part of an hour now. You actually had a few videos to cut, but the heat made you feel lazy and lethargic.Â
You could hear the shrill sound of your dad blowing his whistle, and your eyes searched the small clock that was hanging on the office door.Â
4.15.Â
You hummed to yourself and turned your attention back to the reel looping for the third time now.
A few minutes later, you could hear the door to the hallway open, the sound of laughter echoing along the walls. Yeonjun's head appeared in your doorframe, grinning at you. His hair was flat and damp from sweat, and his face was still red from the on-ice session. âHello, my dearest Y/N!â
Behind him, Soobin and Beomgyu strolled in, just as sweaty, looking completely worn out. Beomgyu flopped dramatically into your office chair.
âYeah, sure, come in and just take over my whole workspace while youâre all stinky and sweatyâ, you teased, though you didnât mind the company.
Beomgyu groaned, stretching his legs out. âThis break isnât long enough. Your father is killing us. I swear Iâm going to die.â
Soobin rolled his eyes, perched on the edge of your desk, while Yeonjun leaned against the wall. âYouâll survive. Weâve had worse drills.â
Yeonjun smirked. âSpeak for yourself. Iâm not built for this much cardio.â
You laughed. âMaybe youâre just really out of shape because you spend the biggest part of your summer break eating anything you find?â
He wiggled his eyebrows. âI was just bulking up, Y/N. Just you wait and see!âÂ
âMan, thatâs such a lame excuse,â Beomguy groaned and laughed at Yeonjun. âJust admit, you let yourself be fed fat by your charming girlfriend who is madly talented in the kitchen.â
âCanât confirm or deny!â Yeonjun shrugged, and Beomguy rolled his eyes at that, smiling.Â
You turned to your brother. âCan I help you with something?â
He nodded and scratched the back of his head. âI was wondering if it was okay for you to go home with Heeseung? I have a study group later, and Dad has a meeting after training. He offered to take you home?â
You blinked at him, your brain needing a second to catch up.
âHeeseung?â you repeated slowly. âDriving me home?â
Soobin nodded, as if this were the most normal thing in the world. âYeah. Heâs going that way anyway and said itâs no problem.â
That was⊠new. Your brother was many things, but usually, if it involved you and getting you from A to B, he shoved the responsibility onto Beomgyu or Yeonjun without thinking. They were the default options, the built-in safety net. The idea of Heeseung offering, and Soobin being cool about it, caught you off guard.
âWow,â you said, half-teasing, half-genuinely stunned. âYouâre cool with that?â
Soobin studied you for a moment, eyes scanning your face. âYeah,â he said finally. âHeeseungâs not an idiot. Heâll get you home in one piece. And I really canât miss that study session.â
There was something in his tone that made your chest squeeze; it was as if he was reluctant, but trusting. You swallowed and nodded once. âAlright. Sure. Iâll go with him.â
âCool,â Soobin said, as that settled it. âWe gotta get back. Dad wants us in the gym inââ he glanced at the clock on your door, ââfive minutes.â
âYay,â Yeonjun groaned, peeling himself off the wall.
Beomgyu pushed up from your chair with a dramatic sigh. âIf I die, Y/N, post a really hot memorial slideshow for me, okay?â
âIâll only use pictures where you blink,â you replied sweetly.
âMonster,â he muttered, but there was a grin tugging at his mouth.
Soobin leaned in as the other two started bickering their way toward the door. He bent down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head, the gesture so familiar and careless it almost made your throat close up.
âText me when youâre home, okay?â he said quietly.
You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. âYes, Mom.â
He snorted and straightened. âBrat.â
You watched him walk out with the others, sweaty and tired and already complaining about gym sets, and for a second, the irritation and tension of the last days dulled.
You still loved him.
Of course you did.
Even when he was hovering and moody and weird about the internship.
He was still your brother.
Heeseung was tying the shoelaces of his sneakers; the rink was silent, almost eerily so. He sighed, reached for his bag and ruffled his hair. It was still damp from his shower and fell into his eyes, sticking to his forehead. He pushed them back with the heel of his hand and stepped out into the hallway.
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as he walked past the locker room, past the gym, the familiar path toward your office tugging at his feet more than any conscious decision.Â
Your door was propped open, and the air coming from inside was warm and heavy. He paused in the doorway and leaned his shoulder against the frame.
You were in your wheelchair, curled into a strange, half-comfortable position. Your injured leg was stretched out onto the desk, while your healthy leg was bent, heel hooked against the wheel. Your laptop sat in your lap, fingers flying over the keyboard as you typed something with determined focus, bottom lip trapped between your teeth.
Heeseung took in the scene for a second, the corner of his mouth tugging up. âYou know that looks mildly unsafe, right?â
You startled, fingers pausing mid-word as your head snapped up. For a heartbeat, you just stared at him, then you let out a breathy huff. âJesus, Hee. Do you make it a habit to sneak up on people?â
He pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside, smile widening. âThe door was open. I think thatâs technically an invitation.â
âYeah, well,â you muttered, shifting your leg a bit on the desk with a wince, âmaybe the invitation didnât extend to commentary on my sitting positions.â
He glanced pointedly at the way you were half-twisted in the chair. âAre you at least comfortable like that?â
You rolled your eyes and let your head fall back against the chair for a moment. âAs comfortable as a person can be when only one side works properly, I guess. Donât discriminate against my wheelchair pose, Lee Heeseung.â
That made him laugh, the sound soft and genuine. âRight. Iâll work on that. Iâm sure the media team would gladly give us another of those PR sessions. Are you ready to go?â
You snorted, then closed your laptop halfway, the screen dimming. âYeah, I am sorry that Soobin makes you drive me home.â
He shook his head and gave you a small smile. âItâs fine. I offered to drive you.â
You hummed at that, a small smile tugging at your lips. âThank you. Can you give me my bag?â
âSure!â Heeseung pushed himself away from the doorway, crossing the small room, until he was next to your desk, leaning down to grab your bag. It was surprisingly heavy when he lifted it up and handed it to you.
His eyes drifted across your working space. It looked a lot better than a few weeks ago; plants and decorations gave the still cluttered room at least a bit of character.Â
He picked up one of the tiny figurines you had placed on your desk and turned it over in his hand with a grin. âWhatâs with these little guys? A personal touch?â
You gave him a mock glare, clearly more amused than offended. âTheyâre called Sonny angels, and yes, this office was depressing. I needed to liven it up.â
Heeseung laughed softly, putting the figurine back down carefully. âWhy would you bring naked angles?â
You rolled your eyes again. âDonât make fun of my babies. They are cute, and that one was a gift, so leave it be.â
Heeseung laughed, setting the figure down gently. âOkay, okayâ, he sat down on the edge of your desk, âHave you had a productive day? Youâve been here for like six hours nowâ
You sighed, rubbing your forehead. âI was trying to finish up all of the videos I want to post next week, but itâs taking longer than I thought.â
Heeseung glanced over at the cluttered desk, noting the piles of papers and sticky notes you were using. âAnd you couldnât wait until tomorrow?â
âNope. I like torturing myself,â you said dryly, then raised an eyebrow as he continued to toy with one of the angels. âAre you done judging my office decor now?â
Heeseung twirled the figurine in his fingers, then squinted at it. âI mean, Iâve got questions. First off, whatâs up with this one?â He held up a small yellow angel wearing a dinosaur costume. âDid you really choose this? Not gonna lie its kinda ugly. And why is the other one naked?â
You groaned, rolling your eyes. âNo! I wanted the pink dinosaur one, but kept getting the yellow one instead. Three times! So, this is what Iâm stuck with. And honestly, I am not sure, but they are cute.â
Heeseung laughed, genuinely amused by the annoyance in your voice. âAre they figurines from lucky boxes?âÂ
âYeah, but I donât seem to have luck with them,â you replied with a deadpan expression. âI have one in my room, one in my car, and now this sad thing is stuck here, reminding me of my failure every day.â
Heeseung chuckled. âWell, pink dinosaur or not, it does help make this place less depressing.â You just laughed at that.
He watched you for a moment, noticing how your shoulders were slightly hunched. His gaze dropped to the wheelchair you were sitting in.
âYou know,â he said, looking around the room. âThis office still feels so crammed and uninviting. You need a couch or something.â
You raised an eyebrow. âA couch?â
He grinned, nodding. âActually, Yeonjun and I were thinking about it even before you had the office. We need to get Coach to clear out the junk on the other side of the room so we can move in a couch. Youâd have a nice place to chill while pretending to work.â
You laughed, shaking your head. âAnd by âchill,â you mean take naps, right?â
âExactly.âÂ
You glanced at your leg, then back at him. âCan you grab my bag? And maybe, if youâre feeling extra heroic, help me get this thing off the desk without me dislocating something? My foot isâŠasleep.â
Heeseung moved without complaint. He set your bag on the back of your chair, then stepped to the side of the desk, hands hovering near your ankle. âTell me what you need.â
âJust⊠support under the heel? It feels weird when itâs lower than my hip for too long.â Your voice softened a bit, more matter-of-fact than apologetic.
He slid one hand carefully under your heel and the other under your calf, lifting slowly until the tension in your face eased. âLike this?â
âYeah,â you breathed, shoulders dropping. âLike that. Thanks.â
He guided your leg down until it rested back on the footrest, making sure you were steady before letting go. âThere. No dislocations on my watch.â
You gave him a small, crooked smirk. âGuess Iâll keep you on the payroll, then.â
He stepped behind your chair and wrapped his fingers lightly around the handles. âReady to go home?â
You glanced once around the office, then you nodded. âYeah. Letâs get out of the sauna before I melt onto the floor.â
He chuckled and eased the chair out of the doorway, careful of the threshold.Â
Heeseung's bedroom was dark except for the blue glow of his phone screen, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner.
He had dropped you off almost an hour ago.
The drive had been quiet, comfortable in the way that didn't need filling, your wheelchair folded neatly in his trunk. He had pushed you inside without asking, just because the path from the car to the entrance of the apartment complex you were living in had those stupid uneven steps.
His thumb hovered over the screen, mind circling back to the way you had stretched your leg across the desk in your office. The faint wince when you shifted. The fact that you were using your wheelchair most days.Â
It must be horrible.Â
He didnât dare to ask either you or Soobin about what happened.Â
He knew that you were involved in a car accident and needed multiple surgeries afterwards, but your dad sat in the same car, right? Why was his coach so⊠healthy compared to you?
He sat up a bit, bunching his pillows under his elbows in the process and typed your full name into Naver. The first entry on the results page was to a junior hockey league profile. He clicked onto the link, and a profile pic loaded first: you at maybe 16 or 17, wearing the same colours as he was at that time.
You played for the Hyundai Juniors.
He scrolled past your picture, and his breath caught. Your stats from before the accident were still listed on the page, your last five games ever played.
Apparently, you were a top scorer in your division and had an impressive number of assists. A few clips were added to the gallery at the bottom of the page, and he couldnât stop himself from clicking on them.
You moved like lightning in them, sharp edges, explosive starts, a cocky grin flashing after breakaways.
Damn.
Impressed didn't cover it.Â
You were good.
Really good.
He returned to the Google results page and clicked on the next link, âJunior League Star Y/N Lights Up RegionalsâScouts Take Noticeâ.Â
He read the article and the next one and the next one. You truly were a star player in the female league. You could've had a career, scholarships, maybe Europe, hell, even NCAA if you had pushed academics. InsteadâŠ
He swallowed before continuing this thought.
Instead, you were now sitting in a wheelchair, unable to walk without crutches. Heeseung's jaw tightened, thumb pausing on a crash article thumbnail, the rain-slick road, mangled car, your name in the survivor column.
He tossed the phone screen-down onto the nightstand, harder than intended.Â
It was awful, all of this was awful. He understood why you didnât want to do the internship, why you were so hesitant.
And he had more or less talked you into it.
To being stuck editing other people's glory while yours rusted away. Heeseung felt nauseous.
Your class had dragged on endlessly today. The two hours of marketing lecture blurred into white noise, your hip throbbing sharper with every shitty shift in the lecture hall seat.Â
You had planned to meet up with some of the ice hockey players and figure skaters to film challenges with them later, and the thought of working on your essay for said lecture in the library, sitting in one of the uncomfortable seats, was worse than anything else you could imagine right now. By the time you crutched across campus to the rink, the universe felt like it had a personal grudge.Â
You pushed through the players' entrance and beelined for the sofa tucked in the corner of your newly cleaned-out office. The players had spent one gym session cleaning out the room from all the clutter, in exchange for not having to work out on that day. Now you were the proud owner of a new sofa, a clean shelf, where your decoration and a few hockey books were now lying, and a floor lamp. Your bag hit the floor with a thud, crutches clattering beside it as you collapsed onto the cushions with a loud groan. Pain pulsed like fire up your leg, every nerve screaming, even when you hoisted it up on the armrest.
"Fuck this," you hissed to the empty room and sat up again. You fished for your bag and searched for your painkiller; you had taken one barely an hour ago, but you didnât care. The blister pack rattled slightly when you finally found it and popped one of the pills out. You swallowed it without water and leaned back down into the sofa.
You still had around an hour or so until the others would come in, so maybe you could try napping a bit and letting the painkillers do their thing. Your body sank into cushions, and you tried falling asleep. But even trying to blacken out the light in the room by crossing your arms over your eyes doesnât seem to help you fall asleep.Â
Frustration burned hot up your throat, and you snatched your phone instead, opening TikTok; maybe mindlessly scrolling would help a bit.
A few minutes in, you realised that you were logged into the rink's account, figure skaters and ice hockey players popping up nonstop. You took a deep breath, but continued scrolling. Your thumb hovered over the screen, the TikTok looping again and again, but you couldnât get yourself to swipe it away. Jeon Somi was holding up the Lee cup, surrounded by her teammates, her faceÂ
split wide in a grin mid-celebration. She was wearing a pro club jersey gleaming under the arena lights, the women's league logo stamped bold at the front. It was an edit; someone had edited her shooting goals, giving assists, and celebrating.
Your heart dropped.
You used to play together, to match, to dream of the same dream.Â
Tears stung your eyes, and the screen blurred, before you tossed your phone to the floor, not caring if the screen cracked or not.Â
You pressed heels of your hands into your eyes, grinding hard till white sparks bloomed behind your lids. You knew there was no use in being sad about it, of being jealous. But you were so, so jealous. She was living her dream, the life you had dreamed of, the life you could have had, but was so unattainable now. Life was unfair, it had always been, will always be to everyone. You knew it was, and you knew you had to get used to how it was now. You were used to it, but you hated it. So so much.
A sob broke through your lips, and you pressed your hands across your mouth, trying to stop yourself from making any sounds.
A familiar male voice, low, careful, said your name like he didn't want to startle you. "Y/N?"
You cracked one eye open. It felt heavy and swollen. You sighed and closed them again.Â
There was a chuckle before your name was said again. You grumbled something garbled and tried to roll away, shoving your face deeper into the cushions. The fabric was rough under your face, and you cursed your father for picking out a cord sofa. The movement sent a sharp pain down your hip, your leg had tangled upwards, the cast hooked heavily over the armrest like a dead weight. You cursed and opened your eyes again, only to notice that you didnât imagine Heeseung's voice. He was kneeling right in front of the sofa on the scuffed lounge floor, elbows braced on his knees. He gave you a small smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
Heat flooded your face, and you yanked your arms up quickly, crossing them over your face like a shield, your elbows digging into the sofa.
"Go 'way," you muttered, muffled thick against your sleeves.
God, why him?
Why now?
You must look like a mess. Your eyes were swollen, your hair probably a mess.
"Do you want to go home?" he asked. His voice was steady and even, like asking about the weather. Even if he noticed the state you were in, there was no pity in his voice.
The "M'fine," you answered with, came out moody even to your own ears, the lie sour on your tongue. Your head felt foggy from the painkillers that weren't kicking in yet, and every sound in the small room, the humming from the AC, the sounds from the rink, the ticking coming from the old clock, everything was too loud.Â
"Mhm. Sure, you are." Amusement threaded through his words, light and teasing.Â
You risked peeking one eye out from under your arm, squinting at him. Damp strands fell over his forehead, and your phone dangled loose in one hand. "Don't you have training or something?"
He shook his head. "Not for another two hours. You'd be stuck here at least five, waiting for your dad or Soobin to drive you home."
A groan ripped out of you, pure, raw annoyance bubbling inside of you.Â
"I can drive you home if you want," he offered, straight and simple, like it was nothing. He straightened up a little but didn't rise fully, keeping himself at eye level. "Itâs no big deal."
Pride warred hard in your chest, you wanted to say no, you didn't need pity, not your brothers, not your friends and especially not Heeseungs. You hated that he saw you this way, how broken you were. You sat up and had to close your eyes when you were seated upright, to make your head stop spinning.
Maybe you should go home.
No, you should definitely go home. Â
"Yeah. Okay," you swallowed, your voice small. There was a beat of silence. "Iâm justâŠnot having a good day. My painkillers arenât working. I might be a bit slow."
"Thatâs no problem," he said immediately, without hesitation. He pushed to his feet smoothly then, but instead of heading for the door, he just... dropped cross-legged onto the floor right there. âYou should wake up properly before we go outside. Iâll text the others that we arenât going to film today.â
You bit your lips and closed your eyes, suppressing a groan.
You had forgotten about that.Â
Heeseung leant back against the sofa arm, close enough you could smell the citrusy perfume he liked to use.Â
âIâm gonna tell them I am feeling unwell,â Heeseung added, while he already started typing something into his phone.
You nodded and leaned back into the cushions, resting your cheek against your knee, staring at Heeseung's hair. It was still styled, the stands lying in a way that made it seem as if he hadnât put much thought into it, but the way it barely moved with the movements of his hair made it clear that he had spent some time on it today. You rarely got to see him like that, in his street clothes, with his hair looking like this, you got the sweaty, tired Heeseung.
Not that you were complaining, you still didnât understand why you got any Heeseung at all, why he would care, come to your office, check on you as often as he did.
Why did he offer to drive you home, even though he would have to come back to the rink?
He had been quiet for a while, back resting against the arm of the sofa, thumb scrolling half-heartedly over his phone.Â
When you shifted and swallowed down another groan, he spoke again. âIâm not leaving you here if youâre not feeling well, Y/N. Donât even think about asking me to go somewhere else.â
You stared up at the ceiling for a beat, jaw tightening. Of course, he would say that. Of course, he had been⊠kind. It scratched at something raw in your chest, that familiar mix of gratitude and rage, like your body couldnât decide which way to flinch.
âI donât want your pity,â you snapped before you could stop yourself, the words out sharp and ugly. They hung between you, heavy. You winced at your own tone, but it was too late.
Heeseungâs brows pulled together. He didnât look offended, just surprised at your sudden outburst. âItâs not pity,â he said quietly. âIf I pitied you, Iâd have walked away a long time ago. I like being around you.â
You swallowed, throat tight. Heat crawled up your neck. You turned your head toward him, meeting his eyes. They were soft, steady, no pity in sight. They just had that same quiet determination youâd seen at practice, the one he got before stepping into a faceoff.
âI justâŠâ Your voice thinned. âPeople feel bad, and then they hover, and I donât⊠need that.â
He held your gaze, shoulders loosening a little. âOkay,â he said. âThen donât call it pity.â
âWhat am I supposed to call it, then?â you muttered, more tired than angry now.
He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged one shoulder, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. âIâm your friend,â he said simply. âAnd your friendâs not going to leave you here when youâre in pain and canât even roll over without cursing out the universe.â
Your chest squeezed at that, tears stinging your eyes again, and you averted your gaze, hoping for your eyes to stop watering. âYouâre really bad at minding your own business, you know that?â you whispered.
He huffed out a quiet laugh. âYeah. Comes with the captain thing, I guess.â
Heeseung's fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the steering wheel, the windshield wipers sweeping steady, rhythmic arcs across the glass. Rain hammered relentlessly against the car roof, turning the world outside into a smeared watercolour of streetlights and glistening asphalt. You were slumped deep in the passenger seat, your crutches jammed awkwardly between your knees. Neither of you had said much since you had sat down, music filling the space. He had no intention of starting up another conversation, waiting for you to talk, if you wanted to.Â
You crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze fixed on the downpour sheeting down the window. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable; he had grown familiar with it over these past weeks, but he could feel the tension radiating off you, shoulders stiff, fingers picking absently at the seam of your jeans.
He wanted to ask.
To ask how you were doing.
Why you had been crying.
What had happened today.
His heart broke a bit when he saw you asleep on the sofa. Your eyes were puffy as if you had cried. Your face pulled into a frown even in your sleep.Â
His chest tightened at the thought. He wanted to say something, but he didnât know what he was supposed to say, so he stayed silent.Â
You broke the quiet first, voice cutting soft through the rain. "Do you know if it's supposed to thunder tonight?"
Heeseung glanced over quickly, then returned his eyes to the road, his hands flexing on the wheel. "No idea. Probably?"
You fell silent again for a long moment, watching the rain streak the glass. "I hate thunder," you muttered finally, the words almost lost under the drumming downpour.
He nodded, keeping his tone even. "I get that. Rain's not my favourite either."
You huffed a small sound, not quite a laugh. "Rain is okay, actually. Thunder just... reminds me of the accident."
Oh.Â
Heeseung's grip tightened on the wheel, knuckles paling slightly. He didnât know what to say before, but now even less. He wasnât good with words, has never been. He wetted his lips before nodding once. âDid it rain that day?â
He glanced at you, trying his best not to do it too obviously, but even if he had, you were staring out the passenger window.Â
You took a slow, shaky breath.
"It had been raining for days,â you paused and dropped your hands to your lap. âDad was driving me to my last game of the junior league season." A dark chuckle escaped you, "I was the second hockey prodigy in the family, you know? His whole pride and joy. I was the star player, top scorer, scouts circling like vultures. We were just a few streets from the rink when it happened. The other driver hydroplaned. He t-boned into our passenger side. The metal of the car crumpled together as if it were paper, and glass exploded everywhere. Thunder cracked at the exact same second as the crash. Everything blended together for me, screeching tyres, folding steel, that boom shaking my whole world."
You stopped there, staring at your hands. Heeseung kept quiet, he was a bit surprised at the outburst, of you telling him all this, but maybe you just needed to talk about it, and he would gladly be there for you.
"I don't remember much after that," you continued, voice dropping monotone. "I woke up five days later in a coma. My right side was completely shattered. My hip took the worst of it; the dashboard basically shoved straight through it. My ankle was mangled too. My femur snapped clean, nerves shredded everywhere. The Docs said I was lucky to keep my leg. Itâs a miracle that I can use it at all, that I am alive."
Heeseung swallowed hard, the horror sinking slowly and cold into his gut. He kept his eyes on the road. His stomach twisted awfully, pity rising despite himself. He knew you hated it, so he did his best not to show it.Â
Your voice stayed flat through the medical rundown, but he caught the faint shake when you wiped your eyes quickly with your hoodie sleeve. "That's why loud sounds hit me so hard. Sticks cracking. Pucks slamming boards. Whistles piercing. You know loud sounds. It got better with years of therapy, but bad days still send me spiraling and I just hate thunder,â you sniffled. Heeseung risked a glance at you; your face was still turned toward the window, and tears glistened on your lashes. He wanted to reach out for your hand, for your face.
He hated seeing you cry.Â
You laughed dryly and wiped over your face once again.Â
"Your dad," Heeseung surprised himself by speaking up. "Wasnât he in the car as well? Why is he, you knowâŠ"
You shrugged before finally turning to look at him straight. "His injuries were a joke next to mine. He healed within weeks, and then he was back on the bench. He walked everything off like it was nothing."
Heeseung didn't know what to say.
"I'm glad you survived," he managed a few seconds later, his voice rough and low.Â
You took a long breath. "I wished for a long time that I didn't." Then you groaned, pressing palms to your face. "Oh man, sorry for trauma dumping. What the fuck. This never happens to me."
He shook his head fast, pulling to a red light, turning fully. "Itâs fine, Y/N. Trauma dump whenever you need to. Iâm not really good with feelings and stuff, but Iâll do my best."
Rain blurred everything outside. You held his gaze a beat, your eyes teary, and he had to stop himself from reaching over, stopping them from dropping. The streetlight changed to green, and he had to break eye contact before he could act on any of his intrusive thoughts.Â
You exhaled slowly, wiping your sleeve across your eyes one last time, the rain still drumming steadily on the roof. "Anyway," you said, noticeably forcing your voice lighter, turning your head to look at him properly. "Why were you at the rink so early today? You were half an hour ahead, even if we were filming."
Heeseung blinked, caught off-guard for a split second. Truth to be told, he had shown up early on purpose. He had wanted to see you. He had wanted an excuse to see you alone, to talk with you, hang out with you just for a bit. He liked being around you. The drives home had become a highlight these past few weeks. Talking about nothing, not talking at all, sitting there in comfortable silence, he enjoyed your presence.Â
He scrambled quickly. "I wanted to nap on the sofa. Watch a bit of this new series I've been into."
You tilted your head, curiosity flickering through the remnants of tears. "Oh? What are you watching?"
He racked his brain, landing on the first thing that popped up. "Gyeongseong Creature. A new season dropped a few weeks ago. Jeongin has been hyping it nonstop."Â
Your eyes lit up a fraction, a weak smile tugging at your mouth despite the redness around them, and Heseung mentally thanked his friend for being so annoying about the show. "Oh, I love that show! How far in are you?"
Heeseung shrugged. "The second or third episode?"
"Really?" You raised an eyebrow, shifting a little in your seat. "You like it so far?"
"Yeah," he said, nodding as the light ahead turned green. "It's good. Weird as hell, but pulls you in."
"That's great," you replied, the smile holding a bit longer now. Then quieter, almost sheepish, you added. "I can barely watch a full episode, though. I get too scared and have to pause."
He grinned, seizing the opening to tease you a bit. "You get scared? Do you have to hide behind that pillow you told me about?"
You rolled your eyes, but a laugh bubbled out of your mouth. "Shut up. They're terrifying. Those demons ripping people apart? No thanks. Not even my squishmello could save me."
He chuckled, warmth spreading in his chest at the sound.
He loved this part.
Making you smile.
Stealing the heaviness away, even just for a drive. "I'll protect you from the TV demons," he promised, mock-serious.Â
"Very heroic," you shot back, but your voice softened. "If that ever actually happened, though, I'd really need someone to protect me. I wouldn't be able to run."
Heeseung glanced over, still grinning. "Oh. Well, I need to do some more leg days then. So I can carry you around all the time."
You protested immediately, eyebrows shooting up. "Hey! I'm not that heavy!"
"Yes, but the water and supplies we need?" He raised one eyebrow.Â
You paused, then huffed a laugh. "Okay, yeah. True."
The rain eased a little outside, wipers slowing their rhythm. You settled deeper into the seat, the atmosphere warm now. "What would you do in a real zombie apocalypse anyway?"
Heeseung thought for a second, merging onto a quieter street. "I'd grab my youngest brother, Jungwon, and my closest friends, mainly Jake, Jay and Sunghoon. Maybe their girlfriends as well, l if they had any. We would get out of the city fast, head somewhere rural with supplies."
You nodded, a small smile playing. "Mhm. Yeah, that's probably clever. Do you have any actual survival skills?"
"My video games taught me plenty," he said, nodding earnestly. âI just need to acquire unbreakable joints so I can jump around like a maniac and a gun. Or multiple. And a crash course on how to use a gun.Â
You sniffed, but the laugh came again, brighter this time. He loved hearing it, loved pulling that lightness back into your voice.Â
Heeseung glanced over at you, the rain still pattering steadily against the windows, the wipers sweeping their familiar rhythm. The conversation felt easy now, lighter than it had any right to be after what you'd just shared, and he wanted to keep it there. "What about you?" he asked. "What's your zombie apocalypse plan?"
You let out a small, dry laugh, shifting in your seat to face him a little more. "I have no survival skills. I'd probably just end things before I could turn into one of them."
He raised an eyebrow, keeping his tone light but curious. "You think that's a good idea?"
"Yeah," you said, shrugging one shoulder. "Better than turning and eating Soobin or something."
Heeseung laughed, the sound filling the car with warmth. "Man, Soobin wouldn't let anything touch you."
You groaned in fake annoyance, rolling your eyes dramatically, but a smile tugged at your lips. "True. It's kinda his duty as the big brother."
He grinned, turning onto your street now, the headlights cutting through the wet dark. "Protecting siblings from zombies?"
"Yeah," you replied, your voice softening with affection. "You'd do that for Jungwon, too, right?"
Heeseung nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. I'd burn the earth down for him if I had to."
You huffed another laugh, genuine this time. "Yeah, so donât you dare judge him. He might be overprotective, but itâs in his DNA. Just look at our dad."
Heeseung shook his head, still chuckling as he slowed to pull into your parents' driveway. "My god, your dad is a scary man. I donât want to cross him in a zombie apocalypse.
The front door clicked shut behind you with a familiar solid thunk. You took off your shoe by the entryway, stopping there for a second.Â
You were tired, so tired.Â
It wasnât even five pm yet, and yet you felt like it was at least eleven.Â
You sighed and made your way down the hallway, past the door to your room. Each step sent a fresh jolt of pain up your leg. Your mom stood at the sink, rinsing dishes with slow, methodical swipes of the sponge, the radio humming low in the background with some old pop tune half-buried under the running water when you reached the kitchen.
She turned at the heavy thud of your bag hitting the floor, her smile starting automatically and warm, only to freeze solid on her face when she caught sight of you.
You couldnât stop yourself, couldnât stop the tears from coming.
"Y/N? Honey, what's wrong?" Her voice came out soft but sharp with worry, the plate in her hands dripping forgotten into the sink.
The question cracked something deep inside you wide open. You crossed the kitchen tiles in three shaky, uneven strides, your crutches clattering abandoned to the floor as you crashed straight into her.
You buried your face into the soft fabric of the sweater she was wearing as the first sob tore out of you. It was a raw and ugly sound, your whole body heaving against hers with the force of it. Her soapy hands hesitated for just a beat in surprise, wet palms hovering, then wrapped tight around your back, pulling you in closer as she steadied the two of you against the counter.Â
Your tears soaked through the fabric in seconds, your chest hollowing out with ragged gasp for air.
"It's not fair," you choked out, your voice breaking wet and jagged against her collarbone. "Why can't I just be healthy like everyone else? I want to play hockey. I want to skate for real, feel the ice under my blades again,â another sob interrupted you, âI want to go to school without counting every single step, without the pain chasing me down. I want to travel, see games, visit friends, live, instead I'm stuck in this endless fucking loop. Nothing works. It's just surgeries. Over and over, and I'm so done."
The words spilt out frantic and unfiltered, grief twisting sharply into rage and then dissolving back into despair. Your mom started slowly rocking you back and forth, one hand stroking steady passes down your hair like she had when you were little and woke from nightmares.
You wished you could wake up from this one as well. But there was nothing to wake up from; you were awake.Â
Suddenly, the closeness, the touches, felt too much. You pulled back abruptly from her arms, pressing the heels of your hands hard into your eyes instead as you sank down against the cabinets. Fresh tears leaked through your fingers anyway.Â
Your mom didn't let go or back away. She knelt right down there on the cold kitchen tile with you, her knees popping softly in the quiet, arms looping loose but firm around your shoulders from the side.
"Shh, baby. I've got you," she murmured just once, her voice thick and cracked at the edges with her own helpless ache, but after that she stayed mostly silent. She always said you had to let the storm rage itself out without interruption when you were a child.
She was always there, a coming presence, but she knew that sometimes crying was the only option, before going on.Â
Eventually, it did.
The storm in your head ebbed, your sobs fading into hiccuping breaths that left you hollowed and spent. You sagged heavily against her side, your face damp and swollen.Â
Your mom's thumbs came up to brush the last few tears from your cheeks as best she could, her own eyes shining wet. You knew she was suffering, maybe not as much as you, but she always worried. You hated worrying her with this. She should be worried about you partying, about you doing dumb things, and instead, she had to worry that you couldn't stop.
Triggered by one single stupid TikTok.
"Come on, sweetheart. Let's get you washed up and into bed."
She helped you to your feet slowly and carefully, handing back one crutch and then the other with a steadying arm under your elbow as you limped together down the short hall to the bathroom. The sink faucet ran warm over your hands; she squeezed a swirl of toothpaste onto your brush without a word, waiting patiently while you scrubbed your face and teeth in mechanical motions, staring at your puffy, wrecked reflection in the fogging mirror.
"What happened today, sweetheart?" she asked quietly from the doorframe, leaning there with her arms crossed loosely.
You spat into the sink, rinsed your mouth with a slosh of water, and gripped the porcelain edge until your knuckles went white.
"Everything," you rasped out, finally meeting her eyes in the mirror's reflection. "I saw a video of Somi winning the Lee cup. She is playing for Samsung. She deserves toâŠbut,â you sniffle before continuing. âI should be there too, Mom. But instead, my hip has been hurting so much that no painkiller is strong enough to make it stop. Heeseung had to drive me home because I just napped it off in the office like a total wreck."
Your mom nodded slowly, her expression soft but steady. She grabbed a clean towel from the rack, stepping close to pat your face dry with gentle dabs. "I know, baby. God, I know." Her arm slipped around your waist then, pulling you into a hug, as if she had to soothe herself. âI wish you were there, too. So much, Y/N.â
You sniffled and rested your head on her shoulder again, before pulling back. âI think Iâm gonna sleep now.â
She nodded and followed you into your bedroom.
It was dark outside when you woke up a few hours later, your face still tender and swollen from crying.Â
You fumbled for your phone with one hand, wanting to know what time it was when it vibrated. The buzzer sounded against the wood of your nightstand. You fumbled for it with one hand, the screen's glare harsh against your tired eyes, when you found it.Â
Lee Heeseung (Male Hockey Team):
Hey
Training just wrapped!
Are you feeling any better now that you're home?
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a long moment.Â
Part of you wanted to lie, tell him that you were feeling better, but the words wouldn't form. You didnât want to lie to him.Â
Y/N
No
But it's alright
I will be
Thank you for driving me home. It helped a bit.
I hope the others didnât give you any grief for not filming today.
You hit send before you could overthink it, then let the phone rest loose in your palm. Dots danced on the screen almost immediately, pulling your gaze back.
Lee Heeseung (Male Hockey Team):
Don't worry about it, no one is mad
Get some rest
You stared up at the ceiling tiles, their bland white blanks blurring slightly in the low light.
âI like being around you.â
Heeseung's face flashed in front of your inner eye again, the way his hair was styled today, his easy smile when you'd first woken up grumpy. The way he was there, getting you to open up, by just being himself. You didnât understand why, but you knew one thing, and that was for sure:
You liked being around him as well.
Thank you so much for reading!
Lots of Love,
Patty
CONTINUE READING PART TWO
‷ ăOTHER INSTALLMENTS OF THE SERIES ËËË
END OF THE LINE ⊠ë°ì±í PARK SUNGHOON [ PART 02 ]
if you're gonna break me in two â masterpost â do what you gotta do
GENRE + PAIRING âź college au. ice hockey player!fratboy!sunghoon x fem!reader âź PART 02 WC 31.4k
SYNOPSIS âź youâve been crushing on lee heeseung for most of your college life â long enough that you were beginning to crack. one blessed night, when a girl at a party slips you his number, it feels like fate finally taking pity on you. what follows is a slow, intoxicating unraveling â late-night calls, perfect pick-ups, subtle flirts youâd expect from a charming guy like him. so why is it that when you finally wave at him on campus, he looks genuinely confused?
CONTENT WARNINGS âź explicit themes INCLUDES SMUT so +18 ONLY. themes of mental illness sex as a coping mechanism self esteem issues angst with happy ending miscommunication skinship physical intimacy inferiority complex featuring enhypen + yeonjun of txt slowburn pining NSFW TAGS âź dom!sunghoon, condescending remarks, piv, dumbification, creampie, unprotected sex (don't), degradation, spanking, praise, dry humping, fingering, edging, sunghoon puts reader into a mating press halfway, breeding kink, sunghoon says i love you while in it, reader is so down Bad save her.
AUTHOR'S NOTE âź heeelloo i'm back again less than a week later TT up until this point i've had a huge draft to work from, but i wrote this part mostlyyy recently (like in the past 2-3weeks). i can't wait to see what everyone thinks of the fic as a whole and i'll be lurking in ur blogs... watching... also stream dwygd by the band camino the song sparked me back into finishing this fic and it's where the titles r taken from :7 ENJOY !!!! #hoonynforever
REBLOGS APPRECIATED â THANK YOU FOR READING
you know this version of yourself very well. itâs the one that immediately starts accounting for error before drawing conclusions, and the one that treats uncertainty as concrete evidence youâve got everything wrong. by the time you reach your car, you couldnât even pull your stupid phone out of your stupidly tight jeans, because the pocket seemed vacuum sealed to your thighs once you sat down.
the drive home is full of revision. memories, mostly, on the phone: did you dream all of lee heeseung up? who the hell started those conversations? who called you last night?
was this all one-sided?
every turn at every corner feels excruciating. the green lights are too slow and every second that passes makes you want to reach for your phone, call him immediately, and ask just what the fuck that was. your palms stick against the steering wheel and the thought of hearing his response makes your stomach twist unpleasantly.
it just canât be possible. there is just no way that youâre this unlucky.
the rest of the journey is blank. you didnât even turn on the radio, nor did you bother to plug in the carplay. itâs almost pathetic how fast you slide out of the leather seat, how hard you slam the door to the driverâs, and how desperately you punch in the code to your apartment. you mess it up once, which earns a small cuss under your breath, but none of it overshadows the confusion.
you canât possibly text him like this. ringing him would only lead to something even worse. you might say something you donât mean, or fuck things up in that signature way of yours.
so, you settle for the same routine as always: shower, lunch, nap, and try not to lose your mind throughout the day. at some point, you think it cannot possibly be this seriousâyouâve never met the man like this, never spoken to him in person, and not once have you heard his voice utter your name in real life. it is absolutely ridiculous that your knees almost buckle in the shower, at the mere thought that this truly might have meant nothing. just nothing.
there is an attempt to move through the day without acknowledging the hundred pound weight on your shoulders. perhaps itâs because youâve spent weeks with your brain at full power that itâs starting to swirl with all kinds of things now.
youâre dragging your feet against the floorboards as you make your way to the kitchen. caffeine might help, maybe. thereâs no logic or sound reasoning behind the decision, but you reach for your favourite mug and position it under the coffee machine anyway. your bottom lip is swollen from biting down on it, a habit you never really got around to unlearning from middle school, and for a fleeting, pathetic moment, you think that this is your fate.
your knuckles almost go white, grip tightening on the edge of the marble island, like itâll help regulate your feelings any better. an annoying chime plays from the coffee machine a few seconds laterâhot ribbons of steam curling into the airâbut you donât even feel like drinking it at all, really.
half-heartedly, you take the mug and head straight for your bedroom. your hair is still damp against your neck, the apartment smells like your shampoo, and for a moment, you catch a whiff of cigarette smoke from the neighbour above your unit. your things are still in a mess from last nightâfrom when you were still on the phone with him, falling asleep with a sour mood and paper notes crumpled at the foot of your bed, books still flipped open to important pages that you conveniently wiped from your memory an hour ago.
and, your phone. face down, on your night stand, plugged into the wall and far too quiet for your comfort, as if lee heeseung could sense what was wrong with you from miles away.
âhello?â
you end up calling.
youâre sitting on the edge of your bed, shoulders slouched and back hunched over like itâll do anything to ease the emptiness in your stomach. a screen is pressed up to your cheek, and you swear your nails might snap off if you hold your phone any tighter than you are now; the phoneâs been ringing for a while, and now that heâs finally picked up, every thought decides to somersault out of the fucking windowâstraight down and plummeting into the concrete pavement outside.
âhey, y/n.â he says. âiâm⊠fuckâsorry. iâm with some friends right now. are you okay?â
heâs out of breath.
yelling in the background. plastic on plastic, some whistling, someone else calling yeonjunâs name.
you swallow thickly, but it gets caught in your throat halfway. your voice comes out more defeated than you intended. âwhy did you look at me like that?â
silence. you can hear his heavy breathing through the speaker, and all it does is make you pick at the skin around your nails. ears picking up everything, thereâs voices layered over each other, the sound of something sharp cutting against snow, or ice. it stops momentarily when he finally understands the question, soft, but loud enough for your heart to pound.
âwhat?â
âlike you didnât know me,â you almost fucking whimper, and all you can think is: god, how much more humiliating can this get? âwhy?â
your free hand comes up to rub at the bridge of your nose, until little bursts of pressure bloom behind your eyes. all of this is giving you a headache, and thereâs a split second where you think you should just hang up and save yourself the trouble. this is just how it is. your luck. your fingers knead, and knead, and kneadâbut itâs no use. all you can hear is him.
ây/n,â he mumbles. âcan we meet? tonight?â
âyou canât just do that,â you breathe shakily. âtell me why. please.â
time has been moving wrong all day. everything feels delayed and stretched and slow in this awful, unbearable way. five seconds between responses starts feeling like whole afternoons, and minutes feel like centuries. you spent weeks getting used to talking to him whenever something happenedâsending him stupid pictures and complaining about classes and saying things before thinking because there was always tomorrow, and thatâs exactly what you did last night.
but now that tomorrow is here⊠shit, it doesnât even matter anymore.
ây/n,â his voice breaks just a littleânot very sure if itâs the horrible connection on campus, if heâs even still there. you imagine, just for the sake of your sanity, that heâs running his hands through his hair, breathing wrong, panicking. anything like those movies where the guy realises heâs going to lose it all. âi know it doesnât make any senseââ
âwhat do you think, huh? do you think any of it does?â
âi knowâshit, i know.â
your fingers keep kneading at your skin because the headacheâs spreading now, radiating into your temples in slow pulses. you keep pressing harder like pain somewhere else will make this one smaller. it doesnât work.
âi think we should meet in person,â he answers, calm again, like itâs how heâs always been. somehow, it pisses you off even more, when you know he can hear the shake in your voice. âi gotta go. iâm sorry.â
heâs never apologised to you before. not even for missing your calls.
âwhat the fuck are you sorry for, heeseung?â
you hear him breathe in, then out. he sounds exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.
âiâm justâŠâ his voice catches faintly, before smoothing back out. âiâm sorry.â
the line goes dead.
you stay, just for a while, phone still pressed against your ear like the warmth of your skin might coax him back and force an explanation out of him. your shoulders fold further into themselves until your spine starts to ache, but moving would mean admitting the call is over, and youâre not quite ready to do that yet.
your eyes remain fixed on nothing in particularâthe opposite wall, maybe, where the late afternoon light stretches unevenly across the paint and catches the tiny imperfections in the plaster that youâve somehow never noticed despite living here for months.
your stomach really hurts. sour and hollow, underneath your ribcage, compelling you to lower your phone and lock your screen before you can over-analyse the messages from last night.
you draw a deep breath through your nose, falling back against the mattress until your shoulder blades scratch against your duvet.
you are not crying over a man youâve technically never even met.
this is absolutely fucking ridiculous, you mutter under your breath, but you still wipe under your eyes and try to blink all the salt out of your eyes anyway. your phone dies eventually because you forget to plug it back in, and now, all thatâs left is you, the tear-stained sheets and meaningless pieces of paper.
two weeks ago, park sunghoon was on the brink of losing his shit.
it was purely emotional. probably more emotion than anyone on the team has ever seen him display, and lord, was it utterly humiliating. he wonders if anyone on the team still thinks about it, given how the locker room goes dead silent every time he steps inâand itâs literally like he just got named captain all over again.
practice ended badly. not disastrously, because no one broke anything, and maki didnât start a petty argument between the goalkeeper and him. yeonjun barely screamed at the little freshmen, and only one of them cried post-cool downâso by all technical definitions, it had been productive enough.
and still, he was irritated.
it had been building for days now, in that same slow, ugly way tension knots all your muscles before becoming pain. finals always fucked everyone over, but not enough to stop them from showing upâmentally, though, theyâre elsewhere. sunghoon had been there, before he had decided he was tired of making shitty excuses for his terrible performance.
shortcuts irritate him. heâs watching people cut corners before his very eyes because they assume heâs as tired as themâwell, he is, but thatâs besides the point.
he hated it.
metal lockers slammed shut one after another while conversations overlapped in every direction. someone was laughing too loudly, and sunghoon was almost certain the obnoxiously loud carly rae jepsen echoing through the room belonged to makiâs fucked up speakers again. the locker room was humid in that unpleasant post-practice wayâthe air thick with damp towels, deodorant and sweat drying into fabric, hot enough that stepping in after the rink always felt vaguely suffocating.
sunghoon walks further into the space and, while it isnât the most obvious thing in the world, conversations shift around him in tiny ways heâs learnt to recognize over the years. a few voices lower, someone moves their legs in so he can pass. one of the freshmen instinctively straightens up halfway through pulling his shirt over his head.
his duffel hangs off one shoulder. sweat drips slowly from his temples, sliding down the side of his neck before disappearing into the dark collar of his shirt. his whole body feels heavy today, and not even in the satisfying wayâjust fucking heavy. his shoulders ache in that deep, irritating way that suggests recovery isnât catching up anymore, and lately sleep hasnât been doing much except making him conscious again.
itâs fine. everything had been feeling vaguely wrong for a while now, anyway.
yeonjunâs already on his way out when he brushes past him, shoulder bumping his with enough force to be annoying but not enough to start anything. âhave a wonderfully peaceful night,â he mutters with that unbearably cocky, punchable grin.
any other day, sunghoon mightâve shoved him into a locker.
instead, he dropped his bag beside the end of the bench, and listened to the wood creak underneath his weight. the freshmen lingering nearby begin moving almost immediately. one shifts two lockers down, and another grabs his things and suddenly remembers he has somewhere else to be. by the time sunghoon looks up from his phone properly, half of them have disappeared entirely.
he watches one hesitate after accidentally making eye contact. the kid immediately looks away, picks up his shit, and leaves.
sunghoon looks back down. god, his shoulders hurt.
the muscles between his shoulder blades have been tightening more lately. sleepâs been shit. practice feels slower. finals are making everyone stupid. nobody can pass properly anymore, or communicate once theyâre on the ice. everything seems held together by routine and whatever miscroscopic amount of discipline he can force onto everyone else.
whatever. itâs manageable, he thinks. everything always is, if youâre strong and willing and miserable enough. eat properly, sleep properly, train properly, study properly. repeat until wanting anything else becomes inefficient or a distraction, until itâs ordinary and until enough days pass that discomfort isnât discomfort anymore, and simply morphs into the default.
maybe thatâs why the past few weeks have felt stranger than anything elseânothing has gotten easier. his schedule has been become even more hellish than before, his muscles still ache and everyone expects more from him; but thereâs been this stupid, absurd sense of anticipation stitched quietly into the gaps of his day.
heâs excited for something. for someone.
he checks his phone when he has nothing to do. sleeps later, thinks about conversations while stretching or when someone says something that you mentioned in passing. none of it means anything, at least individually, but it feels so a embarrassingly noticeable once he becomes aware of it together.
ââŠiâm serious, though.â
his thumb stills over his lockscreen. sunghoon doesnât look up immediately, because the sentence barely reaches his ears at first. locker room noise tends to sound a lot like static after practice, but then your name slips, and suddenly every other sound becomes painfully irrelevant.
thereâs a burst of laughter from somewhere to his left.
ây/n? yeah, i know. sheâs prettier than i thought.â
sunghoonâs hand had been unlocking his phone without thought, thumb dragging upward automatically before freezing halfway. his forearm rests against his thigh, veins standing out faintly beneath skin flushed warm from practice, and he only notices after a second that his wrist has gone rigid enough to make the tendons ache.
the fabric of his jersey sticks unpleasantly against the centre of his back, where it hasnât dried yet.
âfuck, i still remember that dress.â
âsheâs fine as fuck, seriously,â someone snorts. âwonder if sheâd let me tap. you think?â
âdonât be a fucking asshole,â sunghoon hears, the laughter echoing and bouncing off the walls suggesting that nobody is really bothered by this except him. âyouâre not in her league, man.â
more laughter. sunghoon doesnât think heâs ever been this pissed off before, truly, because now his fist is balled so tight that his knuckles are starting to pale. his ears are beginning to ring, and all his body decides to do is amplify the voices of his teammates who decided youâd be the centre of their attention tonight.
someone tosses their towel onto the bench heâs on. makiâs finally out, he notices, quieter now that heâs packing his things up.
âwho knows if sheâs desperate⊠might have a chance.â
âshut the fuck up!â
sunghoon rolls one shoulder once and immediately regrets it. something pulls underneath his shoulder blade where he took a hit earlier. his body feels strangely swollen after practiceâmuscles tight and full and unpleasantly warm under skin that suddenly feels too small to sit comfortably in. his thighs ache where they press against the edge of the bench, palms still feeling vaguely raw from his gloves.
the conversation goes on, and he tries not to listen. realistically, these men would never get anywhere near you. he wouldnât let them, but thatâs besides the point. willingly giving this his attention would only lead to something he canât take back, and he knows it.
âyou got her number?â
âthink i do. we were in the same freshie group.â
wonderful.
his tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, and his jaw is ticking. he swears if he bites down any harder that a tooth might shatter, but sunghoon does his best to keep his eyes trained on the screen in his hands.
someone says something else, but he doesnât even remember what. he only remembers the feeling of his jaw hurting, the edge of his phone case digging into his palm, and the slow, annoying feeling of anger coursing through his veins.
itâs hot in here. sunghoon feels it allâanger, resentment, the guilt and embarrassment, too, because he really wants it to stop. he really, really needs it to. thereâs something deeply unpleasant in having to listen to a group of people talk about you like this is all you are, that your face and body, no matter how gorgeous it may be, is your most interesting feature.
do these people know you the way he does?
they donât. they never could.
park sunghoonâs throat suddenly feels dry in a way water wonât, canât fix. his shoulders stay tense while his gaze drags over your messages and something inside him twists. itâs obvious that this was never supposed to become anything, and that a relationship built on a lie would crumble before he could begin enjoying it.
itâs just⊠one late-night call becomes another, then another, and another. somewhere between protein shakes and assignments and practice schedules, he moves everything aside for you, and realises he wants you more than anything heâs ever wanted in his life.
âcould you guys just shut the fuck up?â
the words leave his mouth before he gets the chance to think about them. the social repercussions donât even matter anymore, nor were they even factored in to begin with. his voice doesnât come out loud, which somehow makes it worseâit stays low and level and entirely lacking in visible irritation, like heâs asking somebody to pass him a bottle instead of telling half the room to stop talking.
the effect is immediate, anyway.
conversations taper off unevenly until the entire room is quiet. somebody lets out a laugh that cuts itself short halfway through, and somewhere behind him, a locker closes gently.
sunghoon only realises heâs spoken after the silence reaches him, and suddenly, his own breathing sounds louder than before. his shoulders ease by a fraction and his fingers loosen around his phone, just enough for him to feel the imprint left across the centre of his palm from holding it too tightly.
nobody says a thing. sunghoon doesnât even know who was speaking anymore. that detail doesnât seem important nowânot compared to the things that were said, and definitely not compared to what had slipped out of his own mouth immediately after.
park sunghoon sits in the locker room with sweat cooling against his skin, realising something he spent the next two weeks trying very hard to negotiate with.
he wants you.
slowly, surely, quietly, he wants you.
at some point, it felt easier not to think about; topped with all the things he already has to deal with, accepting this fact is not particularly beneficial for him.
fourteen days after thatâtodayâheâs done with practice again, same old, same old; walking into locker rooms that are hyperaware of his existence, everyone treading on egg shells until he gets out of the place and into his car.
he knows people noticed. yeonjun had asked if he was alright on the walk over to the parking lot and tried unusually hard not to sound like he was asking. no grin nor stupid comment attached, itâs plain, awkward concern delivered badly enough that sunghoon knew it was real.
âyou good?â
what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?
that heâd heard your voice three hours ago, spent the entire session replaying the shake in your voice, and wanted to rip his heart out of his chest?
that the only time he was so sure of someone, heâs already fucked it up?
itâs his fault that he couldnât answer and instead settled on walking away. park sunghoon heard you on the phone three hours ago and knew heâd be thinking about it the entire sessionâbut now that heâs actually getting into his car, on the way to see you, his heart is beginning to pound harder.
his shoes scrape quietly against the asphalt of the parking lot as he walks. his duffel drags his shoulder lower on one side, dark blue hoodie sleeves rolled up to his elbowsâsunghoonâs hand reaches into his pocket automatically and wraps around his keys before he even gets to the car.
the text came at 7 in the evening. you spent the previous 3 hours wondering where it went wrong, recalling every word exchanged, every misunderstood conversation that you dismissed in the moment. itâs incredibly easy to move past things in the heat of the things, you realiseâit just seems silly now, almost childish, that you let those things slip past you.
you left the house in a random zip-up, shorts riding up your thighs with every forward step you took. thereâs an annoying little hill you need to climb to get to this park, obscured by dark green trees and stray cats that rub against your legs if you stand still for too long, and youâll usually start panting by the 2 minute mark.
once you finally reach the top, itâs unmistakable. an old playground swing, a plastic slide, and a bench that sat directly behind the big, interactive structure modelled after a sunflower. your feet feel heavy as you move, slippers scratching against the concrete, and you accidentally kick a few pebbles as you walk.
this feels like a waste of your time. heeseung messaged around thirty minutes ago, and heâs still nowhere in sightâeventually, youâre hunched over the park bench table, hands in your hair, trying to get this nausea to alleviate itself.
so what if lee heeseung decided he wanted nothing to do with you? the magnitude at which this is affecting you is starting to seem ridiculous. you keep telling yourself that a boy shouldnât matter this much, that talking means nothing, and that modern love is nothing but a cruel endeavour that youâre constantly gambling on. so what if you lose, you think, but the feeling of your heart spilling out of your ribs is pressing so deep into your heart that itâs killing you.
your fingers are pressing into the bridge of your nose again. the streetlamps feel warm over your head, slipping through your fingers when you run them over your face. you think you must look horrible right now, but so does everyone elseânever mind that the occasional parkgoer jogs past and stares you down: that is what you choose to tell yourself.
some kid walks by with her mom, pointing at the slide, and it almost makes you laugh when she hesitates before saying ânoâ.
just as the thoughts begin to tone down, swirling less and less, you catch a familiar figure in your peripheral: tall, broad, sleeves bunched at the elbows and dark brown hair falling over his eyebrows, looking as tired and miserable as the day you saw him a week ago.
this canât be real.
the yellow light washes over his face and bathes him in a warm, almost greenish light. the moment he steps into focus, youâre already on your way upâstanding next to the bench, hands shaking like you canât quite believe this is actually happening.
ây/nââ
three steps later, youâre already on your way out.
what follows is immediate: park sunghoon, tired, red eyes, lounging a big ass bag on his shoulder, jogging towards you with a stride so big that it almost scares you. you canât bear to look at him like this, like heâs actually hurt over what heâs done, even if you donât specifically know what it is yet.
everythingâs blurry as you move. you canât feel your stomach, and it took you more than a reasonable amount of effort just to turn away and start walking. you can hear him, faintlyâsunghoon calling out your name, as familiar as every night before this one, as sweet and genuine as it had always beenâbut has it really, though?
âis this some fucking joke to you?â
your voice cracks on the very last word, embarrassingly enough. as if the tears running down your cheeks wasnât enough shame to carry around, sunghoon has to hear you like this. vulnerable and hurt and wanting answers.
ây/n, please. just stop walking away from me,â he pleads, out of breath from how far heâs been trailing you. the downhill slope isnât that far away from here, and you can see a few couples taking a night strollâas if the universe insists on rubbing it in your tear-stained face. âlet me explain.â
âwhat is there to explain?â
you werenât stupid. it feels like a cruel insult that sunghoon thinks you even need an explanation; he was heeseung. youâd been calling, texting, falling for someone completely different, and the worst part is that it doesnât even fucking matter in the way he thinks it does.
âi wanted to tell you,â sunghoon blurts out, and the moment it leaves his lips, your feet suddenly stop working. itâs like your heels are anchored to the ground by something invisible, urging you to turn aroundâeverything in his voice screams for you to do just that, to face him, to see how hurt he is by the lie he chose to tell. ây/n, please.â
you canât. you just canât.
itâs incredibly corny. this whole scene just seems like a big fuck-you from the universe, dragged straight out of a drama, because god knows you were never deserving of something so beautiful and easy. love had to strangle itâs way out of your hands, somehow. itâs to a point where thereâs people staring, whispering as they pass you two.
âyou know what? i wouldnât even have fucking cared, anyway.â you sighed, blinking to get your vision to clear up. âyou didnât even have to lie to me.â
sunghoon is stunned at that. his whole body feels cold, locked in place, and his heartâs pounding so hard that he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. by the time you eventually do turn around, his throat is already constricting, dry and tight, looking down at youâhand running through your hair, glassy eyes staring into his. the guilt weighs heavier now, sinking itâs claws into his neck, so deep that he can feel it nick his heart.
âwhat?â
he needs to rip it out.
sunghoon genuinely feels like his guts are going to spill out. your eyelashes are wet with tears and he can tell youâre trying your best not to burst into tears, and he hates himself for being the reason for it; he has to dig his fingers into his palms just so he can stop himself from reaching out for you.
selfishly, for a second, he lets himself memorise your face. he thinks itâll be the last time he sees it. thereâs something about youâeven when your cheeks are red and your eyes are swollen with hurt, that he wants to see it all.
sunghoon wishes he could undo everything. perhaps, if he had just went up to you that friday night, underneath the stairs with his best smile and most polite greeting, heâd been able to hate himself a little less, and possibly not hurt you at all.
this is what he gets, isnât it?
itâs a shame.
âi really liked you.â you sniffle. your eyes are deliberately avoiding his. sunghoonâs never leave your face. âheeseung or not, doesnât even matter now, does it?â
for a second, sunghoon genuinely thinks he misheard you.
the streetlights blur, morphing into bright lines in your vision, and somebody laughs somewhere downhill. a bicycle rolls past, a dog barks behind you, and it is just unbearable how you have to focus on all these sounds just so you can distract yourself from the uneven breaths of your own body.
âi liked you too, y/n.â
sunghoon genuinely forgets how to breathe. his chest expands automatically, but the air never seems to reach his lungs, caught somewhere between his ribs and throat where everything suddenly feels too tight.
all this time, he thought he knew exactly how tonight would go. youâd tell him to fuck off, to stop following you, and he thought he would. it started off like that: the walking part, the not-being-able-to-look-at-him-without-crying. he prepared for it, every night, leading up to this one: imagined you laughing in his face, telling him to leave, to never call again, but this barely fits the mould.
every time he convinced himself that honesty could wait one more day because he needed more time, needed the timing to be better, needed to figure himself out firstâall of it feels rotten, so useless and meaningless now.
you stand there with tears drying on your cheeks, eyes swollen and exhausted, and all he can think about is how much easier this could have been for you if heâd just been honest from the beginning. he shouldâve never answered, nor should he have went with it when you started getting a little bolder. he shouldâve never gone this far to feed his own selfishness.
park sunghoon doesnât deserve to stand here and watch you cry over him.
âyou couldâve told me.â
his fingers curl against his palms until his nails bite crescents into skin. he barely feels the sting. somehow, hearing you say it doesnât feel relieving at allânot in the way he imagined it would, during all those nights where he let himself think about impossible things before forcing himself to sleep. he thought this moment, if it ever existed, would feel warm. he thoughtâmaybeâthereâd be this stupid sense of vindication buried underneath the guilt, a ugly selfish satisfaction that would prove he wasnât completely insane for wanting you.
all he finds is more guilt, painted by a crystal clear picture of what couldâve been.
the image arrives all at once and itâs unbearable in how ordinary it is. walking up to you that first night instead of watching from a distance. introducing himself properly, and a few weeks later, heâs sitting across from you at some stupid coffee place after class. heâd be seeing his contact under his actual name and listening to you complain through his speakers without feeling his stomach drop every time you said âheeseung.â such painfully normal things that people do every day without thinking, and somehow they feel impossibly far away now, like heâd reached out and ruined them before they even had the chance to become memories.
his hand comes up to his face and presses hard against his mouth. youâre sniffling so much that your nose is beginning to redden. he notices the cuts on your lips, probably from biting down on them, and all he can see is you in the library, far away and out of reach.
âi should have told you,â he acknowledges. it doesnât do anything to alleviate the pounding headache you have. âi thought that if you didnât knowâfuck, i donât know. i thought you wouldâve liked me better like that⊠if you didnât know.â
âhow the fuck does that make any fucking sense?â
for the first time today, youâre looking at him. his eyes are red around the edges, the skin underneath them looking darker than normal and his lashes look damp under the streetlights. thereâs something almost unbearable about it, the way he looks more exhausted than guilty, like heâs been carrying this around for weeks and would be the one bearing most of the pain.
still, despite it all, you want to wipe the tears away.
âi wasnât lying,â his lip trembles slightly, âwhen i said that everyoneâs scared of me. that nightâfuck, i saw you, y/n. i knew you wouldnât look at meââ
âwhat the fuck? really, what the fuck?â you cut him off, voice tapering off into that high, disbelieving tone. âhowâjust how? how did you think this would turn out, sunghoon? did you think weâd live happily ever after when iâwhen we spent months talking like that?â
youâre breathing wrong. everything feels so wrong. all of this feels so impossibly fucking wrong. you need to go home.
he flinches at your response. your eyes burn with all the movement in your peripheral, and your chest tightens with every passing second. you laugh, and it sounds horribleâsmall, breathless, like the sight in front of you is simply too baffling to process properly.
sunghoonâs mouth opens, but nothing comes out. you stare at him, expecting something, anything, but the words refuse to make it past his throat.
âwhat the fuck is wrong with you, sunghoon?â
there is something painfully tragic about walking away from a good thing. honestly, if you tried hard enough, you could probably forgive him. you could pretend he never lied to you, and that everything he said after that first lie wasnât a lie, either. you could pretend he was honest and truthful and all those good things, but the thing about pushing it down is that it always bubble back up eventually.
both things can be true: that itâll always come back, and youâll always believe that sunghoon couldâve been it.
ây/nââ
âdonât. just donât fuckingâdonât. donât call me, donât do anything. i canât, i just canât right now.â
you never really knew heeseung at all, now that you think about it. you remember being a freshman and watching him shoot hoops by the cafeteria one sunny tuesday morningâjiwon mentioned how cute he looked, and perhaps as some act of politeness between two newly introduced friends, said that the two of you would look good together. even now, you think that if heeseung had ended up being exactly like sunghoon, you still wouldâve fallen.
but that would mean you never fell for heeseung at all, doesnât it?
with sunghoon here, standing in front of you, all you see is the hardworking, ambitious, weirdly terrified boy you got to know. you see him in front of his computer thinking too hard, and you see him looking surprised that you smiled at him. it feels strangely dissonant that this will be the last time you get to stand this close to him, or that itâll be the final time you hear his voice.
âyouâre such a coward.â
you donât know what he says after that, because you turn and walk away so quick that anything he mumbles next falls a step too short behind you. the words feel so bitter on your tongue, and you still taste it even as you walk past that one broken street lamp around fifteen feet away, lingering by the time you step into your apartment.
when you walk into your bedroom, you stay by the door a little longer, shoulder pressed against the wooden frame.
ironically enough, you left your phone behind. face down, still plugged to the wall.
then, almost as a final act in this depressing film, you slump over and slide to the floor, crying over something that shouldnât matter as much as it does.
it takes you a while to crawl into bed.
you blame the exams. thatâs definitely why youâre too exhausted to speak to jiwon, despite the multiple texts from three hours ago detailing your predicament. now that sheâs practically begging for you to pick up, three hours later, you just canât.
instead, you scroll. scroll and scroll and scroll, through chats and messages that have nothing to do with heeseung, now that you know the truthâand as you do, a message pops up at the bottom.
the sun rises another day. it spills into sunghoonâs room in familiar strips of gold, slipping through the blinds and cutting across the walls in uneven slants that make the dust visible. tiny particles drift through the light lazily, suspended in the air and blinding enough that he has to lift a hand over his eyes instinctively, staring through the gaps between his fingers and pretending, stupidly, that if he stays still long enough, heâll somehow fall back asleep.
he doesnât.
his shirt is still where he threw it last night, half across the room and gathering dust in the middle of the floor. his once-superbly-clean desk is a mess, in the same way his room is latelyânever dirty enough to clean, yet tidy enough not to notice.
his notes are spread all over. heâs pretty sure he shouldâve stapled and organized them a long, long time ago, but he honestly could not care anymore. thereâs that charger hanging halfway off the edge of his bedside table, a half-empty glass collecting warmth from the morning air, and his hockey bag remains unopened by the door from last nightâs practice. he finds it amazing that he still manages to attendâjust spectacular that nobody can tell how terrible heâs feeling, and even more so, miraculous that heâs able to do his job the same.
and, his curtains. left open for septemberâs autumn, long after that quiet summer when he still had you to call.
park sunghoon spends a little longer staring at the window once his eyes stop hurting from the brightness. the sunlight shifts slowly over his sheets as the minutes go by, reaching his hands where they rest against his stomach, and warm enough that it still reminds him of you.
the first thought he has is that heâs being selfish.
itâs embarrassing, honestly, how little heâs done in a month and how exhausting it all still feels. all he does is wake up, lie here, go to practice, come back, and sleep. heeseungâs always got someone new over, jake and jay are physically incapable of doing anything quietly, and sunoo, jungwon, and riki are too afraid to ask why he never speaks at dinner anymoreânot that he did much of that to begin with, anyway. he chooses not to believe them when they say he seemed happier when the sun stayed out longer.
a month is barely enough time to break a habit, but itâs long enough that nobody asks anymore. there were those few weeks back in july where heâd let a laugh slip in front of his brothers and didnât feel immediately disgusted by the sound of it afterwards. he supposes you brought out that side of himâthe one that doesnât need to act all perfect and gorgeous and saintful. at some point, he even let himself eat a tub of ice cream because riki asked nicely enough for him to stay and watch a movie. it didnât feel difficult then, of course.
yeonjun stopped trying to irritate him after a while, probably realising it wasnât possible. now, he just avoids it out of pity instead, and sunghoon knows it. nobody says it out loud, but they all look at him differently these days; like heâs become quieter in a way they canât quite fix, and they donât know whether to drag him out of it or leave him there in this pit heâs chosen to bury himself in.
he shuts his eyes, and it doesnât help. all sunghoon sees is that fucking library, and you, standing between metal shelving under the evening sunâsquinting and pouting, warm cheeks and messy hair from running your fingers through it all day, and back then, sunghoon wanted nothing but to do the same. that stupid expression you made, pretending like your eyes werenât watering from all the dusty books and the harsh light hitting your irises, too.
he sees himself telling you to sit on his side, your smile, and how he almost froze up then and there.
all the brains in the world and none of it did anything for him then, and even less now. he spent years believing everything had a formulaâthat if he worked hard enough, controlled enough, became enough, things would eventually make sense and fall into place. but there was nothing logical about wanting to sit in uncomfortable, sticky heat because it touched your skin first, or remembering the exact way your eyebrows moved when you were confused, or missing somebody so intensely that even morning light starts feeling like fate; there was nothing sensible in falling for someone that makes him act so unpredictably.
âlisten, dude. you gotta get the fuck up.â
sunghoon doesnât realise how badly his neck aches until he turns away from the window. the movement pulls uncomfortably down his shoulders, stiff from sleeping wrong and doing absolutely nothing for days that didnât involve practice. to his right stands lee heeseung, leaning against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised, looking mildly offended by the fact that somebody could sleep until ten in the morning.
âthis is pathetic, do you realise that?â he sighs, pushing himself off the frame and strolling into sunghoonâs room with that same easy, unaffected energy heâs always had. carefree in a way that feels irritating today, and familiar in a way that reminds him too much of you. for a brief second, sunghoon sees itâthe appeal. why you looked at him first, and why it was easy to do so. âman. you donât even run in the morning anymore.â
âget out,â sunghoon mumbles, rolling over onto his side. his skin is cold where it leaves the sunlight and the sheets feel warmer than they should, sending a brief chill down his spine. âi am not in the mood to deal with you.â
âdeal with me?â heeseung lets out this dramatic breath of disbelief and sunghoon hears the familiar squeak of his desk chair protesting under sudden weight. wheels scrape softly against the floor before rolling closer and closer until heeseungâs annoyingly charismatic face enters his peripheral. âeveryoneâs been dealing with your moping, hoon. it gets obvious when itâs six instead of seven after, like, two daysââ
âokay.â
âokay?â heeseung repeats immediately, eyebrows lifting. his elbow lands on the arm rest and his chin settles into his hand. âokay.â
sunghoon shuts his eyes. the silence feels like summer all over again.
âdo you wanna tell me why the fuck youâre being all weird?â
heeseungâs voice softens slightly. not enough to make a big thing out of it, because god knows how bad sunghoon would freak out and punch him in the mouth for thatâbut itâs enough to show the concern building up over the past few weeks.
sunghoon opens his eyes again, and somehow, seeing and hearing it for himself only annoys him more. sure, he knows itâs ridiculous and childish and just unfair, but he canât help himself.
heeseung shouldnât be worried. nothing happened to him. he didnât stand in the park and watch you walk away, and he didnât spend a month replaying every conversation, trying to figure out which version of him you liked moreâand he did not ruin anything.
he swallows and stares at the windows again, drifting away from heeseungâs face.
the sunlightâs moved further away.
âiâm fine,â sunghoon saysâhis voice comes out flatter than intended. regardless, he does nothing to make himself sound any more convincing, and even if he did, he knows heeseung would see right through it.
the chair squeaks again as his friend leans further back, an unconvincing scoff being the only thing that leaves his lips. a soft thud as the backrest hits the wall, sunghoon wouldâve glared at him any other dayâbut now, he canât seem to find the energy.
âyâknow, for someone who spent years acting all emotionless,â heeseung mumbles under his breath, âyouâre shit at pretending like you donât have them.â
itâs a decibel too loud to be accidental. sunghoon canât even get angry now, because he knows better. after all this time, he really doesâhe knows better than to get angry at anyone else but himself.
he doesnât answer. heeseung watches him for a little longer, head tilting slightly as his eyes drift over sunghoonâs face, lingering around the redness in his eyes and the exhaustion dragging down his expression. thereâs a brief moment where he looks like he wants to say something and thinks better of it.
ââŠyou know, i still think what you did was insane. i still donât get why you didnât just tell her.â
sunghoon closes his eyes. heâs not trying to avoid it, believe himâheâs spent majority of his days holding the guilt against himself, on his shoulders, feeling it weigh down on his chest for days a time. he doesnât necessarily disagree.
âyou talked to someone for months, pretending to be somebody else, and expected that to work?â
sunghoonâs jaw almost shatters from how hard heâs clenching it. he imagined you saying those same words to him, at some point. your gentle smile behind his eyelids seem to be one of many things preventing him from beating the shit out of the guy.
lee heeseung notices it, and canât help but sigh. âyou looked happier, hoon. really.â
sunghoon wishes he just went back to sleep. he doesnât know what good this is doing him, reallyâheâs aware of it. itâs lying everywhere, the proof scattered around like meaningless scraps: his reduced sleep, terrible appetite and unwillingness to see any girl that isnât you.
he knows better than anyone how happy he was.
âdidnât know what it was at first,â he says. âthought you made it to the olympic lineup or something. shitâs no joke.â
heâs not even looking at sunghoon anymore. âi know it when i see it. checking your phone every five minutes, laughing more. then you came home looking like someone fucking died.â
heeseung scratches at the back of his neck, but sunghoon looks away before he can utter the last word.
âdo i know her?â
âno.â
sunghoonâs answer is immediate. too quick not to raise his other eyebrow, apparently. heeseung notices, and sunghoon notices that heeseung noticesâbut both never look each other in the eye.
ââŠokay.â heeseung mutters. his eyes drift around the room instead, trying to keep themselves occupied, if only for the sake of not looking too long at his miserable, bed-ridden friendâs face. his fingers tap idly against the armrest once, twice, before stopping altogether.
âyouâre making this way worse for me, heeseung,â sunghoon deadpans, hand coming up to rub at his eyes. the scene feels oddly intimate for someone who still doesnât know half of what sunghoonâs done. âitâs getting on my nerves.â
âgood.â
sunghoon shoots him a look. heeseung just smiles, soft and underpainted with concern that hurts him to even acknowledge. for all the effort sunghoonâs spent making himself difficult to readâfor all the years of swallowing things whole and convincing himself that if nobody saw him, then nothing could really touch himâheâs still shocked that people notice when things go bad.
after a few, quiet minutes of sunghoon wishing for heeseung to vanish into thin air and heeseungâs incessant staring, he speaks again.
ââŠyou going to sunooâs thing this weekend?â
he completely forgot about that. sunghoon blinks slowly, the memories coming back to him nowâhe remembers, vividly, your voice on the phone, rambling about the stupid thing for five minutes.
you sounded ridiculously excited. obvious now why that was, it still feels just as bitter as it did back then. âwhat?â
he knows what. he doesnât know why heâs acting like he doesnât have a clue what heeseungâs saying.
âsunoo was freaking out yesterday,â he laughs to himself, head tipping back slightly as the chair rocks under him. one foot drags absentmindedly against the floor while his fingers hook around the edge of the armrest. âsaid he only needs two more people before he reaches the donation limit. i wonder how long the queueâs gonna be.â
sunghoon can vaguely predict where this conversation is going. his eyes narrow a little, and thinks heâll genuinely kill lee heeseung if he even suggests going to that ridiculous event. if anybody came up and asked him for donations, heâd give it. fine. whatever. just not while publicly exchanging his dignity for itâ
âyou should go.â
of course.
sunghoon stares at him, blank-eyed with lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappear.
heeseung looks back for exactly half a second before exhaling through his nose, rolling himself backwards in the chair, spinning once and pushing himself off the wall with one foot.
âokayâlisten. you need it, man. youâre acting like the love of your life just died, and shit, sitting around and waiting to stop missing her isnât gonna fix anything.â
sunghoon lets out a quiet laugh through his nose. humourless, if anything. his hand drags slowly down his face, pressing hard enough over his eyes that little bursts of colour bloom behind his eyelids, like he could wipe the exhaustionâor the irritationâstraight off his skin. âyou donât know what youâre talking about.â
âah-ah,â heeseung immediately lifts a hand and wiggles his weirdly long index finger right in sunghoonâs face. nothing productive is going to come out of this conversation, sunghoon realises, so he just decides on shutting up for the rest of the conversation. âi know you keep acting like she already decided on hating you. itâs fine, yâknow, if she does.â
heeseung sighs before slapping his palms against his thighs. he gets up in one, swift motion. âdonât you think she has every right to, sunghoon?â
his throat tightens.
âiââ
âshut up,â heeseung cuts him off instantly. âyouâre such a control freak, it weirds me out. how did sooha even deal with all that?â
sunghoon is already pushing himself up from the bed. he will hang lee heeseung out to dryâupside down, in nothing but his boxers on this cold, dry autumn day.
though, by the time sunghoon actually manages to sit upright, heeseungâs already halfway out the door. with his hand still clasped around the metal doorknob:
âif she hates you, you should probably let her say that herself.â
the door shuts before sunghoon gets the final word.
he sits there, just for a moment. blanket pooled at the waist, room quiet except for a heater that doesnât work very well. outside, thereâs leaves scraping against the roof and sunghoon just stares at the closed door like it might open up again, with a completely different approach or words that wonât scare him the way heeseungâs did.
thereâs something cruel about time. unstoppable, immovable, and somehow always aware of when you want it to move faster. it stretches itself thin when you need relief and collapses in on itself when you want more.
summer had always felt like thatâgolden and lazy and unbearably alive through the heatâbut this year, it moved strangely, like someone had pulled all the warmth out and left only an afterglow.
your routine had gone to shit.
you slept at four in the morning, most days, and woke up at around eleven. lunch only happened when there was enough to get by in the fridge, and if your air-fryer was clean enough from the night beforeâjiwon often had to drag you by the ear to make that happen. half your laundry stays unfolded, because god knows where you disappear to in the middle of folding it, and the books from a month ago still stay.
there are hours spent doing nothing, and yet, the exhaustion lingers. stays in your bones, fusing with you, and refusing to leave.
the worst part isnât even that you miss park sunghoon, either. itâs how often you reached for him, that being without him feels as significant as loss.
how ironic, considering you never had him to begin with.
youâre curled up on your couch, cheek squished up against the fabric and your knees tucked to your chest. oh jiwon is somewhere in this apartment with youâyouâre not exactly sure where, but the soft banging of pots is enough to make a guesstimate.
âwhatâre you doing?â you yell, half-heartedly because youâre still aware enough to acknowlege your neighbours. âjiwon?â
she doesnât respond. probably something about dinner, you think. the show on tv is loud enough for her voice to fade into the background, anyhow.
summer break ended some time agoâand with it went the warmth and heat and fuzziness that came with the man on the other end of the line. autumn arrives eventually, cruel in the way all inevitable things are, forcing you and everyone else to spend a little longer indoors because of the increasing cold. september is especially vicious; the air is sharper now, thinner, and you stop walking through that park altogether because every bench and every couple under those stupid yellow streetlamps reminds you too much of him.
for a guy that claimed to be so mundane, he sure takes up an absurd amount of your headspaceâeven now, even after more than a month of waiting and leaving and forcing yourself not to say things you wouldnât be able to take back, he still lingers.
you still doubt yourself, and you still hear his voice afterwardsâsteady, certain, monotonous and so lovingly boringâpulling you back up before you spiral too far.
the silence fills your room like a slow-moving plague, settling into corners and underneath your blankets and against your walls until eventually, you start relying on old conversations to fall asleep.
you remember his laugh before his face, and you loved him before you saw his eyes. thereâs something pathetic in that, you think, almost gullibleâthat after everything, after all the anger and humiliation and crying and weeks spent convincing yourself that this should not matter as much as it doesâyou still soften at the thought of him.
you hate that. you hate that he lied to you, and somehow, still ended up becoming so woven into parts of your lifeâenough for it to feel impossible to pull apart.
you hate it all, but never him.
âheeello?â
you blink before seeing jiwonâs legs standing right in your line of vision. blocking the subtitles, more like it.
she stares down at you from above with one eyebrow raised, afternoon light shining behind her head, casting her face into shadow in a way that feels unnecessarily threatening for someone holding an empty pot.
âwhat are you doing? get out of the way.â you squint, shifting ever so slightlyâand completely uselesslyâto get a full view of the text on screen. your head tilts one way, then the other, as though changing the angle will somehow let you see through her body.
she narrows her eyes and tilts her head, hair falling over her shoulder fluidly. she does that motion where sheâs about to hit you with the pan, but you flinch hard enough for her to laugh and lower it down. âwelcome back! have fun spacing out? iâve been asking what you want for dinner, for like, five minutes.â
jiwon follows your line of sight and twists around, just enough to get a proper look at the tv, rolling her eyes before her mouth pulls strangely to one side.
ââŠyou know you watched this last night, right?â
of course she knows that. cons of sharing a netflix account with your best friend, and co-habiting with her for the past month.
your eyes drift back to the screen and the episode progress bar, sitting near the end and thereâs already that stupid little preview box hovering in the corner asking whether you want to continue to the next episode. you donât remember a single thing that happened, and canât find the energy to recall.
you let out a long sigh and prop yourself up properly against the sofa, blanket bunching around your waist. jiwonâs folding her arms now, a slight frown on her face, and you dislike it immensely.
ââŠwhat?â
she stares at you for another second before walking over and dropping onto the other side of the couch, pulling one leg up beneath herself.
ââŠokay,â she says slowly, looking at you in that way people do when they already know the answer. âare we gonna keep pretending youâre okay or am i finally allowed to ask? will you blow up on me again, orââ
âjiwonââ
âitâs fine, yâknow,â she babbles on, immediately waving the hand holding the ladle, before circling around the coffee table. she drops down right next to you with enough force to make the cushions dip. pulling one leg underneath herself, she points dramatically to the apartment around her. âi can just stay here forever, cook forever, and clean forever. itâs alright!â
you stare at her, then glance at the pot, and finally, at the folded laundry sitting on the armchair.
you pinch at the bridge of your nose.
ââŠi didnât ask you to do all that,â you mutter under your breath, eyes dropping back to the paused show. your fingers knead at the skin there once, twice, before your hand drops into your lap. you let out another sigh and lean your head back against the sofa. âiâm fine by myselfââ
jiwon turns immediately. her eyebrows pull together, and her jaw almost goes rigid. âi do it because i care about you. donât make me regret it.â
sheâs already looking away afterwards, fiddling with the sleeve of her hoodie, and reaching over to adjust the blanket pooled around your legs.
your head hurts. the room is too quiet, again, without that show playing, or the music blasting on the home speakers.
how is it that the missing piece in your life is shaped exactly like park sunghoon?
summer. so useless, and yet, you were so alive.
âlisten.â jiwonâs voice cuts through your thoughts. you turn, and sheâs twisted sideways now, one leg tucked under herself and chin resting against her palm while her other hand reaches over to steal the remote. she clicks it twice before deciding against turning anything on again.
âabout that thing this weekendââ
your jaw hangs. âare you kidding?â
jiwonâs eyes widen immediately. she sighs, both hands dragging down the sides of her face before slapping against the backrest of the couch.
âokay, i know we agreed to go together to the charity event, and all the different booths and shit like that, but my dadâs finally in town again, and i justââ
you wave your hand quickly, once before she can finish, eyes not leaving the screen as your fingers start picking at the seam of the blanket. âoh, yeah, no. iâll just skip. itâs all good.â
jiwon turns properly this time. her forehead creases. ââŠwhat? what about the money?â
you shrug one shoulder and scratch absentmindedly at a loose thread near your knee. âit comes back. itâs all good. if itâs that big of a deal to you, ask your dad to apple pay me.â
jiwon stares at you for a second too long before setting the remote down, scooting across the couch in one smooth movement until her knee bumps against yours. she squints slightly, head tilting as she searches your face. âokay,â she says slowly, one hand reaching over to pinch the fabric over your thigh. ânot funny.â
you squeal, and she just grumbles.
then, she nudges your knee with hers again. âbut seriously,â she says, shoulders relaxing as she turns more towards you and props her elbow against the backrest, âyou need to get the fuck outside.â
you let out a quiet laugh. âyouâve been stuck with me this entire time. we need to go outside.â
jiwon shakes her head immediately and sits up straighter, her fingers slipping off the blanket and flat against your forearm instead. âno,â she says. âthatâs not what i mean.â
you look away, and she notices. of course, she notices.
her thumb taps once against your skin before she lets her hand drop.
ââŠi know youâre avoiding seeing him,â she mutters, eyes drifting briefly around the apartmentâthe dishes, the curtains that havenât been opened properly all week, the same hoodie youâve worn thrice in a rowâbefore settling back on you. she presses her lips together and reaches over to smooth the blanket over your knee again. âbut youâre throwing everything away for that.â
you donât say a thing. you feel like a coward. you feel like a liar. you feel like a lot of things, but jiwonâs looking at you like youâre not.
ââŠyouâve been talking about that stupid fundraiser since february,â she continues. âyou made me pay thirty dollars to get matched with strangersâŠ. among other things. youâll pay me for that, right?â
she realises, a second too late, that youâre not laughing.
you look away, eyes locked on something outside the window. you canât really tell with how your vision begins to blur. she waits for a response, but when it becomes clear she isnât getting one:
âyou wanted to go.â
your hand comes up and presses against your mouth.
you remember sitting in the library during finals with your laptop open, and your notes everywhere and thinking about it between lectures. your brain would drift whenever revision got unbearable, and suddenly, youâd be imagining what youâd wear and whether heeseung would actually come, and if heâd be as nice as everybody said he was.
it felt harmless then. stupid and harmless. a little reward waiting at the end.
you remember texting jiwon about it. making jokes, pretending not to care.
but now, you remember another thing.
you remember sitting in the exact same library with someone only two feet away. you remember somebody asking if youâd eaten, and somebody telling you to stop being perfect. somebody remembering your schedule better than you did. somebody finding you in that secluded corner, where the world didnât exist beyond it, if only for a few hours.
you remember leaving that library and not thinking about lee heeseung at all.
your thumb presses harder against your lip. youâve been biting at a piece of dead skin on your cuticle unconsciously. âthatâs embarrassing.â
jiwon frowns.
ââŠi donât think i actually wanted him.â
she doesnât interrupt.
you keep staring at the television instead, eyes tracing shapes that stopped moving minutes ago. your fingers keep smoothing over the blanket stretched across your lap, flattening the same crease over and over until the friction starts irritating your palms. eventually, your thumb catches on loose thread and you pick at it absentmindedly, winding it once around your finger before letting it snap back. ââŠi think i just liked wanting something. he was hot, yeah, and people liked him.â
âthought maybeâŠâ you bite down on your bottom lip. âi donât know. maybe if somebody like that liked me back, then that would mean something.â
everyoneâs always told you that you had terrible luck.
you remember teachers saying things like thatâs unfortunate and friends joking that your life always sounded a little too dramatic to be accidental. wrong place, wrong timeâmissing buses. getting sick before things you cared about, liking people that didnât like you back. liking people too late. liking people wrong. liking people at all.
âproving that iâm not all that unlikeable...â you mumble. âbut iâm just as unlucky as everyone says.â
it was never that serious to complain about. it mostly served itâs purpose as comedic relief in other peopleâs lives, but as one knows, after the age of sixteenâeverything just seems self-deprecating instead of humorous.
âyou like him.â
jiwonâs voice is slightly too quiet for it to be a declaration. she says it softly enough that you could pretend you didnât hear, or so that you could roll your eyes and say obviously not and sheâd just let you.
you try to think about all the reasons why you donât, and why you canât. you think about lying, about the trust, about the humiliation and about standing in the middle of the park, crying like that in front of someone who played you like a puppet.
and still, you do not say a thing.
âi thinkâŠâ she starts quietly, eyes dropping to where your hands meet before lifting back to your face. âit doesnât actually change anything. the one you like is still sunghoon, y/n. no amount of thisâwhatever this is that youâre doingâis going to change that.â
âyou fell for who he was. the name was irrelevant, wasnât it?â
jiwon watches you for a while after that, shoulders sinking further into the couch. she studies your face, one hand disappearing into the sleeve of her hoodie while the other stays resting over the blanket draped across your legs, fingers absentmindedly playing with yours.
she glances at the television onceâthe paused menu, your reflection sitting small and folded into yourself against all that dead blue lightâand exhales quietly through her nose before shifting closer to you.
âcan i say something else that might piss you off?â
you keep your eyes forward, rubbing your thumb over the edge of the blanket. âwhat?â
jiwon squints at you for a second before nodding once, slowly, like sheâs 99% sure you will get pissed off anyway at the statement sheâs going to make.
âokay. i think youâre being unfairânot to him, though. just yourself,â she says. âiâve been watching you do this thing for a month now. you keep saying heâs bad for you.â
you look down. she notices, of course.
âmaybe he is. probably. whatever,â jiwon mutters under her breath, trying to remember what point she was trying to make. âbut i donât think thatâs why youâre cancelling on mââ
âyou cancelled, by the way.â
âstill. youâre just scared that all those feelings will come back, or that theyâll be completely gone, and itâs scary.â sheâs looking forward now, too. she finds it harder to be serious when sheâs looking at you in the eye. âit was real, right? everything?â
right.
you hum in acknowledgement, low and partially absent, eyes still fixed somewhere near the bottom corner of the television where the subtitles would usually sit. jiwon watches your face for another second too long, before taking it as permission to continue. honestly, sheâs a little surprised you havenât mauled her yet. a month ago, she wouldâve gotten a cushion launched at her head by now.
âthe more like you pretend he isnât real, the more itâll hurt,â she sighs. âyou can forgive him, or donât, iâm not gonna tell you what to do like weâre fifteen again. oh, that was a really bad time for both of usâow!â
your fingers dart out before you can stop yourself, pinching the soft skin above her knee hard enough for her whole body to jolt sideways with a startled squeal. she swats uselessly at your hand, rubbing furiously at the spot through her sweatpants before shooting you the most deeply offended look she can manage.
âcould you just listen to me for once?â she groans, collapsing dramatically into the couch cushions. âiâm trying really hard to be wise here.â
you roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you anyway.
âthere it is,â jiwon points immediately, grinning so wide it almost irritates you. âsee? youâre capable of experiencing joy!â
âiâm about to experience violence.â
âthatâs my girl!â
she laughs to herself before the smile gradually slips away again, replaced by something more serious. her fingers fold together in her lap, thumbs rubbing absentmindedly against each other as she stares down at them for a moment, gathering whatever was left of her courage. when she looks back up, thereâs none of that usual teasing left on her face.
âlook,â she sighs. âiâm not trying to convince you that what he did wasnât awful, because it was. i wanted to punch him just from hearing about it, and i still kinda do.â
she wrinkles her nose. âbut i also watched you spend almost your entire summer waiting for him to call. you kept pretending you were watching movies when you were really staring at your phone, and you even stopped walking through that park because every bench reminded you of him.â
your throat tightens.
âyou don't have to forgive him,â she continues, shaking her head slowly, reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from your face. âhonestly, maybe you never will. maybe you shouldn't. but i don't think hiding from the world is the same thing as moving on, y/n.â
you keep your eyes fixed on the ceiling, on the little crack running along the corner where the paint has started to peel. âwhat if i see him,â you mumble, barely louder than the hum of the fridge from the kitchen, âand i still want him?â
jiwon's expression doesn't change. she takes a moment before her mouth parts slightly, just enough to answer. âthen you'll know.â
"and if i don't?"
she shrugs gently, her hand lingering over yours for another second, thumb brushing your knuckle once before it falls back into her lap. she looks almost sad when she says it. "then you'll know that, too."
the apartment falls quiet again. somewhere outside, a car door slams, and a few birds chirp before scattering into the clouds. someone's drilling something in the apartment above you. someone's yelling something in the street. the world keeps going, indifferent and loud, the way it always does when you seem to be
âokay.â
jiwon watches you for a second longer, like she's checking the word for cracks. she must not have found any, or perhaps a few too many to name, because she just lets it go.
by the time you reach campus, the fundraiser is already in full swing.
the entire quad has transformed overnight into something almost unrecognisable. white canopy tents stretch across the lawn in neat, uneven rows, their fabric flapping in the wind whenever the cold september breeze decides to pass through.
handmade banners hang crookedly above each stall, painted with far too much enthusiasm and not nearly enough artistic abilityâbright acrylic letters bleeding into one another, beneath glitter and shiny lettering that catches the afternoon sun every time somebody walks past.
âcome visit booth 6!â âfree drinks at booth 52!â âstand a chance to winââ
somewhere off to your left, somebody is aggressively advertising homemade brownies through a megaphone that crackles every other sentence, while another group has somehow convinced the jazz society to play live beside the engineering departmentâs robotics display. the music overlaps with laughter, conversations, applause and the occasional groan from somebody losing money at one of the carnival games, until it all melts together into any introvertâs worst nightmare.
jiwon, as foretold, is busy smiling, shaking hands and pretending to enjoy the company of the stepfather sheâs complained about for the better part of four years, leaving you to fend for yourself amongst a sea of strangers. youâre beginning to wonder if any of this was even worth not paying her the thirty dollars for bailing. you couldâve been at home instead, cocooned underneath your duvet with instant noodles balanced precariously on your stomach while you binged that stupid show she keeps interrupting halfway through every episodeâbut apparently you did not need to be âsixty dollars broker,â and allegedly, according to her, âexposure builds character.â
students drift through the walkways in slow, uneven currents, weaving around one another with paper cups warming their hands and tote bags slipping from tired shoulders. autumn has only just begun settling over campus, leaving enough warmth in the afternoon sun to coax everyone outside while the breeze nips at exposed skin, carrying with it the smell of caramel popcorn, burnt coffee, fried food and fresh paint that still hasn't completely dried on half the handmade signs.
every few steps, someone brushes your shoulder without meaning to, and another laughs so loudly it echoes between the buildings. the quad feels impossibly alive, like the entire student body had been holding its breath for weeks and finally remembered how to exhale.
you've just realised how long it'd been since you'd seen campus like this.
exam season had stripped everything bare. the library became the centre of everybody's universe, swallowing entire afternoons until the only sounds left were pages turning, keyboards clacking and chairs scraping softly against carpet. everyone looked permanently exhausted beneath fluorescent lighting, surviving almost exclusively on caffeine and blind optimism, and now they're outside again.
clubs are recruiting first-years with embarrassingly enthusiastic chants, and the fourth-year students are pretending they aren't equally interested in the free tote bags.
autumn seems to bring something different into the air. meanwhile, summer, as you've known it, was spent mostly indoors or at the corner store fifteen minutes from campus, where you'd stand in front of the instant noodle shelf for far longer than necessary before carrying the same cup outside to eat on the outdoor seating. there were a handful of evenings where you'd glance up every time a dark-haired guy walked past, stomach flipping before common sense caught up with you. there were even more where you caught yourself wondering whether park sunghoon had ever been here before, whether he'd ever stood in front of the same vending machine deciding between two drinks, whether he'd look out for you the same way you did.
every single time, you wanted to walk straight into incoming traffic for even entertaining the thought. it's ridiculous. he literally lives on campus.
you spend quite a bit of time walking around the place. the sun isnât too brutal at this time of day, and for once, you donât dread seeing a bunch of people you knowâthereâs moments where you make eye contact with an old friend, a new acquaintance or someone whoâs friends with someone you know, and they wave like theyâve known you for years. your feet begin to hurt by the end of the hour, and when you look down, you realise youâre holding an overpriced sea salt latte, a bag of homemade cookies, and a doodle of you a second-year student made for $5.
thereâs a few flyers in your bag, too. you donât even remember being interested in crocheting, but alright. somewhere along the way, youâve lost the map that some student union members handed you when you first walked in, and for fifteen blissful minutes, you convinced yourself that youâve never been to this part of the quad before.
it works. for a while.
youâre patting your jeans down. perhaps you folded it or crumpled it together with receipts or other useless junk from the day, but itâs literally vanished. nevertheless, your feet are carrying you to unknown places, through thickening crowds and high-pitched laughter that feels impossible to distinguish which direction it originates from.
somebody almost knocks your latte out of your hand. you almost cuss him out, before he whispers a âsorry!â and joins a snaking queue, spilling onto the footpath.
âmy god.â
youâre back at sunooâs booth. pastel pink, covered in ikea string lights that are certainly not suited for outdoor use, the banner above spelling exactly what you signed up for: soul searching.
it sways gently overhead, now slightly lopsided after surviving what looked like several hours of relentless traffic. whoever had decorated the booth this morning had given up on maintaining any sort of orderâheart-shaped balloons floated at uneven heights, paper cupid arrows had started peeling away from the tent poles, and one of the volunteers was hurriedly taping another handwritten sign across the front of the table.
queue full! please scan the qr code to join the line! we'll text you when it's your turn âĄ
"honestly," somebody behind you mutters as they walk by. "this is way better. nobodyâs standing for two hours.â
âright? iâm hoping they move me to the front,â their friend responds. âi bought the early ones too⊠i feel so fucking desperate. at least weâre in the line at all.â
you glance towards the front, almost absentmindedly. they werenât wrongâthe line that had wrapped halfway around the quad earlier had disappeared entirely, replaced instead by clusters of students with phones in hand. theyâre hopping around and comparing wait times while volunteers hurried between the very few tables available, trying to answer stupid questions before the next wave arrived.
you did pay for this. your latteâs gone warm, anyway, and the condensation is starting to drip down onto your sleeves. might as well find out whether your ticket's even still valid.
the qr code sits laminated against the edge of the registration table, surrounded by little hand-drawn hearts and stars that look suspiciously like sunoo's work. you fish your phone out of your tote, thumb hovering over the camera app for just a second before lifting it. you step closer to get a clearer view, tongue poking at your cheekâ
"hold on.â
you glance up, blinking slowly until sunoo comes into focus. heâs dressed in all sorts of shades of pink, from hot to muted to pastel, and his cheeks have hearts face-painted onto them.
ây/n! you actually came!â
he breaks into a wide grin, so wide that it almost scares you. for a brief moment, you wonder if this is even the kim sunoo you know, considering he was never too worried for your attendance when the fundraiser was first brought up.
before you can even say hello, he's already leaning across the table, volunteer lanyard swinging forward as he peeks at the ticket confirmation on your screen. you hadnât realised itâs already loaded, displaying the âearly-birdâ status right at the top. in bold, like it wasnât humiliating enough just being here.
âi paid, soâŠâ
he circles around the table.
âexactly!â his finger points at your phone. âearly bird. youâre lucky!â
you nod slowly, like you understand where this conversationâs about to go. truth be told, you donât, so in order to hide the confusion, your eyes dart around to avoid his.
"âŠearly-bird participants get priority once they join the queue.â
strange. the other laminated sign your eyes land on, which is pasted right behind sunooâs head, conveniently says otherwise.
âiâm pretty sure thatâs not how it worksââ
âit literally is.â sunoo declares, with such effortless confidence that you mightâve believed him if not for the piece of paper taped up behind him. he still wears that smile, his cheeks rounding in a way that makes it dangerously easy to nod along, right until one of the volunteers at the registration table slowly lifts his head and looks over.
he deadpans. âsunoo.â
âwhat?â
ââŠsince when?â
kim sunoo doesnât even bother turning around to answer his fellow volunteer. you suppose being the organiser has its perks, because he simply says, âsince today! operational changes are needed, arenât they?â
all the guy can do is sigh and rub at his temples.
âgreat!â sunoo beams, already uncapping a marker with his teeth before flicking the cap into his palm. he hunches over the clipboard, the tip squeaking furiously across the paper in quick, decisive strokes, barely pausing to breathe before thrusting it back against his chest. âcongratulations, y/n!â
you narrow your eyes. âon what?â
âyouâre next!â he tears a small ticket from the pad with a sharp riiiip, stamps it against the clipboard with far more force than necessary, then slides it into your hand like heâs finalising an important legal transaction.
âsunoo, thereâs literally people waiting behind me.â
sunoo merely raises an eyebrow. he tilts his head, peering past your shoulder with enough curiosity that, against your better judgment, you glance back too.
you donât know whether to laugh or cry.
a queue of complete strangers is, in fact, staring directly at the two of you. some look mildly confused, others openly entertained, but most are just pissed off. one guy even checks his phone, like heâs trying to figure out whether heâs somehow joined the wrong line, and how he, too, could join âpriority-accessâ.
âhuh."
when you turn back around, sunooâs already smiling again, not a shred of shame anywhere on his face. âyouâre making this up, arenât yââ
a volunteer pulls the canvas flap aside for you with an overly enthusiastic smile, hair sticking to his forehead from the (presumably) constant back and forth sunooâs making him do. for such a small booth team, the place is surprisingly put-together, and the online queue isnât glitching out the way other boothâs are. you had to admit that you were somewhat glad you came.
âgood luck,â he whispers, to which you reply with a confused expression before walking in.
the noise disappears almost immediately.
the bustle outside dulls into a soft, muffled hum behind layers of canvas, leaving the tiny booth wrapped in an unexpected sort of quiet. sunlight filters through the cream-coloured fabric overhead, warming the little space in soft patches until everything inside glows honey-gold.
it smells faintly of vanilla and paper, with the lingering sweetness of somebodyâs perfume clinging stubbornly to the air from the last pairing. you wonder where they went to after their five minutes of alone timeâdid they go to grab coffee? did he say something to piss her off, and she stormed out early? is that why sunooâs giving you priority?
you stop just after the entrance.
âoh.â
itâs⊠actually kind of nice.
someone had gone through an embarrassing amount of effort decorating the place. ivy vines wind around the tent poles alongside more tiny string lights, and battery-powered candles flicker lazily in the centre of a small round table dressed with a cream linen cloth.
a little glass jar is overflowing with folded paper stars. it sits between two untouched bottles of water, and it almost makes you wonder how much money they poured into this thing, before you remember that they probably went over the donation limit a long, long time ago.
somebody had even scattered fake rose petals across the tabletop, though several had already drifted onto the flimsy plywood beneath the chairs.
thereâs only two seats. complimentary seat cushion, too, also pink and plaid. you sigh, seeing how it was already squished flat from all the people sitting on it before you, but you make your way regardless. the amount of walking youâve put yourself through has done no justice to your feet, anyway.
the first thing you notice is that whoeverâs sitting across from you is going to bump your knees, unless he happens to be significantly shorter.
you donât really mind it. the tent is only so big, and god knows how they even managed to squeeze a table through that narrow entrance. still, itâs enough to make you silently hope he isnât particularly tall, either.
you let out a quiet breath through your nose.
beside the battery-operated candle sits a neat stack of laminated cards bound together by a stainless steel ring, each one printed with colourful lettering and tiny doodles tucked into the corners.
⥠conversation starters âĄ
you already know this is going to be terrible. who the hell pitched this?
#5 whatâs your most irrational fear?
too intimate.
your fingers flip through the stack, anyway. thereâs an identical set resting on the opposite side of the table, presumably waiting for whoever draws the short straw across from you.
#8 if you could relive one day of your life, which would you choose?
too deep. nobody thought these through. you keep flipping, snorting under your breath every few cards.
#10 whatâs your biggest regret?
#11 when did you last cry?
#12 do you fall for looks, or personality?
your smile fades before you realise it had even appeared at all. another prank by the universe, you suppose.
the cards settle back onto the table with a soft tap. your hands find their way to the armrests, tapping against the wood, anything to stop thinking about the guy youâre not supposed to be thinking about.
outside, somebody cheers loud enough for it to seep through the canvas walls, followed by another chorus of laughter that slowly dissolves back into the fundraiserâs usual chatter. you glance instinctively toward the entrance, expecting the fabric to move.
nothing. the chair opposite you remains empty, and no oneâs walking through that tarp.
you check your phone. itâs been three minutes.
youâre drumming your fingers lightly against the edge of the table now, watching the fake candle flicker. the tiny plastic flame sways with every movement of the air-conditioning fan someone had hidden near the ceiling of the tent, convincing enough that you almost forget it isnât real.
the things you do in pursuit of love, you think.
itâs almost funny, now that youâre sitting here.
you remember signing up for this thing with only one person in mindâsomeone you barely knew, someone you had no right to like because of all the missing pieces your imagination had so generously filled in. back then, this booth felt like a shortcut. maybe youâd sit across from lee heeseung, maybe heâd smile at you, maybe the universe would finally decide to do you one favour in this unlucky life of yours.
there was a point where you thought you knew your type. the kind of guy that seemed so easy to trip and fall on your face for. maybe it was that new yearâs party, when you caught him standing at the front of the house with a cigarette between his fingers, the street light catching against his jaw while everyone else laughed somewhere behind you. maybe it was those tuesday mornings outside the cafeteria. maybe it was the words of everyone around you, but either way, you never really heard his voice, or stood close enough to know how he laughed, what he sounded like when he was tired, or whether he was a better listener than talker.
distance has a funny way of disguising itself as depth. you mistake wondering for understanding, admiration for affection, until one day youâve built an entire person out of scattered glances and second-hand stories. maybe that was all the crush had ever beenâa collection of assumptions, stitched together by not knowing enough.
perhaps, it was never about lee heeseung at all.
park sunghoon is a fucking headache. he lingers in every inconvenient corner of your life, occupying your thoughts long after he shattered your heart and broke your trust that summer night. itâs almost cruel how thoroughly heâs rooted himself into your memoryâhis voice still finds you before your own thoughts do, his quiet laugh still sneaks into your head whenever something stupid happens. you remember the thoughtful pauses before heâd answer your questions, the accidental sincerity he always seemed embarrassed by, and the unwavering certainty with which heâd tell you that you were capable of things you never believed you could do yourself.
despite the lies, the betrayal, despite everything. despite the way he looked at you that night, like he couldnât bear to lose you, and still let you walk awayâyou realise that there isnât a single part of you that wishes it had been lee heeseung from the beginning.
the canvas shifts.
at first, itâs nothing more than a shadow moving across the pale canvas, followed by the dull scrape of shoes against packed grass outside. somebody murmurs somethingâa volunteer, probablyâand another voice answers too quietly for you to make out.
your heartâs beating out of your chest. the last time you felt like this, it was january first, and also three in the morning.
the flap rustles once before stilling again, as though whoeverâs on the other side already regrets doing this. you let out a quiet laugh through your nose, watching the silhouette hesitate in the narrow entrance where the fading warmth of september collides with the dry chill of the portable air-conditioner humming somewhere overhead.
the afternoon sun outlines him first. heâs tall, broad, holding a bouquet of flowers in his right hand. he turns halfway around to mumble something behind him, and through the gap in the canvas, you catch a glimpse of someone suspiciously resembling sunoo. whatever he says earns him a sharp slap between the shoulder blades and an exaggerated shove forward, the bouquet wobbling dangerously in his grip before he manages to catch it against his chest.
your fingers are still tracing the laminated edge of one of the conversation cards when the canvas finally parts. he stumbles through the entrance, muttering what sounds like an embarrassed complaint under his breath, one hand instinctively reaching back to steady the flap before it swings shut behind him.
you only realise who he is when he looks up.
the sleeves are shoved up to his elbows like they always are, but he looks better than the last time you saw himâcleaner, less wrecked, like heâs actually been sleeping well now that youâre not around. his hair has grown out just enough to fall over his eyebrows, and despite everything, despite the month thatâs wedged itself between the two of you, you remember every single feature on his face, and just how much you missed it.
thatâs when you realise that a month and a half is nearly not enough time to forget.
for one impossible second, relief blooms before your brain catches up to your body.
the world seems like itâs flipping upside down, now. park sunghoon freezes, like he wasnât expecting either; your pulse is slamming against your ribs so violently that you swear he must be able to hear it. you can hear your blood rushing in your ears by the time you stand upâchair screeching violently against the plywood as you shove yourself backwards, the legs offering some resistance before jerking free with your force.
your knees collide with the underside of the table hard enough to send the fake candle wobbling between the two of you. itâs tiny, plastic flame is flickering, almost mocking.
every instinct you have screams the same thing: leave.
sunghoon notices (of course he does), and something inside his expression crumbles just enough for you to feel like youâve been stabbed in the heart.
his shoulder sinks by barely an inch, the hand which holds the bouquet to his stomach now dropping to his side. he doesnât move any closer, too afraid to even breathe audibly, just standing by the entrance with the afternoon light outlining his familiar silhouette.
his eyes are soft, a gentle smile painted across his face, as though heâs trying to show you how much it hurts not seeing you for so long.
youâre just like how he remembers. golden light on your face, diffused now from the tentâs shade, bright eyes looking up at him the same way it did in the summer. perhaps itâs because of his dreams that this doesnât feel as shocking as heâd thought itâd beâthat one evening in the library between bookshelves replays like a highlight reel behind his eyelids, and in a way, he thinks itâs helped with his what little sleep he's managed to get recently.
and, in the same vein, he looks everything like the boy you've spent the last month trying to forget.
ââŠyou.â
your voice is barely a whisper. sunghoon swallows, and his lips part once before closing again. you want to scream at him, maybe even punch him in the face. with that sad look on his face, you think he might even let you.
ây/n.â
you donât hesitate. the moment sunghoon sees you grabbing your things, ready to turn around and leaveâhe speaks again, rushed with a tinge of desperation.
âplease. five minutes, itâs all i need.â
what could he possibly say that would undo all of this?
park sunghoon bites down on his bottom lip, trying to stop it from trembling. youâre staring at him with glassy eyes, hands shaking from either anger or just pure despair, waiting for an answer that might not even fix anything at all.
your shoulders stay angled towards the exit, eyes not meeting his. youâre afraid that if you look at him properly, you'll remember everything all over again.
âi'm sorry, y/n.â
you shouldâve left as soon as you saw that frame in the sunâas soon as your heart sank and your mind briefly flashed to sunghoon.
silence stretches between the two of you. youâre somewhat thankful for the loud noise outside that helps dampen it. the laughter sounds impossibly far away from where you stand.
ânot because i got caught lying to you.â his fingers tighten around the bouquet, knuckles paling beneath flushed skin. âi think about it every day. it never leaves.â
your molars grind together until your temples start to pulse. the muscles in your jaw ache from holding back everything that wants to come spilling out, and you realise, belatedly, that you're digging your fingernails so deeply into the canvas strap of your tote that the fabric has started to wrinkle beneath your grip. youâre blinking the salt away, too, trying not to let it drip down your cheeks. âwhy did you do that to me, sunghoon?â
your voice comes out quieter than you intended. itâs nothing short of humiliating. sunghoon stares at you for a little while longer, and it really does feel like his heartâs being ripped out of his ribcage all over again. thereâs nothing nice about seeing someone you love in tears, much less because of you.
âi didn't think itâd go far.â his voice is barely above a whisper now. âthatâs not an excuse. i know it isnât. i realised that really early on.â
his thumb catches on the edge of the brown paper wrapped around the flowers, smoothing the same crease over and over until it begins to tear.
âi just...â he laughs quietly through his nose, and it breaks somewhere in the middle. âi was terrified, y/n.â
your breath catches. you just canât understand. every word from him feels like relief and a new betrayal all over again, and for a moment, you wonder how youâre still standing here. thereâs half of you that feels glad that he cares enough to show up againâand another that never wants to see his pretty face again.
âthe only lie i ever told you,â he continues, finally forcing himself to meet your eyes, âwas that i was lee heeseung. everything else was real. all the calls, conversations, every second i spent listening to your voice.â
sunghoon says it like a confession. like an intimate secret heâs yet to admit to anyone else but you, because truly, he hasnât. itâs stupid how long heâs allowed this to suffocate him.
âi was scared of how much i wanted you, and i let it go on, because it was the best thing thatâs ever happened to me. i didnât want to lose you, and i acted selfishly because of that.â
âyou couldâve told me from the beginning.â your hand comes up instinctively, thumb dragging beneath your waterline before another tear has the chance to fall. you sniffle once, sharp and involuntary, and sunghoon feels it somewhere behind his ribs. âyou could have. do you have any idea how humiliating that was?â
the words roll off your tongue before you can think twice. âi made myself look like a fucking idiot in front of you.â
sunghoon's breathing falters. his grip tightens around the bouquet until the brown paper crumples loudly in the silence, stems bending awkwardly beneath his fingers. he can't bring himself to look away from your faceânot when your eyelashes are clumped together with tears, not when the skin beneath them has gone raw from how hard you're rubbing at it.
âi know.â
his voice barely survives the distance between you.
âevery time i think about you,â he swallows hard, the muscles in his throat straining around the words. âi think about everything you trusted me with, and all i can remember is that i stood there and let you keep believing me.â his eyes fall to the floor for the briefest moment before finding yours again, impossibly guilty. âyou deserved better than that.â
âi put you through so much,â park sunghoon adds, his voice so quiet you're forced to listen for it. âi was selfish. i convinced myself that if i told you the truth, iâd lose you, even if i deserved to.â
his thumb smooths absently over another crease in the bouquet's wrapping paper. âevery day i waited after that, for the right time, for when it was easiest for meâit just got harder, and then it got impossible.â
he exhales shakily. âthere was never going to be a good time. i knew that.â
you stare at him, at the bouquet he'd probably spent too long choosing. you imagine how out of place he must've looked picking those out, asking the store owner which ones would be good, knowing nothing about flowers, buying whatever was recommended to him without a second thought.
and then you're looking at the circles beneath his eyesâbetter now than they were before, but still there, still belonging to a boy who somehow looks exactly like the person you spent all summer missing, and the person who broke your heart in the very same breath.
âyou couldâve told me,â you whisper again, the words catching somewhere behind your teeth. your fingers curl helplessly around the strap of your tote until the rough canvas digs into your palm. âyou couldâve walked up to me that first night. i wouldâveââ
another tear slips free before you can force the last word out. your breath catches violently in your chest, chin dropping toward your collarbone as a broken sob tears through you before you have the chance to swallow it back.
sunghoon moves before he thinks. the bouquet lands forgotten against the table with a muffled rustle, baby's breath spilling over the edge of the table as he closes the distance between you in two hurried strides. his hand comes up instinctivelyâhalfway to your face, halfway to your shoulder, he doesn't even know anymoreâbefore stopping inches from your face.
"...y/n."
sunghoon freezes. fingers trembling, not knowing if he's allowed to be this close to you again, not knowing if he gets to touch you just because you're crying. nevertheless, his hand curls slowly into a fist before falling uselessly back to his side.
your shoulders shake harder.
you clap a hand over your mouth as if that'll somehow muffle the sound, but it only turns each breath into something more desperate and more painful. tears slip between your fingers anyway, dripping onto the backs of your knuckles before disappearing into the sleeves of your top.
sunghoon feels sick. everything is telling him to touch you, to hold you, to do everything he can to rid you of the tears staining your face. wiping your tears away with his thumb and all, like how heâs imagined doing a hundred selfish times over the phoneâto tell you itâs okay.
somethingâs siphoning all the air out of his lungs. "...i'm sorry," sunghoon whispers again, voice splintering under the weight of the words. "iâm sorry, y/n. please, donât cry, please.â
thereâs a tiny part of you that wants to lean into him. instead, you let out something between a laugh and another sob. you drag the heel of your palm beneath your eyes, every tear replaced by another before you can finish catching your breath. vision blurry as you stare down at sunghoonâs shoes, he shuts his eyes.
âi didnât care,â you sigh. âi wouldnât have cared.â
your ears don't catch the quiet sniffle that escapes sunghoon. his own vision has long since blurred, tears gathering stubbornly along his waterline until the fairy lights overhead fracture into soft, indistinct halos. he doesn't bother wiping them away, not when you're crying like thisânot when every broken breath that leaves you sounds like something he's carved into your chest with his own hands.
âi fell for you, hoon.â you look up at him then, your eyes swollen and shining beneath the warm fairy lights strung across the ceiling of the booth. tears cling to your lashes, catching the light every time you blink. âyou couldâve told me.â your voice cracks again, almost pleading. âyou could have.â
the words seem to find every hollow place inside him.
his shoulders, already drawn painfully tight beneath the navy hoodie, sink another inch, the tension draining from them so suddenly he almost folds into himself. his hand, still hovering uncertainly between the two of you, curls instinctively before slowly uncurling again. this time, he doesn't stop.
fuck it.
park sunghoonâs touch brushes your cheek so lightly you barely feel them at first. gentle, like he doesnât know quite how to handle youâwarm and careful and everything youâve ever needed.
his palm settles against the side of your face, thumb sweeping gently beneath your eye to catch the tear before it slips past your jaw. your skin burns beneath the touch, not because it hurts, but because you've missed it without ever knowing what it felt likeâit's unbearably familiar for something entirely new.
you donât mean to lean into him, but your body does it anyway.
for the smallest moment, your cheek rests against his palm, and the breath sunghoon lets out is so quiet that it almost disappears beneath the hum of the air-conditioner overhead. a sigh escapes him, almost as if he canât believe how much heâs hurt youâand before you break into a sob again, you speak.
âmaybe...â you whisper, voice shrinking beneath the weight of the thoughtâof park sunghoon and you, of that stupid new year's party, of library afternoons and late-night phone calls and every version of the future that never got the chance to exist. âmaybe weâd be fine. maybe weâd be happy, if thatâs what you even wantedââ
âit is.â
there isnât a trace of hesitation.
sunghoon's thumb stills against your cheek as fresh tears spill over his own, his forehead dipping just enough that he's looking at you from beneath damp strands of dark hair.
âitâs all iâve ever wanted,â he mutters. âyou are all iâve ever wanted.â
park sunghoon has never been a decisive person.
it sounds contradictory when you consider everything he's responsible for, but those decisions were never really decisions at all. hockey is straightforward once you've watched enough game tape, drilled the same movement until your muscles remember it better than your brain does, or spent enough hours on the ice for instinct to replace hesitation. there is always a coach standing behind the glass with a whistle around his neck, always someone older, better, more experienced to tell you where your feet should be and how to fix what you've done wrong. school isn't much different. people call him gifted, but sunghoon knows discipline has always done more for him than talent ever could. if you study enough, if you sacrifice enough sleep, if you repeat something often enough, eventually the answer reveals itself.
life has always rewarded certainty. show up, work harder, do betterâand there is comfort in that. an almost mechanical predictability to it all, completely untouched by human emotion.
but you have never worked like that. this, whatever this isâit has never operated on that principle.
sunghoon has known he loves you for longer than he's been willing to admit it aloud. what he hasn't knownânot for a single day since you walked away from him beneath that streetlampâis whether seeing you again would heal the wound or rip it open all over. every version of the future he imagined ended differently: maybe you'd scream at him, maybe you'd ignore him. maybe you'd look at him with the same quiet disappointment that had followed him into every waking hour for the past month. there was no correct answer to memorize, no strategy to rehearse, and no amount of discipline capable of guaranteeing that he wouldn't lose you all over again.
he even tried searching for it.
three in the morning, phone balanced against his chest, he'd typed every variation of lied about my identity and fell in love that he could think of into reddit, reading through strangers' catastrophes until the sun came up. none of them sounded quite like his, and none of them ended with an answer worth believing. heâs pretty sure 75% are engagement bait.
there wasn't a guidebook for getting back the only girl he'd ever loved. there was, however, an annoyingly persistent lee heeseung.
his friend spent the better part of yesterday refusing to let him back out, talking over every pathetic excuse sunghoon came up with until there were none left to hide behind. sunoo only agreed to squeeze him into today's schedule after extracting the promise of unlimited access to his card for food deliveries over the next month, grinning so hard throughout the negotiation that sunghoon briefly considered leaving on principle alone. jake had sat through the entire story for the first time without interrupting once, only burying his face in his hands whenever the second-hand embarrassment became physically unbearable. jay, jungwon and riki had been considerably less diplomatic.
yes, he'd fucked up. spectacularly.
yes, there was every possibility you'd never want to look at him again.
no, none of them blamed you for it.
they still told him to come anyway. because if you were going to reject him, then he deserved to hear it from youânot from the version of you he'd spent the last month inventing inside his own head. park sunghoon is not every sure if heâll ever move on from it, from you, though he sincerely hopes he doesnât have to.
âi canâtâi canât hate you, hoon. i tried so hard, and it never worked, so what do i do now?â
the words seems to knock the air from his lungs.
sunghoon's thumb stills against your cheek. even now, even after hearing the words, he can't let himself believe them immediately. his thick eyebrows draw together in quiet disbelief, lashes still damp, mouth parted around a breath that never quite leaves him.
âi think about you so much it hurts.â a laugh escapes you, exhausted more than amused, and you shake your head as tears gather at your chin. when you look up at him, the expression in your eyes drives something sharp straight through his chest. âi just don't know what to do.â
your fingers find his wrist without thinking, curling around it lightly. beneath your touch, his pulse stutters wildly, and sunghoon has the absurd, terrifying thought that if you hold him there any longer, you'll feel exactly how badly he's falling apart.
âi still want you,â you whisper. âso tell me, what do i do?â
sunghoonâs face crumples with relief, so sudden that it almost looks like pain. his shoulders shake before he even realises he's crying again. he presses his lips together, turning away for a second as a breathless, disbelieving laugh slips through his nose, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are wet and helpless and impossibly soft.
every sleepless night and every terrible decision has led park sunghoon here, standing in front of you and bracing for an ending that was never truly his to decide. you are the only thing he has ever looked at and thought, i might not get this back if i lose it, and that realization terrifies him more than failure ever could.
everything else feels survivable. the carefully constructed life he's spent years maintainingâhe could lose all of it and eventually claw his way toward something new. he knows himself well enough to believe that, and well enough to know that you are different.
the mere thought of you turning around and walking away again is enough to hollow him out from the inside. it followed him into quiet rooms and sleepless mornings, into practices and lectures and every place he tries to forget you. for the first time in his life, there is something he cannot outwork, outthink, or outrun.
and still, even now, that something is standing here with tears on her face and her hand wrapped around his wrist, asking him what to do.
sunghoonâs wiping uselessly at his eyes. âi don't know,â he admits. âi donât know what youâre supposed to do.â
your chest immediately drops. thereâs that churning feeling again. you pick up on every movement of his, from the way his eyes never leave yours to how he canât seem to speak up.
âi spent months trying to decide that for you, and look how that turned out,â another shaky breath leaves him, and his shoulders shudder with it. âif you want to yell at me, do it. if you want time, take it. if you wake up tomorrow and realize listening to me was a mistake, iâll understand.â
sunghoon looks into your eyes. somewhere between the apologies and confessions, the distance between you has disappeared without either of you noticing. your knees almost brush, breaths mingling in the tiny booth, warm enough to fog the already close air between you. the fake candle flickers quietly in your peripheral, behind the abandoned bouquet and scattered conversation cards.
he blinks, just once, watching your eyes soften as they stare back at his. they never leave him, and theyâre not searching for answers anymore.
âbut if you're asking me what i want,â sunghoon mutters, taking a deep breath in. âi want you. i want you to let me stay, and i want it to be your decision.â
âyou hurt me.â you swallow. âforgiving you doesn't magically make all of that disappearâbut iâm tired. iâm really tired of being scared.â
âso this is my decision,â you step closer until the space between you disappears entirely. âstay.â
oh, park sunghoon is certain, now.
certainly, for the first time, he cares about someone other than himself, more than his stupid hockey games and ridiculous quizzes that heâd ace regardless if he studied or notâ
certainly, the girl he loves is here, in front of him. her heart is in his hands and heâs trying not to crush it, because hurting her means hurting himself. sheâs uncomplicated, and sheâs beautiful, even in this kind of light, even with tears running down her faceâlooking at him like heâs all sheâs ever asked for, despite everything heâs done.
certainly, he loves you.
all of you.
your arms find sunghoonâs waist with a familiarity that steals what little breath he has left. the movement is so instinctive neither of you seem to think too much about it. sunghoon's hand remains against your cheek for one lingering heartbeat, before his other joins it, cradling your face with impossible care, thumbs brushing absently beneath skin still warm from tears.
the space between you disappears altogether.
your arms slide further around his back, bunching the fabric of his hoodie between your fingers, the last of the tension leaves his body in one long, shaking breath. sunghoonâs own limbs slip around your shoulders, drawing you against his chest so gently it almost hurts, his chin resting lightly atop your head as though heâs afraid that if he lets go now, youâll disappear all over again.
âi love you, y/n.â
the confession comes easier than he expectedâtrue, almost painfully so, for far too long.
you tighten your hold around him, your cheek pressed against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
âi love you, too, hoon.â
for a second, park sunghoon forgets how to breathe.
all those nights spent lying awake, replaying every conversation until sunriseâevery version of this moment he'd imagined, every argument he'd had with himself, every impossible outcome he'd tried to prepare forâthey dissolve so quietly that he almost doesn't notice them leaving.
the questions that had followed him for weeks no longer demand answers. the guilt is still there, the hurt is still there, and he knows neither of them will disappear overnight, of courseâbut for the first time in months, park sunghoon knows one thing for sure:
he does not care, and he will keep loving you despite it all.
the fundraiser slowly forgets about the two of you.
by the time you step out of the little booth, thereâs an insanely long queue that wonât stop staring at you and sunghoonâa bouquet sits in the crease of your elbow, and the man by your side is smiling so wide that itâs borderline embarrassing. he might as well put a sign on your head.
the sunâs begun sinking lower behind the engineering building, bathing the pathways in that familiar honey-gold light that always seems to arrive when you and sunghoon are together. conversations swell around you as students drift from stall to stall with paper bags hanging from their wrists and half-melted ice cream in their hands. somewhere behind you, sunoo lets out an aggressively theatrical cheer before somebodyâjungwon, if you remembered correctlyâsmacks him hard enough to shut him up.
neither of you acknowledge it.
park sunghoonâs hand finds yours instinctually. heâs not even looking at you to see if youâre fine with it, but it doesnât matter anyway. your fingers intertwine with his, warm and steady and weirdly tightâyou glance down and feel the heat rushing up your cheeks.
ââŠyou know,â you mumble, watching your joined hands swing gently between you as you walk down the wide path. âi think this is technically our first date.â
sunghoon blinks. date? you? you and him? on a date?
the crowd has thinned out considerably, but when you glance back towards the familiar pink tent, the queue is somehow still moving. students continue drifting in and out of the little canvas booths, phones in hand as volunteers wave them forward one pair at a time. sunoo catches your eye from behind the registration table, arms folded dramatically across his chest as if he's personally responsible for the greatest love story in university history. you can't help but to smile, and sunoo notices immediately. with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he flicks his wrist in a half-hearted shooing motion before waving the two of you away.
you laugh under your breath.
ahead of you, the fundraiser is slowly settling into the evening. a handful of student union members balance precariously on folding ladders, looping warm string lights from one streetlamp to the next until little pockets of golden light begin blooming across the walkways. conversations soften as the afternoon crowd disperses, replaced by the quieter rhythm of people lingering instead of rushing somewhere else. somebody nearby is packing away handmade jewellery while another stall is still desperately trying to sell the last of their brownies to anyone willing to make eye contact.
your hand is still in sunghoon's. neither of you talk.
âoh.â
you glance sideways. heâs staring ahead, eyebrows pinched together in the sort of concentration that seems excessive for something this simple.
you snort. âthatâs all you have to say?â
âi'm thinking,â sunghoon murmurs, finally allowing himself a quiet chuckle. his thumb absently brushes against the back of your hand before he looks over at you. âdoes this mean i have to pretend i don't already know everything about you?â
âi wouldn't say everything...â you mumble, nudging his shoulder with yours before looking away a little too quickly. you don't have to see his face to know he's smiling. you can feel it somehow, in the way his gaze lingers a second too long, in the quiet that stretches between you while he leans ever so slightly closer, just enough that the warmth radiating from his hoodie brushes your arm.
âyou blush really easily.â
âi do not!â your eyes widen, yet, still refusing to meet his.
âyou're so pretty, y/n,â sunghoon says before he has the chance to psyche himself out of it. the compliment leaves him with such effortless certainty that it almost catches him off guard. âso cute when you're shy. blushing like that in front of me...â he continues, the corners of his mouth lifting into the smallest grin. âi don't think i've ever seen anything prettier.â
you squeeze his hand so hard he almost laughs again.
âgod,â you mutter, finally daring a glance at him before immediately looking away again, cheeks burning beneath the string lights overhead. âyou're still so annoying!â
the fundraiser eventually disappears behind you. after sunghoonâs insistence on sharing an overly-sweet milkshake, his hands are full with paper bags, filled to the brim with overpriced homemade desserts and a few too many keychains. neither of you remember who suggested leaving firstâat some point, the booths become smaller in the distance, and the chatter fades into little more than background noise.
there isnât really a destination. there doesnât have to be, you both know thatâbut it helps with the conversation. it flows easier than any of you expect, familiar, curious and gentle in the same way itâs always been.
you stop by a convenience store because sunghoon insists youâre hungry. allegedly, your stomach rumbled on the walk here, so he rushes into the store so fast that there isnât enough time to protest. the high-school part-timer stares at him weirdly as he wordlessly pays for both ramyeon cups, spending the next five minutes pretending not to hear you complaining about it.
you eat, anyway. sunghoon canât help but take a picture, too. you almost hit him on the head for that.
an hour later, the walk to your apartment is slower than it needs to be. autumn has finally settled over the city, the breeze cool enough to make you tug your sleeves over your hands every few minutes. leaves skitter across the pavement whenever the wind picks up, collecting around your shoes before scattering around them again, and somewhere overhead the sky melts from gold into a dark, deep blue.
you pass through that same parkâcyclists pass every now and then, bells chiming politely before disappearing further down the winding path, elderly couples taking a night stroll with plastic bags hooked around their fingers. the atmosphere is completely different now, though nothing tangible has really changed.
the two of you keep walking. sunghoon feels like he's going to explode from the amount of dessert you'd somehow convinced him to share with you, but the weight tugging at his shoulders feels lighter now. maybe it's because your hand is folded so naturally into his that neither of you have thought about letting goâor the fact that you managed to get rid of all those bags, thanks to him.
âit's nice to talk to you,â you murmur after a while, your gaze lingering on the river instead of him. the city stretches across the water in ribbons of gold and white, every reflection trembling with the movement of the current. âwithout the phone. easier to hear you.â
another breeze rolls against the river, cool enough to send little ripples across the water and lift loose strands of your hair across your face.
âuuuuhuh, iâm sure.â sunghoon smiles at you, easy-going and so reassuring it makes your pulse race. âkeep pretending like we didnât meet how we did.â
âthe hell?â
you glance at him. all he does is squeeze your hand onceâthen, the corners of his mouth lift into that small, effortless smile.
your heart gives an embarrassingly obvious thump. you let out a laugh before you can stop yourself, ducking your head almost immediately as warmth rushes into your cheeks. âdonât look at me like thatââ
âlike what?â
sunghoon stops walking. your footsteps falter a beat too late.
your hands are still joined, the sudden halt tugging you backwards before you can catch yourself. you stumble lightly into his chest, the front of his hoodie brushing against your sleeves as his fingers tighten instinctively around yours to steady you. your free hand lands against the warmth of his ribs, and for one, disorienting moment, all you can hear is the wind behind you and the quiet hitch in his breathing.
sunghoon looks down. you're close enough now that the warm lights stretching across this dim path catch in his eyes, turning the dark brown almost amber beneath the glow. a strand of your hair has fallen across your cheek again, flowing in the breezeâand sunghoon, stupidly, reaches up without thinking.
his knuckles brush your skin firstâthen his fingertips. they slip carefully beneath the loose strand, tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. it lingers for a moment longer than necessary, five seconds too much just to move a strand of hair away, and his thumb rests lightly against your temple as though heâs trying to memorise the shape of your face underneath his touch.
oh. you canât tear your eyes off of him.
park sunghoon looks like someone you could know forever. a gaze so gentle that youâd think heâs known whoever heâs looking at for a thousand yearsâa touch so tender that itâs unbelievable that heâs never loved anyone else.
the smile tugging at the corners of his lips dissolves into something almost disbelieving. sunghoonâs forehead dips, just enough so that your face comes into full focus, and the space between you disappears disappears so gradually that neither of you seem to notice how your noses almost brush.
his breath ghosts over your lips. warm, nothing like the cold air thatâs enveloping you both. sunghoon hesitates for a momentâeven now, he wonders just what heâs done to deserve this. he wants you to choose, and you do.
closing the distance, your lips find his with all the gentleness of someone coming home after being gone for too long.
for one impossible, weightless moment, the whole world seems to narrow until it is nothing more than the warmth of your mouth against his. the quiet rush of wind rolling off your skin, your hand tightening ever so slightly around the fabric gathered at his chestâevery sleepless night, every apology, every version of this moment he'd rehearsed alone in his room dissolves the instant you kiss him back.
park sunghoon's convinced nothing has ever felt this right.
you're soft against him, kissing him with the same quiet hesitation you've carried all evening, as though you're still afraid that pressing yourself any closer might shatter whatever fragile thing the two of you have only just managed to rebuild. meanwhile, sunghoon melts into it like he's been starvingâhe holds himself back for only a heartbeat before months of missed chances quietly unravel between you, his hand sliding around your waist with a tenderness so instinctive it almost startles him. he gathers you closer, careful enough to let you pull away whenever you want. you do not.
instead, your fingers slip from the front of his hoodie to the back of his neck, threading into the soft hair resting there. the movement draws the smallest, almost inaudible breath from him, and before he realises he's doing it, he's smiling into the kiss.
itâs contagious. youâre smiling now, too.
your lips part around a tiny, breathless laugh, and the sound is enough to make a smile form on his face. sunghoon leans in again without thinking, chasing another kiss, only for the movement to catch you off guard. you stumble back half a step, dragging him with you by the collar of his hoodie until the both of you have to force yourselves to stand properly.
your foreheads bump together as his arm tightens instinctively around your waist, trying to stop you from losing your balance.
âdo you kiss all your girlfriends like this, sunghoon?â
âdonât piss me off,â his arm loosens from your waist for half a second, just enough for you to stumble before he catches you immediately, pulling you back against his chest with an annoyed sigh. âi donât kiss anyone else.â
âi couldâve died right here. do you even care about me? should i just die right now?â
you stop right in front of your building. the path is uneven here, the road tilted upward; the automatic doors slide shut behind somebody leaving, and the chime hums softly before settling into silence again.
âsooha,â you smile. the blush that infects sunghoonâs face spreads like a wildfireâyouâre the one teasing now, after an entire day of his antics. âyou had a thing with her, iâm guessing?â
âwell, i wouldnât call it a thing,â sunghoon sighs, thumb rubbing against the back of yours. he swallows before looking at you again. âiâll be honest with youâwe were hooking up.â
he watches your expression carefully for a shift. anything that'll tell him you were upset, or lividâanything at all. he swore he wouldn't blame himself if you were. how would he have known that the love of his life would waltz right in thirty minutes after sooha's exit?
sunghoon adds on a little too quickly. âit was before you.â
âhow long?â you ask, tilting your head. curiosity, it seems, but these are dangerous waters that sunghoonâs treading. based on past experiences, his partners (can he even call them that?) never took to well to a previous acquiantance.
sunghoon almost considers lying, just to make himself sound better, before deciding against it. he's never been too good at that anyway. âon and off. a few months, maybe. nothing that meant anything.â
he exhales through his nose, something between a laugh and a wince. âi know. i wasn'tâi didn't handle it well. i never called it anything, and i never made her think it was anything, but i also never stopped it when i probably should have.â he pauses, âthatâs my fault.â
it's such a sunghoon answer. blunt and completely unflattering to himself, a lack of an attempt to soften it into something easier to hear. you almost want to laugh at how little effort he puts into making himself look good, like it hasn't occurred to him that he could, and youâd never be able to prove otherwise.
you nod, trying to hold your laugh in at the sight of his face. he looks like he's just seen a ghost, no matter how much he tries to hide itâlips pursed together instinctively, eyes wide and scanning yours for any hint of anger. âokay. good to know.â
you give his hand a small squeeze before beginning to loosen your fingers from his, only enough to shift your grip more comfortably. âi appreciate the honesty.â
sunghoon keeps staring. âthat's it?â
âwere you expecting more questions, hoon?â you can't help but smile now, your free hand covering your mouth in an attempt to hide how adorable you find him. âi didn't know you back then. you were still staring at me weird from the stairs.â
âi was not staring,â sunghoon shakes his head, a stray strand of hair falling loose over his brow with the motion. âyou were staring. iâm surprised heeseung didn't notice.â
your jaw drops, mouth falling open in mock offense. "excuse me?"
âwhatever. itâs over now, right?â sunghoon sighs, dragging a hand down his face in dramatic disapproval, fingers pausing briefly over his eyes like he's shielding himself from the sight of your face. "not really trying to share you with him."
âyou're so annoying!â you shove at his shoulder, and he barely rocks with it, solid where he's standing, biting back a grin like he's tryingâbadlyâto look unaffected.
sunghoon's mouth curls into a smile that reaches his eyesâdark in this dim light. he's still taller than you despite standing a few steps higher, your face now level with his, close enough that you can count the individual strands of hair falling loose over his forehead.
his hair is still a mess from the wind, and from your fingers ruffling through the strands earlierâsticking up at odd angles he clearly hasn't bothered to fix, like it hadn't even occurred to him. his cheeks are still faintly red, yet to fully fade since you first touched his skin, and his ears are airbrushed with a soft pink he probably has no idea is visible.
you hope no one else has ever gotten to see it on him before.
it's quiet. no dogs this time, for some reason. itâs just the low hum of the streetlight above you, buzzing faintly, flickering once before steadying again. an occasional cricket announces its presence somewhere in the bushes lining the building, and beneath that, nothing. though, thereâs just your own heartbeat, loud and unreasonable in your ears, and the sound of sunghoon breathing, slow and careful like he's trying not to disturb whatever this is.
sunghoonâs hand is still loosely wrapped around yours, thumb tracing an invisible circle over your knucklesâitâs not quite a habit yet, but close to being one, you can tell. you can feel the calluses along his palm, rough from what you assume is hockey, a strange and grounding kind of proof that this is real, that he's real, standing this close to you at almost midnight with his heart clearly in his throat.
and then, thereâs you. even in this horrible, fluorescent lightingâthe kind that makes everyone look a little sickâyou look undeniably beautiful to him. almost glowing, or maybe he's just sleep-deprived enough that his eyes are playing tricks on him. either way, he thinks, quietly and with helplessness, that he has never wanted to kiss someone this badly in his entire life.
his gaze drops, just briefly, to your mouth. then back up, like he's asking permission before he's even said anything at all.
âcan i kiss you, y/n?â
the question is so earnest it hurts. his voice is breathy, needy, everything that you could possibly ever need in a man right in front of you. you feel like if you fall for itâanswer him right now, that your life ends here, because this is a trap, or a dream, or all of it at once.
youâre already leaning into him, tilting your head until your noses are brushing each otherâs. sunghoonâs breathing so heavily that you feel it against your bottom lip, teasing, just asking for that final push.
one of his large hands settle at your waist. waiting. always waiting.
the kiss is slower than the last one. a little more desperate, maybeâyou feel sunghoonâs large arms wrap around you again, tighter now, tongue swiping against your bottom lip, moving you as he pleases just so he can get the most of you.
you taste like him.
the thoughtâs driving him crazy. you've already confessed everything worth confessing tonight; now, there is only the quiet luxury of learning each other properly, without distance, without static, without the countdown of a call timer reminding either of you that morning would eventually come.
itâs messy in the way that two people are when theyâre starving for each other. borderline greedy, too much tongue and then not enough at all, your hands running along the upper part of his back as you keep him anchored to you. sunghoonâs lips feel so perfect when theyâre against yours, he genuinely believes that this is what heâs been chasing for all twenty-four years of his life.
every time one of you pulls back to breathe, the other closes the distance again without thinking, as though separating has become something your bodies no longer understand. your fingers wander instinctively over the broad line of his shoulders before settling against the back of his neck, keeping him close without ever needing to ask.
sunghoonâs hands remain anchored at your waist, warm through the fabric of your clothes, thumbs tracing absent little movements that make your pulse flutter for reasons you can't quite explain.
ânot here, hoonââ you mumble against his lips before he pulls you right back in. so annoying. sunghoonâs lips crash into yours again, still just as curious, palm flat against the small of your back.
âhm?â the sound vibrates softly between you before he finally relents, resting his forehead against yours instead. one of his hands slides carefully along the curve of your side until it settles once more at the small of your back, holding you as though he'd forgotten any other way to stand. â...tell me where, then.â
you shake your head once, trying very unsuccessfully to compose yourself before meeting his eyes again.
youâre huffing, trying to catch your breath when your hands fall to his chest. the guy is looking at you with the most feverish smile, eyes narrowing because he knows heâs got you flustered.
âupstairs,â you murmur, barely louder than the evening breeze slipping between the apartment buildings. your fingers fist at his hoodie. âcome upstairs.â
park sunghoon likes to think that heâs good at sex.
thereâs nothing complicated about it, really. he knows heâs good at most things.
his bodyâhe knows itâs the kind most people would kill for, the kind other men spend half their lives trying to build. of that, heâs well aware. hockey, school, laundry, cooking, smiling and talking as if nothingâs ever the matter. heâs reduced it to a science: technique, precision, mastery, painstakingly perfected.
the data is there. they scream, they cry out of sheer pleasure, they moan like no one else exists but him, but park sunghoon. he predicts it in the same way he knows heâll get that perfect score, and make that one âluckyâ shotâitâs calculation in itâs most unsurprising form.
human bodies are scientific. their anatomy is roughly similar, so he knows if he moves just like this, whispers just like that, sheâll fold. sheâll crumble underneath him like itâs her first time ever sleeping with a man, clinging onto sunghoon like what heâs doing is some lost art among the modern male.
thereâs significant amounts of advice online to tell him how to please a woman. itâs not rocket science applying these concepts in practice, as heâs doneâand sure, itâs done himself favours. there were nights where sunghoon couldnât believe that heâd ever quit hook ups, but soon realised that thatâs just how his brain works: that thatâs just what the dopamine rush whispers into your ears as you cum for the third consecutive time.
there is a nice predictability in sex. itâs instinct, and where there is instinct, there is nature and nature is almost always studiedâeven if itâs an utter waste of time, stress relief aside.
though, when he finds himself stumbling into your apartment, kicking off his shoes and slide his hoodie off his back while simultaneously trying to keep his lips on yours, he finds himself wanting time to slow itself down.
just something about you, he thinks. that look on your cute face, staring at him like you didnât know what to do with the heat pooling between your legs; you stumble against him a few times while you both try to find your way to your bedroom, shoulders nudging against light switches and shoving a few chairs out of place. your laundry is still on the couch from this morning, you noteâbut when sunghoon puts his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look at himâthe reminder fades completely.
âwhat am i going to do with you?â sunghoon grins, letting his ass fall to the edge of the bed. sitting up, his hoodieâs discarded somewhere by the entryway, and the only article of clothing left being his jeans. his hands roam your bodyâup and down, before looping around your waist and pulling you between his spread legs. âso pretty.â
you whimper when his hands begin sliding underneath your top. âcan i, baby?â
itâs almost pathetic how fast you nod. your hands rest on his shoulders, eyes locked on the way he leans closer to your belly. sunghoonâs slender fingers move up your warm skin, now burning hot under his touch, and eventually, he lifts your shirt completely.
âyou sure about this, y/n?â sunghoon looks up, pupils blown with his cheek resting against your bare stomach. âwe can stop. whatever you wanna doââ
ân-no,â you sigh, watching sunghoonâs eyes blink up at you, so dazed. âi want you, hoon.â
he hums at your response, turning his head so his lips touch the skin of your belly. theyâre still wet from your earlier kisses, pressing nice and slow until he reaches from your belly button to your ribcage. truthfully, sunghoonâs mind has already gone to mush at the mere scent of you: the sweat from the day and your perfume blending into one, the heat from your body, that he just canât help but to start leaving hickeys along the exposed area.
âiâll make you feel so good, y/n,â he mumbles against your skin. âbut you gotta be good for me. you can do that, canât you?â
oh. heâs that kind of guy.
somethingâs flipping in your stomachâsimmering low, intense, nothing like youâve ever felt before. you stare down at him, face visibly flushed from the way heâs touching you; your knees almost buckle upon hearing his voice, and sunghoon canât help but let a chuckle out at that in between kisses.
âcanât hear you. speak up for me.â
you swallow, feeling sunghoonâs hands exploring furtherâuntil his thumbs are right on your nipples, bypassing your annoying bra, rubbing gentle circles, smiling up at you like heâs done nothing too crazy.
ây-yeah, i can,â your voice comes out a tad too soft for his liking, evidently, because his little grin fades into something more displeased.
sunghoon stands up instead, large hands hooking around the hem of your shirt and helping to pull it off of you. your arms point to the ceiling, naturally, letting the fabric part from you with a gaspâthe cold air hits your skin, and the wet imprints of kisses on your stomach feel even icier now.
he moves back to your stomach, taking in your scent; itâs even more potent now when youâre bare like this. curiosity gets the better of him once his nose bumps against your bra, his hair nuzzling against your chest as one of his hands move to unclasp it. effortless.
âsunghoon, stop teasing,â you whine, watching him lean back. sunghoon pulls your bra off of you on one swift motion. itâs an understatement to say that you were prettyâjust gorgeous when youâre naked in front of him like this.
he ignores you. asshole.
sunghoonâs fingers hook around your skirt nextânot quite pulling it down just yet. then, almost as if youâve done something wrong, he stands up.
you forget how huge he is for a second. when the dim warmth of your lamp hits him, you lose your breath completely. every muscle is highlighted in orange, the definition outlined by shadows that leave you wanting, and itâs like air is caught in your throat from how unfairly good he looks.
âiâll ask again,â sunghoon mutters, hands back down to your waist, and then your hips, and then heâs flipping you over onto the mattress. âyouâll be good for me, wonât you?â
whatever. fuck it.
all sense of reasoning leaves your body at once. sunghoon cages you between his arms, staring into your eyes, and the look in them sends pure electricity through your veins. he looks hungry, thirsty, like he needed you right now or heâd die.
and still, he waits for an answer.
âiâll be s-so good, hoonie, i promise.â
the nickname doesnât leave a bad taste in his mouth anymore. itâs been a while since heâs heard itâbut when it comes from you, god, it sounds like itâs dripping in honey and coaxing him into whatever trap you laid out for him.
âgonna fucking kill me,â he rasps, pulling away before pressing a kiss to your cheek, down to your jaw, then to the patch of skin underneath your earlobe. the feeling of his warm tongue sliding against your skin makes you shudderâcombined with his fingers pressing into your back, feeling every inch of skin, savouring the feeling of you;
when sunghoon first walked in, he noticed how unbearably you your room was. decorated in posters of your favourite bands, little trinkets here and there that he has no clue how you keep organized. his eyes glazed over your desk, your laptop, your lamp, and everything that you chose to keep that would now remind him of youâright now, your legs are wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his ass while he grinds nice and slow against the warmth of your pussyâfeeling right through your panties, skirt tossed somewhere in the corner of the room.
what was most interesting about your room was that mirror in the cornerâperhaps he was a pervert for wondering, only for a moment, if you had ever touched yourself in front of that very reflection. he could imagine your legs spread in desperation, knuckles deep in yourself as you chased whatever high you terribly wanted.
did you think of anyone? did you get off to the sound of his voice? though, most importantly, would you let him ruin you in front of that little mirror of yours?
âcan i take this off?â he whispers into your ear, hands roaming down from your neck and to the lace around your pantiesâyou nod again, and the chuckle that escapes his lips only sends shivers down your spine.
your legs fall to the side of his thighs, leaving you bare and spread in front of his eyes. âwhat about you?â
sunghoon literally laughs in your face. âbe patient, baby. havenât even gotten you nice ân loose yet.â
your breath hitches at his vulgarity. the image pops up behind your eyelids: sunghoonâs long, pretty fingers buried somewhere deep in you, curled at the perfect angle and prodding at that one spot that makes you sees starsâhow long would it take for him to get there? would he even know how to?
famous last words, as they say. it takes four minutes for sunghoon to have your thighs pinned to the mattress, three to have the tip of his index and middle fingers inside of you and two to get you whimpering like a hot, pathetic mess.
maybe just one to get you soaking his wrists.
âwhatâs wrong, baby?â sunghoon pouts. his eyes are glimmering in the dark, the tiny light left outside reflecting off his irises. in this atmosphere it just seems like a mockery. âtoo much for my pretty girl? she canât seem to get enough, though.â
and then his eyes flick down to where you suck him inâglistening, disgustingly sloppy and wet where you take every inch like it was always meant to be yours. itâs times like these where you truly believe fate is real; because thereâs just no way you were this close to going your entire life without thisâwithout sunghoonâs fingers buried knuckle deep into you.
âh-hoon, ughâfuck!â you squeal when he curls his fingers just right, and he just watches, an eyebrow raised like you were some intriguing specimen. just a body underneath his touch, poking and prodding and spreading you as wide as he can, as best as he can. everything he does seems to illicit some reaction from you, too amusing for him to stop. âplease, gonna cum, iâm gonna cum, nghââ
âso quick?â sunghoon sighs, kissing his teeth. âgod, youâre so cute. must be too much, then?â
and then, he slows down. ripping your delicious orgasm right from your useless fingers.
ân-noooo,â you drawl, nails clawing into sunghoonâs veiny forearms as he nods slowly, expecting a coherent answer. what a mistake, as if you could even think straight right now. âitâs notâitâs not, fuck, i can take it.â
sunghoon chuckles, head tilting up just enough to get your pretty face in full view. âreaaally? need my permission to cum, too?â
your stomach flips at the way he says itâlow and sultry and teasing, like he knows exactly what heâs doing to you. rearranging your guts with his hands alone, whispering these ridiculous things to you, expecting zero reactions. is he stupid? has he lost it?
âyou trying to snap my fingers off? relax, baby. canât have that.â
the humiliation washes over you rather quickly, but disappears just as fast when you feel every muscle in your body beginning to lock up. the words canât even find themselves, too lost in your mushy brainâeverything narrows down to the man with his hands between your legs, pumping his stupidly long fingers in nâ out, watching you lose every piece of sanity you have left.
âwhoâd have known. such a sensitive girl,â and his thumb brushes against your swollen clit with just enough pressure to have you twitching, but never to cross that final, potentially fatal line. âdo you always cum this fast?â
sunghoon sighs dramatically. if you couldnât see his face, youâd have assumed that he was irritated with youâbut your eyes havenât left his, nor the red in his cheeks and his slightly parted lips, groaning whenever you buck your hips against his palm, feeling the friction of your clit against his skin. they occasionally glance down at the tent in his pants, fighting against tight cloth to be freed, twitching and already forming a dark, wet patch where his tip would be.
âoh my god,â you moan, gripping tight around his wrists. thereâs a part of you that just wants to sit up and grind against his hand yourself, but thatâd be much too embarrassing to live with. âcanâtâcanât, i j-jus⊠canât, please, hoonieââ
the words ring a bell that he canât quite recall, is what he would say if his memory was absolutely terrible. the man remembers exactly when and where you said those terrible, terrible things, under a streetlamp and in a park he had never seen before; so sure that heâd never see you again, and now, here you are, losing your mind and at his mercy.
âoh.â sunghoon grins. cocky little bastard. âyou close? gonna make a mess on hoonie? câmon, soak me. wonât stop âtill you do.â
thereâs something utterly perverted about him tonight. hoonie was never an exclusive nickname, of courseâgeneric by all means. sooha had taken great pleasure moaning and whimpering that exact term a hundred-something nights ago, and sunghoon swears that he mustâve been in a completely different body then. wonders how he ever let the name reach his ears without gritting his teeth, but now that youâre here⊠itâs like a completely different world has opened before his eyes, and his cock has never, ever been harder.
how could he have fucked anyone else when you existed? how could you have slept with other people when he was right there? the selfish thought invades his sick brain as fast as he feels his cock swell up.
never-mind that. this is way more importantâthere comes a point during sex where all the pleasure folds in on itself and magnifies by tenfold, becoming itâs own force, taking over your nervous systemânothing matters. sunghoon doesnât matter. your pride definitely does not matter.
so itâs not really your fault, is it? couldnât possibly be, even if youâre sitting yourself up (with an unreasonable amount of effort) and grinding your hips against his large, calloused hands, and whining like a bitch in heat against his mouth. even less so now that sunghoonâs letting youâhis breath is taken from him when your tongue slides against his, wet and soft and everything he needs to get that pretty cunt fluttering around his digits.
âmy filthy girl,â he moans between kisses, his warm breath ghosting against your glossy lips. your arms are running up and down his shoulders and finding a place to stay anchored, and when they finally do, sunghoon doesnât wince one bit when your nails dig in, out, and in again. âjust look at you, fucking yourself stupid on my fingers.â
you donât hear him. genuinely. itâs all buzzing and static and you feel yourself starting to shake from the hip up. you shudder when he flexes his fingers, and itâs like everything youâve ever done has led to tonight, every choice, every mistake.
âh-hoonie, âm sorryâfuck, need more of you,â you press a searing kiss to his bottom lip, almost missing completely and letting your mouth fall open against his anyway. your breath feel like fire against his skin, and sunghoon can only groan when he feels your walls spasming around his slender fingers. âplease, iâll be so good.â
sunghoon does that same, amused grin on his face, just watching you pant underneath him. the expression only reminds you of that night: you in the kitchen, and him, watching you from the front door on new years eve.
the corner of his lips turn upwards and itâs nothing short of pure perversionâtongue poking at the inside of his cheek, face red with heat crawling up his neck, and an eyebrow cocked up. âare you actually begging me right now? while youâre riding my hand like this?â
you nod your head, frantic. of course youâre fucking begging. itâs been an entire lifetime of teasing and sunghoonâs still dangling the idea of fucking you in your face, just revelling in your visceral and absolutely humiliating reactions.
your mindâs going blank. every thought diverges into park sunghoon and every desire has his stupidly handsome face plastered onto it. your stomachâs so tense that itâs starting to hurt, and you feel lightheaded from how often your breath gets taken right from youâso close, and yet, still so far.
âyes, pleasepleaseplease, iââ
âgod, youâre greedy,â sunghoon mumbles under his breath, using his free hand to push you backwards. your spine hits the mattress with a recoil, and the springs creak just enough to muffle the pathetic whine that slips off your lips. âjust an ungrateful girl. fine, then.â
and then, thereâs nothing. just that mind-numbing feeling of having your body be sent to heaven, only to be denied at the pearly gates.
your heartâs pounding at the sight of him: warm, glistening skin under the dimness of your lamp, chest heaving as he pulls his fingers out from your slick entranceâit feels increasingly, unbearably empty as he retracts his ridiculously long digits. sunghoon does nothing but enjoy the view, eyes glazing over the way your body twists and turns at his cruel punishment.
âcome on. again.â
who does he think he is, really? you kiss and make up, and in the same day, he makes you beg for a little gratification? does he have any idea what he put you through? to be truthful, you could go on and on about how he doesnât deserve any sort of control over youâ
âplease, hoonie. iâll take everythingâfuck, just fuck me already.â
fuck it. you donât care. it doesnât matter that park sunghoon is toying with you. you need him, you need all of him, you need every inch of skin that heâs willing to give and every word heâll spit at you.
park sunghoon isnât exactly inexperienced with sex. he knows that intimacy is one of manâs greatest discoveries, and itâs only natural that he participates in it. as one does. whatâs not normal is that heâs never felt this before: this insatiable, lustful heat simmering in his core, making his cock twitch before itâs even been touched.
god, you look so perfectâspread bare beneath him with inner thighs soaked in your own juices, whining and pleading and begging for a taste of him, as if he wasnât holding himself back already. youâre truly the greediest, just taking and taking even if he tries to take his time.
thereâs blood lingering in his mouth and the metal feels sharp on his tongue, and still, he continues biting on his lip. sunghoonâs eyes never leave yours, hands coming down to unbuckle his belt with a single handâthe other pins your knees open, and while you squirm under the pressure, you never quite gain the courage to defy.
when sunghoon finally leans forward, the scent of him is enough to overwhelm your nervous system; he grunts when your arms wrap around his neck, and your nose nuzzles against his neck like it has nowhere else to go. a deep breath in and itâs like youâve never felt more alive than now.
âthis enough for you?â
he picks up on everything. from the way your eyes never stay on his for too long, to the way you twitch when he presses his briefs right against your cuntâyour breathy moans in his ear as he leans in close, and how quickly you stain the spandex with your slick, mixing with his sticky pre.
âthis should be fine, right? my girl can cum juuust like this.â sunghoonâs voice is the only thing cutting through the fog in your head. itâs spinning so much that gripping onto him is serving as the only anchor to your consciousness. your nails drag along this trapezius, sinking into the superficial skin, waiting for a reaction that never comesâinstead, all he can offer is a mocking smile, fangs bare and taunting.
his hips are teasing. he moves them slow, taking his time with every drag of up and down, the fabric sliding between your pretty folds and swollen clit; thereâs a brief second where he feels the tip of his cock slide into you through the barrier of clothing, only to slip free when he slides up again.
âso perfect,â sunghoon whispers into the conch of your earâyou donât realise what heâs said until you feel his sharp teeth gliding against your helix, before he finally nips at it. âyouâre so perfect, baby. made for me, arenât you? canât believe i almost let you go.â
sunghoon thinks about how ridiculous he must look right nowâhumping your poor cunt like heâs in heat, holding himself back for reasons beyond him, whispering these obscenely intimate things in your ears like he doesnât want to fuck you right this second. the strain on his cock is getting too much; bloodâs rushing down, heâs aching, and he doesnât know how much longer he has left before he flips you over and has your ass slapping against his skin.
âhoon, fuck, iâm gonna cum,â you say, bucking your hips up just once. wrong move. âplease, donât fucking stopâit feels so good.â sunghoonâs head turns in your direction, nose brushing against your cheek before his mouth meets yours again. he doesnât care that they donât latch properly, nor that heâs practically drinking in your saliva, or that heâs gonna cum just from feeling the friction between your bodies. all sunghoon truly cares about is that youâre holding him like heâs all you truly need in this world.
âyeah? just from this?â sunghoonâs hand comes up to grip at your jaw, thumb and index pressing deep into the flesh of your cheeks. his body feels heavy on top of you, quick little movements doing the most to get you both over the edgeâand though he still seems a little more composed than you, it all goes to shit when your fingers graze the sides of his ribs. âfuckâdo it. cum for me, please, y/nââ
his hands run up your arms until his fingers are tracing your palms, slithering between your own, before finally interlacing. sunghoonâs pressing sweet kisses to your jawline as you moan into thin autumn air, feeling the vibrations of his groans against your throat; he moves at a frenzied pace, chasing friction that wonât ever compare to being buried tip to cervix, but itâs all he can get right now.
âiâm fucking cumming, hoon, oh my godââ
twenty seconds. twenty seconds is all he needs to have you gushing all over the spandex of his briefs, and twenty-five is all you need to chase his lips because you know youâll scream if you donât. perhaps around thirty for him to stop feeling like the room is spinning, and him along with itâyour tongues meet and circle on anotherâs again, moans clashing between desperate attempts to slow down, and itâs only sixty for him to finally hook his thumbs around his boxers and shove them down his thighs.
thwap.
sunghoonâs heavy in a way you canât say out loud. words get caught in your throat, with nothing but a pathetic hitch in your breath being audible. heâs so unbelievably pretty, flushed a deep red from the relentless teasing heâs put you through, serving as confirmation that heâs wanted this as much as you have.
he stares for a minute, catching his breath, before his hand reaches for youâspreading your folds wide between his fingers, watching it glisten under the orange light, almost sparkling if he could look close enough. the sheets below are soaked with youâa large, wet patch thatâs darker compared to the rest of the pink duvet.
âthought about this pretty pussy for weeks,â sunghoon lets his saliva collect in the well of his tongue, before spitting a thick glob riiight onto your entrance. âand now youâre aaaall mine. arenât you, baby?â
sunghoon looks up just as the name rolls off his tongue. you look absolutely wrecked, hair tangled in places where you didnât even know it could get tangledâtear stains running down your face and highlighting the flush on your cheeks so well. your eyes are wide, caught between staring at his leaking cock and his expectant eyes, shifting between the two every now and then;
a reverent sigh leaves you when sunghoon begins pumping himself, nice and slow using his hand, spreading the pre all over his hardened length. sounds of wet slick echo through the room as he strokes, just enough to get himself wet, before his knees shift forward and heâs finally, finally letting himself touch you without a stupid barrier.
âgonna stuff this pussy full,â sunghoon hisses through his teeth. âpump you full of my cum, fuck, i canât hold back anymoreââ his right hand wraps around the base of his cock, the back of your knees brushing against his thighs as he pulls you flush against him. youâre still heaving by the time he taps his mushroom tip against your folds, running it along the wetness of it, once or twice before aligning himself with you.
âyouâre so⊠annoying,â you huff, eyebrows pinched together, watching his jaw go slack at how warm you feel even from the outside. sunghoonâs stomach is in knots, anticipating the moment he finally sheathes himself all the way, how youâd probably claw at his skin from the sheer stretchâ
park sunghoon is thick. so undeniably heavy and dizzying, pushing past your walls, and as much as you clench and squirm around him, they offer no real resistance. your pussy takes him in like it needs himâsquelching when he bottoms out at last, big arms caging your relatively smaller head between themâall the air in your lungs feels like itâs being siphoned out.
who the fuck is this big? when was the last time youâve had something this huge inside of you?
âo-oh my fucking god,â his eyes screw shut for one, weightless second, before they shoot back open. he stares down at where you two finally meet, your velvet walls fluttering around him so warmly, a desperate whimper clawing itâs way out of his throat thatâs interrupted by a messy kiss.
âso perfect, baby, youâre so perfect,â he mumbles against your swollen lips, hips at a standstill because he plain refuses to moveâconvinced that heâll cum as soon if he so much as shifts his weight. âwish you could see your face. so pretty when youâre taking me.â
âyouâre⊠fucking⊠crazy,â you whisper against his mouth before your hands tangle in his hair; they bunch around the dark locks, pushing his lips against yours again, and he laughs between the sloppy attempts to lock your lips togetherânoses bump and his forehead thuds against yours. âjust fuck me, please, hoon.â
âlook at what you do to me,â he sighs, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. borderline addictive the way you wriggle underneath his touch, like you know his size would knock you out cold, but you still beg through small movements. âall your fault, isnât it? and you keep asking for more. just a needy little slut for me, huh?â
and then his hips retractâpulling out halfway, your cunt still weeping from the reduced contact. he looks back down, hair falling over his forehead, marvelling at the way his cock glistens with you. so utterly filthy.
you whimper when you feel the emptiness. his veins slide against your gummy walls as he pulls out agonizingly slow. âdonât wanna hear you complaining tomorrow morning, then.â
sunghoonâs pace is slow at first. gentle, sweet thrusts that still manage to make you see starsâheâs too afraid to hurt you, too busy savouring in the sweet moans that sprinkle in his name every once in a while. he feels hot, every bone in his body begging for him to hurry and stuff you full of his cockâbut how could he? youâre taking him so well just like this, and all he wants is to drag every second out longer, until he dies blissfully happy in this pussy of yours.
âfuck, mmnghââ and the man slams his lips against yours as his fingers find yours again. you wonder just how many times youâve managed to kiss tonight, but the thought immediately wipes itself clean when he angles his hips so deliciously right that you feel him all the way in your throat.
âshit, i canâtâyouâre too fucking big,â the sound of your breath shakes, too much for his brain to compute, and something primal claws at his sick brain until all heâs thinking about is folding your knees up and bullying your cunt âtill itâs red. you moan into nothing, hands running over every hard-earned muscle in his back, eyes screwing shut because looking at him feels like a perverted form of self-torture. âfuck, you feel so good, hoonie.â
âyeah?â and sunghoon literally feels every thread of sanity snap when you say his name again. âfuck, look at me thenâwanna see your pretty face.â your thighs shake with every slap of wet skin, his heavy body shifting the bed closer to the wall as he pounds and pounds and pounds. his hands move the damp strands of hair out of your eyes, ensuring the perfect, unobstructed view.
you mewl, all sweet and so coaxing when he presses an innocent kiss to your cheek. itâs wet and salty on his tongue, but sunghoonâs smiling so wide that you think he mustâve truly fucking lost it completely.
âwant you harder, hoonânot enough, please,â you whisper against his mole. thereâs just something in the way youâre batting your eyelashes at him that he thinks is sending his nervous system into overdrive, but itâs irrelevant now. your pleas sound like honey to his ears, but the one singular thought that keeps circling his mind is if youâll be able to take him like that.
his hands slide back down, stopping right where your tits areâhis thumb grazes the hardened bud before he begins to palm at the mound of flesh. âf-fuckââ
âgod, canât hold myself back anymore,â sunghoonâs nose nuzzles against your neck and he takes his time breathing in your scent. the smell of your shampoo lingers, now masked mostly by sweat and fading perfume, and it faintly reminds him of a familiar library where all he could focus on was you, you, you.
you, beautiful you. you whoâs underneath him now, pleading with him to give you what you wantâstill so naive, still so unaware, asking for things you have no idea what to do withâyou, who bats her eyelashes with a curiosity he doesnât know how to address, not without showing you.
he licks a long stripe along your jaw, rutting into you a little faster now. sunghoonâs hands find their way to the sides of your head; rationality has long left him, and his brainâs all foggy with visions of you. he wonders if he could take you just as well on the counter, on the desk, or by the window, and he just gets needier.
heâs getting sloppy and his brainâs all fuzzy. heâs not even sure what the rush is; when thereâs someone else in his bed, he almost always finds it easier to take his time. teasing, foreplay, whatever the fuck you wanted to call itâhe realised that the reactions he got were much more visceral.
but nowâgod, he needs you to cum around his cock as soon as possible.
âf-fuck, nghâpussy was made just for me,â he mutters under his breath, pushing himself upâhe towers over you like this, lowlights bathing his skin in warmth all over again as his arms wander down to your waist, then your hips, and then to the back of your knees. âw-whatâs wrong, hm? gotta speak up, baby. let me hear you. all that talking was just for show, huh?â
âf-fuuuuhâhoon, please, t-too muchââ
âah-ah, take it like the good girl you are,â his eyebrows knit together in focus, and a bead of sweat rolls down his face, down his chin and drips right onto the valley of your breasts. ây-yeaaah, see? just like that.â
youâre choking on a sob by the time he folds your knees upâbrutal, to say the least. your tits get squished by your thighs as he pins your legs up, sunghoonâs rough fingers wound tight around the soft flesh, bullying his way into your poor cunt.
the sounds echoing through the room might as well be featured in a porno. your moans mix until itâs an amalgamation of yeses, gentle sobs, and sunghoonâs relentless teasing. every thrust knocks the wind out of you, your hands clawing at his wrists and leaving red streaksâbut the pain barely even reaches himâthe only thing on sunghoonâs mind is how gorgeous you look underneath him, taking every inch like itâs what you were born to do, moaning the name he spent so long hating;
âf-fuck, i love you, love fucking this pussy so muchââ he hisses through his teeth, eyes zeroed on the way your eyes roll every time he buries himself to the hilt. your head tilts back, throat bobbing as you swallow back embarrassing moan after embarrassing moanâsunghoonâs making it difficult with the way he presses against your belly with one hand, the other holding your left thigh up. âshit, baby, you can be louder than that, canât you?â
oh, fuck park sunghoon. fuck this stupidly huge cock drilling itâs way through you, and fuck this ridiculously gorgeous man who has you biting back screams, fuck everything, fuck how good you feelâyour vision is clouding, stars exploding behind your eyelids every time you shut them, and all you can do is just sit and take it. âs-sunghoon, a-ahâslow down, iâm gonna fucking cum againââ
he kisses his teeth, now resorting to grinding his hips against yours. the angle is new, almost beautiful in itâs discovery. his hands are too curious, before settling on the fat of your ass, palming and fondling and treating it like his personal stress-toy untilâ
smack.
the moan you let out on contact is nothing short of humiliating. his palm smooths over the handprint, now blooming red right before his eyes, and your brain actually short-circuits for a second.
âfuck,â sunghoon laughs, mocking, rude and mean all in one. âyou into that shit?â
the sting sends electricity through your body. sunghoon pulls his hips back just enough, before sliding back between your pretty folds so slow that it actually makes you gasp. every single time he pushes himself back in, itâs like you have to get used to it all over againâthe stretch never becomes familiar, always melting your brain and forcing every coherent thought you have to mere nonsense.
âgod, youâre such a fucking slut,â sunghoonâs head tilts back momentarily, his hair falling with the gravity and sending little drops of sweat down his neck and onto his back. his heartâs beating all wild now, cock aching for more friction, more force, more of you; so greedy and full of desire, bringing his hand up to land another harsh blow to your ass.
âa-ahâhoon!â you hiss, but you never really try to stop it. you squirm, hips jerking with every slap he decides to give you, but sunghoon knows your cunt tells a different tale: your pussy clenches around him so tight that itâs suffocating him, just begging for his load, and itâs driving him insane. ât-too rough, i canâtâslow down, fuck, youâre gonna break the bed in halfââ
itâs true. the frameâs creaking upon each thrust, headboard slamming against the walls, but why would sunghoon care? fuck, heâll buy you a whole new bedroom if he has to, so long as you just let him have you like this for a little longer.
âdonât give a shit, haaâiâll buy you a new one, mm? fuck you again âtill we break that one too. bet youâd want that, wouldnât you?â he grins, and the corner of his lips turn up sharply when he sees how utterly fucked out you look. thereâs this familiar expression heâs seen on other girlsâwhen sunghoon proves to be too much for them to handle, and they end up tapping outâbut itâs none of that on you. no matter how much you cry that you canât take it, you cling onto him like the only thing you know, want, and need is him.
âanswer me.â
and the coil in your stomach begins to tighten almost instantlyâyou donât even realise that his hands have made itâs way up to your jaw, thumb and index pressing into the bone. a small squeal escapes your throat, and there it is again; that innocent look written all over your face, making sunghoonâs stomach do somersaults. his grip gets firmer with each passing second, before you finally manage to speak:
ây-yes, fuck, need itâi want it, pleasepleasepolease, sunghoon!â
itâs times like these were sunghoon really is convinced heâll never quit sex. not when thereâs a woman like you, with a pussy like this, with a voice so sweet that it makes his chest ache and his cock drip pre. itâs quite a confusing matter, actually, considering heâs never been one to talk too much during the actâthat shit just leads nowhere, and feelings get confused by the time he comes down from his high, but god, he doesnât think his mouth can stop at this rate, not when itâs you heâs buried in.
âyeaaah? gonna cream all over me, baby? make a mess all over this cock, come on.â sunghoon nods feverishly, both hands pinned to the undersides of your knees now, pushing you deeper and deeper into the mattress. your mind tries to catch up, but the pace at which he moves is too relentless for any real thought to form.
his hair falls over his face when he leans forward, just enough to press his full weight down on you. sunghoonâs washboard abs tense every time your nails claw at his chest and just thinking felt weirdly impossible now. your mindâs reduced to slush, ears ringing with wet smacks and constant grunts from the man above you. thereâs an occasional moan that slips from him, to which he realises, far too quickly, turns you on more than youâd (probably) ever be willing to admit. mental note for the next time he decides to rearrange your guts, he supposes.
sunghoon glances down again. just for a moment. in the past twenty seconds thatâve passed, you both donât realise how close youâve got, damp foreheads pressed against each other in something sweet in the midst of all the roughness. his grunts have transformed into something else completelyânow laced with need and breathy pleas, begging.
âthere we go, yeahâcum on my cock, please, baby. iâm so fucking closeââ
âi love you.â
the words almost kill him.
something seems to have snapped almost instantaneously. park sunghoonâs lips crash into yours with newfound fervor, and every muscle in his body seems to be operating on the sole purpose of getting you to come undone. heâs so fucking tired, trulyâbut the pain fades and all the soreness in his muscles from yesterdayâs practice is irrelevant now.
âyeah? you love me?â his pussydrunk face is the only thing in view, a small gasp slipping when he feels you clench down on him. his hips begin to stutter, jerk, pace faltering. his eyes stare into yours through the gaps in his damp hair, waiting for an answer. âfuck, say it againâplease.â
âi love you, sunghoon,â you whisper, almost sultry, your voice barely reaching his ears but ghosting against his lips anyway. âi-i love youââ
a starving man he proves to be. his lips lock with yours again, and this time, they never really leave. his tongue swirls around yours, drinking up every sound that you have to offer, still rutting into your cunt like he needs to fuck a whole new generation into you. your core tenses up so much that you think youâre gonna pass out from the impending orgasmâall sunghoon does is moan into your mouth, fingers intertwining with yours as he abuses your pussy with ruthless strokes.
âi love you, y/n,â the words are so sweet it makes your head spin. it doesnât correlate at all with the obscene view beneath you, his soaked pelvis and your thighs pressed up against your stomachâyour hole squelches with every roll, now much messier and haphazard, and the high is so close that you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. âthatâs it, baby. let it out for me, just like that.â
so cruel.
âc-cumming, fuck, iâm gonna cum, hoonââ
a revelation comes to sunghoon as soon as your walls begin spasming around his lengthâsunghoon has never had sex this good. you get impossibly tighter, and your moans are broken up by your lungs trying to take in more air. you sob when it hits, almost blinding in itâs entirety as sunghoon continues fucking you through it, feeling how you soak him from the inside and how it gets disgustingly easy to pound into you when youâre this wet.
âfuuuck, o-oh my god,â a guttural sound claws itâs way out of his throat. his forehead dips again, lips still glossy and tasting just like you, entranced by the way your pretty lips part in a silent scream that ends as a loud gasp. âyouâre so fucking tight when you cum, shitââ
sunghoon is gone. just chasing his own release, sloppy thrusts making your juices splurt everywhere; your moans amplify and youâre barely holding your sanity together by the time you come back from whatever plane of reality you decided to visit. his thumb digs into the dip behind your knees, still trying to push his cock deeper into you, tip grazing your cervix every now and thenâgod, itâs pure filth. youâre half convinced that you might have to take the stairs tomorrow if you want to avoid your upstairs neighbour.
humans are truly just animals. sunghoon proves just as much with how frantic he is to spill himself inside of you. truthfully, the thought is stirring him on more than heâd like to admitâwhich is kind of scary, if he thinks too long about it. itâs a shame that heâs incapable of that right now, because all he manages to babble is:
âplease, y/n, can i? let me cum inside of you, please, pleaseâshit, need to fill you up, wanna see it dripping out of you all fucking night, please.â
and you, as drunk on him as he is on you, nods like itâs all youâve ever needed in life.
sunghoonâs hips snap against your ass, eyebrows knit in frustration and lips parted to let an animalistic groan out. you take it, all of it, from the way he kisses you like he wants to eat you up, to the way he thumbs at your clit because he just needs you to unravel with him again. selfish as he is, he canât have this aloneânot when you look so beautiful breaking.
it takes ten seconds for you to cum for the second time, and him, eleven. itâs all heat and lust and pure hunger condensing into one, singular moment, where he buries himself to the hilt and spills months worth of holding back.
your walls pulse around him. your clit throbs unapologetically under his restless thumb, still circling nice ân slow as if you werenât already gasping for air as it is. his dick almost feels like itâs getting bigger, twitching as it shoots load after load, hot and thick as it paints every crevice.
god, what the fuck. sunghoonâs panting when he finally collapses on top of you, the soreness from yesterday creeping up on himâthough he has reason to believe it may be more of your doing. his face buries itself into your neck, not before his hands finally let your thighs loose, dropping right next to his, and for a minute, the two of you simply lay there.
sunghoon breathes you in again, slow enough that the scent of you settles somewhere deep in his chest. your arms slip around his neck without hesitation, fingers disappearing into the soft hair at the nape of it while your lips find his forehead in small, absent kisses that feel less like affection and more like habit. he lets out a quiet sigh against your shoulder, eyes falling shut as warmth spreads through him in steady waves.
âyou smell good today.â
he lets himself believe, just for now, that it can stay this way, though it is probably foolish. if he were being honest, every sensible part of him should still be waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to wake up and realise you've chosen the wrong person, for the guilt he's carried around for months to finally become heavier than whatever it is you've found in him. even after all of it, all youâve dragged each other throughâyouâre still here, trusting him with your body.
confusing, he thinks. youâre so confusing.
âhoon,â you mumble against his skin. he hums in response. âyouâre being weirdâoh my god. stop sniffing me, iâm getting ticklish.â
he hums against your skin before taking another deep breath in. âdonât care.â
before you, none of this would have unsettled him. there had been other people, other nights, other attempts at filling the empty spacesâand it had been good. he had learned very early that casual was easy to survive because it demanded so little of himâhe could leave before morning and return to his life unchanged, carrying nothing home except the faint smell of someone elseâs perfume and the relief of having avoided being known. it never bothered him. if anything, he preferred it that way.
âcan we wait a little longer?â
âdidnât know you were into cockwarming. youâre sick in the head.â you sigh dramatically, earning a groan from sunghoonâhe shifts his weight slightly, hissing when he feels you squeeze around him again.
âjust give me a minute,â he answers. âneed to remember my first with you. should we take a selfie?â
you fist at his hair and sunghoon winces. âfuck, i was just kidding.â
four in the morning.
the clock on your nightstand blinks the numbers back at you in soft, white light, stubborn and familiar. nine months ago, that hour belonged to a stranger's voice crackling through your speaker and a crush that felt enormous simply because it was all imagination.
you remember lying awake with your phone pressed against your cheek, convinced the boy on the other end of the line was someone else entirely, and now the room is quiet enough to hear the city breathing beyond the windows.
sunghoon shifts against you, cheek warm where it's pressed to your chest, his hair a soft mess beneath your fingers. when he tilts his head up, tiredness still clings to him around the edges of his eyes, but they find yours immediately, like they've learned the route by heart. there is something almost unfair about itâthat the boy who once hid behind another person's name now looks at you with such terrifying honesty.
âcan you get off of me now?â
sunghoon lifts his head just enough to look at you, cheek still resting against your chest, dark hair falling messily across his forehead. he considers the question with suspicious seriousness before leaning over to press another lazy kiss against your collarbone. âno.â
luck and fate. such intangible concepts, but the feeling creeps up on you regardless. the universe seems unusually generous now, which scares youâafter everything thatâs happened, after all the ways the two of you managed to hurt each other before finding your way back, it feels dangerous to believe that happiness could be this simple.
and stillâsomething tells you that this feeling might be yours to keep, anyway, so long as you keep choosing for it to.
sunghoon shifts closer, his voice rough with impending sleep as he presses his face into the warmth beneath your jaw. âi love you, y/n.â
when your eyes flutter open the next morning, the blinds are only half-shut, thin ribbons of sunlight slipping through the gaps and painting pale gold across the floor. there's a t-shirt bunched around your waist that definitely wasn't there when you went to sleep, and your hair is sticking to your cheek in a way that immediately informs you that youâve slept in way too long.
you stretch with a quiet groan, arms reaching above your head until your shoulders pop pleasantly, then roll onto your left side in search of the cooler side of the bedâbut instead, youâre greeted by more warmth.
for a brief, sleepy second, you wonder if autumn has somehow changed its mind overnight. is it summer again?
but then, you see him.
park sunghoon is sprawled face-down across your mattress like somebody dropped him there and forgot to pick him back up. one arm is flung over the edge of the bed, the other trapped beneath your pillow, and his dark hair sticks out in every possible direction. sometime during the night, he'd apparently migrated until three-quarters of his body occupied your side of the bed while you clung to the remaining sliver.
his bare back is outlined by faint shadows of the morning, still unfairly sculpted while knocked out cold. it annoys you, just a little, but enough that you briefly consider stealing the blanket back out of spite.
instead, you stay where you are and watch him.
you watch the slow rise and fall of his ribs beneath your fingertips, the tiny hitch in his breathing every few breaths, and the way one hand twitches occasionally against the mattress as though he's still reaching for you in his sleep.
you lean forward until your lips brush the warmth of his shoulderâbut the words you whisper there are too soft for him to hear.
âi love you too, park sunghoon.â
he sleeps through your confession, completely unaware of the smile that finds your face as you settle next to him again. your heart slows just a fraction, calming when your breathing unconsciously matches the rhythm of the man beside you.
time seems to slow itself down. the morning birds are quieter than usual, the grandmother across the street has spared the neighborhood her daily yelling, and when you look over at your calendar, there is nothing waiting for you there.
for a love this gentle, the universe has chosen to be unusually generous.
END OF THE LINE ⊠ë°ì±í PARK SUNGHOON [ PART 01 ]
if you're gonna break me in two â masterpost â do what you gotta do
GENRE + PAIRING âź college au. ice hockey player!fratboy!sunghoon x fem!reader. PART 01 WC 29.3k
SYNOPSIS âź youâve been crushing on lee heeseung for most of your college life â long enough that you were beginning to crack. one blessed night, when a girl at a party slips you his number, it feels like fate finally taking pity on you. what follows is a slow, intoxicating unraveling â late-night calls, perfect pick-ups, subtle flirts youâd expect from a charming guy like him. so why is it that when you finally wave at him on campus, he looks genuinely confused?
CONTENT WARNINGS âź explicit themes, includes smut so +18 only. themes of mental illness sex as a coping mechanism self esteem issues angst with happy ending miscommunication skinship physical intimacy inferiority complex featuring enhypen slowburn pining
AUTHOR'S NOTE âź hi!! thank you so much for waiting on me. this fic was such an ambitious idea of mine that i had no idea if i would be able to pull it off.. but after 6 months of typing n gathering feedback from my wonderful friends (veevee, annabanana, and mona to my minju + many more) i was able to do just that <33 hoonyn have such a special place in my heart, even though i worked on other fics while fleshing out this one, this project always got me the most excited (and also the most frustrated lmfao). anyway!!!! i had to split it up into two because of the block limit... VERY SORRY about that it's like 52k ish total? i got lost in the plot and just enjoyed my time writing, so that's why...... i hope it lives up to your expectations! i love U aaallll enjoy the word vomit ++ taglist at the end of the fic <3 thank u and see u in part 2 veryy sooonnn
REBLOGS APPRECIATED â THANK YOU FOR READING
everyone always told you that you had terrible luck. this applied to most things: friendships, competitions, meeting a friendâs parents, even.
but love? oh, love was where it stung. this was somehow more painful than everything else, because while you could flaunt at least one instance where a friendship didnât explode in your face, or a parent actually liked you, or you won a gold starâyou could never say you hit it off with a guy, ever.
perhaps the men of this generation were simply too terrible for this to ever be a matter of luck. it felt more like a rigged casino: every bet placed in good faith, every hand played carefully, and still you walked away lighter, bled dry all the same.
you werenât desperate. no. far from it. you did everything right. you waited, chose the boys who made you feel safe instead of reckless, who offered steadiness instead of the dizzy thrill everyone else swore by. you could say, with a quiet sense of pride, that you followed the rules and played it by the book. hell, even after all that, every guyâs true colours somehow emerged victorious by the end of it: they just want sex, sex, or sex.
the truth was that deep down, you didnât want anything to do with it. even if it was indeed the sexiest, biggest, smartest guy on campus⊠there was only one guy you set your sights on. just one, with the light brown hair and charming smile, shooting hoops at the basketball court by the cafeteriaâlee heeseung.
though, the problem was simple: youâd never actually talked to the guy. this couldâve been easily solved if you shared even one class, but of course, heâd signed up lateâevery elective already full, while you, being the good student you are, had locked your choices in the moment the portal opened.
the second solution, proposed by oh jiwon herself, was rejected the instant it left her mouth. you were sprawled in her dorm room on a normal saturday nightâyou, legs spread indecently across the tiny couch sheâd smuggled past security in first year, and her, upside down on the bed, hair brushing the floor.
âwhy donât you just bump into him and knock all his books down?â she muttered, teeth chomping down on a stack of (probably) expired bbq-xtra-hot chips.
oh, heeeell no. what the fuck was this? a poorly produced drama plotline?
âwas he born yesterday?â
the third option, though, felt a little more⊠dignified. it came to you on a random thursday evening, when the rain felt a little too heavy and you were wishing that lee heeseung would swoop in and hold a $5 umbrella over your heads.
replaying the events of the day in your head as your boots sloshed in muddy puddles, kim sunooâs annoyingly pretty face comes into view.
âthe fundraiserâs gonna be so busy this year, goshâŠâ
yes. indeed, it will.
the annual fundraiser organised by the student relations club. you remembered being ridiculously excited for it last yearâaround the same time youâd first started noticing heeseung. after some careful âasking aroundâ, youâd learned he was attending, too. and, as if the universe was personally apologising to you for your tragic love life: he was trying his luck at the blind date booth.
what a sweet guy. donating his hard-earned money to charity and putting himself out there? he had your heart in his hands, and you came to understand that his was the target of many others.
so, it was obvious what had to be done. you signed up the moment sunooâthank the angels for himâlet the information slip. itâs nothing short of fate that you shared an elective with him; it took a bit of coaxing and more than a few judgmental looks, but by that sunny wednesday afternoon, good had prevailed in the world.
itâs safe to say you did not get lee heeseung as your date. instead, you endured a miserable twenty-minute speed dinner listening to a stranger ramble about his league rank. ouâd never been more thoroughly turned off in your life.
the house smells like weed and alcohol, and also everything that you should not be doing on a thursday night. you got the call from jiwon in the middle of your assignment, head half buried in your hands as the glow from the laptop screen burned your retinasâitâs twelve midnight now, and you have class in eight hours, but the impending sleep deprivation still beats handing in sloppy work.
the house belongs to the frat heeseungâs in. sigma alpha eta, if you remembered correctly. itâs three stories tall, tacky, and reeks of soju and everything wrong with the male species. youâre not even sure if the place ever gets cleaned, but considering itâs full of rich mamaâs boys, theyâve probably hired someone to deal with the mess for them.
âwhat the fuck is going on?â
oh jiwonâs staring at you like youâre the one who dragged her here. you scan the room for no one in particular (lie), and when you turn backâ
sheâs gone.
âwhoâs ready to party?!â
the dj is embarrassingly bad. like, physically painful to listen to. the bass is cranked up so high it rattles the floorboards, vibrating straight through your bones. you cringe, already picturing the culprit: some frat guy who bought a $100 mixing set off amazon last week and now calls himself âup and comingâ.
everyone you know seems to be here. youâd brushed shoulders with ahn yunjin and danielle on the way in, only to watch them dart toward the porch with a joint already lit.
you snake your way through narrow hallways packed wall-to-wallâoverlapping conversations, smoke blown straight into your face, bodies pressing in from every side as you aim for the kitchen. instead, you stumble into the living room. leather couches are occupied by unconscious adultsâdrunk, high, or some lethal combination of bothâbathed in warm overhead light that all but promises brutal hangovers tomorrow.
it seems like the party started long before you got here. where the hell did your jiwon go, anyway?
your feet start to move again, carrying you mindlessly through the first floorâyou cross the hallway, take a turn into another doorway, and finally stumble upon the kitchen; itâs less crowded, with fewer drunk people and comparably quiet in contrast to whateverâs waiting for you outside the threshold of that door. your eyes are hesitant, oddly enough, though you know why.
parties like this usually mean hookups. and when hookups are involved, lee heeseung is the first name that comes to mind. the guyâs practically a walking targetâespecially in his own frat house, swarming with every girl whoâs been blessed enough to know the name.
this whole situation feels like a ticking time bomb. your chest tightens. how long before someone else gets to him? how long before you turn a corner and see his face buried in someone elseâs neck? 10 minutes? 10 seconds?
âhellooooo!â
and as fast as the thoughts come, they go; head snapping toward the sound, locking onto oh fucking jiwonâstanding there, smiling innocently, as if she hadnât abandoned you to die in the crowd.
âwhere the fuck have you been?â you sigh, hands running through your hair, like youâd just spent a whole day looking for her. to be fair, time moves weirdly in places like this.
ârefilling!â she hiccups. âsee?â she tips her red cup to show a dubious mix of jack and coke.
sheâs tipsyâno surprise there. jiwonâs always been a lightweight. still, she manages to wobble over and hop onto the marble island, scooting back until her legs dangle comfortably. she looks down at you with glassy, sparkly eyes.
âsooo⊠heeseungâs place, huh? didnât know their frat was so fancy. they literally have wine older than my grandparents in here.â
you roll your eyes and drag a stool out from under the island. it screeches against the tile, making you wince, before you climb up onto it.
âyouâve been snooping in their alcohol?â you giggle, shaking your head in mock disapproval. youâll have to look through it later, too. âyouâre a shit guest.â
âguest is always right!â jiwon babbles, before abruptly sneezing. the action makes you flinch. âoh⊠sorry. anyways,â
you cross your arms, waiting. sheâs halfway to blackout, but you humor her anyway.
âfundraiser!â she slurs. âheeseungâs in the pantry. think heâs lookinâ for chips. i dunno. he was with sunghoon, and then i ran into him while lookinâ for more sojuââ
and itâs like the universe wants to show you how much it wants you to stay in this lifetime, as a form of divine mercy, or something similar to an apology, because lee heeseung slides the pantry door open and waltzes right out with chips tucked under his armpit, as he munches on something else. your eyes follow him, and so does everyone elseâs, and naturally they trail towards the slightly shorter man behind him.
park sunghoon. the guy with the ridiculously sharp, thick eyebrows, a staring problem, and close to half of the campusâs female population wanting to lick his boots. thereâs often two responses to the question âwhoâs the cutest guy on campusâ, and many of your peers often utter one or the other: heeseung, or his colder counterpart, sunghoon.
you took an economics class with him last year, and thank god you didnât hit the lottery and end up in the same group, because youâd heard⊠things. too many things. stories about him tearing into a girlâs work so viciously, she had to beg the professor to let her switch groups with sunoo (itâs strange, how he seemed to be in almost every class you took, now that you think about it).
youâd never talked to him, or anyone from that little group, really, aside from kim sunoo. you knew sim jaeyun was popular over in the engineering block; all brains and good looks, apparently. nishimura riki was another name you heard in passingâalways surrounded by a crowd whenever he danced with his crew in some random corner with a giant mirror. as for jongseong and jungwon⊠you didnât even want to think about the things people said. absolutely vile in nature.
it seems like the whole lot of them were heartthrobs, in every sense of the word.
itâs just⊠park sunghoon?
that guy didnât deserve half the glowing reviews he got.
you were half convinced that if people had star ratings floating above their headsâcomplete with scrollable commentsâheâd be inflating his own with burner emails.
park sunghoon. 5 stars. wow, this guy is sooooo hot and rich! â nothoon12345. he just looked like the kind of guy who did that kind of thing.
okay, maybe you were being a little harsh, considering youâd never actually spoken to him. still, it felt telling when even other men talked shit about him: apparently being both the most disliked and the most respected player on the ice hockey team was impressive enough to land him the captain title.
he walks a few steps behind heeseung, his own bag of chips in hand. you donât realise youâre staring until his gaze snaps towards you as he passesâa look equal parts smug, disgusted, and painfully punchable.
âwhat the hell is that guyâs issue?â
âstop looking at him,â jiwon waves you off, swinging her feet. her heel accidentally thuds against the wood. âheeseung's right there.â
your eyes flick back to heeseung, now hovering near the front door, greeting the flood of people streaming inâtonightâs barely started, but somehow, you feel ten times heavier than when you walked in.
lee heeseung, leaning casually against the wall, all perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfectly charming face⊠and park sunghoon, just a step behind him, stiff, scanning the crowd until his gaze finally locks on you.
before you can tear your eyes away, he cocks his head and gives you a smileâall mockery, all challenge, like he just told a joke youâd never understand. you shift your weight on the stool, cross one leg over the other, but your eyes stay zeroed on him.
âi donât like that sunghoon guy,â you mutter, dragging a hand through your hair and pretending to look elsewhere.
oh jiwon rolls her eyes, snorts, and leans her weight back on the counter. âyouâd be surprised how many people wanna get in his pantsââ
âdonât. talk. to. me. about. park. sunghoonâs. pants.â you snap, stabbing a finger toward her chest for emphasisâshe giggles at the action, and you do, too. though your eyes flick back, just once, toward where he was.
but when you do, heâs gone. no sunghoon, no heeseung. just the occasional partygoer opening and closing doors, the sound barely registering to your ears through the shitty music.
itâs one in the morning, and the party seems to be at itâs peakâthereâs no one else coming through the front door, and itâs more packed than you could imagine; youâre leaning against the staircase with a cup swirling in your hands, only having taken two sips out of it. jiwonâs still next to you, chatting to a guy youâve never seen before.
you look at him, then at her. unimpressive, if anything. youâre turning to look at your cup again and the feeling hits, sudden and sharp as it claws at your chest: you feel extremely out of place, even in a house full of people and possibility. people shove their way past you and you hold your cup tight to your chest as it happens. you barely hear anything with the laughter, chatter, and music all at once.
your eyes drift toward the windowâyunjinâs with someone else; danielle mustâve left earlier. you scan the room again, half-heartedly looking for a familiar face to talk toâsunoo, maybe, even if the guy doesnât really think youâre normal. or for park sunghoon, perhaps for some explanation as to why heâd looked at you like that earlier.
âlooking for hee?â
that voice. too close. it sends shivers down your spine, every hair standing before your neck snaps to your leftâjiwonâs gone, and so is that guy, instead replaced by a girl you know all too well.
sheâs smiling at you with her lips curled in a way that makes your stomach dropâunsettling by its very nature. the lights strobe across her face, red and white, purple and blue, painting her in something eerie as her expression lingers, sharp and all-knowing.
âwhat the fuck do you want?â
she laughs softly, hands coming up to her face to cover her mouth like sheâs some gentle, kind creature thatâs come to save the day. kim soohaâs always been like that. ever since high school, ever since youâve been bestowed the honour of knowing how ruthless she gets when she wants to be.
her hair falls over her face before she moves to tuck it behind her ear.
god, you want to slap her. some things never change, no matter how many years pass.
âyou need to learn how to relax. youâve been staring all night,â she sighs, leaning her back against the wall as she talksâlike you two are friends, always have beenâand that this is the most normal conversation ever. âyouâre definitely looking for heeseung, arenât you? i got a shortcut, if youâre interested.â
you donât answer. youâve learnt itâs best to shut your mouth instead of lie, because with girls like sooha, the snake always bites first.
your mind flashes, briefly, to the image of him again: light brown hair falling over his face, his genuine smile as people poured in from the front door, eyes squinting as he spots a good friend from a few feet away. your eyes had never truly left him, until you caught park sunghoon staring daggers at you right behind.
and, strangely, itâs never found him again since.
âlisten, i have his numberâitâll save you a looot of trouble.â
you donât realise youâve turned away from her until you glance back. her smile widens as you meet her eyesâglinting with something dangerous, like this isnât truly all there is to her offer.
kim sooha is not about goodwill and donating to charities. the charity would have to return her 110% before she could ever consider doing so; in this case, the charity seems to be you.
âwhat do you want?â
and it feels like youâve just sold your soul to the damn devil with how bright her face gets. like a child on christmas morning, unwrapping a brand new toy. wellâyou suppose youâre a toy, too, in this.
she reaches into the back pocket of her jeans, the jingle of her phone charm barely cutting through the kendrick lamar song thatâs causing the floor to vibrate. you wonder how long until someone calls the cops on this placeâitâs too loud, too much, and you donât even want to think about what the second and third floor looks like right now.
âone click, and iâll send it to you.â
you scoff, breaking the eye contact to take a sip of the peach soju in your hands. you almost roll your eyes before remembering that this was sooha you were getting in bed withâone wrong move, and sheâs retracting, and youâll be left to awkward waves and stuttered helloâs at the fundraiser three months from now.
âmy jacketâs upstairs, and i need you to get it.â
if you werenât confused before, you definitely are now.
âyour fucking jacket?â you repeat, and it almost comes out as a laugh. she doesnât think itâs funny, though, because sheâs quick to fire back a response:
âi donât want to bump into whoever youâre gonna bump into. not in the mood. consider it a gift from me,â she pokes a finger at your collarbone, âto you.â
you flinch, her sharp nail making you stumble back, just a little. her eyebrows raise as you tilt your head towards the stairs, watching you glance up and towards the flight of stairs above your headsâthereâs people moving up and down, and it just doesnât clickâwhy not someone else?
âso⊠are you doing it? donât have time to sleep onââ
you chew on the lining of your cheek. something isnât right. sheâs looking at you like she doesnât care if her jacket actually makes it back to herâall that matters is that you fall into whatever sheâs setting up.
âfine. keep your fucking word when i get back down here.â
the smile that spreads across her face makes your heart drop straight to your ass. you donât like thisânot the feeling of being a step behind, not the way it feels like sheâs holding something over you.
but⊠like she said. itâs not as if you have a whole day to sit on your ass and think it through.
âyou should know by now. i always do,â she sings, voice lilting and smug, watching as you turn away and head for the stairs. âthank you, dear [name].â
you pause at the bottom, fingers curling tighter around your cup as you glance upward. bodies move through the hallways aboveâlaughing, stumbling, disappearing into rooms that smell like sweat, alcohol and poor decisions. the music thumps faintly through the walls, distorted here, like a heartbeat that doesnât belong to you.
your head feels light, almost dizzy, but you go anyway. one step. then another. your shoes stick slightly to the floor as you climb, each step feeling heavier than the last.
âthis yours?â
your head cocks up, eyes locking onto a familiar faceâpark sunghoon, standing at the top of the staircase, with a leather jacket haphazardly folded into his hands. it looks expensive when itâs under this kind of light, and knowing sooha, it probably is.
âyup,â you say, the word coming out more clipped than you intend. reluctant, waryâbut who the hell could blame you? the guy whoâs been staring all psycho and weird, treating you like an out-of-earth entity is holding onto the one thing you need to finish this amazing deal. âthank you!â
heâs tall. towering. with you two steps below him, heâs giving himself a stiff neck just looking at you. his face gives nothing awayânot surprise, barely any curiosity, perhaps slight irritation. more than anything, thereâs that unreadable calm, like heâs not only three steps ahead of whatever this is, but also skies above it.
your arms reach out to grab it from him, but sunghoonâs quick to retract his hand. he dangles it in front of you, an eyebrow raised, still staring as if you were some kind of odd specimenâyou blink a few times, waiting for him to say something, anything.
âiâd watch out if i were you.â
his voice is low, nearly lost beneath the bass thudding through the floor below. itâs flat enough that it barely registers as a voice at all.
but just why the hell is he telling you this? park sunghoonâs talking like he knows kim sooha personally.
really, if you had to pick between the two of you⊠youâd have to consider yourself the expert.
âo⊠kay?â you mouth, the word barely audible over the bass thrumming through the walls.
for a moment longer, he just looks at you, then lowers the jacket into your hands. you donât manage to thank him, because youâre turning around before you can even utter another word.
nothing else matters right now. youâre praying that by the time you reach the bottom of the stairs, sooha will be thereâphone in hand, ready to send those digits your way, just like she promised.
though, even if she isnât, youâre not entirely sure what youâd do about it. thereâs no backup plan. youâre definitely not asking sunooâbecause youâre not an idiot with a weird obsession with lee heeseung (lie), and youâre not that desperate to talk to him (lie), enough to corner one of his closest friends and expose yourself completely (truth).
well⊠you guess youâve already done so by poking around about the fundraiser, but his number is crossing the line. apparently.
you square your shoulders and keep walking, clinging to the thought that this will all be worth it once lee heeseungâs finally a button away, instead of thirty meters and 6 men apart.
âyouâre quick with it,â sooha yells over the song playing, now a remix of some chainsmokers single. roses, a classic, which also means people are starting to get oddly energetic despite it reaching two in the morning.
you watch her eyes flick down to her phone, the screen lighting up her face as she brings it to her chestâtyping, swiping, pausing just long enough to be irritatingâuntil your own phone vibrates against the back pocket of your shorts.
âthanks a bunch, y/n.â she says lightly. âalways so obedient.â
your jaw tightens. you donât bother respondingâjust thrust the jacket into her abdomen, harder than necessary. kim sooha doesnât take it personally, she never does. the flare of your nostrils, the way your fingers curl like youâre holding yourself backâthatâs more than enough to make her night.
a sweet, disingenuous smile blooms across your face, as if to say: âno problem, bitch.â
she slips past you, shoulders barely brushing, already headed for the front door. just before she disappears, you catch itâthe smudged eyeshadow, the eyeliner dragged unevenly beneath her eyes, foundation streaked down her cheeks like she hasnât bothered to check herself in a mirror.
for a fraction of a second, you find yourself worryingâfor her, and for yourself. youâve never once seen sooha with makeup this (for lack of a better word) bad; sheâs always immaculate, flawless, even if that bruises your ego to admit out loud.
which means there are only two possibilities: sheâs just fucked someone and realised, far too late, what a mistake it wasâor her heart has just been torn into a million tiny, irreparable pieces.
you donât take much time to dwell on it, before you tear your eyes away from soohaâs figure slowly fading into the distance. her boots clack against the concrete pavement before it comes to a stop, and for a moment, she just standsâuntil a car pulls up and she ducks her head to fit into it.
what the hell was that?
the front door slams shut from someone else pulling it closed, the sound cutting clean through the music, and your head turns instinctively toward the staircase.
park sunghoon.
the second floor is quieter, stripped of the flashing colours and strobe lights below. in that softer, warmer glow, park sunghoon comes sharply into focus.
heâs leaning over the railing, forearms bearing his weight. an empty soju bottle hangs loosely from his hand, head bowed, expression obscured by shadowâalmost like heâs staring straight down at you.
heâs annoyingly gorgeous. his side profile is so lethal that you think if not for his shitty attitude and tendency to stare at everyone sideways, heâd be a model.
you catch yourself wishing heâd just fuck off and do that instead.
your breath catches in your throat. youâre not really sure whyâbut your body makes the decisions for you tonight, thoughts of sunghoon quickly dissolving as fast as they invaded, feet carrying you toward the front door.
sleek wood and cold metal doorknobs in all their unassuming glory. itâs an exit. a way out of the noise, the lights, and the man upstairs who feels far too aware of your existence.
you move. fluid, deliberate, like this was always the plan.
sunghoonâs gaze tracks you as you slip through the crowd, hair brushing shoulders, bodies pressing in too close. the lights repaint you with every stepâpink, purple, redâuntil you glance back once, just for a second, and the colours smear into something unreadable.
when you finally cross the threshold of the front door, your body is hit with cold wind; unsurprisingly, thereâs scattered groups of people across the front yard, smoking and drinking in their quiet bubbles. you inhale the relatively cleaner air, deep, slow, until it settles in your lungs and youâre spared from the remnants of vape flavours and fruity alcohol.
the music dulls behind you, but the vibrations still reach your feet nonetheless.
you sigh, a hand dragging through your hair, before you make your way towards a stone pillar, only to lean your weight against it. you didnât realise how quiet it could be, after almost two hours in that god forsaken partyâthe quiet chatter doesnât make your head spin out here and the occasional laugh isnât as annoying as the screams inside.
thatâs when you see him.
lee heeseungâsmokingâwith that guy from engineering. jake sim.
the cigarette is pinched between his fingers, and he takes slow drags like itâs the only thing anchoring him to this messy, overgrown scene. jakeâs rambling beside him, hands flying as he retells some story you canât hear, and heeseung just nods along, offering the occasional laugh that reassures his friend that he finds it equally as funny.
everything feels slowed down. time is suspended. his hair slips into his eyes, and every now and then he shakes his head, a small, unconscious motion to clear his vision.
this is kind of creepy. youâre watching lee heeseung smoke at two in the morning from his front porch. you, a year ago, wouldnât have believed this even if someone swore on it.
but not before you bring your phone to your faceâthe blue light stings, almost burns your retinas. you blink hard once, twice, until the haze clears. your thumb swipes into your messages.
kim sooha has kept her word.
sooha (do not reply): +82-xx-xxxx-xxxx 01:53
sooha (do not reply): enjoy yourself! <3 01:53
bitch.
you add the contact while lee heeseung is still laughing in your peripheral vision, smoke curling into the dark, completely unaware thatâthrough totally legitimate and ethical meansâheâs now a button away.
anyone could guess by that stoic look on his face and that gigantic duffle bag he drags around everywhere, that the man couldnât be paid a million dollars to be locked downâthatâs what so little time and too many (non-romantic) commitments does to you.
mondays were the gym. tuesdays, practice. wednesdays, rest. thursdays, practice again. fridays, the gym, and a night run. saturdays and sundays, practice too. he was surprised he even had time to fit kim sooha into his schedule, though, it was not as often as she preferred.
okay, he admits it was just sexâbut an hour or two once or twice a week was already cutting it close.
sunghoon was an ex-figure skater turned ice hockey player, so it was clear what the future held for him: heâs talented, rich, disciplined, a geniusâthe world was his oyster. everyone around him was in his court.
who would he be if he let someone make the rules for him?
you see: park sunghoon couldnât be bothered with the girls throwing themselves at him, or the ones who acted shy. in his eyes, it all ended the same.
they wanted more. he couldnât give more. he didnât want to give more.
kim sooha was no different. of course she wasnâtâpark sunghoon couldnât deny it, because she fit the stereotype of every girl whoâd ever wanted him: bashful, a little self-deprecating, and far too clingy.
at least he had been decent enough to tell her that sex was all it would ever be, and all he could afford to give. but what do you know (park sunghoon always knows), someone ends up wanting more.
the night of the party, around ten, sunghoon found himself holed up in his bedroom trying to finish up a paper before the house had started swarming with people. one moment heâs typing, fingers mashing away at his keyboard as the words flow flawlessly, perfectly, and his mind occasionally drifts to the grade heâd get for this assignment. nothing less than 100, of course. he wouldnât expect anything less from himself.
âhoon!â
and his genius flow is disrupted by none other than jake, peeking his head from behind the doorway, with an idiotic smile painted across his glowing face.
âwhat do you want?â sunghoon mutters, head turning back to the screen of his laptop. jake simâs prsesence usually meant the message wasnât all that importantâif it was, itâd be jungwon up here instead. âiâm busy.â
âsoohaâs here,â he says. âshe wants to see you.â
sunghoon kisses his teeth in annoyance, solely out of instinct, an action which jake pretends not to notice. it only irritates sunghoon even more, reallyâheâd rather jake just be honest with him, instead of pretending to be polite just for the sake of being polite. he knows better than anyone that all of his brothers hate when kim sooha is around, and that hiding it wonât convince park sunghoon otherwise.
for varying reasons.
he recalls that one dinner two weeks ago, when jay told sunghoon to âdo a better job at shutting sooha upâ. he could barely eat the rest of his food.
âplease donât send her up here. iâll be downstairs soon,â and jake is almost ready to turn his pretty face right around and back downstairs to help set up the speakers, before sunghoon asks: âwhy is she even here?â
âhey, youâre the one fucking her, man.â jake shrugs, before he turns around for the final time. sunghoonâs face morphs into one of disgust, weirdly fast, even though the statement isnât exactly falseâstill, it doesnât stop him from wanting to crawl into a hole and die.
thereâs something wrong with him. he canât deny the sex was good, and yes, kim sooha was gorgeous⊠but commitment? staying? forever? that was different.
he remembers when yang jungwon had a girlfriend. those were not good times. definitely. the guy refused to leave his bedroom for two days after they broke it offâand sunghoon, as much as he cared for poor jungwon, couldnât stop thinking about how two days meant two lifetimes of missed productivity.
just how much of an asshole could he be?
so, thatâs precisely why he settles for sex. a dopamine hit to get himself off edge, so heâs ready to stretch himself thin all over again.
lee heeseung says itâs not healthy, but what the hell would he know? heâs too busy drowning in love letters, home-baked cookies, and instagram requests to understand why this is the best option out of any presented to him. the golden boy doesnât know what heâs talking aboutâthe only reason he even bothers giving advice is because of the one, maybe two girlfriends he had in first year, which he seems to think qualifies him as an expert in sweet, innocent, and healthy love.
park sunghoon doesnât even have instagram. itâs a waste of time.
why the fuck doesnât he get cookies, anyway? why donât girls approach him just to talk, instead of trying to grind on his crotch at parties? why doesnât he have someone sweet and steady, sitting in the stands and watching his gamesâwiping his tears when he plays like shit, or being the first one he looks for when he scores an amazing shot?
never mind the way he takes their hand and leads them upstairs. never mind how easily he leans into a strangerâs touch and lets himself pretend it means something. never mind that heâs learned to let names slip past him, unheard, while his gaze drifts instead to the shape of their lips.
never mind all of it.
he tells himself itâs circumstantialâsomething inevitable, something learnt. that he would be different, could be different, if the world around him didnât demand this version of him in return.
lee heeseung gets to commit. he gets to feel it allâthe highs, the warmth, the quiet safety of having someone stay, and he makes it out unscathed, unhurt. he gets to ground himself in knowing that she wonât walk out of that door when shit hits the fan, tooâfuck, he doesnât know anything at all.
footsteps thud from the hallway, but he knows itâs just jay and riki shifting furniture aroundâboards scraping, chairs slidingâenough to rattle the plaster on the walls. jakeâs voice cuts through the mess, yelling at heeseung to find the extra loud speakers jungwon had âborrowedâ for his own use. somewhere upstairs, sunooâs probably napping, blissfully unaware of the chaos below.
sunghoon doesnât mind. five people are more than enough to handle party prep, and he refuses to be dragged into it. the music, the clatter, the erratic shoutsâit all feels like someone elseâs life, a background noise he doesnât need to claim.
instead, up here, he can focus on what matters: finishing his paper, keeping his head down, staying untangled in this mess thatâs about to spill over the entire house in about an hour.
he leans back against the leather of his chair, shoulders finally relaxing, and lets his gaze wander over the room. the house smells like air freshener, a somewhat helpful idea proposed by riki, but the sharp tang in his nose makes him grit his teeth.
for the first time that evening, he almost smiles at the absurdity of it all, the chaos of his brothers trying to pull off another last-minute party. he knows itâll all work out fine, and that this will be the talk of campus until it fizzles out in two weeks, but itâs still ridiculous how these people never learn to plan ahead.
he remembers the last party sigma alpha eta threwâsomeone broke a table, then went swimming naked in the pool. safe to say, jake and him had to track the culprit down the next morning and demand the funds to get it cleaned.
âhoonie?â
a soft click from the front door snaps him out of his thoughts.
he knows exactly who it is.
kim sooha. standing by the dark frame of his door, dressed in something that wouldâve had him weak in the knees if he was some random horny loserâskirt smooth, tight against her skin, a leather jacket framing her small body. itâs too bad that he doesnât give two shits, though.
âyouâve been avoiding me,â she announces, voice sharp yet playful, as if she owns the room that sunghoonâs made his. it irks him.
she leans against the doorframe, one hip jutting out, arms crossed with a face so smug that it makes him want to flip her off. âso, i came early. just to⊠check in.â
he looks back at the screen of his laptop, bright blue light shining in his face, and barely moves another muscle. âyou know where the rules stand. iâm busy.â
âhoonieââ
âtold you to stop calling me that.â sunghoon cuts her off, âi donât need you checking on me, thanks. partyâs not starting for another hour. maybe you can help them prep?â
the words land like a slap. soohaâs jaw tightens, but she forces a smile, refusing to let him see the way it stings.
she steps closer anyway, as if proximity can wear him down, break the walls that are already hardeningâor climb over whateverâs already there.
âcome on. it doesnât have to be like this.â she tilts her head, letting her hair fall over one shoulder, âiâve been asking you for weeks, hoon. iâve always wantedââ
âno.â sunghoon exhales, forcefully slow, as if thatâll help him calm down. âiâve been saying the same shit for weeks. youâre pushing me.â
she takes two steps closer, heels tapping against the shiny wood floor. the space between them closes as she leans over his desk, shadow casting over the dark oak. he feels like slamming his head into itâthe bruise would be less painful than this, the sharp smell of her fruity perfume that sunghoon never bothered to register, but hates anyway now that it finally has.
he never thought heâd have to tell her that he hates the notes of citrus. it didnât matter if she never stayed long enough to get the words out.
âhoonie,â sooha mumbles, hands bracing the surface of his table. âi thought we were getting somewhere.â
âeven after i told you we werenât?â sunghoon shifts his chair backwards, widening the gap just so he could feel like he wasnât going to choke at the smell of her perfume. âknow what? iâm done. canât fucking draw any lines with youââ
âthatâs it? weâre justââ
sunghoonâs jaw tightens, and he leans back slightly in his chair. âi said it was just sex. nothing more. if youâre begging for a hug and some kisses, go somewhere else.â
the silence hangs in the air, thick, impenetrable. for a minute, sunghoon wonders if heâs gone too farâsoohaâs face falters, her sultry smile now replaced by lips that tremble before her teeth bite down on them. she nods once, slow, looking at park sunghoon like heâs driven a ten-foot pole straight through her chest, twisted it, and ripped it back out.
his eyes flick from his laptop screen to her irises. if one thingâs admirable about park sunghoon, is that if he was going to tear you to pieces, heâll have the decency to look you in the eye.
at least, for that final word. itâs about as much emotion as he can manage.
âget out.â
so she doesânods slow, before turning on her heel, the sharp click of her shoes echoing once, twice, until it fades down the hallway.
the door shuts behind her with a quiet finality. sunghoon doesnât watch it close.
the smell of soohaâs perfume lingers in the air, unwanted, and he feels petty for even trying to block it out. after all, theyâve shared a bed before, even if they skipped every prerequisite to get thereâbut it rarely ever felt worth it to him, if at all.
heâs had his fair share of women. heâs always prided himself on being honest about what he wantsâin his mind, thereâs nothing wrong with that, as long as everyoneâs on the same page.
no promises, no expectations, yet it always ends the same way. someone always reaches for more pieces of him than heâs willingâor ableâto give. pieces that have were never there to begin with.
jake tells him heâs lucky. says it with a laugh, like sunghoon should be grateful for the attention, the bodies, the ease of it all. heeseung tries to offer half-assed couch therapy, something about âopening upâ and ânot shutting people out,â advice sunghoon knows was pulled straight out of his assâor worse, his tiktok feed.
god, if he wanted someone to tell him what was wrong with him, heâd just pay someone with a degree five hundred a session to do just that.
park sunghoon is not interested in love. park sunghoon is not interested in love. park sunghoon is not. interested. in. love.
itâs inefficientâunstructured, demanding, and prone to spilling into places it doesnât belong. it asks for time he doesnât have, space heâs already accounted for, pieces of him that are scheduled, measured, calculated and spent elsewhere, where it should be.
he repeats it like a mantra: no one is looking at him and realizing heâs absent more than heâs presentâbecause sooner or later, they always want more, and heâs learnt that itâs better to draw the line early than to watch disappointment set in later.
youâre not very sure where youâre going with this.
thereâs a list of problems so long it could double as a grocery store receipt:
one) how do you even explain that you got lee heeseungâs number, and
two) what excuse do you have to actually talk to him?
still, youâre laid in bed, the glow from your screen washing your face in harsh white light, painting the ceiling in sharp rectangles. your eyes squint, blinking against the burn, as if staring long enough might make this whole thing less terrifying.
itâs nearing four in the morning, and youâre fairly certain the party has been over for hoursâprobably everyone has stumbled home or collapsed on some couch somewhere, except for you, hovering in your room like a guilty ghost.
okay, no. these are excuses, and this is you overthinking, twisting your brain into knots. once you finally text that damn number kim sooha âgiftedâ youâreluctantly, no lessâyouâll either regret it or⊠regret it. either way, thereâs no turning back.
you: hiiiii
creep.
you: hi
ominousâŠ
you: is this heeseung?
too direct.
this isnât working. your thumb hovers over the screen, trembling slightly, and the numbers stare back at you like a puzzle youâre too tired to solve. maybe, if you stare long enough, theyâll rearrange themselves into an opening line that isnât mortifying.
though, instead of the numbers moving, your thumb does.
âshit. shit, shit, shitââ
oh, yes, your butter fingers saved you the trouble of texting him: why donât you just fucking call him, instead? like thatâs so much better, real smooth of you.
riiing. riiing. riiing.
you barely have time to process before the line goes quiet.
the silence swallows you wholeâyour ears ring with it. itâs the kind of quiet that makes you question if youâve suddenly lost all ability to hear.
oh my god. this is hell. youâre either died, or the world has ended, or some black hole just opened up in your room, because itâs too silent for it to be even remotely normal.
âhello?â
the voice on the other end of the line sounds sharp, clipped, like youâve interrupted something importantâor worse, like youâve woken him up.
you canât even fault him for it. itâs four in the morning, after the biggest party this term, and youâre an unknown number calling like youâve lost your damn mind. still, it makes your heart twist a little.
âwho is this?â
itâs not rude⊠not exactly. still, something in your chest sinks because you know what that tone usually means.
you have, roughly, three seconds to justify your existence before lee heeseung hangs up and you become another embarrassing almost in your own head.
maybe one.
âhi,â you mumble, and somehow almost stutterâif thatâs even possible over the phone, with a single wordâit comes out thin, fragile, and utterly useless.
the line goes quiet again, and you genuinely consider slamming your head into the wall just to feel something else other than the tiny voices evil-laughing in your head. âheeseung, right?â
more damn silence.
not the dead-line kind. itâs worse. itâs the thinking kind.
you picture him on the other end, phone held away from his ear, brow furrowed as he debates whether this is worth his time. unknown caller. 4 in the morning. zero context. and itâs some girl who canât even say âhiâ right.
if you were him, youâd hang up. youâd block the number, move on, this becoming nothing but a blip in your already eventful life.
your grip tightens around your phone. âiâsorry,â you rush out, words tumbling over each other now that the damâs broken. âthis is probably really weird, i know. i wouldnât usually call, i swear. i justâi got your number earlier andââ
âearlier?â he cuts in.
thereâs something in his voice nowânot annoyance. interest, maybe. a sprinkle of curiosity edged with suspicion that you werenât exactly authorized to clear.
your pulse stutters. you shouldâve consulted with jiwon before doing something as stupid as thisâor sunoo. hell, even the neighbour next door. anyone wouldâve been better than diving into this unprepared.
âyeah. tonight, at the party.â you say quickly, like saying it fast will make it make more sense. lee heeseung, pleaaaase be hungover. just this once. âyou hosted, right? sigma alpha eta?â
âriiight,â he says slowly, like heâs testing the word on his tongue. âand who gave you my number?â
your stomach drops.
shit.
âuh,â you hesitate, immediately regretting it.
lying feels wrong. lying is wrong, actually, according to everyone everâbut the truth feels⊠way messier.
you werenât going to hang kim sooha to dryâwho knows what sheâll do to you? you canât risk heeseung finding out the lengths you went to for some digits. besides, you practically played fetch with her.
âa friend,â you say finally, wearing a prideful grin on your face, as if anyone couldnât have come up with that ridiculous excuse. âyep.â
âa friend,â he repeats, flatly, like he doesnât believe a single thing coming out of your mouth. âwhat friend?â
you squeeze your eyes shut. god, this is going terribly. divert!
âlook, if this is a bad time, i can hang up. i really didnât mean to bother you, i justââ
âyou already are,â he says, but thereâs something off about it. his tired voice crackles, but it barely sounds angry. almost amused in nature.
you blink. âoh.â
thereâs a heavy breath on the other end. you can hear it clearly, like heâs shifted positions, maybe sitting up now, or turning over in bed. definitely more awake than he was a minute ago.
gosh. youâre imagining bed-hair heeseung now. this isnât good.
âyou usually call people you donât know at four in the morning?â he asks.
âno,â you respond immediately. ânever. absolutely not. this is a first and hopefully, a last.â
that gets himâyou can tell, even without seeing him. thereâs a soft huff through the speaker, not quite a laugh, but close enough to make your chest flutter traitorously.
âso, iâm the trial run?â
you hesitate, then answer honestly, because at this point, what do you have left to lose? your dignity thatâs already been thrown out the window and run over by a car?
âi wanted to talk to you.â
another pause. this one lingers, stretching just long enough to make your fingers tingle around your phone. strangely, it comforts you, the idea that he might hang upâthat this could end cleanly right here, because youâve (smartly, or accidentally) yet to tell him your name.
heâll never have to know if he justâ
âyeah?â he says, quieter now.
âyeah,â you echo, barely above a whisper.
something shifts. you can feel it, even through the lineâthe way heâs genuinely listening now, leaning into every word instead of brushing you off. your heart flutters, warmth blooming from somewhere in your chest (you canât pinpoint it), and lee heeseung seems to be at the center of it all.
âwell,â he says finally, voice way smoother now, like heâs got all the time in the world to offer you. âyouâve got my attention.â
âi do?â you ask, genuinely amazed by yourself. âyouâre not hanging up?â
âdo you want me to?â
âno,â the word slips out before you can stop itâsoft, a little too quick, and much too honest to take back.
for a beat, thereâs nothing, then a breath on the other end of the lineâslow, deepâfollowed by a low sound that might be a laugh, or might just be him exhaling tension.
âyeah,â he murmurs. âi thought so.â
you roll onto your side, sheets whispering against your skin. the ceiling blurs above you, white and featureless, while the rest of the world stays asleepâunaware that something small yet irreversible is happening at four in the morning, right in this room, in your hands.
âso,â he says, âwhyâd you really call?â
your fingers tighten around your phone. your phone peels away from your cheek, and for a brief moment, you just stare at the glow of the screen, at his contactâ*heeseung leeâ*like it might blow up if you lie.
âwell,â you mumble, chewing on the lining of your cheek. âi just wanted to introduce myself.â
âah,â he says. thereâs movement again, like heâs forcing himself to stay awake and hear you out. âdid your⊠friend warn you iâm not friendly at this hour?â
you can almost picture him now. propped up against his headboard, hair a mess from sleep. his arm slipping under the hem of his shirt to scratch absentmindedly at an itch on his lower abdomen. knuckles rubbing hard at his eyes, chasing away the last stretch of drowsiness you interruptedâbefore you called, that is.
âi donât think she mentioned that,â you say, a nervous smile tugging at your lips despite the fact that he canât see it. your knees draw tighter to your chest, arms locking around them like youâre bracing for impact. it feels like there are insects beneath your skinârestless, frantic, crawling along the lining of your stomach. âshe just said you wouldnât hang up.â
âyou trusted that?â his laugh filters through the speaker, low and unexpectedly warm, the sharpness from earlier dulled into something almost fond. âwhat if she gave you a fake?â
âthen i guess i just woke up some random guy at four in the morning,â you say after a second, attempting nonchalance and failing spectacularly. âwhich would be⊠humiliating.â
âhm.â thereâs movement on his end againâfabric shifting, a quiet thud like heâs moving around the room. god, you wish you knew what his room looked like. âso, youâd just apologize and hang up?â
ââŠliterally what else would i do?â
thereâs a pause before he speaks. you can almost hear him think out loud. âdonât know. try harder?â
the words are simple, but they settle heavy in your chest. what the hell does he mean by try harder?
âtry harder?â you repeat, incredulous, a little astonished that the man youâve dreamt up is a little different from what youâre hearing.
âyeah.â his voice lowers a fraction, losing the teasing edge and gaining something steadier. âif you wanted to talk to someone that bad, iâd hope you wouldnât give up after one wrong number.â
your fingers curl tighter around your phone. âyou donât even know why i called.â
âdonât i, though?â
okayâwhat the fuck? youâve moved somewhere closer to your window by now, staring at bright windows, counting the very few amount of people walking around at this hour downstairs. anything thatâll fill the silence between his words and your reply, which your brain has yet to compute.
do not call boys you like at four in the morning. note taken.
âanyway,â his voice sends a soothing relief through your body. âwhatâs your name?â
the question feels strangely intimate.
âwhy?â you deflect, suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed you are. thereâs no going back from thisâonce he knows youâre you, itâs sealed.
you might have to discuss⊠alternative routes tomorrow. there is no way in godâs green earth that youâll be able to face lee heeseung in those hallways once this is done.
âbecause,â he say purposefully slow, like heâs explaining things to a toddler. âif you went through the trouble of getting my number, i should at least know who iâm losing sleep over.â
ây/n.â
okayâflights to antarctica. a new name. a new identity is what you need right now, in order to combat the nerves in your body going into overdrive.
he goes quiet for slightly less than ten secondsâthough youâre not exactly sure why youâre countingâand the quiet literally burns. itâs embarrassing to hear his breathing on the other end of the line, because what does it mean? is he disgusted? is he shocked? is he going to block you, or fall in love with you right now?
âitâs a pretty name,â he says. âhavenât heard it before.â
youâre fighting every urge in you to scream.
this feels oddly reminiscent of that middle school crush you had back when you were 13. itâs all butterflies and shaky hands, and even sweatier palms.
lee heeseungâs voice is silky smooth at this hour. exhaustion creeps up on him like itâs claiming his sleep debt, and you hear it in the tiny yawn that sounds through your speakers. you hoped that not holding your screen to your cheek would aid in the worry that he could hear your nervous breathing.
âwell, weâve never talked directly before, soâŠâ
he hums in response. âwell, itâs almost five.â
âtrying to get rid of me?â you joke, and boy, does the post-flirt-humiliation hitâyour eyes screw shut as you silently mutter a âwhat the fuck?â.
he scoffs, âam i?â with the faintest trace of a smile in his voice. you can hear it well enough without the need to look at himâthough that would be preferableâwhich only sends you further into a delusional spiral.
lee heeseung finds you funny.
you bite back a grin, pressing your lips into a thin line. your cheeks ache. youâre probably flushed tomato red from this conversation alone.
you stand up just to keep yourself busy. sittig still feels dangerous, like if you let your body settle, your mind will only follow.
the fear of focusing too much on himâon the way his voice dips at the end of certain words, on how easily he fills the quiet with that strangely confident toneâcould be catastrophic.
your fingers trail along the edge of your desk, feeling the shallow nicks in the wood, the uneven varnish near the corner. you latch onto the smallest details: the coolness of the surface, the faint tremor in your hand.
anything to keep yourself grounded to the earth, in the very possible case that lee heeseung sends you into orbit.
on the other end, thereâs the muted shift of fabric, like heâs rolling onto his side. you picture him staring at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind his head, the phone resting against his cheek.
âdidnât think youâd be the type to be so responsible.â
âone of us has to be,â he says easily. âyou donât sound like someone who keeps track of time, no?â
us.
the word slides into your chest and sits there, heavy and bright all at once.
us, us, us.
you hook a finger through the metal ring of the keychain hanging from your backpack and start spinning it slowly, watching the small charm catch the faint light from your desk lamp. âi absolutely do,â you protest, but the retort comes out thinner than intended.
âdo you?â he presses, gentle but unrelenting. âyou called me at four in the morning.â
âit wasnât exactly planned,â you mutter.
âimpulsive, then.â
thereâs no judgment in his tone. he talks to you like youâre something intriguing under the lens of a microscope.
you cross your room in slow, restless steps, phone held up to chest-level as if the added distance will somehow steady you. the floor is cool beneath your feet. outside your window, the sky is beginning to pale, the darkness thinning into something bluish and uncertain.
âyou picked up, though. you didnât have to.â
the counter-argument is weak. thereâs a brief pause before he admits, âyeah, so?â
âso, what does that say about you?â
your fingers still against the keychain. your feet stand still across from it, refusing to move until he says something to keep this seemingly empty conversation moving. thereâs a short, succinct moment of quiet that makes you swallow.
and thenâa breath. a faint exhale that sounds nothing like a laugh, but more acknowledgement than anything else.
âi make bad decisions before sunrise. i need my sleep,â he answers. âi got an early morning.â
huh. okay. your eyes are narrowing in suspicion before he can get the last word out. âhow early?â
âearly enough.â
you let it go, though the curiosity lingers. instead, youâre turning around to lean your weight back against your desk, pressing yourself against the solid wood edge, focusing on the cadence of his breathing. âyou donât sound tired anymore."
âthatâs your fault.â
your pulse stutters. âmine?â
âhard to sleep when someoneâs interrogating you.â
you huff out a quiet laugh, but your grip on the phone tightens. âiâm not interrogating you.â
âright.â the sound vibrates low through the speaker. you imagine him dragging a hand down his face, sitting up now, feet touching the floor. thereâs a faint creakâwood under weightâfollowed by the soft scrape of something being nudged aside.
âi should probably end this,â he says after a moment, words slowed. âtomorrowâs going to be brutal.â
rightâheâs crazy popular. probably has a lot going on.
you straighten instinctively. the conversation has shifted into its closing act without warning. âright, yeah. of course.â
âdonât stay up,â he adds, tone a smidge lighter, yet it doesnât quite hide the undercurrent. âyouâll blame me when you miss your alarm.â
âbold of you to assume iâd admit that.â
âyou wouldnât,â he agrees easily. âyouâd just call again. wake me up for the second time to complain, yeah?â
again.
âgoodnight, heeseung,â you say before you can dissect the word further. any longer and you mightâve memorised the oxford definition for it.
a beat. you can hear a snicker on the other end of the line, but before you can say much, lee heeseung beats you to it.
âgoodnight.â
the line disconnects. you remain standing in the corner of your room, keychain still looped around your finger. your heartâs drumming against your ribs as the early light creeps further across your walls.
your mindâs swirling againâitâs sending you further into that rabbit hole that looks a lot like heeseungâs perfect hair and charming smile.
note to self: call lee heeseung again. tomorrow. four in the morning.
the sun is barely peeking above the trees now, as if easing itâs way into the sky. he thinks itâll be fully up by the time he finishes brushing his showerâand thereâs that faint smell of citrus. again. disgusting.
a dull, faint thudding sound comes from downstairs. the sound of glasses clinking together reaches all the way up here; echoing in the dimly lit house.
it must be sunoo. making breakfast, he guesses.
thereâs sunlight diffusing into the room, divided into slits by his white blinds thatâve all but stayed drawn throughout the night. skinâs sunken in under his eyes, partially, as a result of microsoft word creeping itâs way into his routine againâhe supposes he should know better by now, but still. time is short.
his hands trail under his tank, scratching at a small itch under his chest. the metal hanging on the far wall catches the widening morning light, thin ribbons casting fragile shadows against white paint. a golden trophy sits dead centre on his dark oak bookshelf, polished to an almost obnoxious shine.
âfuckâŠâ he groans, dragging both hands through his hair, fingers pressing against his scalp like he can physically push the night out of his system.
the strands fall back obediently, barely disturbedâas if exhaustion has weighed them into submission. thereâs something irritating about that, too. like even his body refuses to reflect the fact that he was up until sunrise.
the weekend usually goes like this: brush. shower. dress. breakfast. run. shower. practice. assignments fit somewhere in between.
he begins to crawl out of his duvet. itâs coldâit always is when itâs this early into dawn. the wind kisses his skin like itâs reminding him of this fact, clinging to him as he drags his feet against the wood floor: slow, lazy shuffles until he actually manages to wake up.
open the door, down the hall, to the right. he passes by rooms, involuntarily listening to the muffled snores through wood as his feet carry him to the tiled room at the end of the hallway. the light in sunooâs room casts shadows at his feet, peeking under the door, which confirms his suspicion: the waffle smell is coming from downstairs.
the door hits the wall with a soft thud. one perk about being the first one up is that the bathroom is almost always spotless.
his toothbrush sits in a black mug, along with six others. itâs a plain white, his name written in permanent marker at the handle. just in case a repeat of five months ago happenedânishimura riki, of course, making that mistake.
toothbrush in the mouth. bristles against teeth. back and forth, left and right, circles. gums. tongue. he stares at the stupid smiski figurine that jake left on the shelf just to give himself an excuse not to look at how tired he is.
and as he spits the mint paste out of his mouthâhis phone vibrates against the marble counter. thereâs water on his screen from putting it face down.
we2fuckincoldđ„¶ (informal gc)
yeonjun (vice): good morning princesses 06:01
yeonjun (vice): rink opens at 6pm 06:02
yeonjun (vice): gameâs coming up. do not be late or our dear captain will not be happy! 06:05
yeonjun (vice): can we all strive for a happy hoonie today 06:05
yeonjun (vice): also send ur fucking food logs bro @nicho 06:07
for fuckâs sake.
he groans, yanking the phone closer, tilting it to shake off the water droplets. the screen lights up his tired face in brief flashes of fluorescence, each message a reminder that the world outside this house has already started without him.
shower. breakfast. run. practice. the ritual is looping in his head, mechanical, familiarâbut today, each step feels like itâs being forced through molasses. itâs definitely the microsoft word.
he squints against the glare, ignoring the faint taste of toothpaste still clinging to his tongue, scrolling past the ridiculous group chat chatter to land on the pinned schedule.
2027 training schedule.pdf
and at the topâhis name, in bold, for everyone to remember, as if he hasnât spent long enough drilling it into his teamâs heads.
âcaptain: park sunghoon/vice captain: choi yeonjunâ
sunghoon leans against the counter, elbows braced, letting the faint vibrations of the phone thrum through his fingers. the early sunlight, spilling in at an angle the shitty blinds canât fully block, makes him want to shut his eyes and go back to bedâjungwonâs interior design choices continue to do him no favors.
he stares at the phone a moment longer, thumb hovering over the text threads he knows he should respond to. teasing from his fellow teammates that they know gets under his skin. stupid morning selfies that no one asked for, because the informal group chat is run by no one but the noisiest.
he showers. heâs downstairs. heâs shoving a spoonful of oats into his mouth, gulping down a protein smoothie like itâs water, and only then is he outside and tying his laces. itâs like heâs fucking teleporting around this place.
something feels off. he almost forgets his apple watch before crossing the threshold called sigma alpha betaâs front door. forty minutes later and the morning air is still damp with dew, the neighbourhood quiet save for the distant hum of traffic that hasnât fully reached itâs potential yet.
the door shuts behind him with a click. heart rate: 93 bpm.
sunghoon begins his run like any other morning. the stretch of his limbs feels mechanical at first, the stiffness in his bones finally relenting after hours spent hunched over his laptop. he jogs in place, letting his blood move, allowing his muscles to remember their morning rhythm.
the street around him is quiet, edges softened by dawnâa stray leaf skitters across the sidewalk and the faint smell of a houseâs breakfast drifts through the wind. everything is ordinary, almost painfully so, except for the faint pull in his chest.
god knows why.
a heavy sigh leaves him, curling into vapour the second it meets the cold. his calves are warm, ready to move, muscles primed for the first push forwardâ
bbrrr. bbrrr. brrrr.
choi fucking yeonjun.
âthe hell?â he mutters, wrist lifting automatically as he taps the flashing green icon. âwhat the fuck do you want?â
thereâs a small, sacred list of things that can truly get under park sunghoonâs skin. missed passes. sloppy drills. people who donât keep their word. anyone who interrupts him. and now, apparently, choi yeonjun calling him at six-fifty in the morning, on a fucking sunday.
âare you on your period or something?â yeonjunâs voice comes through crisp and far too alive. âgood morning, my honey bun.â
âstop bothering me.â
âhow did you sleep, huh? why do you sound so angry? you usually save it for practice, in case you donât remembeââ
the thought interrupts him so abruptly it almost throws off his breathing.
okay, to be fair, it was the assignments first. the blinking cursor, and the way microsoft word has this sick habit of stretching minutes into hours until the sky outside starts lightening without permission. heâd told himself heâd sleep right after submitting. just one more paragraph. one more edit. one more citation.
it sounded a lot like a random girl calling his phone at four in the morning. asking about lee heeseung, no less.
gravel crunches harder beneath his shoes as he picks up his pace without meaning to, breath sharpening on the exhale.
âi slept,â sunghoon says flatly, somehow. his eyes stay fixed on the long stretch of road before him.
he doesnât bother to address that. not worth his time. âiâm running.â
a snort crackles through the tiny speaker. âyeah, no shit. i can hear you trying to outrun your personality.â
sunghoon rolls his eyes, though thereâs no one there to see it. the park path stretches ahead, thin and empty, washed in early gold. right foot over the left, his stride perfect, pace never faltering. âwhy are you psychoanalysing me at seven in the morning?â
âitâs six fifty,â yeonjun corrects. he keeps running. âand itâs only cause you sound like you died yesterday.â
and just what the hell am i supposed to do about that, he thinksâitâs not his fault someone rang him in the middle of the night, asked for his best friend like it was urgent, like it mattered at all. itâs not his fault she ate up the remaining hours of sleep heâd planned to ration carefully. itâs not his fault she sounded so intentâso utterly determinedâto talk to lee heeseung.
his jaw tightens slightly.
itâs also not his fault that she doesnât know anythingâwho she was actually talking to. how easily she let the conversation stretch. how readily she laughed. how she filled silences that wouldâve seemed suspicious to anyone else.
youâre so fucking naive. it makes him sick.
âare you trying to break a record right now?â
sunghoon glances down at his watch. his pace has increased by almost thirty seconds per kilometre.
what exactly was he supposed to do, anyway? interrupt her mid-laugh and tell her sheâd reached the wrong person? tell her sheâd misdialed and should try again? hand her off like a misplaced package?
park sunghoon tells himself he only kept the call going because it was easier, and that it was lateâand most of all, itâll only happen once.
thatâs all.
âsunghoon.â
âwhat?â
âdid you hit your head or something?â
sunghoon exhales sharply through his nose, pace steady, shoulders squared like they always are when he runs. unshakeable. âfocus on your own head.â
yeonjun laughs. âwow. so cold. captain, your bedside manner is terrible.â
âgoodbye, yeonjun.â
he ends the call before the vice captain can squeeze in another comment. silence rushes back in, thick and uninterrupted, save for the steady impact of rubber against pavement. sunghoonâs eyebrows knit together as he continues down the path, watching windows flicker to life in real timeâone square of yellow, then another, then three in a row. the campus is waking up, unaware of the private absurdities that unfolded at the expense of park sunghoonâs rest.
and he wonders, briefly, if you slept soundly after that call.
if you rolled onto your side with a faint smile, phone still warm in your palm, thinking about lee heeseung.
or if he were the one you believed you were talking to, would it have sounded the same?
would you have laughed like thatâwould you have fallen for every word?
the thought is almost amusing.
perfect lee heeseung, who forgets half his deadlines. who shows up five minutes late with an apology grin that fixes everything. who doesnât have to hold a locker room together or pretend his moods donât exist. who can afford to be charming because nothing rests on his shoulders long enough to bruise. and still, you never fucking noticed the difference.
but the thing is this: park sunghoon might as well have his face plastered on billboards, because everyone around him knowsâor thinks they do. they all see him. theyâre all watching him.
a slightly clipped tone. a delayed response in the group chat. half a second too long between reps at practice. they notice. they always notice.
if heâs irritated, the team feels it. if heâs distracted, the drills get sloppy. if heâs quiet, the locker room gets tense. his mood isnât just hisâitâs contagious. spreading like hazardous, passionate wildfire. a fucking plague that everyoneâs afraid to upset.
heeseung doesnât need to think about that, does he?
heeseung doesnât have thirty pairs of eyes scanning his expression the second he walks into the rink. doesnât have rookies straightening their posture when he passes. he doesnât have to calculate the weight of every word because one careless comment could echo for weeks.
how pathetic. sunghoon really has to stop throwing himself into self-deprecating chains of thought in the middle of his morning runs.
you move through the day like youâre on autopilot.
your alarming lack of errands feels like the source of your miseryânothing fills the time well enough. the clock drags its feet out of spite, each minute stretching thinner than the last, and there are simply not enough tiktoks in the world to scroll through until four in the morning.
âŠdoes it even have to be four in the morning?
youâre sprawled across the couch in your apartment, limbs loose, attention even looser. jiwonâs out tonightâdinner with that guy she met at sigma alpha etaâand you waved her off earlier with a distracted nod after sitting through a solid hour of her spiralling about how sheâs ânot sure if heâs the one.â
your fingers tapped impatiently against your phone while she twirled in front of you, once, twice, the fabric of her dress catching in the stale air of the living room. you were slumped against the backrest, head heavy in your palms, fighting sleep that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with boredom.
âi literally told you my opinion,â it escapes as a groan, your lashes fluttering shut before your head lands against the cushions. âif youâre just gonna keep going back to this dress, just wear this one.â
jiwon looked at you like youâd shot her in the chest. âyouâre just so patient, arenât you?â
your arm drifted lazily toward the glass table, fingers stretching for your phone like a dying man reaching for water. itâs barely out of reach, but somehow still too far.
you hook it toward you at last. the screen lights up: nothing. of course.
and then she continues to talkâsomething about silhouettes, about first impressions, about how boys apparently notice everythingâbut her voice dissolves into background noise. you nod when it feels appropriate. hum when she pauses, look over when she calls your name.
sorry, oh jiwon. you do not have the capacity to give a fuck right nowâlee heeseungâs name is sitting on the top of your call log like a secret, ready to be shown off to the world.
âfine. iâll just wear thisââ
she leaves with her keys jingling down the hallway. you chew your lip like the short-lived guilt might manifest into an apology and hunt her down that corridor, but between you and literally anyone else?
it will be forgiven and forgotten when she returns tomorrow morning, you assume, only because thereâs smuggled condoms in her purseâlike sheâs starring in some coming-of-age film.
the rest of the evening passes in a strange, slippery blur.
youâre cooking dinner at one point, staring absently at the stove while oil crackles in the pan, nearly burning the garlic because you drifted too far into your own head. later, youâre in the shower, steam clinging to your skin while you tilt your face away from the showerhead, replaying last nightâs conversation in fragmentsâthe way he laughed. the pause before he answered certain questions. the tone of his voice when he teased you.
youâre checking your phone again. this is definitely worse than that crush you had when you were thirteen.
a few miles away on campus soil, practice runs longer than it should. park sunghoon has sweat clinging to his skin, darkening the collar of his shirt, tracing the lines of muscle that took years to carve into something worth respecting. every movement feels marginally heavier than usual despite the near-flawless precision of his drills. his turns are clean. his stops sharp. his passes calculated.
still, thereâs just something about today.
he pushes the team harder than usual. he tells himself it has nothing to do with your voice bouncing around in his head like an insufferable little ping-pong ball. absolutely nothing to do with the way you laughed at something he said at four in the morning.
itâs discipline. thatâs all.
thereâs hesitation in the juniorsâ movements. itâs especially obvious in the way they avoid himâquestions rerouted to choi yeonjun instead, who is currently preoccupied with his self-assigned duty of shooting nicholas with two pucks at once for reasons known only to him. sunghoon watches it unfold with a faint twitch of annoyanceâhe has to take off his helmet just to breathe right. sometimes, he genuinely wonders how yeonjun managed to snag vice captain.
eventually, though, the confusion climbs its way back to him like it always does. a hesitant shuffle. a cough. a poorly disguised glance in his direction.
âcaptainââ
his voice cuts through the rinkâs cold air with surgical clarity. he explains every movement, every angle, every adjustment with mechanical perfection. there is no room for misunderstanding when he speaks. there rarely ever is when heâs this worked up.
by the time he gets back to sigma alpha eta, his muscles ache and his head feels heavier than it shouldâhis skull weighing on his spine, every knot tightening in a body that was already rigid to begin with. even if he swears he warmed up enough, his gait still comes out stiff.
he heads straight for the bathroom after tossing his bag onto the floor, haphazardly by the doorframe of his room. the tiled floor is slightly slippery from someone elseâs shower, much to his dismay.
he peels his clothes off, the overhead light catching the sheen of sweat still clinging to his skin. his gaze lingers, unintentional, over the familiar outline of his bodyâsomething he built, piece by piece, over years of repetition and restraint.
itâs taken him so long to get here.
park sunghoon turns slightly, glancing over his shoulder. his eyes squint at the subtle tints of blue and purple, an occasional yellow and familiar reds.
a faint bruise blooms along his backânoticeable enough to catch his attention, but still subtle enough to ignore. his thumb presses into it briefly. it doesnât hurt much, sitting in a valley between his shoulder blade and the deep impression of his spine.
he doesnât dwell. no time. thereâs roughly ten minutes before his eyes have to shut and his cells get to work at repairing the strain he never fails to put himself through.
the shower is quick. burning hot water pelts his shoulders, steam gathering thick against the tiles as the tension in his body dulls into something manageable. afterward, he downs another protein shake, the grainy texture catching in his throat like itâs meant to fill more than just hunger.
then, the sheets rustle as he settles in. tonight feels cooler than usual, though that might have more to do with the window he left wide openâjake sim always made the habit of reminding him to, otherwise, itâd be too stuffy. the blinds sway with the wind, wood tapping lightly against the glass in a steady, hollow rhythm.
no assignments. class begins early tomorrow. park sunghoon needs all the energy he can get if he wants to maintain that stellar gpa of hisâitâs reason enough to shut his screen off and reach for the charger without hesitation.
this is what most nights look like. the temperature shifts by a degree or two. the sounds outside change. the air moves differently. but if he squints, itâs all the same, really. park sunghoonâthe captain, the leader, the one everyone watchesâfalls asleep the same way every night, staring at what heâs built.
his gaze drifts back, almost involuntarily, to his now-dimmed phone. the last item on his mental checklist has been crossed off, but the weight on his shoulders doesnât lift. if anything, it settles deeper, heavier, as the thought of monday presses in.
there will be mondays for the rest of his life. obviously.
itâs sunday nights like thisâquiet, cold, stretching endlessly before themâthat serve as meaningless prologues that do nothing but make park sunghoon feel like the loneliest man in the world, at the top of the chain that heâs tried so desperately to scale.
his eyes shift to the wall instead. an attempt at distracting himself.
medals, trophies, certificates. plaques stacked where thereâs no space left for more.
thereâs boxes shoved beneath his bed, too. filled with the rest of it, or rather, everything that didnât make the cut. almost all of itâs in thereâwrinkled homework from the when he first learned how to write his name coherently, all the way to the year he left his hometown.
itâs taped shut with cheap, barely-there adhesive, the kind that curls at the edges if you look at it for too long. heâs almost certain his mother shoved it in the car, insisted he bring it with him to collegeâsomething about keeping memories close, about not forgetting where he came from. he canât recall how else it wouldâve ended up here, with him, haunting his conscience like a guilty ghost.
sunghoon plugs the cord in, the battery icon flashing obediently on the corner of his screen. that should be the endâ
ding!
his jaw tightens. his tooth almost cracks from how hard heâs gritting them. itâs even more annoying, because his armâs already bent over the table, ready to drop the device on his small night stand.
so god help him, if itâs choi yeonjun asking for the practice footage again, or sending another half-coherent voice note about formations he absolutely should have memorised by nowâ
ding!
sunghoon exhales sharply through his nose and retracts his hand. the attention-aware feature on his phone causes his screen to light up almost immediately, and despite the fact that he was just staring at it moments ago, it burns all the same.
unknown contact.
he doesnât even need to see the name. sunghoon sees the call log from last night, ending at five in the morning, and immediately knows.
y/n l/n: day went great btw 01:21
y/n l/n: not a single yawn 01:21
heâs going to bed. heâs tired, and heâs not definitely past dealing with a girl who doesnât even care that he doesnât sound like lee heeseungâor at the very least, not enough to verify that it is indeed park sunghoon on the other end of the line.
y/n l/n: i know you said 4am but i have class at 8 tmr sooo 01:21
there are a few things park sunghoon would never admit to anyone else. firstly, that heâs terrible at making his own coffee and still gets riki to do it for him. secondly, that he needs to hug his ridiculously large, sausage-shaped pillow to fall asleep, or he wakes up worse than usual.
and thirdâ
that heâs genuinely listening to a random girl on the phone, without slipping in a quiet, so are you coming over or not? somewhere between her sentences.
it doesnât feel like a decision. thereâs something settling into place, clicking in his chest before he has a real chance to question his own intentions. the words come out easily, slipping off his tongue and past his lips like water, because thatâs what this isânatural, for reasons beyond him.
sunghoon lies back with one arm tucked behind his head, the other holding his phone loosely against his cheek. moonlight spills into the room through the half-open blinds, stretching across his ceiling like it has nowhere else to go. he knows he shouldâve closed them earlier, but the thought passes without consequence, dissolving somewhere between the moment your name lit up his screen and now.
his hair falls in soft streaks across his forehead, long since dried from the aggressive towel action heâd put himself through not even half an hour agoâsomething he refuses to think about too meticulously, especially not in relation to the notification that had pulled him back to his phone.
incoming call from y/n l/n.
thereâs a dull ache pressing at his temples, insistent, like itâs trying to remind him of something heâs choosing to ignore. he knows better than this, he really does. in the same way he knows that you think heâs someone else entirely.
he breathes, slow and deep like itâll undo all the knots in his muscles. itâs strange that itâs working now, compared to all the times where he got a sports massage after practice with no real effect, and he wondersâno matter how absurd it isâthat if itâs your voice thatâs making him so, so sleepy.
on the other end, you never hesitate. you answer him with a kind of ease he isnât used to, words flowing like thereâs nothing in the world worth holding back. thereâs something almost intimate in itânot intentional, barely meaningful, but there all the same. like two people who have already decided, somewhere along the way, that they belong in each otherâs space.
the thought comes uninvited.
is this what couples do?
it makes him want to shut his eyes and forget he ever had it.
your voice carries through the line with the same unfiltered simplicity that heâs already starting to recognizeâlight, animated despite the hour, spilling from one thought to the next with barely any pause. thereâs a lack of calculation in the way you speak, a clear absence of consideration in what words were okay to say, and what details were appropriate to omitâin which there were none. you even told him about your ten minute doomscroll session on the toilet midway through biochemistry.
it fills the silence before it can exist. itâs not like heâs not used to the noiseâheâs surrounded by idiots who canât keep their mouth shut, and god, has he wished for years that everyone around him would just be quiet for at least ten minutesâbut when your soft, sweet voice rings in his ears, heâs not even sure what heâs feeling.
the realistic part of him, however useless he may be now, knows that everything is a lie. thereâs you, rambling to him solely because you think he is the man you have that miserable crush on, and then thereâs him: feeding your delusions, for his own selfish intents, as if that makes him any less dumber than you.
youâre talking to him because you think heâs someone else. because youâve attached yourself to a version of a person that doesnât exist on this end of the line.
he lets it happen, anyway.
sunghoon shifts against his pillows and the mattress dips slightly beneath his weight. the room remains dim, lit faintly by the fluorescent lighting radiating from his screen, probably killing off all his melatonin receptors by nowâthe dull wash of streetlight slips in, occasionally cut off by a passing car through half-open blinds. the air moves lazily, wind brushing past his skin, cooling what little heat still lingers from his shower.
his responses lag. he lets you talk. itâs intentional at first, an easy excuse for something he can fall back on. you seemed like the type who didnât need much prompting, anywayâyour words come in soft bursts of laughter, half-finished thoughts and tangents that circle back around before he can fully follow them. it should be difficult to keep up with, but as with everything thatâs occuring, itâs unknown to him why it isnât.
somewhere along the way, it stops being passive. thereâs things that heâs noticing that he doesnât want to notice. hearing things that he never means to. itâs lodged into his brain thatâs already fighting for more storage spaceâyour tone that shifts when youâre about to say something embarrassing, or how you rush through it a little faster, before doubling back as if to justify it. thereâs pauses that arenât quite pauses, just brief breaths where he can almost picture you thinking, deciding whether to keep going or jump to the next part of your day.
he remembers that party. he remembers how your hair fell on your face, and in the moment, sunghoon thought youâd just be passing in his already busy lifeâhe finds it extremely irritating that he can recall almost every mundane feature on your face as if you were the most beautiful girl heâd seen. that dress that you probably found deep in your dresser and didnât bother to smooth out, or that cup in your hand thatâs barely holding any liquor. you were there for someone, after all.
he stood at that stairwell, watching, as if you were someone he couldnât approach. pleaseâif lee heeseung wasnât the one you already set your sights on, he bets he could have you in his bed that very night.
if only he hadnât froze.
youâre not anyone meaningful to him. youâre not supposed to take up what precious space he has for himself, and yet, here you are, barging into his life like you demand his attention.
itâs not like heâs any better, honestly. he knows that much.
âi was wondering if i should call, yâknow,â you mumble through his phoneâs speaker. he raises an eyebrow, as if you could see it. âitâs really late. donât you have class tomorrow, too?â
âi do,â sunghoon sighs. he makes a conscious effort to stop himself from sharing which. âall day.â
unknown to park sunghoon, youâre lying upside down on your pink duvet, hair falling over the edge of your bed. youâre acting like you have no real responsibilities or hour long classes tomorrow morning, and that energy is somehow infecting him, too.
his grip around the phone shifts, thumb brushing absentmindedly along the edge of his thick case. the thought of telling you who he really is comes and goes without fully forming, though the feeling that claws at his ribs is quieter than guilt. itâs not sharp enough for him to address just yet.
you say something. he doesnât catch all of it, only the way your laughter follows right after. sunghoon almost thinks you must love hearing your own voice with how giggly you are.
nevertheless, it pulls something out of him before it can be stopped. a responseâlow and tired in nature, slipping into the conversation as if he didnât spend the past ten minutes wondering if anything heâll say will give him away.
and still, you respond, picking it up without hesitation, folding his words into yours like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
âi didnât even realise the time until i checked my phone,â you lie. âiâm sorry if you were just kidding yesterday⊠and didnât want me to actually call. i wasnât sure.â
âitâs fine, really.â sunghoon murmurs, voice low and threaded with sleep. âbut you really shouldâve called earlier. iâm about to knock out.â
thereâs a soft scoff on your end, fabric shifting faintly. sunghoonâs ears pick that up, too. âyou picked up anyway, didnât you?â
he doesnât respond to that, and the silence continues. itâs not empty or uncomfortable, filled with something else that simmers under his skin. he lets it stay.
you donât push, instead humming like youâve already moved on. you talk more about your day, admitting to things that you probably shouldnât, voice drifting back into that easy rhythm that makes him want to turn over and shut his eyes for the night. âi kept checking my phone like something interesting would happen today, butâŠâ
ânothing did?â he asks, eyes half-liddedâhis eyelashes feel heavier now.
âwellllâŠâ you drag out the word slightly, a hint of a smile tucked into it, like sunghoon couldnât already hear the teeth in your voice. âiâm telling you about my day now, so i guess it all worked out.â
he exhales softly. his finger comes up to his face to rub at his nose, and he sniffles before responding, âthatâs a really low bar.â
âiâm being honest,â you admit, voice dipping just slightly, unaware of the cliff youâre driving yourself off of. âyou seem like someone whoâs always busy.â
he supposes, in a sense, he is. just not in a lee heeseung way. âiâm not that busy.â
thereâs a hint of disbelief in your laugh that fades quickly. it gives way to something more curious, and all it does is ease the conversation into something quieter and more fluid. your voice lowers as words blend together, and sunghoon finds his shoulders caving into his chest.
he shifts against the pillows, letting the weight of the night settle into his tired limbs. you wrap around him like a thread pulling tautâhe doesnât need to respond immediately; the words coming from you are enough to fill spaces heâs left behind.
sunghoon blinks slowly. âyouâve got me wrong.â
âyeah, now that i think about it,â you whisper. âi donât think i know enough to be right.â
park sunghoon rarely gets nervous, if ever. there were a few times in fifth grade that heâd gotten a tummy ache before going up on stage, or in middle school when he had to give a presentation on the cultural history of korean calligraphy. he supposes the habit just vanished, because by the time he turned sixteen and played in his first hockey match, it never manifested again.
thereâs a relief that comes with finding your coping mechanism. sunghoon never really examined why he would feel like throwing up before getting in front of a bunch of strangers, but he understood, even if on a very basic level, that hockey took that away from himâitâs the smooth slide of his skates against ice that tends to narrow down the world to just him, where nothing and no one else matters.
heâs not exactly sure why that is; reflection wasnât really his thing. he knew it when his teacher would set him aside from other kids and ask âhow are things at home?â, to which he had no answers.
as long as it works, right?
still, itâs here now. that feeling of his heart dropping straight through his mattress, and his stomach churning something that refuses to let him speak.
âi feel like iâve just been yapping,â you say. you arenât wrong. itâs barely your fault, though he canât really tell you that.
sunghoon swallows, throat dry and constricting around nothing. the grip he has on his phone tightens momentarily before easing again, his gaze darting around the room like heâs searching desperately for answers thatâll magically manifest.
he could say something. he should. something vague would be good. easy to follow up with, or be mysterious about. slightly personal so you donât pry too much, that doesnât let this tip any further than it already has.
and yetâthe words donât come. it barely makes it past his throat.
sunghoon exhales and the sound is almost lost against the line. âitâs getting late.â
itâs been âgetting lateâ for the past two hours. his voice sounds worn, and he blames no one but himselfâfor letting his schedule fall apart like this, and still picking up the phone anyway.
and you, being the unsuspecting, naive girl you areâhumming softly as if to tell him you understand. âyeah, i guess so.â
park sunghoon tears his screen away from the warmth of his cheek. only now does he realise how long itâs truly been; the absence of his warm device and the presence of cold wind hitting his face helps him remember how absurd this is.
he looks at the duration of the call, now barely over two hours.
the number sits there, steady and indifferent, as if it doesnât account for the way time had slipped past him without resistance. as if it doesnât mean anything at all.
for a moment, he just stares at it, his thoughts lagging behind the reality of it. two hours of listening, of responding, of letting himself exist in something that shouldnât have been this easy.
this should end here.
sunghoon brings the phone back to his ear, the warmth returning in a way that feels almost deceptive now. he blinks once, twice, before clearing his throat. âgoodnight, y/n.â
âgoodnight, heeseung.â
the line cuts. sunghoon lies still in his white sheets, the duvet crinkling softly beneath his weightâthough it feels heavier than it should, like itâs dragging him deeper into the earth. he stares blankly into the space above him, eyes fixed on nothing, as if he canât quite register the way the room seems to close in, inch by inch.
outside, the world goes on, completely unaware.
cars pass. lights flicker somewhere beyond his window. time moves the way it always doesâsteady, indifferent to him, and for a fleeting moment, he wishes he wasnât in this body.
the thought comes quietly, almost absurd in its simplicity. the thought that he could step out of himself and into someone elseâsomeone forgettable, someone ordinaryâsomeone who doesnât carry the weight of expectation so tightly wound around his chest. he imagines it briefly, the ease of it: letting tomorrow belong to someone else.
letting the responsibilities, the precision, the constant awareness slip from his grasp for just a day.
just once where he doesnât have to move like he knows exactly what heâs doing, or carry himself like someone people look up toâlike someone who has everything under control, when the truth is that heâs no different from anyone else. just one fucking day is all he asks.
it was niceâthe two hours sunghoon got to pretend like he wasnât sunghoon. he could say it was almost natural, which only unsettles him even more.
he shifts slightly against his sheets, and the loud rustle only anchors him further into the reality heâs in. he blinks slowly before letting his eyelids shut, and almost as if to say âyouâre never living this downâ, your face appears right behind them.
here you are, reconstructed behind his shut eyes like youâre something worth rememberingâit's your perfect hair. your eyes that dulled the lights strobing in your face. that dress that looked weirdly good on you.
you only see kim sunoo once a week. thereâs careful planning that goes behind the days leading up to psychology of mass mediaâitâs the only hour you can get any intel, if at all, due to the convenient fact that sunoo likes to be the first to leave and last to arrive.
in reality, itâs just you showing up earlier than necessary, and lingering a little longer than you should in hopes that youâll catch sunoo again.
you have one question. just one. he wonât mind, would he?
the lecture hall is still half-empty when you slip in, and the fluorescent lights actually burnârows of seats stretching out in that familiar, uninspired gradient of grey and black. there are a few scattered groups that have already settled in, most of them slumped over their desks with jackets thrown over their heads. the sound of keyboard clicking echoes, bouncing off the sterile walls, and you do your best to tune it out.
it takes two minutes for kim sunoo to walk in, beige tote slung over his shoulder, stride light and easyâhe always looked put together despite the hour. there were times you considered if he was a vampire, considering how he never looks tired, but the thought never sticks long enough to matter.
he slides into his usual seat without much ceremony, setting his bag beside him before pulling out his macbook. thereâs a faint glow of white casts over his face, highlighting the smoothness of his skin, and it feels ridiculousâthat split second when you feel a little jealous of him.
fifty five minutes left.
you move before you can think too hard about it, because you already know how that ends. your sneakers thud softly against the carpeted floor as you make your way down the steps, gaze flickering briefly around the roomânot because thereâs anything to actually be wary of, but because it feels like there should be.
as if anyone here could read your mind, and as if theyâd even care enough to judge you for it. the thought lingers in the back of your mind all the same.
you slow just a fraction as you near his row, like the sensible part of your brainâs giving you one last chance to turn around and act like the normal girl who doesnât care that much. thereâd be some grace in taking that empty seat behind him and pretending like the thought of snooping around lee heeseungâs love life never crossed your mind at allâbut it has to happen, and unless the gift of time travel is suddenly bestowed upon you, your ass is about to meet the plastic chair beneath you.
the chair creaks softly under your weight, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the low hum of the room. everyoneâs blissfully unaware of the humiliation youâre about to put yourself through, though it somehow makes your courage muster a little easier.
âyouâre staring at me.â
sunooâs voice is monotonous. he doesnât bother to spare you a look, because in truth, he doesnât need to turn his head to see the way youâre burning holes through his.
âiâm not.â
he scoffs, though he means nothing spiteful of it. as much as he hates to admit, you were one of the nicer seatmates he had this year. âyou are.â
âokay, well,â you begin, hands coming up from under the long, laminated wooden desk in front of you. you press them together, like thatâd make things less awkwardâyour fingers fidget just for the sake of doing something other than staring at sunoo. âi was thinkingââ
âabout me?â kim sunoo smiles, still not looking at you. the corner of his lip is lifted up in something similar to genuine amusement, but it does nothing to help the embarrassment thatâs stabbing at your nerves. âyouâre blunt, [name].â
âha ha,â you mock. sunoo canât help but giggle at that. âthe posters. outside. i saw them.â
ah. he sees what this is about.
soul searching ⊠booth 35, level 1, outside block A
friday, 10th september 2026, 1pm-8pm
â€ïž love life in shambles? wanna meet new people? come visit our booth to find your perfect match!
â€ïž a quick questionnaire, a curated pairingâone conversation might change everything. rumour has it that the first person you meet⊠might just be the one.
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the promotional poster that you stumbled upon was one of many pasted across campus. there were a few that jiwon mumbled to you about this morning, over the phone, and while you canât exactly recall the exact details of the conversation, you just know it made her reconsider attending. it was obvious in the way she kept asking, âshould i?â followed by âi donât know, maybe i shouldâ, circled back with âiâll think about itâ.
it was for, roughly, five seconds that you wondered just how many girls would be lining up for it as well. you remember standing there a little longer than necessary, eyes skimming over the bold lettering like it was supposed to mean more than it did. the paper had been slightly wrinkled at the edges, tape barely holding it against the wall like it had been put up in a rushâbut it was bright, unapologetically pink, and you almost grimaced at the thought of other people stopping to stare at it the same way you did.
youâd already decided you were going to go.
scanned the qr code right then and there, shamelessly, in the middle of the hallway on the way hereâthumb hovering for less than a second before pressing submit, like hesitation would somehow make it worse.
the soulmate part, thoughâthat stuck, unfortunately. it clung in a way that was irritatingly persistent, like gum pressed into the grooves of your thoughts. not because you believed it, necessarily, but because it was the kind of idea that refused to leave once it had somewhere to sit.
âsoâŠ. details?â you ask, a bright and inviting smile plastered onto your cheeks. âis heeseung going for sure? how does it even work?â
kim sunoo shrugs, typing briefly into his laptop before looking at you. âitâs a fundraiser booth. students sign up and get paired at random. i think, like, five seniors found their husbands here a few years back, and itâs been a myth ever since.â
you blink. âwaitâso the first person you meet thing, thatâs real? the soulmate shit?â
âyeah. havenât you seen how many campus couples made it because of us? itâs really weird.â
soulmates. itâs all bullshit.
people talked about fate like it was something clean and predictable, like they didnât sit behind the steering wheel of their own life. itâs as if someone or something invisible was guiding themâlike there was a line drawn somewhere out there with your name on it, waiting for you to follow it without question until it led you to the right person.
youâve never experienced it that way. if anything, your history with relationships feels like the opposite: bad timing, poor judgement, moments that almost worked until they didnât. near misses are dressed up as something meaningful, but conversations fizzle out just when they start to feel like they might matter.
nothing stayed. nothing was ever meant to. you, having a soulmateâin that senseâit felt extremely unlikely.
it isnât in a dramatic, self-pitying wayâitâs the same way you understand that most things in life donât fall neatly into place without sustained effort and consistency. relationships arenât something pre-built that you stumble into, perfectly right and accommodating despite yourself, and theyâre definitely not something you keep just because the universe decided you should.
couples will look you in the eye and tell you theyâre meant to be, like it was written somewhere long before they ever met, but they barely talk about the parts where they almost walked away, or the moments where instinct told them to leave and they didnât. the hesitation. the doubt. the very real option of not choosing each other.
fate, soul ties, forever. there are a lot of excuses people make when they donât want to admit their own fault in something. itâs easier to dress things up as something inevitable than to acknowledge the effort it took to keep it goingâor the moments where it almost didnât.
do people just like pretending that they donât have a say in what they do?
sunoo pauses, shifting his dark hair from his eyes before glancing at you. âdo you think itâs cringey? saeri told me to remove that part of the poster⊠but i didnât. itâs the charm of our booth, i think.â
âi donât think so,â you lie, adrenaline humming through your veins. it is kind of corny, but who would admit that to himâkim sunoo probably doesnât need more people hating on his poor slogan choices, and the more you act like it was a wise move, the better the chance you get paired with heeseung once he realizes you signed up. âi think itâs⊠uhm, plausible.â
anything but asking him directly, though.
âanyway,â sunoo glances back at his screen. microsoft word fills the entire monitor with graphs and figures youâre sure are from jiwonâs econ class. âi think everyoneâs coming, except sunghoon. that guyâŠâ
you raise an eyebrow. this is the first youâve heard of him since that party two weeks agoâat this point, he almost feels like a hallucination. âsunghoon? whatâs his deal?â
âheâs not a relationship guy. i think he knows itâd be a waste of time to sign up and make the girl feel like shit for five minutes straight,â sunoo sighs, leaning into his palm as if this were the harsh reality heâs learned to accept. âhe cares, but has no idea how to show it. heâs like a three year old.â
you nod slowly, like you understand. you donât.
though, somethingâs happening in your body thatâs reminiscent of sunday night. itâs that odd, simmering sensationâproof. it flickers at the edge of your mind like a fuzzy memory, echoing that same low, lingering pull that sat right in the centre of your sternum.
sunooâs cheek leans back into his palm, his eyes following professor choiâs figure thatâs just strolled in. itâs your queue to shut the hell up and start preparing your materials for class, but it sets something else off.
you try, briefly, to chase it. to trace it back, to link it to something tangible and real and concrete. a face, a voice, a moment that would justify the way it settles into you so easily, but it slips through your fingers just as quickly, dissolving before it can really take shape.
âi see,â you hum. âwell, iâll come. donât worrââ
the text comes while heâs brushing his teeth. his hairâs a mess as he stares into himself, eyes flicking down to the sink where some of his toothpasteâs fallen off his toothbrushâyour voice is replaying in his head like a sick alarm, though he knows that itâs only because heâd hung up the phone only two hours ago.
sunghoon found himself silently praying that practice was cancelled. it was unlike him; the way he lingered in his sheets and had to take a deep breath before getting up. he dragged himself to the bathroom, hand swiping at the towel rack outside the doorâhoping that he didnât take jakeâs by mistake, and begging (to whom?) that he wouldnât need to use it.
snu hockey boys â26 âžïžđ
yeonjun: practice is cancelled 06:32
yeonjun: coach has an emergency but pls send your food logs by 2200. whoever misses = double ur distance tmr 06:32
yeonjun: rink is still open tho 06:32
he took one good look at his to-do list this morning and resolved that he was going to the library. heâs fully convinced that if he lets his assignments pile up any more, his professors will start to think heâs slipping. god forbidâas if the boy hasnât gotten less than a a in years.
we2fuckincoldđ„¶ (informal gc)
nicho: guys pls stop eating by the benches too the janitors r gonna beat us :( 06:45
yeonjun: u guys cant fucking control yourselves can you 06:56
park sunghoon moves through the early dawn like he usually does, except that he walks right past the folded jersey and duffle bag already sitting on his desk. he lets himself slouch a little as he walks downstairs; the tiredness is already seeping in despite the constant self-correction.
itâs going to be a long day of cramming if he wants to get anything done, clearlyâso he decides on unplugging his laptop charger, folding it neatly into the small zipper of his backpack, and leaving the house without his running shoes packed.
heâs still stretching when he hears the shuffle of footsteps outside. itâs too early for any one of his brothers to be upâon weekdays like this, park sunghoon was always the first to get moving, followed by jay in another hour.
itâs only six. nobody else gets up at six.
sunghoon reaches for the strap of his backpack as he makes his way towards the doorâslightly ajar, swaying faintly with the draft, about to shut itself. itâs only when heâs a step away from the frame that he catches sight of lee heeseung walking past.
lee heeseung doesnât get up until eleven.
reaching for the metal knob, sunghoon pulls back the door with more force than heâd like to admit, only to see heeseungâalready at the top of the stairs, leaning lazily against the railing like the early hour means nothingâplaid boxers slung low on his hips, hair flattened in odd directions, and the faint imprint of wrinkled sheets still pressed into his back.
he just watches. doesnât want to ask. the answer is already written across heeseungâs body in fading purples and reds, scattered along his neck and arms, threaded between the pale, healed superficiality of old scars.
instead, park sunghoon makes his way towards the stairs as well, with a backpack slung over his shoulder and an undeniable tiredness in his bones. he passes his dear friend before making his way down the flight of wood steps, feet thudding against the floor, eyes occasionally glancing towards the big entryway before him.
thereâs a girl by the front door, half-crouched as she slips her shoes back on. her hair is messy in an unmistakable way, fingers combing through it as she balances herself against the wall using her other hand. she doesnât look up, too preoccupied with fixing herselfâitâs the last thing on her mind, and all she wants is to fit her heel into the mary janes sheâs got sitting outside.
she pulls the metal handle, and looks back up at lee heeseung. nothing else is said, not even a wave, nor does he dismiss her presenceâhe just watches her warm smile curve up.
it feels like heâs walked in on something intimate. heeseung has a faint smirk that sunghoon was never able to wear when sooha was around, no matter how satisfied she made him feel, and heâs wearing that look of comfortable, guilt-free laziness that he recognises in the mirror every morning, after he hangs up on you.
sunghoon walks into the library like he owns it. professional poker face and all, heading straight for that seat by the windows that arenât facing east, so the sun doesnât burn his face off. just how he likes it.
the air-conditioning hits his skin and the lights above him are bright enough to sting. itâs enough to keep him awake for the next few hours, combined with the warm black coffee swishing around in his tumbler as he takes his time setting his stuff down.
a few stares and silent whispers are expected as he passes by the busier sections. he takes his usual seatânot many people know about it, due to the fact that itâs shoved so far away in isolation, miles from the bathroom and entrance, but park sunghoon appreciates this fact. nobody is around to stare at him sideways while he does his work, and there wonât be any eyes that refuse to leave his when he finally looks up.
the large, wood-laminate six-seat table was completely empty, and spotless. no coffee stains or broken sockets, and completely cut off from student civilization.
he settles into a bright orange chair by the window, where his face is obstructed by a large pillarâthe sun warms his hands up as they pull his laptop out, already booted up from the night before, on the microsoft word home screen.
he groans when he sees at least three empty documents, all of which he meant to start yesterday. of course, that was the plan prior to your call, and sunghoon swore heâd at least try to multitask, if only not to feel the guilt later on. itâs obvious that he canât do that anymore.
his slender fingers slide over the touchpad, navigating to his most urgent assignment for economics.
the cursor blinks at the top of his toolbarâitâs waiting for him to click something, anything, and he almost does. it circles around the add text box and darts away again, to open chrome. park sunghoon is staring at his screen like itâs a foreign, alien-sent object.
once upon a time, this wouldâve sufficed. a quiet corner, an uninterrupted day, and his laptop on full-charge. work and productivity comes easily to someone as hard-working as him, and when thereâs nothing else competing for his attention. compartmentalization is an incredibly common skill, but sunghoon is different, in the sense that he could live two separate lives in a single day, if need be.
though, these days, concentration feels far rarer than heâd like to admit.
the sound of soft, carpeted footsteps approaching barely registers in his ears. heâs too focused reading over the same one line heâs writtenâhis name and student id numberâto shift his eyes elsewhere.
his peers pass through this section all the time. not many, but enough for it not to be alarming. this was still a public space, after all.
his eyes remain fixed on the screen as he reaches for his tumbler, taking a slow sip of coffee. outside, the sky is finally brightening into that familiar golden, instead of a depressing, cold blue. few students pass by the large glass panels, some in clusters and others alone.
this is simple enough. all he has to do is write. sunghoon has the brains for this, the attention span, and overall capability to complete this useless assignmentâso he adjusts himself further into the chair and begins skimming through the brief for what feels like the tenth time since itâs released. itâs all market trends, consumer psychology, something about forecasting models by the time the words begin to blur together.
the caffeine isnât circulating fast enough. he reaches, sips again, and draws a deep breath in through his nose. halfway through his second paragraph, a chair thuds quietly against the carpeted floor, before the faintest âshitâ is heard.
libraries are full of idiots. nobody can even drag a chair out properly anymore, apparently. now that the sound has derailed his train of thought, sunghoon canât help but to flick his dark brown irises up, locking right onto you.
for a second, he genuinely wonders if his sleep deprivation has evolved into hallucinations.
of all the tables and empty seats scattered across four. fucking. floors.
park sunghoonâs grip tightens slightly around his black, metal rimmed tumbler, an action you thankfully do not notice. this corner of the library is so damn meaningless to himâbut now that youâre here, itâs like this is all heâll ever remember, all heâll ever associate with the place.
the moment of recognition doesnât last very long. surprisingly, it doesnât send panic through his bloodstream, nor does it get his heart bursting out of his chestâthough, he can still feel it pounding a little harderâinstead, itâs just vague acknowledgement written all over that pretty face of yours, reserved for familiar faces.
park sunghoon. hockey captain guy. heeseungâs friend, the one who unintentionally stared at you sideways that one friday night (that heâll never forget).
âoh.â
the tension binding his shoulders tight is loosened, just a fraction. the tiny sound leaves your mouth quietly, though it sounds nothing like shock, and itâs more to yourself than to him.
âhope you donât mind if iââ
sunghoonâs response comes out rougher than intended. âno.â
you smile in response, and god, sunghoon wants to fucking drive a ten foot pole into his chest at the sight of your cheeks puffing up. thereâs a faint flush on your cheeks from walking in the morning sun, and he notices a few blemishes on your skin as the sun almost blinds youâhe can tell itâs getting into your eyes because youâre squinting. âyou can sit here.â
you almost choke by the time sunghoon realises what heâs just said. âwhat?â
âitâs hot on that side.â
thereâs three chairs on his side of the long, dark side of the table. itâs oddly poetic how heâs sat in the dark and youâre standing across from him, bathed in that golden sun like itâs your rightful place, and how he canât help but have you next to him, even now, even selfishly.
fortunately, you save him the humiliation of walking away or just planting your ass down in the sun. you circle around the table, keychains on your backpack jingling as you do, and pull out the plastic chair two seats away from him.
perfect. itâs enough distance for him to pretend like youâre not even there. your gaze flickers between him in the corner of your eye, to the span of other empty seats in front of you. why the hell are you even here?
thereâs a moment where he thinks youâre going to change your mind, get up, and walk away without looking back. itâs mostly due to the fact that you havenât even set your things down yet, organised your stationery or even took out your sleek, plastic-shielded macbook. sitting next to park sunghoon when there was an entire eight-seat table like, ten feet away made most people nervous.
and still, when he turns (or merely pretends to by reaching for his tumbler again), he realises youâre far from nervous, and instead very confused.
your eyebrows are still raised in slight confusion, and youâre scrambling to find a pen you lost somewhere deep in your bag. flecks of dust float in the air, and one lands right on the top of your headâshining so beautifully in this terribly congested space, warmth bouncing off the dull carpet and reflecting back onto your face, dusting your skin like it knows how exactly to make him weak.
you donât notice, but he does. park sunghoon is noticing everything, and for suddenly, painfully, and very unpredictably, he realises why people write songs about these kinds of feelings.
âdo you need something?â
god, youâre so pretty. your eyebrows lift slightly, out of genuine curiosity (or perhaps concern, with the way sunghoon is staring at you⊠he canât find a fault), and those lips of yours look so effortlessly perfect, soft, a faint sheen veiling it thanks to the lip-balm chained to your backpack zipper.
âno.â
and itâs like heâs slammed the door on you again.
again?
youâre not sure why you dwell on it too much, actually. most of the evening is spent staring at blank documents, because this module unfortunately included math, and for some odd reason, lee heeseung was always good at math despite being an arts major. heâd know what to do, and for a good minute you wonder if you should just call him right now.
you pause for a moment before your attention slips away from him again. turning back to your bag, hands still searching for something you apparently cannot find, your fingers moving with growing frustration through compartments that seem to hold everything except what you actually want.
sunghoon should probably mind his own business now, yet instead, heâs glancing over your shoulder and at your empty document.
he turns back to his laptop, slightly, or pretends to, lifting his tumbler just enough to give himself something to look at that isnât you. in doing so he finally catches the full spread of your movement as you settle in, pulling your laptop out, then your charger, then your pencil case, then a small pouch that seems to contain an entire separate ecosystem of items, all of which you organise with a kind of quiet determination that feels oddly intimate to witness.
your brow furrows as you dig deeper into your bag, hand disappearing and reappearing empty more than once, and he notices the way your mouth presses into a line of mild frustration that never fully escalates into anything outright upset, just plastered there as an expression of someone mildly inconvenienced by their own decisions.
somewhere between your second and third attempt at finding whatever it is youâre looking for, your phone appears in your hand, screen lighting up briefly before you unlock it. sunghoonâs attention shifts almost against his will because the movement is too familiar now, even to him, with something he shouldnât be aware of.
your thumb hesitates over the contacts screen. lee heeseung.
his eyes are beginning to strain with how hard heâs trying to make himself appear unsuspicious. you hover over his contact, before looking back up at your empty document, and then down again. hesitantly you settle for resting your phone atop the mahogany, letting the screen darken on the words âlee heeseungâ, then typing your very first words.
the mistake on your screen comes predictably. thatâs not to say sunghoon thought you were stupidâitâs only honest for him to say many people messed up the way you did. careless, happens when you havenât spent the days prior drilling these kinds of theorems into your head. his eyes were starting to hurt, squinting, trying to see how to help you.
the guilt creeps up on him, unexpectedly. he just canât.
itâs unfortunate that sunghoon already knows exactly what heâd do if he were sitting right next to you, looking over your shoulder properly instead of pretending not to while still catching every mistake you make.
unfortunate that the assignment in front of him is something he could finish in less than an hour if he actually tried, something so mindless it doesnât even deserve the amount of attention heâs currently refusing to give it, and yet he keeps sitting there anyway as if the decision is more complicated than it actually is.
âswap your x and y values.â
sunghoon has never in his life packed his things so quickly. heâs already moving before he fully processes what heâs done.
his chair scrapes back lightly against the carpet as he gathers his things in motions so quick it almost feels automaticâlaptop closing before his assignment is anywhere near complete, tumbler shoved into his bag without care for whether it spills or not.
youâre still looking at him when he straightens, your brows drawn together slightly as you glance down at your screen again, scrolling back to where you left off.
your expression only changes the moment you realise what he said was correct. the mistake is exactly what he pointed out, sitting there so obviously wrong now that it feels almost insulting that you didnât see it earlier.
sunghoon slings his bag over his shoulder too quickly, the strap wrong-side up, before he quickly settles it in place. he doesnât look at you directly again, even though he can feel your attention still on him.
there is no explanation he can give that wouldnât make it worse. no version of this situation exists where staying longer feels safer than leaving immediately, because the longer he sits here, the more likely it becomes that something small will slip.
you will notice. it may be something in the way he speaks or pauses or breathes that does not belong to heeseung at all. he knows you will put it together, because these are things he notices about you, unwillingly.
so, he leaves.
sunghoonâs footsteps are steady as he moves between tables, fiddling with his car keys between his slender fingersâuntil he reaches the aisle where the library opens up toward the exit.
only then does he allow himself one brief glance back.
youâre looking at him, still. like you havenât decided whether youâre supposed to stop or keep watching, eyes slightly wider than they were a moment ago, as if youâre still catching up to the fact that he actually spoke, actually stood up, and actually left without giving you anything close to an explanation.
itâs not like he owed you one, anyway. right?
thereâs a faint crease between your brows now, nothing like frustration, instead softened into something that makes his heart twist and do all sorts of things against his ribs. itâs not an exaggeration to say that heâs never felt such a feeling, and itâs even more of an understatement when he says it scares him.
he almost trips over his jeans when he crosses the threshold of the library, out into the pavement and in front of the carpark.
sunghoon needs to go home. he needs to get his shit together and go to practice, like how heâs always done in the months before this, and how heâll continue to doâand yet, god knows why he canât even drive out of the lot, instead heâs glued to his seat with his feet planted on the mat like itâll kill him if he stepped on the gas pedal.
sunghoon is already outside the library by the time heâs back in his own body, aware that heâs moving.
the air hits him colder than expected. sharp against skin still warmed by the inside of the building, and for a moment he just stands there, half between steps, like his body has forgotten what it was supposed to do next. the carpark stretches out in front of him in clean, repetitive lines, familiar enough that it should be automatic, but nothing about his movements feels familiar anymore.
âfuckââ
sunghoon almost trips when he steps down the last curb, not because he isnât paying attention, but because his body is slightly ahead of his thoughts and neither of them are aligned with anything resembling control. he corrects himself quickly, hand tightening briefly around the strap of his bag, and continues forward in a way that would look normal to anyone watching from a distance.
sunghoonâs car is where it always is. he gets in, sits his ass down, and doesnât move.
the engine is not on yet, keys resting in his hand without being inserted, and his foot stays planted on the mat as if there is some unspoken rule that says starting the car will make something irreversible happen. he stares at the steering wheel for a long time without really seeing it, jaw set in a way that suggests focus but is really just restraint.
that look on your face is so easy to remember. park sunghoon knows he has to tell you, if thereâs any chanceâany at allâthat he gets to look at you like that again.
a curse, truly, because now he knows what it feels like to be so close to you, to have such a feeling strike him so deep, lodging itself in his chest; whenever your face pops up uninvited in his peripheral, or in his daydreams, or on his cell. almost humiliating and actively consuming his sick brain.
the honesty might not even make you stay, and it probably will not make the confession nobleâit feels ridiculous to him, almost absurd, because the only thing keeping him tethered to his car mat is the replay of your face in his mind: so painfully uncomplicated that he canât stand the thought of touching it with borrowed hands and stolen time.
he can still picture the way you looked at him across that table, brows faintly drawn together in confusion, not because you were intimidated or nervous or trying to figure out if sunghoon was really as the rumours say, but because you genuinely did not understand why he had stood up and left.
no expectant eyes, no carefulness, barely any fear. frowned when you were confused and smiled when something amused you, all with the kind of ease that feels so natural on you that he doubts you even notice it yourself. it is the sort of thing most people take for granted, he thinks. the sort of thing people are lucky enough to have for so long that they stop recognizing it as freedom.
sunghoon only notices because he does not have it.
hockey captain, top student, dependable, intimidating, disciplined, the guy could make his own dictionary with the obnoxious amount of adverbs attached to his image. almost every room he walks into seems to demand something from him before he even opens his mouth, and somewhere along the way he stopped questioning it. teammates watch his reactions before deciding how to react themselves. juniors reroute questions through other people because they are too nervous to ask him directly. professors talk to him like they actually have expectationsâclassmates wait for him to know the answer. even the fraternity treats him like a fixed object, something solid and predictable that will always be exactly where it is supposed to be.
then, thereâs you. all perfect hair and soft lips and weirdly adorable frustration carved onto your face, sitting beside him with a pen between your fingers with the other hand on your keyboard. your entire life is on the verge of spilling out your mouth whenever you talk, completely unaware of how rare it looks from where he stands, saying things because you want to say themâbecause itâs funny, even if itâs meaningless, even if it contributes nothing of value to the conversation.
you call when you miss him, you laugh at his unintentionally self-deprecating humour, you ask questions when you donât know. you get sad, you cry on the phone, and you get so ridiculously angry about such trivial matters, that he canât help but smile at his screen.
for one brief, stupid, and careless moment in that library, sunghoon thinks he wanted to stay because you were pretty.
the thought survives all of five seconds. pretty girls are not exactly rare, but the feeling stirring in his chest and the warmth spreading through his body definitely is.
barely any of it has to do with the curve of your smile or the sunlight caught in your hair. instead, it had everything to do with the feeling of being around you, the uncomplicated nature of it all, and the subtle identity crisis where he did not have to be a captain, student, impressive or disciplined.
you will probably leave him, he thinks. the only other option seemed much too cruel, even for him, stripping that choice from you.
ever since you moved into your apartment, youâve been trying to build a routineâsomething efficient and optimal, taking up the least amount of time and effort, while maximizing the amount of tasks done.
the first few weeks were horribleâevery small decision felt disproportionate and too time-consuming. thereâs ten minutes you couldâve used to get ready for bed that you spent cooking dinner, which you shouldâve made prior to leaving the house, bla bla bla. you knew it was bad when the sequence after unlocking your door alone was enough to irritate you: whether to eat first or shower, how long to wait before brushing your teeth so you wouldnât scrub your enamel off. it was stupid, the amount of thought you poured into things that were supposed to be automatic, but you couldnât help it. everything had to fall into place in this busy life of yours and serve itâs rightful purpose.
there were too many small decisions like that. too many things to get right.
maybe thatâs why this feels so off. because thereâs nothing to figure out, and no reason for it to happen so often.
thereâs no adjustment period, no careful slotting of time or reshuffling of habits. he just fits into the spaces youâve already made. itâs incredibly mundane and underwhelming in the way it happens.
for now, heeseung calls you almost every damn night, and you feel weirdly normal about it.
it starts on a random thursday. then itâs saturday, then monday, then tuesday. somewhere along the way, it stops being a coincidence or convenience.
by wednesday, youâre calling him to help you pick out an outfit for a department event, holding up different tops to your mirror like he can somehow see through the line. youâre describing the colours, the cut, every minute detail, assuming his imagination could keep up with your rambling.
on thursday, youâre complaining about how much you hate psych, words spilling faster than you can filter them. by the time friday rolls around, heâs the one callingâsomething about needing help with an assignment, though it diverges quickly into him venting about a useless groupmate in his behavioural economics class.
it morphs into something consistent, though, still strange regardless.
you couldâve sworn lee heeseung took his electives in art culture this year. yet, with the way heâs talking about stock markets and all rationality being lost on the modern day consumer, it sounds like heâs well-versed with the contents.
âyou ate an entire block of cheese for dinner?â he repeats back to you. now that youâve retold the entire process of cooking dinner, down to the amount of parmesan cheese you used, hearing it repeated back to you makes it sound a little insane. âyou couldnât just salt it?â
âare you judging me?â you giggle, turning over in your sheets. the fabric twists with you, cool against your skin and your joints protest almost immediatelyâyour right shoulderâs starting to cramp from how long youâve been hunched over on your side.
you let out a quiet sigh into the air. âit was a better choice. tasted good, so⊠i donât see any problem.â
thereâs a pause on his end. you fidget as you waitâpicking at your cuticles, long overgrown and in desperate need of a maintenance check, even cracking your knuckles just to fill the silence.
âi think thatâs the issue,â he huffs. your shoulders finally relax at the sound of himâlacking any true judgment despite his words.
thereâs faint rustling that crackles through your device, and for a minute, you imagine how he must look like right now: laid up in bed in some old jersey, shorts barely hanging onto his hips from how lazy he is to tie the drawstrings tighter. the nightâs winding down and youâre still here, with him, like this is an absolute must-do before your eyes shut.
and the routine must repeat tomorrow, of course. not that youâre complaining.
the rest of the conversation flows without much resistance. lee heeseung talks about his afternoon run that seemed to piss him off a great deal, because he got a call from choi yeonjunâsomething about being five minutes late to the gym and how heâs clearly not committed.
âoh. youâre friends with him? isnât he in a completely different department from you, though?â you mumble, hoping that it doesnât come off as bluntâyou very well could have missed this detail in your earlier conversations. *â*how do you guys get to the point of going to the gym together?â
âheâs been bothering me ever since freshman year.â heeseung responds, âseriously. i donât know how i havenât strangled him yet.â
you chew on your bottom lip, searching for a response. the silence stretches just a little too long, and something about it starts to itchâlike youâve asked the wrong question and youâre pushing somewhere you shouldnât.
âah,â you say finally. âi see⊠heâs really popular, so iâm not surprised.â
âyeah, he is. it gets annoying as fuck when he brings his girls to lunchâŠâ heeseung mutters under his breathâyouâre toying with the string of your hoodie, if only to make yourself feel less awkward. thereâs another long and excruciating pause before you finally decide to push the conversation in another direction:
âare you going to that fundraiser?â your voice comes out softer than intended. you can only hope that heeseung doesnât make you repeat yourself. âsunooâs⊠one. you know.â
âsunooâs oneâŠâ he repeats back to you, slower. the concept almost sounds abstract to him. âno. not my thing.â
not his thing.
youâre back to fiddling with your fingers again. suddenly, the drawstring of your sweats seems more interesting than anything else you can hear from the other end of the line.
his voice fizzles out. you hear him, yesâhis tired, monotonous voice crackling through the speaker reaches your ears and lands straight in your stomach. between short breaths and awkward pauses, you hyperfocus on the wind howling past your thin curtains.
âoh,â you manage after a moment. the word escapes weakly, scratching at your throat before you clear it up. âthought you were. my bad.â
you donât realise how sweat-slicked your palms are until your phone almost slips from your hand. you turn over in bed, just to save your eyeballs from the sting of streetlights hanging outside your windowâitâs almost three in the morning, and despite that dreadful fact, cars are still honking like they own the neighbourhood.
âshut up,â you laugh. âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â
a quiet huff escapes through the line. your free hand traces the hem of your blanket, now tangled between your legs, serving no real purpose.
âit just sounds like something youâd be into.â heeseung states without a hint of laughter or a smile. âtrying new things, even if theyâre childish and embarrassing.â
âwellââ
âitâs not a bad thing.â
you donât respond immediately. a soft hum of acknowledgment is heard through the deviceâitâs barely triumphant or teasingâlike he understands the reasoning behind why youâre throwing yourself out there, unknowingly, to him.
you roll onto your back again, tucking your arm over your belly. the cottonâs cold from the absence of your body against it, pillows still damp from your wet hair and impatient self; phone pressed awkwardly against your cheek, the heat almost battles that of sunday mornings.
speaking of, you havenât experienced in itâs entirety for the past few weeks.
âwhy donât you try it, then? it could be fun.â you murmur, eyes screwing shut at the instant the words rolled off your tongue. âsorry. you donât have to⊠if you find it weird.â
his laugh makes your heart rate stutter, then spike.
itâs sweet. genuine. warm and unrehearsed in itâs charm, filling the dimness of your room and settling right under your ribs. your face burns up like youâve just swallowed something hot, and the heat blooms right in your abdomen and crawls up your neck ridiculously fast.
ârelationships arenât my thing.â
lee heeseung says it like itâs already been decidedâsomething fixed and immovable, written in bold or carved into a rock somewhere far beyond him. existing outside of his control, predetermined, and heâs made peace with itâitâs simply the way things areâthough the heavy sigh that follows betrays him, outlined faintly with something that sounds nothing like acceptance.
the past few weeks have unfolded into something more than they shouldâve. conversations stretching deeper than expected, softening and melting into quiet teasing that feels almost familiar, like youâve known each other your entire lives.
âreally?â your lips canât help but to curl slightly upward. âyouâve never dated?â
ânever had time for that. iâm not the best with affection. people talk to me like theyâre scared of me, that kind of thing. even at that stupid party, i just drank by myself upstairs.â
perhaps your memory is failing you, then.
itâs strange, in hindsight, how most of your attention that night had never really stayed where it was supposed to. you remember the first few times you saw lee heeseungâhis best friend following shortly afterâand your gaze always seemed to lag behind who you claimed to like.
just how did those two end up together?
your seniors used to tell you to look forward to college. new place, new faces, new prospectsâlike the world finally opens up and hands you options you didnât know you had. one day, youâre trapped in a classroom from seven to six; the next, youâre weaving through a campus that doesnât know you yet, trying to decide who you get to be in it.
lee heeseung made it easy to know. he was the kind of person people noticed without trying. effortless in a way that felt almost unfairâhair falling exactly how it should, skin catching the light like it was always meant to. youâd pass by his friend group and hear him before you saw him, laughter loud and uncontained, a basketball tucked under his arm like it never knew how else to store itself. he fit into everything so naturally that it almost felt like the world was his and his alone.
it made sense to like him. and even then, your attention seemed to strayâslipping quietly and slowly just past him.
sunghoon hangs behind like it pained him to be around other people. always a little removed and distant enough to not involve himself in the conversation but not to turn around and walk away unnoticed; broad shoulders angling themselves slightly away, eyes flicking over other people like it physically pained him to see other humans.
itâs small, useless things. the way heâd shift his weight from one foot to the other when conversations dragged on and he was tired of it. his hands would stay tucked into his pockets like he didnât know what to do with them otherwise. watching more than he spoke, like he was just slightly out of sync with everyone else.
youâve only ever seen him laugh once*.* it was weirdly off-timed and the rest of his friends laughed only three seconds later. you wondered if all of heeseungâs friends were as strange as that, or if it was just him.
itâs weird, actually. thinking about it now, you realise you remember more about park sunghoon than you should for someone you never consciously paid attention to. his name seemed to be the last piece to his mysterious identity, no thanks to oh jiwon.
âiâm sure thatâs not true.â
âit is,â he says. âi try to stay, but things donât work out. rarely ever do.â
you raise an eyebrow. âwork out? so you almost dated?â
âi show up. i do what iâm supposed to. it just stops feeling like something i want to be in after a while.â
âso you just dip?â you question.
ânot all at once. i get scared. i pull back and i cancel things that i already fought to fit into my schedule,â he pauses. âi say itâs nothing. they donât press much after that.â
you hum. the line goes quiet for a few seconds. youâre trying hard not to bombard him with every invasive question on your mind: whoâs your most recent girlfriend? how long ago was the relationship? why do you run away?
he continues regardless.
âpeople get frustrated with me,â he mutters. âi canât even handle my own emotions. i run from my issues and go on pre-workout to deal with my baggage. nobody sane does that shit.â
âheeseungââ
the name slips from your tongue like a mistake. you bite down on your bottom lip as if that would stop the words from echoing into his ears, somewhere, miles away.
âyouâre the only girl that doesnât treat me like that. i still donât get it.â
just where did all these thoughts come from? there's weeks of conversations that stretched until midnight. unfiltered words that you silently agreed to keep between you two. your heartâs begun to match the rhythm of his voice, unintentionally, from the moment he picks up the phone to the second he cuts the line. somewhere between your first call to now, youâve gotten to know himâitâs exactly why you canât blame the confusion bubbling in your head or the pit in your stomach that only seems to sink deeper.
âarenât you scared of me, too?â
and here you were, thinking that the answer was abundantly clear. he cuts himself off when you want to start rambling. he finishes your sentences when youâre falling asleep. he asks what ridiculous, unhealthy dish you cook up for dinner every single day without failâso why does he still sound like that?
you shift slightly against your sheets, phone pressed a little tighter to your ear as if proximity could make sense of it. âi donât get it,â you admit quietly. âwhy would anyone be scared of you?â
thereâs a pause on the other end. it doesnât feel empty. things rarely ever do when youâre on the phone with him; it feels more like heâs weighing whether to answer honestly, soften the blow or leave it alone entirely. âthis is what i mean, [name].â
you frown. thereâs a shuffle of feet upstairs, thudding against your ceiling, which momentarily distracts you. itâs almost four in the morning and nothing feels any clearer than it did ten minutes ago. âwhat?â
âyou donât care,â he continues. âsimple.â
he doesnât bother to explain further. he hasnât bothered to say much at all, actuallyânot in a way that should make sense to you or anyone that knows the name heeseung. still, you understand it anyway, in that vague, unspoken way that two people manage to do, where language feels slightly too slow for whatâs already being felt, and too shallow to tell the other person what you really mean.
thereâs a hollow kind of discomfort sitting low in your stomach. youâve learned by now that this is usually a warning sign, even if you donât always know what itâs warning you about.
youâve never had particularly good luck with these things, anyway. whatever invisible logic governs timing, people, attachmentâit has never seemed especially fond of you.
you exhale softly, pulling your blanket higher over your shoulder, as if that might settle something internally. your gaze drifts to the empty space beside you, unoccupied, waiting in a way that feels louder than it should at this hour.
âwhat donât i care about?â
your voice comes out as a whisper, unintentionally. the sound barely makes it past your lips, weak and soft like itâs embarrassing that you even thought about saying it and just plain humiliating that you let it out. either way, heeseungâs answering it seconds later.
âwhat people say about me,â he sighs, âi like it better like that.â
you donât really know what he means by thatâyour hair scratches against the cold, crisp pillowcase under your head as you turn over anxiously. lee heeseung was very known, yes, but the way the words land just feels so⊠odd.
sniffling when he speaks again, the responses that follow never reaches your ears.
thereâs something almost childish in how irritable you get in the days leading up to exams. youâve never learnt to move past it, and soon enough, the people around you eventually adapted to the sensitive storm that is you, minimally three days before a major paper.
three rules:
one) do not disrupt y/n l/nâs naps;
two) do not text, call, or approach first, and
do not ask how studying is going. the answer is never changing: itâs bad, iâm going to fail, my life is over.
okay, to be fair, these rules were not as strict as they sound. most of the time, people are already cooped up in study rooms and occupied with their own revisionâclearly much too busy to talk to anyone else, much less you. so, when your entire friend group goes awol, you do nothing but let it happen.
though, there is just one person that remains.
lee heeseung, sounding entirely too relaxed over the phone with a blender going somewhere in the background, because heâs making his second protein shake of the day. he doesnât sound very⊠worried about the approaching three-hour exam.
your feet are folded together, criss-cross on your office chair as you hunch over your desk. your room is pitch dark, save for the bright, white light radiating from your study lampâsprawled over the surface of your cheap table is rewritten notes, scribbled equations and the occasional bible verse (for good measure).
âyou sound upset,â he says.
âoh, do i, now?â
you almost drop your phone at that. youâve been silently panicking for the last forty minutes without realising youâve been breathing like that, and talking like this. youâve spent even more time, close to five hours on this laptop thatâs crying for you to shut it down, on lectures that you shouldâve watched weeks back.
thereâs a pause on his end, something shifting in the backgroundâcupboard, blender stopping, maybe him leaning against the counterâand when he speaks again, itâs slower. âwhich one are you on?â
âtwenty,â you say.
âhow many left?â
âtwelve,â you admit, already hating how it sounds when spoken out loud. somehow, all hope seems lost when you utter that forsaken number, despite it being (very) obviously displayed on the top left of your screen for the past few hours. ââŠfuck.â
this morning felt like hell. youâre sure your eye-bags have magically darkened themselves in the past few hours, and for a minute, you grimace at the thought of having to show up to school like that every damn day, all because youâre too tired to seem put together. breakfast was skipped, which was unfortunate, cause the guilt of preparing a heavy lunch only made the stress worse. heavy eyelids blinking open, slow, regretful for every delayed hour of sleepâlimbs still tangled in cold sheets like it physically pained you to leave.
the sun bled through your blinds, warm over your ankles and blinding you through your eyelashes. you walked around the house in nothing but your underwear, even forgetting your slippers under the bedframe; there was only one thing on your mind. that much stayed consistent today, with the only variable factor being lee heeseung on the phone.
you didnât think heâd call. schedules do that.
âitâs manageable,â his voice crackles through the speaker, and then thereâs the sound of a cupboard slamming shut, along with the soft shuffling of⊠something. you actually consider hanging up on him, just for a brief moment. âhow many topics?â
to be honest, youâd half-expected heeseung to tease you. laugh, even. maybe even tell you to stop being so dramatic, to answer his texts, and that he doesnât understand why youâre freaking out over a dumb testâbut here you are, and here he is, telling you that you have it figured out.
âfour. itâs over,â you answer flatly, staring at the lecture list like if you looked hard enough another topic might spontaneously disappear. âitâs actually so over.â
âitâs not, y/n.â
heeseungâs voice stays annoyingly level. the speaker crackles with something that sounds like a spoon scraping against plastic and the jealousy almost gives you whiplash. heâs making a fucking protein shake while youâre stuck here memorising lecture slides on two-times speed and slowly developing permanent neck damage.
âyou said your paperâs next tuesday. if thereâs four topics left and you stop rewriting things you already know, youâll finish tonight and still have time to revise.â
your head hits the table before you even realize youâve moved. forehead pressed into paper, warm skin sticking slightly against cheap ink and printer sheets, you let yourself rot there dramatically. with your phone right beside your face, his voice sounds clearer than beforeâtoo clear, actuallyâand it feels vaguely humiliating, how quickly your chest warms when he talks like this.
you let out a long breath instead of responding, eyes drifting downward toward the floor beneath your desk. thereâs crumpled paper scattered near your chair. a few sticky notes had missed the bin entirely and ended up attached to the outside of it instead, clinging there stubbornly like even they didnât want to commit to failure.
heâs talking like he knows you.
âhowâd you knowââ
heeseung cuts you off with little trouble. âyouâve told me. pretty sure you can cut some lectures out, since youâve been learning them for the past few weeks.â
you donât answer. you narrow your eyes at his response, because who the hell is that observant? he doesnât even need to confirm your schedule anymoreâhe just talks and cuts you off, knowing heâs completely right, because he listens that intentlyâbut god.
he has no idea how warm that makes you feel.
on the other end of the line, heeseung walks back upstairs with his phone trapped awkwardly between his cheek and shoulder, head tilted enough that his neck would probably hurt later. his laptop balances in one hand, tumbler in the other, and his steps slow unconsciously as your breathing filters through the speaker.
his room looks exactly the same as always.
his duffel is already packed for practice tonight despite being excused for finals week. the afternoon sun catches against the medals mounted along his wall and reflects across his desk in strips of gold, schedule taped beside his wardrobe. his calendar is updated three weeks in advance, with a single day blocked out for the day you end your exams.
his eyes drift over the reminders stuck to his wall, and heâs reminded of itâthe reason why he decided he was still going to practice today.
studying isnât enough, clearly, if heâs still on the phone with you.
he already decided that heâd wait. finals week meant distance. finals week meant no showing up unexpectedly and no making this worse than he already has. finals week meant letting you breathe and not letting himself confuse temporary loneliness for something else, and finals week also meant not sinking deeper into you.
itâs just two weeks.
two weeks, and then, heâll tell you.
âdo you think iâll do okay?â you mumble, so soft that you almost donât hear yourself. itâs so quiet that you can hear the exact moment his fingers stop clicking against his keyboard, and so intense that the second he answers, your heart begins to pound.
you donât think much of it when you tell heeseung where youâll be tomorrow, or rather, today. truthfully, you havenât been thinking much at all latelyâunless you count the thirty-second ponder about lunch options earlier this morning.
finals week does something deeply unfortunate to people. everybody becomes uglier in small, socially acceptable ways, because everyone around you just⊠gets it. hair goes unwashed for an extra day, clothes repeat twice, thrice in a row, and eyebags sink further in with no substantial effort to conceal them. entire friend groups, including yours, quickly dissolve into delayed replies and weak promises to hang out after exams, because who the hell wants a mass social gathering after four all-nighters?
your room starts becoming unbearable by day four. thereâs something fundamentally wrong with spending twelve hours in one placeâany longer and you mightâve begun associating your digital lock chime with impending doom.
the second you sit at your desk, your chest tightens automatically. itâsm like your brain immediately morphs the cute wallpaper around you into blank rows of seats, and your ears only hear mindless scribbling, despite the cheerful music blasting through your headphones.
by the time noon comes around, youâve scarfed down every grain of rice from your takeout containerâdragging your feet and will to live through your apartment, searching for your purse before leaving.
itâs wednesday. the sun is shining on you, warm and consequentially irritating as the sweat begins to pill on your temples. they roll down your cheek in fat beads, and it almost serves as motivation for you to get your ass into that library as soon as possible.
your macbook is pressed against your side, tote slipping down your shoulders every few minutes, only to be caught by the crevice of your elbow. thereâs an iced coffee from last night, standing in for your mid-day snack; and, as if you hadnât eaten just an hour ago, your stomach rumbles in defeat.
the library doors open as you stomp against the carpeted sensors. the cold air hits your face hard enough that you nearly stop walking, but you settle for a deep, relieving sigh before turning left and speed-walking down those winding corridors built out of metal shelving.
your body already knows where to go nowâpast the noisier floors, up the stairs, away from printers and bathrooms and groups of students pretending to study while giggling about their situationships at full volume. roughly fifty-six seconds later, your consciousness kicks back in full gear, and youâre dumping your things down onto a familiar table before immediately realizing that you forgot your fucking charger.
âare you fuckingââ
oh, well. problem for future you. worse comes to worst, youâll scare some freshman away with your horrendous, sleepless eyes and unusually wide smile and steal theirs.
libraries distort time as well as they force you to keep track of it. hours behave well in the quieter corners, but if youâre somehow in urgent need of completing an assignment, they start speeding themselves up. itâs exactly why youâre chanting mantras to yourself now: studying isnât urgent at all. this exam will not kill me! yes! i already know everything there is to know!
afternoon becomes evening rather quickly. suddenly, your water bottle is empty, your iced coffee splits into two separate layers of cloudy water and room temperature caffeine, and the light crawls across the carpet so much that your chair is no longer in the same patch of sun you sat down in.
you stopped checking the time thirty minutes ago. notes multiply, hair becomes tangled at the back of your neck, and your spine hurts. you spent forty minutes writing notes on a lecture, not realizing itâs a replay.
sometime later, when your legs are beginning to feel like tv static, movement catches in your peripheral and your eyes lift automatically before your brain even has a chance to catch up.
âsunghoon?â
my god. just stand up and run into his arms, why donât you?
his reaction comes a fraction of a second later. despite the prior brain lag, youâre suddenly thinking about his faceâsunghoon looks different outside of wherever you usually see him. less assembled, with a ridiculously large hoodie hanging loose around his frame, which only makes him look even bigger from where youâre sitting; thereâs shadows beneath his eyes that soften his face unexpectedly.
his hair looks horrible. his sweatpants are dragging against the floor, too. sunghoon looks exhausted, and his gaze hangs low, until you call out for him, that is.
the corners of your lips curl upward before you even realise itâs happening. his expression doesnât change much, but the faint raise of his thick eyebrows tells you enough. his eyes flick toward the empty chairs around you, and you almost assume that you weirded him outâgreat, heâll walk away nowâbut all sunghoon does is return a soft, supposedly meaningless smile in your direction.
thereâs that brief moment, where people who know each other silently debate whether acknowledging the otherâs presence is necessary in publicâand then he gives you a small nod, right before he takes his laptop out and sits right in front of it.
two seats away from you. like last week. if you hadnât met the man before, you wouldâve thought he wanted to kill you with a face like that. eyebrows knit together in frustration, typing furiously at his keyboard like it owed him twenty bands, tapping his foot against the carpet like he was thinking about something deathly important.
cuteâwait, what the fuck, said you, around fifteen times over in the past two hours.
you become aware of him in entirely useless ways. he drinks water without looking away from his screen, sometimes even types with one hand as the other holds that tumbler to his lips. he cracks his knuckles at every given opportunity, and his fingers hover over the keyboard occasionally when he thinks. you leave for more coffee, come back, go to the bathroom, and heâs literally still there.
at one point, you look up because your neck hurts, and caught yourself stretching. fucking stretching, left to right, just for an excuse to get a full view of his side profile. in that tiny, meaningless moment, you witnessed him rub his eyes and immediately return back to typing his unfinished methods section.
itâs strangely comforting that park sunghoon is there for you to look at. oddly. it helps with the whole âiâm the only one in this universe, itâs all a simulationâ delirium.
regardless, at around six, the words on your screen are beginning to morph into one big demonic face, and every letter on your keyboard just resembles an egyptian hieroglyphic. words are decorative, english is just a bunch of made up gibberish, and you need to get out of this plastic seat before you melt into itâso after rereading the same paragraph four times, absorbing nothing (shocker), your eyes begin to ache and decide: changing tasks will fix all these worldly pains you have.
the âchanging tasksâ arrives in the form of a reference nook your professor mentioned. standing, stretching, youâre doing it all before disappearing into the shelves.
itâs warmer here than it is at the tables, somehow. perhaps itâs the way the sun is setting now, and itâs getting all in your eyes and in your hair, just like it did this morning. though, when you turn towards the closest, wide-set window, your breath almost gets taken away at the blend of pinks and oranges that colour the sky.
you see this sunset almost every day. still, it doesnât take any of the beauty away.
dust catches in the overhead light, paling in comparison to the golden hue that the light is bathing the room inâthe smell of old books penetrates your nose in a way that makes you think about middle school. you drag your fingers across rows of spines, reading titles under your breath, stepping slower in each aisle because your brain refuses to remember the authorâs name. you bet sunghoon doesnât struggle with things like that.
âbehavioural psychology⊠where the fuck even is that?â
following a mini mental breakdown, park sunghoonâs brain decides not to accomodate a single molecule of information until he gets up and got his blood moving.
there was only so much economics and statistics a person could consume before words stopped behaving like language and started looking like numbers flipped around. his screen brightness had been lowered twice, and his coffee had gone cold sometime around fourâthe sleeves of his hoodie were pushed halfway up his forearms and there was a faint imprint from resting his cheek against his knuckles for too long, which he finds immensely humiliating.
he closes the document, opens it again, reads the same words over and over, and realises he wonât get anything done like this; so his eyes leave the screen for the first time in twenty minutes and settle automatically on the empty seat in his peripheral.
his head back turns so fast that he almost curses at himself.
and, to make things extra embarrassing, his mind starts to weigh the odds of whether youâre about to leave, or if youâre just gone for another break. scanning your side of the desk, taking in your untouched water bottle, open laptop and tangled wired headphonesâyouâre somewhere nearby, a conclusion he unwillingly comes to.
sunghoonâs fingers drum once against the tumbler before he remembers there was a book he wanted earlier. or needed. something vaguely related to an assignment heâd been putting off. either way, he stands, pushes in his chair halfway, and makes his way into the shelves.
it really does feel different in here. the high-pitched clacking of mechanical keyboards is muffled, almost muted behind these thick walls of books, where light filters in through strips and catches every speck of dust floating around. he turns once, twice, passing business ethicsâuntil he finally reaches behavioural psychology, and stops dead in his tracks.
itâs not even about the book. if he remembered correctly, the one he was looking forâs two floors down, but thisâhere, in front of him, on this floor, was you.
sunghoon ducks into the next aisle like heâs guilty. he presses his back lightly against the endcap of the shelf, as though the solid structure might help him reset whatever just short-circuited in his brain.
this is ridiculous. heâs in a library. on a weekday. trying to study. and yet, somehow, his entire nervous system has decided that walking in a straight line is suddenly the most difficult thing in the world.
he exhales, before trying to occupy himself by looking for something similar to what heâs studying for another module. he stands still for a second longer than necessary, fingertips running against this one book which he canât bother to know the name of, and all it does is feel like a weak alibi.
business psychology is a popular section. lots of students with sunghoonâs major share modules, hence, explaining why the other book heâs pretending to need isnât even here. it also explains why the fuck his eyes keep gravitating towards you, through tall-enough gaps, locked on your concentrated face and frustrated pout.
every interruption in his life, somehow, becomes framed with you. a horizontal slit between two rows of books, a deliberate architectural hesitation, tall enough to fit even the thickest and tallest of publications out thereâand you, existing between it.
itâs closer than before, not in distance but in clarity. the kind of proximity that does not require physical reduction to feel intimate. the light falls differently here, angled through a window he cannot fully see, softening the edge of everything it touchesâyour tip of your nose, the ends of your hair, and the faint movement of your hand as you adjust your page.
you look so beautiful. nothing has changed. he knew it when he saw you sitting in front of him today, he knew it when you walked into this place last week, and he knew it when he saw you at that party, wearing a dress that seemed so inclined to his attention and a smile that made all the flashing colours pale in comparison.
and, most of all, he knows it now. a fool he is, for thinking that these feelings would fade.
sunghoon tries to locate himself properly in the task he came forâsomething about organisational theory, a phenomenon he can usually reduce into clean frameworks and exam-ready structure. his hand has been resting against the spine of the book for the past twenty seconds, fingers curled just enough to suggest intent, but nothing in him is actually compelling the pull.
the thought arrives with a sharpness that feels almost physical, like pressure behind the ribs.
park sunghoon wishes he could redo college from the start. not in the abstract, as nostalgia or regret type thing, instead with specificityâclean edits to timing, tone, and presence. a revision pass on himself. one that would let him stand a few steps closer to you now, without feeling like the distance between yourselves is self-inflicted.
his thumb shifts minutely along the bookâs spine. the motion is absent-minded, almost mechanical.
once you know who he really isâstrip away whatever version of him youâve only seen in passing corridors and half-glances at the long oak tableâwill you stop looking for him?
fuck. he doesnât even care enough to stop looking at you. hair falling over your face, your lips blowing air to get the tiny, annoying strands to stop itching your nose.
selfish. selfish, selfish, selfish. thatâs all he is.
the sun is unforgiving, blazing hot rays beating down on your back as sweat trickles down your shoulder bladesâeverything about today seemed relentless, exam included. around you, people are already decomposing the paper in clusters: comparing answers, laughing too loudly, swearing theyâre finished in voices that sound almost celebratory. someone says question 47 was impossible. someone else says it was free marks. you keep walking.
thereâs that feeling when you finally press submit on a paper. not relief exactlyâmore like your body forgetting what to do after operating at full capacity for too long. to be truthful, there were multiple times where you thought you were fucked throughout the exam, and then youâd look at the bottom of your screen and see: 21 out of 80 questions saved.
you really, sincerely thought handing in that empty thing was better than typing whatever you studied. no matter how hard you worked these past few weeks, there was always that irritating, sly little voice whispering into your ear that it was for nothing. that all those late nights, colour-coded notes, skipped breaks and panic-induced productivity spurts would collapse into one single, defining moment that you were never going to catch up.
somewhere around the second hourâafter your eyes started blurring and the timer at the corner of the screen felt less like a clock and more like a countdown to executionâyou broke. quietly, of course. you had enough tact not to lose your shit in front of a hundred other students in the same venue.
you understood less than you thought. you shouldâve started earlier. youâre embarrassing yourself.
you just stared at question 22 for three minutes straight and felt your throat tighten because suddenly, everything became impossible at once. reading felt impossible. thinking felt impossible. even moving your cursor felt weirdly impossible. you literally just bought it yesterday, because you were convinced the one you always use would die.
fuck everything, you thought, until some other voice started talking to youâin that calm, gentle demeanour that youâve gotten used to over months. low and amused in tone when he said, âwhyâre you so hard on yourself, y/n?â
last night, he was on the phone with you. you remember lying flat on your bed with your notes open but untouched, your lamp the only thing still awake in your room. coffee wasnât doing it, or maybe it was just the fact that it was your sixth cup today; heâd called later than usual, and somehow the conversation drifted away from exams, and shifted more toward your incessant need to be perfect, despite and in spite of the circumstances.
âwhat do you mean?â
moonlight spilling in through thin curtains, the thrum of public transport and dogs taking late-night walks with owners who talk too loud on the phone. no one knew where you were, no one cared what you were doing, but it didnât matter. he knew. he cared.
you donât even remember how the conversation got there, either. was it some joke about failing? one too many of those were made, now that you think about it. it wasnât even self-pitying, eitherâall casual in the way that people talk, repeating the same thing enough times that it sounds like truthâbut then he went quiet and said, âyou talk like youâve already decided on fucking it up.â
you remember laughing. whatever, because what do you do when someone says something so accurate? what the hell do you say when someone sees right **through you?
âi just have bad luck in these things.â
he laughed. fucking laughed. it was this short, incredulous breath through his nose like he couldnât decide whether to be annoyed or amused. âyou study all day, every day, and act surprised when you know the material.â
you frowned automatically. âwellââ
âno,â he interrupted. âyouâre smart. hard working. youâre trying, and i donât think you should dismiss those efforts.â
âbutââ
âi have to get back to work,â he breathed into the phone. his voice dropped slightly at the end, words softened by distance and whatever position heâd shifted into. you could hear movement through the phoneâthe subtle crackle of fabric, the hollow acoustics of a room that sounded emptier than yours. âget some sleep before your exam. goodnight.â
no good-lucks, no youâll-do-wells, no last minute reassurance that would only soothe your nerves for ten minutes before youâd spiral again. last night, it had seemed cruel. not in the obvious senseâhe wasnât mean nor dismissiveâbut there was something irritatingly unsympathetic about the way he refused to give in to you. youâd left that call mildly offended, convinced he was sick of hearing you talk like that. sick of your catastrophizing, sick of your weird habit of turning every achievement into an exception and every mistake into evidence. sick of you.
yet, now, walking towards your car with the heat sitting heavy against your skin and your student id still peeking out the pocket of your jeans, it seemed more like belief.
in you, that is. almost as if that you doing terribly had never come across his mind, occurring as a possibility.
you recall staring at your ceiling, phone falling face flat to your mattress, face flushed with embarassment and annoyance that only seemed to erupt when it came to late replies and slightly off-sounding tones. itâs almost exclusive to himâyou were never that great at reading rooms, after all.
your car keys twirl around your index finger, a different spring in your step now that the bitter taste of last night has dissolved completely. youâll call him tonight, later, maybe once your foot crosses the threshold known as your front door, or once you step into the car. youâll tell him about the exam, about how there was a moment where you genuinely considered submitting half a paper because, somehow, failing after trying felt more humiliating than failing without trying.
youâll tell him that his stupidly calm voice somehow survived twelve hours and a three-hour exam. that while you were sitting there spiralling and preparing to abandon the entire thing, you remembered the way he said itâlike he knew, understood, and reached for you when you abandoned yourself.
youâre already halfway through mentally composing the conversation when movement ahead catches your attention. someoneâs walking towards you from the opposite direction, feet dragging against concrete in a way that would usually annoy, but instead of diverting your attention to the phone in your pocketâyou look up.
you recognize him immediately. lee heeseung.
weirdly enough, you havenât seen him up close around campus for the past three months. you assumed it was probably because he was just that busyâyouâd seen his figure in the distance, but by the time you caught up, heâd be gone. there were tons of excuses that he made up on the phone, too, earlier into your relationship: personal projects, mostly, though the details were always lacking.
perfect hair. perfect face. perfect stride. even now, people notice him as he walks past. conversations soften for half a second, eyes lifting instinctively and following his pace before returning to wherever they were before. heeseung moves through it without acknowledging anything, shoulders relaxed, expression neutral, looking exactly like someone whoâs long stopped recognizing attention as something unusual.
you straighten automatically, lifting your hand, almost waving, but not quite yet. heeseung doesnât even need to see it in motion for him to look right into your eyes.
his expression shiftsâsomething adjacent to confusion, an eyebrow raised as if to say, where do i know you from?
âŸâ.Ë brothersbsf!sim jayeun x sister!reader smau
đ§àŸàœČ end up here by 5sos, drop dead by olivia rodrigo, packing it up by gracie abrams, mrs all american by 5sos, chest by 5sos
in which you're trying to buy tickets to see your favorite band at a concert in korea, only to find out that you need a foreign address to register for tickets. you complain to your brother, who suggests you use the address of his friend who lives abroad, jake. how do you proceed when you and jake have more in common than you'd planned?
âȘïž p. jongseong x reader
&&. non-idol au. boy bsf!jay. -> bf!jay. implied fem reader. (even more) downbad jay. est. relationship. suggestive humor. 9 ss. series masterlist.
all content is purely fictional !
â±ïžÂ sunghoon wakes up in a world where you're alive.
â±ïžÂ park sunghoon x f!reader, ft. 02z
â±ïžÂ fluff, angst, fantasy [alternative universe, time travel themes], college!au, slowburn(?)
â±ïžÂ wc: 19.2k
â±ïžÂ cw: major character death, grief, mourning, emotional breakdown... sunghoon just goes through it i'm sorry T_T
â±ïžÂ enchive's lttr: i worked on this a lot during my finals week and then proceeded to get cooked. enchive is taking summer courses so this came out very slowly i apologize. it took a lot of brain juices but i powered thru, so hopefully there aren't any inconsistencies bcus my brain was so scattered writing this. special shout to @02zc0re, @cherryw0n whose anticipation greatly motivated me. thank u kindly! +++ shoutout to my roomie for beta reading i love u <3 here is a small playlist I listened to while writing~
how to pretend by lucy bedroque i saw you in a dream by the japanese house time machine by willow
Park Sunghoon hasnât been himself ever since you died in winter.
Not that thereâs much left of him to be.
Most of him perished when you did, and the other part that remained became a lifeless body trying to pass the time day by day. The color disappeared from his life once you did, and now all thatâs left of him are bleak, monochromatic snapshots of his grief weaving into his everyday routine. Time became indistinguishable without you. Two years of his life were structured around your dates, your classes, and spending time with you. But now, his life became a repetitive cycle of waking up, going to class, and going home, where he rotted with your visage behind his closed eyes as he lied in bed until the next day broke.
Winter left, and Spring came, yet Sunghoon still felt like he was stuck in the cold season.Â
In your shared apartment, your things were still there as if you never left. Your puffer jacket was still hanging on the coat rack, unwashed and chilly to the touch. Your toothbrush was still right next to his in the bathroom, the bristles bone-dry from the lack of use. There was an empty space on the full-sized bed, a perfect fit for where your body was supposed to lay right next to him. If Sunghoon closed his eyes and breathed in hard enough, he could still smell the remnants of your lingering, sweet shampoo clinging to the fibers of your pillowcase.Â
His friends tried hard to help him move out of his cycle of grief. Sunghoon loved them for it, but he couldnât help but remain where it was safe, in the little domain where your presence was missing, but your life was still there. Where your pictures hung on the walls, your bright smile lighting up the darkness of each room. Where your lucky pendant mocked him as it hung off the backpack you left on the stool of the kitchen island. Where you still were alive, even if you werenât physically there.
Jake came in first after you died, letting Sunghoon have his peace for two weeks. Jake was the type to worry so much that it was overwhelming. For the past two weeks, he had blown up Sunghoonâs phone everyday, not letting him have a moment to himself on the device. (Sunghoon was grateful, honestly. Because he had spent the past two weeks looping every video of you until he could memorize the timestamps of every action you took.)
Jake checked on Sunghoon by knocking on his door and bringing him food. âSunghoon, I brought pyeonyuk from your favorite placeâŠâ He gently breached the silence with a careful lilt to his voice, afraid that Sunghoon would snap if Jake said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Sunghoon begrudgingly got out of bed, clutching his phone tightly in his hand, and met Jake in the living room, his hair flying on his head and body dragging across the floorboards.
âIâm not hungryâŠâ Sunghoon muttered in response, the same answer as the day before and the day before that.
âYou should eat something, HoonâŠâ Jake frowned, setting the food on the dining table anyway and opening the takeout bag. Sunghoon didnât respond. He knew Jake was right, but didnât have the energy to say anything back. âShe wouldnât want you like thisââ
âDonât talk about her like you know what she wants,â Sunghoon snapped, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. The words stayed in the air, with regret settling into Sunghoonâs guilt-adled mind. But Sunghoon didnât take them back, he couldnât.
Jake was your friend before Sunghoon even knew you, so he knew that Jake was still mourning. Sunghoon knew it was wrong for him to say that, but he couldnât help himself. Jake didnât know you like he did. He didnât know the soft murmurs of your sleep and the look of affection in your eyes.
Sometimes, he was angry at Jake for being able to smile after you passed. Other times, he was envious that he could move on so easily and continue living as if you were never there. But in the privacy of your apartment, Jakeâs sniffles would merge with Sunghoonâs as they recounted the sides of you only they knew.
Jay came in after to help organize your apartment, more persistent than Jake. âYou canât keep staying like this, Hoon. Youâre gonna get bugs, or somethingâŠâ He murmured, bending over to pick up stray debris on the wooden floors. When your death was still fresh, and your messes were still around, Sunghoon loathed Jayâs help. How dare Jay come in and taint the memories of your existence by cleaning up what you had left behind?
âJay, stopâŠâ Sunghoon murmured as he helplessly watched his friend reach for the zip-up jacket that you had left on the couch, the cotton material still holding onto your perfume.
âItâs just a jacket, Hoon. Itâs gonna smell if you leave it hereââ
âI said stop! Justâ just fuckinâ leave it where it is, Jay!â Sunghoonâs voice cracked as the volume rose. He stood up without realizing, in Jayâs space, and gripping onto your jacket like it was a lifeline. Jay startled, the jacket slipping from his hands and into Sunghoonâs protective grasp.
âWhy does it matter?â Jay had shot back, frustration finally slipping through. âSheâs not coming back to wear it, Sunghoon.â
Sunghoonâs heart steeled, and he could only whisper back to Jay as tears slipped down his cheeks.
âGet out.â
Sunghoon was still embarrassed about the amount of screaming and sobbing he did to Jay, but heâs sure that theyâre fine now. Apologies flew between them, but Sunghoon had already let go of the anger in his chest. After all, it was only swallowed up by the grief he was feeling for you.
When both of his friends noticed it wasnât helping, they would take him out on the town, shoving milkshakes in his hand and laughing louder than they usually would. They talked about everything and nothing all at once, carefully avoiding your name as if he would break upon hearing it in public. After a while, Sunghoon didnât want his friends to feel like their efforts were in vain. So he learned to force a smile, puffing up his cheeks and curling up his lips as Jake made a stupid joke to Jay like he always did. (When Jake and Jay looked triumphant about their victory, turning away to silently celebrate, Sunghoon would let his smile falter.)
The night was like the others. Jake and Jay took him to this diner far out of the way, with an American retro vibe. Red and white stripes lined the walls, and the tiles gleamed in the bright overhead lighting. There were only a few patrons in the restaurant, as it was late. The smell of meat cooking on the grill wafted through the air, permeating the atmosphere with smoke and seasoning. The three men were munching on burgers, updating each other about their courses for the next semester. But mostly, it was just Jake and Jay speaking to Sunghoon. The youngest of the three remained silent for most of the meal, only responding when he felt like he really had to.
But the sight of the cheeseburgers and fries on his platter only made him think of you even more. Even if he knew his friends were trying to distract him from you, he could only be reminded of the countless dates you had at the burger joint next to campus. Reminded of the way you used to get ketchup on the corner of your lips, and how he would wipe it off with his thumb. He used to complain about how you always ate so messily, but he couldnât help the wide smile from growing on his lips. Canât you come back? Heâd never complain againâŠ
âGuys, itâs getting late. I think we should go nowâŠâ Sunghoon spoke up after a while. Truth be told, he was spacing out for most of the time and just wanted to bury himself under the covers. Jake looked at him and smiled, not wanting to push anything.
âSure, man, we can go back now.â He stood up, dusting off the crumbs from his thighs. He looked at Jay, who simply nodded and stood up to let Sunghoon out of the dining booth they were sitting in. Jay drove them back home, not forgetting to tell Sunghoon to text him in the morning. Sunghoon only nodded in response before going back up to your apartment.
When he opened the door, the silence greeted him as always. Not your cheery voice yelling his name or your padding footsteps eagerly running towards him. There was only a suffocating absence waiting for him. The wooden door clicked shut behind him, and with that sound, his composed act dropped.
Sunghoonâs shoulders slumped. He tried. He really tried. But when his breath hitched, his emotions began to unravel uncontrollably, unfurling like a roll of ribbon. His keys slipped from his fingers, clattering against the floor. His vision blurred as quickly as he blinked, tears filling up his eyes, and his throat closing up as a sob threatened to rise from his chest.
âFuckââ His word broke apart as soon as he let it out. He collapsed to the ground, his body not strong enough to carry him and the weight of his emotions anymore. He felt uglyâ so ugly. His figure practically folded into itself as his knees hit the ground, his chest pressed against his thighs and his arms awkwardly crossed. He uncurled his body, crawling like a baby as he thought to the only thing he wanted.
You.
But you werenât here. So his hands desperately sought out the closest thing he could get. Your jacket, the one that he still hadnât moved even though Jay tried to many, many times. He bunched up the fabric in his fingers, the cloth wrinkling under the force of his tight grip. He buried his nose into the fabric, inhaling the sweet smell of your perfumeâ from the bottle that was still at your vanity, macerating as it went unused. A choked sound tears from his throat as he inhaled sharply, like maybe if he breathed your scent in deep enough, he could fill the hollow space you left behind.
âPleaseâŠâ His voice was barely there now, worn thin from crying. âJustâjust come back.â He squeezed his eyes shut, and the memories came flooding in. Your bright laugh that lifted any weight off his shoulders, your warm eyes always seeking to stare into his, and your heavy hand that slipped effortlessly to slot into his. Then, the quiet moments that you both lived, the meaningless ones, the ones he never thought heâd have to remember like this. They all hit his brain at once, bringing on a throbbing headache for him. But even though it ached to think of you, he still clung to these memories desperately, replaying them over and over on loop.
If he stopped and let them fade even a little, then it would be like losing you all over again.
Your voice wasnât there to comfort him like it always used to be, and if he took out his phone to play a clip of your sweet voice messages that used to encourage him, he wasnât sure how he would react. His sobs eventually silenced, faltering into desperate gasps of air. Exhaustion pulled him down as his breathing became uneven. He curled into himself on the floor, still clutching what little of you he has left as his body tumbled to the side. The last thing he felt before he passed out was the faint scent of your perfume and the hollow ache in his chest that never seemed to go away.
Winter had long passed, allowing flowers to bloom over the frigid grass. Yet, Sunghoon remained frozen in the cold weather, trapped in the season you left him in.
Sunghoon didnât remember setting his alarm, but the shrill sound of it woke him up from his deep sleep.
He kept his eyes closed as he pouted, squirming around as he patted around for his phone. But, instead of meeting the cold floor, his hands brushed up against warm bedding. He shot upright, eyes wide and head throbbing. Who the hell moved him from the floor to the bed?
For a moment, Sunghoon sat still, disoriented and trying to piece together the puzzles of last night through his dazed head. He remembered having a breakdown and the sweet aroma of your perfume. His vision was blurry, and he thought that it was from his tears from last night, but even after blinking for a few seconds, his eyesight didnât gain any clarity. His hands shot up to rub his eyes, but his sight was still fuzzy. He remembered passing out on the floor, holding your jacket. But he surely didnât remember this.
He looked down, realizing he was on a twin XL bed. He squinted his eyes as he stared at the bedding. It looked way too familiar. The way that the blanket hung off the edge, and the striped pillow was resting up against the wall, compressed into a flat piece of cotton. It looked all too familiar, too similar to the navy blue set that he used during his freshman year of college.
A chill ran down Sunghoonâs spine as he realized where he was. He was in a freshman dorm.
As he glanced around, his bleary eyes still didnât clear, but the room around him became a little more concrete. The cheap white paint peeling on the ceiling, the shaky frame of his wooden bunk bed, and the pile of unfolded laundry sitting right in the middle of the floor in a blob of mixed fabrics. The mini-fridge was humming next to his closet. It was all there, exactly the way he remembered two years ago. He wouldâve mused at the fact that it looked so identical if he wasnât so freaked out about being in some random freshman dorm.
Fuck, what did I do last night? I probably look like a creep! In the dorm of some random freshman kid when Iâm a junior⊠He nearly sprained his ankle trying to jump off the bed, scrambling to leave as soon as possible. But as soon as he jumped down from the top bunk, the door opened, revealing Jay.
âDude, you good? You jumped off the bed mad hard.â Jay snickered, running a hand through his wet hair. Sunghoon blinked. This had to be a dream, a prank, or a grief-induced hallucination. Maybe he cried himself so hard that he lost his fucking mind. Because there was just no way he was staring at freshman year Jay in his freshman year dorm.
Jay was supposed to have short black hair with a strictness that only college and a two-year unpaid internship could instill into him. He was supposed to be wearing button-ups and polos with tight trousers and a fancy belt. But this Jay had longer, dyed silver hair with his teenage features still ghosting his face. This Jay was wearing a soccer team jersey with baggy shorts and his silver conch piercing still looped through his ear.
âSunghoon, are you okay? You look like youâve seen a ghostâŠâ Jay nervously laughed, throwing the towel around his neck into his hamper. âDid you have a nightmare or something?â
Sunghoonâs throat was dry. He tried to swallow, but instead he broke out into a coughing fit. Jay scrambled to pat his back, grabbing a cold water bottle from the shared mini-fridge. âThâ ThanksâŠâ Sunghoon wheezed as he greedily gulped down the entire bottle. âUhm, Iâmâ Iâm okayâŠâ He whispered, trying to find his voice. Jay frowned, concerned.
âAre you sure? You sound weird as hell, man.â Jay smiled again, his expression dry and one of concern. Sunghoon cleared his throat and nodded again, turning around to look at himself in the mirror. He was faced with the younger version of himself from two years ago, too. Instead of his ripped figure, his muscles were just beginning to bulge with the beginnings of his consistent workouts. His hair was dark as usual, but he could see the overgrown appearance framing his eyes.
âIâ I think âm gonna be sick!â Sunghoon gagged, before running to the communal bathrooms and flinging open the closest stall door. He yakked in the toilet, sick to his stomach. The sour smell of vomit filled the claustrophobic space of the stall, and Sunghoon nearly threw up again as chunks of undigested food sputtered out from between his lips. Jay came in a minute later, standing awkwardly next to the open door.
âAre you good, man? Youâre worrying me⊠Did the dining hall fuck you over, too?â Jay snickered. Sunghoon flushed, leaning heavily against the wall as cold sweat clung to the back of his neck. His whole body felt wrong. Jay lingered outside for a moment before speaking again, voice softer this time. âSeriously, Hoon. Did something happen?â
Sunghoon stared at the tiled floor for a moment before flushing down his puke. Everything had fucking happened. You were dead, and he had buried you. But he couldnât say that to Jay. So instead, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and forced out a weak response.
âBad dream.â
Jake had been talking about you for weeks before Sunghoon met you.
The puppy-like boy had been yipping his ear off about you, but Sunghoon didnât even know what you looked like. All he knew you as Jakeâs hometown friend whoâs known the man since high school. Yet Jake talked about you like Sunghoon was already integrated into your friendship, like you were apart of their routine too.
âYuck, this dining hall food sucks.â Jake scrunched his nose as his fork penetrated the dry chicken, the metal tearing into the strips of meat. Sunghoon snorted as he dug his spoon into the âsoupâ that had animal fats coagulating on the surface of the bowl. âShould we take the bus downtown and get sushi?â Jake licked his lips, eager for the change of meal.
âWe already used a meal swipe, Jake. I donât want to waste it.â Sunghoon frowned, but he himself was about to lose his appetite as he stared into the abyss of the tomato soup that bubbled and popped, spurting tiny droplets of thick tomato onto the table. When Jake didnât respond, Sunghoon assumed that Jake had conceded and began eating his dry chicken, but when he looked up, Jakeâs eyes were somewhere else.
Sunghoon followed his eyes to see that Jake was staring at a girl grabbing a cookie. âOhh, you think sheâs cute?â Sunghoon teased. Jakeâs lips then curled up in disgust, his entire face contorting to express his repulsion to Sunghoonâs words. The younger boy frowned, disappointed. âJake, donât look like that. She may not be your type, but sheâs a cute girl.â
âWhat? Dude, thatâs Y/N. My friend from home.â Jake snickered. âSo you think sheâs cute, huh?â The chestnut-haired boy leaned across the table immediately, grin widening like he had just been handed the greatest entertainment of his week.
âNo, Jake, I didnât say all that.â Sunghoon groaned, knowing that he had just walked himself into a trap.
âNah, donât lie. You think sheâs cute, huh? Sheâs single, I can set you upâŠâ Jake smirked, wriggling his eyebrows. Sunghoon groaned, the tip of his pale ears turning red from the embarrassment he was feeling. He covered his face to hide his expression.
âStop, JakeâŠâ He whined. Jake snickered and pushed Sunghoonâs elbow.
âBe cool, man, sheâs coming.â Jake winked, biting his lip at Sunghoon. The pale boyâs face was so red, he was sure he looked like a stop sign at that point. Behind Sunghoon, he heard the steady sounds of footsteps against linoleum. It was when the footsteps were directly behind him that he decided to turn around, not wanting to look too snappy or weird.
Sunghoon was blown away. He thought you were cute from a couple of feet away, debating whether to grab either the cookie or the brownie as you tapped your foot in a rhythmic motion. But you were even more breathtaking up close. You had a soft, warm smile gracing your lips, making you look approachable. Your cheeks were dewy from the humid air that resulted from the smokiness of the chicken charring behind the dining hall bars. You were wearing sweats and a hoodie, dressing warmly for the cool temperatures that began to settle in the atmosphere during September. He absolutely couldnât hide how smitten he was with you, so much that Jake began lightly kicking his foot under the table.
âHi, Jake.â
God, even your voice was like honey. Smooth, silky, and thickly sweet. âHey, Y/N. Did you finish eating, or did you just get here?â Jake asked you, not bothering to hide the wide, mischievous grin that began to spread across his lips.
âMmm, I ate with my classmate, Chaewon. She left to go back to her dorm already,â You answered, circling the table to stand behind Jake. Your face came into full view of Sunghoon, and he had to remember to swallow so that he could prepare his mouth to speak.
âHâ Hey.â Sunghoonâs voice cracked as he greeted you. Jake pursed his lips, biting them to stifle his laughter. He cleared his throat and looked down, embarrassed.
âHi, Iâm Y/N, Jakeâs friend.â You giggled, melodic and charming. Sunghoon shyly smiled up at you, gathering the courage to look up at you directly. You took the seat next to Jake, maintaining your friendly grin as you stared at Sunghoon. âArenât you in my CS class?â You asked, tilting your head. Sunghoon gulped. He didnât even realize, but you remembered him so easily. He felt a little guilty.
âUhmâ Uhm, yeah, âmâ âm in CS 1010⊠Monday, Wednesday, Friday lectures from 12:15 to 1:30⊠Youâ you too?â Sunghoon stammered out his question. You giggled again, seemingly amused and endeared by his bashful demeanor.
âYup, thatâs me too! Hey, sit next to me in lecture next time! I sit in like, the middle back. And Iâm going to be honest with you, the guy who usually sits next to me⊠heâs a bit obnoxiousâŠâ You leaned in to cheekily whisper to him, as if letting him in on a secret only you both knew about. (And Jake, he guessedâŠ)
The conversation began flowing into a natural river of meaningless talks about dorm life, classes, and unshared stories of Jake that you both had. Honestly, Sunghoon barely remembered what you guys talked about. All that was stuck in his mind was the way you kept glancing at him with your bright, wide eyes that squinted with your cheeks as you smiled and giggled.
At the time, Sunghoon thought it was just a lucky afternoon, stumbling upon a pretty girl and even scoring a friend in a class. He didnât know then that it would become coffee dates and late-night study sessions, shared bus rides, first kisses, and apartment keys. He didnât know that one day, he would be whispering âI love youâ to you every night before you both fell asleep after long days of cramming for Data Structures and Algorithms. He didnât know then that you would become home.
And he definitely didnât know that one day, years later, he would sit on the floor of that very home, begging the universe to let him have you back.
Back then, all he knew was that you smiled at him, and for the first time, he was excited to attend CS 1010.
Sunghoon had finished hyperventilating twenty minutes ago. Or maybe thirty. Time felt fake now, so he honestly couldnât tell.
All he knew was that he had woken up in his freshman dorm, thrown up in the communal bathroom, cried for a little bit more until Jay awkwardly told him he had to leave, and then kneeled down on the (very disgusting) floor of the stall trying not to pass out or cry again. Either grief had sent him into some form of delusion or psychosis, or genuinely sent him two years in the past. Neither option was looking like an optimal answer to his question of why the hell he was in his freshman year self.
After managing to get up, he went back to his dorm to search for anything that could help his predicament. (As if his dingy gaming laptop could send him back into the presentâŠ) He entered his room to grab his morning essentials, splayed out in a cup on his white dorm cart. His vision was still blurry, and it finally clicked to him as to why when he noticed a foreign object on the same cart. He picked up a glasses case and opened them to reveal a pair of glasses. He put them on and stared at himself in the mirror secured on the front of his closet door.Â
They were black, wide, and thick-rimmed, pressing up against the sides of his nose and nudging into the fluffy skin of his cheeks. But Sunghoon never wore glassesâ he had perfect 20/20 vision. Sunghoon freaked outâ who wouldnât freak out after losing their after a nightâs sleep?
He took his cup of essentials to the bathroom, cringing at the loadout. He had a dingy, plastic toothbrush and a cheap tube of toothpaste. He didnât own his usual mixsoon skincare, so he couldnât wash his face with cleanser. He brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth with purple Listerine, and splashed his face with water.
âGod, this is sick. This is actually so sick,â he muttered to himself, patting his face dry with his sleep t-shirt and putting on the glasses. Now that he could properly see his reflection in the dusty and streaky mirror, he was staring at the younger version of himself that had softer features, longer, dark-brown hair, and a pair of fucking glasses now.
He looked like a loser, and his present-day brain wanted to fight himself for not taking care of himself properly until he began talking to you. He checked the time on the old and unnecessary clock hanging over the door of the communal bathroom, whispering a curse as he realized that it was almost 8:30AM, his class was at 9AM, and the walk was 20 minutes away from the dorm.Â
He ran back to his dorm room to change, throwing open his closet door with a resonating slam against the wooden sideboards. Instead of the expensive and sleek monochrome clothes he meticulously spent two years curating into his fashion style, he was greeted with vibrant colors overtaking any monotone hue that could have hidden in his hangers. He pulled each hanger back, revealing neon green, a bright yellow, and a shirt with Detective Conan on it. He groaned, internally cursing his freshman-year self for buying whatever he could get his cheap hands on. He picked out a green sweater and a clean pair of blue denim jeans. He wanted to accessorize, but when he dug through his other drawers, he couldnât find anything. There wasnât even a watch or necklace or bracelet. He shook his head and exhaled in frustration.
Sunghoon checked the calendar on his desk promptly, throwing on a jacket and grabbing a random apple on his desk. It was November, three months after university had started for him. But when his eyes landed on the color-coded events, he was confused. Because instead of CS 1010 and CALC III, the usual courses he took on Monday, he was looking at CHEM 1010 and BIOL 2100. He remembered taking the chemistry course his freshman year, but he definitely remembered not taking anything biology-related in his college career. Hell, he was a Computer Engineering major. What would a CS student need Biology for?
Ignoring the weird nostalgia blooming in his chest and the odd discrepancies that just continued to pile up, Sunghoon went out to go to his classes. Instead of the green trees and blossoming flowers welcoming him outside, he was met with the warm leaves and moderate temperatures of Autumn. Students passed by in a haze, chattering about their classes and walking way faster than Sunghoon remembered. The cold breeze drifted through the campus, inflating his sweater as it crept under the fabric. Jay had already left to attend a mixer for his pre-law frat, leaving Sunghoon to try to stimulate his own brain so he could ignore his weird time flashback or time-travel or whatever the hell this wasâŠ
He checked his phone, inhaling a big breath of air and holding it in, as if bracing himself for the impact that he was seeing his screen two years in the past. When the screen brightened, Sunghoon was greeted with Patrick Bateman laughing maniacally at him with blood splattered across his face. He instantly shut his phone off out of embarrassment. âHell no.â He grunted.
He inhaled again and opened it to check his text messages. He expected to see your name at the top, but instead, it was Jake followed by Jay. He scrolled through, expecting to see your name at least somewhere. After all, itâd been three months since youâve met. You shouldâve at least talked about the CS midterm by now, right? But instead, he scrolled through to see his parents, his sister, and some random high school friends Sunghoon hadnât thought of in years.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a headache coming on, and his heart was twisting into itself, wringing out all of his worries about his time-travel to soak up the anxieties of you. If he was hereâif this was really freshman year, really November, really two years agoâ then where the hell were you?
Sunghoon stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk, students brushing past him with annoyed mutters, enunciated scoffs, and eyerolls. His fingers trembled around his phone as he opened your contact again, except⊠there was no contact to open. Your name didnât exist in his phone, and there was nothing to remember you by. His stomach dropped to his feet, and from his feet, crept up the nauseous nagging of⊠what if you didnât exist at all now, these two years ago that he was in?
âNo, no, noâŠâ he muttered under his breath, swiping faster like your name might magically appear if he looked hard enough. But it didnât. All that stared back at him was the image of fucking Christian Bale laughing at him, jeering at him as if making a mockery out of Sunghoon.
Could⊠this not have been his timeline entirely? Instead of going back to the past, did he somehow fall into a world where you never even existed?
Even the beginnings of the thought was enough to make Sunghoon keel over, steadying his body on a nearby tree and focusing his eyes into the nearby bush. Was this world not the version where you sat next to him in CS 1010 and whispered gossip to him during lectures? Because if so, then this wasnât the version where he walked you home after late-night study sessions and fell in love with you under fluorescent library lights. This wasnât the version where he kissed you outside your apartment in the snow for the first time.
The version of him that had met you.
Sunghoonâs breathing started to shorten again. He had one hand pressed flat against it the thick and textured trunk of the tree, as if it could keep the world from tilting. The autumn air began feeling suffocating instead of crisp, and the stray threads inside his stupidly bright green sweater began scratching at the hairs on his arms, penetrating through to itch his skin.
think think think think think
Jake? Jake knew you first, didnât he?
He couldnât give less of a fuck about his stupid CHEM 1010 class, not when the idea of you not being in his life again was wrapping heavy hands around his neck and choking him. His thumb fumbled as he opened Jakeâs contact and scrolled through his messages. Most of it was stupid nonsense, with the most recent text being Jake begging him to skip class for food. Then, buried between them, secluded amongst the sheer amount of back-and-forth texts, was a diamond in the rough.
jake: bro r u coming to the library tmrw nite?
jake: y/nâs gonna be there too
jake: bro please be normal this time đđ
Sunghoon choked out a broken sound, a cacophony of laughter and sobbing. His knees nearly gave out from the release of tension in his muscles. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, digging it into his eyes to steady himself. Sunghoon didnât care that he looked like an idiot in the middle of campus while students walked around him. After all, they were ignoring him like his spectacle was an everyday occurrence. He couldnât care less.
you existed here you were here alive breathing here here in this world not six feet under but above ground walking talking breathing living
Sunghoon stared at the message until the words blurred.
y/nâs gonna be there too
alive alive alive
You were no longer trapped inside of the pictures hung up on the walls. Not reduced to old voice messages and the lingering scent on the piles of clothes you left around the apartment and in your hamper. Not a mere name carved into stone and buried under the solid, winter dirt.
alive.
Sunghoonâs chest caved in on itself. If he had not met you like he did two months ago in the dining hall, then would you both be starting from square one now? Does that mean that he had another chance to start from the beginning? To love you again, wholeheartedly, and make sure that you wouldnât die? That instead of two measly years, he could love you for an entire lifetime? Or were you destined to meet the same fate again?
He didnât hesitate to decide. No matter what lifetime he was in, he would make the same decision. He would choose you again, every time, even knowing how it ended. Grief this devastating could only exist because love had once been so kind, and now that he had a chance to experience your living love again, he wouldnât pass up the opportunity.
Sunghoon: r we still on for the library?
âI didnât think making a grade calculator would be this fucking hard, oh my god.â
You and Sunghoon were both deep into three Red Bulls, eyes bloodshot and accessorized with grey and purple bags hanging under them. Sunghoon exhaled and slammed his laptop shut, before immediately pulling it open again to reveal the same piece of coding that had been mocking the both of you for hours. Meanwhile, you were slumped over your own laptop, fingers tapping away at your keyboard meaninglessly. Honestly, you werenât even trying to fix the code, you were just typing a bunch of bullshit into the program.
âSeriously, why did I choose CS?â Sunghoon sulked, about to begin reflecting on every decision that led him there, before you snapped him out of it with a few delicate taps to his arm.
âHow about we take a study break, hm?â You tilted your head, smiling up at him. Even though you look exhausted, you still managed to muster up a warm grin on your lips that instantly quelled his anxieties about your project. âWhere should we go⊠itâs pretty chilly outsideâŠâ You thought aloud. The way your eyes flicked up and your hand dramatically stroked your chin endeared him, blossoming an aggressive affection in his chest. He squeezed his hands into a fist, trying to resist pinching your cheeks.
âWhat time is it now? 2AM? Is anything even open?â Sunghoon yawned. You thought about it for a second before gasping. Sunghoon could almost visualize the lightbulb flashing above your head.
âLetâs eat ramyeon at the convenience store on the main road!â You suggested. The brown-haired boy hummed in agreement, standing up abruptly to stretch before putting on his coat. You both abandoned your things and put your trust in student honor as you began your 10-minute walk down the street, leaving the warm and humid library in favor of the chilly autumn weather.
âSunghoon, have I ever asked you about your lore?â You suddenly asked. Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows.
âLore? What does that mean?â He responded, confusion puppeting his eyebrows into a furrow. You puffed up your cheeks as you thought about how to explain the term.
âLikeâ your cool anime backstory, or whateverâŠâ You answered, embarrassed at the way you chose to describe it. Sunghoon snickered, shaking his head.
âUhm, I donât think I have a cool anime backstory, or whateverâŠâ He started to think. âWell⊠I have a younger sister and then I used to figure-skate. Nothing really interesting, I donât thinkâŠâ You gasped at his downplaying of his abilities.
âYou used to figure-skate? Thatâs so cool! When did you start?â You smiled, eyes sparkling at looking up at him with wonder. Sunghoonâs face flushed even harder.
âUhm⊠when I was pretty young⊠I was pretty good at it, other people tell me. But I didnât have many friends when I was a kid because I was the only guy who did figure-skating,â he continued. You tilted your head curiously.
âDo you have any pictures, Hoon?â You perked up. He tried to ignore the flutter in his heart with the usage of your sudden nickname, instead opting to fumble for his phone. He hid away the Patrick Batemen lockscreen he forgot to change before flashing you a photo of his younger self.
Child Sunghoon was round and soft, with a cute and awkward smile on his face. He wore a flashy costume, a white button-up with silver glitter lining everywhere that it could trace. In his hands was a trophy and a bouquet of flowers. A coo immediately erupted from your throat as you took it in. âSooo cute, ohmygod!â You gasped. His shining pupils disappeared as he smiled, bashful as he looked away. He turned off the phone, causing you to whine.
âNooo~ Hoon, send me the photo! Iâll make it your contact!â
As much as he didnât want to give in, ultimately, he did. He airdropped the photo to you, which you received with a delighted squeal. Sunghoon peered over your shoulder, trying to subtly look at what you were going to do. Just as you said, you immediately went to change his assigned contact photo to the child version of his picture. But as you opened his chatbox, his heart stuttered. His number was saved under âhoon <3.â
He immediately jerked his head away, blushing profusely as he tried to ignore the steady and rising thumping in his chest. You looked up at him, oblivious to the motions his body was going through.
âSoo, what ramyeon should we eat?â
Sunghoon didnât know shit about biology, so he left his lab as soon as the class ended.
His labmates were very obviously frustrated, not-so-subtly glaring at him as they passive-aggressively shot their DNA samples into the wells of the gel electrophoresis. One of his lab mates, a nice boy named Sunoo, leaned in to whisper into his ear, âAre you okay? Youâre normally never this slow?â And after a reassuring nod, Sunoo pouted and looked away. Sunghoon guessed that meant he was actually skilled in biology, but he knew for sure that this Sunghoon, the one who wanted to pursue cybersecurity, didnât know jackshit about DNA, RNA, and whatever the Central Dogma was.
Sunghoon was hungry, his brain was overloaded with too much new information, and all he could think about was the thought of seeing you. Breathing, alive, and here. So as soon as the TA dismissed everyone, he sprinted out of the lab and across campus to the library. He didnât care if he looked stupid, clutching his backpack strap and punching his shoulders backwards and forwards in order to gain more momentum as he ran for his life. All he cared about was you. you you you
As he neared the library, waiting for the crosswalk to turn green for pedestrians, he whipped out his phone to text Jake.
Sunghoon: Hey Jake. Where are U sitting.
Sunghoon: What floor are U on?
Sunghoon: Where R U located.
jake: ????
jake: were on the fourth floor in a cubby
jake: why r u texting so weird LOL when dod u use punctuations n caps?
Sunghoon: Uhhh trying out a new style of texting.
jake: wtv man just dont act like a weirdo with y/n LOL
jake: dont tell her i said this but she said shes excited to see u
Sunghoonâs heart was pounding, and he was sure it wasnât because of the intense cardio. He looked back and forth on the road, tapping his foot impatiently as the crosswalk was still red. As soon as the street was cleared of cars, he began rapidly walking across the road, ignoring the protests of the crossguard with an embarrassed expression on his face.
He practically bolted across the small lawn in front of the library in order to enter it, panting as he climbed up the large flight of stairs leading up to the main entrance. He pushed the doors open, his feet rapidly clicking against the tiled floor as he raced to find you and Jake. He rounded around the entirety of the fourth floor, ignoring the pointed and obvious stares of the other people trying to study. Soft chatter and giggles filled the wide floor, as well as the sounds of keyboards clicking under pressure and Apple pencils tapping against screens. But one particular sound stood out to him.
The sound of your sweet, sweet laughter.
He nearly tripped as he rounded the corner, only to see the glorious sight that his heart had been searching for forever.
You.
You were sitting cross-legged on one of the seats in the cubby, your laptop balanced on your thighs and a Red Bull cracked open beside you. The same, sugar-free flavor that you always liked when you both studied together and that Sunghoon conditioned himself into loving, too. Jake was next to you, saying something dramatic with his hands, and you were laughing at himâ your head tipped back slightly, eyes squinting, your smile so bright that it was the only thing he could see.
For a moment, the entire world went silent until his ears began ringing. There was nothing else in the world except you.
Just you.
Alive.
Not framed in a photograph, not buried under frozen dirt, and not simply reduced to a voice memo he replayed at three in the morning because he was afraid heâd forget the exact cadence of your laugh.
You were here.
You were breathing, laughing, smiling, moving, existing. Alive.
Sunghoon stopped walking.
His body forgot how to function, rooted to the tiled floor as if one more step would shatter the fragile miracle in front of him. His vision blurred almost instantly, tears gathering so fast it embarrassed him.
Because you were there, right in front of him after the seasons had changed and months had passed since he last saw you.
Wearing some oversized hoodie he recognized from years ago, sleeves covering half your hands. Your hair slightly messy, your lips wrapped around the straw of your drink, your foot absentmindedly bumping against Jakeâs chair.
You were so alive.
Sunghoonâs throat closed as the tears wouldnât stop. He hurriedly brought up his sleeves to wipe his eyes. He had spent months begging the universe for this. Whether he was in the kitchen, pleading to have you back so you could wash your dirty dishes. Or buried in the side of your bed, his face smothered by the scent-heavy fabric of your pillow case. At your grave, where your name engraved into the stone mocked him and the dates of your birth and date blending in together. In every quiet second where grief became too heavy to carry, and Sunghoonâs body would collapse from the sheer weight of it all on his back.
Yet now, here you were, as if no time had passed at all and Sunghoon was back to day one.Â
Jake noticed him first, standing outside the cubicle like a weirdo. To be fair, Jake thought Sunghoon was a weirdo until he recognized the vibrant fashion choice. âDude, finallyââ Jake started, the beginnings of a laugh about to escape his throat, but the words died in his throat when he saw Sunghoonâs face, because Sunghoon looked like he was seeing a ghost.
Your eyes followed Jakeâs, landing on him, and Sunghoonâs breath hitched. He had your eyes on him, and they hadnât changed from the last time he saw you. They were as bright as he remembered, with the stars of the night filling them with a shine so breathtaking that Sunghoon couldnât believe that this was real.
And then you smiled, the same smile that always instantly calmed him down, alleviating him of any negative thoughts. You smiled like you hadnât fucking died, and Sunghoon was almost angry at how naive you looked, oblivious to the suffering that he had gone through for months without seeing that beautiful visage. But as soon as your lips curled, they faltered.
âSunghoon?â you said, tilting your head a little. âAre you okay?â
God, your voice was as melodic as he remembered. So softspoken per usual, with a tune that was like angels were singing. A broken sound left his throat before he could stop itâ a half laugh and a half sob mixing together to produce something ugly and raw. His hand came up to cover his mouth like he could physically shove the emotions and sound back inside of his throat. But he couldnât. because you were looking at him finally after months of going without it.
alive alive alive youre really alive and youre really here and youre smiling so pretty so beautiful my sweet girlfriend my y/n mine mine mine youre mine
Tears spilled over despite every humiliating attempt to stop them. Your expression immediately shifted, your weak grin fading into a concerned look as you stood up too quickly, chair scraping against the floor.
âDudeâ are you crying?â Jake asked. You hissed at him, silently scolding him for his dumb question. Sunghoon couldnât help but laugh because that was such a you thing and you were doing it like you always did before and he canât stop crying youâre you youâre you youâre you
âIâm fine,â he lied instantly, voice cracking so badly it made Jake wince.
You took another step closer. You were so close, so close that he could smell the same sweet perfume that you always wore. The one that he kept on your nightstand to let macerate after you died. The one that was masked by the putrid smell of formaldehyde at your funeral. The one that he spent the last couple of months trying to get a whiff of out of your dirty clothes and unwashed pillowcase.
This was torture. You were standing there looking so beautiful but so painfully not his. Because at this point in time, you didnât know him yet. Not the way his you did. No, this you didnât know the shape of his hands in the dark, or how he took his coffee, or the way he only liked sleeping if the weight of his leg was thrown over his. You didnât know about the apartment that you both lived in until it was just him, alone, with the broken promises of forever and eternal love left to remember you by.
Sunghoonâs fingers twitched at his side. He wanted to reach out to at least brush his fingertips over your arms. He wanted to hold your face. He wanted to hear your heartbeat to make sure that it was beating. He wanted to bury himself in your arms and stay there until the last few months faded until it didnât exist to him anymore, so he could at least pretend like your death had never happened and he finally got his happily ever after. But he was scared. So scared that if he touched you, he was afraid he would never let go, or youâd vanish and disappear, or heâd wake up from this beautiful dream that was your world.
So instead, he just stood there sobbing and shaking his head like an idiot in the middle of the library.
Sunghoon was inconsolable for an hour.
He honestly thought that an hour was too short for his whiplash of relief and anguish to stop, but he was fine.
Nope, he wasnât. You patted his back and he began sobbing again.
âDude, are you okay? Whatâs wrong, man? Iâve never seen you like this beforeâŠâ Jake asked, worry laced in his accent-heavy voice. You looked at Jake, your eyebrows knitted in concern for the poor boy sobbing his heart out in front of you.
âAre you having a hard time because of midterms? Itâs okay, Sunghoon, itâs okay to cry⊠let it out, youâve probably had a stressful week⊠donât worry, youâve worked hardâŠâ You tried to comfort him, but he only sobbed harder because this was something that you would definitely say. Sunghoon sniffled, but let out a few coughs instead. Jake unsuccessfully stifled his snickers as the younger boy began to cough excessively, before crying harder.
âJakeâŠâ you silently hissed, thwacking his shoulder with a heavy hand. His mouth opened as he flinched back. Sunghoon finally calmed down after a while, staring at you with wide eyes. Your hand was still resting lightly against his back, warm through the thin fabric of his sweater, and he thought he might start crying again just from that alone. It was after he processed your body heat that he realized you were touching him. You werenât a memory or a dream anymore, and most importantly, this is real. Not some cruel hallucination his grief-ridden brain had conjured to keep him from completely falling apart.
Jake looked between the two of you like he was watching a live drama unfold in front of him. âOkay,â he said slowly, dragging the word out. âSo, uh, what happened, man?â
Sunghoon opened his mouth.
Nothing. Because what was he supposed to say? Sorry, I watched the love of my life die, spent months rotting in our apartment, cried myself to sleep holding her jacket, and then apparently got thrown backward into freshman year like some sick cosmic joke?
He knew Jake believed in the idea of multiple universes. He knew that from his constant rant about physics and the laws of the galaxy or whatever the hell Jake yapped aboutâ it wasnât like Sunghoon didnât care about Jakeâs interests. He just didnât understand. But Sunghoon wasnât sure that Jake would be so open-minded to find out that he had time-traveled two years into the past from a future that you died in.
Sunghoon simply swallowed hard and just looked away. âI justâŠâ His voice came out hoarse. âI had a really bad dream.â
Jake blinked. âDude, that bad?â He grimaced.
Sunghoon nodded with a small frown. Your expression softened immediately, and Sunghoon immediately noticed the shift in your face. Because you were giving him that unbearably gentle look you always gave him when he was trying too hard to pretend he was okay, the same look that Sunghoon got when he failed his CSO midterm in sophomore year and when he almost flunked Prob Stat. It made his chest ache with a comforting nostalgia.
âSunghoon,â you said softly, pulling your chair out beside yours, âyou should sit down before you pass out or something. You look like you ran here.â You giggled. Sunghoon sniffled, his plump bottom lip jutted out in a pretty pink pout. His cheeks were now streaked with the dried-up stream of his tears and his entire face was flushed and puffy. You sounded so pretty when you said his name. Sunghoon let out a weak, embarrassed laugh and sat where you told him to, because your voice still had the same authority over him that it always would.
Jake shoved a tissue packet toward him across the table, the plastic messily torn open, as if Jake didnât care for tabs that instructed him. âFor our sobbing SunghoonâŠâ he snickered. You and Sunghoon both smacked his arm.
âShut up,â Sunghoon croaked, his voice still ruined from crying. You laughed softly at that, and the sound nearly made him start all over again. He pulled off his glasses and dabbed uselessly at his face while desperately trying to act like a normal person and not a man whose entire soul had just been resurrected by the sight of you alive. When he put back on his glasses, his vision clear from tears and poor eyesight, they landed on your laptop.
The screen was still open beside you, but instead of lines of code and an unfinished project like he expected, he caught sight of anatomy diagrams and a color-coded set of notes. Organs, labeled veins, tiny handwritten mnemonics in the margins. On another tab, a link to register for CNA classes. Sunghoon blinked, confused.
ââŠYouâre not in CS.â
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Jake snorted immediately. Your eyebrows lifted in confusion before you laughed. âNo? Definitely not.â You turned your laptop a little toward him, showing him the mess of biology notes even though you didnât really have to prove it to him.
âIâm a nursing major, unfortunately,â you sighed dramatically. âHeavy emphasis on the unfortunately this week. I have a poster presentation due for chem lab this week, and my group partners suck⊠They keep ghosting me⊠but what can you expect from engineering majors?â You joked lightly. âHey, did you think I was a CS major âcuz I keep hanging out with this stinky loser?â You pouted.
âHey!â Jake protested in the background, but Sunghoon didnât care. His word was tilting even more on its axis, and he felt like the laws of the universe were rewriting themselves.
âNoâ No, sorry⊠I guess I mistook your major for someone elseâsâŠâ Sunghoon nervously laughed. âUhm⊠Isâ is it hardâ Nursing, I mean?â Sunghoon meekly gulped. You smiled and nodded.
âYeah, but, I guess everything is hard, right? I donât think I could ever take discrete or linear or anything of that sort.â You giggled. Sunghoon swallowed dryly and nodded. What would you think if you knew you were his tutor in those classes when you guys dated? Would you laugh him off in disbelief, or would you brush it off and claim yourself as a geniusâŠ?
Jake rolled his eyes at how awkward you both were. He distracted himself with his Calc III homework, trying to ignore the very obvious attraction looming over the both of your heads. He thought to himself as he made a very hard point to not stare at the both of you guys speaking.
âMan, I hope I donât have to third-wheel.â
Your number was in Sunghoonâs phone now, saved under your name.
You had input your own contact name, a simple formality of your name, and in parentheses (jakeâs friend). But you were more than just Jakeâs friend to him, so he changed it as soon as he got back to his dorm, replacing the parentheses with a sweet and simple â<3â instead. He resisted the urge to text you as soon as all three of you left the library.
Sunghoon took a shower as soon as he got back to his dorm. It had been so long since he stepped foot in a communal shower that he almost stepped in barefoot. He almost freaked out when he realized he forgot his shower slippers. He stepped back in, feet now clad in slippers and his shower caddy in hand. The water pressure was harsher than he remembered, the shower spray hitting his scalp like bullets. His caddy only contained a simple shampoo, conditioner, and bar soap, which made him grimace internally. When he did his skincare, he tried to ignore the oily feeling that sat like a film over his skin.
Jay greeted him when he entered his dorm again, his wet hair dripping a pathway into the shared space and his slippers flopping against the wooden floor. âHey man.â Jay briefly looked up, staring at his laptop as he softly strummed his guitar. âYou going to bed soon? I can stop playing.â
âNo, youâre good, JayâŠâ Sunghoon replied, taking off his glasses and setting it back into the case, the magnetized plastic snapping shut. Sunghoon grunted as he climbed onto the top bunk of his bed. Jay smiled and nodded, before going back to playing around with his acoustic guitar.
Sunghoon tucked himself under the covers, letting out a small sigh of relief. His back was aching, and his eyes felt a bit sore. He rubbed at the sides of his cheekbones, trying to relieve the puffiness in his face. Suddenly, his phone pinged, causing the black-haired boy to flinch. He reached for his device, tucked under the pillow, opening it only to see your name in his notification center.
y/n <3: hii sunghoon! did u get back to ur dorm yet? i just got back
y/n <3: r u feeling better now?
Sunghoon: I got back safe.
Sunghoon: Thank U for today.
Sunghoon: Sorry for being weird.
y/n <3: LOL its okay
y/n <3: honestly i was kinda flattered
Sunghoon: Flattered???
y/n <3: yeah
y/n <3: imagine crying that hard after seeing me
y/n <3: my ego is huge now
y/n <3: but seriously are u okay?
Sunghoon stared at the message, unsure how to respond. Too many answers began to crowd his throat, and he was certain he was about to start crying again. But instead, he typed:
Sunghoon: Bad dream.
Sunghoon: Thats all.
y/n <3: aw man iâve been having weird dreams too⊠but i hope u have a good dream tntâŠ
y/n <3: come study w me again tomorrow!!!
Tomorrow. There was going to be a tomorrow with you.
y/n <3: OH
y/n <3: and dont cry again when u see me pls
y/n <3: what if i get bullying allegationsâŠ
Sunghoon covered his face with one hand, laughing weakly into his palm. God, you were just like how you were back in freshman year of college. Always so approachable and kind, so sweet and patient. Sunghoon bit his lip to stifle his tears, not wanting to interrupt Jayâs peaceful strumming.
Was this a chance from the universe to win you back? To have you back in his arms where you were supposed to be? Were the stars realigning for your love to reconcile? To give you a chance at the life that was taken away from you too early?
Because if so, then who was Sunghoon to deny the universeâs gift?
He vowed it there and thenâ that he would make you his once again.
The next few weeks blurred together for Sunghoon. Time did feel fake, after all.
At first, he thought being around you again would continue hurting. Heâd thought that every time heâd seen you after your first encounter, heâd start crying over and over again. He thought every glance at your face would reopen the wound inside his chest until he bled out from the sheer amount of grief that had welled up in his hollow chest since that fateful winter morning.
But instead, Sunghoon got used to you again.
Between your late-night study sessions and meaningless unproductive chatter in the library, you slipped into his life as naturally as you did the first time around. And now, you managed to sew yourself into the knittings of his daily life cycle again. Your âstudy nightsâ turned into convenience store midnight snacks. You invited him to your dorm to âfix the wallpaperâ which ended up with you guys reminiscing about your high school days. Your texts became routine too, and every single notification still made his heart jump. Some nights, youâd call him instead. (But your sleepy voice through the speaker sounded too much like the nights in your shared apartment when youâd mumble nonsense into his chest before falling asleep.)
Sunghoon didnât realize it until late, but he began to notice he was listening and watching you pre-emptively. When you told him about the guy you had beef with for talking back to the teacher back in high school, Sunghoon already knew that. Before you told him you had a bad habit of chewing on the sides of your fingernails when nervous, Sunghoon had already told you to stop. He already knew everything about you. From the way youâd subtly eye the way he took bites of food even after insisting you werenât hungry to the way your nose would twitch before you started cryingâ Sunghoon knew every single minute detail about you.
You never commented on it. Sunghoon hoped you just chalked it up to him being observant rather than looking like a creepy stalker who cried whenever he saw a pretty girl.Â
âHoon? Helloooo? Earth to Hoon?â
Your hand was waving in front of his face, a pout on your lips. âZoning out again?â You huffed. He smiled, cheeks puffing up as he looked at you. You both were in the convenience store again, looking for a late-night snack amidst your endless studying for finals.
âYeah, just thinking what to get,â he replied, following you around as you scoured the aisles. You kept whipping your head back and forth, scanning each item meticulously as you thought about what you were craving. Absentmindedly, you rubbed your tummy over your hoodie, pouting slightly.Â
âI dunno what to get either. Should I get a drink too? âM kinda thirsty.â You hummed, pinching a drink pouch between your fingers as you examined the flavors. Sunghoon watched as you looked around. He suddenly reached out to give you a green grape flavored drink pouch. You looked at him, confused but still smiling.
âThanks, Hoon, but I donât really like green grape.â
What?
Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows, confused. âReally? You donât like green grape?â His tone was wavering, and you were puzzled. He sounded so torn up about the fact that you didnât like green grape.
âAre you a green grape superfan, Hoon?â You laughed, reaching for the lychee pouch instead. Sunghoonâs face remained confused, his eyebrows knitted and lips twisted up into a weird pout. He shook his head, making you laugh.
âYouâre so weird sometimes, HoonâŠâ you said, giggling as you picked up an ice cup. Sunghoon followed you, still perplexed as you continued to pick your late-night meal.
Because you loved green grape and hated lychee.
He remembered when you told him about how you hated lychee. It was too sweet, but green grapes were just right for youâ a perfect balance of sour and sweet in a small fruit. He remembered laughing at you about it, teasing you for being so nitpicky with your fruit, so why were you here eyeing every sweet fruit flavored pouch?
Your fingers skimmed across all of the ramyeon cup noodle packages, your head tilting as you tried to find the perfect one. Sunghoon was still behind you, but his footsteps became slower and more mechanic as his brain was racing. âWhat about this flavor?â Sunghoon picked up your favorite, Carbonara Buldak. You scrunched your noise and picked up the 2X Spicy Buldak instead.
âI like really spicy things, Hoon! The carbonara isnât spicy enough for me!â
His mind was clipped, as if everything he had been thinking of suddenly disappeared. Sunghoon could excuse the change of majorsâ hell, his own major changed when he woke up in the past. But the few little things that he had grown to love were even changing in front of his own eyes.
âAh? Really⊠this flavor is good tooâŠâ he mumbled, nearly incoherent. You laughed, furrowing your eyebrows before going to pay for your food. He followed behind, mindlessly tapping his card to pay for your things, his racing mind drowning out the sounds of your whined protests.
It was after that when Sunghoon began watching you closely.
During movie nights, you happily stole bites of Jakeâs mint chocolate chip without even batting an eye, but you hated mint chocolate chip ice cream because your cousin threw it up on you when you were seven. You sucked at chemistry and nearly cried over memorizing all the molecular orbital structures, but now you could solve a retrosynthetic analysis question with a single glance, as if you were adding one plus one. You told him one late night walking back to the dorms that you became a nursing major because your mother was a nurse, but Sunghoon remembered his âfuture-mother-in-lawâ actually worked in an IT department, which led to your passion for computer systems.
This version of you didnât scrunch your nose at sickly sweet candle scents anymore. This version of you didnât like wearing cute pieces of jewelry that framed your body like an art piece. This version of you didnât like dogs. This version of you hated rom-coms. This version of you wasnât exactly his.
The more time Sunghoon spent in this world, the more wrong everything felt. You were still here, and thatâs all that he believed he cared for. But everything felt wrong enough to keep him up at night, recounting all of the true memories he shared with you. This place looked like his world, his universe, but every day, more tiny differences revealed themselves like cracks in glass to the point where the fragile world that Sunghoon wanted to believe in was about to collapse.
Youâre still Y/N. Sunghoon couldnât deny that. But you didnât feel like the same Y/N that he fell in love with sometimes. Still, he couldnât stop himself from loving you again. Sunghoon could ignore the minor changes in your life if it meant having you all over again, right?
âYouâre staring again.â
Sunghoon blinked, immediately looking away from you across the table. Where was he again� He glanced around, taking in his surroundings that was the study area on the first floor of your dorm building. Sunghoon briefly looked at the multitude of formulas you had written on the whiteboard of the small room before directing his gaze back at you.
âI am not,â he muttered.
âSoo weâre lying nowâŠ?â you laughed, spinning the whiteboard marker between your fingers. âYou always stare at me, Hoon. Do you know that? Itâs like you know something I donât⊠like you know everything, or something, or whatever⊠Youâre so suspicious sometimesâŠ.â Sunghoon shrugged awkwardly and looked back down at his laptop screen.
âItâs not that, promise. Youâre just hard to look away from,â he mumbled before he could stop himself, the reply coming easily to him. It was something that he used to tell you all the time.
Your face flushed immediately, and Sunghoon felt warmth crawl up his own neck too. But unlike before, he didnât panic under your gaze anymore. Sunghoon used to be scared of moving closer to you. Was it too bold to constantly sit next to you? To comfortably lean into your space as if it was his too? He was itching to have you be his again.
But over the past month, you had become comfortable around him too. Comfortable enough to lean against his shoulder during late-night bus rides. Comfortable enough to nab food off of his dining hall plates. Comfortable enough to text him first thing in the morning and last thing before sleeping. Comfortable enough that sometimes, when you laughed too hard, youâd instinctively grab onto his arm.
Youâre too cruel. You were unknowingly becoming his again. But Sunghoon didnât know what to think. All his mind could conjure was the question of how fast you could be his againâ should he confess now? But instead, he continued to stare as you worked through your chemistry practice exam questions.
One evening, the three of you ended up stuck in the library until nearly midnight because Jake refused to finish his Calc assignment anywhere else. Sunghoon had long stopped pretending to study. Instead, he watched you again. He couldnât care less if you thought he was staring again. To be fair, you were half-asleep beside him, cheek squished against your folded arms while pretending to read anatomy notes. Itâs not like you could exactly call him out when you were on the verge of passing out.
Your highlighter slipped from your fingers. Sunghoon picked it up before it rolled off the table. Your eyes fluttered open tiredly. ââŠThanks,â you mumbled softly. Even exhausted, you looked beautiful. A dangerous tenderness spread through his chest so intensely that it almost scared him. He felt like he was falling harder this time, especially knowing how you both would end up anyways.
âSunghoon.â
He blinked out of his thoughts. You were staring at him again, your hooded lids fighting to stay open to look at him properly. âYes?â He replied softly, not wanting his loud voice to puncture you out of your sleep-filled daze.
âYou were zoning out...â You frowned slightly, your voice slurring slightly from how exhausted you were. âYouâve been doing that a lot lately.â
Every time he looked at you for too long, memories overlapped. You laughing in the library became you laughing in your apartment kitchen. You falling asleep beside him at a study table became you sleeping on his chest during thunderstorms. Your warm fingertips caressing his soft cheeks before leaning in to press your lips against hisâ
Sometimes the timelines blended together so badly he forgot which version of you he was seeing. But Sunghoon couldnât say that, so instead he lied, âIâm okay.â
You looked unconvinced. Then, after a moment, your hand slowly slid across the table toward his. It was a decision that you carefully madeâ Sunghoon could tell by the way you suddenly spaced out and looked left to right as if physically weighing the choices between touching and not touching him. It was barely anythingâ a pebble of physical touch that pebbled in comparison to the boulders of love that he used to share with you. It was just your pinky lightly touching his, tentative and careful. You looked shy immediately after doing it, eyes darting away. But Sunghoon felt love blossom in his chest nonetheless.
ââŠYou donât have to tell me if somethingâs wrong,â you murmured. âBut I hope you know you donât have to deal with everything alone.â The warmth of your skin against his nearly killed him.
Fuck, so what if some things changed? You were still you in every universe. So kind and gentle and always reaching for him, noticing almost intuitively when Sunghoon was about to lose himself. He carefully hooked his pinky around yours under the table, sending you a reassuring and small grin. Your breath caught slightly, not expecting him to so confidently touch you back.
Jake looked up from his homework. ââŠAm I interrupting something,â he deadpanned, already knowing the answer despite still asking.
âNo,â both of you answered immediately. Jake narrowed his eyes, but didnât reply. He just let out a quiet sigh before going back to scribbling on his iPad again. You finally closed your eyes to go back to sleep, a subtle and content smile lingering on your lips. Your pinky was still tightly interlocked with his while your other arm relaxed.
Maybe the universe had rewritten details. So what your majors changed or your histories changed? Who cares if this wasnât his original life?
Because all that mattered to Sunghoon was that you still found your way back to him anyway.
âHey Hoon!â
Jay entered the dorm in a ruckus, hissing as his guitar case nearly slammed the doorframe and cursing when he stubbed his foot against the wooden plank of the actual door. Sunghoon rushed to hold the door open for his roommate, wincing as Jay slammed his backpack to the ground.
âYou okay, Jay? I havenât seen you in awhile.â Sunghoon took note of the slightly older boyâs appearance. He looked disheveled, with eyebags accessorizing his face and sunken-in cheeks.
âYeah, Iâm fine. Iâve just been busy looking for internships and studying for finalsâ shitâ and these networking events are kicking my ass. Theyâre like, âoh, you need at least 3 years of experience!â But itâs a fucking entry-level position!â He ranted. Sunghoon smiled softly at the familiar ramblingsâ at least Jay didnât change.
âWhat a tough life you live, Jay.â Sunghoon sighed.
Jay dropped face-first onto his bed with a loud groan, one arm dangling off the side dramatically. âIâm serious, Hoon. If one more recruiter tells me to âcircle back next semester,â Iâm actually gonna lose it.â
Sunghoon huffed out a quiet laugh from his desk, spinning a mechanical pencil between his fingers. He had chemistry notes spread out in front of him, though he hadnât processed a single word in the last couple of hours. His brain had been occupied by you since the moment he woke up. âWhatcha doin, man? Homework?â Jay peered over the railings of his bed to look down at Sunghoonâs desk. The younger boy ran his fingers through his silky hair, tilting his head.
âYeah, just reading the textbook for my Chem discussion. Iâm not going to lie, I donât really understand anything right nowâŠâ Sunghoon laughed. The side of Jayâs lips crooked up into a teasing smirk, like he knew something that the other boy didnât.
âOh? Chem discussion, huh?â
âWhat does that mean?â Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Jay wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, licking at his bottom lip in a weird display that made Sunghoon squirm with discomfort.
âOKAY, donât tell Jake that I told you this but⊠heâs been texting me about you and Y/NâŠâ Jay let out, sounding exasperated as if he just lifted a huge weight off his shoulders. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. He didnât expect Jay to say this to him, but he was sure that Jake was telling at least some other person about the rapid development of friendship between you and Sunghoon.
âReally? What is he saying?â Sunghoon acted nonchalant, trying to appear relaxed to coax Jay into spilling more. Jay looked around briefly, biting his lip before leaning in closer.
âOkay, basically.. heâs saying that you and Y/N have been hanging out a lot likeâ one-on-one without himâŠâ Jay excitedly rolled. Sunghoon nodded. âBut you know how Jake isâ he tried asking Y/N about you and she thought he was acting weird because he sucks at being subtle⊠so can I ask you about it? Like, are you guys talking orâŠâ The silver-haired boy trailed off awkwardly, waiting for Sunghoon to finish his question.
The raven-haired male tilted his head. âUhm⊠I guess soâŠâ he sheepishly replied. What else was he supposed to say? âNah, Iâm actually trying to get my girlfriend back after she died in another universe???â
âIâm happy for you man, really.â The sincerity in Jayâs voice was almost worrisome.
âOh, uh, thanks, JayâŠâ Sunghoon smiled awkwardly, unsure how to respond to the genuine pride that Jay had carried in his tone. The silver-haired man nodded, seemingly content before rolling back into bed. But seriously, what the hell did he mean by Chem discussion?
âI never expected you to make the first move, honestly. I heard from Jake that you were the one who initiated your first hangout together, right?â Jay spoke, his eyes glued to the ceiling that had white paint falling off the bone. Sunghoon hummed in agreement, but was getting impatient. Couldnât Jay get to the point already? âMan, I remember when you first talked about her to me. They grow up so fast,â he continued to ramble, his speech slurring as sleep began hitting him. Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows. When did he ever talk to him about you?
âJay, I think I just met the love of my life in Chem discussion!â
Sunghoon froze. He shot up in his seat, nearly tripping as he ran to the side of Jayâs bunk. His fingers curled into the railings protruding from the frame of the bed, his warm skin cooling against the frigid metal material. âWhat? Jay, what? When did I tell you this?â He rapid-fired at the older boy. Jay yawned, rubbing his eyes.
âRemember? When school started? You went to Chem discussion annoyed with the readings and came back like a lovestruck idiot.â
âWhat? When school started back in August, Jay?â Sunghoon sputtered out. Jay nodded with another yawn.
âYeah, man, remember? You woke up so annoyed about all the readings you did, but when you came back you were like, head-over-heels. You said it was love-at-first sight.â Jay snorted quietly at the memory, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. âDude, it was actually kinda insane. You came back to the dorm and wouldnât shut up about her.â
Sunghoon stared at him, pulse beginning to pound against his ribs.
ââŠWhat did I say?â he asked carefully.
Jay grinned immediately, already amused by the memory. âYou were acting crazy, man. Like genuinely gone.â He pushed himself up slightly on his elbows. âJay, I think I just met the prettiest girl ever. Jay, I think Iâm in love. Jay, she smiled at me and I forgot what I was saying!â He exclaimed, trying to imitate Sunghoonâs unique tone.
âYouâre exaggerating,â Sunghoon muttered weakly, but his head was slowly began to pound with the thought of him gushing about you before he met you. As if his consciousness existed before he woke up in the past.
âSwear, Iâm not.â Jay laughed. Sunghoonâs stomach twisted. âYou told me she sat two rows ahead of you during discussion, that she had these little charms hanging off her pencil case, that she kept pushing her hair behind her ear while talking to her discussion groupââ He suddenly paused, staring at Sunghoon suspiciously. âWait, why are you acting like you donât remember this?â
Sunghoonâs throat tightened immediately. He didnât. This wasnât the right beginning or the right way of meeting you. He couldâve excused the minor changes about your preferences, discrepancies in your life, but now there were too many that his head couldnât keep up. And now, your entire story was beginning to collapse in front of his eyes, through his ears, even if he wasnât there to experience it.
âI dunno,â he lied quickly. âI think Iâm just tired. Iâ I have a headacheâŠâ Sunghoon stumbled to his side of the bed.
Jay looked unconvinced for a second before shrugging. âWell, anyway, after that you started acting weird as hell,â he continued.
âWeird how?â
âYou kept dressing up for Chem discussion.â Jay barked out a laugh. âLike suddenly you cared about your appearance. You asked me if your hair looked okay before class.â
Sunghoon nearly recoiled in horror. âI would never ask you that. I always look good.â
Jay furrowed his eyebrows, but barked back accusingly, âYou did. And then after discussion ended, youâd come back looking all devastated because you never talked to her.â
Sunghoonâs chest ached strangely. He felt as if he could picture it so vividly. Him sitting in chemistry discussion secretly staring at you. Getting nervous. Fixing his hair in the reflection of his phone screen. Trying to work up the courage to speak to you. Falling in love slowly and naturally without grief or death or memories of a future that already happened clouding every rational thought in his brain.
Jay continued rambling, oblivious to the way Sunghoonâs expression had begun to fall. âAnd then one day Jake mentioned his hometown friend named Y/N and you literally interrupted him mid-sentence.â Jay laughed harder now, fully awake from recounting the story. ââWaitâ Y/N? Nursing major? Chem discussion on Thursdays?â Dude, your face was priceless.â
Sunghoon felt sick. He didnât know you were a nursing major until that fateful night he had seen you in the library. âOh my god, dude I feel like Iâve been holding this in. Remember the first time you guys talked?â Sunghoonâs heartbeat was thudding loudly in his ears, and heâs sure that they were about to ring. He remained silent, and Jay took it as a sign to keep rambling.
âYou said she asked to borrow an EXPO marker during discussion because hers was out of ink or something.â He snorted. âYou kept replaying the conversation like a loser, saying that her voice was like descending from the angels.
Sunghoonâs grip tightened around the railing of Jayâs bunk. He agreed, but he wouldnât ever verbalize is like that so shamelessly. He honestly thought saying something like that was a little corny, and then the realization began to sink in.
He wouldnât say that. No, not him. Another version of him.
It was then when it dawned about Sunghoon. God, he hadn't even considered the possibility that another version of him existed before he became conscious. But that meant something that Sunghoon didn't even want to even think about consideringâ some empty timeline where he had conveniently slotted himself into a vacant life, or where he went back into the past two years with just a few butterfly effects changing the outcomes. This universe already had a Park Sunghoon who liked you before future Sunghoon ever woke up here. And Sunghoon had stolen it.
Jay kept talking, unaware of the devastation crawling across Sunghoonâs face, like a spider mapping out its web of a trap. âThen.â Jay cackled. âYou literally flopped face-first onto your bed and saidâ hold on, I remember this exactlyââ It seemed like talking about you energized him or woke him up, because he cleared his throat dramatically, trying to imitate Sunghoonâs voice again.
âJay, Iâm actually gonna marry her.ââ
Sunghoonâs breath hitched. He had said that before, two years into the future, when he was drunk off two bottles of Original Soju as he was eating barbeque with a much more mature Jay and a burnt-out Jake. He had never brought up marriage before until that night, a few days after you guys moved into your apartment together.
But apparently, this version of him had said it too before any of that happened, even with only knowing your name and that you were Jakeâs friend.
Was loving you inevitable in every universe?
Jay blinked suddenly, his teasing grin faltering slightly as he finally noticed how pale Sunghoon looked. ââŠHoon?â Sunghoon looked away quickly, swallowing hard. âYou okay?â
No. No, he really wasnât.
Because Sunghoonâs entire world and entire universe was collapsing. His fate was twisting, and the red string that threaded it together was tangling within itself. Was the universe fucking with him now? After giving him so much hope with your presence in his life after losing you? Whatâs the point of him going back in time if not to reclaim his love story?
Because now, it felt like he was interrupting someone elseâs.
âItâs snowing!â
Your voice was cheery, lilted so lightly that it instantly spread a feeling of warmth across Sunghoonâs body despite the cold air penetrating through his heavy puffer. You were both outside the library, about to trek to the convenience store when the sudden weather inclement put a hole through your plans. Delicate snowfall began raining upon the campus, fluttering down beautiful in a flashy array of flakes.
âIt is,â he acknowledged, following after your hyper footsteps that began tracing a circle in the translucent sheet of snow that had already fallen onto the ground. You ran around, whooping and cheering as you basked in the icy sensation of snowflakes landing on your skin. Sunghoon could only watched, endeared by how excited and energized you suddenly were.
Suddenly, you ran up to him, burying your open fingers under his arms and around his waist. He laughed, caught off-guard by your abrupt hug, stumbling back a little. âWhatâs with you, hm?â He softly crooned, wiping your hair out of your face. You smiled up at him, eyes shining despite the overheard dark sky looming over you.
âItâs so pretty, Hoon! I didnât think itâd snow this year!â You cheerfully exclaimed, eyes curling into crescents as your mouth parted with the sheer excitement coursing through your body. He pulled you in closer on instinct, and you let out a small âoomph!â from the impact of your bodies colliding into a tighter embrace.
âYou know what they say, Hoon? If confess during the first snowfall, your love will last forever!â You spoke up. Your speech was murmured, but Sunghoon had heard every word perfectly.
âYeah? Do you believe in that?â He looked at you fondly. You nodded.
âSunghoon, I like you so much, letâs go out!â
His mouth fell agape as your confession rang through the snow air. You looked horrified immediately after, but Sunghoon had pulled you in impossibly closer, tight enough to where you almost couldnât breathe. âHoon,â you whimpered miserably, hiding your face inside your scarf. âThis is so embarrassingâŠâ
âYou like me?â he breathed out incredulously before bursting out into laughter. Snowflakes landed in his dark hair as he laughed, falling off as quickly as they came from how hard his body was shaking.
âYouâre so mean!â you accused.
âIâm not laughing at you,â he insisted between breaths.
âThen why are you laughing?!â
âYouâre just so cute,â Sunghoon confessed, his voice so tender and blossoming with the unsurmountable affection he had for you. âI like you too,â he admitted softly, âever since I saw you in the dining hall.â
You smiled, but when he blinked, suddenly he was in the middle of his apartment. The cold air dissipated, bringing in the warmth of the heater he left on in the living room. His arms were still wrapped around something, no, someone. No.
Nothing.
His hands clenched around empty air, and the snowfall transformed into the city lights outside of the apartment windows. Your scarf that was in between his fingertips disintegrated into the dust that he never cleaned. Your laughter was still ringing in his ears, so elated and bright and it was mingling with something so sharp jarring annoyingâ
His ringtone?
The sound grew louder and louder until it drowned out everything else, until your smiling face started blurring at the edges. You were still standing in front of him beneath the snow, cheeks dusted from the cold with flecks of flakes littering your face.
âHoon?â you laughed softly. âWhy are you looking at me like that?â
His phone kept vibrating.
âHoon?â
The screen lit up across the dark apartment with an unknown number, and under the bold white digits in grey was the name of the university hospital. His breathing turned ragged instantly. His body moved before his brain could catch up, fumbling for the phone with trembling hands. But when he looked back up, you were still there. Snowflakes still landed in your hair. You were still smiling, cheeks puffed up and smile lines indenting your skin.
âI like you too,â he heard himself saying again, the memory replaying against his will. âEver since I saw you in the dining hall.â
âHoon?â
But this time your voice sounded farther away. His thumb shook over the accept button, and when he pressed the green button, everything crashed together all at once, creating a collision in his mind. Your confession beneath the snowfall. Your wet toothbrush beside his in the apartment bathroom. Your warm hand in his while crossing the street. Your cold hand dangling under the white sheet in the morgue. Your voice whispering goodnight. The casket being lowered six feet deep in a hole that seemed too big for you.
Sunghoon doubled over violently, nearly dropping the phone as nausea twisted through him. It felt like someone had reached into his skull and ripped every memory apart before shoving them back in the wrong order. His head was pounding, throbbing violently as each memory churned in his head like butter. Then it curved into a dull ache, static on a television screen.Â
âIs this Park Sunghoon?â
And just like that, the snow was gone, and the only cold he felt was the absence of your warm body.
âSunghoon, youâve been acting weird lately.â
âOh, hm?â
Your face was suddenly in front of his, and you had a concerned pout on your lips. âYouâve been zoning out so much, itâs really worrying me⊠I know itâs just your personality, but youâve been doing it so muchâŠâ You frowned, leaning forward, your shoulders hunching into your sides.
âIâm sorryâ thereâsâ thereâs just a lot going onâŠâ He weakly replied. You let out a soft sigh.
âYou know you can tell me anything, right? Me or Jake⊠I care for you a lot, you know. I hope you really know, HoonâŠâ
Sunghoon forced a tight-lipped smile and nodded. âI know,â he responded, his words sharper than intended. Your eyes were staring right into his, and before, Sunghoon wouldâve felt the warmth. But now, all that he felt was the chills that Jay had instilled into his body. You stilled, before pulling away from the conversation, instead opting to grab your straw. Instinctively, he picked it up before you could, punching the plastic out of the wrapper and puncturing your drink for you.
âOh, thanks Hoon. You really didnât have to do that.â A sweet giggle escaped your lips, and the sound instantly grounded him.
âItâs not a big deal, let me do these things for you,â he easily said in response, the reply leaving his mouth naturally as it used to do.
âSunghoon, do you act like this with everyone?â You suddenly asked. He looked at you, confused. âI meanâ like, do you always act so sweetly towards everyone? Or is it just meâŠâ you almost seemed embarrassed asking him this.Â
âNo, itâs just you?â He retorted, as if it was common sense that he would treat only you with the utmost care. Your face was warming up, and he could tell that you were flustered by his response.
âReally? So like, uhm, thereâs no other girl that youâre, uhm⊠acting like this with, right?â Your voice was timid as you asked another question. Sunghoon scoffed, taken aback by how ridiculous your inquiry was. From the future and now in the past, you were the only girl for him, so why were you being so ridiculous now?
âOf course not,â he nearly snapped. He regretted it as soon as he saw your face falter and your posture shrink. No, what was he thinking? You didnât know that. Of course you would ask. âIâmâ Iâm sorry. I donât know what got into me baâŠâ He trailed off as the nickname nearly slipped from his lips, so naturally that it was like calling you by your name. âUhm, Y/N. Iâm sorry. I think Iâm just having a tough week. I promise you.â
You nodded, so patient as always, as you sipped on your drink. âItâs okay, Hoon. I hope things get better.â You smiled. He nodded, biting tentatively into the pastry. He didnât like this cafe, and he knew that you didnât like it either, but he didnât want to ruin your first experience here. He half expected you to actually like the cafe if the past weeks were anything to go by, but he was pleasantly surprised when you instead scrunched your nose.
âThis matcha is too milkyâŠâ You whispered. He smiled and nodded.
âYeah? This pastry isnât too good either. Wanna try?â He lifted up the dessert to your mouth, letting you take a bite right where he had previously taken one. You bit into it, lips curling into disgust.
âShould we just go and toss our stuff somewhere else? I donât want to waste it, but itâs really not that goodâŠâ You whispered. Sunghoon laughed and nodded, holding out his hand. You hesitated, but took it, letting him lead you outside the cafe. You threw your drink and his pastry into the nearby trash can, just as you did before in Sunghoonâs original universe.
âAre you still thirsty? Should we get something from the convenience store instead?â He asked. You shook your head.
âNo, Iâm okay. Can we just walk a little?â You asked. Sunghoon nodded automatically.
You both began walking side-by-side down the sidewalk, your shoulders occasionally brushing together from how close you were. Autumn had left too soon, now bringing in the frigid weather of winter. The city was quiet, with everyone buried inside of their comforters during the early chilly morning. Some joggers and dog-walkers passed by, but it still only felt like you two were the only ones existing in that peaceful morning atmosphere. For a while, neither of you spoke. Sunghoon shoved a hand into the pocket of his coat while the other was still holding yours. He was trying not to stare at you again, but it was difficult when you were right there beside him, looking so soft beneath clouded skies.
âWhat I said back in the cafe⊠youâve been treating me so differently,â you murmured suddenly. His stomach tightened.
ââŠDifferently how?â He carefully asked back.
You slowed your pace slightly, looking down at the pavement. âI donât know.â You laughed nervously. âYou just⊠take care of me a lot. I remember when I first met you in Chem discussion, you were so shy. It was like you were scared of me. Then, you started crying in the library when you saw me⊠and now⊠itâs like youâre so much more mature than me⊠Does that make sense?â
âIs that bad?â he asked quietly.
âNoâ no, of course not. But, I donât know Hoon. You stare at me⊠kinda weird,â the words carelessly slipped from your lips, and it was obvious with the way you let out a gasp and a flurry of apologies, before stumbling onto what you mean to say. âGod, thatâs not what I meantâ! I meant⊠I donât know. Like you take care of me so naturally, and you seem to already have a good sense of likeââ you laughed nervously, rubbing at your face in embarrassment, âI donât think youâre weird or anything, Hoon. I actually really like how caring you are.â Your voice softened at the end. âItâs justâŠâ You slowed to a stop beneath the awning of a closed convenience store, your joined hands swinging slightly between your bodies.
Sunghoon turned toward you quietly, and you looked conflicted, with your mouth screwed and lips pressing up against each other so hard that the skin was jutting out uncomfortably. âSometimes I think youâre so confident about knowing me that you forget there are still parts of me you donât know yet? Is that too deep?â His chest tightened instantly, and he inhaled before he knew it, trying to regain the breath that you had just knocked out of him.
You kept talking before you lost the courage. âLike⊠you always know what I need before I say it. Like when Iâm cold, when Iâm tired, when Iâm not feeling wellâŠâ You smiled faintly. âAnd it makes me really happy. It does.â
âBut?â He pressed on, trying his best to hide his impatience.
âBut sometimes it also feels like youâve already decided who I am, in a way? Like, you seem to expect something differently than what I give you, Hoon. And sometimesâŠâ you continued hesitantly, âIâll say something that surprises you, and you get this look on your face like I said the wrong thing or somethingâ and itâs kind of⊠okay, Iâll be honest, itâs kinda weirdâŠâ You laughed again, and the noise seemed like it was punched out of you like a soundboard.
âLike, you always try to guess what I like or what I donât like or what I preferâ and at first I thought it was endearing, but itâs almost always wrong. And thatâs fine, I guess. But sometimes you sound so confident that itâsâ I dunno. Thatâs why I asked if there was another girl. Like, I donât know, are you thinking of someone else?â You breathed out.
No, no, no, never. He always thought of you. He could never stop thinking about you. He inhaled and opened his mouth, wanting to defend himself, but you sputtered out something else so rushed like you were forcing it out of your throat, âIâ I really want you to know me, Hoon.â
Sunghoon wanted to throw up. He had spent so much time trying to preserve the memory of the girl he lost that he had started overlooking the girl standing right in front of him. His skin was itching with the lovebugs crawling up it. He felt selfish. And suddenly, the image of him, nerdy and lanky and gushing to Jay with a flush on his pale cheeks struck his mind, hitting him bluntly on his noggin.
His fingers loosened around your hand before tightening again like he was afraid youâd disappear if he let go completely. You looked nervous after your confession, eyes darting away from your intertwined hands immediately. âSorry,â you laughed weakly. âThat sounded way harsher than I meant it to.â
âNo,â Sunghoon answered as soon as you stopped speaking, his voice coming out rough. âNo, youâre right.â Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. He looked away before he could see your expression fully. âYouâre right,â he repeated quieter this time.Â
I really want you to know me. Not her. No. You? This version of you, the one standing beside him now. He looked at you, but was met with the sight of your side profile. The side profile that belonged to the same woman who he met at the dining hall, who moved in with him, who cooked him soup in the shared kitchen when he fell sickâ memories hit him so violently he almost staggered, and he couldnât tell where the lines were anymore.
Your favorite drink, your laugh, your habits. Were they yours? Hers? Was he loving you because you were you, or because he was desperately trying to keep the you that he remembered, alive?
Sunghoon felt sick. He felt saliva rapidly rise under the muscle of his tongue, and he kept swallowing and swallowing to keep it down. He felt like he was going to throw up.
âHoon?â Your voice softened instantly at the sight of his face. Concern replaced your apprehension immediately.Â
âYou donât have to apologize,â he muttered. You blinked. âYou were honest.â He swallowed hard, nearly gasping for air as he opened his mouth to speak. âI think⊠I needed to hear it.â Your expression slowly softened, though puzzlement still lingered behind your eyes. Sunghoon stared down at the pavement.
For the first time since waking up two years in the past, his brain turned to mush, soft enough to let a thought penetrate his mind that he had been avoiding. Was loving you here ever supposed to be about getting his old life back with you? What was he here for? Images of himâ not him, the him that you knew, came crawling back into his neurons.
Things wouldnât have been like this if he had come. You and the right Sunghoon couldâve been where he was. The guilt began creeping down his throat and accumulating in his chest, weighing down his lungs with every shortened breath he took in.
âIâm sorry,â he whispered, though he wasnât sure who he was apologizing to anymore. To you? To the girl he loved in the future? To himself? Or the other version of himself that he was living through?
You shifted slightly beside him, worry crossing your expression. âHoonâŠ? SunghoonâŠ?â You quietly spoke up, hesitant as your palm gently brought itself up to cup his cheek. He instinctively leaned into your warmth, but squirmed as his face rested in his palm. The ink of his guilt began to spread further as if his body was just dipped into water. He tightened his grip on your hand again on instinct, but it felt wrong, like was still trying to anchor himself into an ocean with waves that were too crashing upon each other.
âI didnâtâŠâ his voice broke. âI didnât mean toââ He couldnât even finish the sentence. What was he trying to say? What was he even freaking out for, apologizing for? Because as much as he wracked his brain, he couldnât grasp onto an answer still. For loving you wrong? For loving another version of you? For erasing you because you were right here, all alive and happy and oblivious? Sunghoon exhaled sharply, almost choking on it.
His hand finally loosened. ââŠIâm sorry,â he said again, but softer this time. You gently stroked his face with your thumb.
âHoon, please donât cry on me again.â You tried to lighten the mood. His eyes were shimmering with tears that built up in his ducts, but he simply shook his head, whispering out another apology.
âIâm not okay,â he admitted finally. You flinched, and the honesty honestly surprised him too, but you didnât pull away. You just continued to comfort him, just as you always would. No. Sunghoon closed his eyes for a second. He shouldnât think like this anymore. When he opened them again, he was looking at you. Just you, standing there, as you were.
âI thinkâŠâ His voice cracked slightly, so he paused, forcing air back into his lungs. âI think Iâve been⊠confusing things.â Your expression softened, but you didnât interrupt. âI thought I came back to something I lost,â he continued vaguely, âBut I think Iâve just been standing in front of someone I never took the time to understand.â
His feelings felt like it finally had somewhere to go, not onto you, or even to him, but somewhere where Sunghoon couldnât reach. It felt freeing, unraveling a tight knot of emotions that he didnât have the energy to release before. Your hand lowered, as if drawn to pull off of his face. He let go of your other hand, finally loosening his grip.
âSo then let me help you,â you whispered. His heart dropped. âHoonâŠâ Your voice trembled slightly now, heavy with the weight of the emotions pulsating between the both of you. âI know youâre confused right now, but Iâ"
He already knew what you were going to say, because you had the same hopeful look on your face that fateful winter night when you confessed under the snowfall. And before, selfishly, he wouldâve let you. He wouldâve let you pour out his feelings to him, accept them as easy as reciting ABC, and live without the burdens of the future weighing him down.
But this time, the words felt too important to take from you and from the other him that had been waiting for you.
ââŠDonât,â he whispered. The hurt on your face was immediate, and he had to will himself to not take back his words. âNo, noâ not like that,â he corrected quickly, voice cracking. âI just⊠I donât think Iâm ready to hear it yet.â Snowy breath escaped your lips slowly into the cold air. âYou deserve someone who can listen to you properly,â he said quietly. âSomeone who can know you for who you are now. And I donât thinkâŠâ He inhaled shakily. âI donât think Iâve been doing that.â
âHoonâŠâ You softly spoke up, but he interrupted you as soon as your mouth opened.
âI want to,â he admitted immediately. âI really do.â He wasnât lying. Every part of him still wanted to hear you confess, to keep you close, to selfishly pretend like nothing was wrong. But loving you like this was beginning to feel cruel, so instead, he took a small step back.
âWill youâŠâ He paused. âWill you meet me again another time?â
Your expression crumpled slightly in confusion. âWhen?â You whimpered. Sunghoon pondered for a moment, before he felt like he found the right answer.
âWhen Iâm finally able to see only you.â He smiled. He had walked you back to your dorm, letting the silence loom over the both of you. He left you with an adjustment to your scarf and an endearing pat on your head.
That night, when he slept, he dreamt of your funeral.
The sky had been gray that day, with cumulonimbus clouds blocking any trace of sun. Just as your death had obstructed the access to the light of his life. People were crying around him. Jake had been sobbing openly beside Jay, shoulders shaking violently as he kept wiping at his face with trembling fingers, but Sunghoon remembered standing there completely still.
He hadnât believed it yet.
Even as your framed photograph sat in front the altar. Even as your parents bowed their heads. Even as people whispered about how young you were. Even when he received consolations from everyone, telling him about how much you loved him. He remembered thinking absurdly as he stared at your altar.
How could you look so happy when his entire world had just ended?
The question echoed through the dream as Sunghoon stood frozen before your altar. Then slowly, memory after memory began surfacing around him. The first night you basked in your love after moving into your apartment, cuddling together so tightly that separating you guys wouldâve been like pulling magnets apart. The night where you comforted him after his research symposium when he felt like he was the biggest failure in the world. The mundane moments where you laughed at him after burning rice and the soft moments where you whispered âI love youâ so much that it was like you were reaching a quota.
The memories came so quickly that they stopped hurting individually. Instead, they melted together into something warm and alive. And suddenly, Sunghoon understood something he had been too devastated to realize before, that your death wasnât the biggest thing about you. Your life was.
Not the funeral or grief, but just you as you were. The way you smiled, laughed, cried, and loved. The way you existed so brightly that even now, after death, you still filled every corner of him. Tears finally slipped down his face in the dream, but he wasnât drowning in them anymore.
And standing there in the stuffy funeral home, Sunghoon quietly laughed to himself. âYouâd be so mad that everyoneâs crying this much,â he murmured. And he could hear the echoes of your voice scolding him for being so torn up when he should be moving onto better things because he was so young (just as you were.) The thought made him smile through his tears. Your memory no longer felt like a wound splitting open inside him. It felt like hands pressed gently around his heart.Â
And when Sunghoon finally opened his eyes, he was no longer standing in the funeral home. He was home, in his apartment. Morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, warm gold spilling across hardwood floors and untouched, uncleaned furniture. The silence was familiar now. It wasnât as sharp and reverberating against emptiness like it used to be, but quiet in the way winter mornings were quiet.
For a long moment, he just layed on the couch. The blanket you used to complain about because it âshed fuzz everywhereâ was still draped over his body. One of your hair ties still sat around his wrist from weeks ago. The apartment still carried traces of you in every corner, soft remnants of a life that had once intertwined with his so naturally that even death couldnât fully unravel it. Sunghoon slowly sat up after a while. For the first time since you died, the ache in his chest did not immediately make him want to chase after you. It only made him miss you.
A framed photo caught his eye from across the room. A snippet of a beach date where you both were smothered in sand and shattered seashells. He remembered that day now without feeling like his ribs were caving inward. He remembered it and smiled.
The sunlight continued pouring into the apartment little by little, warming spaces that had long felt frozen over. Sunghoon looked toward the empty side of the couch beside him. Then quietly, he whispered your name into the stillness, but for the first time, it wasnât a plea to the Heavens.Â
Winter took you from him, and Sunghoon spent the cold months treating his grief like something sacred, afraid that healing meant betraying you. But Spring came quietly, melting ice from sidewalks and blooming flowers through the cracks, and he finally learned that acceptance didn't mean loving you less.
Youâve been having strange dreams lately.
They felt so vivid, so clear to your vision that it felt like you could reach out and touch them. In these dreams, Jakeâs cute nerdy friend, Sunghoon, was in them. He was in all of them, actually.
Visions of Sunghoon and you, on a date sipping on cola floats together. Visions of you both curled up in the library cubicle, giggling and sharing secrets instead of being productive. But oddly enough, he wasnât wearing his thick-rimmed glasses and features grew into a more mature version, with a stronger jawline and deeper eyes. In these dreams, you could see the warmth in his eyes, hear the sounds of his soft laughter, and feel the intimacy of his affection.
Sometimes, the dreams were absurdly specific. Like mundane captures of you both arguing in the grocery store over what meat to buy, snapshots of an apartment youâve never stepped foot in, and images that you donât remember taking. Sometimes, the dreams hurt. They echoed with the sound of anguished cries that made your chest ache when you woke up, made you feel empty like something was hollow from inside and like you were missing something that mattered so dearly yet you couldnât remember.Â
All he was to you was a boy in your Chem discussion and Jakeâs close friend, so why did your dreams think differently, as if he was the most important person in your life?
You went to the library one night with Jake, and Sunghoon came later, only to end up crying as soon as he saw you. And for some reason, your heart signaled to your mind that, maybe he was, for some reason, because your chest began to ache with an odd sense of familiarity and endearance. So, it was only natural that you began to form a crush on him. But sometimes, your feelings felt deeper than just a mere crush, as if your feelings had roots that stretched somewhere your thoughts couldnât reach.
You began hanging out with Sunghoon so much that you barely saw Jake anymore. Not that the Australian boy complainedâ after all, he was too busy trying to survive whatever war engineering majors had to go through that he didnât even have time to hang anymore. But the more frequent your hangouts were, the more frequent the dreams were. You dreamt of tiny domestic things, like him stealing bites of your food and folding laundry terribly while you laughed at him. Falling asleep on his shoulder during movie nights. Listening to him hum quietly in the kitchen while making late-night ramen.
Eventually, you stopped trying to suppress what your heart already accepted. You liked him. (Maybe too much for someone you technically barely knew.)
So when the wintry season hit its peak, you saw Sunghoon again after texting him to meet you near the cafe where he initially rejected you. You both still hung out, but after that morning when you failed to confess properly, he seemed different. He looked lighter and full of life. Before, he seemed like a shell that was carrying an invisible burden that you couldnât begin to understand. But now, he acted naively, as if there was nothing in the world that could dare drag him down.
âHoon?â you called softly. He turned toward you immediately, expression warming the second he saw you approach. He smiled widely and adjusted his glasses. It was obvious he took some time to look good, with his hair styled up and his fashion seemingly taken from another closet. (Jayâs, you presumed. You heard his roommate had good fashion taste.)
âHey, Y/N! Why did you want to meet me here?â He asked cheerfully.
You smiled as your fingers tightened around the straps of your bag before you finally blurted, âIâve been having dreams about you.â His expression froze, and his eyebrows knitted together so adorably. You swallowed hard as you continued abruptly, realizing how bad that couldâve sounded. âNot wet dreamsâ shit, I mean, likeâ Theyâre weirdly specific. Like⊠really specific.â You laughed awkwardly. âLike dreams of us. Together. DatingâŠâ You shyly trailed off.
Sunghoon stared at you silently, kindly waiting for you to finish as he listened intently. âAnd sometimes,â your voice softened, âtheyâre sad.â Something flickered painfully across his face. You continued carefully, âIn one of them, you were crying. Really badly.â Your chest tightened at the memory. âAnd I remember thinking that I wanted to comfort you more than anything, like that day you cried to me in the libraryâŠâ
The breeze carried the scent of frost between you both. Sunghoonâs eyes began glossing over as he watched you, looking conflicted and a bit more confused. âI donât really understand why this is happening.â You smiled faintly despite your nerves. âSoâŠâ You laughed softly.
âMaybe this is crazy, but I think I like you, Park Sunghoon. Do you want to go out with me?â You shyly asked. His mouth fell agape as his eyes widened.
âYouâ You like me? Like me, as in Park Sunghoon?â He sputtered out in disbelief, pointing a gloved hand at himself. You giggled and nodded.
âYes, you idiot,â you laughed, cheeks warming from how genuinely stunned he looked. âHow many Park Sunghoons do you think I know?â You teased, tilting your head to the right. His lips parted as stutters spilled from them unintentionally. And then, to your complete shock, his eyes immediately began watering.
âH-Hoon?â you gasped. âOh my god, are you crying again?!â
âAâ Again? When did Iâ snnfffhâ When did I ever cry in front of you?â He choked out, sniffling away the snot that began to run down his philtrum, his voice cracking into two. He ripped his glasses off quickly, furiously wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. You burst into laughter at how offended he sounded despite the tears visibly collecting on his lashes. Sunghoon groaned softly under his breath, embarrassed, before hiding his face behind one hand.
âThis is so humiliating,â he muttered miserably, âYesâ God, a million times yesâ I want to go out with you. Please go out with me,â his voice curved into a plea. You giggled, slotting your body into his to form a warm lock of an embrace.
â vampire!enhypen x fem!reader ; fluff, falling in love, love at first sight; mentions of death and grief (sunghoon); 6.1k, not proofread whoops
synopsis: if there's one thing one should know about the life of a vampire, it's that it gets lonely. they don't get attached, it just ends up in pain. however, no one realises that falling in love is not something they can avoid, no matter how hard they try, no matter how much they were warned to avoid giving their hearts to a mortal. in the end, love finds you in the most unexpected ways, creeping up on you until it consumes you entirely. (possibly part 1/4)
L.H ìŽíŹìč
oh poor lover boy, he yearns for a lover like no other! yes, being turned with your friends leaves you with company, but nothing beats a soulwrenching connection that leaves your heartstrings soaring in excitement. every time he sees a couple out, holding hands, lovingly gazing into each otherâs eyes, stealing kisses that result in giggles from both: he wants that. but he knows how difficult it would be, his friends warned him over and over again to not let his heart lead him into pain.
he swears he didnât mean to, really! itâs just so convenient that the library is open day and night, he cantâ help going back. it offers him the sense of lost normality he misses, being around otherâs, wandering through the neverending rows of books; just existing. so when he seeks for a quiet spot to get comfortable with his current pick, he didnât expect to run into you.
eyes flying over the pages, your nose almost touches the book pages. heeseung mentally thanks his vampire traits for making him move as lightly and unnoticeable as a feather while he simply just stares at you. he swears that if he had a heartbeat it would go absolutely berserk. if it hadnât been the loud thump of a clumsy overworked student dropping his bookstack, the staring would've probably continued for another hour.
your head snaps up, eyes scanning for the source of the sudden noise. but before you get to, your eyes land on this absolutely gorgeous looking guy who doesnât seem to be interested in the noise at all. instead heâs justâŠstaringâŠat you.
âuhhh,â your voice trails off as you try and think of ways to figure out what exactly is happening and how to get out of the awkward situation. heeseung snaps out of his haze and straightens his shoulders
âsorryâ, he quickly mutters, âwas just looking for a quiet spot.â he turns, closing his eyes, mentally cursing himself. what the fuck just happened?
âthereâs enough space for two, you know?â
he stops in his tracks, slowly turning to face you again.
âhuh?â
you giggle and heeseung feels the air being knocked out of his lungs. did your eyes justâŠsparkle?
âif you want you can come sit with me,â you say âi wouldnât mind some company.â
âyeah.â thatâs all he manages to breathe out. he moves, mind racing of where exactly to sit, how close is too close? but then again he doesn't want to be rude and sit too far away. he plops down awkward on the seat next to you, the material much more cushiony than expected, leaving him to wobble a little towards you.
âsorry,â he mumbles, facing the floor. even after hundreds of years, he swears that his body sometimes doesn't realise that he is incapable of blushing anymore.
not trusting his face, his eyes wander towards you, rather to the book in your hands. he smiles, recognising the title and author.
âyou got to the part where she ends up in the hidden library?â
your eyes widen âthe what?!â frantically, your hands flip through the pages.
heeseung chuckles, if only you knew that he was the one to tell his old friend to put that spin in the book. if only you knew about the candle wax and tea stains on the hundreds of drafts he has flipped through.
âit happens after the harbour incident,â he adds, âabout halfway through?â
âright, rightâŠâ your voice trails off. âi was justâŠâ more frantic flipping, âbut why would she even be there?â
it's been centuries, yet heeseung has never encountered something as fascinating to look at as you.
âah, i wouldn't want to spoiler it, but trust me it's gonna blow your wind.â
your head whips around. âwhy would you say that?! oh my god there's a good three hundred pages left,â you whisper yell at him. â what's gonna happen, i thought i had it figured out!â defeated, your head thumps back against the wall.
âdidn't mean to send you into full spiral,â he says while giving you the most devastating grin known to man. this earns a sigh from you.
âoh iâll be fine,â you say, hand dramatically finding its way to your forehead. âi shall just suffer until i get to that part.â and with that you loll your head to side, feigning unconsciousness. oh heeseungâs a goner. within minutes you have interwoven yourself into his heartstrings.
the next hour flies by, but not a word of as read. instead, the two of you find yourself in the middle of a full breakdown of a poetry collection, one that neither of you thought was known by many.
âi swear it's such a good piece of literature and yet it was simply ignored! all because she was in the shade of her shitty husband, his writing sucks!â, you whisper yell. heeseung nods frantically, âif you compare his fourth volume to her first poem, it's literally the same! he blatantly just stole it from her and used it for the first half.â
âfucking menâ, you mumble, earning another laugh from him.
you look at him, really look at him. gosh, he was handsome. it was a little unfair how he looked like that and have such good taste in literature. âi've never seen you around here,â you say.
âoh so you make sure the library guardian, keeping track who comes and goes?â
you roll your eyes, giving his arm a slight push. âno, i just come here all the time and i know pretty much all the regulars, or at least i've seen them. but i've never seen you before.â
âmust've not looked hard enough,â he responds, âor maybe i'm just too good at hiding.â
âwell i'm glad you came out of hiding.â
his brain short circuits. he desperately tries to find the words, any words to say to you, but he's gone completely blank.
âsorry, that was weird.â you chuckle nervously, playing with the rings on your finger.
âno!â he practically yells, before shrinking back down. âi mean, no it wasn't, i just⊠i don't know i didn't expect that.â
a pause.
âbut i'm glad i came out of hiding too, you're fun to talk toâ.
the smile that spreads on your face could compete with the sun, heeseungs convinced of that. oh he's in so much trouble.
P.J ë°ìą ì±
composed. logical. calm. those three words probably describe jay the best. emotions get controlled with logic and is it logical to have a lover who you'll eventually outlive? no. in fact, it's the furthest away from it. sure, he enjoys a good romcom every now and then (heeseung forces him to watch them, though he'd never admit that) but it just doesn't tug at his heartstrings.
the only thing that gets him though, is art. no words, just the sheer atmosphere of paint strokes along the canvas. whether it's a known piece or a hidden gem found in the quiet corners of a little valley, jay will always stop and admire them. his place is full of painting, carefully collected over the years, created by artists all over the world. so of course he finds himself at the local art gallery showcasing pieces of independent artists.
the place is was small, fitting no more than twenty people. hushed voices mutter enthusiastically about the artwork, none of them even noticing him slip in. his eyes travel over the walls. big canvases with bright colours and bold strokes stare back at him. he slowly makes his way through the crowd, not stopping by any painting, only looking. turning the corner, he almost missed it.
the painting was no bigger than a page. black and grey tones swish together, dissolving into each other. two people, interwoven. it's messy, but not ugly. jay steps closer, bending slightly down to get a better look at it. one of the figures had a face. the rest wasâŠbarely detailed.
he notices a presence close by and turns his head.
a woman, around his age, well the age he looks like, watches him with curious eyes.
âare you the artist?â
your eyes widen a little. âyes,â you breathe out after a second. âit's mine. i mean, i made it. â
he turns back to the painting. âis this you?â he points at the figure with the detailed face. hot flushes rush up your spine, creeping up your neck.
âyeah.â
he hums.
none of you say anything for a good while.
âis there are reason why the other person is unrecognisable?â
âit's a bit of a sob story,â you reply with a laugh.
âwell now you've got me intrigued.â
ârightâŠwell i've always wanted, or more i hoped that there's this one person that justâŠmorphs into me. not me as a person, but my life, my structures, just completely tangle themselves into my life and stay. i want the concept of a soulmate to be real so deeply, it would make me feel less pathetic to keep longing for sometime i'm not even sure exists. and that's why the other face, the other person, has no details. i don't know if they exist, putting a face to it would limit my chances of finding them i think, i don't want to look for a face, i want to look for a feeling.â
now that, jay didn't expect. what he also didn't expect, was the slight pressure in chest that he couldn't name.
âit's silly, right?â
âno, no it's admirable.â
that makes you turn. âwhat?â
âbeing that open with your feelings, it's admirable. i'd argue that most people would rather jump than say that to a total stranger.â
it was your turn to be stunned. who on earth was this guy?
âhow much?â
âhm?â
âfor the painting?â
âoh.â you were left stunned, again.
âwait, is it sold already, if so-â
âit's not.â you interrupt him. âit's not sold, i just didn't expect to sell it.â
his brows rise. âwhy wouldn't you?â
an awkward smile paints your face. âwellâŠi don't know, it's not much really. i'm not an artist, i just entered because my friend told me to push myself a little more out there.â
jay looks at the painting, then back at you. âout of all the people here, i think your art is the most soulful piece i've seen.â you open your mouth to subject, but he keeps talking, âand no, you cannot argue against me. this is my opinion. i like your art. please, if you're willing to sell it i'd love to give it a new home.â
this wasn't how you expected your thursday night to end. you thought that you would stand in your reserved corner, awkwardly smiling back at passing viewers. not this man standing in front of you. this man that you can't read since he scares you. why would he care so much? about the painting, the story, you.
jay can practically see your gears turning while you just stare at him. it gives him time to take a proper look at you without it being weird. your face, it looks different in the painting, moreâŠdull. how could you not put it on the canvas, he's never seen someone shine this way, in a dimmed room that is.
âten.â
he snaps out of his thoughts.
âhundred?â
you laugh and shake your head. âno, ten. that's all i want.â
âwhy ten?â
âten's the price of my go-to menu down the road.â
that earns a smile out of him. âfine, but only if i can buy it for you.â
you grin back at him, and he feels that unfamiliar feeling in his chest again. the tingle.
"deal."
S.J ìŹìŹì€
probably one of jakeâs favourite memories in his (very long vampiric) life was his first encounter with a dog. if someone would've told him that there was another living breathing thing on earth that reciprocates his joy and enthusiasm, he wouldn't have believed them. a bouncing ball of energy, eagerly awaiting pets while running in circles around your legs; oh jake was in heaven every single time.Â
although heâd never admit it, the fluffy companions fill what void a nonexistent love life left. sure, there was the occasional flirt, but it never went further, he made sure of that. what good would it do? it will all end in pain and heartbreak anyways. so whenever he feels the ache in his chest expand, he visits the local shelter. today was one of those days. for any other occasion he wouldn't have left his comfortable bed in the early morning hours, but this? this was different.
pockets full with treats he enters, instantly welcomed by multiple barks and wagging tails. heâs had many many talks with his friends as to why exactly he couldn't just adopt them all, yet he was tempted every time.Â
he was just about to enter the room with the newly born puppies when he heard a screech. a human screech. not finding its source inside he made its way outdoors and what a sight awaited him.Â
seven dogs running in circles, their long leashes practically mummifying the poor woman desperately trying to gain back control.Â
hair sticking up like a birdsnest, he was barely able to make out her features until a gust of wind blew by. jake could've sworn he was in a movie. time slowed, the sun hit your face and he was greeted by the most beautiful smile he has ever seen.Â
âoreo, for the love of everything- no donât do that spike geez how do i-â.
oh, right. instead of standing around he should probably help.Â
âwait, let me,â he steps forward. grabbing one of the leashes he attempts to regain control of the situation, but he forgot one thing.seven sensitive dog noses suddenly started sniffing the deliciously tempting treats. and before either of you realised what was about to happen, the dogs now circled him as well.Â
you couldn't enjoy your short-lived freedom, as you felt the leashes tug around your calves and before you knew it you started toppling over towards the boy in front of you. there was an attempt to save the situation but you eventually found yourself in an entangled mess on the floor.Â
paws hitting your back, you lift your head to look at your sort of saviour.Â
âhi,â you smile sheepishly.
jake just stares at you dumbfoundedly.Â
âiâm y/n.â
he blinks. âiâm jake.â
for a second you just stare at each other before erupting into a fit of giggles.Â
âalright, hang on,â he manages to get out in between laughter. âlet me get the blue and green leash first, those seem to be our main culprits.âÂ
after a game of leash tetris you both find yourselves upright again.Â
âthat was fun,â you exclaim âthanks for saving me.â
âno worries, pretty girls should never be left alone in their despair.â
as soon as the words left his mouth he realised what he had just said. he didn't even mean to flirt, it just happened.Â
âwell lucky me, getting saved by my pretty boy in shining armour,â you shoot back, making your way inside, leaving a flustered jake outside. quickly gathering the dogs, he rushed after you.Â
âsooooo,â he starts, âare you new here? i usually know all workers and volunteers.â
âiâm filling in for my friend, theyâre busy and iâve always wanted to give this a tryâ, you say, rubbing a pups belly.Â
jake watches you dote on the little furball. âwill you come back tomorrow?â
you look up at him. âmaybe, why?â
not having thought his question through, he stutters out a quick âwell, well you know in caseâŠin case you have problems with the leashes again!â smooth save, he thinks to himself. âmaybe i can help you tomorrow, less disaster.â
âitâs a date.â
his brain stops for a second. wait what?!
P.S ë°ì±í
love isn't how they tell it in fairytales. sunghoon learned that very early on. he was young, heart seemingly bigger than the world, wearing it on his sleeve. and why wouldn't he? everybody adores him, the helpful boy of the town, always happy to be a helping hand. so when the girl with the short hair keeps waiting for him to show up every morning, of course it sets his heart to race as quick as the riverbed flows down the hill. kisses were stolen over open windows, between the bustling crowds of the daily market and under the stars.Â
but this was no fairytale. there won't be a house waiting on top of the hill, no kids running around to greet him after a long day of work. no, fate is a cruel companion and turning is an even crueler curse.Â
the feeling overwhelmed him, he didn't know what was happening. it could've been anyone, he wished it had been someone else. but it was her his teeth sunk into that first hunger, the worst one they say. there was no way he could've stopped himself, the addicting taste has a habit of erasing all logic. he still barely remembers what happened, after all that time it's still a blurry memory. there's bits and pieces, jungwon pulling him up right, jay rushing to the body in from of him. and the blood, oh there was so much blood. he still remembers the sickening euphoria rushing through his veins. wrong, all of it felt so utterly wrong.Â
âexcuse me?â
suddenly sunghoon snaps back into reality.Â
the graveyard, yes, that's where he was.Â
âuhm, could youâŠmove a little?â
right, there had been a voice. he turns and finds himself looking at a woman, a woman whose eyes were swollen and red. Â
âi just quickly want to change the water,â you sniffle, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.Â
âoh, right!âÂ
the flowers. that was the reason he stopped at this grave in particular. it wasn't new, he has been seeing it for a good year or two. but every single time he came here, it was the only one adored by the same lilacs. never changing, as if too, immortal.Â
he watches you pour out the murky green water onto the grass. for the past year or so he's been wondering who is pouring so much love into keeping this grave so vibrant. and here you are now, you looked, well you looked like every other human but there was something, he just couldn't name it. maybe it was how the late afternoon sun peaked through your hair, or how you oh so careful wiped the frost of the leaves.Â
you turn, looking at him now. âi'm sorry, but did you know her?â right, he's been standing in front of the grave of an absolute stranger.Â
âno,â he breathes out, âi just like looking at the flowers. they're beautiful.â
this earns him a smile from you. a genuine one, one that reaches you eyes and makes them crinkle slightly. âlillie's are her and my favourite,â your smile drops. âwell, they were.â
âi'm sure she loves them still.âÂ
you hum. a beat of silence. âdo you believe in life after death?âÂ
sunghoon exhales deeply, a loaded question. âno, but i believe we carry the love we have for people in us, even if that means it's only under the ground.â
you don't say anything, just stare at the flowers in front of you. he searches for the right words to say. why was it suddenly so difficult for him to form a sentence? and why did he care so much about making you feel less alone? Â
"who did you lose?â
his head snaps up, eyes searching yours, but they were already focused on him.Â
âyou don't just say that without having buried someone before. we all need something to hold on to keep us sane while thinking about the big unknown.â
if only you knew that he has lost his sanity centuries ago. what does he have left? a cursed body, a never forgetting brain. but what he doesnât have is that little spark that you want to return; he stopped searching for it years and years ago.Â
âit's been so long, i barely remember it.âÂ
âliar,â you shoot back, the tiniest hint of a smile showing. â you hesitated too long, of course you remember.â
he breathes out a choked chuckle. âyou got me there.âÂ
âare they buried here?â
âno,â he pauses for a second, âi don't know where the grave is.â
that leaves you to be the silent one.Â
âsor-â âdonât be, it was a long time ago.â
you watch his eyes flicker between the flowerbeds. he looks nervous, like a little boy looking for his parents after his first day at school.Â
âwell, iâll be here on saturday. in case you suddenly remember more and need an open ear.âÂ
a smile softens his features. âsaturday it is.âÂ
it wasnât much. there were no big fireworks, no racing heart, no shaky hands and stutters. instead, there wasâŠcalmness. and itâs been a long time since he felt calm.
K.S êčì ì°
if there was a party on campus, there's a 99.9% chance you can find sunoo there. getting turned while being young and beautiful has its perks; you're in for a lifetime of compliments and suitors practically begging for your attention. at first, he was flattered. yes, he was different now, but this was normality. they didn't realise heâs different. but the fantasy started to crumble when the dates were planned, lies had to be made up. so he distanced himself from it all, not physically, but mentally. small talk was the furthest it goes, hushed kisses were exchanged, maybe even between entangled bodies; but never further. and he accepted it, he really did. he wasn't lonely, he had six friends who stuck together like glue and people gathering around him as if he were a magnet as soon as he entered the room.Â
tonight was no different. the room was filled with people, the smell of smoke and practically buzzed with excitement over the end of exams. red cup in his hands, filled with whatever unholy concoction the redhead who handed it to him came up with, he looked around.Â
the crowd blended into a mass of entangled bodies, arms waving around, swaying to the beat of music. he spotted the regulars, the same two handfuls of people who showed up to every single one of these. among them, yumi; all pastel pink hair and fiery attitude. she spotted sunoo and threw her hand up, enthusiastically waving it around like a windmill.
âsunoo, sunoo, sunno!â she yelled across the room, bouncing up and down.Â
he makes his way across the room, almost spilling his drink about four times. as soon as he reached the other side, yumi squeezed him almost to death. âoh its been forever,â she exclaimed dramatically. Â
chuckling he responds, âitâs been like what, two weeks?â
âyes, thatâs basically an eternity at our age.â
our age.
âright, oh my god before i forget, today is sooooo special,â she turns and pulls someone closer, "i'm glad youâre here to witness it!â
now that's got his attention. âoh?â he questions, brows furrowed.
âsunoo, may i introduce you to the one, the only, the majestic y/n.â
his eyes moved to the left and there you were. hands nervously intertwined, eyes scanning the room. look at me, look at me, sunoo thinks.Â
yumi nudges your arm, âhey, earth to y/n.â
your eyes move to the man in front of you and you kind of forget how to breathe for a second. my goodness how can someone look like that?!
âhi,â he reaches out his hand, âiâm sunoo.â
it shouldn't be legal to have a smile this devastating, you think to yourself before taking his hand and giving it a small shake. âi know, i mean iâm y/n. yumi has told me lots about you.âÂ
âgood things,â yumi chimes in.Â
sunoo grins, "suspicious."
you watch them bicker back and forth. yes, yumi has told you about sunoo. sunoo who always has an open ear for everyone, who always had the right comforting thing to say. sunoo, who she kept pestering you about to meet, since he supposedly was your type. sunoo, who definitely is your type. sunoo who, you realise, is looking directly at you right now.
âhuh?â you snap out of your thoughts.
âsee, i was right,â yumi exclaimed triumphantly.
utterly confused, you look between your best friend and the boy in front of you.
âright about what?â
âthat itâs a good thing i dragged you out of the house tonight! otherwise you wouldn't have been able to actually meet sunoo and you would've sat outside all alone.â
âso you would've let me freeze out in the cold all by myself?â you dramatically hit your hand on your chest.
âwell lucky you, iâm here tonight,â sunoo says, âand iâm in need for a break from all these people.â
you turn to look at yumi, who has already backed up a good bit, giving you a double thumbs up.
the cold air instantly hits your lungs and you wrap your scarf closer around your neck. both of your breaths dance in little clouds alongside each other. neither of you say anything for a good while.
âso,â he starts, âwhat did she bribe you with?â
you smile, âlemon and blueberry cake.â
he inhales sharply, âgood choice, good choice.âÂ
âyeah.â
another beat of silence settles between the two of you. before you get the chance to overthink possible topics for smalltalk he asks, âdid you really come tonight because of me?âÂ
hot flashes creep up your neck, âwellâŠâ you fidget with the strands of your scarf. ânot really, but she kept insisting that i just have to meet you.â
he gives you a small nudge, âiâm glad you agreed to come tonight. and that i got to meet you. she was right.â
âright about what?â
another smirk spreads on his face. âshh, that's a secret.â
âhey!â now it was your turn to nudge him, ânot fair i was honest with you.â
âno can do,â he says, throwing his hands up in defeat. you grumble, shooting arrows with your eyes at the boy standing next you. sunoo swears his heart was breaking the record of somersaults within a single second.Â
truth be told, as soon as yumi told him about that mysterious best friend of hers he had been intrigued. she insisted that the two of you would just click instantly, which he doubted. those statements never turn out to be true. before tonight he simply wanted to see who you were but now? now he cannot help himself wanting to talk to you the entire night. he has met so many people over the last centuries, yet not a single one of them has ever had him this mesmerised.Â
âpinky promise it's nothing bad,âÂ
staring at the boy in front of you and his extended pinky you can't help the small grin appearing on your face.Â
âyou need to know that i'm very serious about pinky promises.â
âoh, trust me,â, he puts his other hand over his heart, âi am a man of honour and my word.â
your pinkies interlink. his hands were soft; very soft. kind of âi-don't-want-to-let-go-of-of-your-handâ soft.Â
âit's a promise then,â he whispers, tightening his grip around your pinky.
âit's a promise.â, you whisper back.Â
Y.J ìì ì
amongst his friends, jungwon had been the one to immediately erase any traces of romance. a spark crackles and he dump as whole waterfall on it. heâs fine with it, at least that's what he tells himself. but this life gets lonely, so when he awoke shortly after midnight he just couldnât be alone. aimlessly he wandered through the city. its been a good few years since he moved here; he liked it here.Â
before he realises he find himself in a part of town he really ends up in. business is usually on the other side of the river. he almost turned back around when he saw something, saw her. moving with the grace of a feather, sweeping by tables of scattered customers. suddenly, his night got a little more interesting.
the rain aggressively splatters against the window of the dimly lit coffee shop. a small handful of customers dozed in their seats, letting themselves be lulled to sleep by the sound of rain. you, on the other hand, move quickly. it almost seemed like a miracle, this job. having an odd sleep pattern in today's job market is no easy thing. so when the barista at your go-to study cafe told you about an open position, you didn't hesitate for a second. 24 hours of coffee, the closest you could get to heaven on this planet. while the world sleeps, you knead doughs, carefully decorate pastries, move amongst the tables, refill cups or simply catch up with the regulars. it was a peaceful routine, nothing extraordinary but it was enough.Â
tonight, however, was supposed to interrupt the routine. your head lifts as you hear the rain getting louder. a man steps in, broad shoulders, face covered by the hood of his jacket. heavy steps approach you and you clutch the coffee grinder a little tighter. he lifts his hood and he looksâŠnormal. well not ânormalâ normal but also not serial killer or robbing the store kind of scary.Â
his eyes however, were a totally different story. sharp and calculating. and they're not studying the menu, no they're studying you.Â
you force your customer service smile on. âhi, what can i get you?â
âespresso, two of them.â a pause. âplease.â
âcoming right up.â you move behind the coffee machine and your hands move on their own.Â
âfor here or to go?â
his brows furrow "aren't you closing soon?â
you chuckle, âweâre open all day around.â
jungwon looks around the shadowy room. âcozy,â he mumbles, âthen itâs for here.â
âalright,â you hum back, âgo sit, iâll find you.â
you watch the mysterious man sit in the corner next to the main window. itâs odd, usually no one comes in at this hour and decides to stay. usually you just get the tourists trying to kill time for their early morning flights, maybe the occasional business people coming in for a nightly restock of caffeine. but he fits into neither of those categories. no, heâs different.Â
the smell of freshly brewed coffee hits your nose and you snap out of your thoughts. grabbing a tray, you plop the two small cups on and make your way over to him.
âhere you go.â another smile, less forced this time.Â
âthanks.â
you turn to leave, but stop in your tracks. âwhy two?â
âhm?â
âwhy two espressos, why not just ask for a double?â
a quick laugh escapes him. âi forgot.â
now it was your turn to be confused.
âi forgot that i can just order a double.âÂ
you tilt your head, taking another good luck at the man sitting in front of you.Â
âyour whole face just changed,â you stated.
taking another sip, he mumbles into the drink âwhatever that means.â
âalright grumps, go back to your sulky self.â, you mutter back, returning behind the counter.
blue ink spread on the page, as you keep pressing down the pen. it was remarkable how your professor manages to formulate the most confusing sentences.Â
âwhy do you work here?â a sudden voice interrupts your .
jolting up in surprise, you hold your pen in front of you.Â
jungwon puts his hands up in defeat, âeasy there, put the weapon down.âÂ
you glare at him. âdont creep up on people like that.â
âsorry,â an apologetic expression on his face, a seemingly genuine one, âi was just curious. i mean its the middle of the night, you're all here by yourself and it looks like you have more than work to do.âÂ
a sigh escapes you. âwell some of us are unfortunately nocturnal.âÂ
now that peaked his interest.Â
ânocturnal? how?â
ânot actually nocturnal,â you explain, â but my brain just works best at night and i have some sleep issues so everyone just says im nocturnal.â
he hums, âmakes two of us.â
âdo explain, dear stranger.â
jungwon hesitates. he canât just say âoh iâm a vampire. that's just how we are!âÂ
âah, it's a long story.â
âiâm here up until 6,â you answer, âin case you need an open ear.âÂ
âwhy?â
âwhy what?â you counter.Â
âyou don't know me, why offer? and don't say you need the tips, youâre not that kind of girl.â
âoh?â you raise your brows. âand you know this because?â
jungwon shrugs âjust a hunch.âÂ
you smirk, âa correct one. to answer your question, nobody walks in here in the dead of night without having a heavy heart.âÂ
there was something about the way you said it that just made his heart clench a little. genuine care. he can't remember the last time he had a genuine conversation with someone other than his closest six friends.Â
this was dangerous, this was everything he told himself not to indulge in. but right now, he didn't care. right now, he just wanted to keep talking to the pretty girl at the coffee shop.Â
N.R è„żæ ć
itâs a shame that vampires cannot be photographed, because the fashion world would scream with joy if nishimura riki's fashion over the hundreds of years were ever to be recorded and published. whether it was the ever evolving linen shirt, ruffled silks, the occasional lace stocking, woolcoats, waist trainers, frocks or knitted sweaters, he has worn it all. and he looked damn good while wearing them.Â
to him, its a game of puzzles, of anticipation. what exciting invention will come next? which fabric will be of the next trend?
unfortunately for him, immortality doesnât come with a magical closet that lets you keep all of your clothes acquired in his very long life. thatâs precisely why he adores second hand stores. sure, sometimes youâre greeted with fabrics of questionable smell and design, but every once in a while you can find a true hidden gem. once, riki even managed to find one of his long lost embroidered leather gloves and he almost teared up.Â
today was his favourite day of the week; weekly hunt at his favourite second hand store. what makes it his favourite you ask? well, itâs open at midnight on one special night â tonight.Â
the room was practically buzzing with excitement, muffled voices screeching over the occasional lucky find. he slowly makes his way through the crowd, stopping every now and then to closely inspect an item.Â
and then he spots it. in front of everyone, right out in the open was the most breathtaking coat he has ever seen. a deep burgundy, loose cut, but with a tailored waist; definitely worth adding to his collection.Â
he reached for the clothing hanger, but instead of the cold metal he was met with soft warm skin. looking to his left, his eyes meet with an equally surprised pair.
âsorry-â both of you start at the same time, throwing you into a fit of giggles.Â
oh.
oh no. what is happening to his chest?
âsorry,â he breathes again, trying to sort his racing thoughts. itâs been countless years, yet this was new. he just completely shut down.
a tap on his arm makes him come back to reality.
âyou okay?â worried eyes look up at him.Â
he blinks rapidly, what is going on?
âyea, sorry i justâŠzoned out there for a sec.â
you hurriedly rummage through your bag, pulling out your water. âi havent drunk from it yet?â
while it was your intention to help, riki only goes further and further into full-on panic mode. thankfully his body knew how to breathe on its own, because he wouldn't trust himself to rely on his own senses right now. okay riki, blink, breathe in, breathe out, he tells himself. you've done this millions of times, get yourself together man. itâs just a girl. a pretty girl, my goshâŠsheâs so pretty.
at the same time, youâre worried sick about the stranger, mentally cursing yourself for always skipping those âwhat to in case of a strokeâ videos. crooked smile? noâŠthat doesn't really fit. how do you ask a stranger to hold up their hands? gosh why is he blinking so rapidly?
âiâm so sorry,â riki finally manages to get out, âmustâve been the amount of people and the noise.âÂ
oh thank goodness he speaks, a visible sigh leaves you.Â
the boy in front of you chuckles, âdidnât mean to make you worry.â
âitâs fine,â you smile softly, âjust glad to see that you're okay. i don't have any food on me but you should grab a bite, you look a little pale.â
riki grins, if only you knew how hilarious that statement was with a little more background knowledge.
a sharp shriek pierces your ears. âholy shit, this is perfect.âÂ
two girls start bouncing up and down besides you. in their hands: the burgundy coat.
âsoooo,â riki starts âmidnight snack?â
âmidnight snack,â you nod back with a smile.
neither of you got the coat, but you had a hunch that you gained something a lot more special.
âFour out of ten,â you say, casually flipping the page of your textbook without looking up.
Riki stops dead in his tracks, his arms still loosely wrapped around your shoulders from behind the couch. He blinks, his dark eyes narrowing as he processes the absolute audacity of your words.
âExcuse me?â His voice has that annoying, raspy quality to it that vibrates right against your shoulder blade. âFour? Iâm literally six-foot-plus of pure muscle, and I smell like your favourite perfume. That was at least an eight.â
âPoints deducted because...â you counter, tapping your pen against your chin thoughtfully. âYou leaned too much of your weight on me. Plus, your chin poked my head. Try harder next time, Nishimura.â
In reality, your heart is currently pounding so hard. Rikiâs hugs are, unfortunately, Godâs gift to humanity. He always radiates this so much heat, and his oversized hoodies always smell like a mix of clean linen and scent of the vanilla lip balm he steals from you. Itâs a miracle you haven't dissolved into a puddle on the hardwood floor.
But you would rather jump into a frozen lake than admit that to him. The boy already has an ego the size of Seoul; giving him a perfect score on day one would ruin all the fun.
Riki scoffs, letting go of you completely and stepping back. He crosses his arms, a petulant pout settling on his lips. âFine. You want to be meam? Just wait.â
The second attempt happens three days later, and itâs entirely unprovoked.
Youâre standing at the kitchen counter, aggressively trying to stab open a stubborn plastic seal on a container of strawberries. Suddenly, a pair of long, lean arms wrap firmly around your waist from behind, lifting you completely off your feet for a terrifying half-second before setting you back down.
Riki buries his face into the crook of your neck, his damp, post-shower hair cold against your skin. He holds you tight, trapping your arms against your sides, completely immobilizing you. Itâs heavy and solid and makes your stomach do a weird, fluttering flip that leaves you slightly breathless.
âWell?â he murmurs, his lips brushing against your collarbone as he speaks.
You swallow hard, staring blindly at the strawberries. âFive point five.â
Riki groans loudly, dropping his forehead against your shoulder. âAre you kidding me? I held you perfectly! No poking, no leaning!â
âToo aggressive,â you lie smoothly, your voice miraculously steady. âI felt like I was being tackled by a bear. A hug should be an embrace, Riki.â
He pulls away, glaring down at you with a look of frustration. His cheeks are dusted with a faint, pink flushâwhether from the heat of the shower or genuine annoyance, you canât tell, but itâs dangerously cute.
âYouâre doing this on purpose,â he accuses, pointing a finger at you. âMy hugs are flawless. Everyone says so.â
âOh? Everyone?â You arch an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. âWho is everyone?â
Riki opens his mouth to argue, shuts it, and huffs, turning on his heel to stomp back toward the living room. âNext time,â he calls out over his shoulder, âIâm breaking the scale.â
By Friday night, riki is on a mission. Youâre curled up on the edge of the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, shivering slightly.
Riki shifts beside you. Without a word, he reaches out, grabs the edge of your blanket, and pulls you toward him.
You donât even have time to protest before youâre dragged right into his lap.
This time, thereâs no teasing. No competitive smirk. Riki unfolds his long legs, tucking you securely between them so your back is pressed against his chest. He wraps his large hands around your middle, pulling you back until there is absolutely no space left between the two of you. He rests his chin gently on your shoulder, his breath warm against your ear, and just... holds you.
Itâs completely engulfing. He feels like a human shield against the cold, his chest rising and falling in a calming rhythm against your back. One of his hands moves slightly, his fingers tracing mindless circles over your covered hip, a soothing gesture that makes your entire body go heavy with comfort.
The trashy rom-com plays on the TV, but your world has narrowed down entirely to the overwhelming warmth of him. You let out a breath you didnât know you were holding, leaning your head back against his chest, completely defeated.
âSo,â Riki whispers after a long silence, his voice dropping into that quiet register that always makes your heart skip. âWhatâs the verdict?â
You stare at the TV screen, your face burning in the dim light. You want to say a two. You want to say a zero, just to see his face. But his fingers are still tracing those lazy circles on your hip, and he's so warm, and you really, really don't want him to let go.
âNine,â you mumble softly.
Riki pauses. You can feel the sudden shift in his posture, the way his chest puffs out slightly. âOnly a nine? What missing element could possibly keep me from a ten?â
You turn your head just enough to look at him, your nose brushing against his cheek. His eyes are wide and searching, completely devoid of his usual bratty arrogance. He just looks incredibly soft.
âYou havenât squeezed me yet,â you whisper.
A slow, breathless smile breaks across Rikiâs face, his dimples peeking out in the shadows. âEasy fix.â
He tightens his arms, burying his face into the side of your neck, squeezing you so close that you can feel the rapid, synchronized thumping of his heart against yours. Itâs perfect. Itâs a total ten, but as you close your eyes and let yourself melt into him, you decide youâll make him work for that final point for just a little bit longer.
đż. over the speakers: last day on earth by beabadoobee àż àż
product lables: time loop. fluff. college au. headcanon format. mini panic attack (?). not proofread, SORRY!
staff notes: just wanted to post this real quick bcs it goes with the fic im writing rn
spider!won who is always late to class despite the fact he could get to school faster than most with his abilitiesâand yet, he still chooses to sleep in.
spider!won who swore today would be different. he took the bus to campus this morning, running on three hours of sleep and a half frozen waffle, in hopes to be early. and that was the plan until an explosion happened on the other side of the city.
âso much for perfect timing,â he muttered under his breath. once the bus stopped, he ran to the nearest alley to change into his suit.
spider!won who would rather roll over and die than to admit that he was getting his ass kicked right now. this was a villain heâd never seen before and it creeped him outâbecause everything they touched warped.
spider!won who stupidly got too closeâhoping to end the fight once and for allâwas touched and the next he knew, everything went black.
spider!won who woke up sweating and out of breath, his heart pounding uncontrollably in his chest. he turned to silence the alarm on his phone when he saw the dateâtoday is yesterday.
spider!won who for the first time, decided to not to fight and went straight to school because whatever was happening was out of his control. which lead him to youâor in this case, against you because he ran straight into, knocking everything on the ground.
âshit⊠iâm so sorry,â he rushed the words out, before brushing past you. he was too embarrassed to help and too scared about everything happening.
spider!won who thought everything was over because nothing out of the ordinary happened, well, besides him repeating this day. he went to sleep that night, remembering to properly apologize the next day.
spider!won who heard the same alarm and saw the same date the next morning. he was already beginning to think this would never end.
spider!won who worked up the courage to speak to you again after he embarrassed himself on day one. he bumped into you just like the first time, causing your books drop on the ground.
ây/n⊠right?â he asked as he kneeled down to grab your books.
âwe have biology together, remember?â
âI know,â you smiled, grabbing the book from him. âwe sit right next to each.â
âohâ yeah⊠yeah i knew that,â he tripped on the words, because for some reason that slipped his mind.
âsure,â you laughed, already turning to leave. âsee you in class, won.â
spider!won who started to keep a close eye on you ever since. he memorized everything about youâyour schedule, your friend group, the way you laughed, what youâd pick off your plate at the dining hallâbecause that was the only thing keeping him sane.
spider!won who started to get close with you since that day. with everyday repeated was a new memory for you but an addition for him and that was more than enough.
spider!won who, fortunately against his will, started to fall for you. he found himself wondering a future with youâone with and without the mask.
spider!won who took you to his favorite arcade place, then to get pizza later that night, ignoring the tightness in his chest because only heâd remember the date.
spider!won who tried not to fall asleep because the day would just repeat again no matter what he didâbut of course, he still drifted away and woke up to the same day.
spider!won who couldnât keep up the façade anymoreâbreaking down in his room, back against the wall, clutching his shirt as he tried to gasp for airâbecause he felt like the world was slipping through his finger every repeat.
spider!won who found his was back to you every time. not caring whether you remembered him or the things you did together because heâd be happy to relive it all with you.
àšà§ Summary : You don't let people take care of you. You don't let people in. You've been fine on your own for years, and you'll be fine now, thank you. he shows up anyway. With congee he made before dawn, medication already sorted, a blanket from his backseat, and four years' worth of quiet, undemanding devotion you never asked for and never knew you needed. just tell me when you're not okay, he says. I want to take care of you. If you'll let me. You're starting to think you might let him.
àšà§ Pairing : anesthesiologist! Jake x traumasurgeon! reader
àšà§ Wordcount : 7.1K
àšà§ Song : Clues - Ashley Alisha
àšà§ Warning : STILL A SLOW BURN!! Jake highkey down bad, FLUFF!!, comedic (if you squint), co worker to a more closer co worker (idk) definetely a progress!, Jake sim talk you through it believer!
Part I Part II
The sterile scent of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of monitors usually act as a grounding force for you. You donât have time for distractions, and you certainly donât have time for men. Most of whom you find to be either arrogant or staggeringly incompetent.
Then there is Jake. Jake is the anomaly. An anesthesiologist with a level of competence that matches your own, but with a personality that is the polar opposite of your icy exterior. He is like a golden retriever in scrubs. Warm, relentlessly optimistic, and perpetually flirting with you. For years, you avoided him like a plague, dodging his playful winks and brushing off his attempts to bring you coffee. But over the last few months, the wall youâve built around yourself has started to develop cracks. His kindness isn't a performance; it is genuine. And God, he is good at his job.
The first sign was the headache.
It arrived on a Wednesday morning like an unwelcome houseguest. Dull and persistent, settling behind your eyes. You drank an extra cup of coffee, which was an objectively terrible idea, and went to work.
By Thursday, it had brought reinforcements. A low grade fever that you measured at home and immediately decided not to think about. A heaviness in your limbs that you attributed to back to back twelve hour shifts. A rawness at the back of your throat that you suppressed with sheer force of will and an unreasonable amount of zinc lozenges.
Friday was worse. The fever had climbed, and you knew this without measuring it. The cold that had begun in your throat had migrated, establishing territory in your chest, and every breath felt like running for laps. You moved through your morning rounds with the focused deliberateness of someone navigating difficult terrain.Â
It was Jake who noticed first, in the way that Jake noticed everything. He fell into step beside you at 9 AM without announcement, materializing at your left shoulder the way he always did, as if the space beside you was simply where he belonged. He was holding two cups of coffee, then he handed you one without a word.
You took it. Also, without a word. Because it was exactly how you took it, and fighting about it would require energy you didn't currently have.
"You're slower than usual," he said, matching your pace.
"I'm doing rounds, not running a sprint."
"But you're always faster than this."
His gaze remained fixed ahead, following the flow of staff moving through the hallway, but you knew better. Jake observed people the way other physicians monitored vital signs. Continuously, almost unconsciously, collecting information without appearing to. You had watched him do it with patients for years. You had simply never enjoyed being on the receiving end of it.Â
"How long have you been sick?"
"I'm not-"
"How long."
You cut a glance at him sideways. His profile was unhurried, pleasant even, but his jaw had that faint set that you had learned over four years meant he had already decided something and was waiting for you to catch up.
"Wednesday," you said, because lying to someone who could read a patient's vitals from across a room seemed like a waste of everyone's time.
Something moved through his expression. Quick and controlled, gone before you could fully name it.Â
"Three days."
"It's mild."
"Your color says otherwise."
"My color is fine."
He looked at you then, directly, with those dark eyes that had the deeply inconvenient quality of making you feel thoroughly examined. You held his gaze with the practiced neutrality you had spent years developing specifically for moments like this.Â
"Eat something before your first case," he said finally.
"I had coffee."
"That is not-" He stopped, almost a smile, a tad exasperation, some precise midpoint between them. "That is not food."
"Noted."
"Will you actually-"
"Jake." His name landed between you and him. You watched the small, involuntary thing it did to his expression, and filed it away, doing absolutely nothing about it for reasons you were not currently examining.
 "I'll eat something. Go prep your first case."
He looked at you for one more moment. Then he nodded, once, and peeled away down the corridor, and you watched him go for approximately two seconds before you looked back at the chart in your hands.
You did not eat something.
The collapse occurred at 2:47 PM, which you knew because you had been watching the clock above the OR doors. A habit, timing the close, the small professional satisfaction of a case finished cleanly and on schedule. You had just finished a thoracic case. A good one. Clean margins, minimal blood loss, the particular quiet triumph of work done exactly right. You were standing at the instrument table doing post op inventory when the floor made its decision.Â
The world simply tilted, unhelpfully and without warning, and your knees hit the floor before your brain had fully processed the sequence of events. You caught the edge of the table. You did not go all the way down.
"Hey-"
The voice arrived before the hands did, and then the hands were on your shoulders. Firm, unhesitating, already steadying before you'd fully registered their presence. Jake crouched in front of you, putting himself at your level with a deliberateness that felt almost aggressive in its calm, and looked at your face with an expression that bypassed every defense you had because you were currently too compromised to staff them.
"I'm fine," you said. Your voice had a quality you didn't recognize.Â
"You're on the floor."
"I'm kneeling. There's a-"
"There's not that much of a difference." He pressed the back of his wrist to your forehead and made a sound that you did not like at all. "You're burning up."
"I'm aware of my own temperature."
"Are you." Not a question. The same tone he used when a monitor reading didn't match the patient's presentation and he was already three steps ahead of the discrepancy. He looked at you for a long moment. The complete, unhurried attention, all of it on you, which was a profoundly unsettling amount of Jake Sim to be at the receiving end of when you were kneeling on an OR floor. "Can you stand?"
"Yes." A beat. "In a moment."
He didn't push. He stayed exactly where he was, hands still on your shoulders, and waited with the particular patience of someone who had decided that waiting was what the situation required. Around you, the OR had mobilized in an organized and efficient way, much like medical professionals do in response to unexpected events. But Jake was still watching your face, and you were too exhausted to perform distance.
"Okay," you said. "Help me up."
His arm went around your back. Solid and immediate. He got you to your feet and kept you there, and you were aware of the warmth of him. Something in your chest complicated that you were in no condition to investigate.
.
.
.
.
The nurse finished wrapping a blood pressure cuff around your arm and glanced between the two of you with poorly concealed curiosity. You pretended not to notice. Jake pretended not to notice. The nurse definitely noticed. Your blood pressure appeared on the monitor. Jake frowned. The nurse frowned. You frowned because everyone else was frowning.
"Well," the nurse said diplomatically, "that explains some things."
"It explains being dehydrated."
"It explains you need to go home.â
You looked at Jake. Jake looked suspiciously pleased that someone else had said it first. Traitor. The physician who eventually examined you confirmed what everyone already knew. Viral infection. High fever. Dehydration. Exhaustion. You listened from the examination table while the paper covering crinkled beneath you every time you shifted. The room felt too warm. Or perhaps you felt too warm. At this point, the distinction seemed largely theoretical.Â
The physician sighed.
"You fainted."
"I didn't faint."
"You collapsed."
"Technically-"
"Don't." The physician pointed at you. Then pointed toward the door. "Go home."
You looked toward Jake. A mistake. Because he was trying very hard not to smile. The expression transformed his entire face.Â
"Don't," you said.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"I really wasn't."Â
He absolutely was.
The physician looked between the two of you with the expression of a man who had many other patients and infinite reserves of patience. He clicked his pen.Â
"Someone should drive you home," he said, and looked at Jake in a way that suggested the casting decision had already been made and this was merely a formality. Jake straightened from the wall.
"I'll take her," he said. Easy. Certain. The tone of someone who had decided this forty minutes ago and had simply been waiting for the room to catch up.
You looked at the physician.
The physician looked at you with a compassionate expression, as if to say, 'You're not going to win, but I'm giving you a moment to come to the same conclusion.' You looked at Jake. Jake looked back. Completely unbothered by your looking, in the way he was always unbothered.
"Fine," you said.
.
.
.
.
.
The car was warm.
This was the first thing you registered when you lowered yourself into the passenger seat. You put your head back against the headrest, closed your eyes, and felt the warmth settle over you like a second blanket. The driver's door opened and closed. Jake's weight shifted the car slightly as he settled in. He didn't start driving immediately.
"I'm fine," you said.Â
âTechnically, if youâre doing just fine, you werenât here, maâam.âÂ
He held your gaze for one more moment, then faced forward and pulled out of the parking space. You closed your eyes again. The city moved past beyond your eyelidsâ you could feel it in the particular rhythm of the car, the stops and starts of traffic, the slight lean of turns. Normally, you would have been watching. Instead, you were doing nothing. You were, specifically, doing nothing and feeling terrible about neither of those things.Â
A shiver moved through you. Deep and involuntary. Your jaw was doing the thing; the specific, exhausting effort of keeping your teeth from chattering, which was a thing you hadn't had to manage since you were a child with the flu and your mother had pressed a warm cloth to your face and told you to sleep. The memory arrived without warning, with the particular vividness that high fever produced, and you pressed it back down.
"Hey."
"Mm."
"Look at me for a second."
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking. Wait, I have a blanket in my back seat."
You turned to look. There was, inexplicably and without apology, a neatly folded blanket on his back seat. Jake's hand was already there. He reached back with the easy reach of someone with longer arms and retrieved the blanket and held it out to you without comment. You were not going to think about the fact that it smelled faintly of his apartment, which you had never been to and yet somehow recognized anyway. The light changed. He drove.
The shivering didn't stop, but it became more manageable. You pulled the blanket tighter and watched the city through the window with the slightly removed quality of someone watching something through glass, the world arriving at a half step delay, sounds muffled and visuals slightly too bright.
"When did you last eat?" Jake asking.
You thought about it, "Yesterday," you said. "Probably."
From the corner of your vision, his expression shifted.
"Before the case," you added.
"That was twenty hours ago."
"Approximately."
"I'll make you something," he said finally.
You turned to look at him. His profile was clean and unhurried in the gray afternoon light, eyes on the road, jaw with that faint set that meant he had decided and was not entertaining a counterproposal.
"You don't have toâ"
"I know I don't have to."
"Jakeâ"
"You have a fever of almost forty degrees, and you haven't eaten in twenty hours. You also live alone." He said it evenly, the way he said things in the OR when they were facts rather than opinions. "I'm making you something."
You looked at him for a long moment.
Another shiver moved through you. Smaller than the last one. Your head found the cool glass of the passenger window. Youâre so dizzy that it made you drowsy. You let your eyes fall closed.Â
"Okay," you said.
You didn't say anything else for the remainder of the drive. You sat in the warm car under the blanket with your head against the window, drifting in the particular half conscious state that high fever produced.Â
At some point, the car stopped. Jake said your name softly. The way he said things to patients coming out of anesthesiaâgentle, orienting, giving the person something real to surface toward. You opened your eyes. Your building.
"We're here," he said.
You looked at it through the window. The lobby doors. The distance between here and your bed assembled itself in front of you with a weight that was disproportionate to the actual geography involved.
You reached for the door handle. The cold hit you the moment it opened. You swung your legs out and made the executive decision to stand up, which your body received as a formal objection. The world tilted, just a slow, unhelpful rotation of everything around a central point that was not quite where your feet were, and you stood there on the pavement with one hand on the car door and waited for it to pass the way you waited for difficult things.Â
"Hey." Jake was there. He had come around the car without you registering the movement, and he was standing close. "Talk to me."Â
I'mâ"
"If you say fine."
You closed your mouth.
"Dizzy," you said instead.
He nodded, once, like this was useful information he was incorporating. Then his arm came around your back, and the warmth of him hit you with the same immediate totality as the car had, and you didn't have anything left to spend on not leaning into it. You leaned.Â
"Okay," he said, quiet and even. "One step."
You took one step.
"Good." He moved with you, perfectly matched, taking on exactly as much of your weight as you needed to give without taking more. "One more.â
The lobby doors were automatic. They opened before you reached them, a small mercy, and the warmth of the building's interior arrived like something you'd been promised and had stopped expecting. You crossed the threshold and the cold fell away, and you stood in the lobby with Jake's arm around your back. The dizziness pulsing gently behind your eyes and you thought, very specifically, about how far away the elevator was.
Fifteen feet, approximately. It might as well have been a different country.
"Elevator's closer than it looks," Jake said, which meant your face was doing something legible; the fever had taken your ability to regulate that, too.
"I know where the elevator is."
"I know you do." Gently. "Walk with me."
You walked with him.
The elevator arrived quickly, which was a kindness you noted and were grateful for, and you stepped into it and turned around and caught your reflection in the mirrored panel at the back. The blanket still around your shoulders, the hair still in a messy bun, the flush across your cheekbones, and Jake standing just behind you, solid and warm. Watching your reflection with an expression you didn't have a category for.
You looked away from it. The elevator moved. This was a mistake; the motion, even the slow and minor motion of three floors, did something to the dizziness that made it briefly and significantly worse. You put your hand on the metal rail along the wall and focused on a fixed point and breathed with the careful deliberateness of someone managing a situation.
Jake's hand found your shoulder, "Almost," he said.
The doors opened. Your floor.Â
"Keys," Jake said, when you reached your door.
You looked at him.
"Your keys," he said again, patient. "Where are they?"
You looked down at yourself. The blanket. The sweatshirt.Â
"Jacket pocket," you said.
He produced your jacket from under his arm, he had been carrying it, you realized, since the hospital, without mentioning it, and found your keys and had the door open with an efficiency that required no commentary. He stood back.
"Inside," he said.
You went inside.
The apartment received you with its familiar silence. Your things, your space, the specific quality of air that belonged to a place you'd been living in long enough that it had taken on your particular quiet. You made it as far as the sofa before your legs registered their formal resignation, and you sat down with considerably less grace than you would have preferred.
The blanket went with you.
Jake came in behind you and closed the door, and you heard him set your jacket down, set his bag down, move toward the kitchen with the unhurried purposefulness of someone who had a plan and was beginning to execute it. You sat on the sofa with the blanket around your shoulders, your eyes half closed, and listened to him.
Cabinets. Water. The quiet percussion of someone making themselves useful in a space that had only ever known one person at a time.
"Jake," you said.
He appeared in the kitchen doorway.
You looked at him from across the living room. "Thank you," you said. Jake was a bit startled hearing you thank him. Honestly, a rare occasion. But, he appreciates it nonetheless.Â
He looked at you for a moment. Then his eyes moved to the sofa, to the specific way you were sitting on it, and something in his expression made a quiet decision.
"Not the sofa," he said.
You looked up.
"You'll wake up worse." He crossed the room and stopped in front of you, and held out his hand. "Bed."
"I'm fine here."
"You've been saying that for three days." His hand stayed where it was. Patient. Not demanding anything, just offering. "Bed. You'll actually sleep."
You looked at his hand. You looked at the hallway that led to your bedroom, which was not very long and yet currently felt like a proposal you needed to think carefully about.
"I can walk," you said.
"I know you can."
You took his hand anyway. He got you upright with a steadiness that made the transition seamless. You stood still and let it pass. Jake stood with you, your hand in his.
"Okay," you said.
"Okay," he said.
The hallway was short. It felt longer than it was, the way distances did when your body had stopped cooperating and every step required a separate and conscious decision. But Jake walked it with you. His hand still in yours, his shoulder available without being imposed.Â
Your bedroom was exactly as you'd left. Three blankets in a configuration that evidenced the night's difficult geography, pillow dented, curtains not quite fully open. The specific disorder of a room that had been slept in badly for several days running.
You would normally have cared about that. Except now you barely think about that. You simply didn't have the capacity.
Jake pulled the blankets back with his free hand, straightening them into something that more closely resembled a made bed, and then turned to you with the expression of someone completing a logical sequence.
The mattress received you with an immediate and profound relief that was almost embarrassing. You sat there for a moment with your hands in your lap and the blanket still around your shoulders and your eyes doing the thing where they closed without being instructed to.
"Lie down," Jake said.
You lie down. He pulled the blankets up around you and tucked them in at the side with a matter of factness that had no performance in itâjust care. You watched him from the pillow.Â
He pulled the desk chair to the side of the bed the way he had earlier, sat in it, forearms on his knees, and looked at you with that open and unhurried expression.Â
"Jake."
"Sleep." He reached over and set a glass of water on the nightstand, close enough that you could reach it without sitting up. Then, the medication, two tablets, was placed with the same quiet precision he used to place instruments. "Take those first. Then sleep."
You took them. Drank the water. Lay back.
The pillow was cool against your face. The blankets were warm. The dizziness, horizontal, became something you were lying inside rather than fighting, which was better. Which was significantly better.
Outside, the afternoon had gone the color of old pewter, gray and still, pressing quiet against the curtains. Inside, Jake sat in the chair at the side of your bed, and the sound of him being there was something you hadn't known your apartment was missing.Â
"Jake," you said. Almost asleep. The word arrived soft and unguarded, the way words did when you'd stopped having the energy to manage them.
"Yeah."
You didn't say anything else for a moment. You were looking at the ceiling, or the approximate location of the ceiling, your eyes barely open, the fever pressing its warm weight behind everything.
"Don't go," you said.
The silence that followed was very small.Â
"I won't," he said.
You closed your eyes. You slept.
.
.
.
.
You were asleep within minutes.
Jake stayed in the chair. He told himself it was clinical. He had parameters, a fever check, a medication schedule, and water. He was a medical professional, and he had a list. He stayed because he couldn't make himself leave, and he was honest enough to know the list had nothing to do with it.
He got up after a while, ran a towel under cool water, came back, and placed it across your forehead with the careful slowness of someone who didn't want to wake you. You didn't wake. Your brow smoothed at the coolness of it. A small, involuntary easing, yet that unconscious relief, hit him somewhere he hadn't adequately defended.Â
The pressed, careful line your mouth held during waking hours had softened entirely. The part of you that was always managing something, always two steps ahead of the room, it was gone. What remained was just you, unguarded, in a way he seldom got to see. He was in trouble. He had known this academically for years. It was different, knowing it here.
The third time he placed the cool cloth against your forehead, you made a sound. Barely anything, the smallest possible acknowledgment, and turned slightly into the pillow.Â
He couldn't help it. If you had been awake, you would have fixed him with that unimpressed look you reserved for anyone being remotely sentimental. The look that had reduced seasoned surgical residents to apologizing for things they hadn't actually done. He almost smiled just imagining it.
"You're only this easy when you're asleep."
The words dissolved into the quiet apartment almost as soon as he spoke them.
He reached out before he could think better of it. Not to wake you, only to brush an errant strand of hair away from your face before it fell across your eyes. His fingers hovered for the briefest moment after the gesture, suspended in the space between restraint and impulse. Then he withdrew his hand. Some lines, no matter how badly his heart wanted otherwise, still deserved to remain uncrossed.
The apartment settled into a comfortable silence. Every sound seemed softened by the fever that still lingered in the room. The refrigerator hummed steadily in the kitchen. Rain continued to patter against the windows in uneven bursts, occasionally accompanied by the distant rush of traffic several floors below.
Jake checked the time. Your next dose of medication wasn't due for another hour. He leaned back into the chair and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. Only then did he realize how exhausted he was himself.
He had left the hospital without changing out of his navy scrubs. There was a faint crease across one knee from where he had crouched beside you on the operating room floor. His ID badge still hung around his neck, twisted backward from hours of moving between operating theatres.
There wasn't much left to deny. The realization should have been embarrassing. Instead, it simply felt true. He had fallen for you so gradually that he couldn't identify where the coworker dynamic had ended and something else had begun. Perhaps it had been during his second year at the hospital. Or the night you'd stayed six hours past your shift because a resident had quietly admitted they weren't ready to close alone. Or maybe it had happened even earlier.Â
The first time he'd watched you walk into a trauma activation with complete confidence, while everyone else was still trying to understand what was happening. You intimidated almost everyone. You fascinated him. Jake smiled to himself. It had taken him nearly a year to notice those things. Once he had, there had been no going back.
He watched your face for a long moment.
"You know," he said softly, almost to himself, "you're impossible."
No response. Just the quiet rhythm of your breathing.
"Three days." A quiet exhale. "Three days of pretending nothing was wrong." He leaned back in the chair, arms folding loosely across his chest. "And I don't even think you were trying to convince everyone else."
The words settled into the quiet apartment.
He wasn't expecting an answer. He wasn't even sure why he was speaking aloud. Maybe because he'd spent years swallowing every thought he had whenever you were around. Maybe because this was the first time he'd seen you stop carrying the entire weight of the world on your shoulders.
"You scare me sometimes."
His voice dropped even lower.
"So competent that everyone forgets you're still human."
A quiet laugh escaped him. You shifted slightly beneath the blanket. Jake froze. Your breathing steadied again.
"I don't think you realize what you do to people."
His fingers absently traced the rim of the now empty glass sitting on the coffee table.
"The residents, the nurses, the attendings, they all trust you."
He smiled faintly.
"So do I. Probably, I trust you more than anyone."
Another silence, he rubbed a hand over his face before looking back at you again.
"You know what the worst part is?"
His smile turned almost sheepish.
"I don't even remember when this happened. When I started looking for you every morning, when bringing you coffee stopped feeling like a nice thing to do and started feeling necessary."
He laughed quietly at himself.
"You never even ask for it, you just take the cup as if you've accepted that's simply something I do."
A fond shake of his head.
"You've never once thanked me properly, either."
A beat.
"I'd still bring it tomorrow."
He looked at your sleeping face.Â
"And the day after. And probably every day until one of us retires, if I'm being honest with myself."
The smile faded into something quieter. He swallowed.
"I wish you'd let someone take care of you."
The confession escaped before he could stop it.
"I justâ" He stopped. Started again. "You spend every day making sure other people get home alive." His voice had gone low enough that it barely disturbed the air. "I don't think anyone ever stops to ask if you do."Â
His chest tightened.
"I'd like to."
The words came out barely above a whisper.
"If you'd let me."
He wasn't expecting an answer. Yeth, he got one anyway. Not words, just the smallest movement, your hand shifting against the blanket, fingers loosely uncurling. Like some part of you, even asleep, had heard him. Jake looked at your open hand for a long moment. Then he reached over, quiet and careful, and set his hand over yours.
He stayed like that for a while, in the gray quiet of your apartment, with the damp towel on your forehead and your hand beneath his and four years of unsaid things finally taking up the space they'd always deserved. It was enough.
For now, it was more than enough.
.
.
.
.
You surfaced slowly.
The first thing you registered was the light. Gray and thin, the particular quality of early morning that hadn't yet decided to commit to being day. The second thing was the pounding behind your eyes, which had not improved. The third thing was that your mouth tasted like something that had given up, and your throat, when you swallowed experimentally, felt like raw material.
Fever. Still present, lower maybe, but present. Dizziness that announced itself the moment you became aware of it, a slow ambient rotation that worsened when you turned your head. Blankets. Pillow. The damp towel that had gone warm and ineffective at some point in the night, sitting lopsided on your forehead.Â
You turned your head toward the chair. Slowly, because turning your head quickly was not something your current situation supported.
Empty.
You lay there and looked at the empty chair and felt something that you were too tired and too honest to misidentify. Then you heard it. From the kitchen, the soft knock of a pan. Water is running briefly. The particular acoustic of someone moving carefully, trying not to wake someone.Â
Getting vertical was a project.
You sat up in stages. First, push onto your elbows, waiting for the dizziness to register its complaint and then subside to a manageable level, then the rest of the way up. The room did its rotation. You sat on the edge of the bed with your feet on the cold floor, and your hands braced on the mattress and breathed through it until the world settled back into approximate stillness.
Your phone on the nightstand said 5:07 AM. You stood up.
The hallway was dark, lit only by the light spilling from the kitchen at the end of it. Warm and yellow, completely incongruous in your apartment at five in the morning. You put your hand on the wall and moved toward it, and the smell reached you before you got there.Â
You stopped in the kitchen doorway.
Jake stood at your stove with his back to you, still in yesterday's clothes. He stirred whatever was in the pot with absent concentration, pausing occasionally to taste it before reaching for another spice from the rack you'd forgotten you owned.Â
You couldnât describe how you feel right now. But seeing Jakeâs back brings you some kind of calmness. Jake belonged so completely to bright operating theatres and humming anesthesia machines that seeing him standing barefoot in your kitchen, making breakfast before dawn, felt almost unreal.Â
"Jake," you said.
Your voice came out wrong. Hoarse and thin, scraped down to almost nothing, barely enough to carry the two syllables.
He turned around immediately. His eyes moved across you in that quick, clinical sweep.
"You should be in bed," he said.
"What time did youâ" You stopped. Swallowed, which was a mistake, your throat registering its formal objection. "Did you sleep?"
"Couch." He had already turned down the heat on the stove and was crossing toward you. "For a while."
"Jakeâ"Â
His hands came to your shoulders, steadying, and you let them because the wall was doing less than it should have been, and Jake was warmer and considerably more reliable.Â
"You're dizzy." Not a question. He walked you to the kitchen table and pulled out the chair. You sat. The sitting was, again, a profound relief that you were tired of being grateful for. Jake went back to the stove.
You watched him from the chair, your chin in your hand, the dizziness pulsing gently at the edges of everything. The kitchen was warm. The light was warm. The smell of whatever was in the pot wound its way around the room and your stomach, which had been absent as a concept for approximately two days, made a quiet and tentative reappearance.
"You cooked," you said. Your voice was terrible. You were going to stop using it.
"Congee," he said, without turning around. "Easy on the throat."
You stared at the back of his head.
"You made congee at five in the morning."
"I woke up at four thirty." He stirred. "Couldn't sleep."
"On my couch."
"Your couch is fine."
"It's notâ" You stopped. Your throat declined to continue. You pressed two fingers against it and swallowed carefully. "It's not a long couch."
He glanced over his shoulder at that, and the look on his face did the thing to your chest that it always did, except that you were too tired to manage your reaction to it, so you just let it happen.
"I've slept in worse places," he said.
You thought about residency. About call room chairs and supply closet floors, and the particular desperation of thirty six hour shifts. You conceded the point with a slight incline of your head, which was all you had.
He brought the congee in a bowl with a spoon and set it in front of you, and then produced from somewhere two tablets and a fresh glass of water.
"Medication first," he said.
You looked at the tablets. Looked at him.
"I know," you said, which came out as approximately one quarter of a word.
The congee was good. Genuinely. You were a bit surprised Jake could cook something like this. Coming from someone who rely his food on delivery every single day or the cafeteria.Â
Something softened inside you. You looked back at the bowl. The rice had simmered long enough to become almost creamy. The chicken had been shredded by hand. Even the ginger had been sliced thin enough that it melted into the broth instead of overwhelming it. None of those things happened by accident.
You found yourself wondering what time he'd actually woken up. Whether he'd gone out to buy ingredients before dawn. The thought settled quietly somewhere beneath your ribs. You took another spoonful before speaking.
"It's goodâŠ"
The compliment came out softer than you intended. Jake looked up. For a heartbeat, genuine surprise crossed his face. Then he smiled. As though those two words meant considerably more to him than they should have.
You immediately looked back at your breakfast. It seemed safer than looking at him. Besides, you had the distinct and deeply inconvenient feeling that if you met his eyes again, he would notice entirely too much.
Jake leaned back against the counter and watched you eat.
He wasn't subtle about it. He had never been particularly subtle about anything where you were concerned, and apparently, five in the morning with your voice gone and your fever still running was not the occasion he was going to start. He just watched, arms loosely folded, with the expression of someone who had nowhere else to be and no complaints about it.
You kept your eyes on the bowl.
The congee was the right temperatureânot scalding, not lukewarm, the precise comfortable warmth that your body had been requesting for two days without receiving. You ate another spoonful and then another, and the silence settled around the kitchen in a way that was not uncomfortable, which was itself something you were going to have to think about later when you had the resources for it.
From your peripheral vision, Jake shifted. Unfolded his arms. Tilted his head slightly in the way he did when something had caught his attention, and he was deciding whether to say it. You preemptively looked up. He lookedâcaught, almost. The expression of someone whose thought had been intercepted before he'd finished having it. Then he let it go, whatever it was, and replaced it with something easier.
"You eat slower when you're sick," he said.
"I eat slower when my entire body is staging a revolt."
Apparently still fierce even on the fever pit. Jake smiled, he couldnât contain the ticklish feeling on his chest when he saw your slightly puffy cheek with a fever blush. So cute.Â
You looked back at the bowl with the dignity of someone choosing their battles, which at five in the morning with no voice and a fever was a very short list.
The congee was almost gone. The medication had started its work; you could feel it at the edges, a slight recession of the worst of the heat, the pounding behind your eyes becoming marginally more negotiable. The kitchen was warm. The light above the stove was warm. Jake was warm, standing there in your kitchen at an hour that had no reasonable justification, having woken up at four thirty on your couch to make sure you had something to eat when you surfaced.
You set down the spoon. Looked at the empty bowl for a moment. Then looked at him. He was already looking at you, which was not a surprise because he was always already looking at you, but the expression on his face was different from the smile
âCan I ask you something?" he said.
"Mm..."
He was quiet for a moment. Jake didn't hesitate, not really; he simply made sure of things before he said them. He looked at you sitting at your kitchen table in your oversized sweatshirt with your empty bowl and your terrible voice. Whatever he saw there seemed to confirm something.
"Next time you're sick," he said, "will you tell me?"
The question landed quietly.Â
"I mean it." His voice was even, unhurried, the way it was when he said things he'd thought about carefully. "You don't have to manage everything by yourself. You don't have to show up to work for three days running a fever and pretendâ" He stopped. Reconsidered. Came back softer. "I just want to know. That's all."
You didn't say anything. Your voice wouldn't have allowed it regardless, but the truth was the silence had less to do with your throat and more to do with the fact that you were processing the specific and unfamiliar weight of being asked about. Of someone wanting to know. Jake held your gaze.
"I want to take care of you," he said simply. "If you'll let me."
You looked at your empty bowl. Four years of small, consistent, and entirely undemanding things. Something in your chest came quietly undone.
"Okay," you said. Barely a sound. More breath than word.
Jake looked at you.
"Okay?" he said carefully.
"Next time." You held his gaze. "I'll tell you."
The smile that crossed his face was slow and quiet, unlike the bright, easy one he wore in corridors and operating rooms. You looked back at your glass so it couldn't do any more.
"Go back to sleep," he said, gently. "I'll clean up."
"You don'tâ"
"I know." Already moving, taking the bowl, entirely unbothered. "I will anyway."
You sat there for another moment, in the warm kitchen at five in the morning, and listened to Jake move around your space with the easy familiarity of someone who had decided, a long time ago, that this was where he wanted to be.
Then you got up.
Slowly. One hand on the table, the world conducting its usual brief rotation, and then steady enough. You shuffled toward the hallway, the blanket still around your shoulders, your feet finding the familiar path back to your bedroom in the dark.
"Sleep," Jake said, behind you. Not looking up from the sink.
You lifted one hand in acknowledgment. Too tired for words. Too tired for anything except the ten feet between here and your pillow. You were almost at the hallway when you heard him set something down. Footsteps. Quiet and unhurried, crossing the kitchen.
You turned your head slightly, not quite enough to look back, and then his hand was gentle on your shoulder and Jake pressed his lips to the top of your head. Soft. Unhurried. Like it was something he had been meaning to do for a very long time and had simply decided that five in the morning in your kitchen was as good a moment as any. It lasted only a second. He stepped back.
You stood completely still in the hallway with the blanket around your shoulders. You stared at the middle distance, and felt the warmth of it the way you felt the congee. You didn't turn around. You didn't trust your face.
"Go to sleep," he said quietly, his hand brushing your messy hair. He just smiled as if nothing had happened. The particular warmth in his voice knew exactly what it had just done and was giving you room to do whatever you were going to do with it.
You went to your bedroom. You lay down. You pulled the blankets up. And you stared at the ceiling in the early morning dark with your hand pressed lightly to the top of your head, right where his lips had been, and felt something bloom open in your chest so quietly and so completely that you wondered, with the honest clarity that only came when all your defenses were down.Â
How long had it been there?
.
.
.
.
He pressed two fingers to his own wrist. Checked his pulse. Faster than it should be. He laughed again, just barely, into the quiet of your apartment at five in the morning.
Outside, the city was beginning to wake. The first gray light of actual morning was pressing at the edges of the curtains. Somewhere down the hall, you were sleeping.
He thought about your face when you'd said next time. I'll tell you. The way you'd held his gaze while you said it. The way you'd looked back at the glass immediately afterward, like you'd given him something and needed a moment before you could look at the place it had been.
He thought about standing in your kitchen doorway watching you eat congee and thinking, with the helpless simplicity of someone who had stopped pretending otherwise, that you were the most remarkable person he had ever met. He thought about the top of your head and the blanket around your shoulders and the way you had gone completely still.
Jake stared at the ceiling, smiled at it like an idiot. Like a man who had been carrying something carefully for four years and had just set it down and discovered that his arms, without the weight of it, didn't quite know what to do with themselves yet.Â
Synopsis: A lazy afternoon where Jake wants nothing more than to hold you while he naps.
WC: <1k
Content: Established Relationship, FLUFF, Cuddling, Sleepy Jake
A/N: Just a cute little drabble for my sleep-loving Jakey
You were curled up on the couch, nose buried in a book as soft afternoon light filtered through the blinds, painting a soft glow on the dark brown wood of the coffee table holding your steaming mug of tea.Â
It was 3:00 PM, and your boyfriend Jake had just finished the weekly grocery run, an errand which always resulted in an afternoon nap.
Usually, heâd put away the groceries and retreat to your bedroom with the quiet consistency that came with a solidified routine. But today, he lingered.
Jake sat on the other side of the couch, his legs pulled up to his chest as he absently gazed at his phone. You felt his eyes on you every few seconds, his restless energy cutting into your focus like a baby on a plane.
You knew he wanted something, but you wanted to hear him say it.
He shifted on the couch, a small sigh slipping from his lips.Â
You glanced over at him and had to bite back a smile at the way he was pouting his lip, his fingers pulling at the string of his hoodie.Â
He was so cute when he was needy.
Your eyes were on your book, but your ears were attuned to his every movementâthe shake of his leg, the tap of his finger against his knee, the slight exhalation of air through his noseâhe was close.
You grabbed your mug from the table and took a sip, humming softly as the hot liquid hit the back of your throat.
Jake audibly sighed.
ây/nâŠâ
You smiled, putting on your most innocent expression as you turned your head. âYes, Jakey?â
He tugged at the sleeve of his hoodie, biting his lip as his eyes darted between you and his lap. âI know youâre reading right now, butâŠwould you nap with me?â
You giggled at how bashful he looked, his fluffy brown hair falling forward into his eyes as he waited for your response.Â
âYou want to cuddle?â
He smiled and nodded enthusiastically, moving towards you on the couch, his hand resting on your knee. âNaps are better with partners.â
âOh, are they?â
Jake laughed, nuzzling his head into your arm, his soft locks tickling your skin. âYes. Especially when theyâre you,â he said, his voice muffled.
You closed your book and kissed the top of his head. âLucky for you, I just finished a chapter.â
Jake pulled away just enough so he could crane his head up to look at you. His eyes were so puppy-like you could feel your heart melting. âItâs not because Iâm cute?â
You smiled, brushing a piece of hair out of his face. âIt doesnât hurt.â
He leaned forward and put his lips on yours, kissing you softly before pulling back and getting to his feet. He offered his hand. âMâlady, your chambers await.â
âWhy, thank you, Mâlord.â
You took his hand, his warm fingers closing around yours as he led you to your shared bedroom, the warm light of the living room fading as you moved into the darkness of the hallway.
The king-sized bed waited like an old friend, the comforter puffy and inviting. Jake had picked out all the bedding himself, insisting that good sleep required good materials. No one you knew loved sleep quite as much as your boyfriend did.Â
Jake turned off the light and climbed under the covers, eyes locked on you as you came around the other side. He opened his arms, reaching for you like you were the air he breathed.Â
The second your back hit the mattress, you crawled into his arms, burying your face in his chest, his hoodie soft on your skin. You inhaled his rich and earthy scent, sighing as you felt his breath on your hair.
His arms wrapped around your back, cradling your head, while yours snaked around his waist, pulling tight to hold him flush against you.
Jake threw his leg over yours with claiming pressure, and you knew you werenât getting up anytime soon.Â
He massaged your scalp with his hand and peppered kisses from your forehead down to your neck, making you giggle and squirm against him.
He smiled. âSee? This is much better.â
You nuzzled against his neck, your body buzzing with warmth and joy at being in the arms of your favorite person. âAlright, Iâll give you this one.â
His hand traced soothing strokes down your back, making your spine shiver. âSo we can do this again?â
âMhm,â you murmured, already feeling your eyes getting heavy. âJust tell me when, baby.â
âHow about next week? And the week after that?â He said, his voice a whisper in your ear.
âWhatever you want, Jakey.â
You felt him smile against your hair, his heart a comforting rhythm against your cheek. âI love you y/n. Sleep tight.â
âI love you too, Jake.âÂ
Your voice was barely audible against his hoodie, and within minutes, Jake heard the quiet sounds of your breathing echoing through the room.Â
He smiled and closed his eyes, holding you firmly against him, letting your breath lull him into sleep like a light in the dark.
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