Paralysed Ë. á”á” by your
cold words âžâž
(âźdec. boy) Set me on fire.

Love Begins

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@cupidmora
Paralysed Ë. á”á” by your
cold words âžâž
(âźdec. boy) Set me on fire.
first time getting blocked by one of my favorite authors, kinda nervous!
no bc the way i asked her a genuine question and got blocked, it hurts i wonât be reading her yummy fics anymore đ
iâm fucking crying she unblocked me and changed the text to âenha fan since 2020â NQKWOWOASNSKSO
I think i know who blocked youđ I literally was JUST reading a post and saw her "ENGENE since 2020"....I don't think she's calling herself and engene anymore since she doesn't like the fandom
yes!!! i thought it was kinda weird bc she was literally shaming ALL engenes who were ot7 but then she has it very big in bold in her post but oh well
first time getting blocked by one of my favorite authors, kinda nervous!
no bc the way i asked her a genuine question and got blocked, it hurts i wonât be reading her yummy fics anymore đ
first time getting blocked by one of my favorite authors, kinda nervous!
ladies, take it easy.. one at a time.. đœ I'll shake my nonchalant dreadhead for y'all.. haha.. đœđœ
enhypen is 6 stop writing about heeseung you bitch
iâm going to give you 6 laxatives and staple your asshole
đČđđđ & đ»đđđ p.sh â đđđđ đđđ
Since freshman year, youâve run the universityâs anonymous gossip blog, Kiss & Tell. Youâve seen it all: cheating allegations, toxic situationships and at least forty-seven complaints about the cafeteria chicken. But nothing floods your inbox more than posts about PARK SUNGHOON â the universityâs resident fuckboy and walking bad decision. So for the blogâs final exposĂ©, you decide to write about him. Too bad Sunghoonâs already in the middle of a bet with his friends: to keep a girl for thirteen days. And somehow, the anonymous girl tearing him apart online becomes the only one he canât stop thinking about.
pairings. fuckboy!sunghoon x female!reader â wc. 13.2k
content warnings. dual pov · hidden motives · miscommunication · fake dating adjacent · emotional manipulation · pining (both sides, theyâre so stupid) · explicit sexual content â oral f. receiving, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, light possessiveness, marking · dramatic irony · this will hurt you and Iâm not apologising for it
laceys note // the fic Iâve been most nervous to post⊠there is SO much happening in this one and I genuinely donât know how yall are going to react đ yes this is heavily inspired by How To Lose A Guy and Gossip Girl x anyway hope yall enjoy and as always thank you for reading đ„°
đ€ kiss & tell
This year Iâm giving you something special.
Youâve been asking for it since freshman year. The tips have been piling up in my inbox for three years running â do a piece on him, Kiss & Tell, someone needs to say something, Kiss & Tell, he did it again, Kiss & Tell, Kiss & Tell, Kiss & Tell.
Ask and you shall receive, darlings.
Introducing: 13 Ways To Lose Your Certified Campus Fuckboy.
Thirteen tips. Thirteen days. One subject who has absolutely no idea whatâs coming.
We begin next week. You didnât hear it from me though, because I donât kiss & tell. x
[1,204 readers. 47 comments.]
FINALLY.
is it who I think it is.
kiss & tell if youâre reading this I have THREE submissions about this man please check ur inbox.
â
The thing about Park Sunghoon is that he is, by every available metric, exactly what the submissions said he was.
Youâve done your research. Three weeks of it, thorough and methodical, the kind of research youâd do for an actual piece â which this is, youâve decided, this absolutely counts as journalism, your professor would probably disagree but your professor also gave you a C minus on your piece about the universityâs dining hall monopoly which was genuinely your best work so his opinion is noted and filed in the bin.
You have a google doc. It has sections. Thereâs a tab called subjects and a tab called timeline and a tab called tips (working) and another one called notes which is mostly just screenshots of anonymous submissions that all say some version of the same thing: heâs charming, heâs beautiful, he made me feel like the only person in the room, and then he was gone, and Iâm fairly certain he didnât know my name by the end of it.
Seventeen submissions. Seventeen different girls. One name, consistent, at the centre of all of them.
Park Sunghoon. Figure skating scholarship. Second year Humanities, now final year. Shares a house off campus with Jay Park and Lee Heeseung, both of whom feature in the submissions as background characters â his friends were there, they seemed nice, Jay remembered my name even if Sunghoon didnât appearing in three separate accounts with the specific poignancy of a detail nobody coordinated.
He has a type, according to the submissions. Which is to say he doesnât have a type. Heâll talk to anyone, charm anyone, make anyone feel chosen â and then the choosing stops, and he moves on, and the girl is left standing in the aftermath wondering what she did wrong when the answer is nothing, the answer is thatâs just what he does, the answer is you were never going to be the exception because Park Sunghoon doesnât do exceptions.
He does this, youâve established, approximately once every two to three weeks. Heâs been doing it since freshman year. He has never, by any account you can find, caught feelings. He has never once, to anyoneâs knowledge, repeated a girl.
He is, in short, a certified campus fuckboy, and he has been getting away with it for three years because heâs beautiful and charming and genuinely good company right up until the moment he isnât, and by then itâs too late.
Not anymore.
You have a plan. The plan is elegant and slightly unhinged and Minji â your best friend, Kiss & Tellâs only reader who knows the writer â has called it both those things and also added extremely on brand for you which you take as the highest possible compliment.
Thirteen tips. The clingy, overwhelming, emotionally catastrophic playbook of everything a man like Sunghoon runs from. Youâre going to deploy every single one, document it in real time, post it to the blog, and by day thirteen heâll have run screaming and Kiss & Tell will have its most-read piece of the year and youâll have actually done something with your journalism degree that matters.
The only thing you need is an in.
Which is, currently, the one gap in the plan.
Youâve been thinking about this for three days when Minji texts you at 9PM on a Friday: jisooâs having people over. sunghoon will be there. i heard jay mention it.
You look at the message.
You look at your google doc.
You close your laptop, get up, and start getting dressed.
Jisooâs apartment is the kind of place that fits thirty people comfortably and currently has approximately sixty, which means the music is too loud and the drinks are wherever you can find them and the air has that particular quality of a Friday night thatâs fully committed to itself.
You arrive with Minji at ten, already knowing the layout â Jisooâs place is a known quantity, youâve been here before, the kitchen is to the left and the living room is straight ahead and the back patio is where people go when the inside gets too much.
You find a drink. You find a wall. You survey the room with the practiced efficiency of someone who has been reporting on this campus for three years.
You find him in four seconds.
Heâs not hard to find. Thatâs the first thing â he doesnât try to be found, he doesnât need to, he simply exists in a room and the room orients around him without being asked. Heâs tall, which you knew, and heâs wearing something simple, which you didnât expect, dark jeans and a plain shirt and the specific ease of someone who has never once had to try very hard.
Heâs laughing at something Jay said â Jay, beside him, is grinning with the energy of someone who said something very funny and knows it â and the laugh is real, you can tell from here, unperformed, and this is information you file away because it matters. The charm is one thing. The realness underneath it is something else.
Youâve been looking at him for approximately thirty seconds before Minji says, very quietly, âyouâre staring.â
âIâm researching,â you say.
âYou have a look on your face.â
âItâs my research face.â
âItâs not your research face,â Minji says, and takes a sip of her drink with the serenity of someone who is going to be right about this and knows it and is content to wait.
Three hours earlier, Jisooâs apartment is already filling up when Jay Park has his idea.
This is, historically, how most problems begin.
Heâs standing with Sunghoon near the back wall, both of them with drinks, watching the room do what rooms do on Friday nights â fill up, get louder, become the kind of atmosphere where things happen that people talk about on Monday.
Jay is on his second drink. Sunghoon is on his first. This ratio is relevant.
âCan I ask you something,â Jay says.
âNo,â Sunghoon says.
âWhenâs the last time you actuallyââ Jay makes a vague gesture that encompasses a significant amount of meaning. âYou know. Stayed.â
Sunghoon looks at him flatly. âWhat.â
âWith someone. Longer than â you know. The usual.â
âI donât have a usual.â
âYou absolutely have a usual,â Jay says. â8 days maximum. You donât learn their names by the end. You move on. Itâs a whole thing.â He tilts his head. âWhenâs the last time you actually kept someone around?â
Sunghoon is quiet for a moment. He drinks his drink.
âWhy,â he says, which is not an answer.
âI was just thinking,â Jay says, with the careful casualness of a man who has been thinking about this for longer than just now, âthat itâs been a while. And I was thinking about whether you actually could. If you tried.â
âCould what?â
âKeep someone.â Jay looks at him. âLike. Actually keep her. Not the thing you do. The real version.â
âI keep people.â
âSunghoon.â
âI do.â
âYou kept Chaewon for seven days in second year and forgot her name on day four,â Jay says. âShe was in three of my seminars. It was a whole thing.â
Sunghoon says nothing.
âThirteen days,â Jay says, and the number arrives in the air between them with the particular weight of a challenge thatâs been building to its own conclusion. âThatâs what Iâm saying. Thirteen days. One girl. You actually try. I donât think you can do it.â
And there it is.
Sunghoon looks at him.
Jay looks back with the grin of someone who has just deployed the one thing that has never once failed to work on Park Sunghoon, which is I donât think you can.
It goes all the way back to when they were seventeen and Jay said I donât think you can land that triple and Sunghoon landed it, and then again at eighteen when Jay said I donât think you can get into that programme and Sunghoon got into that programme, and now they are twenty-two and standing at a party on a Friday night and Jay has said I donât think you can and the outcome is, as always, inevitable.
âThirteen days,â Sunghoon says.
âThirteen days.â
âFine.â
Jay blinks. Even knowing it was coming, even having built to it, the speed of it catches him off guard. âYeah?â
âYeah.â Sunghoon finishes his drink. Sets the glass down. âFine.â
Jay opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again with the expression of a man who has just heard the trap click shut and has only just registered that he was also standing in it.
âGreat,â he says, slightly less certainly than heâd like. âThatâs â yeah. Great.â
âWho loses,â Sunghoon says.
âWhat?â
âIf I lose. What do I owe you.â
âIââ Jay hadnât gotten this far. âI donât know. Bragging rights.â
âBragging rights,â Sunghoon repeats, unimpressed.
âAnd you do my laundry for a month.â
âAnd if I win?â
âYou wonât.â
âJay.â
âFine. If you win Iâll do your laundry for a month and Iâll admit in front of Heeseung that you were right about the Ateez album.â
A pause.
âDeal,â Sunghoon says immediately.
They shake on it. Jay watches him scan the room with the quiet, unhurried focus of someone who has just been given a task and is already approaching it systematically, and feels, somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach, the specific sensation of having made a decision he doesnât fully understand yet.
He takes a long drink.
He tells himself itâll be fine.
â
âHeâs at the drinks table,â Minji says. âCorner of the kitchen. Jayâs with him but Jay just got pulled into something in the living room so Sunghoonâs alone.â
You look at her.
âYouâve been tracking him,â you say.
âIâve been observing,â she says. âGo. And look like youâre going for a drink, not like youâre going for him.â
âI know how to walk into a kitchen, Minji.â
âYou know how to walk into a kitchen like a journalist on an assignment,â she says. âWhich is different. Relax your face.â
You relax your face.
âMore,â she says.
You relax it more.
âGood. Go.â
You go.
The kitchen is quieter than the living room, the particular relief of a party room that isnât the main event â a handful of people, the counter lined with bottles, the window cracked open letting in the cold October air.
Heâs exactly where Minji said heâd be.
You clock him in your peripheral vision and do not look directly at him, which is a skill you have developed specifically for this kind of thing â the journalistic sidelong awareness, present without being obvious. You move toward the drinks table with the energy of someone who wants a drink and only a drink and has no awareness whatsoever of the person three feet to her left.
You reach for a bottle.
He reaches for the same one.
Your hands arrive at the neck of it at the same moment.
You look up.
He looks down.
Up close he is â and youâre going to note this for the record and then never think about it again â significantly more than his submissions prepared you for. Which is saying something, because the submissions were not understating it. But there is a difference between objectively good looking as a reported fact and objectively good looking as a thing happening to you personally at close range on a Friday night, and the difference is considerable and you are a journalist and this is a story and you absolutely clock it and file it away and move on.
âSorry,â you both say, at the same time.
A beat.
He takes his hand off the bottle. âGo ahead.â
âNo, itâsââ You gesture. âYou were here first.â
âI wasnât, actually.â Something in his expression is doing a thing â a quiet recalibration, the kind of look that assesses and concludes and moves forward. âI just got here.â
âSame time, then,â you say.
âSame time,â he agrees. He picks up the bottle. Pours two glasses without asking. Hands one to you.
You look at it.
âBold,â you say.
âYou were reaching for it,â he says simply. âSeemed like you wanted it.â
You take the glass. You drink. Itâs good â he poured the right thing, which means he clocked what you were reaching for in the half second before you both arrived at it simultaneously, which means he notices things, which is information you file immediately in the subject tab of your mental google doc.
âSunghoon,â he says.
âI know,â you say, and then catch it. âI think Jisoo mentioned you. She mentioned a few people.â
He looks at you with an expression that suggests heâs heard this kind of recovery before and found it charming rather than annoying, which is somehow worse than if heâd called you out directly.
âY/N,â you say.
He says your name back, once, quietly. Just to himself. Like heâs storing it.
Something in your chest does something completely unauthorised and you attribute it to the drink.
âFinal year?â he asks.
âJournalism,â you say. âYou?â
âLiterature.â He leans against the counter â not performing it, just settling, the ease of someone completely comfortable in any room heâs in. âAnd the rink. Early mornings.â
âFigure skating,â you say, as if youâre learning this for the first time, as if it isnât highlighted in yellow in tab one of the google doc.
âDonât,â he says.
âDonât what?â
âWhatever you were about to say.â
âI was going to say it sounds peaceful,â you say. âEarly mornings. Quiet rink.â
He looks at you for a moment. Like he was braced for something and got something else instead. âYeah,â he says, and his voice is slightly different. âIt is.â
The kitchen moves around you â people coming in, going out, the ambient noise of a party in full swing â and neither of you moves.
âCan I ask you something,â he says.
âYou just did,â you say.
The corner of his mouth does something. Not a smile exactly â the precursor to one, the thing that happens before the decision is made. âFair,â he says. âCan I ask you something else.â
âDepends what it is.â
âWhat are you doing tomorrow.â
You look at him. Heâs looking back with the steady patience of someone who is used to waiting for things heâs decided he wants, and underneath it something that wasnât in any of the seventeen submissions â a directness that isnât performance. Heâs not deploying the charm right now. Heâs just asking.
You are a journalist. This is a story. Day one begins tomorrow and tip one requires a pet name and you need his number to deploy it.
âI might be free,â you say.
âMight be.â
âProbably am.â
âCan I have your number,â he says, no preamble, just the question, and you think about seventeen girls who probably said yes to this exact question in this exact tone of voice and you think about the google doc and the thirteen tips and the fact that you are not going to be number eighteen.
You are going to be something else entirely.
âSure,â you say, and take his phone when he hands it over.
You type your number. You type your name. You hand it back.
He looks at the screen. âJust Y/N?â
âYou donât need my last name yet,â you say.
âYet,â he repeats, and the corner of his mouth commits this time, the full thing, and it gets out before he decides to let it and you think that this specific smile â the unguarded one, the one that isnât the charm â is going to be the most dangerous part of this entire assignment.
You file it. You move on.
âGoodnight, Sunghoon,â you say, and you take your drink and you leave the kitchen and you do not look back.
In the living room, Minji is waiting with the expression of someone who has been watching through the kitchen doorway for the last four minutes and has formed approximately forty seven opinions.
âWell,â she says.
âIâm in,â you say.
âAnd?â
You look at your drink.
âHeâs worse than the submissions,â you say.
Minji opens her mouth.
âDonât,â you say.
She closes it. She has the expression of someone who is going to be right about something and has infinite patience.
You drink your drink.
Across the room, through the kitchen doorway, Sunghoon is looking at his phone. You watch him save your contact. Watch him type something. Delete it. Type something else.
Your phone buzzes.
unknown number: it was good to meet you tonight
You save the contact immediately. You stare at what youâve typed for a moment, then change it.
hoonie đ€
â
that night, 1:47AM:
hoonie đ€: it was good to meet you tonight
you: whoâs this
hoonie đ€: you know who this is
you: I might need a reminder
hoonie đ€: I owe you a drink
you: the one you poured me was actually really good so I think weâre even
A pause. Three dots. Gone. Back again.
hoonie đ€: what are you doing tomorrow
you: why
hoonie đ€: no reason. just asking.
you: Iâm probably free
hoonie đ€: Iâll pick you up at 12
you: bold of you to assume you have my address
hoonie đ€: do I not?
you: âŠIâll send it to you
hoonie đ€: good
you: goodnight
hoonie đ€: goodnight Y/N
â
đ€ kiss & tell
tip 01: give him a pet name. immediately.
Hereâs what nobody tells you about a man who runs on charm â heâs built his whole personality around the way his name sounds in other peopleâs mouths. He knows how it lands. Heâs been watching it land for years.
So take it away.
Give him something else. Something soft and slightly ridiculous, something completely at odds with everything heâs spent three years carefully constructing. Donât ask permission. Donât explain it. Just deploy it, directly, and watch what happens to his face.
The goal isnât to annoy him. The goal is to see who he is when the thing he relies on gets gently, cheerfully removed.
Results to follow
You didnât hear it from me. x
[1,847 readers overnight. 63 comments.]
sheâs actually doing it.
KISS AND TELL THE WAY I SCREAMED.
I know exactly who this is about and I have never felt more seen in my life.
â
He picks you up at twelve.
This is the first thing that surprises you, which you donât let show â that he said twelve and itâs twelve, exactly, his car pulling up outside your building at eleven fifty-eight and him not texting to say here or outside or any of the things people say when they arrive, just waiting, engine running, until you come out.
You clock this on the way down the stairs. Filed under: heâs punctual. he waited. he didnât announce himself.
The car is clean. This is the second thing. Not aggressively clean, not the sterile cleanliness of someone performing tidiness â just maintained, looked after, the cleanliness of someone who takes quiet care of things they own. Thereâs a jacket on the back seat and a reusable coffee cup in the holder and a small air freshener hanging from the mirror that smells like cedar and you are absolutely not going to find this endearing.
âHey,â he says, when you get in.
âHi, hoonie,â you say.
A pause.
He looks at you.
You look back.
âHoonie,â he repeats.
âMm.â
âThatâsââ He stops. Starts again. âWhere did that come from.â
âI donât know,â you say cheerfully. âIt just suits you.â
âIt doesnât suit me.â
âI think it really does.â
He looks at you for another moment with an expression that is trying to be flat and not fully succeeding â thereâs something underneath it, something that might be the effort of not reacting, which means he is reacting and choosing not to show it, which is more interesting than if heâd just been annoyed.
He puts the car in drive.
âWhere are we going?â you ask.
âThereâs a place,â he says. âNear the rink. Good food. Youâll like it.â
âHow do you know what Iâll like.â
âI donât,â he says simply. âBut if you donât, weâll go somewhere else.â
You look at the side of his face.
Filed under: he has a contingency. heâs already thought about what happens if the first plan doesnât work.
You face forward.
âHoonie,â you say again, conversationally, and watch his jaw do something in your peripheral vision.
âPlease,â he says.
âPlease what?â
âStop.â
âStop what?â
He glances at you. You are the picture of innocence. He looks back at the road.
âYouâre going to keep doing it,â he says. Itâs not a question.
âProbably,â you say.
A pause.
âFine,â he says, and thereâs something in it â resigned, but underneath the resignation something else, something that sounds almost like he finds this funny and is refusing to admit it.
You face forward and smile at the windscreen where he canât see it.
Tip one: deployed.
The place near the rink is small and warm and the food is exactly what he said it would be, which you note because it means he knows what good food is and he knew enough about you after one conversation to make an accurate prediction.
You eat across from each other at a small table by the window and itâs â easy. Thatâs the thing that keeps catching you off guard, the thing that wasnât in the submissions. The submissions covered charm, the warmth, the way he makes you feel like the only person in the room. What they didnât cover was this â the version of him that exists when heâs not performing anything. The version that eats his food without making it an event and asks questions that are short and real and actually listens to the answers.
He asks about journalism. Not oh cool whatâs that like but specific things â what you want to do with it, what kind of writing you actually care about, whether you think print is dead or just resting.
âResting,â you say, firmly.
âResting,â he repeats, like heâs testing whether he agrees. âWhy.â
âBecause people still want stories. They just want them differently. The format changed, not the hunger.â
He looks at you across the table. âWhat do you write?â
âPieces,â you say. âLong form, mostly. Campus stuff. Culture, people, the way things work underneath the way they look.â
âAnything published?â
âThe university paper. Some external stuff.â You take a sip of water. âNothing thatâs set the world on fire yet.â
âYet,â he says, giving you your own word back, and the corner of his mouth does the thing.
You look at your plate.
Filed under: he pays attention to the exact words you use. he remembers them. he deploys them back.
This is, you think, how he does it. Not the obvious charm â the specific attention. The making-you-feel-like-your-words-matter thing. Youâve been watching for the playbook and this is it, this is the whole thing, and knowing what it is should make it easier to withstand.
It does not make it easier to withstand.
âWhat about the skating,â you say, because you need to redirect. âHow long?â
âSince I was seven,â he says.
âCompetitions?â
âThrough high school. Regionals, a few nationals.â He says it the way people say things theyâre proud of but have learned not to lead with. âScholarship for university. Now itâs just â mornings. Keeping it.â
âDo you miss competing?â
Heâs quiet for a moment. Longer than the other answers.
âSometimes,â he says. âNot the competing. The clarity of it. When youâre on the ice and thereâs a programme to execute, everything else goes quiet.â He looks at his water glass. âI miss the quiet.â
You look at him.
He seems to realise heâs said something more than he meant to, because he looks up and recalibrates slightly â not retreating, just adjusting. âSorry. That wasââ
âDonât apologise,â you say.
He looks at you.
âIt was a real answer,â you say. âThose are better than the other kind.â
Something in his expression shifts. The recalibration stops. He holds your gaze for a moment with the look of someone encountering something unexpected in a place they thought they knew the map of.
âYeah,â he says quietly. âI guess they are.â You are a journalist. This is a story. You eat your food.
He drives you back at two-thirty.
Outside your building he doesnât turn the engine off, just parks, and you sit there for a moment in the particular quality of the end of a first â not a date, this is not a date, this is day one of thirteen and you have twelve tips left to deploy.
âI had a good time,â he says.
âMe too,â you say, which is true, which is fine, which is completely consistent with the plan.
âTomorrow?â he says.
âWhat about it.â
âAre you free.â
You look at him. âWhy, hoonie?â
The jaw thing again. âBecause Iâd like to see you again. Obviously.â
âObviously,â you repeat.
âIs that a yes?â
âThatâs a probably,â you say, and get out of the car, and donât look back, and get into the lift, and press your floor, and the second the doors close you take out your phone and open the google doc.
Day 1 â complete. Tip 1 deployed. He hates the nickname.
You pause.
He also doesnât hate the nickname.
You close the google doc. You open the blog dashboard. You start writing.
In the car outside your building, Sunghoon sits for a moment after you go in.
He looks at the building entrance.
He thinks about real answers are better than the other kind said with the particular directness of someone who means exactly what they say and has no interest in softening it.
He thinks about hoonie delivered with complete sincerity and zero apology and the way he couldnât find a single thing to do with it.
He picks up his phone. He opens the text thread.
tomorrow works. Iâll come to you this time.
He looks at what heâs typed. He sends it. He puts the car in drive.
Across town, your phone buzzes.
hoonie đ€: tomorrow works. Iâll come to you this time.
You stare at the contact name.
You type back: okay. noon again.
You put the phone down.
You pick up your notebook.
You write: tip two. the move-in. start small. a candle.
â
He comes at noon the next day.
Youâve been up since nine preparing, which is not something you will ever admit to Minji, who would make a face that would live in your memory for years. Youâve done your reading and drafted a column and had two coffees and told yourself that the preparation is logistical, itâs for the piece, it has nothing to do with the fact that someone is coming over at noon and youâd like the flat to look â not different exactly. Considered. Like you live here intentionally.
He arrives at noon exactly. Same as yesterday. You are starting to understand that this is just who he is â the punctuality, the quiet reliability of it â and you are filing it accordingly and not finding it anything other than useful data.
Heâs in a different hoodie today. Still simple, still worn-in, still somehow doing more than it should.
You let him in.
He looks around your flat with the attention he gives everything â quiet, unhurried, taking it in properly rather than performing interest. He looks at your books, your desk, the organised chaos of a final year journalism student who lives primarily in her own head.
âNice,â he says, which from him means something because he doesnât say things he doesnât mean.
âThanks,â you say. âMake yourself at home.â
He sits on your sofa.
You go to the kitchen.
You come back with two coffees â his black, which you know from Minjiâs intelligence and are absolutely not going to reveal that you know â and a candle, which you set on the coffee table with the ease of someone simply adding to their space, nothing deliberate about it, just a girl putting a candle in her own flat.
He looks at the candle.
âCedarwood,â he says.
âMm.â
âThatâsââ He pauses. âThatâs what my car smells like.â
You meet his eyes with complete innocence. âIs it? Iâve had this one for ages.â
He looks at you.
You hand him his coffee.
He takes it, still looking at you, with the expression of someone who is doing a calculation and arriving at a result he finds interesting.
âHoonie,â you say, sitting beside him. âWhat do you want to do today?â
The jaw thing. âStop calling me that.â
âI genuinely donât know what you mean,â you say.
âYou know exactly what I mean.â
âSunghoon is a lot of syllables,â you say. âHoonie is efficient.â
âItâs two syllables.â
âExactly. Same as Sunghoon. But softer.â You look at him with perfect sincerity. âIt suits you.â
âIt doesnâtââ He stops. Closes his mouth. Opens it again. âYouâre doing this on purpose.â
âDoing what?â
âI donât know yet,â he says, and his voice is different â not suspicious, more like genuinely curious, the specific tone of someone encountering a puzzle they actually want to solve. âBut youâre doing something.â
âIâm drinking my coffee,â you say. âIn my flat. That Iâve lived in for two years.â
He looks at the candle. Then at you.
Then, slowly, he smiles. Not the charm one. The real one, the unguarded one, the one that got out before he decided whether to let it. âOkay,â he says.
âOkay,â you agree. You drink your coffees.
He stays for four hours.
This is not planned. The plan was two hours maximum â enough to establish presence, enough to deploy the beginning of tip twoâs territorial creep, enough to leave him wanting more rather than enough. Four hours is not strategic.
Four hours happens because he mentions a book on your shelf â something youâve had since first year, annotated to within an inch of its life â and you end up in an argument about whether the narrator is unreliable or just mistaken, which are different things, which he agrees theyâre different things but disagrees on which one applies, and the argument is so genuinely enjoyable that you donât notice the time until the light through your window has gone from afternoon to early evening and youâve both moved from the sofa to the floor at some point without registering the transition.
âUnreliable implies intention,â you say, for the fourth time. âHeâs not lying. He just doesnât know.â
âNot knowing is a form of unreliability,â he says, also for the fourth time, from the other side of the coffee table. âYour perception shapes what you report. An unreliable perception makes an unreliable narrator regardless of intent.â
âThatâs a really broad definition of unreliable.â
âItâs the correct definition.â
âAccording to who?â
âAccording to the text,â he says, and picks up the book and reads you a passage with the ease of someone who has it half-memorised, which means heâs read this book before, which means he recognised it on your shelf, which meansâ
You stop that thought.
âThat passage supports my reading,â you say.
âIt supports mine.â
âIt doesnâtââ
âItââ
âHoonie.â
He stops. Looks at you. Something in his expression does the thing â the almost, the precursor â and then he looks back at the book and says, very calmly, âI will concede the passage is ambiguous.â
âThatâs not the same as conceding the argument.â
âNo,â he agrees. âItâs not.â
You look at him across the coffee table, the cedarwood candle burning between you, your annotated book in his hands, and you think about seventeen submissions and thirteen tips and the google doc with its four tabs and the fifth one you opened and immediately closed.
âItâs nearly six,â he says, checking his phone.
âIs it?â
âI should go.â But he doesnât move. âJayâs making dinner. He does this thing on Sundays where he decides he can cook and Heeseung and I have to either eat whatever it is or pretend we had plans.â
âDo you ever just tell him he canât cook?â
âEvery time.â He stands, finally, handing you back the book. âHe does it anyway.â
You walk him to the door.
He picks up his jacket from the hook â he hung it up when he came in, you noticed, without being asked â and pauses.
âTomorrow,â he says.
âWhat about it.â
âI have the rink in the morning. But after.â He looks at you. âCome to ours. Jay will make too much food regardless.â
âYouâre inviting me to dinner at your house,â you say.
âJayâs inviting you to dinner at our house,â he says. âJay just doesnât know it yet.â
You look at him.
âSo thatâs a yes?â he says.
You think about tip two. Move your stuff in. Start small. Establish presence in his space.
âSure,â you say. âWhat time?â
âSeven.â He opens the door. Pauses. âBring the candle.â
He says it completely straight-faced and leaves before you can respond, and you stand in your doorway watching him go down the hall and thinking that Park Sunghoon just made a joke about the candle, which means he knows about the candle, which means heâs paying attention to everything, which means this is going to be significantly more complicated than the google doc accounted for.
You close the door.
You pick up your notebook.
tip two update: he invited me to the house. didnât even have to engineer it. he did it himself.
You pause. Read it back.
this is either going really well or really badly and I canât tell which.
That night, after Jayâs food â which was aggressively fine, not bad, not good, aggressively fine â and two hours on their sofa watching something none of you were really watching, you leave the candle on their kitchen counter.
You do it on the way out, smooth and casual, setting it down like youâre just putting something down while you put your jacket on.
Heeseung sees you do it.
He says nothing.
You say goodnight and leave.
In the kitchen, Jay looks at the candle.
âIs thatââ
âDonât,â Sunghoon says.
âIâm just askingââ
âI know what youâre asking.â
âIt smells nice,â Jay says. âThatâs all I was going to say. It smells nice.â
Heeseung, from the sofa, turns a page of whatever heâs reading.
âShe left it on purpose,â he says, to the page.
âObviously,â Sunghoon says.
Jay looks between them. âAnd thatâsââ
âFine,â Sunghoon says. âItâs fine.â
He goes to his room.
Jay looks at the candle. Looks at Heeseung. Looks at the candle again.
âHe likes her,â Jay says.
âI know,â Heeseung says.
âItâs day two.â
âI know,â Heeseung says again.
Jay pulls out his phone. Looks at the bet, the text thread, the terms. Puts the phone back in his pocket.
âWeâre fine,â he says, to nobody in particular. Heeseung turns another page.
hoonie đ€: you left your candle
you: did I? I didnât notice
hoonie đ€: you noticed
you: Iâll pick it up next time
hoonie đ€: or I could bring it when I see you tomorrow
you: youâre seeing me tomorrow?
hoonie đ€: apparently
you: bold assumption
hoonie đ€: is it wrong
A pause. You look at the ceiling of your room. You look at your notebook, open on the bed beside you, tip two update written in your handwriting.
you: no
hoonie đ€: goodnight Y/N
you: goodnight hoonie
Three dots. Gone.
Then:
hoonie đ€: Iâm not calling you anything back
you: I know. goodnight.
hoonie đ€: âŠgoodnight.
â
đ€ kiss & tell
tip 02: start moving your stuff in. casually. let him notice slowly.
Donât announce it. Donât make it an event. Just â leave things. Small things first. A candle. A jacket over a chair. Let the object do the work while you do nothing at all.
The goal isnât possession. The goal is presence. The goal is to become a feature of his space so gradually that by the time he notices, youâre already there.
Did it work? He texted me about the candle.
Draw your own conclusions.
You didnât hear it from me. x
[2,341 readers. 81 comments.]
the CANDLE.
sheâs an evil genius and I mean that with full respect.
anonymous: I recognise this manâs entire behavioural pattern and Kiss & Tell you are doing the lordâs work.
â
đ€ kiss & tell
tip 03: cry. in front of him about something small.
Not a breakdown. Not a scene. Something small and genuine and completely disproportionate to the situation â a sad video, a dog, a song that comes on at the wrong moment.
The objective is simple. Men like this have spent years perfecting the art of emotional unavailability. Theyâve built entire personalities around not being the one who feels things in public. So you introduce feelings â small, manageable, completely non-threatening feelings â and you watch what they do with them.
Do they run? Do they freeze? Do they do the stiff-shoulder-pat of a man who has never once been asked to sit with someone elseâs emotions?
Results to follow.
You didnât hear it from me. x
â
Day three arrives with the particular energy of something that has already decided what itâs going to be.
You know this before youâre fully awake â the specific quality of the morning, October light coming through your curtains in the thin gold way it does when the weather canât commit to itself, and your phone already buzzing on the nightstand with a text that came in at seven forty-two AM from a contact saved as hoonie đ€ which is, you think, perhaps a sign that day three has opinions.
hoonie đ€: rink was good this morning. youâre up?
You stare at this message for a moment.
He texted you at seven forty-two in the morning, voluntarily, to tell you the rink was good.
You file this.
you: I am now
hoonie đ€: sorry
you: donât be. what made it good
A pause. Longer than his usual response time, which youâve already clocked is short â heâs not a leave-it-on-read person, he responds when he sees it, which means he has his phone nearby most of the time, which means the deliberate pauses are deliberate.
hoonie đ€: landed something Iâve been working on for two weeks
you: the triple?
hoonie đ€: you know about the triple
You freeze.
you: you mentioned it. yesterday. when you were talking about the programme.
This is a lie. He did not mention it yesterday. It is in tab one of the google doc, sourced from a submission sent in by a girl who went to one of his morning sessions three months ago and described watching him attempt a triple axel for forty minutes with the specific admiration of someone who has been thoroughly won over against their will.
Three dots. Then:
hoonie đ€: I donât think I mentioned it
you: you definitely did
hoonie đ€: âŠokay
He doesnât push it. You exhale.
you: so you landed it?
hoonie đ€: yeah
you: how does it feel
hoonie đ€: like the ice gave me permission
You read this three times. You put your phone face down on the pillow. You pick it up again.
you: thatâs a really good way to put it
hoonie đ€: Iâm a literature student
you: is that your excuse for everything
hoonie đ€: itâs not an excuse itâs a qualification
You laugh, alone in your room at seven fifty AM, at a joke made by a boy you are assigned to lose over thirteen days, and you file this too â heâs funny. not performed funny. actually funny. â and you do not examine the filing too closely.
you: come over later?
You send it before you can think about whether itâs too eager, too fast, inconsistent with the planned arc of tip deployment. It doesnât matter. Itâs day three. The scrapbook is day four. Today is the crying, which requires proximity, which requires him to be here.
Thatâs why you sent it.
hoonie đ€: what time
you: whenever. Iâll be in all day.
hoonie đ€: two?
you: two works
hoonie đ€: see you at two Y/N
You put the phone down. You open the google doc. You open a new document â not a tab, a separate one, private, not part of the Kiss & Tell infrastructure â and you write:
he said the ice gave me permission. I donât know what to do with that.
You close it without saving.
He arrives at two with food.
Not a lot â just things, from the place near the rink, the good one, without being asked, without announcing it. He comes through the door and sets a paper bag on your counter and shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on the hook, which he does automatically now, second time and already automatic, and you think about establish presence from your own tip and feel the specific irony of him doing it back to you without knowing.
âYou didnât have to,â you say, nodding at the bag.
âYou had food here last time,â he says. âFairâs fair.â
âI had coffee.â
âAnd a candle.â
âThe candle was already here.â
He gives you a look that says he absolutely knows the candle was not already there and is choosing not to press it, which is its own kind of move â letting you have the small fictions, not calling them out, keeping the game friendly.
You are a journalist. This is a story. You find this extremely interesting and nothing else.
You eat the food he brought at your kitchen counter, standing, which turns into sitting on the floor with your backs against the sofa because your flat is small and the counter doesnât have stools and somehow the floor is just where you both end up, plates balanced, talking about â nothing. The specific nothing of two people who are finding out that they can fill time with each other without effort, which is either the most ordinary thing in the world or the most significant, depending on who you are.
Heâs telling you about Jayâs latest cooking disaster â something involving rice and a confidence level that was not supported by the actual skill â when your phone, face up on the coffee table, plays a video.
Autoplay. Something from your feed. Youâd been scrolling before he arrived and left it open.
You both look at the screen.
Itâs a dog. A golden retriever, elderly, being reunited with a soldier coming home. The dog sees the soldier and its whole back half starts wagging and it makes a sound â a specific, desperate, youâre back youâre back youâre back sound â and the soldier gets down on his knees on the tarmac and the dog practically climbs into him.
You watch it for four seconds.
Your eyes fill up.
This is not entirely the plan. The plan was to deploy the crying strategically, with a video youâd pre-selected, at a moment youâd engineered. What is happening instead is that the video arrived without warning and you are apparently the kind of person who cries at dog videos at two forty-five in the afternoon in front of someone you are professionally obligated to remain detached from.
You blink. Hard. Once.
Too late.
Sunghoon looks at you.
He looks at the phone. Looks back at you. Looks at the tear that has made it approximately halfway down your cheek before you get a hand up to intercept it.
âAre you,â he starts.
âIâm fine,â you say. âItâs a dog.â
âI can see itâs a dog.â
âHe was so happy,â you say, which is not a sentence you planned to say, which arrives from somewhere entirely outside the tip deployment framework. âHe didnât even â the sound he madeââ
âOkay,â Sunghoon says.
âIâm not crying,â you say.
âYouâre definitely crying.â
âItâs a dog,â you say again, as if this is a complete explanation, which to you it is.
He is quiet for a moment.
Then he does something you did not put in the google doc, which is that he reaches over and hands you a napkin from the food bag â not with ceremony, not with the performance of someone doing a kind thing, just hands it over, plain and practical, the way youâd hand someone a napkin â and goes back to his food.
He doesnât say anything else about it.
He doesnât make it weird.
He doesnât do the stiff-shoulder-pat. He doesnât freeze. He doesnât make a joke or look uncomfortable or redirect the conversation with the energy of someone escaping a situation they donât know how to be in.
He hands you a napkin and goes back to his food and lets the moment be exactly what it is â small, genuine, completely disproportionate â without making it anything more.
You wipe your face.
You go back to your food.
âHe was really happy,â Sunghoon says, after a moment, to his plate.
You look at him.
He is very focused on his food. The tips of his ears are faintly pink.
âYeah,â you say. âHe was.â
You do not put this in the blog post.
You write the tip. You write the strategic version, the one about emotional unavailability and the shoulder-pat and watching what he does with feelings he didnât expect to encounter. You write it with the detachment of a journalist who has the story under control.
You do not write about the napkin.
You do not write about his ears.
You open the private document â the separate one, the one that isnât part of the Kiss & Tell infrastructure â and you write:
he handed me a napkin and didnât make it weird. thatâs it. thatâs the whole thing. I donât know why Iâm writing this down.
You stare at it.
You close it without saving. Again.
â
Day four arrives and you have a scrapbook to make.
Youâve been thinking about the scrapbook since you planned the tips. Itâs the most unhinged one â the most deliberately, strategically overwhelming â and it requires actual effort. You need photos, which means you need photos from the last three days, which means youâve been taking them.
You have, it turns out, taken more photos than you planned.
The food from the place near the rink, the brown paper bag with its logo. A screenshot of a text exchange that made you laugh. The view from his car window on day one, which you took while he wasnât looking because the light was doing something through the glass that you wanted to keep. His jacket on your hook â just the jacket, the empty shape of it against the door, which you took on day two after he left and have not examined why.
You print them at the campus print shop on Wednesday morning. You buy a scrapbook from the art supplies place next door â not a nice one, not a proper one, the kind with a flimsy cover and pages that are slightly too thick, which is exactly right. You buy stickers, because of course you do, and some tape, and a marker, and you sit at your kitchen table for an hour and make something that is objectively both ridiculous and, somewhere underneath the ridiculousness, completely genuine.
Because the photos are real. You actually took them. The light through his car window is actually beautiful. The jacket on the hook is actually â it looks like it belongs there, which is the thing you noticed when you took the photo, the way it looked like it had always been there, and thatâs why you took it, and you are a journalist and this is a story.
You close the scrapbook.
You put it in your bag.
He comes over at noon. Heâs in the hoodie again â different one this time, grey, slightly older, and youâve started to understand that the hoodies are his version of comfortable, that he dresses for other people sometimes and for himself other times and the hoodie version is the himself version.
âHoonie,â you say, letting him in.
âY/N,â he says, with the patience of someone who has accepted this is simply going to happen.
You make coffee. You bring it to the sofa. You sit beside him with your bag and heâs looking at his phone, something about the rink schedule, and you pull the scrapbook out and set it on the coffee table.
He looks at it.
Then at you.
âWhatâs that,â he says.
âA scrapbook,â you say.
âOf.â
âUs,â you say. âMostly. The last few days.â
He is very still.
âWeâve known each other for four days,â he says.
âThree and a half,â you correct. âBut a lot happened.â
He looks at the scrapbook. At the cover, which has a sticker on it â a small gold star, because you had the stickers and it felt right â and his name written in marker in your handwriting, hoonie, which you did partly for the tip and partly because by the time you were making it youâd stopped thinking about the tip.
âCan Iââ he starts.
âGo ahead,â you say.
He picks it up.
He opens it.
You watch him.
He goes through it slowly, which you didnât expect â you expected a quick flip, the polite skim of someone who doesnât know how to receive something like this and is looking for the exit. Instead he takes his time. Each page. The food bag photo. The text screenshot. The light through the car window.
He stops on that one.
âWhen did you take this,â he says.
âDay one. On the way to lunch.â
âI didnât see you take it.â
âYou were driving.â
He looks at the photo. At the light through the glass, the way it caught and scattered, the particular quality of it that made you reach for your phone without thinking.
âItâs good,â he says, quietly. Not performing it.
âI know,â you say. âThatâs why I took it.â
He turns the page.
He finds the jacket photo.
Heâs quiet for a long moment. Long enough that you stop watching him and look at the coffee table instead, the cedarwood candle â his candle now, in their kitchen, you brought a new one for yours â and the two coffees going slowly cold.
âYou took a photo of my jacket,â he says.
âIt looked nice on the hook,â you say.
âOn your hook.â
âOn my hook. Yes.â
He closes the scrapbook. Sets it on the table. Picks up his coffee.
You wait.
âYouâve known me for four days,â he says again.
âThree and a half.â
âY/N.â
âSunghoon.â
He looks at you. And here is the thing â here is the thing you didnât put in the google doc and couldnât have â he doesnât look unsettled. He doesnât look like a man encountering an overwhelming situation and calculating his exit. He looks like a man encountering something he doesnât have a category for and finding, to his own apparent surprise, that heâs not looking for one.
âYouâre something,â he says.
âIâve been told,â you say.
âI donât mean it like that.â
âHow do you mean it.â
He looks at the scrapbook on the table. At the gold star sticker on the cover. At hoonie in your handwriting.
âI donât know yet,â he says honestly. âIâll tell you when I do.â
You look at him for a long moment.
Filed under â
You donât file it.
For the first time since the google doc, since the seventeen submissions, since the plan that is elegant and slightly unhinged, you look at Park Sunghoon sitting on your sofa holding his coffee with the scrapbook of three and a half days on the table between you and you donât file it.
You just look at him.
âOkay,â you say.
âOkay,â he says.
You drink your coffees.
He leaves at four. He picks up the scrapbook on the way out, without asking, and you watch him tuck it under his arm like itâs something heâs taking home, which it is, which means it worked, which means tip four is complete.
You should feel like you won something. You mostly feel like you did something real.
âTomorrow,â he says, at the door.
âTomorrow,â you agree.
He goes.
You close the door.
You go to your desk. You open your laptop. You open the blog dashboard and you write the tip post â the strategic version, the scrapbook-as-weapon version, the this-is-how-you-overwhelm-a-man-who-runs-from-feelings version.
Then you open the private document.
You stare at the blank page.
You type: he took it home.
Four words. You look at them.
he took it home and I donât know if thatâs the tip working or something else and I think the problem is Iâm not sure it matters anymore which one it is.
You close it.
This time you save it.
In the house off campus, Jay finds the scrapbook.
Not snooping â itâs on the kitchen counter, which is where Sunghoon put it when he came in, and Jay sees it because he goes to the kitchen for water and itâs just there, and he picks it up because it has a gold star sticker on it and heâs curious.
He opens it.
He looks at the photos. The food bag. The text screenshot. The light through the car window. The jacket on the hook.
He closes it.
He goes to the living room where Heeseung is reading.
âHeeseung,â he says.
âMm.â
âWe have a problem.â
Heeseung turns a page. âI know.â
âShe made him a scrapbook.â
âI know.â
âItâs day four.â
âI know, Jay.â
Jay sits down heavily on the sofa. He looks at the ceiling. He thinks about the bet â the text thread, the terms, thirteen days, one girl, you actually try â and he thinks about Sunghoonâs face when he came home, which was not the face of a man who is running a bet.
It was the face of a man who took a scrapbook home and is not entirely sure why and is not entirely bothered by not being sure.
âWe should say something,â Jay says.
âShould we,â Heeseung says, not looking up.
âOne of us shouldââ
âWhich one of us,â Heeseung says, âis going to walk into Sunghoonâs room and tell him that the girl who made him a scrapbook on day four is doing it on purpose, and also that you made a bet, and also that weâve both been watching this happen and said nothing?â
Jay opens his mouth.
âWhich one of us,â Heeseung continues, turning another page, âis going to do that.â
Jay closes his mouth.
He looks at the ceiling.
âWeâll give it a few more days,â he says.
Heeseung says nothing.
Which is, Jay is beginning to understand, Heeseungâs way of saying you have made a catastrophic error and I am going to let you arrive at that conclusion yourself.
Jay goes back to the kitchen.
He looks at the scrapbook on the counter.
He gets his water.
He goes to bed.
â
đ€ kiss & tell
tip 04: make a scrapbook. day four. show him.
Physical evidence of a relationship that is three and a half days old.
Print the photos. Buy the stickers. Write his name on the cover in your own handwriting. Make it real enough that he canât dismiss it and ridiculous enough that he should want to.
The goal is overwhelm. The goal is to be too much, too fast, too sincere â to deploy the kind of gesture that sends men like this running for the nearest exit.
Hereâs what happened instead⊠he took it home.
I donât have a tip for that. Iâll get back to you.
You didnât hear it from me. x
[3,102 readers. 114 comments.]
SHE DOESNâT HAVE A TIP FOR THAT IâM LOSING MY MIND.
kiss & tell are you okay.
anonymous: I know who this is and I need everyone to understand that this man has never once taken anything home in three years.
‷ from Kiss & Tell: âŠnoted.
â
đ€ kiss & tell
tip 05: name it. (as in his penis ;))
Give it a full name. Something formal. Something that requires introduction. Deploy it with complete sincerity and maintain eye contact with him while you do it.
The objective here is simple â men who have built entire personalities around being untouchable tend to have one specific vulnerability, which is being caught completely off guard in a situation where charm is not a useful tool.
This is that situation.
Results to follow.
You didnât hear it from me. x
â
Day five starts with a text at seven AM.
hoonie đ€: rink. triple again. landed it cleaner.
You read this lying on your back in the dark of your room, phone screen bright in the early morning, and you think about like the ice gave me permission and the private document youâve been saving things to and the fact that he texts you about the rink now, voluntarily, without prompting, like youâre the person he tells things to.
Youâve been the person he tells things to for five days.
you: cleaner how
hoonie đ€: the landing. rotation was right last time but the landing was off. today it was right.
you: what does a right landing feel like
The pause is longer this time. The deliberate kind.
hoonie đ€: like the ground caught you on purpose
You stare at this message.
You type: thatâs a really good sentence
hoonie đ€: I told you. literature student.
you: qualification not excuse
hoonie đ€: exactly
you: come over tonight?
You send it before you think about it, which is becoming a pattern you havenât fully addressed. The plan accounts for frequency of contact â itâs in the timeline tab, maintain consistent but not overwhelming presence, let him initiate where possible. You have been initiating more than the timeline accounts for.
You file this under logistical adjustment and move on.
hoonie đ€: yeah. eight?
you: eight works
hoonie đ€: Iâll bring food
you: you donât have to keep doing that
hoonie đ€: I know
You put your phone down.
You open the google doc.
You open the private document instead.
he said like the ground caught you on purpose. Iâve been thinking about it for twenty minutes. I should probably stop thinking about it. Iâm not going to stop thinking about it.
You close it.
He arrives at eight with food from a different place this time â further from campus, somewhere you donât recognise the bag from, which means he went out of his way, which you note and do not remark on.
Heâs in the grey hoodie again. The himself one.
Youâre in your flat in your own version of the himself thing â an old university shirt, jeans, hair thatâs been up since this morning and is making its own decisions at this point â and when you open the door he looks at you with the expression he gets sometimes, the brief unguarded one, before he recalibrates into easy and casual.
âHi, hoonie,â you say.
âHi,â he says, with the patient resignation of a man who has stopped arguing about the nickname and is choosing to interpret this as winning.
You eat on the floor again. This is simply where you eat now, apparently â sofa abandoned in favour of the rug, backs against the coffee table, food between you. Youâve stopped thinking about whether this is strategic. Itâs just comfortable.
He tells you about the rink. About the programme heâs been working on for three months, the one the triple is part of, the way the whole thing builds toward a specific feeling heâs been chasing.
âWhat feeling,â you ask.
âLike itâs inevitable,â he says. âLike every element was always going to be in that order. Like the programme is just â uncovering something that was already there.â
You look at him.
âThatâs what good writing feels like,â you say. âWhen it works. Like youâre not inventing it, just finding it.â
He looks back at you.
âYeah,â he says. âExactly like that.â
The room is quiet for a moment. The good kind, the kind that doesnât require filling.
You are a journalist. This is a story.
âSo,â you say, and something in your voice shifts, and he hears it â you see him hear it, the slight attention change, the orientation. âIâve been thinking.â
âAbout.â
âAbout the fact that itâs day five,â you say, âand weâve been spending a significant amount of time together.â
âWe have,â he agrees, carefully.
âAnd I thinkââ You look at him with complete sincerity. âI think itâs time we took the next step.â
He goes very still.
âThe nextââ
âI want to,â you say, and you hold his gaze, âif you want to.â
A pause.
He looks at you. You look at him. The space between you on the rug is not very large and the lamp is doing something warm with the light and heâs in his grey hoodie and his hair is doing the unstyled thing and his expression isâ
âYeah,â he says, quietly. âOkay.â
The thing about Park Sunghoon, which was in the submissions but which the submissions did not adequately convey, is that he is extremely good at this.
Not in the way you expected.
You expected the practiced version â efficient, warm in a generalised way, the kind of good that comes from having done something enough times that it stops requiring thought. You expected charm applied to a physical situation. You expected to feel, somewhere underneath everything, the low hum of being processed. Another girl. Another night. Another name he wouldnât remember by the end.
What you get is the opposite of all of that.
He notices things.
He gets your shirt off and looks at you with that expression â the brief unguarded one, the one youâve been cataloguing â and it doesnât recalibrate this time. He just looks. Openly, unhurriedly, like youâre something he hasnât finished figuring out and is in no rush to.
His eyes move over you slowly. Your face. Your throat. Lower.
âHi,â he says quietly, and it sounds like something else entirely.
âHi, hoonie,â you say, because you canât help it, and he makes a sound that is almost a laugh and presses his mouth to your collarbone.
And then he takes you apart.
He gets your bra off and looks at your tits with the focused attention of someone making a decision, and then his hands are on them â cupping, thumbs brushing your nipples â and you inhale sharply and he does it again, watching your face while he does it, filing away the reaction.
âSensitive,â he says. Not a question.
âShut up,â you say.
The corner of his mouth does the thing. He lowers his head and closes his mouth over your nipple and your hand goes into his hair immediately, gripping, and the sound you make is embarrassingly immediate. He works them with his mouth and hands â unhurried, thorough, learning what makes you twitch versus what makes you actually make noise â and by the time he starts moving down your body you are already significantly less composed than you planned to be.
He gets your jeans off and looks at you and says âfuckâ quietly, to himself, like it got out before he decided to let it, and that single unguarded profanity is what tips you from oriented into something else. Because itâs real. Because he means it. Because Park Sunghoon, looking at you in the lamplight of his room, forgot for one second to manage his expression.
You were not prepared for him to mean it.
He gets your underwear off and puts his mouth on your pussy and you stop being a journalist completely.
He eats you out the way he does everything â with complete attention, unhurried, like thereâs a right answer here and heâs going to find it. His tongue works through your folds slowly and then finds your clit and stays there and you grip his hair and he takes that as information and presses closer. Two fingers push into your pussy and curl and you arch off the bed.
âSunghoon ââ
âMm,â he says against you, which is not words, which is just sound, and somehow thatâs worse.
He learns you methodically â finding the specific pressure on your clit that makes your thighs shake, the angle of his fingers against your walls that makes you lose language, and then staying there, patient and relentless, not moving on until heâs got exactly the response he was looking for. You have both hands in his hair and youâre not being careful about how hard youâre pulling and he seems to actively prefer this, his fingers curling deeper when you do.
The first orgasm hits harder than you expected. You cry out properly â loud enough to echo off the walls of his quiet house â and he works you through every second of it and then keeps going and you try to pull him up by the hair.
He ignores you.
âMore,â he says against your pussy, simply, like itâs obvious.
âSunghoon ââ
âMore.â He looks up at you over your body and his eyes are completely dark and the composed literary student is entirely gone and something about the specific way heâs looking at you â focused, certain, like you are a problem he is enjoying solving â makes heat bloom all the way up your chest. âI want to hear it again.â
You give it to him. The second one builds slower and hits differently â deeper, rolling through you in long waves â and youâre shaking by the end of it, thighs clamped around his head, and he pulls back and looks at you and his mouth is slick and his expression is thoroughly satisfied.
He moves up your body. Looks at you. Checks â actually checks, the same care underneath everything.
âYeah?â he says.
âYeah,â you say. âObviously yeah ââ
He kisses you and you taste yourself on his mouth and pull him closer and he makes a low sound and reaches over to the nightstand and then heâs back and lining up and pushing into your pussy slow and â
You understand immediately why seventeen girls kept coming back.
Itâs not just the size, though thatâs â relevant information, significant information, information you are filing carefully. Itâs the way heâs completely there. No part of him is somewhere else. His forehead drops to yours and he gives you a moment, feeling your walls adjust around his cock, and when he starts to move the sound he makes against your neck is low and genuine and nothing like performance.
âFuck,â he breathes. His hips drive forward and you arch up and he groans. âYou feel so good.â He pulls back and pushes in deeper and you make a sound that has no consonants in it. âYeah.â His mouth finds your ear. âJust like that.â
âSunghoon ââ
âIâve got you,â he says. âRelax.â
He sets a pace that is deep and thorough and completely unhurried â long strokes that drag against your walls perfectly, his cock filling you on every thrust in a way that keeps short-circuiting coherent thought. His hands move over you while he moves â your waist, your hips, sliding up to your tits and gripping before moving back down â like he wants to touch all of you and is working through the logistics of it.
You are loud. You were not planning to be loud. You are very loud.
âThere,â he says, when you make a specific sound, and adjusts his angle and does it again. âRight there?â
âYes ââ Your hands grab his shoulders. âYes, right ââ
âGood girl.â He stays at that angle. His thumb finds your clit and you cry out. âSo good for me.â
The words land somewhere that surprises you with how directly they land. Your whole body responds to them â clenching around his cock â and he groans at the feeling and his composure slips a fraction.
âTight,â he says against your throat. âTight fucking pussy ââ His hips snap forward and you cry out again. âYou feel that?â
âYes ââ
âYeah.â His thumb keeps working your clit, small and precise, and his cock is deep and his mouth is at your jaw and your ear and your throat. âTake it.â He drives in harder. âJust like that. Take it.â
You come on his cock with your nails in his shoulders and your head thrown back and a sound that you will think about with some embarrassment tomorrow and he works you through every second of it â hips maintaining that deep steady rhythm, thumb relentless on your clit â until youâre grabbing his wrist and making incoherent noises.
âToo much ââ you manage. âToo ââ
âOne more,â he says. Not unkind. Just certain, the way heâs certain about everything. âGive me one more.â
âSunghoon I literally ââ
âOne more,â he says, and shifts his angle, and you sob, and give him one more.
He comes shortly after, buried deep, his forehead to your shoulder, groaning low against your skin with his hips pressed flush against yours and his cock pulsing and staying buried while he rides it out. His hand at your hip is tight enough to leave something tomorrow and neither of you are thinking about tomorrow.
He stays there after. Breathing. Not rushing the aftermath.
You are not going to put all this in your blog. What you are going to put in the blog is what happens approximately forty minutes in, when you are in his bed â you ended up at his, Heeseung and Jay both absent, the house quiet and warm â and things have arrived at a natural pause, and you look at him and the tip, the one youâve been planning since the google doc, arrives.
âHi,â you say.
He looks at you. âHi.â
You look down. Then back up. Very seriously.
âHi, Gerald,â you say.
The silence is immediate and total.
Sunghoon stares at you.
You maintain eye contact.
âWhat,â he says.
âGerald,â you say. âI think it suits him.â
âYouââ He stops. âYou justââ
âFormally,â you say. âI wanted to do it formally.â
He stares at you for a long moment. Something is happening in his face â a sequence of things, moving through quickly, surprise and bafflement and something else underneath both of them, something that is fighting very hard not to become what it wants to become.
It loses the fight.
He laughs.
Not a small laugh, not the quiet almost-laugh youâve catalogued â a real one, full, the kind that takes him by surprise, that gets out before he can decide whether to let it, that turns into another one before the first oneâs finished, and he puts a hand over his face and laughs into his palm and you watch this happen and feel something in your chest that is completely outside the scope of the assignment.
âGerald,â he says, from behind his hand.
âStrong name,â you say. âClassic.â
âYou planned that,â he says.
âI have no idea what youâre talking about.â
âYou one hundred percent planned that.â
âI acted on instinct.â
He looks at you from behind his hand, eyes visible above his fingers, still doing the aftermath of the laugh â the residual warmth of it, the particular quality of someone who has just laughed properly and the room is different because of it. âInstinct,â he repeats.
âIt felt right,â you say.
He drops his hand. Looks at you properly.
And here is the thing that doesnât go in the blog, that goes in the private document, that you will think about at seven AM tomorrow when he texts you about the rink: he looks at you like you are the most interesting thing that has happened to him in years. Not in the charming way, not the way he probably looks at everyone. In a specific way. The way you look at something that keeps being different from what you expected and youâve stopped expecting it to stop.
âGerald,â he says again, quieter.
âDo you hate it?â you ask.
âYes,â he says.
âGood,â you say.
He laughs again, smaller this time, and pulls you back in, and the rest of the night is â the rest of the night goes in the private document, not the blog.
What goes in the blog is the tip. The strategic version. The maintained-eye-contact version.
What goes in the private document, at one forty-seven AM, lying in his bed while heâs asleep, phone screen dim so it doesnât wake him:
he laughed. the real one, the full one, not the almost. Iâve been cataloguing the almost-laughs for five days and tonight I got the real one and it happened because of Gerald and I think I need to be honest with myself about something.
I think I need to be honest with myself about something and then a long blank space where you couldnât find the words, and then:
the ground caught you on purpose. thatâs what he said this morning. and I keep thinking about it and I think Iâm starting to understand what he means and I donât know what to do with that.
You save it.
You put the phone down.
Beside you, Sunghoon sleeps with the specific quality of someone who is completely comfortable, one hand near yours on the pillow, not touching but close, and the lamp is still on because neither of you got up to turn it off and the room is warm and the scrapbook is on his desk, the gold star sticker catching the light, and outside the window the campus goes about its late night and inside this room everything isâ
You donât finish the sentence.
You close your eyes.
In the morning you wake up before him.
This surprises you â you expected him to be the early one, the rink-at-five-AM one, and he will be tomorrow and the day after, but today is not a rink morning and so heâs asleep when the light comes through the curtains and you lie there for a moment in the particular disorientation of waking somewhere that isnât your room.
Then it lands.
Right. Yes.
You turn your head.
Heâs asleep on his back, one arm at his side, hair doing something completely unmanaged, and he looks â he looks like himself. The version underneath everything else. Without the careful ease, without the recalibration, just him, and you lie there and look at him and think about seventeen submissions and the google doc and the private document and Gerald and the laugh and the ground caught you on purpose.
He opens his eyes.
Finds you immediately, without looking â just turns his head and youâre there and he looks at you with the specific expression of someone waking up and finding exactly what they were hoping to find and not trying to manage that expression at all.
âHi,â he says.
âHi, hoonie,â you say.
He closes his eyes again, briefly. âYouâre doing that in the morning now.â
âI do it all the time.â
âItâs worse in the morning.â
âBecause youâre less defended.â
He opens his eyes. Looks at you. âYeah,â he says, quietly. âMaybe.â
The room is morning-quiet. The lamp is still on, pale now against the daylight. His desk has the scrapbook on it, gold star, hoonie in your handwriting.
âRink tomorrow,â he says.
âI know.â
âEarly.â
âI know.â
âYou couldââ He stops.
âCould what,â you say.
âCome,â he says. âIf you wanted. Itâs early. You probably donât want to.â
You look at him.
âWhat time,â you say.
Something in his face does the thing. âFive-thirty.â
âIâll be there at five-twenty,â you say. âTo be annoying.â
He looks at the ceiling. But his mouth is doing the thing and he doesnât try to stop it, not this morning, not in this room.
âObviously,â he says.
Jay is in the kitchen when Sunghoon comes downstairs at nine.
Heâs making coffee with the focused energy of someone who has been awake for a while and has been thinking about things and has decided to make coffee because itâs better than the alternative. He looks up when Sunghoon comes in. Clocks his expression. Looks at the scrapbook, which has migrated from the counter to the kitchen table at some point. Looks back at Sunghoon.
âGood night?â Jay says, with the careful neutrality of a man defusing a situation.
âYeah,â Sunghoon says. He opens the fridge. Gets juice. âYou?â
âFine.â Jay pours two coffees without being asked and sets one on the counter. âShe go home?â
âEarlier.â
âRight.â A pause. âSheâsââ Jay stops.
âWhat.â
âNothing,â Jay says. âShe seems good. Sheâs good.â
Sunghoon looks at him.
Jay picks up his coffee.
âWhat,â Sunghoon says again.
âNothing,â Jay says. âI justââ He stops again. He has the expression of a man standing at the entrance to a conversation he should have two days ago and is finding the door very heavy. âI just think sheâs good. Thatâs all. I like her.â
âOkay,â Sunghoon says slowly.
âOkay,â Jay says.
Sunghoon picks up his coffee. Looks at Jay for a moment with the particular look of someone who knows a conversation is being avoided and is choosing, for now, not to push it.
He takes his coffee upstairs.
Jay stands in the kitchen alone.
He looks at the scrapbook on the table. At hoonie in someone elseâs handwriting. At the gold star sticker.
He takes out his phone. He opens the bet thread. He stares at it. He puts his phone back in his pocket. He drinks his coffee.
â
đ€ kiss & tell
tip 05: name it.
Full name. Formal introduction. Complete sincerity. Maintained eye contact.
Hereâs what I can tell you: it worked. The overwhelm landed. He was, briefly, completely caught off guard in a situation where charm was not a useful tool.
Hereâs what I canât tell you: what happened after.
Not because it isnât relevant. Because some things are happening in this story that I didnât plan for and Iâm a journalist and I know when a story is going somewhere I didnât map out and I need a minute to figure out what that means before I report on it.
Tip six is boys night. Iâll be there Thursday.
You didnât hear it from me. x
[4,891 readers. 203 comments.]
KISS AND TELL WHAT DO YOU MEAN SOME THINGS ARE HAPPENING THAT YOU DIDNâT PLAN FOR.
sheâs in trouble.
‷ weâre all in trouble.
the name reveal is going to be in the comments for the rest of time.
anonymous: I go to this campus. I know who this is about. I need everyone to understand that this man smiled at someone in the humanities building yesterday and it was not his normal smile.
‷ from Kiss & Tell: âŠIâm going to need you to expand on that.
laceys note // if you guys made it to the end thank u! and yes before yall ask i do have part 2 in the making đ
perm taglist. @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips @hooniluhv @afanok @engenewilstaykon @seungiesdoll @rinforu @isa942572 @ride-a-nishimura @florarua @baedreamverse @softblaqn @rikisloverrr @kittyvalr @ellushic @dimples264493 @kimmm02 @kiwicup @jakebitez @mystgene @baek-some-cake @betagalactose @kookiesnkim @honeyvelvetinez @violetteaismyfavourite @meowza1 @abbyssful @yandere-stories @imminentcodexcore @mlink64 @k4y-sh @rubadubdubinthetub @jungwno @k3nza @simjakeyjake @heeseungdada @bbrianawhatt @onlyifusayyesxx @mintchocoddeonut @sillycactus143 @heexyzy @wonkiipiilled
toji doesnt let anything bad in life stain his sweet girl âĄ
new series!! rough toji x shy&sweet!reader
one thing about toji is that no matter how rough the edges of his life are, he keeps every last one of them away from you.
youre too sweet for it, too soft, all warm smiles and gentle hands and that way you look at him like theres nothing ugly in the world, let alone in him, and he cant stand the thought of any of his habits brushing up against you.
when hes outside with a cigarette between his fingers and you come padding over in those soft little house clothes, he notices before you even reach him, turning his wrist so the ember faces away from you, already stepping back.
"âŠnah, stay there," he mutters, voice low.
you still come closer, smiling up at him, and he exhales the smoke away from your face, chin tipped toward the dark yard instead of you.
"aint for you," he says, quieter this time, like its obvious. like sweet girls like you arent supposed to smell like smoke. his free hand still finds your waist, though, pulling you into his side while he keeps the cigarette held far back behind him.
you sigh into him, and he presses a small, sweet kiss on your hairline.
and its the same with his temper.
his gruff voice, the hard stare, the clipped replies, but the second you wander into the room all soft and sleepy, asking him something in that sweet voice of yours, it changes.
youll hear him cursing under his breath at something that pissed him off, jaw tight, shoulders tense, and the second you peek your head around the doorway, he goes quiet.
his eyes land on you and his whole expression shifts.
"...what d'you need," he mutters, still rough, but softer for you.
even with the people he keeps around, hes careful. if someone talks too loud, too crude, too rough when youre nearby, hes already looking at them before you even notice.
that slow, flat stare, the one that says enough.
because as far as hes concerned, you stay sweet, and nothing mean in this world gets to stain that if he can help it.
taglist: @@jjakeysheart @rkivesvs7 @c6choso @shea354 @kiwicherry04 @choco-chipp @tojibunnyy @tojisgdgirl @xoxocherrybabyy @dearwyn @pigtaileddolliee @tojiful @heartcandyslxt @lisabelhyhn @chaeisrichnow @chewiebee @tojisfiancee @retiredpanda @bbvvvy @princesplatano @jaehyunsleftnut @lightandfuryauthor @fysalia @alinacoke @ssrist @bl1ndv3lvet @lisa200976 @vheartsfushi @amarislovesmcdonalds @1ana22 @cherrieslovess @arcanehellokittyforlife69 @lov-3-x @str4wb3rrylife @whoiskaykay @sugurusbun @tojioppshotta @yumyumyu @yvesapple4 @733164 @peonysecret @pr1ncessthug @magicalpeenpoo @unknownowlbokutoswifeyy @eepynataly @bowiesprettieststar2 @bagleaf @lacedwithsarcasm @wholemeltt @ipoopedmypants47 @aporeudite @sanenyaaa
© 2026 paperellina - all rights reserved. do not plagiarise, translate, or feed into any form of ai.
would you ever consider sharing links for you fav vids? đđŒđđŒ
making out w/ silver hair jay
sunghoon playing with ur clit as he fucks you good
jay fucking his trophy wife (me) after a long day at work
was focus on the girl more but this is jake coded, eating you out
heeseung loves it when you ride him
jungwon sucking your tities
read caption, itâs about riding hoon face with his beard unshaved ngh
big cock jake fucking you nice and slow
woah the amount of likes is kinda crazy. u guys are into that????
âŒïžNSFW JAKE AUDIO âŒïž
(But I actually used his actual groaning)
Late night back shots after dance practice to relive stress.
the baby project â park jongseong
in which you and jay are forced to take care of a fake baby for a week.
pairing: football player!jay x fem!reader
wc: 19.4k
cw: high school au, strangers to friends to lovers, forced proximity, themes of academic stress/pressure, a tiny bit of jealousy once, one kiss, mentions of multiple idols, reader is implied to be a year younger than jay, rivals to ?? (secondary characters), friendship dynamics, strong language.
warnings: none, it's all fluff!
a/n: happy jay day! i can't believe he's turning 24, time flies! <3 so, as a gift, i wanted to write a little (or not so little) something for you. i had so much fun writing this, so i hope you'll enjoy it as much as i did!
the bell had barely stopped ringing when ms. choi clapped her hands twice, the sound sharp enough to cut through the usual friday afternoon chatter.
âalright, everyone settle down. this is for both juniors and seniors today. phones away.â
you slide a little lower in your seat, already sensing something painful is about to happen. the shared class period with the seniors had always been a mixed bag â sometimes interesting, sometimes just loud. but today it feels different, almost⊠dangerous.
ms. choi smiles like she's about to hand out candy, and that's when you know. something big is coming. she may fool others with that sweet smile, but you know better than that.
every time she uses that smile, every time she has that glimpse in her eyes⊠it means trouble. she's known not only for being a great teacher, but also for her love for âlife skillsâ projects. she always does one. she has done one ever since you started high school. every. single. year.
you can just cross your fingers and hope for the best.
âdear students, this semester weâre doing the baby project,â you hear a loud sigh coming from the back. she rolls her eyes, a little smile on her lips. âyes, mr. kang, the one youâve all heard horror stories about. youâll be paired randomly across grade levels. and you'll be given one electronic doll per pair. it cries, it needs feeding, changing, burping, playing â on a completely random schedule, including nights and weekends. just like a real baby,â she explains as she walks around the class. âyouâll keep a shared digital logbook. your combined grade depends on how well you cooperate and how high the dollâs health score stays by sunday night next week.â
âbut ms. choi,â yunjin starts, raising her hand. âwe're so busy! the drama club is starting rehearsals on monday, and it's 2 hours every day. how can i take care of the baby if i'm supposed to be singing?â
âyeah, same with the debate club. we're going on a tournament next weekend.â sunoo adds.
âand what about the football team?â jay, one of the seniors sitting on the back, cuts in, leaning back in his chair but clearly tense. ânationals are in three weeks. scouts are going to be there.â he exhales, running a hand through his hair. âif i mess that up, i can kiss my scholarship goodbye.â
then, the chaos starts. everybody is talking. there are so many voices in the room you can't even tell what they're saying.
ms. choi claps her hands once, sharp enough to cut through the noise. âalright, alright â everyone, thatâs enough.â
the room slowly quiets. she softens her expression slightly.
âyouâre all proving my point for me. youâre busy, stressed, juggling a hundred things⊠welcome to real life, where responsibilities donât wait until itâs convenient. this is exactly why youâre doing this project. life doesnât pause when things get busy,â she continues. âyou learn how to manage responsibility alongside everything else.â she gestures toward the class. âand just to remind you â this is a paired assignment. so instead of complaining to me, start discussing how youâre going to handle it with your partner.â
yunjin opens his mouth, ready to say something.
âno 'but's,'â she cuts her. âmy decision is done. now, let's go with the pairs!â
a collective groan rolls through the room. someone in the back actually whispers âplease no.â
ms. choi ignores it and picks up the small bowls of folded papers.
âagain, the pairs will be randomly assigned. one junior, one senior. and before you ask, mr. sim, no, there won't be changes accepted.â
âbut mr. choi,â you hear jake, one of the seniors, speak. âi'm sure sunghoon and i would make great parents! look at us, handsome, funny, and very good at taââ
then there's a loud sound, like a smack on the back of his head. then an âouch!â coming from jake's mouth.
âseems like mr. park. doesn't agree,â ms. choi laughs, shaking her head. âlet's keep going then. now, please, when i call your name, come sit with your partner at the front tables so we can go over the rules together.â
your stomach twists. you hate the idea of group projects. even more if you can't go with one of your friends. even more if you have to interact with a senior, as you don't know any of them personally. you glance sideways at kazuha, who is already giving you a sympathetic look from two seats away.
you watch ms. choi rummaging through the papers of each bowl. then, names started getting called.
âkim sunoo and kang taehyun.â
ânakamura kazuha and kim gaeulâ
âhuh yunjin and park sunghoon.â
you gasp, and yunjinâs eyes go wide.
park sunghoon is the captain of the football team, the 'popular guy.' he's the acclaimed king of the whole school. he's everything, and he can get everything he wants â for example, permission to celebrate private football events at the the covered courtyard behind the school. and yunjin, the president of the drama club, who had been trying to convince the director for months to be able to perform the christmas play at that exact same spot, can't stand him. at all.
you mouth âgood luckâ at her while she stands up, shoulders squared like she's heading into battle.
then, more names.
you don't pay attention to them. you just glance around the room, making a quick mental list of every single senior who hasn't been named yet.
you see ningning, one of the head cheerleaders. she isn't exactly mean â in fact, she gifted you her lipstick once, saying 'it suited you better' â but she just doesn't talk too much with others outside her friend group. there's jisung, known for being the president of the dance club. he's charismatic, and, according to yunjin who once shared a class with him, very responsible. he'd make a good partner, you think. even tsuki, the bubbly girl from the art club would be a better partner than some irresponsible football player who only thinks about running behind a ball!
but you hear your name, and time stops.
and thenâ
ââŠand park jongseong.â
your heart drops straight to your shoes.
park jongseong.
known as jay.
you know the name, of course. everyone does. senior. football player. not the captain â that's sunghoon â but still one of the core guys. tall, dark hair that always looks a little messy after practice, quiet confidence that makes him stand out without trying. he's sitting two rows behind you, same aisle. you have never once spoken to him. not a single word in your entire high school career.
you hear the scrape of a chair behind you. then footsteps.
when you turn, jay is already walking toward the front tables, hands in the pockets of his school jacket. his expression is calm, almost neutral, unfaced, but you catch the tiniest furrow between his brows. like he's processing the same information you are.
ms. choi points at the two empty seats side by side.
âgo ahead and sit together.â
you stand up on autopilot, legs feeling a little unsteady. when you reach the table, jay is already there, pulling out the chair next to his. he doesnât say anything at first â just gives you a small nod.
you sit.
up close he smells faintly like fresh laundry and the mint gum he probably chewed between classes. his knee accidentally bumps yours under the table and he pulls it back quickly.
âuh⊠hi,â he says, voice low so only you could hear. âiâm jongseong. but you can call me jay.â
you swallow.
âi know,â you answer, then immediately regret how that sounded. âi meanâ hi, nice to meet you.â
he gives you a tiny half-smile, the kind that doesnât quite reach his eyes. ânice to meet you, too.â he pauses, staring at you.
after some seconds, you realize he's waiting for you to introduce yourself. âshit, sorry,â you laugh and tell him your name.
when she finishes making the pairs, ms. choi starts explaining the rules to the whole group again, but you can barely focus. the doll will be handed out first thing monday morning. you and jay will have to figure out a schedule for who takes it home each night. the logbook has to be updated every single time the baby needs care â with timestamps and who did what. if the dollâs âhealthâ drops too low, it affects both your grades. no exceptions, even for football practice or club activities.
âcooperation is the whole point,â ms. choi says cheerfully. âthis isnât about being perfect parents. itâs about learning how to work with someone you might not know.â
you risk a glance at jay. he's listening, jaw set, fingers tapping once against the table. when ms. choi finishes and tells everyone they can talk with their partners for the last ten minutes of class, he turns toward you.
âso⊠weâre doing this,â he says, almost like he's confirming it to himself.
âyeah,â you breathe. âlooks like it.â
an awkward silence stretches for two whole seconds.
âi can take itâ well, him? her? i don't know, the baby,â you both laugh. âfriday night and saturday next week if you want,â he offers. âi have a game on sunday morning, so i can give you the baby then.â
you nod a little too fast. âthat works. i can do sunday night. no problem.â
âcool.â
another pause.
âi think iâve never actually talked to you before,â he admits quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. âsorry if this is weird.â
âitâs okay. i havenât talked to you either.â
he lets out a short laugh under his breath. âgreat. weâre starting from zero then.â
the bell rings before either of you could say anything else.
you stand up quickly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. jay does the same, hesitating for half a second like he wants to say more, but then just gives you another small nod.
âsee you monday, then.â
âyeah⊠see you monday, jay.â
you practically run outside the classroom.
the second you step into the hallway, yunjin is already waiting, kazuha and sunoo right behind her like backup.
âoh my god,â yunjin says, eyes sparkling with pure chaos. âyou got paired with jay? that jay? senior football jay? heâs on the team with sunghoon, right? you know how much i hate that cocky, arrogant guy. and now i have to deal with him for a whole week because of this stupid doll.â she sighs. âheâs probably going to act like the baby is beneath him or something. i swear if he tries to boss me around iâm going to lose it.â
sunoo grabs your arm, practically bouncing. âi've heard heâs so handsome up close, is that right? did he smell good? tell me he smelled good. but also â taehyun already told me weâre both screwed. he said he doesnât know the first thing about taking care of a baby, and that we are going to tank the grade if the doll starts crying during his football practice or something.â
âyou looked like you were about to pass out when ms. choi called your names.â kazuha is quieter, but her lips are twitching into a smile. âfor my part⊠at least gaeul seems really nice â sheâs super calm and organized. we were already talking about making a schedule right away. she even offered to take the first night so i can finish my dance practice.â
you groan, covering your face with both hands. âi literally never talked to him before today. he said âhi iâm jayâ like we were meeting for the first time at a funeral. and now i have to figure out nights and weekends with a senior whoâs worried about scouts and nationals.â
yunjin laughs loudly. âthis is going to be the best week of my life. you shouldâve seen sunghoon when he realized it was me. he looked traumatized. good. he deserves it after stealing the courtyard spot from drama club twice.â
the four of you start walking toward the lockers, your friends still peppering you with questions.
meanwhile, on the other side of the building, jay is leaning against the wall outside the senior lockers while his friends immediately swarm him.
jake throws an arm around his shoulders, grinning like an idiot. âdude. you got paired with that quiet junior girl. she seems normal enough.â
âyou better get along with her, man. nationals are in three weeks and scouts are coming,â sunghoon raises an eyebrow, arms crossed. âyou canât afford to lose points on some dumb project. if that doll messes with your sleep or makes you miss extra training, your scholarship is on the line.â
taehyun smirks, leaning against the locker. âexactly. i already told sunoo weâre both screwed if you donât figure out how to keep that thing quiet during practice. coach is not going to care that youâre playing house.â
jay shoves jakeâs arm off, but thereâs no real heat in it. his ears are a little red.
âshut up. itâs just a project. weâre not even friends. she seems⊠normal. nice, i guess. iâll just make a schedule and get through it. i canât let this mess with training.â
âstill,â sunghoon says, more serious now, âmake it work with her. we need you sharp for nationals. donât blow the scholarship over a fake baby.â
jay rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. âyou guys are the worst. it's just a doll. it can't be that bad, can it?â
still, as he walks toward the parking lot for practice, he canât stop replaying the short conversation in his head â the way youâd looked a little nervous but tried to play it cool, the soft way youâd said his name.
he shakes the thought away.
it's just a week taking care of a fake baby.
nothing more.
-------
MONDAY. DAY 1:
the alarm on your phone goes off way too early, but you are already wide awake, stomach twisting with nerves. monday morning. baby project day one. you stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror while brushing your teeth, trying to convince yourself it's just a stupid doll. nothing to freak out about. you grab your bag, double-check you have a charger and your notebook, and head to school.
the hallways are louder than usual â everyone buzzing about the pairings from friday. you spot sunoo waving frantically from across the corridor, but you only manage a weak smile before slipping into ms. choiâs classroom.
the seats have been rearranged overnight. instead of the usual rows, there are double desks pushed together. a small sign on the board reads âsit with your assigned partner â no exceptions.â
your eyes find jay immediately. he's already at the desk near the middle, one leg stretched out, scrolling on his phone. his hair looks a little damp from morning practice, and he's wearing the school hoodie with his jersey number on the sleeve. when he notices you, he straightens up and gives you a small nod.
you slide into the seat next to him, bag dropping to the floor with a soft thud.
âgood morning, partner,â he says quietly, voice still rough from sleep or maybe from shouting on the field earlier.
âmorning,â you reply, fiddling with the strap of your bag. âready for this?â
ânot even a little.â he lets out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. âare you?â
âi barely slept. i kept imagining the baby crying at 3 a.m. and my mom killing me.â
before he can answer, ms. choi walks in carrying a stack of papers and a large box that definitely has the babies inside.
âgood morning, parents,â she announces cheerfully. the whole class groans. âyes, i said parents. youâre sitting with your partners because today we start officially. first, fill out this information sheet together. it helps you treat the project seriously. you need to know your child before taking care of them.â
she passes the sheets down the rows. you take one and lay it flat between you and jay.
the questions are exactly as expected, printed in neat black ink:
fill out the birth certificate! 1. name of the parents: 2. is your baby male or female? 3. what is their name? 4. how did you pick out the name? 5. include a picture of the baby with each parent!
jay leans closer to read it, his shoulder brushing yours for a second. âokay⊠so we need a name. any ideas?â
you shrug, trying not to overthink how close he is. âi donât know. something simple? like⊠minjun if itâs a boy, or jiwoo if itâs a girl?â
he nods slowly. âjiwoo sounds nice. easy to say when itâs screaming and crying at midnight.â
you both laugh a little, the sound awkward but genuine.
ms. choi starts handing out the dolls one pair at a time. each comes in a soft gray carrier with adjustable straps and a small blanket tucked inside. when she reaches your desk, she places the carrier in front of jay.
âhere you go. treat her gently.â
the second the doll leaves ms. choiâs hands, it lets out a loud, realistic wail â high-pitched and demanding.
jayâs eyes go wide. âholy shitââ
he fumbles with the carrier, nearly knocking it over. you react fast, reaching over and gently lifting the doll out. its tiny plastic face scrunched up, mouth open in another cry. you rock it automatically, the way you saw in those parenting videos online over the weekend.
âshh, itâs okay,â you murmur, bouncing it lightly against your shoulder. the crying stops after a few seconds, leaving only soft cooing sounds from the speaker inside.
jay stares at you, impressed and a little relieved. âyouâre good at that.â
âi have a cousin whoâs two. lots of practice.â you carefully place the doll back in the carrier, adjusting the blanket. âyour turn next time it cries, though.â
he gives you a mock salute. âyes, maâam.â
ms. choi claps to get everyoneâs attention again. ânow, while you fill out the sheet, iâll go over the basics. you must bring the baby to class every single day. you also need to cover the basics. feeding: thereâs a bottle in the carrier. hold it at the right angle or the sensor wonât register. diapers: the back panel opens â velcro, very simple. burping: pat the back firmly but gently after feeding. the doll will let you know when itâs done. and, in case you were thinking about it, no, mr. sim, the baby is neither a football ball nor a maraca,â some students laugh. âyou can't shake it, play with it, or whatever strange things you're thinking about. you'll lose points for that.â
âwhat if it doesn't stop crying?â kazuha asks.
âwell, you can try a lot of things for that! babies get sleepy, hungry, gassy⊠you never know! you can also try to get others to stop the crying,â she walks as she explains. âhowever, if it's too much and you just can't stop it, there's a hidden button on the battery's case. if you press it, the baby will shut down completely. however, it'll mean the project is over, and you'll be penalized for that.â
you look at the baby in the carrier. you don't exactly need a good grade, but it'd help you with . a lot. and, according to what jay mentioned the other day, he needs to get his scholarship. and that involves his grades. so⊠yeah, shutting the baby down early isn't an option.
âany questions?â ms. choi looks around the class.
sunghoon raises his hand from the back. yunjin, by his side, scofs as she tries to calm the baby. âwhat if it cries during nationals warm-up?â
ms. choi smiles sweetly. âthen you learn to multitask, mr. park. life doesnât stop for football. and miss huh won't be there to help you all the time.â
jay mutters under his breath, âgreat. exactly what i needed.â
you both turn back to the sheet, grabbing a pen.
you write down your names as the parents' names.
2. is your baby male or female? female 3. what is his/her name? jiwoo 4. how did you pick out the name? we wanted something simple and easy to say when sheâs crying at 3 a.m. and we want to bury her in our backyards
you laugh as jay writes. âyou can't say that! we're supposed to be loving, responsible parents!â he hands you his pen. you cross it and write down:
5. how did you pick out the name? we wanted something simple and easy to say when sheâs crying at 3 a.m. and we want to bury her in our backyards it just felt right 6. include a picture of the baby with each parent!
jay pulls out his phone. âwe should take the pictures now so we donât forget.â
you nod. he holds the carrier between you while you both lean in. the first photo is awkward â you look tense, jayâs smile is too forced. the second picture comes out better: you are smiling softly at the doll, and jay has relaxed, one hand resting on the edge of the carrier like he's already protecting it.
âthat oneâs good, way better. we look more⊠parent-like,â he says, showing you the screen. his thumb hovers near your shoulder in the frame.
you feel your cheeks warm. âyeah. send it to me later? so i can print it out and all that.â
âsure, no problem.â
ms. choi continues explaining the logbook app everyone had to download on friday. âupdate it every single time. who fed, who changed, how long it took. wednesdayâs class will be a parent support group â each pair shares one challenge and one win from the first days. be honest.â
the rest of the period passes in a blur of demonstrations. you practice feeding jiwoo with the bottle while jay times it. he changes the first pretend diaper, cursing softly when the doll makes a fussy sound halfway through. by the end, both of you are laughing more than you expected.
when the bell rings, you pack up quickly. jay lifts the carrier.
âiâll take her first period. you can have her after lunch. is that okay?â
âsounds good.â
you both head for the door. the second you step into the hallway, jiwoo starts crying again â louder this time, like she's testing you.
âoh noââ jay shifts the carrier, trying to rock it while walking. some students turn their heads to stare at both of you.
you took over, bouncing her gently. âshh, jiwoo, itâs okay. weâre right here.â
the crying doesnât stop. you and jay end up standing against the lockers for a full five minutes, taking turns rocking and patting her back. by the time she quiets, the hallway is almost empty.
âweâre late,â you say, checking your phone.
jay grimaces. âyeah. coach is gonna kill me if this happens during practice later. come on â iâll walk you to your next class.â
you end up sitting together again in the shared second-period room. you hold the carrier the entire time, heart racing every time jiwoo makes even the smallest sound. jay keeps glancing over, ready to help, but the doll stays quiet. his friends who also share this class â jake and taehyun â are sitting a few rows back and keep whispering jokes you canât quite hear, but jay shoots them a glare that shuts them up.
lunch is the real test.
you decide to have lunch together. âjust in case the baby decides to cry more,â jay says.
you find an empty table near the windows. jay sets the carrier between you, and you both stare at the food on your trays like it's a peace offering.
âso,â he starts, poking at his rice, âhowâs your morning been besides the crying?â
âterrifying. i kept thinking she was going to start during the quiz in history.â
he chuckles. âsame. i had her during math and she made this little whimper right when i was solving an equation on the board. the whole class turned around.â
before you can reply, jake walks closer, sunghoon and kai trailing behind.
âlook at the happy little family,â jake teases, leaning on the table. âjay, you holding up okay? or is the scholarship already crying?â
sunghoon smirks, arms crossed. âdonât drop her during practice, man. coach said no excuses.â
âsheâs cute though. jiwoo, right? suits her. loud like you on the field.â kai grins.
jay rolls his eyes but there's no real annoyance. âgo away. weâre trying to eat.â
your friends appear seconds later. yunjin slides into the seat next to you, carrying her own baby, eyeing the boys warily.
âeverything okay here?â she asks, voice loud enough for them to hear. âneed me to scare them off?â she grins. âby the way, sunghoon, sunghoon jr. says he wants his dad to change his diaper. right now.â
âthe baby can't even taââ
âi said right now.â yunjin's expression is serious. sunghoon rolls his eyes but takes the carrier. âhe says 'thanks, daddy!'â she smirks.
kazuha sits more gracefully, glancing at the carrier with soft eyes. âsheâs quiet now. good job. gaeul has our baby, so i'm off-duty. for now.â
sunoo plops down across from you, already pulling out his phone. âcan i take a picture for the group chat? you two look like exhausted parents already.â
âsunoo, no.â you groan, trying to stop him.
but he snaps one anyway, jiwoo sleeping peacefully between you and jay.
the boys eventually wander off after more light teasing, leaving you and jay alone again with your friends hovering protectively nearby.
âtheyâre not that bad,â you say quietly once they were gone.
jay raises an eyebrow. âtheyâre idiots. but yeah⊠they mean well. they're mostly worried about nationals. scouts are coming, and i canât afford to look sloppy because iâm sleep-deprived from a doll.â
you nod, understanding more than he probably realizes. âthat makes sense. i⊠didnât know the scholarship part was so serious.â
âit is. football is my way out â better college, better future. my dad travels all the time for work, so itâs mostly on me to make it happen.â he shrugs, but his eyes stay serious. âthatâs why i was stressing in class on friday. if this project tanks my focusâŠâ
âweâll make it work,â you say softly. âi donât want to mess it up for you either.â
he looks at you then â really looks, like he's trying to decipher something â and his expression softens. âthanks. most people would just complain about the extra work.â
the rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. after lunch, jay takes jiwoo to his remaining classes. you keep checking your phone for updates in the logbook app. he is surprisingly diligent â every feeding and diaper change logged with short notes like âtook 8 minutes, she calmed down fastâ or âalmost dropped the bottle when jake scared me.â
when the final bell rings, you meet him by the main entrance. he is waiting with the carrier slung carefully over one shoulder, looking a little tired but steady.
âhey,â he says. âare you done for the day?â
âyeah.â
he hesitates then, shifting his weight. âlook⊠i drove here today. my car is in the lot. if you want, i can give you a ride home. so you donât have to take the baby on the bus. itâs probably loud and crowded.â
you blink, surprised. âreally? you donât mind?â
ânot at all. plus, it gives us time to figure out the rest of the weekâs schedule without rushing.â
you nod before you could overthink it. âokay. thank you.â
the walk to the parking lot is quiet at first. jay carries the carrier the whole way, checking on jiwoo every few steps. his car is a simple black sedan â nothing flashy, but clean inside. he opens the passenger door for you, then carefully places the carrier in the back seat, buckling it in like it was a real child.
once you are both settled and he starts the engine, the silence feels heavier.
âso,â he says after pulling out of the lot, âreal talk. how are we actually doing this? i have practice every day after school until six or seven. sometimes later if coach is pushing us for nationals.â
you turn slightly in your seat to face him. âi can take her most school nights if you need to stay late. but weekends might be trickier. you have that sunday match, right?â
âyeah. early morning. i can do saturday daytime if you want the evening.â
you pull out your phone and open the notes app, making a quick shared schedule. âokay⊠you take friday night and saturday like we said. iâll do sunday night. then we can switch off during the week depending on practice.â
he glances over at you, one hand on the wheel. âyouâre really organized about this.â
âi overthink everything,â you admit with a small laugh. âplus, i donât want to be the reason you lose sleep before scouts come.â
jay is quiet for a moment, eyes on the road. âi thought youâd be annoyed getting paired with some random football guy. most juniors donât really talk to us.â
âi thought youâd be annoyed getting paired with a quiet junior who doesnât know anything about football.â
he smiles at that â a real one this time, small but warm. âyouâre not what i expected.â
âwhat did you expect?â
âsomeone whoâd complain the whole time. or⊠try to flirt to make it less awkward.â he shrugs. âinstead youâre just⊠calm. you calmed jiwoo down like it was nothing this morning.â
you feel your face heat up. âi was panicking inside.â
âit didnât show.â
the conversation flows easier after that. he tells you about how he moved here four years ago, how football became his main focus because it gave him structure when his dad was always traveling. you share how your parents work long shifts, so you are used to handling things on your own. how your small friend group â yunjin, kazuha, sunoo â is basically your second family.
âyunjinâs already plotting how to survive sunghoon,â you say, laughing. âshe keeps saying heâs going to act like the baby is a football he can just hand off.â
jay chuckles. âsunghoonâs actually decent when heâs not being captain mode. heâs just stressed too. we all are. scholarship stuff hits different when youâre the one who has to make it happen.â
you nod. âi get that. iâm not on any big path like that, but i still stress about grades and what comes after high school. this project feels like a sneak peek at how messy real life is.â
âexactly.â he pauses at a red light and looks over at you. âthanks for not making it weird. or at least⊠for making the weird parts manageable.â
âsame. i thought youâd be all stuck-up jock energy. but youâre actually⊠nice. and you care about the project even if itâs because of football.â
he rubs the back of his neck again, a habit you are starting to notice. âyeah. canât let a doll ruin my shot. but⊠itâs not just that anymore. itâs kind of fun figuring it out with you.â
the light turns green. he drives on, but the air in the car feels lighter somehow.
when he pulls up in front of your house, he parks but doesnât unlock the doors right away.
âiâll text you the log updates tonight if she wakes up. and⊠thanks for the ride. seriously.â
âanytime.â he reaches back and carefully hands you the carrier. jiwoo is sleeping soundly. âsee you tomorrow.â
âsee you tomorrow, jay.â
you step out, carrier in hand, and watch him drive away. your heart is beating a little faster than usual, but not from panic this time.
maybe this week wonât be so bad after all.
-------
TUESDAY. DAY 2:
the soft glow of your phone screen cuts through the darkness of your room at exactly 2:07 a.m. jiwooâs cry blares through the speaker â sharp, insistent, and way too real for a plastic doll. you groan, rolling over and fumbling to grab her from the carrier beside your bed. your eyes are blurry, your hair is a mess, and every muscle protests as you sit up.
âshh, jiwoo, please,â you whisper, rocking her gently against your shoulder while you tap the feeding button on the app. the doll quiets for a few seconds, then starts up again. you try burping her next, patting her back with careful, practiced motions. it takes almost fifteen minutes before the crying finally stops and the logbook updates with a green checkmark.
you snap a quick screenshot of the timestamp and the note you type in â â2:12 a.m. â fed and burped, took 14 minutes, i handled itâ â and send it to jay with a simple text.
you: jiwoo decided 2 a.m. was party time. screenshot attached. hope youâre sleeping better than me.
no reply. his status shows âlast seen 11:47 p.m.â he is probably dead asleep after practice. you sigh, set the phone down, and try to drift off again, but jiwoo fusses twice more before your alarm finally goes off at 6:30 a.m. by the time you drag yourself out of bed, you feel like you have already lived a full day.
the morning air is crisp as you walk to school, carrier strapped across your chest like a tired parent. jiwoo stays mercifully quiet for the walk, but your eyes are heavy. you spot your friends near the main gate and wave weakly.
kazuha stands there first, her posture still graceful even with dark circles under her eyes and the carrier holding baby eunchae balanced on her hip. she offers you a small, exhausted smile.
âmorning,â she says softly. âor⊠whatever this is.â
you let out a tired laugh. âexactly. jiwoo woke me at 2 a.m. and then again at 4. howâs eunchae?â
kazuha adjusts the blanket around her doll. âshe was perfect until 3:30. gaeul texted me the whole time though. she said she'll take her tonight so we take turns. sheâs really good at this. we even made a shared playlist of lullabies last night.â
sunoo appears next, practically dragging his feet, baby carrier slung over one shoulder like it weighs a thousand pounds. his usually bright face looks pale and puffy.
âtaehyun is the worst,â he announces dramatically, flopping against the wall beside you. âhe had the baby last night and barely slept. he texted me at 1 a.m. saying âhow do you make it stopâ with like ten crying emojis. i had to walk him through feeding and burping over voice notes while half-asleep. this morning he looked like a zombie in the hallway and told me weâre both going to fail if this keeps up.â
you wince in sympathy. âat least he tried. jay didnât even answer my text at 2 a.m. since he was probably dead asleep.â
yunjin storms up last, her carrier bouncing with every angry step. baby sunghoon jr. â he had insisted on the name yesterday just to annoy her â is tucked inside, quiet for once.
âthat idiot sunghoon,â she starts immediately, voice rising. âhe promised heâd meet me right at the school door this morning to take the baby for first period. i waited five whole minutes like an idiot while sunghoon jr. started fussing. nothing. no text, no sign of him. when i finally found him near the lockers he just shrugged and said âpractice ran late, sorry.â sorry? i had drama rehearsal notes to review! iâm so tired i could cry, and heâs acting like the baby is not a demonic object capable of breaking your eardrums.â she huffs, crossing her arms. âweâre supposed to be a team and heâs already dropping the ball. literally.â
kazuha places a gentle hand on yunjinâs shoulder. âi mean⊠at least you got through the night. gaeul and i split everything evenly. it actually felt⊠nice? like we were figuring it out together.â
sunoo nods, yawning widely. âtaehyun kept apologizing in the chat this morning. he said heâll take extra nights this week to make up for it. still, i feel like a single parent already.â
you adjust jiwooâs blanket, smiling tiredly at their complaints. âjay at least offered to take her during his morning classes. but yeah⊠2 a.m. hits different when you have to be functional by 8.â
the four of you stand there for a few more minutes, trading war stories like exhausted parents at a playground. yunjin keeps muttering threats about making sunghoon do all the night shifts, sunoo dramatically reenacts taehyunâs panicked voice notes, and kazuha quietly suggests making a group chat just for âsurviving the projectâ tips. the conversation feels comforting in its shared misery, and for a moment the weight of the carrier on your chest feels a little lighter.
the morning classes drag. you sit with jay in mr. kimâs room, but he arrives a minute late, hair still messy from rushing. he slides into the seat beside you, eyes apologetic.
âsorry about last night,â he whispers as soon as mr. kim starts talking. âi crashed hard after evening practice. saw your text this morning â you handled it like a pro.â
you shrug, keeping your voice low. âitâs fine. she settled eventually. how did your night go?â
âpretty good, slept a lot. but⊠i took care of everything on the app. when you fed jiwoo, when you changed her, the whole thing. logged it all.â he pulls out his phone and shows you the app. âsee? i even added a note that you did the 2 a.m. burping.â
you smile despite the tiredness. âthanks. teamwork, i guess.â
he nods, but his expression turns more serious. âiâm trying not to let this mess with training. coach already warned us about distractions before nationals.â
throughout the rest of the morning, your phone buzzes every so often with texts from jay.
jay: sheâs being good in history. just made a small fuss during the quiz but i rocked her under the desk.
you: lucky. sheâs sleeping now but i keep checking the health score every five minutes.
jay: same. weâre at 92%. not bad for day two.
jay: by the way, are you free after lunch? i have optional practice at 1 but i can skip if we need to handle something.
the messages feel easy, almost natural now. you catch yourself smiling at your screen more than once.
right before lunch ends, disaster strikes. you check the app while walking to your next class and freeze. jiwooâs health score has dropped sharply to 76%. a red warning flashes: âbaby showing signs of illness â needs immediate care and rest.â
your stomach sinks. you text jay quickly.
you: jiwooâs sick. health at 76%. what do we do?
jay: meet me at the lockers after the bell. weâll figure it out.
when you reach the spot, he is already there, carrier in hand even though it is your turn. his face is focused, brows drawn together.
âthe app says she needs quiet time and extra feedings today,â he explains, voice low. âif we ignore it, the score keeps dropping. i already told coach iâm skipping the 1 p.m. optional session. iâll make it up at the 6 p.m. full practice â extra sprints or whatever he wants.â
you bite your lip. âi was supposed to go to foreign language club. but i can skip too. we can take her somewhere quiet.â
he nods, relieved. âmusic room is usually empty after lunch. letâs go there.â
the two of you spend the next hour tucked away in the small practice room at the end of the arts hallway. jiwoo fusses on and off, but you take turns holding her, feeding her the special âmedicineâ drops from the kit, and logging every action. jay sits cross-legged on the floor beside you, back against the wall, gently rocking the carrier with one foot while you update the logbook.
âthis feels weirdly real,â you murmur after a while, watching jiwooâs lights finally shift back toward green. âlike weâre actually worried about her getting better.â
jay chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair. âtell me about it. i keep thinking if her score drops too low itâs going to look bad on my record. but also⊠i donât want to let you down either.â
you glance at him, surprised by how honest he sounds. âyouâre not. weâre both trying.â
he offers a small smile. âyeah. we are.â
by the time the health score climbs back to 89%, the afternoon is half gone. you both head to your separate classes, but the shared worry lingers like a quiet thread between you.
after school, jay finds you near the exit.
âpractice is at 6,â he says, shifting the carrier to you. âbut come watch if you can? the fieldâs open. you can bring jiwoo and hand her off to me after. that way i get some time with her before the real session starts, and you donât have to wait around alone.â
you hesitate only a second. âokay. iâll be there.â
the bleachers are mostly empty when you arrive, just a few other students scattered around. you sit a few rows up, carrier beside you, watching the team warm up. jay spots you almost immediately and jogs over during a water break, sweaty and breathing hard but grinning.
âyou came,â he says, wiping his face with the bottom of his jersey. up close you notice the way his shoulders look broader in the practice gear, the small scar on his nose you had never noticed before.
âfigured it was only fair after you skipped optional practice for her,â you reply, carefully handing over the carrier. jiwoo is quiet for now, lulled by the fresh air.
he takes her gently, adjusting the straps like he has done it a hundred times already. âthanks. iâll bring her back after this set. coach is letting me sit out the last drills if i do extra conditioning later.â
you watch as he jogs back to the field, carrier carefully set down near the bench where the manager can keep an eye on it. the boys notice immediately. jake yells something teasing across the grass, sunghoon shakes his head with a smirk, but jay just flips them off without missing a beat. seeing him balance football and the doll makes something warm settle in your chest.
practice runs long, but right at 7:30 jay waves you down. he is breathing heavily, hair sticking to his forehead, but he looks energized rather than exhausted.
âweâre done for now,â he says, slinging his duffel over one shoulder and taking the carrier with the other. âmy house is closer than yours. do you wanna come over? my momâs home and sheâs been dying to see the baby everyoneâs talking about. plus we can eat something real before i drive you back.â
you agree before the nerves can talk you out of it. the walk to his car is short, and soon you are pulling up to a neat two-story house on a quiet street. jay parks in the driveway and kills the engine.
âwarning â my mom is going to be excited,â he says with a sheepish smile. âmy dad is traveling again, so itâs just us.â
the second you step inside, the smell of something warm and savory greets you. mrs. park appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, eyes lighting up the moment she sees the carrier.
âoh my goodness, you must be her!â she exclaims, voice bright and welcoming. âjay told me all about the project. come in, come in. and this must be little jiwoo!â
she coos over the doll immediately, asking to hold the carrier while you both take off your shoes. jay watches with an embarrassed but fond expression, rubbing the back of his neck.
âmom, please stop acting like that's a real baby. and please, donât scare her away on day two.â
ânonsense. this is my grandaughter now. and that poor girl is already surviving parenting with you â i'm sure sheâs tough.â mrs. park winks at you. âyou two look exhausted. sit down. iâll heat up some ramen. real food, not that cafeteria stuff.â
jay leads you to the living room, where you both collapse onto the couch. he takes jiwoo for a bit, rocking her absently while you text your friends quick updates. the house feels lived-in and comfortable â football trophies on a shelf, family photos on the wall, a stack of textbooks on the coffee table.
âthis is nice,â you say quietly, watching him with the baby. âdifferent from school.â
he glances up, a softer look in his eyes. âyeah. at school everyone sees the football guy. here itâs just⊠me trying to cook the best ramen ever.â
true to his word, he heads to the kitchen a few minutes later and returns with two steaming bowls of instant ramen, perfectly prepared with an egg and green onions on top. he sets one in front of you, then sits close enough that your knees almost touch, still holding jiwoo in one arm.
âhere. eat before she decides itâs crying time again.â
you take the bowl gratefully, the warmth spreading through your tired body. âthank you. seriously. i didnât expect any of this today.â
he shrugs, but his smile is genuine. âneither did i. but itâs not so bad having someone to do this with. makes the scholarship stress feel a little less heavy.â
you talk while you eat â about his upcoming match, your favorite subjects, the way yunjin is plotting revenge on sunghoon, how taehyun apparently sang lullabies badly over voice note last night. jay laughs more freely here, in his own space, the reserved jock facade melting away into someone thoughtful and a little shy when he catches you watching him.
after dinner, mrs. park insists on taking a photo of the three of you â you, jay, and jiwoo â for her own memories. jay protests half-heartedly but ends up smiling anyway.
when it is finally time to leave, he drives you home through the quiet streets, windows down just enough to let in the cool evening air. jiwoo sleeps in the back the whole way.
âthanks for today,â he says as he pulls up to your house. âskipping practice, coming over⊠all of it. i know itâs extra for you.â
you unbuckle, turning to face him. âi wanted to. you're⊠pretty nice, actually.â
he meets your eyes, something soft and new flickering there. âyouâre pretty nice, too.â
the moment stretches for a second longer than it should. then jiwoo makes a small sound in her sleep and the spell breaks.
âtext me when you get her settled tonight,â you say quietly.
âi will. goodnight, sleep well.â
ânight. try to sleep.â you laugh softly.
you step out and walk toward your house, watching his taillights disappear down the street. your heart feels fuller than it did this morning, the exhaustion mixed with a quiet, growing warmth. day two is over, but something between you and jay has quietly begun to shift â slow, steady, and surprisingly real.
-------
WEDNESDAY. DAY 3:
the morning light filters through your curtains as you get ready for school, jiwooâs carrier already waiting by the door from last nightâs hand-off. jay had taken her after he dropped you home yesterday, and you had fallen asleep surprisingly fast, knowing she was with him. your phone buzzes with a single text from him at 7:12 a.m.
jay: on my way to school. jiwoo survived the night. barely. see you in class.
you smile at the message, a tiny flutter in your chest that you quickly brush off as leftover tiredness. you grab your bag and head out, the carrier feeling lighter today for some reason.
when you walk into ms. choiâs classroom for first period, jay is already there, slumped a little in his seat at your assigned double desk. his eyes have dark circles underneath, his hair is messier than usual, and he is rubbing his face with both hands like he can wipe the exhaustion away. the carrier sits between your spots, jiwoo quiet inside for now.
you slide into the chair next to him, setting your bag down gently.
âmorning,â you say softly, studying his face. âyou look⊠really tired.â
he lets out a low chuckle, voice rough and sleepy. âyeah. i didnât sleep much. jiwoo decided 1:30 a.m., 3:45 a.m., and 5:20 a.m. were all perfect times to scream. i fed her, changed her, burped her â the whole routine. at one point i had to knock on my momâs door and ask for backup because she wouldnât settle. mom rocked her for like twenty minutes while i logged everything.â
your eyebrows shoot up. âwhy didnât you text me? i couldâve talked you through it or at least stayed up with you over messages.â
jay shakes his head, offering a small, genuine smile that makes the tiredness in his eyes soften. âi thought about it. but you handled the 2 a.m. shift on monday night, and you have her all day today. i wanted you to actually sleep. youâve been good about this whole thing â didnât seem fair to drag you into another rough night when i could handle it.â
you feel a warm pull in your chest at his words, something gentle and considerate that you hadnât expected from the quiet football senior. âthatâs⊠really sweet of you. but next time, text me anyway. weâre supposed to be a team, right?â
he nods, leaning back in his chair. âyeah. a team. iâll remember that.â
before you can say more, ms. choi claps her hands at the front of the room, her usual bright energy filling the space. the desks are arranged in a loose circle today, pairs sitting side by side.
âgood morning, everyone! welcome to our first parent support group session. today weâre going to share â honestly â one challenge and one win from the first two days of the project. no sugarcoating. this is about learning how to communicate and support each other through real-life messiness. weâll go around the circle. volunteers first, or iâll pick.â
the room fills with a mix of groans and nervous laughs. sunoo raises his hand immediately, looking like he has been waiting to vent.
ms. choi nods at him. âkim sunoo and kang taehyun â go ahead.â
sunoo sighs dramatically, gesturing to taehyun who sits beside him with equally tired eyes. âour challenge is that weâre both terrible at this and might actually fail. taehyun had her monday night and texted me panicked voice notes because he couldnât figure out why she wouldnât stop crying. i had to guide him like a customer service rep at 1 a.m. last night she woke up three times and we both barely slept. weâre worried we wonât make it to the end of the week without the health score tanking.â
taehyun rubs the back of his neck, adding in his calm but deadpan voice, âyeah. the challenge is sleep deprivation and my complete lack of baby instincts. the win is⊠weâre still at 84% health and we havenât thrown the doll out the window yet. small victories.â
the class laughs lightly. ms. choi smiles encouragingly. âhonest. good. next?â
yunjin jumps in without waiting, her voice sharp but tired. baby sunghoon jr. rests in the carrier between her and sunghoon, who looks mildly guilty.
âchallenge: my partner thinks the baby is an optional accessory he can pick up when it fits his football schedule,â yunjin says, shooting sunghoon a pointed look. âhe promised to meet me at the door yesterday morning and didnât show. i waited, the baby fussed, and i had to handle it alone before rehearsal. heâs great on the field but apparently coordination off it is a struggle.â
sunghoon clears his throat, voice low. âchallenge accepted. i messed up the hand-off. win is that last night i took a night shift so she could sleep, and the health score actually went up. weâre learning⊠slowly.â
yunjin huffs but thereâs a tiny reluctant smile tugging at her lips. âfine. that part was decent.â
next come kazuha and gaeul. kazuha speaks first, her voice calm and measured as always.
âour challenge was the random crying during my dance practice yesterday, but we worked around it. win is that we actually enjoy teaming up. gaeul is super organized â we made a shared calendar and even a playlist of soft songs for when the baby gets fussy. health score is at 95%. it feels nice working together.â
gaeul nods, smiling warmly at kazuha. âexactly. no big drama, just steady progress. weâre both getting better at reading the cues.â
more pairs share â some funny stories about dolls crying in the middle of tests, others about late-night arguments over whose turn it was. then ms. choiâs eyes land on you and jay.
âgo ahead â your turn.â
you glance at jay. he gives you a small nod, like itâs okay if you start. you take a breath.
âchallenge⊠the nights are harder than i thought. jiwoo woke me at 2 a.m. monday, and jay had a rough one last night too. weâre both tired, and balancing it with classes and his football schedule is tricky. but the win is that weâre actually communicating. he skipped optional practice yesterday to help when she got âsick,â and we got the health score back up together. weâre⊠managing. better than i expected.â
jay leans forward slightly, voice steady but quieter than usual because of how worn out he is.
âyeah. challenge is the sleep and making sure this doesnât mess with nationals prep â scouts are watching. win is sheâs really good at calming jiwoo down fast, and sheâs been flexible with the schedule even when i have practice. weâre figuring it out as a team. health at 89% this morning. not perfect, but weâre not failing.â
ms. choi nods approvingly. âhonest and balanced. thatâs what this is about â supporting each other when life gets busy. good work, you two.â
the support group wraps up with a few more pairs, and then ms. choi reviews some tips for the rest of the week. the rest of the morning feels lighter after the sharing session. you and jay sit together in the next class, trading quiet comments about the other pairsâ stories. he looks less weighed down now that he has talked about the rough night.
lunch arrives, and instead of sitting with your separate friends, you both naturally head to the same table near the windows again. jay carries the carrier this time, setting it carefully between you. jiwoo stays mostly quiet, and he handles a small fuss with surprising ease â rocking her gently while you unpack your food.
âyouâre getting really good at that,â you say, watching him pat her back with the right rhythm.
he shrugs, but there is a small proud smile on his lips. âpractice makes perfect, i guess. last night was rough, but this morning she only cried once and settled fast when i fed her. mom helped with tips too â she said i was holding her too tense at first.â
you laugh softly. âyour mom seemed really excited about the project yesterday.â
âshe is. keeps asking for updates like itâs a real grandkid.â he pauses, glancing at you. âshe liked you, by the way. said you seem kind and level-headed. high praise from her.â
your cheeks warm a little at that. âtell her thanks. the ramen was good too.â
the conversation flows easily over lunch â about how sunoo and taehyun are dramatically bonding over their shared exhaustion, how yunjin is slowly warming up to sunghoon despite her complaints, and how kazuha and gaeul make the whole thing look effortless. jay talks a bit more about football, the pressure of the upcoming match, and how skipping optional practice yesterday actually made him focus better in the evening session because he wasnât resenting the project.
âitâs weird,â he admits, taking a bite of his food. âi thought this would be a total distraction, but having someone to share the load with makes it feel less like a chore.â
you nod, feeling those small butterflies again as you watch him interact with jiwoo. âsame. i was nervous about being paired with a senior i didnât know, but youâre⊠easy to talk to.â
he meets your eyes for a moment, something soft flickering there before he looks back at the carrier. âyou too.â
the afternoon classes pass without any major jiwoo meltdowns. you take her for most of them while jay attends his, but he texts you updates and silly memes about tired parents whenever he can. by the final bell, the day feels surprisingly nice â productive, calm, and warmer than the chaotic start of the week.
as you pack up for the last class of the day, jay appears beside your locker.
âiâll walk you,â he says simply, taking the carrier from you even though it is your turn.
you blink. âitâs out of your way though. your class is on the other side of the building.â
he shrugs, adjusting the straps on his shoulder. âdoesnât matter. we can talk a bit more. plus, jiwooâs been good all afternoon â i want to make sure she stays that way until the hand-off.â
you fall into step beside him, the hallway buzzing around you but feeling distant. the conversation stays light â favorite snacks for late-night study sessions, funny stories from his team practices, how you and your friends sometimes do convenience store runs at midnight. every so often his arm brushes yours when he shifts the carrier, and each time a small spark of butterflies flutters in your stomach.
when you reach the door of your classroom, he stops and hands the carrier back carefully.
âhere. sheâs all yours for the rest of the day. text me if she gives you trouble.â
you take it, fingers brushing his for a brief second. âthanks for walking me. and for last night⊠even if you didnât text.â
he smiles, that half-smile that is becoming familiar. âanytime. see you tomorrow.â
âsee you tomorrow, jay.â
you watch him walk away down the hallway, shoulders a little straighter despite the tiredness. as you step into class and sit down, the butterflies linger â quiet, unexpected, but definitely there. the project is forcing you two to spend time together, but the way he chose to let you sleep, the way he walks you even when it is inconvenient, the easy conversations⊠it is starting to feel like more than just a shared grade.
wednesday ends on a gentle note, the kind that leaves you replaying small moments in your head long after the final bell.
-------
THURSDAY. DAY 4:
the night passes smoother than the previous ones. jiwoo only wakes you once, around 1:40 a.m., with a short, fussy cry that you handle quickly. you feed her, burp her, and rock her back to sleep in under ten minutes, logging everything neatly in the app before crawling back under the covers. when your alarm goes off in the morning you actually feel somewhat rested â a small win that makes the walk to school feel lighter.
you meet jay at the usual spot outside ms. choiâs classroom. he looks better today, the dark circles under his eyes faded a bit, and he gives you a genuine smile when he sees you approaching with the carrier.
âmorning,â he says, voice still a little husky from sleep. âhow was she last night?â
âsurprisingly good,â you reply, handing the carrier over for his morning classes. âonly one wake-up and she settled fast. i think weâre getting the hang of her patterns.â
he nods, adjusting the straps carefully. âthatâs a relief. i had a decent night too after the rough one yesterday. thanks for taking the full shift today â practice is going to be brutal later.â
the morning classes go by without any major incidents. jiwoo stays mostly calm in your care, and jay texts you occasional updates from his side, including a funny photo of her âsleepingâ on his desk during a break. the shared logbook fills with small notes back and forth, and the health score hovers steadily in the high 80s.
by the time lunch ends and afternoon classes begin, the schedule clash becomes obvious. jay has mandatory football practice starting at 6 p.m. â right when jiwooâs app starts giving warning beeps about needing attention. you check your phone during the last period and see the health score dipping slightly. you make a quick decision.
after the final bell, you grab the carrier and head straight to the football field instead of going home. the late afternoon sun is warm on your back as you walk across the grass, the distant sound of whistles and shouts growing louder. a few players are already warming up, stretching and jogging drills.
you spot jay near the bench, helmet off, talking to coach. he turns when he hears footsteps and his face lights up the moment he sees you â eyes widening slightly, shoulders relaxing, a bright, surprised smile breaking across his face.
âhey,â he calls, jogging over immediately. sweat already dots his forehead, and his practice jersey clings a little to his chest. âyou came all the way here?â
you shrug, trying to play it casual even as your heart does a small flip at how happy he looks. âthe app said she needs care soon, and your practice clashes. figured iâd bring her so you can take a turn during water break. didnât want the score to drop because of timing.â
he takes the carrier gently from you, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. âyouâre a lifesaver. seriously. coach is strict about focus today, but water breaks are every twenty minutes. i can handle her then.â
before you can respond, sunghoon and jake wander over, helmets tucked under their arms, matching grins already forming.
âwell, well,â jake says, voice loud and teasing. âlook who decided to bring the baby to practice. jay, you lighting up like that when she shows up? thatâs new.â
sunghoon crosses his arms, smirking as he eyes the way jay is carefully adjusting the carrier on his own shoulder. âyeah. iâve never seen you smile that big during warm-ups. usually youâre all focused and grumpy. now one junior with a doll shows up and suddenly youâre glowing.â
jay rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears turn pink. âshut up. we actually care about this project. unlike some captains who canât even meet their partner at the door on time.â
sunghoon laughs, not bothered. âtouchĂ©. but seriously, man â you two are starting to look like actual parents showing up to support each other. itâs cute.â
jake wiggles his eyebrows. âcute and dangerous for your focus. coach is gonna notice if you keep glancing at the bleachers every five seconds.â
jay shoves jakeâs shoulder lightly, but he is smiling despite himself. âyou two are the worst. go run laps or something.â
the teasing intensifies for a few more seconds until coach blows the whistle, calling everyone back to drills. jay hands the carrier back to you for now, giving you a quick, grateful nod.
âiâll come find you at the next water break. thanks again for coming.â
you find a spot on the lower bleachers, close enough to watch but not in the way. practice is intense â sprints, tackling dummies, passing routes. you keep an eye on jiwoo, feeding her when she starts to fuss and logging it right away. the health score climbs back up steadily.
during the first water break, jay jogs straight over, breathing hard, grabbing his bottle with one hand while reaching for the carrier with the other. he handles jiwoo with surprising gentleness for someone who just finished running drills, rocking her lightly while taking quick sips of water.
âis she good?â he asks between breaths, sweat dripping down his temple.
âyeah. she calmed down fast when i fed her. youâre getting really natural with her now.â
he grins, tired but proud. âthanks to you. team effort, remember?â
the break ends too soon, and he hands her back before jogging off again. you watch him rejoin the team, noticing how sunghoon claps him on the back and says something that makes jay shake his head with a laugh.
the second water break comes, and this time ningning â one of the head cheerleaders â walks over just as jay approaches you. she is in her practice uniform, ponytail swinging, bright smile on her face. she stops right beside jay, barely glancing at you or the baby.
âhey jay,â ningning says, voice sweet and flirty, tilting her head. âyou looked really good out there today. that last route you ran? impressive. maybe after practice you can show me some tips? iâve been wanting to get better at⊠coordination.â
she steps a little closer, ignoring the carrier in your hands and the way jay is clearly focused on you. a tiny, unexpected spark of jealousy flares in your chest â sharp and warm at the same time. you hate how it feels, but you canât stop it. ningning is confident, popular, the type who fits perfectly with the football crowd. you are just⊠you, standing here with a fake baby like an awkward parent.
jay barely hesitates. he shifts closer to you, one hand lightly touching the edge of the carrier as if to anchor himself.
âthanks, ningning, but iâm good,â he says politely but firmly, voice steady. âi've got practice, then i have to handle this project with her. weâre kind of busy with the baby schedule.â
ningningâs smile falters for a second, her eyes flicking to you and then to jiwoo. âoh⊠right. the doll thing. well, if you change your mind laterââ
âi wonât,â jay cuts in gently but clearly, offering her a small nod. âbut good luck with your cheer stuff.â
she walks away with a little wave, but the flirtation is obviously shut down. jay turns back to you immediately, expression softening.
âsorry about that,â he says quietly, taking the carrier again for the last few minutes of his break. âsheâs always like that. doesnât mean anything.â
you swallow, the jealousy fading as quickly as it came, replaced by a warmer flutter. âitâs fine. you didnât have to⊠i mean, you couldâve talked to her.â
he shakes his head, looking at you directly. ânah. weâre doing this together. plus, iâd rather figure out how to keep jiwooâs score up than worry about cheer tips right now.â
coachâs whistle blows again. jay hands the carrier back, his fingers brushing yours once more.
âstay if you can? after practice iâll drive you home again â unless you have plans.â
you nod, heart beating a little faster. âiâll stay.â
the rest of practice drags on, but you find yourself watching jay more than the drills â the way he moves with focus and energy, the quick smiles he shoots toward the bleachers when he thinks you are looking. when practice finally ends, he jogs over, hair damp with sweat, grabbing his bag and the carrier in one smooth motion.
âready?â he asks, voice tired but content.
âyeah.â
as you walk toward the parking lot together, the teasing from sunghoon and jake echoes faintly behind you â âlook at the happy family leaving together!â â but jay just laughs it off, shoulder bumping yours lightly.
thursday leaves you with a quiet realization: the jealousy you felt was small, but real. and the way jay shut it down without hesitation makes those butterflies feel a little stronger, a little harder to ignore.
-------
FRIDAY. DAY 5:
the night slips by in a haze of quiet routine. jiwoo wakes only once, around midnight, with a soft whimper that you soothe almost instantly. you rock her against your shoulder in the dark, whispering nonsense words until she settles, the carrier lights blinking green again. the logbook entry feels routine now â â12:07 a.m. quick rock and burp, settled in 4 minutes.â you fall back asleep faster than you have all week, the exhaustion from earlier days softening into something almost manageable. when morning comes, the house is quiet, your parents already gone for their shifts, and you feel a strange sense of calm as you prepare for school.
friday had left a lingering warmth in your chest â the way jay had shut down ningning so quickly at the field, the easy way he had handed jiwoo back with that soft half-smile, the texts that kept coming even after practice. you catch yourself replaying those moments while you walk to school, the carrier light on your chest. your friends are waiting at the gate again, their faces a mix of tired smiles and dramatic sighs.
âjiwoo was an angel last night,â you tell them, adjusting the blanket. âonly one wake-up and it was over fast. i actually got decent sleep.â
kazuha nods, her own carrier steady. âsame with eunchae. gaeul and i are in a good rhythm now. she even sent me a good-morning text with a lullaby suggestion.â
sunoo groans theatrically but grins. âtaehyun took her again and only panicked once. heâs starting to brag about his burping technique. itâs cute in a chaotic way.â
yunjin crosses her arms, though her eyes sparkle with reluctant amusement. âsunghoon actually texted me at 11 p.m. asking if the baby needed anything before he crashed. progress? maybe. but he still calls her âthe tiny distractionâ when he thinks iâm not listening.â
the conversation flows easily as you all head inside, trading more stories about night shifts and health scores. the shared exhaustion has bonded the group in a way that feels almost familial now, and you laugh more than you complain. the morning classes pass in a blur of notes and occasional glances at your phone. jay texts you a couple of times from his own classes â short updates on jiwooâs schedule and a silly meme about sleep-deprived parents that makes you smile in the middle of english.
by the time lunch arrives, you meet him at the usual table near the windows. he looks focused but relaxed, the carrier already between you as he rocks it gently with one foot while eating.
âwas she good for you last night?â he asks, voice low so the nearby tables donât overhear.
you nod, taking a bite of your food. âyeah, really calm. only one quick fuss. you?â
âperfect. slept straight through after practice. thanks for handling the full day yesterday â it helped a lot with an essay i had to hand today.â he leans in a little closer, eyes meeting yours. âweâre actually doing okay with this, arenât we?â
the question feels heavier than it should, laced with something unspoken. you feel the tension from yesterdayâs field visit linger in the air between you â the teasing from his friends, the way he had chosen to stay focused on the project, on you. âyeah,â you reply softly. âbetter than i expected. youâre not as bad at the dad thing as you thought.â
he chuckles, the sound warm and low. âdonât give me too much credit yet. tonightâs my full night with her, right? after practice.â
you confirm the schedule you had texted earlier. practice is running late again â coach pushing hard for nationals â so it will end around 8 p.m. jay offers to pick you up from your house once heâs done, since he will be taking jiwoo for the night anyway. the idea of seeing him after dark, outside of school, sends a quiet thrill through you that you try to ignore.
the afternoon drags a little, jiwoo staying mostly cooperative in your classes. you update the logbook diligently, and jay keeps the texts coming â casual questions about your day, a photo of his lunch tray with a caption about missing âfamily lunch,â and a reminder about the pickup. each message builds the tension a little more, the easy rhythm between you feeling less like a forced project and more like something you both look forward to.
when the final bell rings, you head home, jiwoo in the carrier. you do homework, help with a few chores, and wait for the evening to unfold. around 8:15 your phone buzzes.
jay: just finished. showered quick. heading your way now. still okay if i pick you up?
you reply instantly. the wait feels longer than it is, your heart picking up pace when headlights finally sweep across your driveway. you grab the carrier â jiwoo quiet and ready for the hand-off â and step outside. jayâs car idles at the curb, him leaning over to open the passenger door from inside.
âhey,â he says as you slide in, the familiar scent of his mint gum and fresh laundry filling the small space. he looks tired from practice but his eyes brighten when they land on you and the carrier. âshe been good?â
âperfect,â you answer, buckling in while he carefully takes the carrier and secures it in the back. âhow was practice?â
âbrutal but good. coach had us running extra for conditioning. nationals nerves are real.â he pulls away from the curb, the streetlights casting soft shadows across his face. âi was thinking⊠instead of just dropping you off right away, do you want to grab dinner somewhere? nothing fancy â thereâs that 24-hour diner a few blocks from here. we can eat quick, update the log together, and then iâll take her for the night.â
the invitation catches you off guard in the best way. the tension that has been building all week â the shared glances, the protective way he handled ningning, the easy conversations â tightens in your chest. âyeah,â you say, trying to keep your voice casual. âthat sounds good. iâm actually hungry.â
he smiles, that small half-smile that makes the butterflies stir stronger. âcool. my treat. youâve been carrying a lot of the load this week.â
the drive is short, filled with light talk about practice drills and your last class quiz. jay parks near the diner, a cozy spot with neon signs and the smell of burgers and coffee drifting out. he insists on carrying the carrier inside, his free hand brushing yours accidentally as you walk through the door. the place is half-empty at this hour, soft music playing in the background.
you slide into a booth across from each other, the carrier placed carefully on the seat beside you. a waitress drops off menus and water, cooing briefly at jiwoo before taking your orders â simple burgers, fries, and shakes for both of you.
conversation flows naturally at first. jay talks more about the scholarship pressure, how scouts will be at the sunday match, and how the project has surprisingly helped him manage stress by forcing him to schedule everything better. you share stories about your friendsâ drama â yunjin slowly softening with sunghoon, sunoo and taehyun turning their panic into a running joke. the food arrives warm and comforting, and you both eat while taking turns glancing at jiwoo, who stays peacefully asleep.
halfway through the meal, an older woman at the next table leans over, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the carrier. she has kind wrinkles around her eyes and a gentle smile.
âoh, what a beautiful little family,â she says warmly, clasping her hands. âyou two look so young to have such a precious baby. how old is she?â
the question hangs in the air. you open your mouth to correct her â âoh, no, sheâs not real, itâs a school projectâ â but jay speaks first, his voice smooth and playful, leaning into the moment with surprising ease.
âsheâs almost a month old now,â he says, reaching over to gently adjust jiwooâs blanket with careful fingers. his tone is soft, almost proud. âour little jiwoo. sheâs the most precious thing ever â keeps us up at night but we wouldnât trade it for anything.â you can't help but laugh quielty.
the old lady beams, eyes crinkling. âshe has your eyes, young man. and you, dear, have such a gentle way with her. new parents are always so sweet together. cherish these moments â they go by so fast.â
you feel heat rush to your face, the tension spiking sharply. your heart pounds as you glance at jay, expecting him to laugh it off or explain. instead, he just nods along, that soft smile still in place.
âwe will,â he says sincerely. âthank you. she really is everything to us.â
the woman wishes you well and turns back to her own table, leaving a charged silence between you and jay. you stare at him, eyebrows raised, the butterflies turning into something heavier, warmer, more insistent.
âwhat was that?â you whisper once she is out of earshot, half-laughing, half-flustered. âi was about to tell her itâs a doll for school.â
jay rubs the back of his neck, but his eyes meet yours without embarrassment. âi know. sorryâ it just⊠felt harmless. she looked so happy thinking we were this cute young couple with a real baby. i didnât want to disappoint her. plusâŠâ he pauses, voice dropping lower, the tension thickening the air around the booth. âit wasnât entirely weird to play along. weâve been doing this all week â the hand-offs, the late texts, the worrying together. it kind of feels like we are figuring out the parent thing. even if itâs fake.â
his words settle over you like a blanket, heavy with implication. the project has forced proximity, but moments like this â the field visit, the car rides, now dinner â are turning it into something more. you feel the pull stronger than before, the way his gaze lingers on you a second longer than necessary, the way your skin tingles when his knee brushes yours under the table.
âyouâre quite dangerous when you decide to be charming, aren't you?â you murmur, trying to keep it light even as your pulse races.
he laughs softly, but there is a new intensity in his eyes. âonly with you, apparently. the projectâs messing with my head a little. or maybe itâs just making me notice things i didnât before.â
the rest of the meal passes in a haze of charged conversation â lighter topics mixed with quieter admissions. he asks about your plans after high school, you ask about his football dreams beyond the scholarship. every shared laugh, every accidental touch while reaching for fries, builds the tension higher. jiwoo stays quiet, almost like she is in on the moment, her presence a constant reminder of the fake life you are building together.
when the check comes, jay pays despite your protest, waving it off with âyouâve earned it after all the night shifts.â outside the diner the air is cooler, the streetlights casting a soft glow. he drives you the short distance home, the car filled with comfortable but electric silence. jiwoo is secured in the back, ready for her night with him.
he parks in front of your house but does not unlock the doors right away. the engine hums low, and he turns slightly in his seat to face you.
âthanks for tonight,â he says quietly. âdinner, the company⊠all of it. i know itâs late and you couldâve just handed her off at the door.â
you unbuckle slowly, heart still racing from the old lady moment and everything unsaid. âi had fun. even when you decided to play happy family with a stranger.â
he chuckles, but his expression turns more serious, eyes searching yours in the dim light. âabout that⊠i wasnât completely joking. this week has been weird, but in a good way. being paired with you â itâs made me realize i like spending time with you. not just for the grade or the schedule. more than that.â
the confession hangs there, raw and tentative, increasing the tension until it feels almost tangible. you swallow, the butterflies now a full storm in your stomach. âi⊠feel the same. it started as awkward, but now it feels like weâre actually connecting. the projectâs forcing us to be honest in ways we probably wouldnât otherwise.â
jay nods, his hand resting on the gear shift close to where yours lingers on the console. for a moment it seems like he might reach over, close the small distance, but he holds back, respecting the slow pace you both seem to need.
âget some rest,â he says finally, voice gentle. âiâll handle jiwoo tonight and text updates.â
you step out, the cool air hitting your flushed cheeks. ânight, jay. drive safe with her.â
ânight.â
he waits until you are inside before pulling away, taillights fading down the street. inside your room you collapse onto the bed, replaying every second of the evening â the old ladyâs assumption, jayâs easy play-along, the quiet admissions in the car. the tension has shifted tonight, no longer just friendly cooperation but something deeper, sweeter, full of possibility. the fake baby has cracked open real feelings, and as you drift off, you wonder how much longer you can both pretend it is only about the project.
the week is winding down, but whatever is growing between you and jay feels like it is just beginning â slow, tentative, and impossible to ignore.
-------
SATURDAY. DAY 6:
saturday morning arrives with a silence that feels almost foreign after a week of being woken by high-pitched digital wailing. when you finally blink your eyes open, the sun is streaming through the curtains in long, dusty bars of gold. you reach for your phone instinctively, your thumb hovering over the baby app before you remember: jay has her.
you scroll through your notifications and find a string of texts from him, sent in the quiet hours of the early morning.
at 3:14 a.m.:
jay: sheâs finally out. took her twenty minutes to settle after a diaper change. why does she look so peaceful when sheâs been a menace for two hours?
jay: also, i think iâm hallucinating from sleep deprivation, but iâm pretty sure she just made a sound that sounded like 'ball.' sheâs going to be a star athlete.
then, the last one, sent at 8:30 a.m.:
jay: morning. weâre alive. barely. iâm caffeinated and jiwoo is currently staring at a wall. park at 11 still on?
you smile into your pillow, typing back a quick confirmation. the butterflies that settled in your stomach at the diner last night are still there, humming a low, steady tune.
the park is halfway between your houses, a sprawling green space filled with families and dogs catching frisbees. you spot jay almost immediately, leaning against a large oak tree near the pond. heâs wearing a simple black hoodie and joggers, the baby carrier strapped to his chest. he looks like he belongs in a catalog for 'world's most attractive tired dad.'
when he sees you, his face breaks into that wide, genuine grin that always makes your pulse skip a beat.
âlook who it is,â he calls out as you get closer. âjiwoo, look, your mom is here to save us from this boring tree.â
you laugh, stepping into his space. the scent of his laundry detergent and a hint of coffee hits you. âmorning. how are the 'star athlete' and her exhausted father doing?â
âshe's being suspiciously quiet today,â jay says, looking down at the doll. âitâs like she knows itâs the weekend. sheâs been in 'easy mode' since 9:00 a.m. iâm actually a little scared sheâs plotting something big for later.â
âmaybe she just wants us to have a nice day,â you suggest, reaching out to adjust the tiny hat on jiwooâs head. your fingers graze the fabric of jayâs hoodie, and for a second, your gaze catches his. the air between you feels thick and sweet.
âiâd like that,â jay says softly.
you spend the next two hours wandering the paved paths of the park. without the pressure of school hallways or the rush of practice, the conversation feels effortless. you talk about everything and nothing. he tells you about his favorite childhood dog â a golden retriever who was terrible at fetching â and you tell him about the time you tried to dye your own hair in middle school and ended up with a patch of neon orange that took months to fade.
âno way,â he laughs, his shoulder bumping yours as you walk. âi need to see pictures of that. please tell me your parents have evidence.â
âburied deep in the family archives,â you say, shaking your head. âyou have to earn the right to see the orange hair phase, park jongseong.â
âoh, so we're on a points system now?â he teases, his eyes sparkling. âhow do i earn points? do i get some for being a solo parent last night?â
âmaybe a few,â you admit.
eventually, you find a wide, flat stretch of grass away from the main crowd. jay drops his duffel bag â which you realize is filled with both baby supplies and football gear.
âalright,â he says, pulling out a well-worn football. âsince we have some peace and quiet, and since you've spent all week watching me run around a field, it's your turn. iâm going to teach you how to throw a proper spiral.â
you eye the ball skeptically. âjay, the last time i threw something, it was a crumpled piece of paper at a trash can and i missed by three feet. i don't think this is a good idea.â
âtrust me,â he says, stepping closer. he stands behind you, his presence warm and grounding. âit's all about the grip. here.â
he reaches around, his hands covering yours as he guides your fingers onto the laces of the ball. his chest is inches from your back, and you can hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. your heart is doing triple-time against your ribs.
âfingers on the laces,â he murmurs, his voice right next to your ear. âdon't grip it too tight. you want a little space between your palm and the ball. see?â
you nod, your voice feeling trapped in your throat. his hands are large and calloused, a contrast to the gentleness of his touch.
ânow, bring it back by your ear,â he instructs, moving your arm with his. âstep forward with your opposite foot, and when you release, flick your wrist. like you're pointing at the target.â
he steps back, giving you space to try. you take a breath, step, and throw. the ball wobbles through the air, traveling about ten feet before thudding unceremoniously into the grass.
jay lets out a snort of laughter.
âdon't say it,â you warn, pointing a finger at him.
âi wasn't going to say anything!â he says, holding his hands up in defense. âit was... a very brave first attempt. the target was the ground, right? because you hit it perfectly.â
âyou're the worst,â you laugh, picking up a handful of grass and tossing it at him.
âhey! i'm the coach!â he jogs over to retrieve the ball. âagain. focus. imagine ningning is standing right where the ball lands and you're trying toâ no, wait, that's mean. imagine thereâs a scout there. or just imagine i'm there waiting to catch it.â
the next twenty minutes are a blur of laughter and terrible throws. jay is patient, constantly encouraging you, and eventually, you manage a throw that actually spirals, landing right in his outstretched hands.
he let out a loud âyes!â and jogs back to you, lifting a hand for a high-five. âsee? natural talent. scholarship is basically in the bag.â
âi think i'll stick to my day job,â you pant, your face flushed from the exertion and the fun.
âwhich is?â
âcome on. i'll show you.â
you lead him to the far edge of the park, where a small, hidden trail winds through a patch of dense trees. it opens up into a tiny clearing overlooking a quiet creek. thereâs an old, sun-bleached wooden bench tucked under a willow tree.
âthis is it,â you say, sitting down and patting the spot next to you. âmy quiet spot. i come here to read when everything feels a bit too loud.â
jay sits, careful of jiwoo in the carrier. he looks around at the dappled sunlight on the water and the way the willow leaves sway in the breeze. âit's nice,â he says, his voice dropping to a softer register. âit's really peaceful. i get why you like it.â
âitâs the only place i can actually hear my own thoughts,â you admit.
âwhat are your thoughts saying today?â he asks, turning his head to look at you. the light catches the amber flecks in his eyes.
you feel the weight of the question. your thoughts are currently a chaotic loop of his hand felt warm on mine and i don't want this project to end.
âmostly that i'm glad we got paired together,â you say, choosing the safest version of the truth. âeven if ms. choi is a madwoman for doing this to us.â
jay laughs, but itâs a quiet, thoughtful sound. âyeah. sheâs definitely crazy. but i think... i think i owe her a thank you note. i don't think i would've ever had the guts to just come up and talk to you otherwise. i always saw you in the halls, and i thought you seemed... cool. but you were always so quiet and had that 'don't bother me, i'm reading' look.â
âi do not have a 'don't bother me' look!â you protest, nudging him with your elbow.
âyou totally do. itâs intimidating,â he insists. âbut iâm glad i got past it. i like the 'bothering you' part of my day the best now.â
the afternoon fades into a soft orange glow. eventually, hunger wins out, and you head back to his house. mrs. park is out running errands, so the house is quiet and cool.
you end up in the kitchen again, making simple sandwiches while jay gives jiwoo a âbathâ (wiping the doll down with the designated kit wipes). it feels domestic and easy. you find yourself humming a song as you plate the food, and jay catches your eye, a small, knowing smile on his face.
âwhat?â you ask, feeling your face heat up.
ânothing,â he says, shaking his head. âjust... you're a good mom, jiwoo. your dad is lucky.â
âjay!â
âwhat? i'm just stating facts for the logbook,â he teases.
after eating, you sit on his living room floor, surrounded by textbooks youâre both pretending to read. in reality, youâre mostly talking. the conversation shifts to tomorrow â the match.
âit's at 10:00 a.m.,â jay says, his expression turning a bit more serious. âthe scouts from the state university are going to be there. itâs the biggest game of the season so far. iâm... iâm actually pretty nervous.â
âyou'll be great,â you say firmly. âi've seen you practice. you're the most dedicated person on that field. they'd be idiots not to see that.â
âwill you really be there?â he asks, his voice low. âeven though you don't have to be? the project is technically 'at home' on sundays.â
âi'll be there,â you promise. âfront row. iâll even bring a sign if you want, although sunghoon might try to steal the spotlight.â
âplease don't bring a sign,â he laughs. âbut just seeing you there... it'll help. a lot.â
as evening settles in, he drives you back to your house. the car ride is quieter than the one to the park, a comfortable, heavy silence filling the space. he pulls into your driveway and kills the engine, but neither of you moves to get out.
the streetlights are just starting to flicker on. jiwoo is asleep in the back, her little electronic breathing the only sound in the car.
jay turns in his seat, his arm resting on the back of yours. he looks like he wants to say something â his mouth opens, his brow furrows slightly, and his eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.
âhey,â he says, his voice barely a whisper.
âyeah?â your heart is thundering.
he reaches out, his thumb catching a stray lock of hair near your ear and tucking it back. his touch is lingering, his hand staying near your jaw for a second too long. the tension is so thick it feels like a physical thing between you, a cord pulling you closer.
âi...â he starts, his gaze dropping to your lips and then back to your eyes. he looks almost pained, like he's fighting an internal battle.
he stops. he swallows hard, his hand dropping back to the steering wheel.
âi'll... i'll see you tomorrow morning,â he says, his voice a bit strained. â10:00 a.m. don't forget the 'medicine' drops for jiwoo, just in case she gets fussy in the stands.â
you feel a wave of disappointment, followed by a rush of affection. he's chickening out. but in a way, it's endearing â the confident star athlete, reduced to nerves by a quiet junior.
âi won't forget,â you say, reaching for the door handle. âgood luck tonight with her. and good luck tomorrow. you've got this.â
âthanks,â he says, his eyes still fixed on you as you step out of the car.
you walk to your front door, feeling his gaze on your back. when you get inside, you watch from the window as his car pulls away. your heart is still racing, the memory of his hand near your face burning on your skin.
tomorrow is the last day. the project ends, the doll goes back, and the 'fake' family is over. but as you look at the last text he sends you before you go to bed â get some sleep, partner. see you at the kickoff â you know that whatever this is, it isn't fake at all.
-------
SUNDAY. DAY 7:
sunday morning arrives with a sky so blue it feels intentional, a backdrop designed for a series finale. you wake up before your alarm, the silence of the room feeling heavy now that jiwoo is with jay for the final morning. today is the day. the last day of the project, the big game, and the unspoken deadline for whatever has been growing between you and park jongseong.
you dress carefully â denim jacket, comfortable shoes, and your hair done just the way you know he likes it, even if he hasnât said it out loud. your heart is already doing a nervous dance in your chest as you grab your bag and head to the stadium.
the high school bleachers are already filling up when you arrive. the air smells like cut grass, popcorn, and that electric, high-stakes tension that follows the football team everywhere. you spot the junior-senior crew almost immediately. yunjin is there, wearing a drama club hoodie but sitting suspiciously close to where sunghoonâs jersey is draped over a seat. sunoo is waving a literal foam finger, and kazuha is looking calm as ever, baby eunchae resting in the carrier between them.
âthere she is!â sunoo yells, beckoning you over. âthe woman of the hour! how are the nerves?â
âawful,â you admit, sliding into the seat beside them. âwhereâs jay?â
âdown by the locker rooms,â yunjin says, nudging you with her elbow. âheâs been looking at the entrance every thirty seconds. you better go say hi before he pulls a muscle from craning his neck.â
you laugh, but you don't need to be told twice. you head down the bleachers toward the gated area where the players are doing their final warm-ups. jay is easy to find. heâs in full gear â jersey number tight across his shoulders, pads making him look even more imposing, cleats clicking on the pavement. heâs holding the carrier in one hand, looking slightly out of place amongst the hyper-masculine energy of the pre-game huddle.
when he sees you, the focused, 'footballer-mode' mask he wears completely shatters. his eyes light up, and he breaks away from a conversation with jake to jog toward you.
âyouâre here,â he says, his voice a little breathless.
âi promised, didnât i?â you smile, your heart doing a somersault.
he holds out the carrier, looking relieved. âcoach said i have to hand her off now. i was worried youâd get stuck in traffic or something.â
you take the carrier from him, the weight familiar and grounding. you look down at the doll, then back up at him. a bit of mischief sparks in your brain, fueled by the adrenaline of the morning. you lift the carrier slightly, tilting jiwooâs head toward jay.
âalright, jiwoo,â you say, pitching your voice into a high, silly, muppet-like squeak. âtell your dad what we practiced.â
jay blinks, a surprised laugh bubbling out of him.
you wiggle the carrierâs handle so the doll bounces. âyouâre gonna do great, daddy!â you squeak in the cute voice. âgo kick the ball really hard! make sure the scouts see how fast you are! we believe in you!â
jay is clutching his stomach, laughing so hard his ears have turned a bright, endearing shade of red. âoh my god, stop. youâre killing me.â
âwe have a bet with sunghoon jr. that youâll score two goals!â you continue, the muppet-voice getting even more ridiculous. âdonât let us down, big guy!â
jay reaches out, his hand covering yours on the carrier handle for a brief, warm second. his laughter subsides into a soft, glowing look that makes your breath catch. âthanks, jiwoo. and thanks... for being the weirdest, best partner ever.â
âgo,â you say, your normal voice returning, soft and encouraging. âweâll be right there in the front row.â
âwatch me,â he says, and it feels like a promise.
the game is a blur of noise and color. you sit with the carrier on the seat beside you, your hands clenched in your lap. every time jay gets the ball, the crowd erupts, but your world narrows down to just him â the way he moves with a blend of power and grace, the way he communicates with his teammates, the sheer determination in his stride.
halfway through the second half, the score is tied. jay breaks through the defense, the ball a blur at his feet. he maneuvers past two defenders, the stadium holding its collective breath, and then â thud. the ball hits the back of the net.
the roar is deafening. jay is swarmed by his teammates, jake jumping on his back, sunghoon ruffling his hair. but as the team head back toward the center line, jay turns. he scans the bleachers with a frantic intensity until his eyes land right on you.
he raises a fist in the air, a bright, triumphant grin directed straight at your section. youâre blushing so furiously you feel like you might actually catch fire, but youâre cheering louder than anyone, holding jiwoo up like a tiny trophy.
by the time the whistle blows, theyâve won. the field is a sea of people, but you stay in your seat, waiting. you watched the scouts talk to him, watched his mom hug him, watched the team celebrate. slowly, the crowd thins out. your friends head to the parking lot, yunjin giving you a knowing wink as she drags sunoo and kazuha away.
âweâll see you tomorrow at the hand-off!â she calls out.
finally, itâs just you, sitting in the quiet of the cooling afternoon, with jiwoo resting in her carrier. the shadows of the goalposts stretch long across the grass.
you hear the gate creak. jay is walking toward you. heâs changed out of his jersey into a simple school tee, his hair damp from a shower, his jacket slung over one shoulder. he looks exhausted, but thereâs a glow about him that has nothing to do with the win.
he climbs the bleachers and slides into the row behind you, sitting so his knees are right next to your shoulders.
âhey,â he says, his voice low and intimate in the empty stadium.
âhey, star player,â you turn slightly to look at him. âthe muppet-voice worked, i think.â
he laughs, a tired, happy sound. âit definitely did. i kept hearing it in my head every time i got near the goal.â he reaches down, his hand resting on the back of the seat next to yours. âscouts seemed happy. i think... i think the scholarship is safe.â
âi never doubted it,â you say softly.
the silence that follows isnât awkward; itâs heavy. itâs the silence of a countdown.
âso,â jay says, his voice dropping an octave. âtomorrow morning. 8 a.m. ms. choiâs room. we give back the doll, she checks the final health score, and thatâs... thatâs the end of the project.â
âyeah,â you swallow. âback to normal life. no 2 a.m. logs. no shared calendars. no medicine drops.â
jay stares out at the empty field for a long time. his fingers trace the edge of the bleacher. âi was thinking about that. the 'back to normal' part.â he looks back at you, his expression guarded, shy in a way youâve never seen him. âi don't think i like it.â
your heart starts to thud against your ribs. âyou donât?â
âno.â he lets out a sharp breath, rubbing the back of his neck. âthis week was supposed to be a nightmare. i was so stressed about nationals and my grades, and then i got paired with this quiet girl iâd never spoken to, and i thought... great, another thing to juggle.â
he leans forward, his face closer to yours now. the scent of his soap â something clean and citrusy â drifts over you.
âbut then we started talking,â he continues, his voice steadying. âand i started looking forward to the 2 a.m. texts. i started looking forward to walking you to class. i even liked the weird dinner at the diner where we pretended to be a real family.â
he pauses, his eyes searching yours, searching for permission to keep going. you canât speak; you just nod, your pulse racing.
âi know the baby was fake,â jay says, his voice barely a whisper, thick with emotion. âthe project was an assignment. the schedule was a requirement. but... i donât think what happened between us this week was fake. i don't think the way i feel right now is part of the grade.â
you feel a tear prick at the corner of your eye â a mix of relief and overwhelming warmth. âjay...â
âi really like you,â he says, the words coming out in a rush, raw and honest. ânot as a partner. not as 'the girl whoâs good with dolls.' just you. i donât want to go back to being the senior who only sees you in the hallway. i donât want to stop having an excuse to talk to you.â
you reach out, your hand finding his on the bleacher. his skin is warm, and his fingers immediately lace through yours, tight and grounding.
âi was so scared,â you admit, your voice trembling. âi thought as soon as we handed jiwoo back, youâd just... go back to being the popular football guy and iâd be the quiet junior again. i didnât want the week to end either. i like you too, jay. so much.â
the tension that has been building since monday â the accidental knee bumps, the car rides, the protective glances â finally snaps. jay leans in, his free hand reaching up to cuppe your cheek. his thumb brushes over your skin, his touch so gentle it makes you melt.
âis it okay if i kiss you?â he asks, his eyes searching yours one last time, his breath warm against your lips.
âyes,â you whisper.
he starts to lean in, his eyes fluttering shut. you close yours too, leaning forward, the world falling away until itâs just the two of you in the quiet stadiumâ
WAAAAAAAH! WAAAAAAAH! WAAAAAAAH!
the sound is like a physical blow. you both jump, nearly knocking heads. jay yelps, his hand flying back to the bleacher, while you scramble to look at the carrier.
jiwoo is screaming. not just a little fuss â this is the full-volume, 'i-haven't-been-fed-in-years' digital tantrum. her red lights are flashing like a police siren.
âno!â jay groans, throwing his head back and laughing in pure, frustrated disbelief. ânot now! jiwoo, are you serious right now?â
youâre laughing too, doubled over, the tension broken by the sheer absurdity of it. âshe knows! sheâs jealous! she wants the attention back!â
âsheâs a cockblocker,â jay mutters, though heâs grinning. âa plastic, electronic cockblocker.â
you fumbled for the bottle in the bag, clicking it into the dollâs mouth. the screaming stops, replaced by the aggressive, rhythmic sucking sound of the sensor registering the 'feeding.'
jay leans his forehead against your shoulder, still chuckling. âi canât believe her. we were this close.â
âwell,â you say, looking down at the doll, then back at the boy who just confessed his heart to you. âitâs part of the project, remember? 'responsibilities donât wait until itâs convenient.'â
jay lifts his head, his eyes soft and bright. he reaches out, taking the bottle from you to hold it himself, his other hand moving back to your waist.
âfine,â he says, his voice low and playful. âweâll finish the feeding. weâll finish the project. but tomorrow, after we hand her back...â
he leans in again, this time stopping just an inch from your ear.
â...iâm taking you on a real date. no dolls. no logs. just us. and iâm going to finish what i started.â
you shiver, a smile spreading across your face. âiâd like that, jay.â
the sun disappears behind the horizon, leaving the stadium in a soft, purple twilight. as the doll makes a satisfied burp sound, jay pulls you into a hug, his chin resting on top of your head. the project is almost over, but as you sit there in the quiet together, you know that the 'real life' ms. choi talked about is just beginning. and for once, you aren't nervous about it at all.
-------
MONDAY. THE PROJECT ENDS:
monday morning feels different. the usual heavy dread that accompanies a school week has been replaced by a strange, bittersweet hum of finality. you stand in front of your mirror, adjusting your uniform one last time, and for a moment, your room feels too quiet. the gray carrier is gone â jay had it for the final night, even though you had originally planned on taking her â and the absence of that small, plastic weight on your chest feels like losing a limb.
as you walk to school, you see other juniors and seniors trudging toward the entrance, all of them carrying their respective 'babies' for the last time. the atmosphere in the hallways is a chaotic blend of relief and mourning. sunoo passes you near the lockers, looking like heâs aged ten years in seven days, but heâs wearing a triumphant grin.
âweâre free!â he shouts, pumping a fist in the air. âtaehyun and i checked the score at midnight. 86%! we survived the apocalypse!â
you laugh, but your eyes are already scanning the crowd for a specific messy-haired senior. you find him standing right outside ms. choiâs door. jay is leaning against the wall, the carrier slung over his shoulder, looking every bit the star player who just won a game â relaxed, confident, and glowing. when his eyes land on you, that lopsided half-smile appears, the one that makes your heart do a triple-backflip.
âmorning, partner,â he says, his voice low and warm as he steps away from the wall to meet you.
âmorning,â you reply, feeling your face heat up as you remember what happened on the bleachers. âhow was the final night?â
âshe was an angel,â jay says, looking down at jiwoo. âi think she knew it was moving day. she stayed quiet all night. either that, or she felt bad for ruining the moment at the stadium.â
you giggle, nudging his arm. âdonât blame the baby. maybe she was just giving her dad some space to think.â
jayâs expression softens, and for a second, the bustling hallway fades away. he reaches out, his pinky finger hooking into yours for a brief, hidden moment. âi did a lot of thinking. and iâm ready for this to be over. the project, i mean. not the rest of it.â
the bell rings, sharp and insistent, breaking the spell.
ms. choiâs classroom has been transformed. the double desks are back in their original rows, and a large table at the front is lined with empty cardboard boxes, waiting to receive the electronic residents. ms. choi herself is practically vibrating with energy, wearing a bright floral dress and holding a clipboard like a trophy.
âalright, parents! settle down, settle down!â she claps her hands, the sound echoing with finality. âitâs the day weâve all been waiting for. the day of liberation! please, bring your children to the front and place them in their respective bins. and donât forget to leave your shared logbooks on my desk.â
the room erupts in a flurry of movement. itâs a parade of tired teenagers. jake and sunghoon walk up together, looking like theyâve just returned from a war zone.
âshe called me âhandsomeâ in the logbook,â jake whispers loudly to ms. choi as he hands over his doll. âi think sheâs going to miss me, ma'am. can i get a visitation schedule?â
ms. choi laughs, shaking her head. âsit down, mr. sim. your âchildâ needs a factory reset, not a visit.â
you and jay walk up together. you place the logbook â filled with a weekâs worth of late-night notes, frantic updates, and the occasional silly doodle jay had added during history â onto the stack. then, jay carefully lowers jiwoo into the box. for a second, he lingers, his hand resting on the dollâs head.
âsee ya, kid,â he mutters.
as you head back to your seats, ms. choi starts pulling up the final data on the projector. the room goes silent as the health scores and participation metrics flicker across the screen.
âi have to say,â ms. choi begins, her eyes scanning the class with genuine pride. âi am incredibly impressed. every single year i do this project, and every year i expect chaos. but this group? youâve shown remarkable maturity. even those of you i was⊠shall we say, concerned about.â
she looks pointedly at sunghoon and yunjin, who are sitting as far apart as possible while still sharing the desk.
âms. huh, mr. park⊠a final health score of 82%. considering you spent half the week arguing over courtyard permits in the comments of your logbook, that is a miracle. iâm glad to see you could put aside your differences for the sake of your âson.â although, sunghoon, perhaps next time donât try to use the doll as a football? it was logged as a âhigh-impact incident.ââ
the class roars with laughter as sunghoon turns a bright shade of red. yunjin just smirks. âhe tried to teach him a header, maâam. i had to intervene. i worry about sunghoon jr.'s safety.â
âand mr. kim, mr. kang,â ms. choi continues. âthe most frequent loggers in history. 400 entries? i didnât realize a doll could be fed every fifteen minutes. but your dedication to communication was top-tier.â
she moves down the list, teasing each pair with a mix of affection and wit. then, she stops. she looks at the top of the chart, where one pair sits with a staggering 96% health score.
âand finally⊠our star parents.â she gestures toward you and jay.
you feel every eye in the room turn toward you. jay shifts in his seat, clearing his throat, but he doesnât look away.
â96%,â ms. choi muses, a playful glint in her eye. ânot only was the health near perfect, but the logbook was⊠well, it was a narrative. i particularly enjoyed the entry where mr. park explained the history of football to a doll at three in the morning to get it to stop crying. and the photo of you two at the diner? very authentic.â
she leans against her desk, her smile turning soft. âitâs clear that some of you took the âlife skillsâ part of this assignment very seriously. you didnât just manage a doll; you managed each other. and i think,â she looks between you and jay, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, âthat some of those skills might translate quite well into the real world. wouldn't you agree, jay?â
jay rubs the back of his neck, his ears turning pink, but he catches your eye and winks. âbest partner i couldâve asked for, ms. choi.â
âwell!â ms. choi claps her hands again. âthe grades are posted. you are all free to go. but remember â life doesnât stop being busy just because the doll is gone. keep looking after each other.â
as the bell rings, the room explodes. people are hugging, high-fiving, and sprinting for the door. itâs a mass exodus of relief.
you and jay take your time packing your bags. the silence between you is heavy again, but itâs a good kind of heavy. the âfakeâ part of your life is officially over, and the ârealâ part is waiting outside the door.
âso,â jay says, slinging his bag over his shoulder. âno baby. no logbook. no ms. choi breathing down our necks.â
âyeah,â you say, looking up at him. âwhat now?â
jay reaches out, taking your hand in his â not for a moment, and not hidden. he laces his fingers with yours right there in the middle of the empty classroom.
ânow,â he says, his eyes focused on yours with that same intensity from the stadium. âi take you to the courtyard. we sit in the sun. and i donât have to check a phone once.â
the walk through the hallways feels like a victory lap. you see jake and sunoo arguing about who had the harder night shifts, and you see yunjin and sunghoon actually talking â really talking â near the drama hall. the school feels smaller, friendlier.
when you reach the courtyard, the spring sun is warm on your skin. you find a quiet bench under a cherry blossom tree, the petals beginning to drift down like pink snow. jay sits close, his shoulder pressed against yours, his hand still holding yours tightly.
âitâs weird, isnât it?â he asks, looking out at the grass. ânot having to worry about a crying sound every five minutes.â
âitâs a little too quiet,â you admit. âi keep thinking i hear her.â
jay pulls your hand up, resting it on his knee. âiâm glad we did it. even the 3 a.m. shifts. it was the best week iâve had since i moved here.â
âeven with the football stress?â
âespecially with the football stress,â he says, turning to face you. âbecause i wasnât doing it alone. iâve spent four years trying to be the guy who has everything under control by himself. the project showed me that... iâm better when iâm half of a team.â
he reaches up with his free hand, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw, just like he had at the stadium. but this time, there are no bleachers, no crowds, and no electronic babies waiting to interrupt.
âi really meant it, you know,â he whispers, his face inches from yours. âwhat i said yesterday. i don't want to go back to how things were.â
âme neither,â you breathe, your heart pounding a rhythm of pure, unadulterated joy.
jay leans in, and this time, the world stays silent. when his lips finally meet yours, itâs soft, tentative, and tastes like the mint gum he always chews and the promise of something real.
when he pulls back, heâs grinning, his eyes bright. âninety-six percent health score,â he mutters against your forehead. âbut i think the relationship score is a hundred.â
you laugh inevitably, leaning your head on his shoulder as the cherry blossoms fall around you. the baby project is over, but as you sit there in the sun with jay, you know that the real work â the beautiful, messy, wonderful work of being together â is only just beginning.
© jongst4r, 2026
taglist: @solonenova, @neabrownn, @drowsypanther, @redessertired, @pinkdazed, @enhypenlvrsstuff, @strwberrylhs, @insignificantlillady, @vanillakirstein, @jaeynslutt, @d2iose, @gchirpy, @k13endall, @h4esexng, @phjayyy, @unnatrual, @kookiesnkim, @kpopishgirlie, @kaejua, @ineedjaeyun, @moonchild-31, @cortised, @borderdaytwo, @wonrlls, @heartsski, @dollhoonki, @kristynaaah
Seeing people continuously call heeseung a traitor, accuse him of betraying engenes, and STILL spamming the numbers on his Instagram..
àł ă €Û« ă €ÛȘă €Û« ă € ⥠㠀. if you wanna come, give my brother some!
synopsis: the one where youâre dying to go to a frat party. you donât want to go alone, and your best friend itadori promises to take you on one condition: you talk to his older brother. just talk, nothing crazy. of course, you never do anything half-assed.
content: MDNI. frat!choso kamo x reader, top reader x sub choso, college au, modern au, drinking, edible usage, vaping, alcohol, hookup, mutual attraction, explicit smut, slight age gap (college, reader is a freshman and choso is a senior), oral sex (f and m receiving), unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, creampie, dry humping, choso cums too soon, reader tops, teasing, crack humor, overwatch references (i have an addiction)
wc: 4.6k
a/n: art by thatsallitchief! y'all when i tell you i had so much work to do after spring break but mama got it done and is feeding y'all. except i feel like this one wound up being kind of rushed... also can you tell i've never been to a frat. they lowkey scare me which is why i would want my close personal bestie yuji itadori to accompany me to one!! anyways. i wrote most of this while half asleep soooooo sorry if there's any mistakes i missed while proofreading <333 i feel like i treat a/ns like diary entries lmfao
âpleaaaasee, itadori,â you pouted and rested your head on his shoulder, giving him puppy eyes. âplease? kappa is throwing a huge one this weekend.â
itadori, who had his laptop open to his lecture notes but was really buried in his instagram reels, waved a hand. âkappa sucks anyways. weird ass frat.â
you raised a brow. âand you would know? you never go to frats, you spent every friday night playing fortnite or whateverâŠâ you retorted, crossing your arms and slouching back in your chair. itadori scoffed in response. âmodern warfare. and for your information, not every friday! sometimes i go to sig tau.â
âsig tau?â
âyeah. my older brother is a member.â
you shot up in your seat. âyou have an older brother?â your jaw dropped, and itadori finally looked up from his phone. âyeah. look, dude. tung tung sahur.â he grinned, showing you his phone. you didnât pay any attention to the brainrot he was showing you, more focused on the pressing matter at hand.
âitadori. you have an older brother whoâs in a frat and you havenât taken me yet?â
he shrugged. âi didnât think youâd wanna go. buuuut i guess i can bring you with this weekend⊠on one condition.â
âanything.â
itadori grinned like how he did when he was about to steal one of your ramen cups. âtalk to my brother.â
your raised brow and your smile dropped. a set up? âhell no.â
âplease? i think youâll really like him. heâs on the rugby team, heâs really tallââ
ânope. i told you, after that situationship from welcome week, men are off limits for me,â you held up a hand, shaking your head. itadori scoffed. âi wouldnât really call fushiguro a situationship, more like a delulushipââ
âregardless! men are a no-no.â
itadori gave you a knowing look. âokay then. no frat. you can go to kappa on your own.â
you frowned at the thought of sticky floors, cheap alcohol, and being by yourself with no other friends. kugisaki and maki had no interest in coming with you to a frat. â⊠fine. whatâs his instagram?â you gave in with a sigh.
itadoriâs thumbs flew across his screen before he pulled up the page: a blank. user chosokamo. not even a profile picture.
âwow. heâs handsome,â you muttered sarcastically.
âheâs shy.â
âa shy frat guy on the rugby team? i donât buy it.â
âyouâll see,â itadori grinned. âheâs nice. really, heâs quiet, but heâs a sweet guy. youâll love him.â
âdo i have to sleep with him or something?â
âi doubt youâll get that far.â
you werenât one to turn down a challenge. come friday night, youâd stalked down all of chosoâs profiles. instagram, twitter, snapchat (practically nonexistent snap score), tiktok, spotify, linkedin, battle.net account. reposts of cat videos, playlists with rap and 2000s emo rock music for workouts, worked at a⊠plant nursery as a part time job? majored in biology with a focus in hematology. mained mizuki in overwatch.
you looked yourself over in the mirror while itadori waited outside. micro shorts, a cute halter top, some layered jewelry, shitty sneakers (in case of spills), and dolly makeup. good enough.
âcome onnnnn slut!â itadori groaned outside your door. you swung it open and glared at him. âgive me the goods.â
itadori rolled his eyes and slammed a red, sugarcoated gummy and pink vape in your hand. âcanât believe iâm your plug and your ride to a frat. for free.â
you scoffed, chewing the gummy. âhey, i gave you answers to the midterm, didnât i? consider this payment. also, strawberry cloud dream?â you raised a brow at the pink device.
âit matches my hair!â
the sigma tau house was three blocks from campus and you could hear it before you saw it. it was brick and not exactly a small house, led lights in each window. red cups littered the lawn and a few guys out front were doing something that looked like it had started as a drinking game but had wound up being something entirely different.
you took a long drag of the strawberry cloud and ghosted it before braving a step inside. sticky floors, bass that vibrated your inner ear, faces you couldnât really make out due to the low lighting.
you hadnât even realized itadori left your side when he came back to you bearing gifts: a red solo cup. âsprite and svedka,â he grinned proudly.
you took a hesitant sip and grimaced. âholy shit. dude, this is svedka and like⊠a splash of sprite.â
itadori laughed and slung his arm around your shoulder. âwelcome to your first frat party. okay, so, choso is in the kitchenââ
âthe kitchen?â
âyeah, he doesnât like the main room. actually, he doesnât like coming out of his roomâŠâ
your brow furrowed. this guy didnât sound like he belonged to a frat. then again, he studied blood. you let yuji lead you to the kitchen, shuffling past a girl who was throwing up into the trash can and right towardsâ
holy shit.
definitely over six feet worth of pure muscle, not too bulked but just beefy enough, eye bags, a scar on his nose bridge? no matter. dark hair that reached just below his ears, a wearing a band top and jeans. the hand holding his phone was both veiny and boney, his knuckles highlights with ridges of veins that ran down to his forearms. definitely your type. fushiguro who?
âyo, bro!â itadori smiled and waved, guiding you towards him. the man looked up, glanced at you, then looked back to his brother. âhey, yuji.â
you stood awkwardly at itadoriâs side, mouth watering as you watched his older brother converse with him. his jaw was nice and defined, his lips pouted just the slightest bitâŠ
âso this is my friendâŠâ he finally introduced you. âthe girl from my freshman year seminar i told you about? and this is my brother choso kamo, heâs a senior⊠right! so, um, iâm gonna go grab another drinkââ
âwait, itadori!â you hissed, but he was gone in a flash. you whipped back to face his older brother, laughing nervously. âhiâŠâ
â⊠hi.â
you stood in awkward silence for a moment. âso⊠kamo? not itadori?â you blurted out the ice breaker, and immediately regretted it. who asked a stranger about the specifics of their last name? was it the alcohol, or your nerves, or both?
âitâs⊠a long storyâŠâ choso looked away.
ârightâŠâ you dropped your gaze to the ground, then back up at him. you werenât giving up. âso⊠itadori tells me you study biology? hematology?â a lie, obviously youâd figured out from stalking his linkedin. choso blinked up at you. â⊠yeah. he told you that?â
you nodded and lied through your teeth. âyeah. pretty⊠specific. why blood?â
choso shrugged and took a sip of whatever was in his cup. âmy family has a history of blood disordersâŠâ he murmured. âi wanted to understand it, so⊠i studied it.â
âoh,â you nodded slowly. it wasnât the answer youâd expected. to be honest, you didnât know what to expect with this guy. his head tilted up and you could make out the faintest tint of pink of his ears. âsorry. not good party conversation, huh?â
you shrugged. âi wouldnât know. this is my first frat.â
his eyes widened. âyour firstâ and youâre talking with me?â he scoffed. âyou should go out and have fun with yuji.â
âi like talking with you,â you blurted out thanks to the 99% svedka drink in your cup. you realized how stupid you'd sounded. maybe three sentences exchanged with this guy and you liked talking with him?
he swallowed thickly. âyou doâŠ?â he mumbled, then straightened up when you nodded. â⊠what do you study?â
you couldâve easily ended the conversation fifteen, twenty minutes ago. once you got to the forty minute mark and had flown through three different topics of conversation with choso, youâd forgotten about your deal with itadori.
âso⊠mizuki?â you tilted your head. choso was smiling just the slightest bit by now. âyeah. used to main reinhardt, but his shield got nerfed.â
âso you abandoned him for support?â you laughed softly. âhey, at least you could be my d.vaâs pocket healer now.â
choso raised a brow. âyou play d.va? not surprised.â
you scoffed. âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â choso shrugged, not answering the question. âyou play other video games?â he asked. you shrugged. âusually cod or fortnite with itadori. you?â
â⊠league of legends. on occasion.â
âew.â
âhey!â
you busted out laughing, holding his arm for balance. you were about to make another snarky comment about his taste in video games when a head of pink hair swayed up to you guys.
âheyyyy guyssssâŠâ he laughed and threw his arms around the both of you, effectively squishing you against chosoâs firm chest. âhaving fun? need refills? you wantââ
âyuji. go away,â choso playfully shoved his brother, earning a wide grin from your friend. âright right, of course, if you guys need anything⊠more drinks, condomsââ
âyuji!â
you laughed and rested your hand on chosoâs chest, not having moved from where youâd been pressed against him. he tilted his head down to look at you. âsorry about him.â
âdonât apologize for him,â you smiled. âheâs an idiot, but i'm getting used to it.â
âyeah? howâs that going?â choso smirked, earning another small laugh from you. ânot well.â
choso hummed. âtry living with him for 19 years.â
âhuh?â you tilted your head. the music had been turned up impossibly louder. choso leaned in and spoke a little louder in your ear. âi said, try living with him for 19 years.â
you laughed softly, the alcohol making you bubbly and flirty. âitâs loud in here.â
âit is,â he agreed, setting his cup down. âyou wanna go up to my room?â he blurted out, then stilled. âi mean⊠just âcause itâs quieter. and i have my xbox so we can play games. not âcause⊠i meanâ unless youâdââ
you suddenly felt sobered up. this had just been a stupid challenge, you remembered, but now it was real. âchoso,â you cut him off, then nodded with a small smile. âlead the way.â
on your way up the stairs, led by choso holding your hand. you glanced down at the party to find itadoriâs jaw dropped as he stared up at you, then he gave you a thumbs up and a big smile. you pretended you didnât see him.
chosoâs hand immediately left yours as soon as you were in his room. assuming he was undressing or tidying up his bed or something, you looked around his room. my chemical romance and deftones posters, textbooks, a bonsai tree.
then you heard the xbox turning on. you whipped around to find him sitting in his beanbag, thumbing the controller and looking up at you expectantly.
oh my god. he was actually serious about playing video games.
you glanced at him, then the tv. âyouâre⊠serious?â
he furrowed his brow. âwhy wouldnât i be?â
you pushed aside the ache between your thighs and settled next to him in his beanbag, noticing how he tensed up a little. you took the second controller and resigned yourself to the fact that instead of getting laid tonight, youâd be queuing up in ranked.
you were terrible at overwatch on console. you were used to pc and were still getting used to the controls. âyou just walked into the enemy team,â choso muttered.
âexcuse me. iâm tanking.â
âyour kd is tanking, you mean.â
you frowned. âiâm used to pc, okay?â
âhere,â he actually smiled, scooting closer behind you, wrapping his arms around yours and placing his hands over yours. âokay, left stick moves,â he mumbled in your ear. âright stick is for camera. this button shoots. this oneâs your ult. you good?â
you glanced up at him, your faces inches away from each other. âyeahâŠâ you murmured, looking back to the screen and playing better now that you knew the controls. âlike this?â
âyeah, just like that⊠good.â
your thighs squeezed together, and you blushed as you realized he was close enough to probably feel it. you glanced back up at him, hearing your character die on the screen as you lost focus. choso didnât comment, only staring down at you. he was close, close enough that you could make out the little scar on the bridge of his nose, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his lips had parted just a bit.
without thinking, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his. both controllers clattered to the floor.
choso was quick and eager, returning the kiss and grabbing your waist. his tongue slipped into your mouth, rubbing against yours as he grunted with effort. you felt his cock straining against his jeans as he almost rutted against your thigh.
he caught himself, though, and pulled away panting softly, his lips glossed with your saliva. âs-sorry, that wasââ
you shut him up with another kiss, pulling him close and swinging your leg over so you were straddling his lap. he groaned and pulled you closer, grinding up into you. you rolled your hips in response, and a high pitched noise bubbled up from his throat.
you pulled away to find him beet red with wide eyes. âthat wasnâtââ
âyou whimpered.â
his face scrunched up a bit. "what? no, i didn't-"
his protest was cut off as you rolled your hips again, an undeniable, broken, high pitched noise spilled from his lips. his fingers dug into your waist, trying to hold you still as he looked away, his cheeks flushed.
"oh my god," you half breathed out, half laughed out. "you're serious."
"stop." his voice held no conviction, his body betraying him as you felt his hips bucking up and rubbing up against you just the slightest bit.
you smirked and lifted your hips, pulling off of him. "fine," you murmured, and he immediately got the look of a kicked puppy, instinctively reaching for your waist again. "wait, no, don't-"
he paused as you got on your knees in front of him, running a hand through your hair to push it back. "... oh," he murmured, his hand sifting into your hair as you undid his jeans. his breath audibly hitched when you pulled his boxers down, his cock slapping up against his abs. he was already throbbing in your hand and beading pre, which you thumbed and smeared over his flared head.
âfuckâŠâ he groaned, spreading his legs further apart. you looked up at him through your lashes. âsensitive?â you teased, and he only managed a nod in response.
you hummed and gently pumped him, barely even that. deciding to tease, you basically ghosted your fingers over his length, then leaned in and pressed a little wet kiss to his leaking tip.
âmm-hm!â his hips bucked up and a whine bubbled up from his chest. his tip prodded at your lips, and you took the opportunity to close your lips around him and sink your head down just a few inches. he was already a whining mess, tugging at your hair as his thighs tensed.
âfuckââ he groaned after not even a minute. âwait, wait, waitâ âm not gonnaââ
you pulled off of him, lips still connected to his cock by a string of saliva. âdonât tell me youâre already close,â you raised a brow.
he huffed a small, nervous laugh. âi⊠think i amâŠâ and judging by how he looked, he wasnât lying. dark hair sticking with sweat to his forehead just a bit, his chest rising and falling as he panted, his flushed skin, face and ears tinted pink.
âthat fast?â a shit-eating grin tugged at your lips.
he groaned and let his head fall back, scrubbing his free hand down his face. âyou were justâŠ!â he protested, gesturing vaguely to his lap, then you.
you hummed. âfair.â you moved to take him back into your mouth, but a tug on your hair stopped you. frowning, you protested. âwhatâŠ?â
his chest was still heavy with his panting, his hips twitching up into the air. âjustâ i wonât last if you keepââ
âso?â you shrugged, dropping your gaze back to where your hand was wrapped around him. you stuck out your tongue and let a glob of spit spill to his tip, then smeared it along his slit. âi know i was teasing you, but i donât care. really.â
he groaned and tugged at your hair again, then reached down and pulled you up by your arms, making you squeak in surprise. âchosoâ!â
ânot like thisâŠâ he grunted, hoisting you up effortlessly, holding your legs around his waist as he stood. âwanna make you feel good firstâŠâ he mumbled shyly into your neck, setting you down on the bed and kissing down your body. his lips left a wet, cool trail on your skin, goosebumps following.
your stomach did a flip. itadori was right⊠he really was sweet. your expression softened. âyou donât have toââ
âi want to,â he mumbled against your inner thigh, his lips suckling gently at the skin there. he hesitated, pulling just an inch away and gazing up at you like he was already drunk on you. â⊠is that okay?â
your heart flopped around in your chest. âyeahâŠâ you sighed out softly. he nodded and carefully undid the button and zipper of your jeans, pulling them down with your panties.
âholy shitâŠâ he mumbled aloud, probably meaning to keep that in his head. he reached up hesitantly and gently spread your drooling folds with his fingers. he glanced back up at you with wider puppy eyes, quietly asking for permission.
you nodded, fingers threading into his dark locks. âgo ahead.â
he didnât waste a second, pressing a wet kiss to your clit before suckling the bud between his lips.
âfuckâ!â your knees jerked up along with your hips. "oh my god, where the fuck did you-?"
"mmph," he grunted against your cunt. "'m not a virgin, y'know,"
your cheeks flushed. "yeah, i knew that..." you grumbled, even though up until about five seconds ago you'd figured he hadn't felt the touch of a woman before. he huffed against you and picked up his pace as if he now had something to prove, his tongue delving between your folds and slurping up every drop of your slick. his thumb came to rub quick little circles into your swollen bud, leaving you fisting at his hair.
"choso- holy shit-"
"mmf..." he grunted, his hips jerking against the mattress. he kept humming and grunting in both the effort of eating you out and the pleasure from grinding against his bed, the vibrations shooting through you and making your back arch.
he definitely knew what he was doing, at least with you. every time your hips jerked up or your thighs twitched or you tugged at his hair, he chased it, learning you in real time. his hand slid up your stomach, grabbing a fistful of your top to ground himself. he was practically humping the mattress, desperate for friction to soothe his throbbing cock.
you were too lost in your own cloud of pleasure to even notice it. one hand fisted at his hair, keeping his face buried in your pussy, the other fisted at the sheets. "f-fuck, cho- 'm close..."
he groaned and grabbed your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to his face. "c'mon." you could barely make out what he said, his voice was so muffled. he sucked harshly on your clit, then brought his hand to plunge two deft fingers into your hole, bullying your g-spot. "c'mon, give it t'me... please..."
you came with a whine of his name, your back arching and obscene squelching noises coming from where chosoâs tongue met your sticky walls. he groaned loudly, his jaw going slack for a moment, and the moment the mattress stopped squeaking was when you realized it had been making noise at all.
he shuddered a bit, pulling away from you with glossy lips, your cum dripping down his chin. your hazy gaze raked down his body as he sat up, finding a dark patch in his boxers.
you couldnât help the laugh you exhaled. âdid you seriously cum in your pants from eating me out?â
choso was beet red again, red crawling up his neck. âshut up.â
biting your lip, you smiled and crawled forward, slowly and deliberately, like a jaguar stalking her prey. choso gulped visibly, almost shrinking back a little, but his body froze up in fear... or excitement. or both.
"you couldn't even wait..." you smirked, tilting his chin up once you were on top of him. your fingers ghosted down his shirt, feeling his abs, dipping below his waistband.
choso let out a shaky breath, bringing his hands to hover over your waist, as if he wanted to grab on but he wasn't sure if he was allowed to. "i- i tried..." he murmured, the tips of his ears blushing pink.
your smirk widened. "didn't seem like it."
he swallowed hard at that, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat. your fingers teased right at his trail, waiting until he was bucking up into you to pull his waistband down. he was still rock hard and throbbing, sticky cum dripping down the veins of his cock.
you bit your lip and smiled, your eyes lighting up at the sight of him like you'd just won the lottery. "mmh..." you moved your hips to hover over him, and he finally grabbed onto the swell of your hips.
"wait-" he stammered out. "... protection? i have condoms-"
"fuck that, 'm on the pill," you muttered, tossing your hair back and moving to sink down on him.
"are you s- ohhhhmygod..." he groaned, his eyes squeezing shut and his brow knitting as you enveloped him with a sweet squelchh! the stretch dragged a little whine out of you, and you bit your lip to hold it back. you bottomed out, ass flush to his thighs, and took a moment to stare at him. panting, flushed, brow seemingly permanently knotted upwards.
"choso."
"one second."
"are you seriously trying to not cum already?"
he whined and let his head fall back to the mattress, already humiliated from cumming in his pants, and now you were just being cruel. "just- give me a second, okay? jesus..." he panted.
you gave him a second, waiting patiently. then two, three, four, five...
you rolled your hips, and his hands flew to your waist. "fuuuuckk...!" he rasped, lifting his head to glare up at you, only to find you with a shit eating grin. "theerre he is..." you purred, rolling your hips again.
"please-" he whined into the back of his hand after throwing it over his face. "please, i just need a minute, 'm not gonna-"
"choso," you pulled his hand away, staring down at him. your free hand smoothed over his chest, feeling his heart banging against his ribcage. "look at me. you're doing so good..."
the sound that left him was sharp, broken, and obviously he hadn't meant to let it slip out. something like a whimper crossed with a groan and maybe even a little sob. his hips bucked up into you, your hole squelching softly. "don't say that..." he murmured, his face hot.
"takin' me so well, stretchin' me out..." you purred, just to see his reaction. it was gold, of course, another whine spilling past his lips. his fingers dug into the fat of your hips, not stopping you, just holding on for dear life. "you're doing that on purpose," he accused breathlessly.
"obviously."
you took his hands from your hips and brought them up to the curve below your breast, letting him hold you where he could feel your heartbeat. then, bracing your own hands on his chest, you leaned forward a bit, glancing down at where his cock disappeared between your drenched folds. little bubbles of pre foamed at where he did.
you dragged your hips up, then sunk down-
"fuck-" choso's breath hitched, and his bit his lip to keep from being loud. his jaw clenched, his eyes were shut tight like if he didn't look at you, maybe, just maybe, he could keep himself from cumming right now.
"you can be loud, cho. no one's gonna hear you over the party downstairs."
he swallowed thickly and nodded. "right, right..."
"and open your eyes. wan' you to watch me ride your cock."
he twitched inside you, and he huffed. "can you not-"
you rose and dropped your hips to shut him up, and a broken whine interrupted whatever complaint he had. and you didn't stop there, speeding up and bouncing on him without any pauses.
"shit, shit, oh my- fuuckk-" it dragged out of him. long and dissolving. his head pressed back into the pillow, his hands flexing against your waist. "okay. okay, okay, okay-"
your hands moved from his chest up to his hair, fisting his soft locks in both hands like handlebars. he whined and hugged you to his chest, burying his face in your neck.
"cho-"
"don't stop, please..." he almost cried into your neck. "please don't stop, feels s-s'good, 'm... fuuck, 'm not gonna last..." he dragged his words out with soft whines.
you felt it building in your stomach too. it was impossible to ignore at this point, the way his cock was rubbing up on your gummy spot and smearing globs of his precum over it.
"yeah?" you managed to pant out, dipping your head down to gently nip at his earlobe. "you gonna fill me up? hm?"
"hngh- fuck-"
you sped up, sweaty skin slapping against sweaty skin as he began to buck up desperately into you.
"hm? can't hear you, cho. i asked if you're gonna cum inside me," you panted. choso was panting heavily, his gaze trained on where your pussy lips stretched and drooled around his cock, bouncing up and down.
squelch!
squelchh!
squelchhh!
he finally slammed his hips up into you, his head thrown back as a strained cry spilled from his raw lips. "h-hngh- 'm cumming- cumming-!!" his cock throbbed and twitched against your velvet walls, spurting and sticking his seed to your walls. "oh my god..." he panted, hips hips rutting up in aftershock, mushroomy tip smearing his sticky white allllll around your walls till he was leaking out of you.
you followed close behind, your fingers twisting in his hair, back arching and head tilting back. your poor hole quivered around him, squeezing his swollen cock in quick pulses. you glanced back in the mirror to find sticky patches of white dripping down your inner thighs, and your jaw dropped.
you looked back down at him underneath you: totally fucked out, half lidded eyes, chewed and raw lips parted, drool slicking down from the corners of his mouth. "that was..." he rasped, then closed his eyes.
"yeah..." you exhaled a small laugh, still catching your breath. you pulled off of him with a lewd drag, then plopped down beside him. his hand subconsciously came up to your hair, sifting into your locks, and you wondered if he was even awake at this point.
careful not to wake him up, you reached across him to the nightstand for his phone, hovering it over his face for the face ID. you scrolled to his messages to add your number, then furrowed your brow as you saw his group chat being blown up.
SIGMA TAU BROTHERHOOD đ„đȘđ» todo aoi: CHOSO GETTING CHEEKS TN YO todo aoi: I SAW HIM TAKE A GIRL UPSTAIRS itadori yuji: i set it up hb of the year over here naoya zenin: kamo actually pulled? no way LMFAOOOOO kinji hakari: STOP CALLIN MY PHONE SHE GETTIN FUCKED TNđčđčđčđčđčđčđčđčđčđč naoya zenin: yo this mf got negative aura how did this happen todo aoi: CHOSO BROTHER I'M SO PROUD naoya zenin: i'm serious bro wtf
you snorted and tossed his phone to the side, burrowing your face into choso's neck and snuggling into him. the party thumped on downstairs. for once, though you'd hate to admit it out loud, you could say itadori was right. you were glad you didn't go to kappa.
© all writing belongs to angellude. all characters belong to gege akutami.
365 Days - Lee Heeseung
Rich boy!heeseung x poor!reader
all heeseung has ever known is women throwing themselves at him and endless money. so what happens when his parents bribe a poor girl to marry him for one year to teach him a lesson? Can he adapt to the poor lifestyle or will he fail before the 365 days are over?
Warnings: mentions parental death and illness, heeseung's parents suck, heeseung is a major dick at first, they fight alot, Heeseung has jealousy issues, slow burn AF
What was only 9 days of waiting was really two months for me đ„ČThis took me from January until yesterday I won't lie I kept getting stuck and then after the announcement I obsessively wrote the rest. you guys do not understand the genuine rage I dealt with all day from 7 AM to 11 PM of trying to post this stupid fake because of the Tumblr rules of how long a paragraph can be and how many âparagraphsâ can have you can only have 1000 and I spent hours adjusting this and having to copy and paste a paragraph by paragraph to be able to get all of this in đïżŒ
ao3 version
WC: 23k
The strong smell of antiseptic was giving you a headache. The elevator wouldnât move fast enough, and the doors wouldnât open fast enough. Your feet slammed the ground as you rushed through the hallways of the hospital, eyes darting between the number plaques on the walls until you reached the room you were looking for. Inside the room, your mother lay in a hospital bed, pale and hooked up to monitors. You couldnât hear the beeping of the machines over your heart pounding in your chest. âMom..â your voice cracked, tears finally spilling. You dropped your bag, basically throwing yourself to her bedside, tightly grasping her hands in yours. Her head fully turned towards yours, exhaustion clearly written on her features. âY/N..â Her hand shakily stroked your head once before slipping back down to her side. A mix of anger and sadness brewed in your chest. âI told you to rest. I can handle the restaurant myself.â She coughed lightly, and you noticed the faint tremor in her fingers. âIâm⊠trying, sweetheart. But the medicine⊠Itâs expensive. Too expensive for us.â The words hit you like a punch. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the weight of the world pressing down. One monthâs rent, the ingredients for the restaurant, her bills⊠it wasnât enough. It would never be enough. You shook your head frantically, desperation rising. âThere has to be a way, Mom. Iâll work more shifts, Iâll save⊠Iâllââ She cut you off softly, her voice weak but firm. âY/N⊠I canât ask you to risk yourself more than you already do. I just⊠canât.â A sudden knock caught your attention. Looking towards the door, a nurse with a clipboard. âA special patron is asking to speak to...â She looked down at the papers, flipping between them for a moment, âthe daughter of Miss Sunja.â Slowly, you rose to your feet, heart hammering in your chest. Who would be asking for you? "That would be me.â A deep voice cut.
Your eyes snapped to locate the voice. It belonged to a tall man in a suit. Standing next to him was a woman. Every detail about them screamed wealthâpolished shoes, designer clothes, you could even smell the womanâs expensive perfume from feet away. The manâs eyes burned holes into your skin as he looked you up and down. Suddenly, you felt slightly insecure about your worn clothes. âCan I speak to you in the hallway?â It was a demand framed as a question. You hesitated for a moment, staring at him. Swallowing, you gave a quick nod. âFine.â He gestured toward the hallway, and cautiously you stepped out, keeping your hands in front of you. As soon as the door closed behind you, the cold air of authority hit harder. âMy family donates generously to this hospital. We've been informed about your⊠Situation.â Heat rose in your chest at the mock pity in his tone describing your current life. âI have a proposition.â Suspicion filled you. âWhat do you want from me? I don't have anything to offer.â âMy son needs to learn a lesson. Heâs lived comfortably for far too long. No responsibility. No consequences. He wastes money because heâs never had to think about earning it.â
Heat crept up your neck. âAnd that has something to do with me?â His gaze sharpened. âEverything. For one year, you marry him. He lives without access to our money. No allowance. No safety net. He will live your lifeâyour village, your routines, your reality.â Your breath caught in your throat. âYou want to use me to discipline your son?â âI want to give him perspective,â he corrected calmly. âYouâll give him structure. Humility. Reality.â Anger flared bright and sudden. âSo Iâm what? some kind of punishment? You think using meâsomeone poor, strugglingâis the way to teach him?â He let out a soft, amused laugh. âStruggling? Oh, my dear, this is struggling?â He gestured vaguely at the hospital, at your hands, at the way your posture carried years of hard work. âI have to admit, itâs⊠quaint. Charming, almost. But far too inconvenient for my son. Heâll live your life for a year. Perhaps then heâll stop acting like the world revolves around him.â Heat rose in your chest. âSo Iâm supposed to be your⊠your lesson plan?â âNot supposed to,â he said, voice smooth, almost cutting. âYou are. Your misery, your poverty, your⊠quaint little lifeâeverything about youâis the perfect antidote to the arrogance of my spoiled heir.â Your jaw tightened. âYou think my life is a joke.â He arched an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. âOh, itâs more than a joke. Itâs an experience. And for him, itâs necessary. For you⊠Well, itâs an opportunityâone year. Your motherâs treatment is paid for. Top-tier care. And perhaps, if youâre clever, to make it out without losing your dignity entirely.â Your hands clenched at your sides. Pride screamed at you to walk away, to spit in his face for the condescension. But your motherâs pale, fragile form in the hospital bedâthe bills stacking impossibly highâkept your feet planted. You swallowed hard. ââŠIâll do it,â you said, voice low but resoluteâone year. I can survive for Mom. The manâs smirk widened, sharp and satisfied, as if heâd won some private game. âExcellent. Bold, clever⊠and desperate enough to matter. I like that. One year. Thatâs all we need.â And as his gaze lingered, cold and assessing, you realized: this manâthis wealthy, arrogant monsterâsaw everything about your life as trivial, pitiful⊠and yet, he expected you to survive it, for his son. The hallway fell quiet after his words, the weight of the agreement settling heavily on your chest. Before you could say anything else, the click of polished shoes echoed down the corridor. Slow. Unhurried. Confident. You turned instinctively.
He arrived like he owned the building. Lee Heeseung was tallâtaller than you expectedâand dressed far too well for a hospital hallway. A black coat draped effortlessly over his shoulders, his hair perfectly styled despite the sterile setting. He looked bored, almost amused, as if this were just another inconvenience added to his day. His gaze flicked from his parents to you.
And lingered. Not politely. Not kindly. Slowly. Assessing. Taking in your worn clothes, the tension in your posture, the way your hands curled into fists like you were bracing for impact. âSo,â he said lazily, voice smooth and rich with arrogance, âthis is her?â Something about the way he said her made your skin crawl. You straightened instinctively, lifting your chin. âI have a name.â His lips curvedânot into a smile, but a smirk. âDo you?â His eyes flicked briefly to his father. âYou didnât think to mention that.â His mother sighed softly. âHeeseung.â âWhat?â He shrugged. âI just expected someone⊠different.â His gaze swept over you again, unapologetic. âYou look smaller than I imagined.â Heat flared in your chest. âAnd you look exactly like someone whoâs never worried about paying a hospital bill.â That earned you his full attention. For the first time, the amusement in his eyes sharpened into something alert. Interested. âWell,â he chuckled, tilting his head, âthis is already more entertaining than I thought.â His father stepped forward. âEnough. This is the woman youâll be marrying.â Heeseung blinked once. Then laughed. A real laugh. Disbelieving. âYouâre joking.â âNo,â his father said flatly. âOne year. No access to family funds. Youâll live with her. Her life. Her village.â Heeseungâs smirk slowly faded as the words settled. ââŠYouâre serious,â he muttered. You watched the realization hit him in stagesâconfusion, disbelief, irritation, and finally something darker. He looked back at you. Really looked. âYou?â he said, incredulous. âThis is the lesson?â Your jaw tightened. âTrust me. I didnât ask for this either.â Something flickered across his face at that. Not guilt. Not sympathy. Annoyance. âSo let me get this straight,â he said coolly. âIâm supposed to give up my money, my home, my life⊠and move into whatever hole-in-the-wall village you crawled out of?â Your breath hitchedâbut you didnât look away. âYes,â you said evenly. âAnd if you canât survive one year of my âhole-in-the-wallâ life, then maybe you really are as useless as your parents think.â
Silence. His mother sucked in a quiet breath. His fatherâs lips twitchedâalmost approving. Heeseung stared at you, eyes darkening. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped closer until you were standing toe-to-toe. He smelled expensiveâcologne, wealth, entitlement.
âYouâre brave,â he murmured. âOr stupid.â
You met his gaze without flinching. âIâve survived worse than you.â
For a moment, something unreadable passed through his eyes.
Then he smiled.
Sharp. Dangerous. âFine,â he said. âOne year.â His gaze dipped brieflyâpossessive, calculatingâbefore returning to your eyes. âBut donât get it twisted. I donât lose.â
Your heart poundedâbut you refused to back down.
âNeither do I.â His father adjusted his cufflinks as if this were nothing more than another business meeting concluded. âEverything will be arranged. Her motherâs treatment will begin immediately.â
âAnd my things?â Heeseung asked sharply. âMy car. My phone.â âYou wonât need them,â his father replied without looking back. âYouâll have what everyone else has.â
Then they were gone. No driver appeared. No black car pulled up to the curb outside the hospital. Just the automatic doors sliding shut behind them, leaving the two of you standing under harsh fluorescent lights.
Heeseung exhaled slowly. ââŠYouâre kidding.â
You followed his gaze to the empty entrance. âAbout what?â
âThe car,â he said flatly. âThis is a joke, right?â âThey were serious,â you replied, already turning toward the exit. âOne year. No money. No help.â
He scoffed. âYou expect me to walk?â
âNo,â you said. âWeâre taking the bus.â
That finally snapped something in him. âTheââ He stopped himself, rubbing his face in disbelief. âI donât do buses.â You didnât slow down. âThen youâre going to have a rough year.â Outside, the evening air was cold and damp. The bus stop sat across the streetâa metal bench, faded route map, a small cluster of people waiting quietly. An old man. A woman holding groceries. A student with headphones in.
Heeseung stopped dead.
You noticed. The way his shoulders stiffened. The way his eyes scanned the crowd, the cracked pavement, the crooked bus schedule taped to the glass.
âThis is disgusting,â he muttered. âDo people actually live like this?â
You turned sharply. âWatch it.â
He blinked, startled by your tone. âI meanââ he gestured vaguely as a bus roared past, exhaust filling the air. âThereâs no space. No privacy. It smells likeâlike metal and oil.â
âAnd survival,â you snapped. âIt smells like people getting to work.â The bus pulled up with a hiss. Doors folding open. People shuffled forward.
Heeseung didnât move. âYouâre not serious,â he said again, quieter now. âIâm wearing designer shoes.â You stepped onto the bus, swiping your worn transit card without ceremony. Then you turned back and met his eyes. âThen stay here,â you said simply. âBut my mom doesnât get her medicine if you donât get on.â
That did it.
His jaw clenched. Pride warred openly with disbelief.
Finally, with obvious disgust, he stepped on. The bus lurched forward almost immediately. He grabbed the nearest pole, grimacing as someone bumped into him. His coat brushed against a strangerâs sleeve, and he recoiled.
âThis is unbelievable,â he muttered. âPeople are touching me.â
You took a seat by the window. âGet used to it.â
The ride was long. Loud. Cramped. Heeseung refused to sit, staring at the scuffed floor like it personally offended him. Every bump made him scowl. Every stop earned a sharp exhale.
At one point, he leaned down toward you, voice low.
âYou live like this every day?â
You didnât look at him. âYeah.â
He straightened slowly.For the first time since he arrived, he had nothing to say.
When the bus finally pulled into your village stop, the doors hissed open again. Darkness stretched beyond the streetlightsâuneven roads, small houses tucked close together.
You stood. âThis is us.â
Heeseung stepped off behind you, shoes crunching against gravel.
He looked around.
Then back at you.
âThis,â he said flatly, âis where Iâm supposed to survive for a year?â
You met his gaze without flinching. âThis,â you said, âis where youâre going to learn.â
And as the bus pulled awayâtaking the last trace of his old life with itâyou saw it finally sink in. Lee Heeseung had never been this powerless before. And he hated it.
The walk from the bus stop was quiet. Not peacefulâjust heavy. Gravel crunched beneath your shoes as you led the way down the narrow road, streetlights flickering inconsistently overhead. The village had settled into its nighttime rhythm: doors shut, lights dim, the distant hum of a television through thin walls.
Behind you, Heeseung walked stiffly, every step careful, irritated by the uneven ground. His shoes were already dusted, his coat brushing too close to fences and walls for his liking. âSo,â he said after a few moments, breaking the silence, âhow much farther is this?â âNot far,â you replied, not slowing. He scoffed softly. âYou know, in Seoul this would barely qualify as a road.â
You didnât respond. You stopped in front of a small, weathered house. One floor. Peeling paint near the door. A single light glowing faintly from inside. âThis is it,â you said. Heeseung stared. âThis?â he repeated. âYes.â He looked around again, as if expecting the real house to appear behind it. âYouâre telling me⊠this is where you live?â
You unlocked the door. âIf you donât like it, the bus stopâs still open.â The inside was warmâbut cramped. One small bedroom off to the side. A narrow bathroom barely large enough to turn around in. The kitchen and living space blended into one anotherâa small table, two mismatched chairs, a worn couch pushed against the wall.
 Heeseung stepped inside and immediately froze. âYouâre joking,â he said, disbelief sharp in his voice. âWhereâs the rest of it?â âThere is no rest of it.â He turned slowly, eyes darting. âThis is⊠everything?â âYes.â
His face twisted. âHow do you breathe in here?â You kicked off your shoes and moved past him, setting your bag down by the table. âYou get used to it.â He exhaled loudly, shrugging off his coat like it had offended him. âIâm starving, by the way. We didnât eat.â You didnât look at him. You went straight to the sink to wash your hands, then to the cupboard. âIâm serious,â he added, irritation creeping in. âI havenât eaten sinceââ âI heard you,â you said calmly. You pulled out a small bag of rice and a few vegetablesâonions, zucchini, and a single carrot. Nothing fancy. Nothing extra. He watched you in disbelief. âThatâs it?â
You ignored him, rinsing the rice carefully, the practiced motions automatic. You set a pot on the stove, poured in water, and turned the flame on low. Heeseung wandered the space restlessly, opening cabinets without asking. âWhy do you have so few plates?â âWhy is everything so old?â âIs this table going to collapse if I lean on it?â âDonât touch that,â you snapped when he reached for a loose cabinet door. He lifted his hands. âRelax.â He wandered toward the bedroom, peering inside. âWhere do you sleep?â
âThere,â you said flatly. âAnd me?â âYouâll figure it out.â He frowned. âThereâs only one bed.â You didnât answer. Instead, you carefully sliced the vegetables and added them to the pot as it began to simmer. The soft bubbling filled the room, grounding you. He leaned against the counter, watching you now, quieter. ââŠWhereâs your dad?â he asked suddenly. Your hand stilled.
âWhat?â you said, not turning. âI mean,â he shrugged, âyour mom is in the hospital, and no mention of a dad. So where is he?â The room felt colder. âHeâs dead,â you said simply. He froze. âOh.â Silence stretched. You kept cooking, stirring the pot slowly. âHe died when I was sixteen. Heart attack. No insurance.â
He didnât say anything for once. The soup finished cooking not long after. You ladled it carefully into two small bowls, measuring portions. Rice on the side. You set the bowls on the table. Heeseung stared at them. ââŠThatâs it?â he said flatly. âYes.â He laughed once, incredulous. âYouâre kidding. This wouldnât even qualify as an appetizer.â Something in your chest snapped. âThis is dinner,â you said sharply. âFor who?â he scoffed. âA child?â
You slammed the ladle down harder than necessary. âThis is what we eat.â He looked up at you, startled by the edge in your voice. âYou expect me to survive on this?â âIâve survived on it my entire life.â He gestured to the bowl. âThis is barely enough for one person.â Your hands curled into fists. âThen donât eat it.â He blinked. âWhat?â âIf itâs not good enough for you, donât touch it,â you snapped. âBut donât stand there and insult the only food I can afford.â The room went quiet. Heeseung looked at youâreally looked at you this time. Your clenched jaw. The way your shoulders were tense. The anger barely masking exhaustion. ââŠYouâre serious,â he said quietly. âYes,â you replied. âDead serious.â For the first time that night, he didnât complain. He sat down slowly.
And ate. The bowls sat drying on the counter, water droplets clinging to their rims. The house felt quieter nowâtoo quietâlike it was holding its breath. The old clock above the fridge ticked steadily, each second loud in the cramped space. You wiped your hands on a towel and glanced toward Heeseung. He was still standing by the table, shoulders tense, like he wasnât sure whether to sit, pace, or complain again. âSoâŠâ he said eventually, dragging the word out. âSleeping.â You already knew this was coming. âWhat about it?â He gestured vaguely around the house. âThereâs one bedroom.â âYes.â
âAnd one couch,â he added, eyes narrowing as he actually looked at it this time. âIf that thing qualifies.â You crossed your arms. âI sleep in the bed.â He blinked. âThat was fast.â âItâs my house.â âWeâre married,â he shot back. âIn paperwork,â you replied coolly. âNot in reality.â He scoffed, dragging a chair back and sitting down heavily. âYou donât seriously expect me to sleep on that.â You walked over, pulled open a cabinet, and retrieved a folded blanketâthin, faded, but clean. You placed it on the couch and gave it a small pat. âThere. Thatâs yours.â
He stared at it like it might bite him. âThatâs not a blanket. Thatâs a suggestion.â âIt works.â âFor you,â he muttered. You turned toward the bedroom, already done with the conversation. âYou can take it, or you can stand all night. Iâm going to sleep.â ââŠThere arenât even sheets,â he complained. âThereâs one pillow. Use it wisely.â He let out a dramatic sigh, collapsing onto the couch experimentally. It dipped immediately, springs creaking in protest. âOh, this is fantastic,â he deadpanned. âIâm going to wake up folded in half.â
You stepped into the bedroom and closed the door most of the way, leaving it cracked just enough to let light through. The room was barely bigger than the bed itself. You changed quietly, the familiar routine grounding you. When you lie down, the mattress dips softly, springs sighing beneath you.
Outside, you heard Heeseung shifting again. The couch groaned.
âThis thing hates me,â he muttered.
You smiled faintly despite yourself.Minutes passed. Then more.
ââŠDo you always sleep this early?â he asked, voice softer now.
âYes.â
Another pause. The fridge hummed.
ââŠIt smells like soup in here,â he said. âNot bad. Just⊠different.â
You turned onto your side, staring at the wall. âMy mom used to make it when I was little. Said it helped you sleep.â
The couch creaked as he adjusted. âGuess she was right.â
Silence settled againâthicker this time, but not as sharp.
ââŠHey,â he said quietly.
You hesitated. âWhat?â ââŠIâm not used to this.â You didnât ask what this meant. You already knew. âI know,â you said instead. Another long pause. ââŠGoodnight,â he said, awkward and almost unsure. You closed your eyes. âGoodnight.â The house creaked softly as it settled around youâsmall, imperfect, but warm. Outside, the village was quiet, wrapped in darkness. Inside, two lives collided under one fragile roof. On the narrow couch, wrapped in blankets that smelled faintly of detergent and soup, Lee Heeseung stared up at the ceiling, wide awake. Uncomfortable. Out of place. But for the first time that night, not entirely angry. And in the small bedroom, you lay listening to his breathing through the thin walls, knowing tomorrow would be hardâbut for now, the quiet was enough.
-
The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. The sharp, tinny sound cut through the quiet like a blade. You reached for it instantly, slapping it silent before it could ring twice. The last thing you wanted was to wake himâbut the damage was already done. You sat up slowly, muscles aching, eyes heavy. Dawn hadnât even begun to lighten the sky yet. The room was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones. You pulled on a hoodie, changed quickly, and tied your hair back with practiced movements. This was your routine. Youâd been doing this long before Heeseung entered your life. You slipped out of the bedroom and froze. Heeseung was sitting upright on the couch, hair a mess, blanket tangled around his waist. His expression was thunderousâjaw tight, eyes sharp with disbelief as he took in the room again. The cracked table. The tiny kitchen. The thin blanket. âWhat the hell is this?â he snapped. You paused, one hand on your bag strap. âMorning to you, too.â He rubbed his face hard, like he was trying to wake himself up. âNo. Noâthis isnât real. I fell asleep somewhere awful, and this is just a nightmare.â
You exhaled slowly. âItâs real. And youâre awake.â
He stood abruptly, the couch springs screaming in protest. âYou expect me to believe that I actually slept here?â He gestured wildly. âOn that thing? With that blanket?â âYes.â âYou didnât even warn me Iâd wake up at the crack of dawn,â he added, glancing toward the window where the sky was still pitch-black. âI didnât wake you up on purpose,â you said flatly. âI have work.â âAt five in the morning?â His laugh was sharp and humorless. âDoing what? Punishing yourself?â Your grip tightened on your bag. âI run the restaurant.â He blinked. âRun it?â âI open it. I prep. I cook. I serve. I clean. Every day.â You stepped past him toward the kitchen, reaching for the kettle. âSome of us donât get to sleep in.â âThatâs insane,â he snapped. âYouâre telling me this is your life? Thisââ He looked around again, disgust curling his lip. âThis miserable schedule, this placeââ âWatch it,â you warned, voice low. He ignored you. âMy father said Iâd live your life, not be tortured.â You turned to face him fully now, eyes blazing. âYou think this is torture?â âYes!â he shouted. âThis is humiliating. I wake up in some shoebox, starving, sore, freezing, and now youâre just leaving me here?â âI donât have a choice!â
âYou always have a choice,â he snapped back. âYou just like pretending you donât.â The words hit harder than he intendedâor maybe exactly as hard. You went still. âYou have no idea what youâre talking about,â you said quietly. âThen explain it to me!â he shot back. âExplain why youâre letting my family walk all over you. Explain why youâre okay with thisâwhy youâre okay being dragged down!â That did it. You slammed your bag onto the table. âDragged down?â you repeated, incredulous. âThis is my life, Heeseung. This restaurant? It keeps the lights on. It paid for my momâs medicine before your father ever opened his mouth. You donât get to call it being dragged down just because itâs not wrapped in money.â He faltered for half a secondâbut his pride surged back just as fast. âYouâre acting like this is noble,â he scoffed. âItâs pathetic. Youâre working yourself to death and calling it responsibility.â âAnd youâre waking up on a couch and calling it suffering,â you shot back. âIâve been doing this since I was sixteen.â
Silence cracked between you. His eyes narrowed. âSo whatâthis is how itâs going to be? You disappear all day and I just⊠rot here?â âYou can come to the restaurant if you want,â you said sharply, grabbing your jacket. âBut youâre not going to stand in my house and insult my life.â âYour house?â he echoed. âYes. Mine.â He stepped closer, towering over you. âYou donât get to talk to me like that.â You met his gaze without flinching. âI absolutely do.â âDo you know who I am?â his fists checked at his side. âRemember. Your status here means nothing.â For a moment, it felt like neither of you would back down. The air was thick, charged, buzzing with anger and exhaustion. Then you broke eye contact firstânot because you were weaker, but because you were running out of time. âIâm leaving,â you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. âThereâs food in the fridge. Eat it or donât. I donât care.â
He laughed bitterly. âUnbelievable.â You stopped at the door, hand on the handle. âGet used to it. This is your life now, too.â You didnât wait for a response. The door shut behind you with a final, hollow click. Left alone in the dim, silent house, Heeseung stood frozen, chest heaving. The smell of rice and vegetables still lingered in the air. The blanket lay crumpled on the couch where heâd slept. Slowly, the anger ebbedâjust enough for something else to creep in.
This wasnât a nightmare.
And for the first time, that realization scared him more than anything else.-
The bell above the restaurant door chimed softly as you unlocked it, the sound far too gentle for the storm brewing inside you.
You shoved the door open harder than necessary, flipping the sign to OPEN with a sharp snap. The place was still dark and quiet, smelling faintly of yesterdayâs broth and rice. You dropped your bag behind the counter and stood there for a moment, hands braced against the wood, head bowed.
What the hell did I do?
Your chest rose and fell unevenly as you stared at the familiar spaceâthe scuffed tables, the worn stools, the faded menu handwritten by your mother years ago. This place had always been your anchor. You're constant. And now it felt⊠contaminated. Like something foreign had been dragged into your carefully balanced life and knocked everything off-kilter. Married. To him. You scoffed under your breath, running a hand through your hair. âUnbelievable,â you muttered to the empty room. âAbsolutely unbelievable.â The argument from that morning replayed in your head whether you wanted it to or notâhis anger, his disgust, the way he looked at your house like it was something heâd stepped in by accident. Your jaw tightened. I shouldâve said no. I shouldâve walked away You moved mechanically, turning on the lights, tying on your apron. The familiar motions usually calmed you, grounded you. Today, they did nothing. âOne year,â you whispered to yourself bitterly. âI agreed to ruin my life for one year.â You slammed a pot down on the stove harder than needed, the clang echoing through the restaurant. The sound made you flinchâand then laugh humorlessly. I could still end it.
The thought came unbidden, sharp and tempting. You froze, hands hovering over the ingredients. I could go back. Tell his parents I changed my mind. Tell them I wonât do it. I wonât be humiliated in my own home. I wonât babysit a spoiled man-child who thinks my life is a joke. Your heart started to race as the idea grew roots. The relief it promised was intoxicating. Then your motherâs face flashed in your mindâpale against white sheets, fingers trembling, eyes tired but still so gentle when she looked at you. Your chest tightened painfully. ââŠMom,â you whispered. The guilt hit like a wave, heavy and suffocating. Ending the arrangement meant ending her treatment. No more medication. No more stability. No more time. You pressed your palm flat against the counter, breathing through the ache in your chest. âI canât,â you murmured. âI canât do that to her.â
So you swallowed it. The anger. The regret. The resentment. You shoved it all down where youâd always put things you couldnât afford to feel. Just endure it, you told yourself. Just survive one year. The bell over the door chimed againâlouder this time. âY/N-ah!â a familiar voice called out cheerfully. âYouâre open already?â Mrs. Kang stepped inside, bundled in her cardigan despite the warming morning, followed closely by two other regulars. The quiet was shattered instantly. You straightened, forcing a smile onto your face. âMorning.â They all paused, looking at you a little too closely. ââŠYou look tired,â Mrs. Kang said, eyes narrowing with concernâand curiosity. âI didnât sleep well,â you replied, turning back to the stove. âWell,â another woman chimed in, grin spreading, âI hear you had company.â Your hand stilled. Company.
You felt it before they even said itâthe buzz, the barely contained excitement. âOh, yes,â Mrs. Kang added knowingly. âThe handsome young man. Tall. Expensive-looking. That one.â Your stomach dropped. So it already spread. You kept your back turned. âPeople talk too much.â The women laughed. âIn a village this small?â one of them teased. âOf course they do! You bring home a husband like that and expect silence?â âHusband?â Mrs. Kang echoed, delighted. âIs it true, Y/N? You got married without telling us?â You turned slowly, irritation flashing across your face. âItâs not like that.â âOh, donât be shy,â another auntie said, waving her hand. âWe saw him. So handsome. Like a movie star! Where were you hiding him all this time?â
Heat rushed to your face. âI wasnât hiding anyone.â âIs he rich?â someone asked bluntly. âDoes he treat you well?â another added. âDoes he eat properly? He looked thin,â Mrs. Kang said, already worrying. Your head started to pound. You set a bowl down harder than necessary. âPlease,â you said sharply. âCan we not do this?â The chatter faltered. âI donât want to talk about it.â The aunties exchanged looksâsurprised, confused, a little hurt. âOh,â Mrs. Kang said softly. âWe were just teasingâŠâ âI know,â you replied, voice strained. âIâm just⊠tired.â An awkward silence settled. One by one, they moved to their seats, murmuring apologies; the excitement dampened.
As you worked, their whispers faded, replaced by the familiar clatter of bowls and spoons. But the damage was done. You stared into the simmering broth, jaw clenched. Great. Not only did I sell my life for a year, but now the whole village knows about him, too. You imagined Heeseung waking up in your house again. Complaining. Judging. Existing in your world like he didnât belong. Your grip tightened on the ladle. âI really messed up,â you whispered to yourself. And yetâdespite everythingâyou kept cooking. Kept serving. Kept moving. Because that was what you always did. The lunch rush had finally tapered off. The clatter of dishes, the sizzle from the stove, and the chatter of regulars faded to a comfortable hum. You wiped down the counter, tying your apron a little tighter as you tried to shake off the lingering exhaustion from waking so early.
âY/N-ah!â came the familiar teasing voice. You looked up to see Taehyun at the door, smiling as if heâd been waiting all day for this exact moment. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hair slightly messy from rushing over. âYou came again,â you said, half-smiling, half-exasperated. âOf course I did,â he replied, leaning casually against the doorframe. âI had to make sure my favorite chef was surviving the chaos you call a morning.â You rolled your eyes. âIâm surviving. Barely.â He smirked. âBarely is better than not at all.â You shook your head, laughing softly. There was a comfort in his presence, a lightness that made the heaviness of your life momentarily lift. It had always been like this when he came byâflirting, teasing, playfulâbut never overstepping. As you cleared some plates from a table, Mrs. Kang popped her head around the corner with a sly smile. âAh, Y/N, speaking of favoritesâŠâ Her eyes sparkled with mischief. âI was just telling Taehyun here that you have a husband now.âYour heart skipped. You froze mid-step, hands gripping the plate.
Taehyunâs brows shot up. His eyes flicked between his mother and you. âHusband?â His voice was quiet, but something in itâhurt, surprise, disbeliefâmade your chest tighten. âYes,â Mrs. Kang said, oblivious to the tension sheâd created. âMarried last week, apparently. Handsome, apparently very rich. The whole village has been talking about it.â She winked and disappeared before either of you could respond. Silence stretched. Taehyunâs lips pressed into a thin line. âCongratulations,â he said finally, voice careful. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding looking directly at you. âThanks,â you said softly, unsure of what else to say. He hesitated a moment longer, then shrugged. âI still want to walk you home after your shift,â he added, a small, tentative smile playing at the edges of his lips. âIf thatâs⊠okay.â You felt your cheeks warm. It was like nothing had changed, even though everything had. ââŠYeah,â you said softly. âThatâs fine.â The day dragged on, and the afternoon rush felt heavier than usual. Every time you caught Taehyun glancing your way, your chest tightened. When the last customer left, you leaned against the counter for a moment, rubbing your sore shoulders. âYou ready?â Taehyun asked gently, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. You nodded, grabbing your bag. Together, you stepped out into the crisp evening air, the street quiet except for the distant hum of the village.
They walked side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing. Taehyun kept the conversation light, teasing about small thingsâthe way Mrs. Kang fussed over the customers, the stubborn regulars who never finished their soup, even joking about how you were the hardest worker heâd ever met. You laughed softly, thankful for the distraction, and for the few stolen moments where it felt like things could almost be normal. âSo⊠howâs married life?â he asked after a while, careful in his tone, but the faint curiosity in his voice made your stomach twist. You froze, glancing at him. ââŠItâs⊠fine. Complicated,â you said lightly, hiding the truth about Heeseung and the arrangement for your momâs medical bills. It wasnât a story you wanted to share. He nodded slowly, a small, understanding smile tugging at his lips. âI see. Well⊠good for you, I guess. You deserve to be happy.â You smiled faintly, grateful for his kindness, though a pang of guilt stabbed through you. As the two of you neared the narrow gravel path that led to your house, your chest tightened. The lights from your small home cast a soft glow across the front yardâand there, leaning against the wall near the door, was Heeseung. The same clothes heâd arrived in yesterday. His expression dark, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes sharp. He didnât move as you approached, but the tension radiating from him made your skin prickle. Taehyunâs steps faltered slightly, and your hand brushed against his as you slowed. You didnât know if Heeseung had seen the way you laughed at something Taehyun said, or the way you had leaned slightly toward him during the walkâbut the moment your eyes met Heeseungâs, something cold and unreadable passed across his features.
Before you could say anything, he spun on his heel, storming inside without a word. The slam of the door echoed sharply in the quiet evening, and the warmth of the small home suddenly felt suffocating. You stood frozen on the path, Taehyun by your side, watching the door close, your chest tight and shoulders tense. âI⊠guess he doesnât like company,â Taehyun said quietly, his voice softer now, tinged with awkward concern. You forced a small laugh, though it didnât reach your eyes. âThatâs one way to put it,â you muttered, watching the door as though it might reopen at any moment. The walk home had been peaceful moments ago, but now, with Heeseung inside waiting, the air felt charged. And even though you didnât know how heâd act next, you were already bracing yourself.Because nothing about this year was going to be easy.
The door creaked softly as you pushed it open.
The house was dim, the only light coming from the small lamp near the couch.
He was exactly where you expected him to be.
Heeseung sat rigidly on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together as if he were holding himself back from saying something he might regret. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor.
He didnât look up when you stepped inside. But you knew he knew you were there. You slipped off your shoes quietly and set your bag down by the table. The air inside felt heavier than when you left, thick with tension. Still, he said nothing. Fine. You walked past him into the kitchen area without acknowledging him. If he wanted to sulk, he could sulk. You had bigger things to worry about than a spoiled rich boyâs bruised ego.| You washed your hands at the sink, the water running loudly in the quiet house. From the corner of your eye, you could see him shift slightly on the couch. Still not looking at you. You opened the fridge and pulled out what little you hadâhalf a zucchini, a small onion, leftover rice from the morning. Your movements were calm, practiced. Knife against cutting board. Vegetables sliding into a pan. The quiet stretched. The soft sizzle of oil filled the room. Behind you, the couch creaked. You didnât turn around. Heeseung finally spoke. ââŠWho was he?â Your knife paused mid-slice. You kept your voice neutral. âA friend.â Silence. Then a short, humorless laugh. âRight.â You ignored him and kept cuttingâanother pause. âFriends usually touch your hand like that,â he said. You turned the stove flame down slightly, still not looking at him. âYouâre imagining things.â âIâm not blind.â Neither am I, you thought bitterly, remembering the way heâd stormed inside earlier like a jealous child. But you didnât say it. The pan hissed softly as you stirred the vegetables. He shifted again, irritation radiating off him. âYou didnât answer my question.â âI did,â you replied simply. âYou avoided it.â âI donât owe you explanations.â That did it. The couch groaned as he stood abruptly. âYouâre my wife.â
You turned slowly to face him, unimpressed. âOn paper,â you said. âFor one year.â His eyes flashed. âThat still means something.â âNo,â you said calmly. âIt means my mother gets treatment. Thatâs it.â For a moment, he just stared at you. The anger in his expression falteredâonly slightlyâbut you caught it. Then his pride snapped back into place. âSo youâre just going to parade guys around while Iâm stuck here?â he muttered. You blinked in disbelief. âParade?â you repeated. âYes.â Your laugh was sharp. âHe walked me home.â âAnd you were smiling.â You set the spatula down with a quiet clack. âYou are unbelievable.â âAnd youâre avoiding the point.â âThere is no point!â you snapped. âTaehyun has been my friend for years. He walks me home because the streets are dark and because heâs a decent person.â The words hung between you.
Something unreadable flickered across Heeseungâs face.
ââŠTaehyun,â he repeated slowly.
âYes.â
He scoffed and ran a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed that heâd learned the name.
âWhatever.â
You turned back to the stove, done with the conversation.
The silence returnedâbut it wasnât the same as before.
Now it buzzed with something sharper.
You finished cooking quickly, spooning the rice and vegetables into two bowls before placing them on the small table.
âDinnerâs ready,â you said flatly.
He didnât move.
You sat down and started eating.
After a few seconds, the chair across from you scraped the floor.
Heeseung sat down.
Still scowling. Still clearly irritated. But he picked up the spoon anyway.
For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the quiet clink of metal against ceramic.
Then, out of nowhere, he muttered under his breathâ
ââŠYou smiled more with him.â
Your spoon stopped halfway to your mouth.
You slowly looked up.
He was staring down at his food like he hadnât said anything at all.
Like the words had slipped out by accident.
âYouâre jealous,â you said bluntly.
His head snapped up immediately. âI am not.â
âYou are.â
âI barely know you,â he scoffed.
âExactly,â you replied calmly. âWhich makes this even weirder.â
His jaw clenched. âIâm not jealous,â he repeated. âI just donât like looking like an idiot.â
âYou looked like an idiot because you slammed the door like a child.â
That hit its mark. His eyes narrowed.
âYou brought him to our house.â
âI didnât bring him anywhere. He walked me home.â
âAnd you let him.â
You stared at him in disbelief.
âYou do realize you sound insane right now.â
He opened his mouth to argueâbut stopped.
Because deep down, he probably knew you were right.
The tension slowly drained out of him as he leaned back in the chair, running a hand through his messy hair.
ââŠThis place is too small,â he muttered after a moment.
âWhat does that have to do with anything?â
âI can hear everything,â he said. âEvery step. Every door. Every breath.â
You raised an eyebrow.
âAnd?â
âAnd itâs annoying.â
You rolled your eyes and returned to your food.
After a few more quiet bites, he suddenly spoke again.
ââŠYour friend.â
You sighed. âWhat now?â
âHe likes you.â
You didnât even look up.
âHeâs nice.â
âThatâs not what I asked.â
You shrugged lightly. âMaybe he does.â
His spoon hit the bowl a little harder than necessary.
âAnd youâre just⊠okay with that?â
You finally lifted your eyes to meet his.
âWhat exactly are you asking me, Heeseung?â
The room went quiet.
For a moment, he looked like he actually didnât know how to answer that.
His gaze dropped back to the table.
ââŠNothing,â he muttered.
You watched him for a second longer before shaking your head slightly and finishing your dinner.
When you stood to rinse your bowl in the sink, you felt his eyes follow you again.
But this time, there was something different in his expression.
Not just irritation or pride.
Something quieter. Something conflicted.
And even though neither of you said another word that night, one thing was painfully clear.
Living together was starting to affect him far more than he wanted to admit.
Morning sunlight crept slowly through the thin curtains, pale gold lines stretching across the worn wooden floor. The house was unusually quiet. No alarm. No rush. No frantic morning routine.
But you were already awake.
Years of waking before dawn had trained your body too well. Even on your rare day off, sleep refused to hold you.
You sat at the small kitchen table, a chipped mug of tea warming your hands. A pencil rested between your fingers as you scribbled numbers across the back of an old receipt. The paper was already covered in crossed-out totals and small circles where youâd tried to make the math work.
Rent. Utilities. Restaurant supplies. Bus fare.
Your brow furrowed as you added another column.
Groceries.
You exhaled slowly, circling the smallest number you could manage beside vegetables. It still felt like too much.
The couch's quiet creak broke your concentration.
You didnât turn around right away, but you knew he was awake.
You could almost feel the confusion radiating off him.
Heeseung slowly pushed himself upright on the couch, blanket tangled around his legs like heâd fought it in his sleep. His hair stuck out in different directions, and his expression was somewhere between exhausted and offended by his surroundings.
He blinked a few times, squinting toward the window where soft morning light had begun to leak through.
ââŠWhy isnât the alarm screaming?â he asked groggily, voice thick with sleep.
You took a slow sip of your tea before answering.
âBecause I turned it off.â
His eyebrows knit together.
ââŠWhy?â
âI have the day off.â
That seemed to wake him up more than anything else.
âYou get days off?â he asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
âSometimes,â you replied dryly, tapping your pencil against the paper.
He leaned back against the couch cushions, stretching his arms over his head. The movement lasted all of two seconds before his face twisted in pain.
ââŠMy back is ruined.â
You didnât even look up.
âThatâs what happens when you sleep on a couch.â
âThat couch is a medieval torture device,â he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck like it had personally betrayed him.
âYet you survived.â
He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a complaint about lawsuits and human rights violations.
After another moment of sulking, he pushed himself to his feet and wandered toward the kitchen area. His steps were slow, like he was still half asleep and unsure where exactly he was.
âWhat are you doing?â he asked, leaning slightly against the counter.
âMaking a list.â
âFor what?â
âGroceries.â
His eyes drifted down toward the small piece of paper in your hand. He leaned a little closer, squinting at the short list.
âThatâs it?â he asked.
You glanced down at the paper.
âYes.â
âThatâs barely anything.â
âItâs what I can afford.â
His mouth opened slightly, like the usual sarcastic comment was waiting to come outâbut then he stopped himself. His gaze lingered on the list for a second longer before he looked away.
You folded the receipt neatly and stood from the table, grabbing your worn jacket from the chair.
âWhen do you get groceries?â he asked.
âNow.â
You moved toward the door, sliding your shoes on.
Behind you, the couch creaked again as he straightened up.
âWait.â
You paused and turned slightly.
Heeseung was already pulling on his coat.
ââŠIâm coming.â
You blinked slowly.
âNo, youâre not.â
âYe,s I am.â
You stared at him.
âWhy?â
He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
âI need food too.â
âThereâs food here.â
âThat soup again?â he said, horrified.
âItâs called leftovers.â
He ignored you completely and slipped his arms through his coat.
âIâm not staying in this shoebox all day.â
âYou donât even know how to grocery shop.â
He scoffed, pushing his hair back. âIt canât be that hard.â
You crossed your arms. âHave you ever bought groceries before?â
He hesitated for exactly half a second. ââŠIâve been inside a store.â
âThatâs not the same thing.â
But he had already grabbed the door handle.
âWell,â he said as he pulled it open, âtoday you can educate me.â
Cold morning air rushed into the house immediately.
You watched him for a moment, studying his stubborn expression. âYouâre going to hate it,â you warned.
âProbably.â
âItâs crowded.â
âFantastic.â
âAnd youâre carrying the bags.â
His confidence flickered.
ââŠHow many bags?â
You smiled faintly.
âEnough.â
âA few minutes later, the two of you were walking down the narrow gravel road toward the village market.
The morning air was crisp and fresh, carrying the faint scent of wet grass and distant cooking fires. Birds chirped somewhere in the trees overhead, and a few villagers were already outside sweeping their front steps or watering small gardens.
Heeseung walked beside you with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. His eyes moved constantly, scanning everything around him with thinly veiled disbelief.
ââŠPeople really live like this,â he muttered.
You rolled your eyes.
âYou said that yesterday.â
âAnd Iâm still shocked.â
As you approached the market, the quiet village sounds gradually gave way to the low hum of voices and movement.
Stalls lined the street beneath colorful cloth canopies. Wooden crates overflowed with vegetablesâgreen onions, cabbage, peppers stacked neatly in piles. Baskets of apples and pears glowed in the morning light, and the smell of fresh bread and grilled fish drifted through the air.
Heeseung stopped walking.
âWhat is this?â he asked slowly.
You looked back at him.
âThe market.â
âThis is outside.â
âYes.â
âWhere are the carts?â
âThere are no carts.â
His expression darkened.
ââŠYouâre joking.â
You walked straight toward the vegetable stand.
âMorning, Y/N!â the old vendor greeted warmly.
âMorning,â you replied with a small smile.
Behind you, Heeseung hovered awkwardly, looking deeply out of place among the bustling stalls and chatting villagers.
You picked up a cabbage, turning it carefully in your hands.
âTwo thousand won,â the vendor said.
You handed over the money.
Beside you, Heeseung looked horrified.
ââŠYouâre touching all of them.â
âIâm checking which oneâs fresh.â âThere are no gloves.â The vendor blinked slowly at him. You sighed. âRelax.â He leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice. âDo people just⊠grab things here?â âYes.â âThatâs barbaric.â The vendor snorted loudly. You kicked Heeseung lightly in the shin. âBehave.â He glared at you, rubbing his leg. âYou kicked me.â âYou deserved it.â You moved to the next stall, picking up eggs and tofu. Heeseung followed behind you like a reluctant shadow. But after a few minutes, something changed. His expression slowly shifted from disgust to curiosity. ââŠWhy are those cheaper?â he asked, pointing to a pile of slightly bruised apples. âBecause theyâre ugly,â you said simply. âBut they taste the same?â âYes.â He stared at the apples like heâd just discovered a flaw in the universe. ââŠThatâs stupid.â âWelcome to grocery shopping.â You paid for the apples and handed him the bag without warning. He fumbled it awkwardly, clearly not used to carrying anything heavier than a phone. ââŠYou werenât kidding about the bags.â âWeâre not done.â His eyes widened. âNot done?â You were already walking toward the next stall. âCome on, city boy.â He sighed dramatically but followed after you, the grocery bag dangling from his hand. Yet as he walked beside you through the lively morning marketâlistening to the chatter of vendors, watching the small negotiations over prices, smelling the mix of fresh produce and warm street foodâsomething unfamiliar settled into his expression. Not anger. Not disgust. Just quiet curiosity. The market grows busier as the two of you move between stalls. You moved through it all easily, greeting people with small nods and quiet smiles, picking up the last few things on your list. Behind you, Heeseung followed with noticeably less confidence. The bag of apples hung awkwardly from his hand as he tried to keep up. Every few steps, someone brushed past him, and each time, he stiffened like heâd been personally insulted by the concept of crowded spaces. âDo people not believe in personal space here?â he leaned down, muttering quietly. You didnât even turn around. âNo.â He let out a long sigh but kept walking. You were reaching for a bunch of green onions when a voice suddenly rang out across the market. âY/N-ah!â Your hand froze mid-reach. Slowly, you turned your head. Three familiar figures stood a few stalls away, staring in your direction with expressions that could only be described as delighted shock. Your stomach sank immediately. Mrs. Kang stood in the middle, her cardigan buttoned up despite the warming weather. On either side of her were two other village aunties, their heads already leaning together as they whispered excitedly. Their eyes werenât on you. They were locked directly onto the tall man standing behind you. âOh my goodness,â Mrs. Kang gasped softly. âThat must be him,â one of the other women whispered. âHeâs even taller than they said!â Before you could even think of escaping, the three of them began marching toward you with determined steps. You closed your eyes for half a second. This is going to be a disaster. âY/N!â Mrs. Kang said brightly as they stopped right in front of you. âWhat a surprise seeing you here this morning!â You forced a polite smile. âGood morning.â But the women barely acknowledged your greeting. Their attention had already shifted completely. Three pairs of curious eyes turned slowly toward Heeseung. He froze instantly. The bag of apples nearly slipped from his hand as he suddenly found himself the center of intense scrutiny. âAhhhh,â one auntie hummed thoughtfully, looking him up and down with open interest. âSo this is the husband.â Heat rushed to your face. Heeseung blinked.
ââŠThe what?â âThe husband,â Mrs. Kang repeated cheerfully, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You cleared your throat quickly. âYes⊠this isââ But the women had already surrounded him. âOh my, heâs very handsome.â âSo tall too.â âHe looks like one of those actors from television!â Heeseungâs ears started turning red almost immediately. He looked completely caught off guard, glancing at you quickly like he was silently asking for help. You suddenly found the cabbage in your hands extremely interesting. âAre you eating well?â one of the aunties asked him kindly. âDoes Y/N cook enough for you?â âAre you adjusting to village life?â another chimed in. The questions came so quickly that he barely had time to process them. âIâuhââ âYou have very nice shoulders,â one auntie added approvingly. Heeseungâs eyes widened slightly. His cheeks were noticeably pink now. Another auntie reached out and lightly poked his arm, testing the muscle there. âOh!â she laughed. âStrong too!â Heeseung looked like he might actually short-circuit. His gaze flicked helplessly toward you again. You pressed your lips together tightly to stop yourself from laughing. âAnd look!â Mrs. Kang suddenly exclaimed, pointing at the bag in his hand. They all gasped dramatically. âYouâre carrying the groceries!â âOh, what a good husband!â âSuch a hardworking man!â âMost men wouldnât even hold one bag!â Heeseung stared down at the apples like they had betrayed him personally. âThis?â he said slowly, lifting the bag slightly. âThis counts as hardworking?â âYes!â Mrs. Kang said proudly. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by the sudden praise. ââŠItâs just a bag,â he muttered. But the aunties looked thoroughly impressed. âOh, heâs humble too,â one of them whispered loudly. You nearly choked trying not to laugh.
âOh, Y/N,â another auntie said teasingly, leaning closer to you. âYou hid him from us for so long!ââI didnât hide anyone,â you protested weakly.
âBut heâs so handsome,â she insisted. âWhere did you find him?â
Heeseung muttered under his breath beside you.
âShe didnât find me.â
Unfortunately for him, Mrs. Kang heard that.
âWhat was that?â
Heeseung immediately straightened up slightly, clearly realizing he had to play along now.
ââŠNothing,â he said quickly.
The women exchanged amused looks.
âWell,â Mrs. Kang said warmly, patting his arm again, âyou must take good care of our Y/N.â
The touch made him stiffen slightly again.
But this time, his expression shifted just a little.
ââŠI will,â he said quietly.
The words came out before he seemed to realize it.
Your head snapped toward him slightly.
He noticed.
His ears turned even redder.
The aunties, however, looked absolutely delighted.
âAhhh,â one of them sighed dramatically. âYoung love.â
You almost dropped the cabbage. âItâs notââ
But they were already moving away, whispering excitedly among themselves again.
âI told you he was handsome.â
âAnd polite too!â
âSuch a good husband!â
Their voices slowly faded as they continued down the row of stalls.
Silence settled between you and Heeseung.
He slowly turned his head toward you.
His expression was somewhere between exhausted and mortified. ââŠThat was terrifying,â he said quietly.
You couldnât hold it in anymore.
You burst out laughing. âThey like you.â
âThey interrogated me.â
âThat means they like you.â
He glanced down at the grocery bag again. ââŠThey called me hardworking.â You smirked. âYou should hear what they call the men who donât carry bags.â He ran a hand through his hair, still looking a little flustered. ââŠYour village is weird.â But as the two of you continued walking through the market, he didnât let go of the grocery bag. And this time, when another elderly woman passed by and smiled knowingly at himâ He lowered his head slightly. Just a little bashful. The days after the market trip began to slip into something neither of you had expected. Routine. Not the kind that arrived suddenly with some grand realization or dramatic change. It crept in quietly, settling into the small spaces of everyday life. At first, you barely noticed it happening. The tension between you still lingered, still sharp in certain moments, but the constant friction slowly started to wear down. The days began to flow in familiar patterns, and before long, the house started to feel less like a place where two strangers were forced to coexist⊠and more like a place that simply held both of you.
Mornings were still early. They always had been. Your body had long since grown used to waking at the same hour, trained by years of responsibility and necessity. Even on mornings when your bones felt heavy with exhaustion, your eyes would still open before the alarm had the chance to ring. Still, the alarm buzzed softly beside your bed. The sound was sharp in the quiet house. Your hand reached out automatically, turning it off before it could wake the entire neighborhood. At first, that sound had been enough to wake the person sleeping in the living room. Every morning. From the couch, Heeseung would groan loudly, his voice muffled beneath the blanket as he buried his face deeper into the pillow. âWhy does it ring like the buildingâs on fire?â he would complain, his voice thick with sleep and irritation. You would roll your eyes quietly while tying your hair back into a loose ponytail. âItâs called an alarm.â His response usually came immediately. âPeople shouldnât be awake at this hour.â You would sling your bag over your shoulder, glancing toward the living room with a flat expression. âPeople with jobs are.â At the beginning, that exchange usually started an argument. Not always a big one.
But enough for the morning air to fill with the familiar edge of annoyance. He would complain about the hour, about the noise, about the cold floor when his feet touched it. You would snap back about responsibility, about work, about how some people didnât have the luxury of sleeping all morning. But after a few days, something about those arguments began to soften. The sharpness in his voice slowly faded. The complaints didnât disappear entirely, but they grew quieter⊠shorter⊠almost half-hearted.
Some mornings, he still groaned, but more often, he simply rolled over and pulled the blanket higher over his head, letting you move around the house without another word.
And sometimesâŠ
When you stepped out of the bedroom, ready to leave for the restaurant, you would find something unexpected.
He would already be awake.
Sitting on the couch with messy hair sticking out in every direction, his shoulders slouched slightly forward as he stared blankly at the wall like his brain hadnât quite caught up with his body yet.
The first time you saw him sitting there, you stopped in the doorway.
âWhy are you up?â you asked, confused.
He rubbed his eyes slowly, blinking against the dim light. âThe alarm woke me up.â
âThen go back to sleep.â
He shrugged lazily, leaning back into the couch. âToo late now.â
You watched him for a moment longer than necessary.
Something about the quiet way he sat there made the house feel⊠different. But you pushed the thought away quickly and left for work.
At the time, it didnât seem importantâjust another strange habit. But as the days passed, more small changes began to appear.
By the end of the first month, the couch blanket was folded neatly every morning.
The first time you noticed it, you thought you were imagining things.
You returned home late in the afternoon, the familiar ache of a long shift settling into your shoulders. The house was quiet as usual, sunlight stretching through the window and across the living room floor.
Your eyes drifted toward the couch automatically.
The blanket was folded.
Neatly.
The pillow had been placed carefully on the armrest instead of being tossed aside like usual.
You stood there for a moment, staring at it.
ââŠDid you do this?â you asked slowly.
From the table, Heeseung looked up, his expression completely casual. âDo what?â
You gestured toward the couch. âThe blanket.â
He glanced at it briefly before shrugging. âIt looked messy.â
You blinked. ââŠYou folded it.â
âYeah?â His tone carried a hint of confusion, like he couldnât understand why it mattered.
You turned slowly back toward the kitchen, still processing the sight. ââŠWeird.â
But despite the word leaving your mouth, something warm flickered quietly in your chest.
â A few days later, you came home to something else.
The dishes were done. Not perfectly. One bowl still had a faint streak of soap clinging to the side, and the pan had clearly been rinsed more than properly scrubbed. But they were clean. You stood in the kitchen doorway staring at the drying rack, momentarily stunned by the sight. Two bowls. Two spoons. One pan. All washed and sitting carefully beside the sink. ââŠWhat happened here?â you asked cautiously. From the couch, Heeseung didnât even look up. âI washed them.â Your eyebrows lifted slightly. âWhy?â He shrugged lazily. âYou cooked.â You stared at him for a long moment. ââŠThatâs it?â âIs there supposed to be another reason?â His tone was so simple that it caught you off guard. You didnât answer. But something about the quiet fairness of it loosened the tight knot that had been sitting in your chest since he first arrived. Eventually, he started coming to the restaurant. Not every day. Just⊠sometimes. The first time he showed up, he stood awkwardly in the doorway like someone who had accidentally walked into the wrong building. The regular customers noticed immediately. âY/N-ah!â Mrs. Kang called loudly from her seat. âYour husband is here again!â You groaned quietly behind the counter, pressing your palm against your forehead. Across the room, Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly still not used to being publicly announced like that. âI was bored,â he muttered when he finally approached the counter.
You slid a bowl of soup toward him without looking up. âSit down.â He did. At first, you assumed he would eat quickly and leave. But he didnât. Instead, he stayed. Sometimes for hours. He sat quietly in the corner, watching the small chaos of the restaurant unfold around himâthe steady rhythm of customers coming and going, the loud conversations between regulars, the clatter of dishes and spoons against bowls. Occasionally, your eyes would flick toward him. And every time, he was watching the room with quiet curiosity. The lunch rush finally began to slow. The restaurant fell into one of those rare quiet moments where the air itself seemed to exhale after the chaos. Only a few customers remained, finishing their meals slowly while chatting softly among themselves. Behind the counter, you stood wiping down a stack of bowls, your movements slower now that the rush had passed. Your shoulders looked heavy. Across the room, Heeseung watched you carefully, his fingers tapping lightly against the table. The thought returned. It had been circling his mind for days now. He could ignore it. Pretend it didnât exist.
But every time he saw the faint exhaustion in your movements, it pushed itself forward again. Finally, before he could overthink it, he stood up. You noticed immediately. Your head lifted from the counter the moment his chair scraped softly against the floor. Your eyes followed him as he walked over, suspicion already settling into your expression. âWhat?â you asked. Your tone carried that familiar edge, the one you used whenever you expected him to say something annoying. He leaned his elbows against the counter, hesitating for just a second. âIâve been thinking.â Your eyebrows rose instantly. âThatâs concerning.â Under any other circumstances, he would have rolled his eyes. But this time, he didnât. ââŠLet me work here.â For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Your hand froze halfway through wiping the bowl. Your brain struggled to process the words. ââŠWhat?â He straightened slightly, repeating himself more clearly. âLet me work here. At the restaurant.â You stared at him like he had just suggested something completely insane. âYou want to⊠work here.â âYes.â âYou?â
âYes.â You slowly set the bowl down on the counter, your mind racing. Out of all the things you expected him to say⊠This had not been one of them. ââŠWhy?â you asked. He shrugged lightly, but there was something awkward about the movement, like he wasnât entirely comfortable explaining it. âYou clearly need help.â You scoffed immediately. âIâve been doing it alone for years.â âAnd youâre exhausted.â The bluntness of his answer caught you off guard. Your lips parted slightly. For a moment, you didnât know what to say. Because the worst part was⊠He wasnât wrong. But admitting that felt like admitting weakness. âIâm fine,â you said quietly. He tilted his head slightly, studying you in that annoyingly observant way he had developed recently. âNo, youâre not.â
Your chest tightened. You opened your mouth to argue again, but he continued before you could. âIâm here anyway,â he said simply. âI might as well do something useful.â Something about the way he said it made your heart stumble slightly. Not dramatic. Just⊠unexpected. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to regain control of the conversation. âYouâve never worked in a restaurant.â âSo teach me.â âYou donât know how to cook.â âI can carry bowls.â âYou donât know the menu.â âI can learn it.â You crossed your arms tightly. âAnd when you get bored after two days?â
His jaw tightened just slightly. âI wonât.â The quiet certainty in his voice made you pause. This didnât sound like one of his impulsive ideas. He had actually thought about it. For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other across the counter. Your mind raced through every possible reason this could go wrong. He would hate the work. He would complain. He would quit after a week. And yet⊠You thought about the folded blanket. The washed dishes. The way he had started carrying bowls during the lunch rush without being asked. Maybe⊠Maybe he was serious.
You sighed softly, rubbing your hand across your forehead. ââŠThis is a terrible idea.â âProbably,â he admitted easily. âBut youâre still asking.â âYes.â Silence stretched between you again. Your eyes drifted around the restaurantâthe empty tables. The dishes are waiting to be cleaned. The quiet exhaustion still lingering in your arms. When you looked back at him, he was still standing there. Waiting. Not impatient. Not smug. Just⊠steady. You exhaled slowly. ââŠYouâd have to start small.â His eyebrows lifted slightly. âSmall?â âCleaning tables. Carrying dishes. Taking simple orders.â âThatâs fine.â âAnd if you mess up, Iâm yelling at you.â He gave a small shrug. âYou already do that.â Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitched slightly. âDonât get used to it,â you muttered.
He leaned back from the counter, something like quiet satisfaction settling into his posture. âSo thatâs a yes?â You hesitated for half a second. Then you sighed. ââŠCome in tomorrow morning.â For the first time since the conversation began, a small smile appeared on his face. Not teasing. Not smug. Just⊠genuinely pleased. âAlright.â As he turned to walk back toward his table, you watched him carefully. Your chest felt strangely warm. Because when he had first appeared in your life, bringing nothing but trouble and frustration with him⊠The last thing you ever imagined was this. The two of you standing in the same small restaurant⊠Working toward the same thing. Together. The next morning, Heeseung officially started working at the restaurant, and the village somehow found out before the doors had even opened. You werenât sure how news traveled so fast in such a small place. Still, by the time you unlocked the front door and flipped the sign to OPEN, two familiar aunties were already sitting at their usual table, whispering excitedly to each other like they had front row seats to something important. Heeseung stood behind the counter, staring at the room with a mixture of determination and mild dread. âYou didnât say there would be an audience,â he muttered under his breath. You didnât even look at him as you tied your apron. âItâs a village. Thereâs always an audience.â He exhaled slowly through his nose, mentally preparing himself. But nothing could have prepared him for the aunties. The moment he stepped out from behind the counter carrying his first tray of bowls, Mrs. Kang clasped her hands together dramatically. âAhhh! Look at him!â
The other auntie gasped loudly. âHeâs really working!â Their voices carried easily through the small restaurant. Heeseung froze mid-step. His ears immediately turned pink. You leaned against the counter, watching the scene unfold with poorly hidden amusement. âHeâs so tall carrying those bowls,â another woman said. "And so polite!â âHeâs helping his wife!â At that wordâwifeâHeeseung nearly tripped over his own feet. âIâm notââ he started automatically. But he stopped himself halfway through the sentence. Because the moment his eyes flicked toward you, he realized something strange. You werenât correcting them anymore. Not like you used to. Instead, you simply sighed softly and continued chopping vegetables behind the counter. ââŠJust put the bowls down,â you murmured to him. He cleared his throat awkwardly and did exactly that. Over the next few days, the restaurant somehow became even busier than usual. Word had spread through the village that your âhusbandâ was helping at the restaurant now. And the villagers were very interested. Especially the aunties. Every afternoon, they filled the tables like a small council of gossip and curiosity, watching Heeseung work with thinly veiled delight. âAhhh, look at him wiping the tables!â âSuch a hardworking young man.â âY/N is so lucky.â
Every time they said something like that, Heeseungâs ears turned red again. At first, he tried to argue. But the aunties never listened. Eventually, he gave up. Instead, he focused on the work. And to his own surprise⊠he started getting better at it. He learned the menu faster than you expected. He stopped spilling soup. He learned how to balance multiple bowls on one tray without looking like he was performing a dangerous circus act. And slowly, working beside you began to feel⊠natural.
You moved around each other easily now, slipping past one another in the narrow kitchen space without bumping shoulders. Sometimes your hands brushed briefly when you both reached for the same utensil. Each time it happened, something strange flickered through his chest. He never said anything about it. But he noticed. Every time.
â The air carried the faint scent of the fields outside, mixed with the comforting smell of rice already cooking in the kitchen.
You stood by the stove stirring the pot slowly, still half lost in the calm of the early morning. Behind you, you could hear Heeseung moving around the house. The soft creak of floorboards. The sound of the back door opening and closing. He had gotten into the habit of starting the day with you now.
At first, you had thought it was strangeâHeeseung waking up early in a quiet village after spending most of his life in the cityâbut somehow he had adapted faster than either of you expected. You glanced over your shoulder just as he walked back into the kitchen. Your breath caught slightly. He had clearly just come in from outside. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, his hair slightly messy from the morning wind, and there was a faint sheen of sweat along the back of his neck from carrying the crates of groceries. For a moment, you forgot to stir the pot. When did he get this⊠handsome? It wasnât like you hadnât noticed before. Heeseung had always been good-looking. But lately it felt different. Maybe it was the way he moved nowâcomfortable in the small space of your home as he belonged there. Maybe it was the way his shoulders filled out the simple shirts he wore when working. Or maybe it was the quiet focus on his face whenever he was concentrating on something. He set the crate down on the counter beside you. âThese were the last ones,â he said. You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. âOh⊠thank you.â
Your voice came out a little softer than you intended. Heeseung didnât notice. He was already reaching for a knife to start cutting the vegetables, his movements easy and familiar now after weeks of helping in the restaurant. You watched him from the corner of your eye. The way his hands worked. The way his brows furrowed slightly when he focused. The faint muscle in his jaw shifted as he concentrated. Your chest felt strangely warm. He looks good doing something so simple. It was ridiculous. He was just chopping vegetables. But somehow he made even that look⊠attractive. You quickly looked back down at the pot before he could notice you staring. Across the counter, Heeseung felt your gaze for a moment. He didnât say anything. But the corner of his mouth twitched slightly. Later that afternoon, the two of you were at the restaurant. The lunch rush had arrived in full force. Customers filled nearly every table, voices overlapping with the clatter of bowls and chopsticks. The aunties sat at their usual table near the window, whispering and giggling like they always did whenever Heeseung walked past. âOh my, look at him,â one of them whispered loudly. âHeâs such a good husband.â
âHandsome too,â another added. You tried very hard not to react. Heeseung, meanwhile, had turned slightly pink. He carried a tray of bowls across the room, his shoulders stiff with embarrassment as the aunties continued to gush. âSuch broad shoulders.â âThat face could be in a drama!â You rolled your eyes but couldnât stop the small smile pulling at your lips because they werenât entirely wrong. From where you stood behind the counter, you watched him move around the restaurant. The way he greeted customers politely. The way he carefully balanced the trays. The way he bent slightly to listen when the older villagers spoke to him. Your chest warmed again. He really does look like he belongs here now. It was strange remembering how tense things had been between you at the beginning. Now the two of you moved around each other effortlessly. When he passed the counter, his arm brushed lightly against yours. Neither of you pulled away. Later, when the restaurant finally quieted down, Heeseung leaned against the counter beside you with a tired sigh. âYour aunties are terrifying,â he muttered.
You laughed softly. âThey like you.â âThey stare at me like Iâm a zoo animal.â You glanced at him sideways. âWell⊠you do give them something nice to look at.â He turned his head quickly. ââŠWhat?â Your face immediately grew warm. You hadnât meant to say that out loud. You quickly looked down at the dishes. âI didnât say anything.â But Heeseung was already staring at you. His heart beat a little faster. Because hearing you say something like that, even accidentally, made something warm spread through his chest. And for the rest of the afternoon, he couldnât stop thinking about it. Meanwhile, you tried very hard not to look at him again. Because now that the thought had crossed your mind⊠It was impossible not to notice. The way his sleeves rolled up when he worked. The way his hair fell into his eyes. The way his voice softened when he spoke to you. And every time you caught yourself staringâ Your heart skipped just a little.
âYour shared day off didnât happen often.
Running the restaurant meant that most mornings bled into long afternoons and quiet evenings of cleaning, planning, and preparing for the next day. But today the restaurant door remained closed, the sign read "closed for the day," and for the first time in weeks, neither of you had anywhere to be.
The morning air in the village was cool and gentle, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant fields as you and Lee Heeseung walked slowly along the small dirt path that wound between houses and shops.
For once, neither of you was rushing.
Your hands were loosely clasped behind your back as you walked, occasionally stopping to greet villagers who passed by. The older residents smiled warmly at the two of you, some offering small waves while others gave knowing looks that made you pretend not to notice.
Heeseung walked beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.
At first, he focused on the path. On the quiet sounds of the village. On the comfortable silence that had settled between the two of you.
But slowly⊠his attention drifted because you looked different today. Not in a dramatic way.
You werenât dressed up, and you certainly werenât trying to impress anyone. Your clothes were simpleâjust a soft sweater and a long skirt that moved lightly with the breeze.
Your hair wasnât tied back the way it usually was when you worked in the restaurant. Instead, it fell loosely around your shoulders, shifting gently every time the wind passed through the narrow streets.
Heeseung glanced at you once. Then again. And before he realized it⊠he had started staring. Since when was she this pretty?The thought arrived suddenly and refused to leave. Maybe it was because he was so used to seeing you busy and focused in the restaurantâhair tied up, sleeves rolled, hands constantly moving. Seeing you like this felt different. Softer. Lighter. More⊠you. You stopped suddenly in front of a small fruit stand. Heeseung nearly walked right past you before realizing you had paused. âYouâre not paying attention,â you said casually as you looked over the fruit. âI am,â he replied quickly.You raised an eyebrow. âOh, really?â
Heeseung tried to pretend he hadnât just been staring at you for the past five minutes. âI was just thinking.â
âAbout what?â
He hesitated. Because the honest answer would be about how pretty you look today. And somehow saying that out loud felt far more terrifying than dealing with the aunties at the restaurant. ââŠNothing important.â You hummed softly but didnât press further. Instead, you reached out to pick up a peach from the stand, turning it over in your hands as you examined it. Heeseung watched you again. The sunlight fell across your face in soft gold, catching faintly on your eyelashes. When you smiled politely at the shop owner, your whole expression seemed to brighten in a way that made something warm twist in his chest. She smiles like that all the time⊠how did I never notice it before? The realization made his heart beat a little faster. Because lately, it felt like every small thing about you stood out more. The way you laughed quietly at the auntiesâ jokes. The way your voice softened when you called his name from the kitchen. The way your hand brushed his when you passed bowls across the counter. It was all suddenly impossible to ignore. You turned slightly toward him, holding up the peach. âDo you think this one is good?â For a moment, they didnât answer. He had been too busy looking at your face again. ââŠHeeseung?â He blinked quickly. âYesâyeah, it looks good.â
"You narrowed your eyes slightly. âYou didnât even look at it.â âI did.â âYouâre a terrible liar.â You handed the peach to the shop owner anyway. Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Why was it suddenly so hard to act normal around you? As you continued walking through the village together, your shoulder brushed lightly against his. The contact was brief. But it sent a small jolt through his chest. He looked down at you again. The wind lifted a few strands of your hair, and you absentmindedly tucked them behind your ear as you walked. Your expression was relaxed. Peaceful. Happy. And suddenly the realization settled heavily in his chest. I like seeing her like this. Not tired from work. Not stressed from the restaurant. Just⊠enjoying the day. Heeseungâs heart softened slightly as he watched you. Because somewhere along the way, the quiet life you shared here had started to mean more to him than he ever expected. And walking beside you through the peaceful village streets, he couldnât stop thinking the same thing over and over.
Sheâs really⊠beautiful.The thought made his chest feel warm. And strangely nervous at the same time. Because the more he noticed things like that⊠The harder it became to pretend his feelings werenât growing deeper every day.â
The quiet afternoon had settled over the restaurant like the slow exhale after a long breath.
After the rush of lunch, the small space had relaxed into one of those rare peaceful moments where everything softened. Sunlight streamed through the front windows in warm golden beams, stretching across the worn wooden floor and catching the faint steam still drifting from the kitchen.
The smell of broth and rice lingered warmly in the air.
The village aunties sat near the window, their teacups resting between wrinkled hands as they whispered to each other, occasionally glancing toward the counter where you stood drying bowls.
Your arms ached faintly from the hours of work, but the calm after the rush always made it easier to breathe.
Across the room, Lee Heeseung wiped down one of the tables. At this point, the restaurant almost felt like his place, too, which was strange.
A few months ago,o he wouldnât have imagined himself here at allâstanding in a small village restaurant, wiping tables and carrying bowls like it had always been his job.
But somewhere along the way, the routine had become⊠comforting. And if he was honest with himself, it wasnât the restaurant that kept him coming back every day. It was you.
He glanced up from the table without meaning to.
You stood behind the counter, focused on drying the dishes, your hair slipping slightly loose from its tie. The sight made something warm stir in his chest.
Then the bell above the door chimed. The moment you looked up, everything shifted.
Your hands stilled around the bowl. Your shoulders tensed.
Heeseung noticed instantly. Something uneasy curled in his stomach. Slowly, his eyes followed yours toward the door. A man stood there. Tall. Composed. Familiar. Kang Taehyun stepped inside, the door closing quietly behind him. The moment his eyes landed on you, something in Heeseungâs chest tightened. âY/N.â Taehyun said your name softly. Too softly. Like he had said it a thousand times before. ââŠTaehyun.â You hadnât expected to see him here. For a moment, you forgot that Heeseung was standing just a few feet away. âItâs been a while,â Taehyun said gently. âYes,â you replied. Your voice sounded calmer than you felt. From across the room, Heeseung watched the two of you carefully. The way Taehyun looked at you made something unpleasant twist in his chest. It wasnât obvious. But there was familiarity there. Something comfortable. Something that clearly existed long before Heeseung had ever appeared in your life. Taehyunâs gaze drifted around the restaurant before landing on Heeseung. Recognition flickered across his face. âSo youâre the husband.â Something about the way he said it made Heeseungâs jaw tighten. âAnd you are?â Heeseung asked.
Taehyun gave a small,l polite smile. âSomeone who knew Y/N before you.â The words made something uncomfortable settle in Heeseungâs chest. Taehyun turned back to you. âI came to see you.â Your arms folded lightly. ââŠWhy?â For a moment, Taehyun didnât answer. Then he said quietly: âI wanted to see if you were actually happy in your marriage.â The words hit the room like a stone. Heeseungâs grip tightened around the cloth in his hand. Actually happy? A sharp flare of anger rose in his chest. Before he could stop himselfâ ââŠWhatâs that supposed to mean?â Taehyun glanced at him calmly. âIt means exactly what it sounds like.â Heeseung stepped closer without realizing it. âYou came all the way here just to question our marriage?â Taehyun didnât look bothered. âI came to see how she was doing.â His eyes flicked toward Heeseung. âAnd who she married.â The quiet tension stretched tight between them. âI know Y/N,â Taehyun added. Something about those words hit Heeseung harder than they should have. Because it was true, Taehyun knew you in ways he didnât. There were memories between you that Heeseung would never be part of. And suddenly an unfamiliar feeling twisted painfully inside his chest.
Jealousy. Real, sharp jealousy. Why does that bother me so much? Heeseung clenched his hands at his sides. Because hearing another man talk about you like that, Looking at you like he still belonged in your life, Made something protective and desperate rise in his chest. Taehyun looked at you again, his voice soft. âYou deserve to be happy.â Before either man could speak again, your voice cut through the tension. âI am.â Both of them looked at you. Your heart was beating faster than you wanted to admit because Taehyunâs question had forced you to face something you had been avoiding for weeks. You met his eyes firmly. âI am happy.â Taehyun frowned slightly. âYou donât have to say thatââ âIâm not lying.â Your voice was steady. But inside, your chest felt tight. Because saying the words out loud made something else painfully clear. Your eyes flicked toward Heeseung. He stood there tense, jaw tight, clearly angry. But beneath that anger, you could see something else. Something raw.
Something vulnerable. âHe works here every day,â you said quietly. âHe helps with the restaurant. He handles customers. He fixes things when they break.â Heeseung blinked in surprise. You rarely praised him out loud. âBut more than that,â you continued softly, âhe chose to stay.â Your chest tightened as you spoke the next words. Because they were the truth you had been trying not to admit. âIâm happy because of him.â Silence filled the restaurant. Heeseungâs heart stuttered painfully in his chest. Because of⊠me?He stared at you like he had misheard. You avoided his eyes for a second, your fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. Your thoughts raced. When did this happen?Somewhere between the quiet mornings. The shared dinners. The way he laughed when the aunties teased him. The way he always made sure you ate before the restaurant got busy. Somewhere in those small momentsâ You had fallen for him.Taehyun studied your face carefully. Then he sighed softly. ââŠThen I guess I have my answer.â
He glanced briefly at Heeseung. This time, his expression wasnât skeptical. It was understanding. âIâm glad youâre happy,â he said.
When he turned and left, the bell above the door chimed softly again.
The restaurant fell quiet. The aunties slowly returned to whispering. But Heeseung barely noticed. Because his chest felt like it might explode. Your words echoed loudly in his mind. Iâm happy because of him. Because of him. A warmth spread through his chest so suddenly it almost hurt. But tangled inside that warmth was something terrifyingly clear. Because the jealousy he felt earlierâ The anger at Taehyun. The fear that you might choose someone else. None of that made sense unless one thing was true. Slowly, Heeseung realized it. The truth settled into his chest with overwhelming clarity. He loved you. Completely. And hearing you admit that your happiness came from him, even indirectly, made his heart feel so full it was almost painful. For a moment, neither of you spoke. But in the quiet space between you, something had undeniably changed. The restaurant didnât suddenly get louder. If anything, it felt quieter. Too quiet. The clinking of spoons, the low hum of conversation from the auntiesâit all faded into the background like distant noise underwater.
Because all you could hear was your own heartbeat. And him. You swallowed, fingers still gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. You hadnât meant to say it like that. You hadnât meant to say it at all. But now it was out there. And he heard you. Heeseung didnât move at first. He just stood there, staring at you like he was trying to piece something togetherâlike everything that had happened over the past few months had finally clicked into place all at once. âY/NâŠâ his voice was quieter than youâd ever heard it. Not annoyed. Not teasing. Just⊠careful. Your chest tightened. âWhat?â You didnât look away this time. You couldnât. He took a slow step forward. Then another. Each step felt louder than it shouldâve, like the whole room could hear itâeven though no one was paying attention anymore. âYou saidâŠâ he started, then stopped, like the words didnât come as easily as they usually did for him. That alone made your stomach twist. âWhen you said youâre happy because of meâŠâ
Your breath hitched slightly. âI didnât meanââ you started quickly, instinctively, but he cut you off. âDonât,â he said softly. You froze.âDonât take it back.â
That made your chest ache.
Because you werenât trying to take it back.
You were trying to protect yourself.
He finally reached the counter, close enough now that you could see the small shift in his expressionâthe way his usual confidence was gone, replaced with something more uncertain. More real.
âI need to know,â he said, voice low, almost rough. âWas that true?â
The question sat heavily between you.
You could lie.
You could brush it off, laugh it away, say it didnât mean anything.
That would be easier.
Safer.
But you were tired of pretending. Your fingers slowly loosened their grip on the counter. ââŠYeah,â you admitted quietly. The word barely made it past your lips. But it was enough. Something in his expression brokeâjust slightly. Not in a bad way. Just⊠like something heâd been holding onto finally gave way. His shoulders dropped a fraction. And then he let out a small breath you didnât realize heâd been holding. ââŠGood,â he murmured. Your brows pulled together. âGood?â A faint, almost disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his lips. âYeah,â he said. âBecause I donât think I couldâve handled it if you said no.â Your heart skipped. âWhat are you talking about?â He looked at you then. Really looked.
And this time, there was no arrogance. No teasing. No distance. Just honesty. âI was jealous,â he said simply. You blinked. âI noticed.â He huffed a quiet breath, almost amused. âNot just today. Not just because of him.â His jaw tightened slightly before he continued. âEvery time someone looks at you. Talks to you like they know you better than I do.â Your chest tightened. âI hate it,â he admitted. The words came out blunt. Unfiltered. âI hate that there are parts of your life I wasnât there for. That someone else was.â Silence. You didnât know what to say to that. Because part of you understood. Too well. âI didnât understand it at first,â he continued, running a hand through his hair, frustration creeping into his voiceâbut not at you. At himself. âI just thought it was⊠pride. Or annoyance. Or whatever.â He let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. âBut itâs not.â Your heart started pounding harder. Because you knew where this was going. And it terrified you. His eyes met yours again. âItâs because Iââ
He stopped. For a split second, doubt flickered across his face. And that alone was enough to shake you. Because Lee Heeseung didnât hesitate. Not like this. Not ever. Your voice came out softer than you expected. ââŠBecause you what?â He swallowed. Then said it. âI like you.â Your breath caught. But he didnât stop there. âThatâs not even it,â he added quickly, shaking his head like that wasnât enough. âIâve liked you for a while now.â Your chest felt tight. Too tight. âAnd I didnât realize how bad it was until I thoughtââ he paused, jaw clenching slightly, ââuntil I thought you might actually choose someone else.â Your fingers curled slightly against the counter. ââŠHeeseungââ
âIâm serious,â he said, voice firm now. âI donât like the idea of you with anyone else. I donât like seeing you smile at someone the way you smile when youâre comfortable. I donât like feeling like I could lose something I didnât even realize I had.â Your heart was racing. Because everything he was saying⊠You felt it too. âI donât know when it happened,â he admitted more quietly now. âSomewhere between the mornings. The restaurant. You yelling at me for doing things wrong.â You almost laughed through the tension. âHeyââ âBut it did,â he said, cutting you off gently. âAnd now I canât pretend it didnât.â Silence fell again. But this time, it wasnât heavy. It was fragile. Like something important was balancing between you, waiting to see if it would fall apartâor finally settle. Your throat felt dry. ââŠYouâre making this complicated,â you whispered.
He shook his head slightly. âNo. Itâs already complicated.â That was true. A fake marriage. A one-year contract. Feelings that werenât supposed to exist. You looked down at your hands.ââŠWe werenât supposed to feel like this.â
âI know.â
ââŠThis wasnât part of the deal.â
âI know.â
Your chest tightened.
âThen what are we supposed to do?â
That was the real question.
He didnât answer right away.
For once, he didnât have something quick or confident to say.
Instead, he leaned slightly against the counter, closer to you now than he had ever been before.
Close enough that you could feel the warmth from him.
Close enough that your heart wouldnât slow down.
ââŠI donât know,â he admitted.
Honest.
Again. âBut I know I donât want to go back to how it was before.â Your eyes lifted slowly to meet his. ââŠMe neither.â The words slipped out before you could stop them. And the moment they didâ Something shifted. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just quietly. Like two pieces finally falling into place. Heeseungâs gaze softened. And for the first time since all of this started⊠Neither of you felt like you were pretending anymore. ââŠWe should get back to work,â you said quietly. Neither of you moved. âYeah,â he replied. Still nothing. Your fingers tightened slightly against the counter. âHeeseung.â âMm.â
âYouâre still standing there.â âI know.â You exhaled softly, something between a sigh and a nervous laugh. âThis is weird.â
ââŠA little.â
But his voice didnât sound uncomfortable.
If anything, it sounded⊠calmer than before.
That made your stomach flip.
Finally, you forced yourself to moveâturning slightly, reaching for a stack of bowls just to give your hands something to do.
The moment you shifted, the space between you returned. And somehow, that felt worse. You focused on the dishes, trying to ignore the way your thoughts kept circling back to what he said. I like you.Not teasing. Not careless. Real. You swallowed. Across from you, Heeseung picked up the cloth again, wiping down the counterâbut his movements were slower now. Less automatic. Like his mind wasnât fully there anymore.
ââŠSo what now?â he asked after a moment.
You paused.
That question again.
It sounded heavier this time.
You set the bowl down carefully. ââŠI donât know.â
âThatâs not an answer.â
âItâs the only one I have.â
Silence.
He leaned his weight slightly against the counter, eyes on you. âWe canât just ignore it.â
âI wasnât planning to.â
âBut youâre not exactly doing anything either.â
You shot him a look. âWhat do you want me to do?â
He held your gaze.
And for once, he didnât have a quick comeback.
That shouldâve made you feel better.
Instead, it made everything feel more real.
ââŠThis wasnât supposed to happen,â you said again, softer now.
âI know.â
ââŠWe made a deal.â
âOne year.â
âAnd then itâs over.â
The words hung there.
Sharp.
Too sharp.
Heeseungâs jaw tightened slightly. ââŠIs that what you want?â he asked.
The question caught you off guard. Your brows pulled together. âWhat?â
âWhen the year ends,â he said, more slowly now, like he was choosing each word carefully, âdo you actually want it to be over?â
Your heart stuttered.
You hadnât let yourself think that far.
You werenât supposed to.
This was temporary.
It had always been temporary.
But nowâ
The thought of him leaving felt⊠wrong.
Your grip on the edge of the counter tightened. ââŠI donât know,â you admitted.
It was honest.
It was terrifying.
He watched you closely, like he was trying to read something you werenât saying out loud. ââŠThatâs not a no.â
You let out a small breath. âDonât do that.â
âDo what?â
âRead into everything I say.â
A faint smirk tugged at his lipsâbut it didnât fully form. âToo late.â
You rolled your eyes, but it came out weaker than usual.
Because he wasnât wrong.
You were thinking about it now.
About the end.
About what it would mean to go back to a life where he wasnât thereâno early morning complaints, no quiet help in the kitchen, no presence filling the small space of your home.
Your chest tightened. ââŠYouâd leave,â you said before you could stop yourself.
He blinked. âWhat?â
âWhen the year ends,â you clarified, trying to sound casual and failing slightly. âYouâd go back to your life.â
âMy life,â he repeated.
âYour real one.â
Something in his expression shifted. ââŠYou think this isnât real?â he asked quietly.
You hesitated. âThatâs not what I meant.â
âThen what did you mean?â
You looked away briefly, gathering your thoughts. ââŠI mean⊠this isnât where youâre supposed to be.â
He let out a quiet breath. âAnd where exactly am I supposed to be?â he asked.
âIn the city. With your family. Your money. Yourâeverything.â
âAnd leave this?â he asked.
You looked back at him.
He gestured lightly around the restaurant. ââŠLeave you?â
Your heart skipped. âThatâs not what I said.â
âBut itâs what you meant.â
âNo,â you said quickly. âI justâthis isnât your world.â
He went still.
For a second, you thought youâd crossed a line.
Thenâ
ââŠMaybe it is now.â
Your breath caught.
He didnât say it loudly. He didnât need to.
Because something about the way he said itâsteady, certainâmade it land harder than anything else heâd said so far.
âYou really think Iâm going just to walk away from this like it didnât matter?â he continued.
You didnât answer.
Because you didnât know how.
âI hated it at first,â he admitted. âThe house. The bus. The food. Everything.â
You huffed faintly. âI remember.â
âBut thatâs not what it is anymore.â
Your chest tightened again. ââŠThen what is it?â you asked quietly.
He held your gaze. âYou.â
The word hit harder than it should have.
Simple.
Direct.
Dangerous.
Your lips parted slightly, but nothing came out.
He took a small step closer againânot as close as before, but enough to make your heart start racing all over again. âThis place matters because youâre here,â he said. âThe restaurant matters because itâs yours. None of this feels like something Iâm being forced into anymore.â
Your throat felt tight.
âSo no,â he added softly. âI donât think Iâd just leave.â
Silence wrapped around you again.
But this time, it felt heavier.
Because now the line between âfakeâ and ârealâ had blurred beyond recognition.
ââŠYouâre making this harder,â you whispered.
âI know.â
ââŠYouâre not supposed to say things like that.â
He tilted his head slightly. âWhy not?â
âBecause,â you exhaled, frustrated, âthis isnât supposed to be real.â
He didnât answer immediately.
Instead, he stepped just a little closer.
Close enough that if either of you leaned even slightlyâ
You swallowed.
ââŠWhat if it is?â he asked quietly.
Your heart pounded.
âThisâus,â he continued. âWhat if it stopped being fake a long time ago and we just didnât want to admit it?â
You couldnât breathe properly.
Because he was right.
And that made everything more complicated than you were ready for.
ââŠHeeseung,â you said softly, almost a warning.
But it didnât sound like one.
It sounded like hesitation.
Like uncertainty.
Like something else entirely.
His gaze dropped brieflyâto your lipsâthen back to your eyes.
And that tiny shift was enough to send heat rushing through your chest.
The air between you changed instantly.
Thicker.
Charged.
Neither of you moved.
But neither of you pulled away either.
Your voice came out barely above a whisper.
ââŠDonât.âHe stilled.
âDonât what?â he asked quietly.
You didnât answer right away. Because you didnât even know what you were asking him not to do. Donât cross the line? Donât make this real? Donât make it harder to pretend later? Your chest rose and fell unevenly. ââŠDonât make this something I canât walk away from,â you finally said. The words landed softly. But they hit. Hard. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Not hurt. Not exactly. But something close.ââŠWhat if I donât want you to walk away?â he said.
Your heart clenched. âThatâs not your choice.â
âMaybe not.â Silence. âBut itâs not just yours either.â
You froze.
Because he was right again.
And that scared you more than anything.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
Thenâ The bell above the door chimed. Loud. Sharp. Real. Both of you pulled back slightly, like the moment had been interrupted just in time. A couple stepped inside, chatting casually, completely unaware of the storm they had just walked into. You turned quickly, grabbing the nearest towel just to keep your hands busy. âWelcome,â you said, your voice almost normal. Almost. Behind you, Heeseung let out a slow breath. And for the rest of the afternoonâ Neither of you said another word about it. But the tension didnât fade. If anything⊠It settled deeper. Because now you both knew. There was no going back to how things were before. And sooner or laterâ
One of you was going to have to decide what this really meant. That night, the house felt different. Not quieter. Not louder. Just⊠heavier. Like something had followed you home from the restaurant and settled into the walls, into the air, into every small space between you. You moved through your usual routine on autopilotâwashing dishes, wiping the counter, setting things back where they belonged. Heeseung did the same, drying the last bowl beside you without being asked. Neither of you brought it up. Not what he said. Not what you said. But it lingered anyway. It was there in the way your shoulders brushed once⊠and neither of you pulled away immediately. In the way your eyes met for a second too long over something meaningless. In the silence that wasnât empty anymoreâjust full of things neither of you knew how to say. Eventually, there was nothing left to do. The lights dimmed. The house settled.
And the moment you had been avoiding all evening finally arrived. Sleeping. You stood near the kitchen, hands resting lightly against the table, staring at nothing in particular. Behind you, the couch creaked softly as Heeseung shifted, grabbing the familiar thin blanket. The same one he had complained about months ago. Now he didnât say anything. That somehow made it worse. You turned slightly, watching him out of the corner of your eye. The way he movedâquieter now, more used to the space. Like he had already accepted it. Like he wasnât expecting anything more. ââŠYou donât have to sleep there.â The words slipped out before you could stop them. He froze, the blanket paused halfway in his hands. Slowly, he looked up at you. ââŠWhat?â he asked. You swallowed, heart already starting to race. âI saidâŠâ You hesitated, suddenly very aware of how small the house felt, how close he was, how there was nowhere to hide from this. ââŠyou donât have to sleep on the couch.â Silence. Heeseung straightened slowly, the blanket slipping slightly from his grip. ââŠWhere else would I sleep?â he asked, quieter now. You forced yourself to meet his eyes. âThe bed.â The words hung in the air. Clear. Unavoidable. For a second, he didnât react at all. Thenâ
ââŠWith you?â he said. Your face warmed immediately. âItâs not a big deal,â you said quickly, even though it very much was. âThereâs enough space. And the couch isââ you glanced at it briefly, ââterrible.â A faint breath left him, almost like a laugh, but softer. âYou just figured that out?â You ignored that. âIâm serious,â you added, voice steadier now. âYou donât have to keep sleeping there.â Another pause. He looked at youâreally looked this time, trying to read something. ââŠAre you sure?â he asked. And that questionâ It wasnât teasing. It wasnât arrogant. It was careful. Like he knew this meant more than just sleep. Your chest tightened again. Because he was right. It did. You hesitated for half a second too long. But then you nodded. ââŠYeah.â Your voice came out softer this time. âIâm sure.â Silence stretched. Heeseung exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. ââŠOkay.â Just one word. But it shifted everything. You nodded once, turning quickly before he could see the way your expression changed. âIâllâuhâchange first.â You disappeared into the bedroom faster than you meant to. The moment the door closed behind you, you leaned back against it, pressing your hand lightly to your chest.
What are you doing?
Your heart was pounding too fast.
This was just sleeping.
Thatâs it.
Nothing else.
You changed quickly, hands moving faster than your thoughts could keep up. But your mind wouldnât quiet.
You remembered the way he looked at you earlier.
The way his voice softened when he said your name.
The way he almostâ
You shook your head, pushing the thought away.
Donât think about it.
Just sleep.
You pulled the blanket back and climbed into bed, staying firmly on one side, leaving space.
A lot of space.
Just in case.
Outside, you could hear him moving.
Slower.
More hesitant than usual.
The couch creaked one last timeâthen stopped.
A few seconds passed.
Then the door opened.
You felt it before you saw him.
Your entire body tensed slightly as he stepped inside.
Heeseung paused near the doorway.
The room suddenly felt even smaller than usual.
ââŠYouâre taking up half the bed,â he said quietly.
You stared straight ahead at the wall. âThereâs still space.â
âBarely.â
âThen donât move around so much.â
A small breath of amusement left him.
But he didnât argue. Instead, he moved closer.
Each step felt louder than it should have.
The mattress dipped slightly as he sat down on the edge.
Your heart jumped.
Thenâ
He shifted.
And laid down.
Carefully.
Like he was trying not to disturb you.
The bed dipped again under his weight, the space between you shrinking instantly.
Not touching.
But close.
Too close.
The warmth from him was immediate.
You stared at the wall, suddenly hyper-aware of everythingâthe sound of his breathing, the slight movement of the mattress when he adjusted, the faint scent of soap and something distinctly him.
ââŠThis is better than the couch,â he muttered quietly.
You huffed softly. âObviously.â
Silence.
But not the same silence as before.
This one was⊠charged.
Your hands rested stiffly against the blanket, unsure of where to go.
You could feel him beside you.
Every inch.
ââŠYouâre tense,â he said after a moment.
âIâm not.â
âYou are.â
âIâm fine.â
A small pause. Thenâ
ââŠRelax.â
You almost scoffed. âEasy for you to say.â
âYou invited me.â
Your face warmed again. âDonât remind me.â
A quiet chuckle came from beside you. And somehow, that sound did more to settle your nerves than anything else. Your shoulders loosened just slightly.
Minutes passed.
Neither of you moved much. But slowly⊠the tension began to ease.
Your breathing evened out. Your body adjusted to the unfamiliar presence beside you.
And thenâ
Without thinkingâ
You shifted. Just slightly.
Your arm brushed against his.
Both of you stilled. The contact was light. Barely anything. But it felt like everything.
Your breath caught. You waited for him to move away.
He didnât. Insteadâ
His arm shifted too. Just enough that it rested more comfortably beside yours.
Not pulling away. Not pulling you closer. Just⊠there.
Your heart started racing again. But this time, it wasnât panic. It was something softer. Warmer.
ââŠY/N,â he said quietly.
You swallowed. ââŠYeah?â
A pause.
Like he was thinking.
Thenâ
ââŠGoodnight.â
You blinked.
Thatâs it?
Something in your chest loosened unexpectedly.
ââŠGoodnight,â you replied softly.
The room fell quiet again.
The kind of quiet that didnât feel heavy anymore.
Just⊠full.
Safe.
And as the minutes passed, your body slowly relaxed further, your eyes growing heavier.
Beside you, his breathing steadied.
And for the first time since all of this startedâ
You didnât feel like you were pretending. You didnât feel like this was temporary. You just feltâŠ
Comfortable.
Your fingers shifted slightly against the blanket. Then, without thinkingâthey brushed his again.
This time, neither of you pulled away.
And somewhere between that quiet contact and the steady rhythm of his breathingâ
You fell asleep. Together.
The room is quiet in that soft, fragile way that only exists late at night. You donât mean to say it out loud.
Morning comes quietly.
Soft light slips through the curtains, pale and warm, brushing across your face.
You donât wake up all at once. Itâs slowâlike your body realizes something before your mind does.
Warmth.
Weight.
Comfort.
Your fingers twitch slightly, and thatâs when you notice it.
Youâre not just close anymore. Youâre curled into him.
Your face is tucked against his chest, one arm loosely wrapped around his side, your leg tangled with his like itâs the most natural thing in the world. His arm is draped around you, hand resting securely against your back, holding you there even in sleep.
For a second, you freeze. Your heart stutters, then starts racing.
When did this happen�
Carefullyâvery carefullyâyou tilt your head just enough to look up at him.
Heeseung is still asleep.
His expression is softer than youâve ever seen it. No tension, no teasing smirk, no guarded lookâjust peaceful. His grip on you tightens slightly, almost instinctively, like heâs reacting to your movement even without waking up.
Like he doesnât want you to go.
Your breath catches. Something warm spreads through your chest, unfamiliar and overwhelming all at once.
You should move. You know you should. But you donât.
Instead, you stay there for a moment longer than you mean to, listening to his steady heartbeat under your ear, feeling the quiet comfort of being held like thisâlike you belong there.
Then, slowly, his breathing shifts.
His eyes flutter open. For a split second, he looks confused. Then he realizes. And freezes.
Neither of you move.
Neither of you speak.
But the space between youâgone now, completely goneâfeels heavier than ever.
His eyes meet yours. And just like that, everything becomes real.
Youâre still pressed against him. His arm is still wrapped around your back, holding you like he forgot how to let go. Your leg is tangled with his, your hand resting against his chest, where you can feel his heartbeatâfast now, no longer calm like it was moments ago.
Neither of you moves.
Itâs like if either of you does, the moment will shatter.
ââŠMorning,â he says finally, his voice quieter than usual, still rough with sleep.
You swallow. ââŠMorning.â
But neither of you makes any effort to pull away.
Your mind is screaming at you to moveâto create space, to fix this, to make it less somethingâbut your body wonât listen. Not when heâs warm, not when heâs looking at you like that.
Like heâs thinking the same thing you are.
Donât move yet.
His fingers shift slightly against your back, barely there, but enough for you to notice. Like heâs becoming aware of what heâs doing⊠and still not stopping.
âYou move a lot in your sleep,â he murmurs, a small, almost teasing smile tugging at his lips.
Your brows knit together. âI do notââ
âYou do,â he interrupts softly. âYou were all the way over there.â
His hand lifts just enough to gesture vaguely behind you before settling back against you againâlike it belongs there.
âAnd then you justâŠâ he hesitates, glancing down at the way youâre curled into him, ââŠended up here.â
Heat rushes to your face.
âI didnât mean to,â you mumble, suddenly very aware of everythingâhow close you are, how your hand is still resting on him, how his thumb is slowly, absentmindedly brushing against your back.
He hums quietly. âDidnât say it was a bad thing.â
Your breath catches.
Thereâs a pause.
A long one.
The kind that stretches just enough to feel dangerous.
Your fingers curl slightly against his shirt. âWe should probablyââ
âYeah,â he agrees.
But he doesnât move.
You donât either.
Instead, his gaze softens, drifting over your face like heâs memorizing itâlike heâs noticing things he hasnât let himself notice before.
âAre you comfortable?â he asks suddenly.
The question catches you off guard.
ââŠWhat?â
âLike this,â he clarifies, quieter now. âWith me.â
Your heart pounds.
You should lie.
You should brush it off, laugh it away, make it easier for both of you.
But the words donât come.
ââŠYeah,â you admit softly.
His expression changesâjust slightly, but enough.
Something in his eyes warms, deepens. ââŠMe too.â
The air shifts.
Itâs not awkward anymore.
Itâs something else.
Something softer.
Something a little harder to ignore.
His hand slides just a little more securely against your back, pulling you a fraction closerânot enough to be obvious, but enough that you feel it.
Enough that it means something.
You exhale slowly. âPeople are gonna talk if they see this,â you whisper, even though thereâs no one around.
A faint smile tugs at his lips. âLet them.â
Your heart stumbles.
That shouldnât make you feel the way it does.
But it does.
And neither of you pulls away.
Not yet.
His gaze drops.
Itâs subtle at firstâjust a flickerâbut you notice.
From your eyes⊠to your lips.
And then back again.
Your breath catches, the shift so small but so loud at the same time.
Heeseung goes still.
Like heâs realizing it too.
Like he didnât mean to lookâbut now that he has, he canât stop.
The space between you suddenly feels thinner than ever. One small movement, andâ
His hand tightens slightly against your back.
Not pulling you in. Not pushing you away. Just⊠holding.
Like heâs stuck in the middle of a decision heâs not sure heâs allowed to make.
Your heart is racing now, loud enough youâre sure he can hear it. Your fingers curl more firmly into his shirt without you meaning to, like youâre bracing yourself for something that hasnât happened yet.
He swallows. ââŠY/N.â Your name sounds different coming from him like this. Quieter. Careful.
You donât answer.
Youâre not even sure you can.
His eyes flick down to your lips again, slower this time. Lingering.
And this time⊠he doesnât look away right away.
You feel itâthe hesitation, the want, the restraint.
He inches closer.
Barely.
So close you can feel his breath now, warm against your skin.
And then he stops.
Right there.
Like thereâs an invisible line heâs afraid to cross.
His brows knit slightly, conflict written all over his face. âI donât know if I shouldââ
But he doesnât finish the sentence.
Because he already knows the answer.
Or maybe he doesnât.
Maybe thatâs the problem.
His thumb brushes against your back again, slower this time, grounding himself. âSay something,â he murmurs, voice low, almost unsteady. âBecause if you donâtâŠâ He exhales shakily. ââŠIâm not sure Iâll stop.â
The words hang between you.
Heavy.
Honest.
And so, so close to dangerous.
He doesnât move any closer.
But he doesnât pull away either.
Heâs waiting.
For you.
You donât say anything.
And somehow⊠that is your answer.
His eyes search yours one more timeâlike heâs giving you a chance to stop him, to pull away, to make this easier.
You donât.
Your grip on his shirt tightens just slightly instead.
Thatâs all it takes.
Heeseung exhales softly, as if something in him finally gives way, and then he closes the distance.
The kiss is gentle.
Careful.
Like heâs afraid you might disappear if he presses too hard.
For a second, itâs barely thereâjust the soft brush of his lips against yours, testing, uncertain.
And thenâ
You melt into it.
Your eyes flutter shut, your hand instinctively sliding up from his chest to rest against his shoulder, holding onto him like you need something steady. The hesitation between you fades, replaced by something warmer, deeper, something that had been building long before this moment.
His hand shifts against your back, pulling you closerâthis time without stopping, without second-guessing.
The kiss deepens, not rushed, not overwhelmingâjust⊠real.
Like heâs been wanting this.
Like you both have.
Your heart is pounding so hard it almost feels unreal, your thoughts completely scattered, reduced to nothing but the feeling of himâwarm, close, here.
When he finally pulls back, itâs slow.
Reluctant.
His forehead rests lightly against yours, both of you breathing a little heavier now, like you just crossed something neither of you can undo.
Neither of you speaks at first.
You just stay there.
Close.
Too close to pretend this didnât mean anything.
His thumb brushes softly against your side again, almost absentminded, but thereâs nothing uncertain about him anymore.
ââŠSo,â he murmurs, voice low, a little breathless. âThat happened.â
A small, nervous smile tugs at your lips, even though your heart is still racing.
ââŠYeah.â
Thereâs a pause.
Then his gaze softens again, something more certain settling in this time.
And instead of pulling awayâ
He leans in again.
Because now that heâs kissed you onceâŠ
He doesnât want to stop.
â
Rain tapped softly against the windows, steady and quiet, like the world had decided to slow down for the night.
The house was dim, lit only by a single lamp in the corner and the faint glow from the kitchen. Everything felt warmer when it rainedâcloser somehow.
You sat on the floor near the low table, a blanket draped over your legs, carefully folding laundry that had long since cooled. It was a simple task, one you didnât mind. It gave your hands something to do, your thoughts somewhere soft to land.
Heeseung, however, had been watching you for the past five minutes.
Doing absolutely nothing about it.
You could feel it without even looking up.
ââŠWhat?â you finally asked, not bothering to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.
There was a pause.
Then, casually, âNothing.â
You glanced up.
He was stretched out on the couch, one arm behind his head, the other lazily draped over the edgeâcompletely relaxed, but his eyes were fixed on you in a way that made your chest tighten just a little.
âYouâve been staring,â you said.
âAm I not allowed to look at my wife?â
You rolled your eyes softly, folding another shirt. âNot like that.â
âLike what?â
âLike youâre thinking too much.â
That made him smile.
He pushed himself up slowly, running a hand through his hair before walking over. The floor creaked lightly under his steps, and then he was right thereâhovering just long enough to make your heart beat faster before he dropped down beside you.
Closer than necessary.
Always closer than necessary.
âYou caught me,â he said quietly.
You didnât look at him this time. âWhat were you thinking about?â
He didnât answer right away.
Instead, his hand found the edge of the blanket over your legs, absentmindedly smoothing it outâlike he needed something to do while he figured out how to say it.
ââŠThis,â he said finally.
You paused, fingers stilling on the fabric in your hands. âFolding laundry?â
He huffed a quiet laugh. âNo.â
His shoulder bumped lightly against yours.
âYou. Here. Like this.â His voice softened. âIt still doesnât feel real sometimes.â
Your chest tightened, just a little.
You set the shirt down slowly. âItâs real.â
âI know,â he said. âI just⊠didnât think Iâd get this.â
There was something honest in the way he said it. Not sadâjust⊠genuine.
Like he was still adjusting to being happy.
You turned your head to look at him, really look at him. The softness in his expression, the way his eyes lingered on you like he was afraid you might disappear if he looked away.
âYou gave up everything,â you said quietly.
He shook his head immediately. âI told youââ
âI know what you said,â you interrupted gently. âBut itâs still true.â
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
The rain filled the silence for you.
Then, slowly, you reached over, taking his hand in yours. His fingers curled around yours instantly, like it was instinct now.
âThen Iâll just have to make it worth it,â you said.
His expression shiftedâsomething deeper, softer.
âYou already do.â
Your heart skipped.
He leaned in slightly, his forehead brushing against yours, his voice dropping to a near whisper.
âYou have no idea how much.â
The world outside kept movingâthe rain falling, the wind brushing softly against the houseâbut inside, everything felt still again.
Safe.
Warm.
He tilted his head just enough, his nose brushing yours in that familiar, gentle way that always made you forget what you were saying.
âYouâre distracting me,â you murmured, though your grip on his hand tightened.
âThatâs the point.â
You let out a quiet breath, a small smile slipping through before you closed the distance.
The kiss was soft at firstâslow, familiar, like something youâd both learned by heart. But when his hand came up to cup your cheek, pulling you just a little closer, it deepened without thinking.
Not rushed.
Not uncertain.
Just⊠sure.
Like everything between you had settled into something steady and real.
When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his again, both of you lingering there like neither of you wanted to let go fully.
After a moment, he glanced down at the half-folded laundry.
ââŠWeâre not finishing that tonight, are we?â
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. âDefinitely not.â
âGood,â he said, already pulling the blanket further over both of you as he leaned back, taking you with him.
You didnât protest.
Didnât need to.
You just settled against him, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder as the rain continued outside.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
Just the quiet. The warmth. The steady rhythm of something that felt like peace.
But thenâ
ââŠWe should tell her soon.â
His voice was softer this time. Careful.
You stilled slightly against him.
You knew who he meant.
Your mom.
Your fingers tightened just a little in the fabric of his shirt. âI know.â
Another pause.
âAre you nervous?â he asked.
You let out a small breath, staring ahead at nothing in particular. âA little.â
That felt like an understatement.
It wasnât that you thought sheâd be angryâno, that wasnât it. It was the opposite.
She loved you. She worried about you. She had been through so much already.
And now you were going to stand in front of her and say: I got married.
Just like that.
Quietly.
Without her there.
âI donât want her to feel left out,â you admitted.
Heeseungâs arm tightened around you instantly.
âShe wonât,â he said gently. âShe knows you. She knows this wasnât⊠some careless decision.â
You swallowed.
âSheâs going to cry.â
He huffed softly. âYeah. She definitely is.â
Despite yourself, you smiled a little.
âAnd what if she doesnât like you?â you added, glancing up at him.
He looked down at you, pretending to think about it.
ââŠThen Iâll just have to win her over.â
âYou already did,â you murmured. âYou just donât know it yet.â
His expression softened at that.
âThen weâll be okay,â he said.
You nodded slowly, letting your head fall back against his shoulder again.
âWeâll go tomorrow,â you said quietly. âOr⊠soon.â
âSoon,â he agreed.
His hand found yours again under the blanket, fingers lacing together like they always did.
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Just steady.
The rain began to lighten outside, the soft tapping fading into something quieter, gentlerâlike the storm was passing.
And somehow, it felt the same for you.
There were still things ahead.
Conversations.
Reactions.
Change.
But here, in this moment, wrapped up in his arms with your future waiting just a little closer than beforeâ
It didnât feel overwhelming.
It felt possible.
And as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you just a little tighter, you realizedâ
You werenât afraid of it anymore.
Because you wouldnât be facing it alone.
Your hand is still wrapped around Heeseungâs as you step inside, your thumb brushing faintly against his skin like you need the reassurance that heâs really here. That this is real.
ââŠYou ready?â he murmurs.
You nod, even though your heart is beating a little too fast. âJustâlet me talk first.â
He gives a small smile. âIâll behave.â
You glance at him. ââŠYou better.â
That earns a quiet huff of amusement, and for a second, it calms you.
Then you step into the sitting room.
Your mom is already there.
She looks up the moment she hears you, her eyes immediately softening when they land on youâlike they always do.
But then she notices him.
Her gaze lingers.
Curious. Gentle. Careful.
ââŠYou brought someone,â she says quietly.
You nod, stepping forward slightly. âMom, this is Heeseung.â
Heeseung straightens beside you, respectful, calm. âItâs nice to meet you.â
She gives a small nod, but her attention is already shifting back to youâreading you, the way she always has.
ââŠWhat is this?â she asks, not harshly. Just⊠needing to understand.
You take a breath.
Your fingers tighten in his.
âWe wanted to tell you something.â
Something in her expression softens furtherâlike she already senses this matters.
ââŠOkay,â she says gently. âTell me.â
Your throat feels tight.
But you say it anyway.
âWeâre married.â
The words hang there.
Your mom doesnât react right away.
She just looks at you.
Then at him.
Then at your hands.
And slowly⊠her expression changes.
Not to anger.
Not to shock.
But to something softer.
Something full.
Her hand lifts to her chest like she needs to steady her breathing. ââŠMarried?â she repeats, her voice quieter now.
You nod.
âItâs been⊠a quiet romance,â you explain, glancing briefly at Heeseung. âWe didnât want to make it a big thing.â
Heeseung nods in agreement. âWe just wanted it to be ours.â
Your momâs eyes fill slightly.
And that catches you off guard.
âIâm sorry,â she murmurs, letting out a soft, emotional laugh as she wipes beneath her eyes. âI justââ She looks at you again, really looks. âYou look⊠happy.â Your chest tightens. âI am,â you whisper. She exhales shakily, smiling through the tears. âThen thatâs all I needed to know.â Relief hits you so suddenly that it almost makes your knees weak. âReally?â you ask. She nods, stepping closer. âReally.â Her gaze shifts to Heeseung againâbut this time, itâs different.
Warm. Welcoming. âYou must care about her very much,â she says softly. Heeseung doesnât hesitate. âI do.â âAnd youâll take care of her?â His grip on your hand tightens just slightly. âAlways.â Something in her expression melts completely at that. She reaches out, gently taking his free hand in both of hers. âThenâŠâ she says, her voice trembling just a little, âIâm grateful you found each other.â You blink quickly, your vision blurring. âMomâŠâ She pulls you into a hug without warning, holding you tighter than usualâlike sheâs been waiting for this moment longer than you realized. âIâm so happy for you,â she whispers. You cling to her, your heart full and aching all at once. When she pulls back, she laughs softly again, wiping her eyes. ââŠI never thought Iâd see the day.â Then she looks at Heeseung, smiling warmly. âI suppose I have a son-in-law now.â Heeseung blinks, a little surprisedâbut something soft settles in his expression. ââŠIâd like that,â he says quietly. Everything feels⊠right. Light. Like maybe, just maybe, things are going to be okay. â Later, as you and Heeseung step outside, the evening air feels cool against your skin. You exhale softly, your shoulders finally relaxing. âThat went better than I expected,â you admit. Heeseung lets out a quiet breath beside you. âYeahâŠâ Thereâs something in his tone. Not doubt. Just⊠awareness. Like he knows things arenât fully settled yet. Your fingers tighten in his again. âWeâll figure everything out,â you say softly. He glances at you, a faint smile forming. âWe will.â Footsteps echo from behind you. You turnâ And your heart drops. Heeseungâs grip on your hand goes rigid. His parents stand at the end of the path. Watching. Your stomach twists instantly. His mother speaks first, her voice tight. âSo itâs true.â Silence crashes down. Heeseung steps slightly in front of youânot fully, but enough. ââŠWhat are you doing here?â he asks. His fatherâs expression is unreadable. âWe came to bring you home.â âIâm not going back.â The words come too fast. Too certain. âYou disappear, you ignore your responsibilities, and now you show up here and say something like that? As if itâs nothing?â âItâs not nothing,â he says, firmer now. âThen what is it?â she demands. âA rebellion? A phase? Because I promise you, thisââ her gaze flicks to you again, sharp and dismissive, ââthis is not worth throwing your life away. All for some poor girl.â Your chest tightens painfully. Before you can stop yourself, your fingers twitch in his handâbut Heeseung squeezes back, grounding you, stopping you from pulling away. âShe's not just some poor girl, she's my wife,â he says, glaring coldly. His father finally moves, stepping further into the room, his presence immediately commanding all attention. âYou will come home,â he says, voice low and final. âWeâll discuss this properly.â âNo.â The word is quiet. But it lands harder than anything else. His fatherâs eyes narrow. ââŠWhat?â âIâm not coming back,â Heeseung repeats, more clearly now. âIâm staying here.â Your breath catches. His mother lets out a disbelieving laugh again, but thereâs no humor in it nowâjust anger. âYou donât get to decide that.â âI already have.â âYouâre being irrationalââ âIâm being honest,â he cuts in, sharper now. The shift is immediate. You feel it in the way his hand tightens around yours, in the way his shoulders squareânot defensive anymore, but certain. His fatherâs voice drops even lower. âYou are not throwing away everything we have built for you over a girl you barely know.â Something in your chest twists at thatâbut before you can reactâ âI know her enough,â Heeseung says. Thereâs something dangerous in how calm he sounds. âAnd Iâm not throwing anything away.â His father takes another step closer. âYou are if you stay here.â âThen maybe it wasnât worth keeping.â The room goes completely still. Even your breathing feels too loud.
His mother stares at him like she doesnât recognize him anymore. âListen to yourself,â she says, her voice trembling slightly nowânot weak, but furious. âYour futureâyour careerâeverything youâve worked forââ âIt was never mine,â he says. That lands. Hard. âYou donât mean that,â she insists. âI do.â âYouâre just confusedââ âIâm not confused,â he snaps, the first crack in his composure finally showing. âFor once, I actually know what I want.â Silence. Heavy. Suffocating. His father exhales slowly, like heâs reached the end of his patience. ââŠIf you walk away from this family,â he says, each word deliberate, âyou do not come back.â Your heart drops. You feel itâthis is it. The line. The point of no return. Heeseung doesnât look at them. He looks at you. Just for a second. And thereâs so much in that glanceâcertainty, apology, something soft and unspoken that makes your chest ache. Then he looks back at them. ââŠI know.â His motherâs composure finally cracks. âHeeseungââ âIâm staying,â he says. Final. Unshakable. His fatherâs expression hardens completely, any trace of emotion gone. âThen you will have nothing.â The words hit like a slap. âNo inheritance,â he continues coldly. âNo financial support. No connection to this family whatsoever.â Your stomach twists. His mother doesnât argue. She just turns her face away, jaw tight, eyes glassyâbut she says nothing. That silence hurts more than anything. âAnd when this falls apart,â his father adds, glancing at you with quiet disdain, âdo not expect us to be there to fix your mistakes.â Your chest burns. But before you can reactâ âDonât,â Heeseung says, low and sharp. Itâs not loud. But itâs enough. His father pauses, eyes narrowing slightlyâbut he doesnât continue. Instead, he turns. His mother hesitates for just a secondâlike she might say something, like she might reach for himâ But she doesnât. Then they're gone. The night feels heavier now. Colder. You look up at him, your heart twisting. ââŠHeeseung, Iâm so sorryââ He shakes his head immediately. âDonât,â he says, his voice softer now. âButââ âI meant what I said.â His hand tightens around yours again, pulling you just a little closer. âIâm staying,â he repeats. Your eyes sting. âYou just lost everythingâŠâ He looks at you. Really looks at you.
And something in his expression softens in a way that makes your heart ache even more. ââŠNot everything.â Your breath catches. Behind you, the door opens. Your mom steps outside, her expression shifting immediately when she takes in your facesâthen the empty path where his parents had been. ââŠWhat happened?â she asks softly. You donât answer. You donât need to. She looks at Heeseung. The way he's still holding your hand, at the quiet, heavy understanding in his eyes. And something in her softens even more. She steps closer, gently placing a hand on his arm. ââŠThen youâre not alone,â she says quietly. Heeseung blinks, just slightly. Your mom gives him a small, tearful smile. âYou may have lost something tonight,â she continues, âbut you gained a family too.â Your heart swells. His fingers tighten around yours again. And this timeâ He doesnât look back. The house felt different after everything. Quieterâbut not in the hollow, lonely way it once had been. This quiet was warm. Lived in. Sunlight spilled lazily through the curtains, painting soft gold across the wooden floors. You stood near the window, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of your sleeve, still not entirely used to how calm your life had become. No more hiding. No more fear of being taken away. No more pretending your heart didnât belong to him. Behind you, you heard the faint creak of the floorboards before familiar arms slipped around your waist, gentle but sure. Heeseung rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. âThinking again?â he murmured. You smiled, leaning back into him. âJust⊠everything.â His grip tightened slightly, like he was grounding himselfâlike he still needed to remind himself you were really here. âWe survived it,â he said softly. You nodded, your gaze drifting toward the kitchen. Your mom was there, moving slowlyâcarefullyâas she stirred something on the stove. The sound of her quiet humming filled the space, softer than it used to be, but still thereâstill hers. The medicine had helped. More than anyone had dared to hope. It hadnât been easyâthe cost, the waiting, the fear that it might not workâbut somehow, it had. Enough to bring her home. Enough to give her color back in her cheeks, even if it was faint. She was still weak. You could see it in the way she leaned a little too heavily against the counter sometimes, in how she tired more quickly than she used to. But she was here. And that was everything. Your chest tightened slightly, but not with sadnessâsomething softer. Something grateful. Heeseung followed your gaze, his arms tightening around you just a little. âShe looks stronger today,â he said gently. You nodded. âShe is⊠because of you.â He shook his head immediately, almost stubbornly. âNo. Because she fought. I just⊠helped where I could.â You turned in his arms, looking up at him. There was something different in his eyes nowânot the polished confidence he used to wear, not the weight of expectation from a life heâd left behind.
This was lighter. Freer. Happier. âYou gave up a lot,â you whispered. Heeseung didnât hesitate this time. âI chose something better.â His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing gently over your skin like it was something preciousâsomething he still couldnât believe was his. âI chose you.â Your heart stuttered, even now, even after everything. âYouâre my home,â he added quietly. For a moment, all you could do was look at him. At the boy who had walked into your life unexpectedly, who had stayed when it was hard, who had chosen love when it cost him everything else. And somehow, neither of you regretted it. Not even a little. You leaned in first this time, pressing a soft kiss to his lipsâfamiliar now, easy, filled with something deeper than that first hesitant moment. He smiled into it, his arms pulling you closer like he always did, like he always would. From the kitchen, your mom glanced over at the two of you, a soft, teary smile forming on her lips. She didnât say anythingâshe didnât need to. That look said enough. It wasnât the life any of you had planned. But it was yours. Simple mornings. Careful steps. Shared glances. Quiet laughter. Hands always finding each other without thinking.
And loveâsteady, unwavering, chosen every single day.
Heeseung pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing briefly.
âDo you ever miss it?â he asked.
âThe old life?â
You thought about it.
The fear. The loneliness. The distance.
Then you looked at your momâstill fragile, but alive. Still here. Then back at him.âNo,â you said, your voice certain. âNot when I have this.â His smile was soft, but it held everything. âGood,â he whispered. Outside, the world moved on like it always did. But inside, in that small sunlit home, time felt slower. Kinder. Like it had finally decided to give you all a chance to just⊠be. Together.
Taglist:
@chaconnhoom @somuchdard @jakearta @ineedheeseung @lakoya @rpwpthv @stvrikii @zoe1love @heyinnnn @wonuzu
IâM FUCKING TWEAKING NO ONE TALK 2 ME
oh yeah let me see your playboy boxers dada
