SUMMARY: after ferrari’s golden boy crashes in order to save his teammate, he is stuck at the hospital with burns all over his body. between long shifts and the hospital’s desolation, he brings a light in your life that is hard to forget once he’s free to go home.
WARNINGS: feat enhypen RIKI and JAKE. hospital settings, medical terms, mentions of car crashes, blood, burns, mentions of death (brief description, not detailed), mentions of abusive parent, medical conditions, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.
a/n: i believe this could’ve turned out better but i wanted to publish my babies (i’ve been writing them since this summer) so please lmk your thought and opinions!! 🩷🫶
The emergency room had seen chaos before, but tonight felt heavier.
It started with sirens, loud and insistent, even through the thick hospital walls, and a nurse rushing in with wide eyes and a shaking tablet.
“Two criticals inbound, Formula one accident. One with full-body burns and head trauma, the other with a compound leg fracture and suspected internal bleeding.”
You didn’t look up until the gurneys were rolled in. The automatic doors swung open with a hiss, letting in two stretchers, wheeled fast.
The first man on the left stretcher wasn’t moving, blood was matting the dark fringe of his hair, and his face was pale under the running crimson.
His racing suit, at least, what remained of it, was slit down the middle already, soaked through.
The other one was conscious, barely. He was moaning low, his gloved hand clutching at his stomach.
His helmet was off, but there were burn marks curling along the side of his jaw, climbing his neck like vines. His left eye was bloodshot, and blood was crusting near his temple.
Someone called names, the trauma doctor barking orders, nurses scattering.
"Male, in his twenties, suspected third-degree burns, signs of cranial impact, get a scan, now!”
You walked beside them, flipping through the patient file as quickly as it populated.
Blood type, height, weight, nothing else yet. No names. Just codenames and a tag: F1 INCIDENT – NIGHT PRACTICE RUN.
The burn patient was rushed straight into the burn unit. The younger one too, the boy, he looked like a boy, no older than nineteen, with a mess of internal damage. You heard the word “rupture.” Someone else said “splintered bone.”
The moment the doors shut behind the burning team, you exhaled and leaned against the wall.
“Oh my God.” One of the nurses beside you whispered. “That’s Lee Heeseung and Nishimura Riki… holy shit.”
You blinked. “Who?”
The girl stared at you like you had three heads. “Heeseung? He’s like… a living legend in F1. He won Monaco last year blind in one eye… you seriously don’t know?”
You shrugged. “Not really my thing.”
She shook her head. “Well, it’l be now.”
And in fact, two hours later, you were re-assigned.
“Y/N, you’ll be in the burning unit monitoring, in a private suite.” The charge nurse handed you a clipboard. “VIP patient.”
You glanced down at the name, written in capital letters: LEE HEESEUNG
The report was horrifying, with skin grafts that started on both arms and his left shoulder, smoke inhalation damage that would be treated by manually removing it with a tube in the lung.
Followed by a nasty concussion with swelling that had the neurosurgeon double-checking his pupils every ten minutes, and last but not least a multiple rib fractures from the crash impact.
He’d been put in a medically induced coma for the first few hours, and the sedation wouldn’t wear off until sometime tomorrow. You’d be there to monitor vitals, manage the IV, prep for re-evaluation.
His room was on the east wing, he kind of suite reserved for politicians or royalty.
You slipped inside quietly. Heeseung looked worse now that everything was cleaned up.
The bandages made it more real, he gauze that circled half his head, the IVs in both arms, the oxygen line.
You adjusted the chart at the foot of his bed, but there was a whisper of movement behind you that distracted you.
The man that stepped in wasn’t that tall, with tousled hair and hoodie slung half-off his shoulder. There was dried blood on his jeans.
“Are you the nurse assigned to Heeseung?”
You nodded. “Just got here, are you family? Visiting hours are over.”
“I’m the— uh, manager. My name’s Sim Jake.” He extended his hand, but it trembled, so he dropped it. “Sorry, I— fuck, I can’t think. Is he stable?”
You nodded slowly. “He made it through all the check ups without surgery. He’s sedated, but stable. We’ll have to monitor him for the next 24 hours very closely, especially with the head injury.”
Jake exhaled so hard his shoulders dropped. “And Riki?” he asked quietly.
“From what I heard, he’s still in surgery.”
He pressed his palms together, his eyes were red-rimmed, like he’d been crying or lacked sleeping “They said it was gonna be a regular night, y’know? pre-race laps. Heeseung didn’t even wanna go.”
You stayed quiet. You’d seen people talk to cope, and you learned how to let them.
Jake stared at the bed, at Heeseung’s unconscious body, and then sat down heavily in the corner chair.
“There was a malfunction,” he said slowly. “In Riki’s brakes, his car didn’t slow down on the fourth turn. It’s a corner he usually takes at normal speed, but he went full throttle tonight, he really wanted to impress everyone.” he swallowed, “he didn’t know. Couldn’t have, there was no control. He was headed straight for the barricade, and spectators were there… families with kids.”
You frowned slightly, brows pulling.
“Heeseung… he saw it. He was in front Riki but he saw what was about to happen, he heard it from the communications radio,” he sighed “so he— he pulled out of line, he s werved into his path.”
Jake’s voice cracked. “He used his own car to stop Riki’s, took the hit full-on, it exploded on fire on impact.”
Your throat felt tight. You glanced at Heeseung again, this time a little different.
“He sacrificed himself,” Jake said, hands fisting in his lap. “To stop Riki from plowing into the stands.”
You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how anyone could choose that kind of pain on purpose.
“He’s gonna live, right?” Jake asked, suddenly boyish. Less like a manager and more like a friend.
You nodded slowly, gaze still on the man lying in the bed. “We’ll do everything we can.”
🏁.
He slipped in and out of consciousness through the long stretch of the night, a haze of morphine clouding over his expression every time he stirred.
Most of it was just moaning, incoherent words under his breath, sometimes Riki’s name.
other times it was just soft whimpers, sharp exhales that caught against his bandaged ribs.
Once, around 3:40 AM, he jolted awake with a short cry and tried to move. His hands jerked upward instinctively, maybe to protect himself… maybe reaching for a steering wheel.
You had to catch his wrist gently and murmur softly until he settled again. “It’s okay,” you whispered, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “You’re safe, you’re not in the car anymore.”
His eyes fluttered beneath bruised lids, and for a second, he stared right through you.
His lips parted, dry and cracked. You held a straw to them and helped him sip water, watched him wince even from that tiny effort, and then he was gone again.
Back into the warmth of sedation, head rolling softly to one side. Morphine dripped slow into his IV. You monitored the levels and checked the rate. You replaced the saline bag when it was almost empty and you didn’t leave the room even when your shift technically ended.
By morning, you were back at your post before the sun had even fully risen.
You weren’t due for another hour, but you couldn't stay home knowing he might wake again confused, aching and… alone.
But when you entered the room, he was already awake. Well, barely, but it was something.
The soft hum of the monitor greeted you first. His vitals were holding steady, but the real sign was the way his eyes, still a bit unfocused, and a little raw, tracked you as you stepped in.
You set your clipboard down quietly and met his gaze. “Hey,” you said softly.
He blinked slowly, then frowned. “Fuck,” he rasped, “I’m not dead?”
His voice was hoarse, painful to hear, but you managed a small smile. “Not yet, sorry.”
A weak huff pushed from his chest, maybe a laugh, or maybe a cough, you couldn’t tell. He shifted, then immediately grimaced, body locking stiff.
“It’ll hurt,” you warned, reaching out to adjust his pillow. “Your ribs are still healing.”
“No shit,” he groaned, swallowing hard. “Why… why can’t I feel my neck? and my chest and arms feel—“ another cough “numb.”
You hesitate, then walked to the bedside. His eyes were clearer now, but clouded with the edge of something worse than fear. The dread of what he didn’t know yet.
“You have third-degree burns on your neck and parts of your chest and arms. The reason you can’t feel them is… because the nerves are gone.” You tried to explain it as easily as possible.
His eyes flicked downward toward his shoulder, then to the heavy gauze wrapping his forearm. He didn’t move, just stared. “Am I—” His voice caught. “How bad does it look?”
You exhaled. “Bad,” you said honestly. “But they did a clean graft. You’ll get function back, most likely. The nerve endings yes… maybe not sensation in some areas. But it’s early, the burn team will know more after the swelling goes down.”
He closed his eyes for a second, jaw clenching.
Silence stretched. Then, his throat worked, voice more broken than before. “Riki?”
You nodded slowly, folding your arms. “He’s alive, though still unconscious. He had internal bleeding, and a compound fracture in his left leg. He’s in post-op recovery now, but he’s stable.”
His entire face tightened, like the weight of it had finally dropped onto his chest. His fingers clenched weakly around the edge of the sheet, and he looked away, toward the window where the morning light was just beginning to creep in through the blinds.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Good. He— he’s just a kid.”
You sat down in the chair beside him, scribbled a note on the chart, and glanced over.
“He’s lucky,” you said softly. “that you were there.”
He didn’t answer.
You knew Jake was still outside. He’d arrived early again, eyes red, pacing the hallway like a ghost. You’d seen him hovering through the glass window earlier, glancing in, debating whether or not to come in.
Now, as Heeseung winced and shifted slightly, you knew he wouldn’t want to deal with him yet.
“You’ve got someone outside,” you said after a pause. “Jake, right? Your manager.”
Heeseung closed his eyes.
“I don’t have the energy for him right now,” he muttered. “He’s just gonna yell.”
“Then he can wait.” you stood, heading toward the door. “You need rest, not a lecture.”
You stepped out quietly and met Jake’s eyes. He stood up instantly. “Is he awake? Can I—?”
“He’s not in the mood to talk,” you said, keeping your voice low but firm. “He’s in pain, and he’s processing. Maybe come back tomorrow?”
Jake’s face fell, but he nodded, rubbing his hand over his mouth, murmured something that resembled a ‘thank you’ before stepping away.
When you returned to the room, Heeseung was still awake, eyes half-closed, the tension in his shoulders loosened by a fraction. “You want me to turn the lights down a bit?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “My eyes hurt.”
You moved to the wall, dimmed them until the room was cast in soft amber.
And when you returned to your seat, he glanced over, lips cracked, voice barely above a whisper. “…What’s your name?”
“Y/N.” you replied “I’ll be your nurse for the time you stay here.”
He blinked. “You’re the one who was here last night.”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “You tried to punch me when I held your hand.”
His brows creased. “Did I?”
“You missed.” You shrugged and a ghost of a smile touched his mouth, the first one real enough to settle.
🏁.
When you pushed the door open after your lunch break, it was with the quiet intent of checking Heeseung’s vitals, maybe adjusting his IV line again.
You expected him to still be in pain, perhaps trying to sleep it off. You did not expect what you found.
Three nurses, all hovering around his bed like moths to a dying flame.
One was adjusting his blanket even though it was already neatly draped, another was holding a spoon of soup like it was some kind of sacred ritual, and the last one— oh, she was massaging lotion onto the one patch of unburned skin on his hand with a focus that was frankly excessive.
Heeseung looked… tired. Not just physically, but emotionally drained, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the attention.
His eyes met yours almost instantly as you stepped in, and something like relief washed over his features.
You didn’t smile. “Out,” you just said, sharp but calm.
All three of them froze, as if you’d pulled the fire alarm. One nurse looked like she might argue, but you raised your brow just slightly, and she faltered.
“But we were just—”
“I’m sure you were,” you cut her off smoothly. “He’s under recovery care, not an autograph booth.”
The room grew ten degrees colder.
They scurried out with muttered apologies, not meeting your gaze. One of them left behind the bowl of half-stirred soup and a chocolate pudding cup on the tray.
Heeseung watched you settle the tray on the adjustable table and pull it close to him.
“So,” you said, lifting the spoon from the bowl, “how many fangirls have snuck in while I was gone?”
He grimaced slightly. “Only them, I tjink… one kept calling me ‘hero.’ I tried to play dead but they didn’t leave.”
You smirked faintly, scooping up a small portion of the lukewarm soup “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to fake injuries for attention?”
He gave a weak chuckle. “Pretty sure I didn’t have to fake anything.”
You lifted the spoon to his lips, watching as he took the soup carefully, his lips parting just slightly, eyes grimacing a little at the taste. His neck muscles twitched, probably from strain, and he exhaled hard after swallowing.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Is that soup or dishwater?”
“Hospital cuisine,” you said solemnly. “Five-star micheline.”
He took another spoonful, slowly, wincing just from the movement of his jaw.
He still looked rough, his color wasn’t good, skin pale and slightly ashy from the burn meds. His arms were stiff at his sides, bandaged still, and you could tell the hunger was there, but the effort… not so much.
You opened the pudding cup next, gave it a little stir with the plastic spoon. He looked at it like it was the most edible thing he’d seen in weeks.
“Oh thank god,” he said. “I’ve never been so excited for fake chocolate in my life.”
“Open up,” you said, and he did, the sweetness seeming to go down easier than the soup. He sighed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
“I thought I’d feel better today,” he murmured. “But I still feel like shit.”
“You’re not even forty-eight hours post the accident yet,” you reminded him. “Your body’s still trying to decide if it wants to forgive you.”
He shifted then, just a little, then a little more. “Careful—”
“I wanna sit up more,” he mumbled, already pressing one arm against the bed, trying to push himself.
You leaned in, firm but calm. “Heeseung, stop.”
“I can’t just lie here—”
“You literally must.”
His eyes flashed with stubbornness, but then he grimaced hard, pain tightening his mouth.
You reached out instinctively, palm flat on his shoulder, not the burned one, holding him still.
“Don’t be stupid,” you said quietly. “Your ribs are still cracked, you won’t win against gravity.”
His jaw clenched. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
He looked away, toward the window. The light outside was gentler now, filtered through the clouds.
His face was drawn, and you could see it in the way he held himself, he wasn’t just sore, he was frustrated
The kind of man who didn’t like stillness. Who probably measured his self-worth by his speed.
“You’re scheduled to remove some of the smoke still in your lungs,” you told him, “It will not be pleasant.”
“Great,” he said sarcastically, “On a scale from one to ten?”
You thought about if for a minute, “I’ve never done it, but I will not lie that I think it will be a solid eight.”
You adjusted the pillow behind his back carefully, angling the bed up a little more for him. He didn’t resist this time, just watched your hands.
“You’re not useless just because you’re healing,” you said, mentioning the previous conversation. “You saved someone. That’s not something your body gets over in a day.”
Heeseung was quiet for a long moment, the sound of the heart monitoring a steady pulse beside you.
“…he’s still not awake, right?” he asked softly.
You nodded. “Still out, but stable.”
He didn’t respond to that. Just stared out at the window again, jaw working.
You finished cleaning up the tray, wiping the corner of his mouth where a little pudding had smeared.
Your fingers brushed along his chin lightly, and for a second, his eyes dropped to your hand.
When you pulled back, he exhaled slowly.
“Thanks,” he said, voice lower now.
You didn’t smile, but your voice was soft. “Stop trying to get up, and I’ll bring you something that actually tastes like food tomorrow.”
He tilted his head slightly, as if considering, then gave a small nod.
“No fangirls,” you added, pointing an accusing finger towards him.
He smiled, just barely. “Only you then?”
You rolled your eyes and stood.
“Don’t push it.”
🏁.
Days blurred together like a long breath you couldn’t quite finish taking.
Outside, the world carried on, traffic, sunrises, clouds rolling over the hospital’s concrete edges, but inside that room, things moved slower.
Jake came every day now, just after lunch, always bringing a different set of sports magazines or articles printed off from the web.
Heeseung barely read them, but he listened when Jake talked about regular things, probably as not to overwhelm him with the fact that races continued wven as he laid on a hospital bed.
A video someone posted of Riki doing stupid tricks in a go-kart. They didn’t say much about the boy himself, not with him still in the ICU, but you could feel the tension crackle in Jake every time he left, like walking out of that room meant abandoning someone else who couldn’t speak for himself yet.
You didn’t press him, and yoou didn’t ask questions.
You were too busy with your own routine.
You came into Heeseung’s room just before the evening shift change.
The light outside had gone pale blue, casting long shadows across the tile floor.
You rolled in a small cart with the supplies, like bandages, ointments, saline and gauze. He was already sitting up a little, watching you.
His face still bore the bruises of the accident, but the swelling had gone down, and his eyes tracked your every movement now, sharp and clear.
“You get a new uniform?” he asked, voice less raspy than before but still colored with something teasing.
You raised an eyebrow. “It’s the same one you bled on two days ago. We just wash them sometimes.”
“Hot,” he murmured, then hissed softly as he tried to adjust his shoulder.
“Don't be cute,” you muttered. “It’s wound cleaning day.”
You started with his head. The bandage there had to be changed slowly, carefully, because the skin underneath was still raw and sensitive.
You gloved up, peeled back the old gauze from his temple, then gently dabbed at the edges of the injury with a saline-soaked pad.
He winced, but didn’t complain. Not like he had the first time. “You’re quieter than usual,” he said.
“You want me to make small talk while I pull the rest of your scabbed flesh off?” You raised a brow at him. He let out a breathy laugh and closed his eyes. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind the distraction.”
You wrapped the fresh bandage around his head, secure but loose enough not to give him a headache.
Then you moved to his chest. He shifted again, the sheets falling to his lap as you pulled the gown down and exposed the burns that still ran like brutal red streaks from just below his collarbone down to the edge of his ribs, spreading across his right shoulder and part of his upper arm. Some had darkened and some peeled.
But all of it looked painful.
You dipped a gloved finger into the ointment and began carefully applying it over the healing areas.
You didn’t flinch at the way the flesh had hardened in some parts, blistered in others. You’d seen worse.
“You okay?” you asked softly.
“Yeah,” he said through his teeth. “Feels like acid.”
“It’s just medicine.”
“I know, but I like being dramatic.”
You gave a short laugh, smoothing the ointment into the side of his neck, then placed new gauze over it, pressing down gently to secure it.
“I don’t know how you do this every day,” he said after a while “I mean, taking care of people like this…. like me. It can’t be the easiest job.”
You shrugged, taping down the last piece. “I’ve had harder patients.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. There was this guy once who thought flirting through third-degree burns was charming.” you teased.
He chuckled, and you moved to his arms next, slowly peeling back the old dressings.
His skin twitched under the fresh air, his fingers curling instinctively. You worked in silence for a while, glancing up only when you noticed him watching you.
“What?” you asked.
He tilted his head a little. “Nothing, you just never talk about yourself.”
You finished smoothing a patch of ointment along his bicep before answering. “There’s not much to say.”
“Bullshit. You’re in here every day, making sure I don’t die of infection or morphine withdrawal. You clean me, feed me, fight off the occasional fangirl. You’ve gotta have more going on than this.”
You paused. Then looked up at him… you didn’t really have an entertaining life outside the hospital, so you opted for something safe. “I’m also assigned to another patient.”
He blinked. “Yeah?”
You nodded, wrapping his arm now. “A kid about nine years old. He came in with a collapsed lung.”
Heeseung stilled slightly. “Accident?”
“No.” you gulped. “His father beat the shit out of him.”
Something in his face twisted then, slow and ugly. You continued softly. “He’s doing better now. Still needs the oxygen support, but he’s laughing again. Oh, and he loves dinosaurs.”
Heeseung’s voice was low. “Do people like that guy, his father, just get to walk around free?”
“It’s… complicated.” You said, your hands working focused. “He’s on the loose, police are searching for him.”
“Fuck.” He exhaled sharply, then looked away. “I thought I had it bad.”
You finished dressing the last of his wounds, peeling off your gloves with a soft snap and tossing them into the bin.
“You did,” you said quietly. “Pain doesn’t need to compete.”
He looked at you again then, for a long time. You weren’t sure what was in his eyes exactly. Respect, maybe sadness. Something softer, too.
“Thanks,” he said.
You gave him a faint smile, then reached for the blanket again, pulling it over his legs gently. “Don’t move too much tonight.”
“No promises.” Heeseung shrugged.
“I’ll sedate you if I have to.” you threatened.
He smirked. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing you’ve done to me.”
You rolled your eyes, gathered your supplies, and started toward the door. Before you stepped out, you glanced back.
He was still looking at you. Not like a patient looking at a nurse.
Like a man trying to understand someone he suddenly realized he didn’t know at all.
🏁.
Riki woke up the following week.
The update came in quietly, just after sunrise, passed from the ICU nurse on duty to your floor with that same hushed relief you’d felt pressing at the back of your ribs since the accident.
He was conscious, but weak. He was. fading in and out of sleep, but breathing on his own, and whispering broken sentences when someone leaned in close enough to hear.
You didn’t rush to tell Heeseung.
You waited until you finished your morning rounds, changed his bandages, fed him half of his usual breakfast. He didn’t complain today. Not once, and that alone told you his mind was elsewhere.
It wasn’t until you were refilling his IV fluids that you finally told him.
“Riki’s awake,” you said simply, not looking up as you slid the fresh saline bag onto the pole.
The stillness in the room shifted sharply.
Heeseung’s voice was instant, a little breathless. “When?”
“This morning.” You turned to him. “He’s in the trauma unit now. They transferred him just after stabilizing.”
He didn’t say anything for a second. His hands flexed slightly at his sides. “Can I see him?”
You hesitated. “You’re not exactly in any shape to—”
“I can sit,” he cut in quickly. “If I sit in a wheelchair, I can do it. I swear I won’t move. Just— five minutes. Please.”.
He was still so pale. The bruising around his eye had darkened into a dull ochre. The bandages on his neck peeked out from under his gown. His arm was trembling just from lifting the glass of water earlier.
He wasn’t ready. But you also knew he’d never feel ready, and something told you he wouldn’t rest until he saw Riki for himself.
You sighed, pulling your gloves off. “Alright, but you don’t lift a finger. You move wrong and I’ll have you sedated for real this time.”
He smiled weakly. “God, that’s hot.”
You shot him a flat look. “Try me.”
You brought the chair around slowly. He watched every motion as you locked the brakes, looped the IV pole onto the hooks, and adjusted the footrest to keep his legs steady. Then came the hard part.
“Okay,” you said gently, moving to his side. “You’re gonna need to lean forward on three. I’ll brace your back. Use your left arm if you can. The right’s still healing.”
He nodded once, already concentrating “One… two.. three.”
He grunted as he moved, your arm slipping under his to guide his weight forward. It took everything in him not to scream, you could tell.
His ribs were like cracked glass, one wrong shift and he’d shatter. But he bit it back, his jaw clenched, and let you ease him into the wheelchair slowly.
Once he was seated, you adjusted his gown to keep the bandages covered, re-checked the IV tube to make sure it wasn’t pulled, and only when everything was steady did you release a breath.
“You good?” you asked.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.. fuck. I feel like a grandpa.”
The trauma unit wasn’t far, but you still took it slow. Every bump in the linoleum seemed to jolt through his bones.
You moved carefully, guiding the chair down the hallway, keeping your hand on the bar, and checking on him every few seconds. He didn’t talk, he just stared straight ahead.
When you reached Riki’s room, you paused at the door. “You sure?” you asked.
Heeseung nodded quietly and so you opened the door slowly.
The lights were dimmed inside, soft beeping of monitors the only sound.
Riki was lying still, propped slightly against the incline of the bed. His skin was a mess of bruises, purple and green splotches painting across his arms and cheek. A heavy cast swallowed most of his left leg, raised and elevated on a cushion.
There were faint stitches near his collarbone, and you saw the tremble of his chest with every breath.
But his eyes were open and conscious, staring at the white ceiling.
When he saw Heeseung, something in his expression cracked. His mouth moved first, like he wasn’t sure what to say. “Heeseung…”
Heeseung tried to lean forward but flinched instantly. You stepped in and pressed lightly on his shoulder.
“Careful,” you murmured.
“I thought you were dead,” Riki said, voice hoarse and small.
Heeseung swallowed, eyes shining faintly. “So did I.”
Riki blinked rapidly. “They said you— why the fuck did you stop in front of me like that? That’s not…” He trailed off, voice thick. “That’s not how this is supposed to go.”
Heeseung stared at him for a long moment. “You were headed for the barricade.”
“You should’ve just let me crash.” Riki snapped.
Heeseung’s voice was low, steady. “No, i really shouldn’t have.”
The silence between them settled like a weight. You didn’t speak, nor did you move. You saw how Heeseung’s hands gripped the armrests, how Riki tried to blink away the water in his eyes.
“You look like shit,” Riki finally said, a faint smile twitching at his lips.
Heeseung gave a tired breath of a laugh. “Yeah. So do you.”
You looked between the two of them. “I’ll give you a few minutes… just don’t make him laugh too hard. His ribs won’t survive it.”
🏁.
Two more weeks passed, and the days started blending again, though in a different rhythm now.
Rehab was slower, less frantic than the ER, but harder in other ways.
You watched Heeseung try to curl his fingers around a towel for ten full minutes one morning, sweat beading along his brow while the physical therapist kept encouraging him softly, and he just clenched his jaw and tried again and again, even when the pain clawed up from his shoulder into his teeth.
The nerves in his right arm were slow to wake. Some hadn’t at all.
But he worked through it, every day. There were setbacks and ghost pains and frustration.
A dozen nights when he asked you to help him sleep with medications because the sensation of nothing in his arm felt worse than agony.
You tried your best to support him, to give him the strength he was missing.
He could get a game of cards with you each time he managed to complete an exercise, and though he struggled to hold the cards in hands, he looked forward to it.
He always did, but one day you didn’t arrive at the time you usually did.
You always checked in after the rehab sessions. Always adjusted the pillows, changed his IV port, sometimes brought him sickeningly sweet tea even though it wasn’t officially allowed.
That afternoon, he returned from physical therapy looking exhausted and stiff, arm strapped carefully in the sling again.
You would be waiting for him, and even if he felt tired, he was excited to tell you about his progress.
But when he got in there were no cards and no you.
He was half-dozing when the door finally opened, with but the footsteps weren’t yours. The nurse on duty came in to check his meds, and as she adjusted his meds she told him you were coming but were just running late.
She went away, and when the door opened again some time later, it was you.
You came in fast, too fast and your steps uneven. Your scrubs were wrinkled, your hair pulled back hastily.
You didn’t even glance at him, just went straight to the counter and dropped your bag like your hands didn’t know what to do with anything.
“Hey,” he said, quietly.
“Hey.” You replied hurriedly.
He tried to push himself up further in bed, and that simple movement sent a spasm through his ribs. He hissed but kept watching you.
Your hands were shaking as you reached for the gloves. You put them on hastily and put some morphine drops in his IV line.
Or tried to, because the needle kept missing. You tried again and again.
“Hey.” He murmured, brows furrowing. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” you gulped, voice shaky, “Why wouldn’t I be?”
But he didn’t buy your lie, so he said more firmly, “Y/N.”
You stopped moving and dropped your hands on the medicine counter. “I lost him.”
The words came out too sharp and too sudden. You hadn’t meant to say them like that. You hadn’t even known what you meant to say until they tore out of your mouth.
He blinked slowly. trying to piece the words together. “The kid?”
You turned slowly toward him, your eyes wide and glassy, and you laughed, a short and broken sound. It caught in your throat. You clutched the edge of the t counter like it could hold you up.
“I— I did everything. Everything I was supposed to. He was smiling yesterday… and… and he even asked me to draw dinosaurs on his oxygen mask. I told him I would after he ate his dinner.”
He didn’t speak, he let you rant, because he knew you needed not to be strong for once. You needed a shoulder to cry on.
You stepped forward, then dropped to your knees before you even realized it. The medical equipment fell from your hands.
“He started coughing and he didn’t stop,” you whispered, voice already breaking. “His lung… it filled with blood. He couldn’t breathe and we couldn’t intubate fast enough. He choked in front of us. In front of me.”
Your hands pressed to your face. “I tried… I tried so fucking hard—”
Your sobs ripped out of you, loud and uncontained, ugly sobs that rocked your body. Heeseung reached out before his body could protest. “Come here.”
“No,” you gasped. “I can’t— I’m not supposed to—”
“Come here.” He repeated firmly.
You crawled toward the bed on your knees, hands shaking too much to reach for anything.
He managed to lower his good arm toward you, fingers trembling as they brushed against your shoulder.
You pressed your face to the side of the bed, arms folded awkwardly under you, and sobbed into the blanket.
He winced, but he kept his hand there on your back. His thumb moved in slow, unsteady circles, his voice hoarse as he whispered, “You did everything you could.”
“I didn’t save him.” You snapped.
“Sometimes… sometimes you can’t.” He tried to reason. “I promised I’d come see him tomorrow.” You whispered brokenly.
Heeseung’s breath hitched, and he closed his eyes like he could carry the weight of that grief for you.
“I keep seeing his face,” you whispered. “He looked so scared.”
“I know that feeling,” he murmured. “I know, I see the fire every night.”
Your fingers curled into the blanket. He moved his hand and brushed your hair back behind your ear. The gentlest touch he could manage.
“You made him forget the horrors he went through,” he said softly. “You were there. That matters more than anything.”
You couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t even pretend to be the composed nurse anymore.
You weren’t her right now. You were just you, kneeling on the floor beside a patient who had become more than just a chart.
You stayed there, head buried into the side of the bed, tears soaking through the sheet, while Heeseung lay still, chest tight, body too raw to offer more than the steady, quiet presence you’d once given him.
Eventually, your sobs softened, worn out. Like the grief had burned through you fast and left only ash behind.
He spoke again, voice slow. “You can sit up here, if you want.”
You shook your head. “I don’t want you to move.” Even in your pain, uou cared more for him.
“I won’t.” He shifted his hand slightly, inviting. “Just stay beside me..”
So you did, because you weren’t really in the right state of mind to list all the reasons why you shouldn’t.
You climbed onto the edge of the bed slowly, not to disturb the tubes or bandages, and leaned gently against the side of his body. His good arm curled around your back.
Just for a moment you let yourself be held.
🏁.
It was quiet between you for a long while. His hand was warm where it rested on your back, too warm for someone who’d spent the last few weeks surrounded by machines and medications and cold gauze.
You were still curled into the side of the bed, your cheek resting just beside the edge of his chest, body limp from the sobbing.
“Hey.” He finally spoke.
You shifted, barely lifting your head. “Mh?.”
He angled his neck enough to glance down at you. “Wheel me downstairs.”
You blinked slowly. “Downstairs where?”
“The cafeteria.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him properly. His face was worn, but his expression was serious.
You stared hard. “You’re not allowed down there yet.”
He shrugged with one shoulder. “Neither was I allowed to have Jake’s candy bars, but I’ve had three Twix and two mini bags of Doritos this week, and I haven’t died.”
Your brows lifted. “You’ve been cheating on your meal plan?” He gave a faint smirk. “Religiously.”
“You sighed, pressing your fingers to your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do right now was escort a stubborn F1 driver out of his room for snacks like he hadn’t nearly burned alive three weeks ago.
But the truth was, your chest still hurt. The grief still sat in your bones, but it was quieter now, and something in his voice had shifted.
“Fine,” you muttered, standing. “But you’re wearing your sling, and your hospital bracelet stays visible. If anyone asks, you’re on a medically supervised movement.”
“Lord,” he murmured. “You make rule-breaking sound so sexy.”
You rolled your eyes, but the ache in your chest had already started to soften.
You helped him into the chair again, slower this time, letting him lean into you more than usual.
His body was getting stronger, but not by much, and even the act of standing made him wince. You adjusted his IV pole and tucked the light blue blanket across his lap before wheeling him carefully out into the corridor.
The hallway was mostly quiet as night shift had already begun. The elevators pinged with soft dings while you descended.
“Did you bring me down here to flirt with the volunteers again?” you asked as the doors opened on the ground floor.
“No,” he said. “They don’t make eye contact anymore. I think you scared them off.”
You snorted. “Good.”
The café was dimly lit, the kind that looked like it was trying very hard to pretend it wasn’t inside a hospital.
You wheeled him to a table tucked in the corner, far from the noise of people or the murmur of the vending machines.
You walked up to the bar and ordered what he’d asked for, a hot chocolate with no whipped cream, and a bottle of water. The cashier rang it up, and just as you reached for your hospital-issued card, a hand beat you to it.
Heeseung had wheeled towards you, alone, and handed over a credit card without a word.
You looked at him sharply. “What the fuck are you—”
“I wanted to.” Ahe said quickly, “And I used the good arm.” He waved it for good measure.
You narrowed your eyes. “I’m on shift. I can’t let patients pay for—”
“I’m a grown man in a wheelchair, who needs your help standing while peeing, I think you deserve this.”
You stared at him for a second longer, but he didn’t waver. So you let it go, you took the tray with the drinks, careful not to spill the hot chocolate, and returned to the table.
When you set it down in front of him, he reached out for the bottle of water. He pushed the hot chocolate toward you.
You blinked, then frowned in confusion. “This is yours.”
“I ordered it for you.” He explained as if it was the most obvious thing.
Your hands hovered for a second. “You asked for it.”
“And then I gave it away.” He met your eyes, gaze soft but unwavering. “You’ve had a shit day, well, week. I figured chocolate was a safer bet than tequila.”
You slowly sat down, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. It steamed against your skin, thick and sweet-smelling.
“You still shouldn’t be paying for me,” you muttered.
“I crashed a million-dollar car. You think I’m worried about six bucks?”
You shook your head, trying to hide the way your lip tugged up just slightly.
He leaned back a little in the chair, the bottle of water resting between his thighs. “You’re allowed to sit here,” he said, voice quiet. “Not just as my nurse but just as you.”
You stared down at the cup. “I don’t think I know how to be just me anymore.”
“You do,” he said softly. “You just haven’t had time to remember.”
You took a slow sip and the warmth bled into your chest. “I think I hate hospitals,” you whispered.
He tilted his head, watching you carefully. “So do I.”
You wheeled him back before the nurse on dinner rounds made it to his floor.
Heeseung didn’t say much on the way up, he just kept his eyes ahead, arm still nestled in the sling, the blanket pooling loosely around his waist.
You stopped the wheelchair in front of his room, and opened the door wide enough for the chair to slip in.
He shifted a little as you rolled him in, wincing when the chair hit a bump in the threshold. “Careful,” he murmured.
“Sorry,” you replied quickly, helping him ease into a comfortable position beside his bed before turning off the wheelchair brakes.
You were efficient again, going through motions you’d done a hundred times, but your fingers still trembled slightly when they brushed his wrist, adjusting the IV.
“Thanks,” he said quietly. “For taking care of me.”
You turned toward him. “It’s literally my job
“It’s more than that,” he said. “You didn’t have to sit with me. You didn’t have to cry where I could see you.”
You swallowed, eyes briefly dropping to his blanket. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m not very professional.”
“You’re too pretty to cry,” he said simply.
You rolled your eyes, stepping toward the cabinet to grab a clean set of saline wipes, trying to cover how your heart stuttered at the way he’d said it— like a fact, not a compliment.
“Don’t start,” you warned. “I’m not starting,” he said. “I’m just saying.”
You turned back to him, arms crossed, and leaned against the cabinet. “Alright, fine. How are you feeling? Really.”
He blinked at you, then tilted his head slightly, making a face. “Sore.”
“Where?” You asked.
He shifted, jaw tightening as he angled his neck. “My neck mostly. Probably the burn. It feels like it’s pulling when I sleep.”
“That’s because you keep turning your head instead of using the pillow support,” you said, walking toward him again.
You reached gently toward his collarbone, pulling back the loose hospital shirt to peek at the gauze that covered the worst of the scarring.
“You should kiss it better,” he said then, voice suddenly low.
You stopped, frozen in place. Your hand froze an inch from his skin, and his eyes flicked to your face, watching you for a reaction, but not pushing.
His lips tugged up, a faint, boyish grin pulling the corner of his mouth.
You stared at him, chest tight, then sighed through your nose and leaned in, fast, before you could think better of it, and pressed a quick kiss to the edge of his cheekbone.
Just enough to feel the warmth of his skin under your lips, to let the tension between you shift into something that made your stomach twist.
His smile widened, the surprise obvious on his face.
“Hey,” he whispered, gaze following you as you straightened and stepped back. “That was nice.”
“Don’t let it get to your head.” You said, holding a threatening finger to his face.
He laughed, low and hoarse. “Too late.”
You grabbed your clipboard, pretending to check his chart so you wouldn’t have to look at him while your face still felt warm.
“I should go,” you muttered, already walking toward the door. “Dinner shift’s starting on the east wing.”
“Wait—”
But you were already pulling the door open, glancing back at him just long enough to catch the way he looked at you now.
You didn’t say anything else. You just stepped out, your heart pounding loud enough you were sure he could hear it, and let the door shut behind you with a soft click.
🏁.
By the third day of your ten-hour shift stretch, you could recognize the tone of the call button chime before the light even blinked above the door.
It was always Lee Heeseung’s, allways at the most inopportune moments— just when you had your gloves snapped on to help with someone else’s chart, or when you were halfway through prepping a new IV bag.
And by now, you didn’t even need to guess what he’d say.
“My pillow fell again.”
“My water’s too warm.”
“I finished the tissue box. I sneezed once and now it’s gone.”
“I think my skin feels itchy, but like, only a little. Is that bad?”
“Do you know where the remote is?”
Six times that day, and it wasn’t even five p.m.
So this time, you walked in before the chime finished echoing down the hall, your hands on your hips, the door swinging shut behind you with a firm thud.
“Okay,” you said, standing just inside the threshold, your brows raised. “I know you’re bored, and I know hospital life isn’t exactly thrilling, but unless you’ve developed a new infection or spontaneously combusted again, I really don’t want to hear another call button chime from this room today.”
Heeseung looked up from the bed, blinking at you with the most unapologetically fake innocent expression you’d ever seen.
“You don’t have to scold me like that,” he said, lifting a hand with mock pain. “It hurts my feelings.”
“It hurts my back,” you snapped, “to walk this hallway six times because you suddenly forgot where your mouth is after wiping it.”
He cracked a smile then, slow and crooked. “That one wasn’t urgent, I just missed you.”
You blinked at him, deadpan.
“I’m serious,” he added quickly. “I’m not trying to be annoying. I mean, I am. But not… only.”
You slowly stepped closer to the bed, your arms crossing over your chest. “Heeseung.”
He lifted both hands in surrender, careful not to stretch his burned arm. “Alright. alright, I’ll stop. I’ll be good.”
You narrowed your eyes. You knew he felt alone, F1 season continued, Jake had meetings with his whole department since both his drivers were out and he was afraid he’d be replaced.
You knew, but it didn’t mean he had to drive you insane too. No pun intended.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “I know I’m being a pain in the ass, that you’re tired, and I know it’s not fair to ask for attention when there are patients who actually need you.”
That startled you a little. His voice was sincere now, not playful.
The kind of honest that didn’t come easy to men like him, the men used to winning races and smiling through sponsors’ press conferences and interviews. But he looked small now, even as he sat upright in the bed, chest tight in the bandages you changed every morning.
“I’m just—” he exhaled, his fingers twitching over the blanket. “I’m scared to leave. That’s the truth.”
You frowned, stepping to his bedside without thinking. “Why would you be scared of leaving a hospital?”
“Because I look like this.” He motioned vaguely to his body, to the sling, the burn that peeked from beneath the hem of his collar. “Because I haven’t seen a mirror in weeks, and I know I’ve looked better. Because my hair’s gross and I’ve lost weight and I smell like antiseptic, and I’ve been stuck in this bed thinking that I’ll never feel like myself again.”
You opened your mouth, but he wasn’t done. “And because I finally got the courage to want something for myself. And that something is you.”
The words landed hard. You felt your arms drop slightly, hands now loose by your sides, the air between you suddenly tighter than before. You blinked your eyes, unsure if you were seeing or hearing his words right.
Heeseung looked up at you again, slower this time, less sure of himself than you’d ever seen him.
“I know you don’t owe me anything. You’ve been taking care of me because it’s your duty, and I’ve probably pushed boundaries I shouldn’t. But…” He swallowed, breath shallow. “I wanted to tell you now. Before I get discharged, because the second I’m out of here, I’m gonna be back in recovery, back in press cycles, and everyone’s going to ask about the crash and Riki and the damn brakes, and I’m not going to get to just sit with you… or make you laugh, ormake you roll your eyes like that.”
You stared at him, speechless, as if your body had finally shut down.
“I just needed you to know,” he said finally. “When I’m back on my feet and when I look like me again… I’m going to ask you out, properly. If you’ll let me.”
Your heart was pounding, because somewhere deep down, maybe you’d known. Known from the moment he reached for the hot chocolate and slid it across the table. Known from the way he watched you like you were the only anchor he had left.
You didn’t know what to say, not yet. Your mouth felt dry and your chest felt tight, but your feet stepped closer anyway, drawn like a magnet.
You didn’t kiss him this time. You didn’t touch him either. You just looked down at him, eyes skimming his face, the new pink of his healing skin, the glint of defiance still in his expression.
“You still can’t press the call button,” you said quietly.
His smile broke again, wider this time. Like sunlight on rained down pavement.
“Alright,” he whispered. “Then I guess I’ll just have to wait for you.”
🏁.
You didn’t see Heeseung for almost three weeks.
He still came to the hospital, that much you knew, rehabilitation was mandatory, even for someone as stubborn as Ferrari’s golden boy.
He was scheduled twice a week for physical therapy, and he visited Riki when he could, sometimes staying an hour or more in the kid’s room.
But your shifts never overlapped. It was strange, how easily someone could vanish into the same building you worked in, the same halls you’d memorized with your eyes closed.
You didn’t try to ask around. You didn’t dig through records or prod the therapists in the staff lounge.
You didn’t let it show on your face that every time the elevator dinged on your floor, your eyes flicked up before you could stop yourself.
He was healing at home now. Taking care of his own burns, which had scabbed and scarred over with that red-purple finish that made your heart twist the last time you saw them.
You imagined him moving stiffly through some fancy condo, with his water always cold, pillows never out of reach, tissues unused because there was no one around to pass them.
However, you saw Riki often. He was in less pain now, and more alert to his surroundings.
Still sour most days, snappy and restless from staying still for so long, but there was a spark there, something sharp behind his eyes when he talked about rehab. He wanted to walk, he wanted to drive again. Even if it was far off for the time being.
“Heeseung comes in all weird,” Riki muttered one afternoon while you adjusted the IV tubing above his bed. “Like, in baseball caps and hoodies. As if people won’t recognize him if he covers half his face and walks with that stupid gait.”
“Maybe he’s trying not to get mobbed,” you murmured, flicking the drip line with your nail. “He had fans even in the hospital.”
“He just doesn’t want people to look at him,” Riki said, a little quieter. “Not until his skin looks normal.”
You didn’t answer that. You just gave him a sip of water and changed the subject, but it stayed with you.
That night, for the first time, you opened Instagram and typed Ferrari into the search bar.
The page was easy to find. It was verified, with the bold logo, all red and gold and glory.
You scrolled past the highlight reels, the merchandise links, the footage of pit crews moving like insects in reverse. You skimmed captions about sponsors, about prep for the next season, about hopeful outlooks. And then you found his name.
Lee Heeseung, back in training. Slowly regaining strength in his right arm, working with team specialists twice a week. Determined to be ready for next season’s opener.
There was a photo. Blurry, and taken from behind. Heeseung bent forward, sweat soaking through a dark training tee, fingers curled over a steering simulator.
His profile was partly visible, bandage still over the side of his neck, his jaw clenched, dark hair longer than it had been in the hospital.
He looked thin and tired. But he looked alive.
You stared at the photo for longer than you should have. Then, against your better judgment, you hit the follow button.
You didn’t expect it to change anything. You didn’t expect him to see it, even, his feed was full of likes and mentions from fans all over the world, probably flooded every minute.
But something about it made you feel closer. Like you’d walked into a corner of his life no one had given you permission to touch.
Like you were choosing to see him now, not as your patient, not as a body in bandages, but as someone aching to be more than that.
You still didn’t see him in ‘real life’, but you started noticing the gap he left in your day.
The way your shift felt a little quieter without his voice drifting out of his VIP room.
How your eyes scanned the hallway out of habit, expecting his lanky frame to come sauntering around the corner with a sarcastic comment ready. How the call button in his old room remained untouched, almost dusty with disuse.
You didn’t let yourself think about it too much. You had other patients. You had other wounds to clean, other charts to fill.
You had boys younger than Riki who didn’t know what comfort felt like, who cried into your sleeves when no one else was looking.
But late at night, when you walked home in silence, something in you still flickered with that unfinished sentence. With that look in his eyes the last time you left his room.
🏁.
Saturdays weren’t yours to work, but the fire from three nights ago had overflowed the ER.
Nurses had been calling out, supplies were low, and patients kept pouring in with second-degree burns and smoke in their lungs, soot in their hair and soot in their blood.
You hadn’t had lunch. You barely remembered what you’d eaten for breakfast.
Your scrubs were wrinkled, your badge strap sticky with someone’s dried medication, your shoes creaked wet from a mop bucket you stepped in by accident. All you wanted was to go home, shower, and sleep for fourteen uninterrupted hours.
So when you stepped out the side exit, your usual escape route to avoid the busier front doors, and found a sleek, glimmering black car parked right in the middle of the access road, you groaned out loud.
“The hell…” you muttered under your breath, narrowing your eyes.
You looked around first, no security in sight and no staff nearby.
The car was expensive, way too shiny to belong to a low waged doctor, but the way it was angled made your jaw clench.
Right in the path of emergency lanes. If an ambulance pulled in, it would have to slow down, stop before it hit it and possibly lose a life.
You stepped toward the driver’s side window without hesitation, rapping your knuckles against the glass firmly.
You didn’t expect it to roll down that fast. And you definitely didn’t expect him.
Heeseung turned toward you slowly, lips twitching up into the smallest smile, his eyes scanning you like you were a familiar song playing again for the first time in weeks.
He had a hat on, but he pulled it off the second he saw your face. His skin had lost the swollen, raw shine, there were still scars on his jawline and neck, but they were faded now, pinked and healing.
“Hi,” he said quietly.
You just blinked, hands mid-air, paused knock on the window. “What— what are you doing here?” you asked.
“I was waiting for you,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Your shift ended half an hour ago.”
“I stayed behind because the trauma and burning bay was still full.” You explained, brows furrowed.
“Yeah, I heard about the fire.” His brows dipped a little. “I figured you wouldn’t leave on time.”
You glanced at the car again, then back at him “You’re parked in the middle of the road.”
He shrugged, leaning his elbow against the wheel, lazy and composed and so infuriatingly calm. “You always said I was reckless.”
“That’s not— Heeseung, you can’t park here. What if an ambulance came in?” You nagged.
“Then I would’ve moved.” His smile widened slightly. “I saw you coming out. You were holding your bag like it was about to break.”
You looked down at your satchel, at the way it was sagging from your shoulder, the straps barely stitched. You hadn’t realized he was watching.
“You look exhausted,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you or get in the way. I just… I wanted to talk to you.”
You hesitated, swallowing hard. “You could’ve texted.”
“I don’t have your number.” You paused again, jaw tightening. The handsome fucker was right.
He read the hesitation in your expression because his voice softened when he added, “It’s not anything heavy. I just wanted to see you…. talk. If that’s okay.”
“I should go home,” you said, but your voice didn’t sound as sure as it should have.
“I know,” he replied, tone level. “I’m not trying to trap you. I just… thought maybe you’d want to come for a short drive.”
You opened your mouth to protest again, but he must’ve seen it in your face, that flicker, that tiny weakening you always had with him, because he leaned across the passenger seat and pushed the door open.
The smell of his cologne wafted out faintly, clean and unfamiliar. Not the antiseptic you used to associate with him, but something warmer.
“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “And I’ll drive slow.”
You stood there another heartbeat before sighing heavily and slipping in, dropping your bag between your feet. “You can’t park like that again.” you grumbled, pulling your seatbelt on.
“I won’t,” he said, already shifting the gear. “Unless it gets me your attention.”
The car was too smooth, barely a hum beneath your thighs as he pulled onto the road.
He didn’t take the highway. Instead, he drifted toward the north side of the city, where the buildings thinned and the roads turned narrow and winding.
You didn’t say anything for a while, and the radio was off, creating a not so awkward silence.
The windows cracked just enough for the wind to kiss your temples. Heeseung kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. His fingers tapped to a rhythm only he heard.
You finally asked, “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” he smirked.
The hill was quiet. Just far enough from town that the lights behind you blurred into a string of distant sparks, like stars upside down.
He pulled up to the edge, beside a lookout you vaguely recognized from photos, some popular spot kids used to park and drink or kiss in late at night.
But now it was just the two of you, and the sun was melting behind the skyline, leaving streaks of orange and dusty violet stretching across the horizon.
He killed the engine as you sat still, unsure. He turned to you. “You’ve been following the Ferrari page.”
You flushed before you could stop it, your eyes darting to the glovebox. “You noticed?”
“You think I wouldn’t?” he asked, tilting his head. “Your username has your badge number and Jake asked me if it was you when he saw the notification. He’s the one who runs the profile.”
You cringed. “I misclicked.”
“I like it that you follow it.” He took a breath, shifting to face you slightly. “I wasn’t lying that day. I know I was half gross with hair oily and calling for tissues every five minutes. But I meant what I said.”
You chewed your bottom lip, hands clasped together on your lap.
“I’ve thought about you every damn day,” he said, voice low. “Every burn I cleaned, every stretch I did to move my arm again… it was all with your voice in my head, lecturing me, cussing under your breath, or humming while you changed my dressings.
He chucked softly, “I’m not trying to romanticize what you did— it was your job, I know that. But you were the only part of that room that didn’t feel like pain.”
Your throat tightened. The silence around you pressed against your chest.
“So,” he said, after a moment. “Now that I’m here, and I don’t look like a half-melted wax figure, I’m going to ask again.”
He leaned in a little, not enough to touch you. Just enough to make the air shiver between your knees.
“Would you go out with me?”
You looked at him, really looked at the scars that would never fully fade, at the honesty stretched across his face. At the way his fingers curled and uncurled on his thigh, nervous.
Not Heeseung-the-racer. Not Heeseung-the-patient. Just the man who held you when you broke down and offered you hot chocolate to cheer you up.
“…You’re still kind of a pain in the ass,” you whispered.
He grinned, soft and warm and so stupidly pretty. “I’m hoping you like that about me.”
You rolled your eyes and looked away. But your voice cracked into something almost smiling as you said, “Okay.”
His inhale was slow, asif he didn’t believe you yet.
“Yeah?” he asked, like he needed to hear it again.
You turned back to him and nodded. “Yeah.”
🏁.
You hadn’t meant for it to happen so naturallyx, but the nights at his place started slipping into your week like a warm spring breeze.
He picked you up after long shifts when you didn’t feel like taking the bus, and you’d slip into his fancy car still in your scrubs, smelling faintly of antiseptic and latex gloves, too tired to talk.
And he never asked you to. He just opened the passenger door, let you rest your head against the window, and drove home in silence, music turned low and hand reaching across the console to hold yours.
His mansion, because there was no way around calling it that, wasn’t what you expected.
You thought it’d be filled with trophies and screaming red logos, but it was just neat and quiet.
His bedroom was painted in soft shades of gray and navy, his kitchen smelled like coffee beans and a hint of vanilla, and the couch was so wide you’d often curl up in the corner with a blanket and not move for hours.
You didn’t have the energy for fancy dates or being out in public. You certainly didn’t want to be photographed, you didn’t ant some journalist writing a two-paragraph caption about how Heeseung’s latest girl was just some tired nurse with eyebags and oversized jackets.
And Heeseung never made you feel small for it. Whatever he chose for his life you didn’t have to force yourself to be a part of.
Most nights were spent curled on the sofa, a Netflix movie you barely registered playing in the background.
You would start the evening upright, knees tucked in, a warm drink in your hands, and end it slouched sideways, your cheek against his shoulder, breath even and shallow as sleep claimed you halfway through the plot.
He’d carry you, sometimes. Tuck you in and kiss your forehead lightly. Other nights, you made it to bed on your own, and he would join you an hour later, warm and silent, pressing himself carefully to your back, still stiff because of his healing skin.
He had noticed your pills early on. The first time, you thought you’d been slick about it, hiding them behind your hand as you opened the bottle near the sink.
But he leaned over and asked, “You okay?”
You nodded, embarrassed, trying to swallow them quickly. “Just for digestion, y’know? My stomach gets weird after long shifts. I don’t always… well, can’t always eat right after I see something.”
His expression softened like you’d pressed a hand over his chest. He didn’t say anything right away, he just took the glass from your hand, poured you another, and passed it back silently.
“You don’t have to explain it,” he said quietly. “I get it.”
You weren’t sure he could get it. He didn’t have to hold broken children or stitch the soft skin of dying women, and he didn’t have to stand still while a monitor flatlined.
But he had burned for someone else. He’d jumped in front of a car going too fast to stop, taken the brunt of it, let himself be crushed and concussed to save a boy who wasn’t ready to die.
So maybe he did understand.
When you came over one Saturday morning, he was more animated than usual.
He was wearing a dark sweater and cargo pants, with hair half-damp from a shower, and his bandage finally gone from his wrist, his body almost healed.
He still couldn’t grip with his right hand properly. He said the nerves were healing slowly, but he’d been trying.
“C’mere,” he grinned, reaching for your bag to drop it by the entrance. “I want to show you something.”
You blinked at him, one eyebrow rising. “Show me what?”
“Just come.” He tugged at your hand and pulled you toward the garage.
You hadn’t really stepped inside the main garage before. The house had two: one for his daily cars, and the other for, well, whatever this was. The second he flipped the lights on, you saw it.
His car. That car.
The one that had been twisted into fire and pain months ago. The one you’d seen on the news, reduced to smoldering steel.
Now it sat before you, with a brand new frame, the same number, and the same paint job, the shine of it almost surreal under the ceiling lights.
“You got it back,” you murmured.
“I got her back, my Scarlet.” he said, voice soft with affection. “It’s not exactly the same frame, and we’ve upgraded a few things. But… yeah. She’s mine again.”
You walked slowly around it, trailing your fingers just barely along the side. “And you’ll drive again.”
“As soon as they let me.”
“And your hand?” He held it up, flexing it in the air. “Still annoying as hell. But I’ve been cooperating with the exercises.”
You smiled, turning to him. “That’s a first.”
He grinned, full of boyish pride. Then he nodded toward the other side of the garage. “There’s someone else I want you to meet officially.”
You followed him without question.
Jake was waiting near the workbench, hands shoved in his pockets, his hair tied back with a cap. He looked better than the last time you’d seen him in a panic outside the hospital room, pacing the hall and begging for updates.
“Jake,” Heeseung said, his voice low but proud, “this is Y/N.”
Jake smiled and extended his hand. “You’re the nurse who yelled at the three others for pampering him with pudding.”
You laughed as you shook it. “They were fangirling and he was still high on morphine. Someone had to keep his ego in check.”
Heeseung groaned behind you. “You’re never going to let that go.”
“Not a chance.”
Jake grinned even wider. “I like her.”
“She’s not just my nurse anymore,” Heeseung said quietly, and when you glanced back at him, he was looking straight at you. “She’s my girl now.”
The words shouldn’t have knocked the air out of your chest the way they did. You weren’t sixteen anymore, you’d had men call you worse and sweeter things in the heat of a moment, but this— this was soft and real.
You didn’t say anything right away. Just smiled, nodded a thank you to Jake, and let Heeseung lead you upstairs again, through the back hallway.
When the door to the garage closed behind you and the silence settled again, you reached for him before he could say anything else.
you pressed your hands to his cheeks gently, careful of the last faint scar that still lingered along the side of his jaw, and kissed him.
He stilled at first, stunned. Then he leaned in, warm and steady, one hand sliding to your hip, the other brushing the back of your neck.
It was the kind of kiss that made time pause. With no rush, no fire behind your teeth. Just slow, deep breaths and the rhythm of his lips against yours, like he’d been waiting too long to ask again.
When you pulled away, you stayed close, your forehead resting against his.
“You are a wonderful person, Lee Heeseung.” You breathed out.
“You make me better.” He murmured.
You smiled, kissed the tip of his nose, and said, “No, that’s all you.”
➜ summary: you just moved into a new building, right across from three loud guys. two said sorry and the third couldn’t care less.
pairing: pshx f!reader,wc: 14k words , genre: enemies to lovers ish, neighbor!au, fluff, romcom w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing
The elevator doors swung open, and soon you stepped out into the third floor hallway. You looked like you were moving in, which in your defense…you were. The oversized hoodie slipping off one shoulder, arms hugging a stack of takeout containers and a cactus you had that had pricked you far too many times, but that didn’t matter. You were finally on your own.
Unit 3B. That was you now.
Your keys jingled in your palm as you found the door, nudged it open with one knee, and stepped into the apartment you’d stared at for months on rental listings. It wasn’t huge, but it had a little kitchen with enough space for your mum’s rice cooker, and a balcony that caught the sun in the morning. You spun around in the centre of the room, grinning, almost knocking the cactus you had just placed on the counter in the process.
And by nightfall, the place felt like yours. Your fairy lights were strung up across your living room. Your fridge held exactly a bottle of soda, some tuna you had eaten an hour ago and a bag of unwashed grapes. You lit a vanilla candle, the one your best friend, Jungwon, made you promise to use so you'd remember him… even while being so far apart. But Jungwon hated travelling, so in his mind, you'd basically moved to another continent.
Jungwon dramatically declared, “You’re practically moving to another country.”
“Jungwon, I’m literally a two-hour train ride away.”
“That’s basically Europe.”
You rolled your eyes at the memory, smiling to yourself.
Still, you were glad you’d made the decision to move. Three years ahead of you… of being on your own, of learning to be independent, part-time jobs, and what you hoped…a future incoming relationship. It should be easy. It should be peaceful. It should be—
“DUDE!!!”
A scream ripped through your wall.
It came from the wall to your right, a thin wall nudged between you and your neighbours. You could hear celebrations. A voice shouted, “THAT WAS INSANE!” followed by a loud thump like someone had jumped off the sofa.
You tried ignoring it at first, burying yourself under the blanket like it could block out noise. But 20 minutes in, another screamed “HE’S OFFSIDE, YOU DUMB—” loud enough to rattle the walls, you snapped.
You threw on your hoodie, jammed your feet into slippers, and marched out the front door like you were storming a battlefield. The hallway was dim and quiet, except for the muffled party behind door 3C. You knocked, hard, but polite.
The door creaked open mid-laughter, revealing three guys mid-snack, mid-game.
“Hi,” you said, tight smile. “Sorry to bother you, but… would you mind keeping it down a little? I’ve got a test tomorrow and it’s kinda hard to focus with all the screaming.”
The one with fluffy hair, cute little eyes, nodded immediately. “Shit. Sorry, sorry. Totally our bad.”
Another one, long lashes and a goofy smile, actually winced. “Didn’t realise it was that loud. We’ll keep it down, promise.”
“Are you new here?” the first one asked.
You nodded. “I just moved in today, actually.”
“Oh shit. Mrs Kim moved out?”
“Damn, we’re not getting her kimchi anymore, that’s for sure.”
“We gotta eat those store-bought ones that taste like ass.”
The second boy looked at you again, more focused this time. “Oh right! I’m Jake! It’s great to meet you! I’m sorry it happened under… unfortunate circumstances. But we’ll be quieter!”
“I’m Jay, by the way,” the first one added with a small grin, pushing his hair back.
You nodded, smiling slightly. At least they were nice about it. Well, two out of three, anyway.
You glanced past both of them, eyes landing on the third boy slouched on the couch, still holding the controller, gaze fixed on the paused screen like you weren’t even there. His jaw clenched once. No name. No hello. Just a subtle, annoyed glance in your direction before he looked away again.
Cool. So he hates you. That’s cool with you.
The third guy didn’t say anything. Just glanced at you once, then turned back toward the TV.
“Uh, thanks,” you said, lips tight, already backing away.
You returned to your apartment and for a blessed thirty minutes, it was quiet.
Then someone scored a goal and the wall shook again.
You blinked slowly at your ceiling, arms folded under your head like the weight of your patience was finally starting to crush your ribs. Okay. So that’s how it was going to be. You frowned.
And that was literally… how war started.
The next morning, fuelled by petty vengeance and two hours of sleep, you grabbed your pastel pink sticky notes and wrote:
“Dear 3C, I’ve played FIFA before. It is not that damn fun for you to be out here screaming. Please tone it down. Regards, the zombie in 3B.”
You slapped it on their door. Nothing changed.
And the next day:
“Dear 3C, I can’t sleep. Kindly shut up <3 With love, the girl one more sleepless night away from writing to the landlord. 3B.”
You half expected them to ignore it. Instead, you found your note missing by mid-afternoon. Gone.
For a moment, you felt powerful. Maybe they’d actually listened.
Then 8:43 p.m. hit and someone in 3C scored a goal so loud you swore the bass from their TV made your candle flicker.
Alright. So it was personal now.
You stormed over to their door again, hands on your hips.. It wasn’t that late. You weren’t unreasonable. You believed in joy. In freedom. But right now? Rage was the only thing pumping through your system.
You shuffled down the hall with your bunny slippers slapping against the floor, hair in a claw clip that was giving up. You looked deranged. And for the first time, you were fine with that. You banged on their door.
The door cracked open a second later, revealing Jake blinking like a deer in headlights. His hair was messy. He looked mildly afraid.
“Were… we being loud again?”
You stared at him, deadpan. “Ya think?”
Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. I’m so sorry. It’s Sunghoon. He keeps saying it’s not that loud and we were mid-tournament and—”
“Tell Sunghoon that his ego’s not the only thing echoing through these walls,” you snapped, arms crossed. “Some of us are trying to study.”
Behind Jake, you heard a familiar scoff followed by a smug voice yelling, “God, she’s so annoying. We were literally whispering.”
You leaned to the side, locking eyes with the third boy slouched on the couch, controller in hand, feet on the coffee table like the world owed him something. He didn’t even pause the game this time.
You didn’t know what it was about his stupidly symmetrical face but your blood boiled.
“Tell this Sunghoon guy…his whispering sounds like a screeching cat,” you said flatly, before spinning on your heel and marching back toward your door when you heard his aggravating voice.
“Tell her she’s overreacting over a couple of friends simply trying to have fun,” Sunghoon fired back from the couch, not even raising his voice.
You turned your head just enough to glare over your shoulder. “Well, tell him, his shirt doesn’t match his fucking pants.”
Jake looked helpless, standing between you both like a middle child caught in a divorce.
And then, with that same bored tone, Sunghoon called out again, “Well, tell her… those slippers are the best thing she’s worn all week.”
You stopped.
Jake sucked in a breath.
You slowly turned, eyes narrowing. “Tell him he wouldn’t know good fashion if it came with a user manual and punched him in his freaking face.”
Sunghoon finally glanced away from the TV, meeting your eyes for the first time that night. His lips curved into the most irritating half-smile you’d ever seen.
“Tell her–”
Jake stepped in between again, hands raised. “Okay! Okay. We’re gonna turn the volume down. Like, way down. Like you can’t even hear us tiptoe. Right, Sunghoon?”
Sunghoon leaned back against the couch and shrugged. “Whatever. I’m not the one annoying my neighbors at 9pm on a Friday night. Get some friends.”
You slammed your door shut.
War was back on.
-
The next morning, your plan was simple. A little petty, sure, but necessary.
You stood outside their door in your pyjamas, holding a fresh pack of neon yellow Post-its since your previous ones were used up by the ongoing Post-It war.The hallway was empty. Your bunny slippers made no sound as you padded up to 3C and stuck the first one of the week dead-centre on the door.
“Dear 3C, just a gentle reminder that FIFA will not feed you, clothe you, or give you money. Kindly shut up. PLEASE. Warmest regards, 3B.”
You smiled to yourself and floated back to your apartment.
That night? For the first time…? Silence. Beautiful, blissful silence. You actually managed to revise two chapters and fall asleep before midnight. You woke up in the morning feeling like a changed woman.
But then you opened your front door.
There, taped neatly to your door, was a blue sticky note with surprisingly neat handwriting.
“Dear 3B, you sound like you narrate your life out loud. – 3C.”
Your jaw dropped.
“Narrate your life out loud?” you muttered. “That’s literally called thinking.”
You marched back into your apartment, flung open your stationery drawer.
“Dear 3C, apologies if my internal monologue disrupted your daily FIFA championship. I only talk to myself because your volume settings make it impossible to hear my own thoughts. With all due respect (and ear damage), 3B."
That afternoon, Jay knocked on your door. You hesitated, then opened it a crack. He was holding a bag of convenience store pancakes in one hand.
“Peace offering,” he said. “Also, I think your notes are hilarious. Jake’s been collecting them. I think he’s making a scrapbook.”
You blinked. “Is this a joke or something?”
Jay shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe. “No! Honestly, it’s kinda refreshing.”
Jake popped his head in from behind, grinning. “Also, your handwriting’s really neat.”
You opened the door a little wider, cautious then shrugged. “You want some… uh… spaghetti? I made it this morning.”
“Spaghetti?” Jay tilted his head.
You nodded. “Yeah. I usually experiment with food. I’m…uh…in culinary school.”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Wait, so you’re like… a chef?”
“Trying to be.,” you said with a shrug, suddenly a little self-conscious.
They exchanged a quick look before barging in like you'd personally handed them invites at the door.
“That’s so cool,” Jake said, practically bouncing as he flopped onto your beanbag. “I burnt instant noodles last week. Twice.”
Jay wandered deeper into your living room, his gaze landing on the dusty old guitar leaning against your bookshelf. “Dude, check it out! She plays the guitar.”
You rubbed the back of your neck, awkward. “It’s just for fun. I’m not that good.”
“I’m sure you’re great,” Jake said, already chewing through a mouthful of spaghetti he’d somehow found, and served himself in a bowl you didn’t remember offering.
You blinked at him. “Did you just—?”
“Plate was right there,” he said through a mouthful. “I took it as a sign.”
Jay nodded solemnly. “She feeds us and plays guitar. She’s better than Mrs. Kim already.”
You sighed and closed the door behind them. “I’m starting to think Mrs. Kim left because of the three of you.”
In between bites, Jake nodded without hesitation. “I think so too.”
“We can be loud,” Jay added, helping himself to another serving.
“Have you thought of… not being loud?”
“We do,” Jay said. “But then we get loud again.”
You rolled your eyes. “Guys, some of us have school and—”
“We have school too,” Jake chimed in, mouth full.
“Okay… some of us care about sleep.”
Jay perked up. “That’s why we got you this.”
He dug into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a tiny box, dropping it into your hands.
You squinted at it. “What’s this?”
“They’re sleep buds,” he said proudly. “They go in your ears and play white noise and, like… ocean sounds or something. Blocks everything out. Even us.”
You stared at the box, then at them.
“Instead of compromising, you got me gear?”
Jake grinned. “Yeah. We like you. We want you to be able to sleep… through us.”
Jay gave you a thumbs-up. “It’s called adaptation.”
You looked down at the sleep buds in your hands and then back up at the two of them absolutely inhaling your spaghetti like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.
You didn’t know whether to kick them out or thank them.
So you just sighed, defeated. “You guys are the weirdest neighbours I’ve ever had.”
Jake beamed. “Aww. You’re the weirdest too.”
And somehow… the next day… they were back.
You opened the door mid-knock, confused, only to find Jay grinning at you.
“What’s for lunch today, boss?” he asked, already halfway through the doorway.
You blinked. “How’d you know I made something?”
“We could smell it,” Jake said, stepping in right behind him, holding up a comically large spoon. “Smells so good. Brought my big spoon today. Came prepared.”
“Uh… I made chowder?”
Jake’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god, I love chowder.”
Jay had already plopped onto the floor cushion, flipping through your Spotify like he owned your iPad. “What kind? Clam? Corn? Pumpkin? Wait… do people put pumpkin in chowder?”
You stared at them, ladle in hand.
“Corn,” you muttered, shuffling back into the kitchen.
Then the day after that… they came again. At this point, it felt less like a surprise and more like a recurring appointment.
“No fucking way. Kimchi stew? This shit is so good!. Jay, you need to try the beef. It’s so soft. How— how’d you get it so soft? Is this like one of those expensive beef? Wakoo?”
“It’s Wagyu, Jake.” You corrected.
“Wagyu~” He sang.
Jay, already mid-bite, nodded with a full mouth. “Can I havefth thefth reshepee?”
You wiped your hands on a dish towel, leaning against the counter with one brow raised. “Do you guys ever eat in your own apartment?”
Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Not when you cook like this.”
Jay pointed his chopsticks at you like he was making a closing argument in court. “This is technically your fault. You fed us once. That’s basically a binding contract. We’re best friends now. Aren’t we, Jake?”
Jake nodded, mouth full. “Mhmff. Whatever he said.”
You sighed, setting your elbow on the table and dropping your chin into your hand. “If you’re gonna keep doing this, at least wash the dishes after.”
Jake saluted you with his spoon like you were the captain of a very tiny, soup-based army. “Yes, chef.”
You looked at the two of them, one already on his third helping, the other stealing more beef straight from the pot, and shook your head.
This wasn’t how your independent, put-together, college life was supposed to go. You were meant to be focused. The mysterious girl on the third floor who only ever came out for groceries and exams.
But maybe… with the two of them barging in uninvited, eating like they hadn’t seen food in years, and treating your living room like it was theirs…
Maybe you wouldn’t feel so lonely after all.
-
It was 9 p.m. Strangely quiet.
Usually, by now, there’d be at least one goal celebration shaking the walls or someone shouting about a missed penalty. But tonight? Nothing. You didn’t let it bother you. You took it as a win.
The balcony door slid open with a soft scrape. You stepped out into the cool night, cradling your little scissors and spray bottle like sacred tools. Your succulents were arranged in a neat line. A few leaves had started to curl. You knelt down, snipping the dead ends carefully.
You should’ve felt peaceful.
But tonight, something tugged at your chest.
You missed Jungwon. You missed your mom’s mismatched cutlery and the way your dad always forgot he’d already asked about your grades. Maybe even your pet fish, the one that never did much except float around looking confused.
Jay and Jake were friendly, sure. But they weren’t yours. They weren’t part of your before. They didn’t know the town you came from or the versions of you that existed before now.
And even though you thought you’d settled in... even though you were coping...you were lonely.
Without meaning to, you started speaking out loud — just like you always did.
“It’s fine. You’ll do better tomorrow. Tomorrow you won’t feel as lonely,” you said softly as you misted the leaves. “You’ll be stronger. You’re gonna get used to this. You can do it.”
But the lie caught in your throat.
Because you were crying already.
You wiped your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie, frustrated, betrayed by your own body. You reached for your phone without thinking and hit the contact you swore you wouldn’t keep calling every time you got overwhelmed.
Jungwon answered on the first ring.
“What’s up?” he asked, casual as ever.
“Won…” you breathed out.
There was a pause. Then: “Are you crying?”
“No?”
“I can hear you sniffling, you shit.”
“It’s just—” your voice cracked. “It’s hard. I’m alone all the time. I’ve got no friends. I’ve got no one to talk to. I’m alone, Won.”
“I know,” he said gently. “I know…”
There was a pause. You could hear him shifting in bed, his voice soft and serious now. “But think about it this way, okay? You’re barely in your first month. You’re gonna get used to it. You’re gonna find people. You’re gonna build something here. It just takes time.”
You bit your lip. “You’ll visit if you can, right?”
“I’ll visit,” he promised. “Even if it takes two bloody hours.”
“But you hate traveling.”
“For you, I’d suffer.”
You sniffled. “You’re just saying that so I’ll hang up.”
“You’re right because I’m exhausted from basketball. But also… I love you.”
“Fine,” you mumbled. “I love you too.”
“Chin up. You’re talented and you deserve to be there. You can do this. We’re all counting on you.”
“I know.” You exhaled slowly. “Goodnight, Wonnie.”
“Night.”
You ended the call and sat in silence for a moment, letting the cool night air settle on your skin. The tears had stopped. Your hands still smelled like mint and basil and the faint sweetness of the spray bottle. You stared at your succulents, wondering if they ever got lonely too.
Unbeknownst to you, just a few feet away, out on the connected balcony, hidden by the divider, someone had heard everything.
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d stepped out earlier, just needing air, needing quiet, needing to be somewhere still for once. And then he’d heard your voice. The words that were not meant for anyone else.
And for the first time, Sunghoon didn’t roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment.
He just stood there in the dark, one hand gripping the railing, heart a little heavier than before.
He understood more than you thought.
And somewhere between your tears and Jungwon’s voice, he changed his mind about you.
-
The next few days, there was absolute silence. Maybe the food had finally worked some psychological warfare on Jay and Jake. Maybe it was their way of returning the favour. Either way, you weren’t about to question it.
You were grateful, to say the least.
Because for the past week, you’d been moping around your apartment. Living alone and striking out as an “independent bachelorette” sounded empowering in theory, but in practice? Maybe you weren’t one of those girlies after all…y’know the ones on Instagram who made solitude look like a season of self-discovery instead of a series of breakdowns.
It was Saturday. You’d spent the entire morning in bed watching a Netflix documentary about some guy swindling people on Tinder, surrounded by crumpled tissue and scented candle smoke that had long turned suffocating. You were still in yesterday’s hoodie, blanket tangled around your legs.
Three knocks echoed at the door.
You lifted your head from the pillow with a groan, barely alive. The sound came again.
Dragging yourself across the living room, you cracked the door open just a sliver, just wide enough to peek through but not enough to reveal the disaster that was your face, your hair, or your pride.
“Uh.” The voice was hesitant. Familiar.
You squinted.
Sunghoon.
You blinked. “What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice hoarse from crying and a full night of narrating your own spiral.
“There was a mix-up with the mail,” he said, holding up a small stack of envelopes.
“Oh.” You extended your arm awkwardly through the tiny gap in the door and grabbed the letters. “Thanks.”
There was a pause, “I can see your puffy eyes through the gap.”
You scoffed, immediately pulling the door closer. “You just have to be a smartass about everything, don’t you?”
He shrugged, completely unbothered, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Still standing there.
“…Are Jake and Jay home?” you asked, trying to sound casual.
His expression twitched, almost amused. “Why? Trying to steal my best friends again or—”
“No,” you deadpanned. “I was just wondering. It’s been… quiet this whole week.”
“They went home to visit their families.”
Oh. Right. Come to think of it, maybe that explained why everything felt extra heavy lately. It was the time of year people usually went home. People surrounded themselves with comfort and familiarity. And here you were, stuck in the city because the train ticket home was just slightly out of budget.
“You didn’t go?” you asked softly.
“Can’t,” he shrugged.
“Oh.”
There was a beat of silence. Then he tilted his head.
“Well,” Sunghoon said slowly, “if you ever need someone to emotionally rejuvenate you by pointing out your hair looks like a rat’s nest, you know where to find me.”
The words came with the usual venom but the message behind them landed differently.
You stared at him through the gap in the door. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to be funny, or… sincere, in his own weird, backhanded way. It was strange. You’d only had three full conversations with the guy. And every single one ended in a WWE tournament.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Are you… being nice to me?”
He clicked his tongue. “Don’t ruin it.”
And with that, he turned and walked back.
-
You finally got up.
There was no movie-worthy breakthrough moment. Just the dull ache in your head from crying too much and the feeling that if you shed one more tear, your eyeballs might actually eject themselves from their sockets. So you moved. You stripped your bed, tossed the mountain of tissues into a trash bag, sprayed half a bottle of disinfectant in the air, and opened every window.
Your apartment looked like it had survived an apocalypse, which, to be fair, was accurate. But you scrubbed it back to life.
By the time you were in the kitchen, your eyes were still a little swollen, but you’d pressed them with cool spoons and a sad little compress until you could see straight again. Kind of.
You pulled out ingredients from your fridge one by one, lining them up like you were preparing for war. Slicing, boiling, julienning, stir-frying. The sound of the pan crackling beneath the glass noodles filled the silence of your apartment. It smelled exactly like it did when your mom used to make it.
You plated it in a wide, shallow bowl. It was delicious. Of course it was. You took pride in it. You always had. Jungwon used to tease you, calling your hands “blessed by Gordon Ramsay” like everything you touched turned into comfort food. You’d swat his arm, trying not to smile as he reached for second helpings before you’d even sat down.
You missed him. You missed your family. You missed not having to eat alone on a day like this.
Your eyes drifted to the door.
Would it be stupid? To bring food to Sunghoon? You’d never really done anything kind for him. Most of your interactions were lined with sarcasm and insults. And yet… that one line of his kept replaying in your head, “If you ever need someone to emotionally rejuvenate you by pointing out your hair looks like a rat’s nest, you know where to find me.”
So maybe…maybe he meant it. Or maybe you were just desperate for company and your noodles were starting to get cold.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you packed the noodles into a clean container, wrapped a rubber band around it, and found yourself standing in front of 3C. Your feet had walked you here without permission. Your hand hovered in the air, ready to knock, but now… you hesitated. You weren’t here to complain. You weren’t here to yell. And that made it harder.
And just before your knuckles could land on the door, it swung open.
Sunghoon stood in front of you, coat already on, scarf looped lazily around his neck. There was a little shine to his hair like he’d styled it, and he looked surprised, mildly confused to find you on his doorstep without any anger evident in your eyes.
“What?” he said, voice dry.
You blinked, staring at him. You’d never really looked at him properly before. Not when he was this put-together. The gel in his hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his scarf sat slightly off-center like he’d thrown it on in a rush. You knew he was attractive. You weren’t blind. But seeing him now?
Sunghoon was actually… pretty handsome.
“I—uh—” you stammered.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Spit it out.”
“I—uh—I made some… stir-fried glass noodles,” you said, stumbling over every syllable. “And I know how much it sucks being alone on a day like this, so I thought… maybe it’d bring you some kind of familiarity. From home, or something.”
You didn’t let yourself overthink it. You shoved the container into his hands, heart pounding.
“Bye,” you mumbled, before immediately turning around and marching back to your apartment like you’d just robbed a bank. The door clicked shut behind you.
You pressed your back to it, eyes wide.
Shit.
Was Sunghoon actually hot?
-
Sunghoon stood in the hallway, unmoving. The container in his hands was warm and he stared down at it for a couple of seconds longer than he probably should’ve.
Jake and Jay had been raving about your cooking for weeks. At first, he thought they were exaggerating. How good could someone’s food be that it made two of the loudest people he knew voluntarily whisper through a FIFA match?
But he’d seen it with his own eyes, Jake silently fist-pumping the air, mouthing “LET’S FUCKING GO” after a goal, and Jay barely reacting as he scored. They even created a rule: first one to speak puts a dollar in the Silence Jar. A literal jar. With money.
Sunghoon didn’t get it.
And he didn’t particularly care to. Not then.
But now, standing in the hallway in his coat and scarf, staring at the gift you shoved into his hands with flushed cheeks, something felt different.
He had been on his way out, actually. There was a bar nearby, nothing special, just a dim-lit spot with quiet music and decent food where no one bothered him. He usually went there whenever Jay and Jake went back home, like they did this time every year. It wasn’t that he didn’t have family—he did. It just wasn’t… warm. They were always busy. Always somewhere else, even when they were in the same room.
He peeled off his scarf, feet dragging a little as he headed back into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. He set the container on the kitchen counter, grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer, and opened the lid.
Steam wafted up instantly, sesame oil, soy sauce, garlic, something subtly sweet he couldn’t name. The noodles glistened. They looked homemade. No, they felt homemade.
He picked up a strand and gave it a tentative taste.
His eyes widened before he could even help it.
It was good. Like stupid good. Like how the hell is this girl not running her own restaurant kind of good. Better than anything he would’ve paid for at that bar tonight.
He stood there in silence, chopsticks hovering mid-air, thinking back.
He wasn’t proud of how he’d treated you. Three encounters, three arguments. He remembered each one too clearly. The snark in his voice. The way your expression hardened. The notes on the door.
But it wasn’t really about you.
He hated being called out. Hated being the problem. Maybe it was ego, or maybe it was the way he’d always felt like he had to be put-together or to say the least…controlled. Your presence threw him off. You were loud in a way that was sincere. You didn’t filter your emotions. You wore your annoyance on your sleeve and your feelings on your face.
It irritated him. It also… made him feel something.
And then there was that night on the balcony.
He hadn’t meant to listen. But when he heard your voice cracking through the divider, talking to someone…maybe it was your boyfriend? Your best friend? Whoever it was about how lonely you were, it hit him harder than it should’ve.
Because he got it.
He felt it too.
Being alone in a crowd. Having people around but never really with you. That weight in your chest that didn’t come from sadness exactly…just the absence of warmth.
Sunghoon felt it more often than he cared to admit. He loved Jake and Jay, loved them to pieces. They were the kind of people who filled a room with noise and an energy he couldn’t really place and who made him laugh even when he didn’t want to.
He wanted something more. Something real.
Someone who just… saw him.
He sat at his kitchen counter, staring at the container of glass noodles still warm with steam curling from the lid. He wasn’t usually impulsive. He didn’t do gestures. But maybe tonight called for something a little uncharacteristic.
He stood and reached up, opening the top cupboard where Jake and Jay kept what they called their “emergency date plates.”. The kind of plates you used to impress someone. They only ever brought them out when trying to convince girls they were not, in fact, living in a borderline condemned apartment flat.
He grabbed two.
And then, before he could second guess it, he walked out into the hallway and knocked.
Your door creaked open a few seconds later.
You blinked at him, confused. “What?”
It almost felt like deja vu. Except now, he was you…awkward at the door.
And then it hit him.
He looked at you…like, really looked at you, and for the first time, he realised he’d never actually seen you before.
You were wearing a soft pink sleeveless dress, the fabric loose and falling just above your knees, cinched slightly at the waist. Your hair was tied into a side braid, fringe swept slightly to the side, with a few delicate strands left loose to frame your face. You looked like you belonged in a pastel painting.
Shit.
Were you actually—pretty?
Nope. Nope. Stop that. Sunghoon blinked hard, trying to erase the thought.
Damn it.
You probably had a boyfriend. Someone smart and warm and emotionally available who FaceTimed you every night and wrote you good morning texts. Someone who missed you from back home.
And besides…someone who could cook like you? You could probably bag Jake and Jay at the same time in under a minute if you wanted. Not that you would. But still.
He cleared his throat.
“I, uh…” He held up the plates slightly. “I thought maybe… you could join me?”
He wasn’t good at this. But his voice was steady.
“Only if you want to,” he added, quickly. “I just figured. Y’know. Glass noodles taste better on… plates that aren’t plastic.”
His eyes met yours.
He was trying.
And this time, it was your turn to blink in disbelief.
-
Sunghoon had returned with the container of glass noodles, now a little colder, a little stickier, but still giving off the faint aroma of sesame oil and soy sauce. You’d reheated it and plated it up, slightly embarrassed that the presentation wasn’t what it had been fresh off the stove, but he didn’t seem to care. Or maybe he did, but you couldn’t tell, because for the first five minutes, you didn’t look at each other.
The clink of chopsticks, the occasional scrape of ceramic, and your ceiling fan. It was awkward. You wondered why he even came. Why he asked in the first place, if he was just going to eat in silence.
“So,” you said.
“So,” he said.
You paused.
“You first.”
“No, you—”
“Okay, I’ll go first,” he said, cutting himself off. He cleared his throat and set his chopsticks down. “I—uh—I just wanted to say thanks. For the meal.”
You blinked. “Okay.” You nodded slowly. “You’re… shockingly formal when you’re not pissed.”
“I—” Sunghoon let out a breath and leaned back a little in the chair. “I was never pissed.”
“Mhm,” you hummed, nodding, eyes narrowed. “Sure.”
“I was annoyed, sure. Who likes being called out?”
“I wasn’t trying to call you out,” you said, tilting your head. “But put yourself in my shoes. I have to wake up at stupid o’clock to learn how to make a soufflé or whatever, and meanwhile, I’m treated to surround sound yelling and the occasional ceiling vibration.”
He gave a small shrug. “Well, we haven’t done it in a while.”
“And I’m grateful,” you replied, lips twitching. “Truly.”
“We got a silence jar and everything,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t want to admit it.
Your eyebrows shot up. “A silence jar?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Jay implemented it. He said if we keep it up, we’ll have enough for extra toppings on our next pizza night.”
You burst into laughter, the sound surprising even yourself. It came out light and real, and you covered your mouth halfway through. “That’s… honestly? A decent plan.”
“It can be,” he said with a grin starting to pull at the corner of his mouth. “Until everyone starts trying to play FIFA like it’s an ASMR video.”
“You guys actually whisper?” you asked, incredulous.
“Well, yeah. You told us to.”
“I didn’t think you would listen,” you said, pointing your chopsticks at him.
Sunghoon shrugged again, his eyes dropping to the plate in front of him. “Well… they changed my mind, so.”
He didn’t say what he was really thinking.
That it wasn’t Jake or Jay who changed his mind. It was that night. The way your voice had carried through the gap in the balcony, fragile and cracking. The way you’d said I’m alone, Won like it was something that had been sitting inside you for too long, waiting to spill. He’d realised then maybe he wasn’t just an annoying neighbour to you. Maybe he was part of the problem. Maybe he’d been making things harder for someone who was already trying to hold it all together.
“So…” he said quietly, eyes on his plate, “why are you alone during the holidays anyway?”
“Couldn’t afford a train ticket,” you said eventually. “I mean—I could have, technically. But that’d mean I wouldn’t have enough money left to buy ingredients for my assignments the next few weeks.”
Sunghoon winced. “Oof. That’s rough. Must suck.”
You gave a little shrug. “Yeah. It’s fine though.”
He knew it wasn’t.
There was a pause. He glanced sideways at you.
“If you ever… feel like you need someone to talk to,” he started, voice casual, “you could just knock. I have FIFA.”
You snorted. “Oh, like I’d willingly join that mess.”
“It’s actually really fun.”
“How fun can flinging a ball across a screen with your thumbs be?”
“It is!” he defended, turning fully toward you.
You raised a brow. “I tried once with my friend and it was so boring.”
“That’s ‘cause you weren’t playing it right,” he insisted, already standing up. “Come on. I’ll show you.”
“I’m not playing FIFA with you.”
“Come onnn,” he whined, grabbing your wrist and tugging you lightly toward his door.
“God, this is gonna be so stupid,” you muttered, dragging your feet even as you followed him out.
Inside his apartment, the lights were warm, the couch sunken in like it had been through a war. You sat reluctantly, tucking your knees up as he handed you the controller.
“Alright,” he said, sliding in beside you. “This is you—Team Two. All you have to do is use the left joystick to move, the right one to look around. This button to pass, this one to shoot.”
You blinked. “So many buttons.”
“It’s easy! Just follow what I say.”
“Okay… so now I just—?” You pressed a button and immediately kicked the ball out of bounds.
“No, no—move left. Left.”
“I am moving left!”
He glanced over. Your tongue was sticking out slightly in concentration, eyes squinted, brows furrowed. He chuckled before he could stop himself, quickly looking away.
Then you screamed, “I DID IT! DID I DO IT?!”
He turned back just in time to see you score.
Sunghoon yelled, jumping up. “Yeah! That was it!”
You stared at the screen, jaw dropping. “Holy shit. I’m amazing.”
He looked at you again, this time longer. Your eyes were glowing, still locked on the TV. Your fingers tapped at the buttons like you already got it down. You bit your lip when you were focused, tongue sticking out just slightly when you were thinking.
And you were cute. So fucking cute.
The match picked up pace. Suddenly it was 2–2, and both of you were leaning in like your lives depended on it. You were yelling at the controller. He was shouting advice. At one point, your knees knocked, but neither of you noticed. The room was loud, just your voices and the music from the game and the way your laughter filled every corner of his flat.
Then it happened.
You scored.
You screamed, controller tossed onto the couch, and before Sunghoon could register what was happening, your arms were around his neck, squeezing him tight as you jumped slightly in place.
“I WON! DID YOU SEE THAT?!”
He froze. Your cheek brushed his jaw, your warmth right up against him. His hands hovered midair like he didn’t know whether to hold you back or not.
And then you let go, plopped back onto the couch, and grabbed the controller again like nothing had happened.
Sunghoon didn’t move.
For the first time in what felt like forever, his heartbeat stuttered. Sped up like it had been woken from a long, indifferent sleep.
He sat there, silent, staring at you as you shouted at your pixelated team.
And all he could think was well that…he hadn’t planned on crushing on the new girl based on one single positive interaction.
God, he was so screwed.
-
The next few days passed in a blur of almost-conversations.
You and Sunghoon didn’t talk much. Not like that night. Just a few polite waves across the hallway, a quiet “hey” if you caught the elevator at the same time. Respectful nods. The occasional awkward glance if your eyes met for too long.
And then Jake and Jay came back.
And of course, Jake being Jake, invited himself into your apartment before you could even say no.
“I missed your cooking while I was gone,” he sighed dramatically, sinking into the dining chair like he’d returned from war.
“Well, today’s your lucky day,” you said, flipping through your assignment folder and squinting at the week’s task. “Because for today’s assignment, I’m supposed to…” you paused. “Make a really mean chicken pot pie.”
Jake’s eyes lit up. He clapped his hands, nearly tipping his chair over. “CHICKEN POT PIE?!”
Before you could even blink, he leapt up, yanked your door open, and sprinted into the hallway.
“JAY! IT’S CHICKEN POT PIE!” he yelled like it was a fire drill.
From across the hall, Jay’s voice rang out. “WHAT?! NO WAY!”
And then—another voice joined them.
A quieter one.
“Chicken pot pie?”
You didn’t even have time to react before you were suddenly hosting three grown men in your kitchen, all leaning over your counter.
“Guys,” you said, elbow-deep in flour. “I can’t focus if you’re all staring at me like that.”
“We’re just excited,” Jake grinned, chin in his hands.
“Well don’t be. I’ve never made this before. It might taste like ass.”
“Your hands are basically blessed by Gordon Ramsay,” Jay declared, grabbing a slice of carrot from the cutting board. “It’s impossible for it to taste like ass.”
You laughed, the sound soft and unexpected even to yourself. “Jungwon used to tell me that all the time.”
“Oh he did?” Jay echoed, voice teasing.
Sunghoon stood a few steps back from the others, arms crossed loosely, leaning against your fridge. He hadn’t said much since stepping into your place, but now he watched the three of you.
The way you smiled when Jay made a joke. The way Jake knew where you kept your mixing bowls. The way your eyes sparkled, just slightly, when you laughed about something from home. The way they got it. The way they knew you.
And the way he didn’t.
Sunghoon couldn’t explain it but it made his stomach twist. Tight and strange and uncomfortable.
And then he heard it again.
Jungwon.
Who the hell was Jungwon?
His name sounded too casual. Too affectionate. The kind of name you didn’t just drop without meaning.
Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just looked down at your countertop, at the flour dusting your hands and the delicate way your fingers shaped the crust, and all he could think was—
Why the fuck did he care so much?
You moved around your kitchen with the kind of ease that made it impossible not to watch. Sunghoon’s eyes were locked on you, the way your hair swayed behind your back as you leaned forward to stir something in the pot, the way your sleeves were pushed up.
His heart pounded harder than it should’ve. He tried to brush it off. Maybe he was just hungry. Maybe it was just the smell of garlic and butter making him lightheaded. That had to be it, right?
Except no.
He hadn’t planned on feeling like this today. Not when he woke up. Not when he brushed his teeth and went on his phone and told himself he’d stay in his apartment. He hadn’t even planned on coming over. And that night the two of you shared noodles? He’d chalked it up to vulnerability. Nighttime feelings. Nothing serious.
But now it was noon. He was awake. Sober. And you were still somehow making his chest tighten just by existing within ten feet of him.
God. He hated having a crush.
He didn’t even realise how lost he looked until Jake spoke up from the side, breaking the spell.
“So, is Jungwon finally coming?”
This guy again.
Sunghoon’s head whipped toward Jake so fast it might’ve snapped his neck.
You perked up at the mention, a smile blooming across your face without even trying. “Yeah! He’s coming in two weeks! I actually told him about you guys. He’s kinda excited to meet you.”
That smile. It wasn’t fake. It wasn’t forced. You looked like someone who meant it. Someone who missed this guy. Someone who talked to him often.
Sunghoon clenched his jaw and looked away, grabbing a water bottle off your counter just to do something with his hands. He twisted the cap a little too hard.
He didn’t know who the hell Jungwon was.
But he already didn’t like him.
“He’s coming over?” Jay asked, his mouth still half-full of pie filling.
“Yeah,” you said casually, brushing a stray hair behind your ear as you peeked into the oven. “He’s staying at my place for the week he’s here.”
Staying at your place?
Sunghoon blinked.
He looked around your apartment, eyes scanning every corner like they were going to magically reveal a hidden guest room. But there wasn’t one. You lived in a studio. Everything was in one space. Your bed, your desk, your kitchen, your couch. Except… there wasn’t even a real couch. Just a throw-covered loveseat that barely seated two.
No air mattress in sight. No hidden folding cot. No suspicious lumpy bags that might hold a spare futon.
Just one bed.
His chest tightened.
Where the hell was Jungwon gonna sleep? With you?
He picked at the label on his water bottle, teeth grinding quietly as he stared down at the floor, like it held answers. It didn’t.
He wasn’t even involved with you. This shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t bother him.
But it did. In the most uncomfortable, teeth-clenching, mind-racing kind of way.
-
You stood in front of the three boys, arms crossed, heart racing slightly under your apron. The chicken pot pie sat on the table…golden brown crust, just the right amount of bubbling over on the sides, the smell of thyme and butter and garlic filling your apartment.
Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon each took a spoonful at the same time like they’d rehearsed it. You watched them, nervous, scanning their faces.
One by one, their expressions lit up. Jake’s eyes widened, Jay let out a satisfied groan. Well… except Sunghoon. Of course.
He stayed still. Always unreadable. But you caught it. The tiny pause, the way his brows lifted just a fraction. He liked it. He just didn’t show it like the others.
“So—” Jake started.
“Good,” Jay finished, already reaching for more.
Your eyes flicked to Sunghoon. Somehow, his opinion was the one you were waiting on. The one you needed.
“So?” you asked, staring at him.
He blinked. “What?”
“How is it?”
“It’s good,” he said, nodding once, tone flat as ever.
Your smile dropped. You frowned. “Doesn’t seem like it.”
“What? I just said it’s good.”
“No, you said ‘good’ and then frowned and put your spoon down. Usually it’s ‘It’s good,’ then a second bite. Right, boys?”
Jake nodded enthusiastically, chicken still in his mouth. “She’s right.”
“Totally right,” Jay added, already helping himself to more.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes, leaning back slightly. “You’re all being dramatic.”
You scoffed, insulted. “I guess you don’t want seconds then. Tch.”
You clicked your tongue and turned on your heel, storming off toward the kitchen, grumbling under your breath. Your apron fluttered behind you as you moved, and you didn’t look back.
Sunghoon watched your little pout, the way your shoulders stiffened, how you exaggerated every step. He didn’t know why, but he liked your reaction. No, he loved it. He found it ridiculously cute. Too cute, actually. That slight wrinkle in your forehead. The way your voice got higher when you were mad. The tiny stomp in your step.
The moment your back turned, his lips twitched upward.
When lunch ended and the three of them stood by your front door, Jake and Jay turned to hug you dramatically.
“Never move out,” Jake said into your shoulder.
You rolled your eyes. “You’re just saying that because you get free food.”
“And precisely why we don’t want you to move out,” Jay replied, squeezing you once more before the two of them shuffled out, bickering as they made their way into their apartment across the hall.
Sunghoon lingered. Just behind you.
You turned, raising a brow. “Aren’t you leaving?”
He nodded. “Yeah.” He stepped back slowly, hands in his pockets, gaze flicking to the floor before settling back on you. Then he paused. Like he wasn’t sure if he should say what he was about to say.
“The chicken pot pie was good. I think…” he exhaled, voice quieter, “I think it was one of the best things I’ve ever had.”
You blinked, caught off guard.
“It reminded me of home,” he added, eyes still on you now, a little softer than usual. “Not in the way where it’s about the taste or anything… it’s just… you cook like home. If that makes any sense.”
You hadn’t expected that.
Your cheeks flushed immediately. You turned away before he could see it, pretending to fiddle with a dish on the counter, fingers uselessly adjusting an already-clean plate.
“Thank you,” you murmured, voice low, almost shy.
He lingered for a second longer like he wanted to say more. Then he gave a quiet nod and walked out the door.
-
It was raining.
It was only 4 p.m., but the sky had turned an eerie charcoal grey, clouds rolling thick above the city. Thunder cracked so loud you felt it in your chest, and the wind howled between the buildings, slamming against your windows.
You hated this.
You hated how much you still feared storms even at your age. How useless independence felt when you were stuffing tissues in your ears and jamming earmuffs over your head like you were five again. You turned on every single light in your apartment, lamps, fairy lights, even your microwave light and cocooned yourself under your thickest blanket, barely breathing, eyes wide.
Then the whole building shuddered.
The lights flickered.
And then everything went dark.
You screamed.
Your apartment disappeared into a blanket of pitch black, shadows curling up the walls like ink. Your heart pounded. You scrambled up from the couch, tearing off your earmuffs and patting the walls with shaky hands, trying to find a light switch like that would fix anything.
“Shit,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Shit shit shit.”
You fumbled for your phone. A message popped up from your landlord.
“The building is experiencing a temporary blackout due to the storm. Electricity should resume in an hour. Thank you for your patience.”
An hour? Alone? In this? In the dark? Absolutely fucking not.
You jumped at another violent crack of thunder and instantly rushed out into the hallway. Your blanket trailed behind you like a cape. You beelined for the only door you knew.
You knocked. The door swung open almost immediately.
“No time to explain but I’m shitting bricks here,” you said all at once.
It wasn’t Jake or Jay.
It was Sunghoon.
His brows raised. “The thunderstorm?”
You nodded frantically. “Are Jake or Jay here?”
“They’re asleep.” He glanced behind him, then back at you. “But I could… stay with you. If you want. Until it passes.”
You hesitated.
Then thunder cracked again, louder this time, right above your building.
You flinched. “Okay,” you breathed, defeated.
The two of you sat cross-legged on your couch, sharing a single candle as your only source of light. It flickered between you, casting long, warm shadows on the walls.
“Seems like you’re scared of the thunder,” he said gently.
“Well,” you sighed, voice tight. “I’ve been scared of it since I was younger. It just… gets to me.”
He nodded. “It’s okay.”
You noticed it then…the subtle tremble in his shoulders. He was shivering. From the cold, probably. Your heater wasn’t working without electricity, and the apartment was steadily turning into a fridge. You were wrapped up like a burrito, but he’d come in without anything but a hoodie.
Feeling guilty, you shifted toward him and lifted one side of your blanket.
“Uh…” he looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he was being pranked.
“Relax. I can see you shivering like a dog,” you muttered.
“Oh.” He blinked, then grabbed the other end of the blanket and scooted in beside you.
Now under the same blanket, his body heat pressed faintly against yours. You sat side by side, knees pulled to your chests.
And then, in a whisper, he said, “You know…”
You looked over at him, startled by the sudden softness in his voice.
“I know I’m not as close to you as Jay and Jake are,” he said, eyes trained on the candle, “but… you don’t always have to find them for help.”
You blinked. “Huh?”
“I’m saying…” he sighed, eyes flicking up toward you, and then away again. “Never mind.”
“No, what? Just spit it out.”
He exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt to get the words out. “I’m just saying… you could ask me for help too.”
You stared at him, your eyes adjusting to the candlelight flickering between you.
“Oh,” you said softly.
There was a beat of silence. You weren’t really sure what to do with that. But you didn’t want to leave it hanging either.
“I’ll be sure to think of you the next time,” you mumbled, barely louder than the rain still pelting the windows outside.
You felt him nod beside you.
You turned your head slowly, resting your cheek against your knees, eyes drifting toward him. His face was tilted down, lashes long and dark as they blinked now and then, just slow enough for you to notice. His jaw had softened a little. He looked calm, in a way you weren’t used to seeing him.
“Would you rather have a million dollars,” you said suddenly, “or have no problems in the world?”
He blinked, confused for a second, then turned his head toward you. His chin was on his knees now too, and with the two of you curled up in the same blanket, inches apart, it felt almost like whispering under covers at a sleepover.
“What kind of question is that?”
“A good one,” you replied, lips twitching. “So answer it.”
He scoffed a little under his breath. “Uh… maybe no problems in the world?”
“Smart answer. Why?”
He paused, “I think people ruin themselves trying to solve problems that shouldn’t be theirs. If I had no problems, maybe I wouldn’t waste time worrying about all the stuff that doesn’t matter.”
You blinked at him. That was… not the answer you were expecting. It was a good one. Way too good, actually.
“Right,” you said softly, giving him a small nod.
He looked at you for a second longer before his eyes flicked down. “Your turn. Would you rather go back in time or go into the future?”
You puffed your cheeks out, thinking. “Hmm… that’s a toughie.”
Then your eyes widened, the way they always did when you had a lightbulb moment. “Go back in time!”
“Why’s that?”
“So maybe I’d really weigh the pros and cons of moving to a city where I know no one,” you said with a grin, but it faded slightly at the end.
Sunghoon stayed quiet.
“You must really feel alone,” he said.
You blinked, startled. “What?”
“I hear you talking about it sometimes. On your balcony. When you think no one’s listening. You talk about how moving here feels like a mistake.”
You looked away, embarrassed. “It’s not a mistake. I just… miss everything back home.”
“I get it,” he said after a second. “I was like you. Back when I was home, I wanted to leave so badly. Thought being somewhere else would fix everything. But now that I’m here… yeah, I have Jay and Jake, and they’re great, but sometimes I come back to the apartment and everything’s fine and normal and still—I just feel… empty. And I don’t even know why.”
You didn’t say anything for a long time.
You just watched him. His face had turned thoughtful, distant. His eyes unfocused, drifting somewhere past the flickering candle, past your walls, like he was staring right through the quiet that lived in his chest.
You mumbled, “Well, yeah. But… I also don’t regret it. Not one bit.”
“Really?”
You nodded. “Yeah. I mean—I’m here doing what I love. Not many people get to do that. And I made friends with three incredibly annoying people in this building.”
He turned toward you again, eyes narrowing playfully. “So we’re friends now?”
Your cheeks heated up instantly. You glanced away, pretending to roll your eyes. “Are we not?”
He let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled softly at the back of his throat. “I’m glad you think we are.”
“So,” you said, tilting your head, “does this mean you’ll finally be nice to me now? Or is that too much character development for one night?”
Sunghoon smirked, eyes flicking to you with a teasing glint. “You want nice? From me?”
“Yeah. Like a full sentence without sarcasm. I feel like that’s a reward I’ve earned by now.”
“You earned a participation medal at best.”
You laughed, nudging him with your knee. “Unbelievable.”
He was already looking at you again—closer this time.
“Hold on,” he said softly, “you have an eyelash on your cheek.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
Before you could move, he leaned in.
His face hovered inches from yours as his thumb brushed gently against your cheek, his touch soft but sure. The pads of his fingers were warm. His eyes, now impossibly close, scanned your face with a kind of quiet focus you hadn’t felt from him before. You swallowed.
Neither of you moved.
Your gaze locked, and the space between you slowly disappeared…inch by inch, breath by breath. It wasn’t planned. It just… happened.
Then suddenly, his lips were on yours.
Then it deepened. His other hand pushed the blanket off his head, dropping behind your neck to pull you in, and your hands found their way to his thighs, then to the curve of his jaw. His lips parted just enough, and your pulse jumped as he moved against you.
His hands slid to your waist. He lifted you slightly and shifted you into his lap in one smooth motion. You were now straddling him, knees on either side of his thighs, and he didn’t stop kissing you, not even for a second.
The kiss grew stronger. He tilted his head, hand moving to your chin to pull you even closer, his mouth parting yours with a low inhale as his tongue brushed against yours.
Your hands moved back down, gripping at the soft cotton of his hoodie, when—
Click.
The lights flickered on.
You both froze.
Your faces were still inches apart.
You slowly pulled back, still on his lap. He blinked, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure what just happened. Like part of him wanted to keep going, and the other part… couldn’t believe you just kissed him like that.
You stared at each other, the silence heavy now.
His hands were still resting lightly on your waist. Yours were still fisted in the fabric of his hoodie. Both of you breathless.
“I need to go back home,” Sunghoon said suddenly, voice low but rushed. His eyes darted everywhere except at you.
You blinked. “Right. Of course!” you said quickly, nodding way too fast. “Yeah. No—totally.”
He shifted awkwardly underneath you, face flushing as he cleared his throat and muttered, “Probably… need a pillow or something.”
It took you a second.
Then you saw the way he was subtly covering his lap with the edge of the blanket.
“Oh.” Your voice came out small. You quickly scrambled off his lap, cheeks burning so hot they could’ve powered your apartment during the blackout.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, already halfway to your door.
And then, Sunghoon stormed out of your apartment.
-
It had been a couple of days since you last properly spoke to Sunghoon. Not for lack of trying. You had…more than once. But each time, he’d give you a quick nod, maybe a polite smile if you were lucky, before promptly power-walking away.
Maybe he just wasn’t feeling what you were feeling. Maybe that kiss was a fluke, something in the heat of the moment. Maybe your little new crush was painfully one-sided.
But you pushed it aside. You had bigger things to focus on.
Jungwon was coming today.
You’d spent the entire morning rearranging your apartment, cleaning it from top to bottom, fluffing cushions and spraying perfume not just on yourself but into the air like it could somehow mask how nervous you were. You even did your hair the way he liked it, soft curls and a side part.
And then, there he was.
The door swung open and your best friend stood in the hallway, suitcase in hand and a grin already on his face.
“WON!” you squealed, running up to him and leaping into his arms.
“Hello, idiot,” he said, his voice fond as he hugged you back, lifting you off the ground with ease.
The shout must’ve startled the boys in 3C, because right on cue, the door across the hall creaked open and out came Jake and Jay, both peeking out.
They spotted you clinging to Jungwon like a koala.
You beamed. “Guys! It’s him!”
“The famous Jungwon,” Jay said, nodding in approval as he stepped out.
“And you must be Jake and Jay,” Jungwon said smoothly, setting you down.
Then came the third.
Sunghoon.
He didn’t move from the doorway. Just stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Jungwon turned to him, a friendly smile still on his lips, chuckling. “You must be Sunghoon, then.”
Sunghoon’s gaze narrowed slightly. “What’s so funny?”
Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. “Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat. “She just… told me you were like this.”
“Like what?” Sunghoon asked sharply, the scoff nearly audible in his tone.
Jungwon scratched the back of his neck. “Nothing. She just said you were cool,” he said with a shrug, throwing you a teasing look.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes.
You stood there, suddenly awkward, unsure what the hell had crawled up Sunghoon’s ass. The hostility was as thick as the tension in the air and you hadn’t done anything. Not really.
At least you didn’t think you had.
Just stood there, arms crossed, a stiff expression on his face while Jake and Jay welcomed Jungwon like he was already part of the group. Jungwon, ever the social butterfly, fit in easily, throwing a few jokes around, complimenting the apartment despite its questionable decor, and even teasing Jake about the ugly dinosaur pyjamas he was wearing in broad daylight.
But Sunghoon?
He was frowning the entire time.
You couldn’t figure it out. His jaw was tight, his responses were clipped, and every time Jungwon so much as glanced your way, you saw Sunghoon’s eye twitch.
You walked back to your apartment with Jungwon beside you, chatting excitedly about dinner plans and all the places he wanted to visit during his stay. But when you turned back, just for a second, you caught Sunghoon still watching. Still standing in the hallway.
His arms were still crossed.
And he didn’t look away.
-
Sunghoon stood there, arms folded across his chest like they were the only things keeping him together. He stared ahead blankly, jaw tight, doing everything in his power not to glare a hole through the wall. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling.
Sure, he knew he had a crush on you. He’d known since the chicken pot pie, probably. Or maybe since you wrapped that blanket around his shoulders. Or maybe long before that. But what he didn’t know was who the fuck Jungwon was, and why he was walking into your apartment.
“Dude,” Jake muttered, throwing him a sideways look. “You could’ve at least smiled.”
“I did,” Sunghoon growled, not bothering to hide his scowl.
Jay snorted. “That was barely a smile. You looked like you were in the middle of passing a kidney stone.”
“Why do I even have to be nice?” Sunghoon snapped. “I don’t know him.”
“Because your crush’s boyfriend just came into town,” Jake replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Sunghoon's head snapped to him so fast you’d think he got whiplash. “Boyfriend?”
Jay raised a brow. “Not denying the crush though.”
Sunghoon ignored him. “Let me ask you again. Boyfriend?”
Jake shrugged. “I mean… yeah, I guess?”
“What the fuck do you mean you guess?” Sunghoon hissed, dragging a hand down his face. “He can’t be her boyfriend.”
“But he is,” Jay said with a shrug and an infuriatingly smug smile.
“No, he’s not. He can’t be. Because she and I…” he paused, realising too late what was about to fall out of his mouth. “…kissed. Three nights ago.”
Jake’s mouth dropped open. Jay blinked.
“I’m sorry, what?” Jake finally blurted.
“Nothing,” Sunghoon muttered quickly, suddenly desperate to eat his words.
“You can’t say nothing when you just said everything!” Jake shouted, grabbing Sunghoon’s shoulders and shaking him.
“Tell us right now!” Jay begged dramatically, gripping his own hair.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes, flustered. “I—we—kissed. That’s it.”
Jay blinked. “You know we were kidding about the boyfriend thing, right?”
Jake grinned. “Jungwon’s just her best friend.”
“We just wanted to see if you’d admit you liked her,” Jay added, eyes sparkling with way too much joy. “Which you did.”
“No, I didn’t,” Sunghoon argued weakly. “I just said we kissed.”
“Okay, Mr Visceral Reaction every time we mention Jungwon,” Jake teased.
Jay smirked. “Say it. Say you like her.”
Sunghoon groaned, eyes shut tight as if the ceiling could swallow him whole. Then, finally—quietly, begrudgingly—
“Okay. So what if I like her?”
Jay and Jake immediately turned to each other with identical gasps, smacking each other’s arms excitedly.
“Oh my god, he admitted it,” Jay whispered dramatically.
Jake clutched his chest. “It’s happening.”
“You guys are disgusting,” Sunghoon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And if you keep acting like this, I’m never telling you anything again.”
“Okay, okay.” Jake raised both hands, trying to suppress a grin. “We’ll behave.”
“BUT I’M SO EXCITED,” Jay squealed.
Jake smacked him on the shoulder. “Starting now.”
Jay nodded solemnly, rubbing his arm. “Sorry. That one slipped.”
Sunghoon sighed and leaned against the counter, arms crossed again. “I started liking her last month… when you guys went back home for the week. She cooked me stir-fried noodles, and we ate together. Played FIFA. I don’t know. I just… developed a crush on her.”
“That’s so cute,” Jay and Jake said in unison, stars in their eyes.
“Seriously, can the two of you act normal for like three minutes?”
Jake shrugged, still smiling. “I just didn’t expect you to have a girlfriend before me.”
Jay patted his shoulder. “You’ll get there, buddy.”
Jake tilted his head. “You think?”
“Yeah, you have nice eyes. Great personality.”
Jake beamed. “That’s so kind.”
“Can we please get back to my problem for like a minute?” Sunghoon cut in, glaring at both of them.
“Oh. Right.”
Jay cleared his throat and finally looked serious. “Look. We like her. She’s hilarious, and she makes good fucking food. And let’s be real, you’ve never liked anyone. We’ve been trying to get you to double date with us for years and you just stare at your phone all the time. But with her? You’re like... a guy with actual feelings.”
“But now I’m losing to Jung… whatever his name is.” Sunghoon sighed.
“Jungwon,” Jake said. “And no, you’re not.”
“How do you know she doesn’t like him?” Sunghoon muttered, staring down at the floor.
“Because,” Jay said, “if she did, she wouldn’t have kissed you.”
“Unless she’s indecisive or confused or something. I don’t know.” Sunghoon exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I was just… a moment. And he’s her person.”
Jake shook his head. “I’m telling you—just talk to her.”
“Yeah,” Jay added. “Before you spiral even harder and start writing love songs about her. But if you do, I haved like a couple of guitars you could borrow.”
Sunghoon rolled his eyes. But somewhere, deep down… a part of him hoped they were right.
-
You were pacing back and forth on your cheap IKEA rug, while Jungwon was laid out dramatically on your bed, arms folded behind his head, thoroughly enjoying the show.
“I’m telling you, he’s avoiding me,” you snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at no one in particular. “We kissed—KISSED, Jungwon—and now he won’t even look at me! I wave, he nods. I say hi, he nods. I breathe in his direction, he—guess what—nods!”
Jungwon hummed, annoyingly calm. “Maybe he’s nervous. Or maybe he wants you to go to him.”
“I do go to him! And then he speed-walks away like I’m the plague!” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I’m gonna lose it.”
“Maybe…” he tapped his chin thoughtfully, “you’re just a shit kisser.”
You whipped around and chucked a throw pillow directly at his smug face.
“Asshole.”
He caught it with a grin, clutching it to his chest dramatically. “I’m just saying. Maybe you scared him off.”
“You’re lucky I haven’t strangled you with this blanket,” you muttered, grabbing another pillow just in case.
Jungwon sat up, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “You know, sometimes I forget we grew up together because you’re so unpredictable now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He snorted. “You used to be fearless. Remember that Heeseung guy you had a crush on in middle school?”
You blinked. “What about him?”
“You were six, and you walked up to him at recess, said ‘I like your lunchbox,’ then kissed his cheek and ran off.”
“Ah,” you said flatly, “the good old days. That girl’s dead now.”
“She’s not dead,” Jungwon argued, grabbing your wrists and tugging you to sit beside him on the bed. “She’s just… overthinking everything. Look, if Sunghoon doesn’t like you—whatever. But if he does? You’re missing out just because you’re too chicken to tell him.”
You glared. “I hate it when you make sense.”
“I know.” He grinned. “It’s my worst trait.”
“I just—” you exhaled, flopping back beside him. “What if it ruins everything? We literally just got closer. What if I say something and it all goes to shit?”
“Okay, counter-offer.” He sat up straighter. “You tell him, or I will. I will walk down the hallway, knock on his door, and go ‘Hi, my best friend has feelings for you, she also has performance anxiety but can cook a great bowl of chicken noodle soup.’”
“You wouldn’t,” you hissed, swatting at his arm.
“Then do it yourself!” he laughed, dodging your attacks. “Before I start printing flyers and pasting them in the apartment lobby.”
God. Why did he always have to be right?
“Fine.”
Your hand was already on the doorknob, breath caught in your throat, just about to leave when the door across from yours had swung open at the exact same time.
And there he was.
Sunghoon.
You both froze, hands still gripping the doorknobs, blinking.
You cleared your throat first. “Sunghoon.”
He blinked like he hadn’t already been staring. “What?”
You squinted. “Is that the only word you know how to say when I call your name?”
He paused. “Sorry.”
You opened your mouth to say something else but were rudely interrupted by muffled snorts from behind Sunghoon. Jay and Jake’s heads popped out from their doorway like nosy meerkats.
“Hoon,” Jay said in a loud, exaggerated voice, “we need more eggs.”
“Desperately,” Jake added, nodding like this was a national emergency. “Go to the store.”
Then Jungwon peeked out from behind you with an equally suspicious grin. “Oh, and while you’re there, can you grab some ice cream too?”
You and Sunghoon looked at each other.
“What is happening right now,” you said flatly.
Before either of you could respond, four hands shoved the both of you toward the elevator. You stumbled in, the doors sliding shut just as Jay yelled out, “Don’t come back without snacks!”
The elevator stopped at your floor.
Your shoulders brushed as you stood side by side, awkwardly watching the floor numbers light up.
Then, finally, you broke it. “About that day—”
Sunghoon shook his head quickly. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t tell Jungwon.”
You blinked. “What do you mean you won’t tell Jungwon?”
He looked away. “Well, aren’t you like… crushing on him? I wouldn’t want what we did to, you know… ruin your chances or something.”
Your entire face scrunched up. “Won and I? What? Ew. God, no. We’re friends. We grew up together. Thinking about him that way would be like incest or something.”
And just like that, Sunghoon felt like he’d been hit by a shooting star and given a second chance at life. His heart did a full backflip. You were single. You were available.
He couldn’t help it. He smiled.
“Why do you suddenly look so happy?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I’m not.”
“You’re literally smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“We’ve hung out a couple of times and if I’m being honest, I’ve never seen you smile this—”
“Cut it out.” He tried to brush it off, biting back the grin. “I’m just glad.”
“Glad about?”
“Glad that I didn’t ruin your chances,” he said nonchalantly, looking up like he hadn’t just panicked thirty seconds ago.
“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, the golden-orange glow of the sunset casting warmth across his cheekbones. He was handsome. Frustratingly so. “Well… because I actually like this other guy.”
Sunghoon’s smile faltered.
“I haven’t known him that long,” you continued casually, “but he seems cool. I don’t really know much about him yet.”
“That’s… nice.” Sunghoon turned away quickly, jaw tight. He was definitely grimacing. Please don’t let her see that I’m grimacing, he begged internally.
“Yeah, he’s really tall. Really handsome, too.”
“That’s just…” he exhaled. “Great.”
“He doesn’t seem super friendly but he has a big heart. Even if he tries really hard not to show it.”
“Seems like a swell fuckin’ guy,” he muttered bitterly.
“It’s a pity though,” you sighed dramatically, still watching him. “I wish I could get to know him better.”
“Well… anyone’s lucky to get to know you.” He tried to smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I know I am.”
You tilted your head. “Not to mention… he lives really close to me.”
Sunghoon’s eyes darted to you. “He does?”
“Mhm.” You nodded, heartbeat accelerating.
“Like how close?”
You took a slow step toward him. “Like… just across the hall close.”
“Oh.” He blinked. “That close.”
Silence settled in the small elevator. You both just stood there, not looking at each other, tension hanging in the air like humidity.
Then, out of nowhere—
“I’m just saying,” Sunghoon said, dead serious, “but Jake sleeps with the lights on and Jay doesn’t wash his hair as often as you think he does.”
You blinked. “Huh?”
“I sleep normal,” he added quickly. “I wash my hair. I do proper haircare—shampoo, conditioner, mask, mist. I could do your routine too. For you. If you want.”
You stared.
“I can’t cook, but I’ll try. I can figure skate. I can spin twice in the air. Jay and Jake? Not even one spin. Jay can play guitar, Jake can sing but I can spin, okay? Without getting dizzy too.”
“Sunghoon.”
“And those idiots never clean up after eating your food. Jay doesn’t use coasters. Jake never makes his bed.”
“SUNGHOON!”
He looked at you, breathless. “What?”
You stepped forward. Slowly. Then, you mumbled, “It’s you.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I like you.”
And for once, Park Sunghoon had absolutely nothing to say.
“Okay,” he said. “Cool. Okay. I—wow. Okay.”
You raised a brow. “That’s it?”
He nodded dumbly. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I just—holy shit. You like me.”
You smirked, the smile slowly stretching across your face. “Yes. I like you.”
The elevator dinged. Neither of you moved.
He looked at you again, still dazed. “Hold on, I kinda need a minute.”
You both stepped out into the empty lobby. The sun outside had just dipped below the skyline, casting a pinkish-orange glow through the glass doors. The streetlights flickered on. But you waited.
“It’s been a minute,” you said.
“I know,” he exhaled, hand raking through his hair. “But you like me back, so I kinda need, like… a long minute.”
“Back?” You grinned, the corners of your mouth lifting all the way to your eyes. “So you like me too?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I thought it was obvious from the, uh… word vomit.”
“Well yeah,” you shrugged. “But I didn’t want to assume. Didn’t wanna be narcissistic.”
“I think even if you were,” he muttered, “I’d still think you were pretty cute.”
You blinked. “Did you just—”
“Gross, I know,” he said quickly, face flushing. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”
You laughed. “Yeah. But you kinda can’t take it back now.”
“Fine,” he said, pretending to groan. “You’re cute. Ugh. I said it again.”
-
A MONTH LATER
Jay and Jake found it fundamentally unfair. They were the ones who got close to you first. They were the ones who complimented you, made you laugh, showed up when you needed help. They loved you first or at least, that’s what they told themselves. But here you were, doors locked for the first time in three months, cooking a full-course meal for Sunghoon to celebrate your one-month anniversary.
“You’re not allowed to come,” Sunghoon told them flatly before slamming the door shut.
“But—!” they shouted in unison, already mourning the steak they wouldn’t get to taste.
Word on the hallway was that you were cooking the perfect medium-rare T-bone steak, paired with your signature brown sauce and a vegetable medley so crunchy and flavourful. Meanwhile, Jay and Jake sat hunched on the couch, scrolling through a food delivery app.
“Isn’t it funny,” Jake said, arms folded, “how we were the ones who befriended her first, and now we’re stuck with Burger King?”
“Life’s unfair, bud.”
Back in your apartment, things were a little more romantic. You’d decorated with fairy lights and candles, the room dimly lit. You were still being frugal, splitting every cost you could. But you’d managed to steal two T-bone steaks from the diner you part-timed at.
Sunghoon showed up in a black and white tuxedo, looking like he’d taken the prom theme you had placed as a joke a little too seriously.
“You look absolutely gorgeous,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.
“And you look absolutely handsome,” you grinned.
He walked over to the table and took in the spread. “Okay, what do we have?”
“I made the steaks, obviously, and then there’s the vegetable medley… and your favourite—mashed potatoes,” you giggled.
Sunghoon exhaled, shaking his head with a disbelieving smile. “How did I get so lucky?”
You shrugged. “I don’t know either.”
He laughed. “The guys are pissed, by the way. You made me all this, and they’re over there with cold fries.”
“What?” you said, surprised. “I made them something too! Don’t worry.”
“You did?” he raised a brow.
“I had a feeling they’d be hungry if you were over here.”
“Babe, you didn’t have to do that. They’re grown men.”
“Yeah, but technically my assignment this week was pasta and I have too many leftovers.”
“They’re spoiled by you.”
“And so are you.”
“True, but I’m your boyfriend. They’re just two annoying shitheads constantly trying to butt in.”
“I’ll be quick. I’ll just drop the dish off and come back.”
“No,” he said, standing. “I’ll do it. You stay here.”
He kissed your forehead, grabbing the lasagna you’d tucked into the fridge. “You’re too sweet, you know that?”
“He walked across the hall and opened the door to Unit 3C.
Inside, Jay was mid-rant. “I just don’t get it. Sunghoon isn’t even that hot.”
“I mean, he is,” Jake added, “but she deserves better, you know?”
Sunghoon cleared his throat. “I can hear you two idiots.”
They both froze, turning around sheepishly. “We were just joking. We love you, man.”
He held up the dish. “And to think I came here bearing gifts from my girlfriend.”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Wait—is that lasagna?”
“She felt bad we were eating good without you, so she made you dinner.”
“Oh my god,” Jay gasped. “Sunghoon, I don’t mean to be pushy, but please marry her.”
“I can’t,” Sunghoon muttered. “Not when you two are constantly inserting yourselves into my relationship.”
“Okay, okay, we’ll back off. Just—can we have the lasagna?”
“And can you tell her we love her?”
“I am not telling my girlfriend you love her,” Sunghoon snapped. “I’ve barely worked up the nerve to tell her that myself.”
“Wait,” Jake said suddenly, “you haven’t told her you love her yet?”
“It’s only been a month.”
“So… you don’t love her?”
“I do,” Sunghoon replied, almost too quickly. “I just don’t want to come on too strong if she’s not ready.”
Jay and Jake shared a glance before shrugging.
“What?” Sunghoon asked, frowning. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Jake cleared his throat. “It’s just… she already said it.”
Sunghoon looked up. “What?”
“Yeah,” Jake replied casually. “You texted her about picking up those heat packs for her cramps, and she went all soft and whispered, ‘God, I love him so much.’ Her words. Not mine.”
Sunghoon stood frozen in the doorway, the dish in his hands suddenly weightless.
You loved him.
“So… you’re saying I should tell her?” he asked, voice quiet, almost unsure.
Jay and Jake both nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. Especially if it makes her our sister-in-law,” Jay added, grinning.
Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “God, the two of you can be so annoying.”
“But you still love us,” Jay shrugged. “So what’s the point of complaining?”
He hated that Jay was right.
Back in your apartment, Sunghoon sat across from you, completely transfixed. You were dressed in a soft pink satin dress that shimmered every time you moved. It hugged your shoulders delicately, the neckline simple, elegant. Your hair was curled softly, pinned loosely on one side with a vintage clip, and your lips were glossed just enough to make him stare longer than he should’ve.
And God, you looked so beautiful.
He tried to pay attention. He really did. But his heart was too loud, his thoughts too full. How was he supposed to say it?
Sunghoon had never told anyone he loved them before. Not seriously. Maybe to his mom years ago, right before he left for the city. But this? This felt entirely new.
Because sitting in front of him was someone who made every quiet part of his life feel loud again. You filled in the spaces he didn’t even know were missing. You made his apartment feel less cold, his world a little less grey. And the way he loved you—God, it wasn’t something small. It wasn’t a flicker or a passing crush. It was all-consuming and terrifying and the best damn thing he’d ever felt.
He loved you like it was muscle memory. Like even if he forgot everything else, his hands would still reach for yours and only yours.
“Hoonie,” you interrupted gently, frowning. “You’re not listening.”
He blinked back into focus. “Sorry,” he murmured, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was just thinking about something.”
“What?” you looked up at him, ur big eyes shining.
Sunghoon unknowingly smiled, his eyes dripping with honey, god he loved you. He wanted to say that. So badly.
“I…I just–uh–feel…that,” His voice trailed off. “You look really beautiful tonight. I mean, you always do. But especially tonight.” He hesitated, the words stuck behind his teeth.
You smiled. “Thank you. You look very handsome too.”
-
Later that night, the two of you were in Sunghoon’s apartment along with Jay and Jake for the usual game night.
You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, your prom-night dress bunched awkwardly around your knees, mascara slightly smudged from earlier laughter, hair pinned half-up. Sunghoon sat slouched in the beanbag beside you, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration. Jake was lying on his stomach, legs swinging in the air, and Jay had somehow made himself horizontal on the couch.
You and Jake were a team. Sunghoon and Jay were not handling that well.
“Revive me!” Sunghoon yelled.
Jay shouted back, “I’m busy trying not to die, dumbass!”
Button mashing intensified. Trash talk flew across the room.
“VICTORY!” Jake screamed, leaping up like a madman.
You followed suit, springing to your feet and clambering up onto the coffee table in your dress. “GET WRECKED, LOSERS!” you yelled, pointing dramatically at Sunghoon. “THAT’S RIGHT, LOSERS!”
Jake joined you on the table, doing a badly timed robot dance. The two of you jumped in sync, yelling in triumph, while Jay groaned into a throw pillow and Sunghoon watched with a hand covering his mouth, half to hide his smile, half to suppress a laugh.
“You’re all bark, no bite!” you called, face flushed, hair falling loose. “Your character died fourteen times, Hoonie.”
“I let you win!” he shot back, grinning as he sat up straighter. “I was being a gentleman.”
“Sure,” you scoffed, sticking your tongue out at him. “Real chivalrous of you, sir died-14-fucking-times.”
He chuckled under his breath, eyes lingering on you for a second longer than usual. Then, without a word, he stood and walked out of the room.
You blinked. That was...odd.
You gave Jake a gentle shove off the table and followed Sunghoon into the hallway. He was pacing outside, one hand in his hair, the other fiddling with the watch on his wrist.
“Hoon?” you asked, stepping out and gently closing the door behind you.
He jumped slightly, turning toward you. “You scared me.”
“You okay? You just left so sudden…”
“I—uh—yeah. I was just trying to figure out how to say something.”
You tilted your head, arms crossing over your chest. “Say what?”
“Nothing,” he mumbled with a shrug.
Your expression softened. “Are you mad at me?” You sighed. Maybe your little victory dance had been a bit much. “Hoonie?”
“No, baby, I could never be mad at you,” he said quickly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just…”
You stepped closer, teasing lightly, “Do you want me to redo my victory dance? I could. You just have to beatbox, and I’ll take it from there.”
That made him laugh.
“Come on,” you grinned, starting to move your body in the most ridiculous way. “I’m pretty sure I should’ve been a dancer instead of a chef.”
He laughed again, this time louder and then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.
“Oh my god, I love you.”
You blinked. Your smile faded. Your brain, for one impossible second, completely short-circuited.
“Did you just say you love me?” you asked, heart hammering.
His eyes widened in sheer panic. “No?”
“I heard it.”
“You misheard.”
“Oh my god,” you gasped, practically vibrating. “You love me. You love me!”
“Fine!” he burst out, throwing his hands up like he was under arrest. “I do! I love you, okay?”
You smiled, “You do?”
“Of course! I love the way you talk too fast when you’re excited. I love how you make my idiot friends feel like they matter. I love that you make me feel whole. That when I’m with you, I don’t feel hollow anymore. You… you make me feel like I’m not empty.”
You grinned so wide it hurt. “That’s because you’re not.”
“I used to be,” he said helplessly, gesturing vaguely like he was mourning his past self. “I was mysterious. Brooding. Sexy, even. And now? Now I smile at cat videos you send me on TikTok. Look what you’ve done to me. This is all your fault.”
You scoffed, “My fault?”
“Yes! Who else could it be?” he said, breathless, like the truth had been waiting at the edge of his tongue for too long. “You walk into my life with that stupidly perfect smile, that laugh that makes everything feel lighter, those eyes that somehow hold the whole damn sky and now I’ve got feelings. Big ones.”
He took a shaky breath, pausing for a minute.
“I used to think I was fine on my own. But now? I get out of bed just because I know I might see you. I hear your knock and my whole day lights up. For the first time, I feel like I know what living really means. It’s you. Loving you. That’s it.”
You leaned in and kissed him right in the middle of his rant.
He blinked, dazed.
“You sure talk a lot for someone who usually says nothing,” you murmured, forehead resting against his.
“I do it when I’m nervous,” Sunghoon whispered, and then kissed you again.
“I find it cute,” you mumbled between kisses.
Sunghoon grinned into the next kiss, backing you up step by step toward your apartment door, his hands finding your waist. “God,” kiss “I love you,” another kiss “so much.”
You let out a breathless laugh. “You’re very handsy for someone who claimed to be brooding and mysteriou.”
“I told you,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw as he reached behind you, fumbling for the door handle, “you ruined me.”
Your back hit the door with a thud. He fumbled with the knob like he was drunk on you, eventually pushing it open and guiding you inside.
He kicked the door shut with the back of his foot.
You were still laughing into his kiss. He walked you backward until your knees hit the bed and you dropped onto it with a squeak.
He climbed over you, hands on either side of your waist, face flushed, heart in his throat.
“I fucking love you,” he said again, like it wasn’t real until he repeated it.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, eyes sparkling. “I love you too.”
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: park sunghoon, campus playboy, is notorious for fucking around. the day you’ve dreaded has finally come, he makes his rounds on your roommate who’s been desperate to get him in her bed but what you don’t expect is for him to want you instead. campus life was just a series of fleeting connections until he found you— the nerdy girl he can’t get out of his head, now, it’s you who he can’t forget, it’s you he wants to be known for, it’s you he wants to belong to.
𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: smut, fluff, angst, opposites attract, college au
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: explicit sexual content, rough sex, dirty talk, spanking, biting, breath play, choking, slapping, orgasm denial/control, praise kink, dirty talk, oral sex (giving and receiving), fingering, very hard dom!hoon, sub!reader, consistent unprotected sex (be safe!), use of ‘baby’ and ‘good girl’, grinding, reader rides hoon, exhibitionism, intense emotional dynamics, strong language, and explicit content, explicit language, swearing, mention of drugs, smoking, alcohol, a lot of college party scenes, oc is uninterested in sunghoon at first but he changes that (and quickly!), mentions of fuckboy!sunghoon, initially fucks her roommate, but falls in love with yn’s stuff that’s around the apartment, himym!scene inspo, if you know you know, oc is a hot bassist in a band, hoon sees her play, gets hard and turned on seeing her play the strings with her fingers, imagines touching her, hoon and oc unexpectedly have the exact same matching tattoo, so many girl moments, kpop ‘00 liners, enhypen ‘02 line, sunwoo, eric, yeji and oc are in a band, inappropriate, mature humor, hoon is very forward, very confident, very daring, very self assured and dominant, arin causes a lot of trouble, sunghoon makes reader very shy and flustered, intimidating sunghoon, sweetheart sunghoon, emotional moments, appearance from nct foreign swagger line, sunghoon takes reader home, boyfriend sunghoon (kinda), watch as sunghoon and oc fall in love, sunghoon always touching reader under her skirt lmao, smut text portion, so much angst and pain, heartbreak, gets angsty and rough as fuck.
listen to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 whilst reading <3
i uploaded as a jeno ver originally. i dont think there’s any name mishaps or mistakes but if there is then please let me know politely :)
Park Sunghoon was the bane of your existence.
The University’s study lounge buzzes with the sound of students shuffling in their seats, flipping through textbooks, and tapping away on their laptops. But for you, the noise fades into the background as your thoughts are consumed by one person: Park Sunghoon. He's become the bane of your existence, infiltrating your mind at every turn.
You try to focus on your studies, desperately attempting to absorb the intricacies of musical composition and sound design. But you can't do anything, you can’t focus on your assignments, eat, drink or work on your laptop without thinking of him. Every time you open your textbook, his face flashes before your eyes, distracting you from the task at hand. It's infuriating how effortlessly he invades your thoughts against your own will.
Nayoung’s infatuation with Sunghoon has reached insufferable levels ever since they started hooking up. It's all she ever talks about, as if he's some kind of god among men. But for you, he's just another distraction, a nuisance that refuses to leave you alone. Since they started hooking up, she's been relentless, unable to shut up about their sexual exploits. He can’t be that good…
For you, it's all just noise. You're simply not interested.
While everyone else on campus is busy fucking like rabbits, you couldn't care less. It's like you're the only one on campus who hasn't been sucked into the sex craze. Your focus is on your studies and your future, not getting laid. It's a stark contrast, but you're fine with being the odd one out.
You try to tune out Nayoung’s incessant chatter, but her voice cuts through the air like a knife. "Shut up, shut up!" she exclaims, slapping your hands hastily and pulling you from your thoughts.
You pout in frustration, resisting the urge to snap at her. "I'm not even talking..." you mutter under your breath, huffing in exasperation as you shut your laptop screen down. It's futile to even attempt to get any work done with Sunghoon constantly looming in your mind, taunting you with his presence.
"He's here... He's here! Fuck, he's walking my way and staring at me," Nayoung’s flustered words fill the air as she nervously adjusts her hair, throwing quick glances toward the entrance. You can't help but shake your head at her worry. There's no need for her to fret or make last-minute adjustments, Nayoung is effortlessly attractive, her beauty undeniable and her personality sweetly infectious. She has this casual, confident vibe that's undeniably sexy. It's clear why everyone seems to be wrapped around her little finger.
Then there's Park Sunghoon, making his entrance as if it's the most natural thing in the world to draw every eye in the room. He walks with a confidence that borders on arrogance, an aura around him that's almost too intense. He seems to claim every space he steps into as his own, and today, the cafeteria turns into his domain.
He makes his way over and takes the seat right beside you, as if that spot had been waiting just for him. As he settles in, you find yourself involuntarily gulping a bit, suddenly all too aware of the intensity of his presence. It's undeniable, the aura he carries; a blend of confidence and an almost tangible allure fills the space, charging the air around you. The whole place falls into a hush, the kind of silence that screams of everyone's rapt attention on him, and inevitably, on you by association.
As you catch sight of Sunghoon turning his gaze towards Nayoung, your eyes roll almost instinctively. He reaches out, taking her hand with a gentleness that contradicts his commanding presence, his lips brushing against her skin in a soft kiss. Nayoung’s reaction is immediate; she gulps, visibly struggling to maintain composure, taken aback by the tenderness of his touch.
It's a moment that, despite your usual disinterest, makes you understand just a fraction of the allure that Park Sunghoon carries with him. He's a presence that's hard to ignore, drawing you into his orbit whether you're willing or not.
"We still on for tonight, baby?" Sunghoon's voice sends a shiver down your spine, momentarily silencing the room. Nayoung is completely captivated by him, lost in her own world, unable to form a proper response. But when you nudge her foot with yours, she coughs and says, "Yes, I'll be waiting for you." Her voice is low and sultry, a hint of anticipation laced in her words. "In my bed, all alone, with no clothes on," she continues, biting her lip seductively as she tilts her head and winks at him. "I'll be yours to play with all night long." Her gaze smolders with desire as she waits for his reaction, teasing him with the promise of what's to come.
Sitting beside you, Park Sunghoon has the kind of presence that's impossible to ignore. From what you've heard, the stories that swirl around campus, he's the quintessential heartbreaker, popular, with an air of cockiness that he wears as comfortably as the clothes on his back. He’s dressed casually today, yet every piece seems carefully chosen to accentuate his athletic build—a testament to his dedication as a football player. His fitted t-shirt clings in all the right places, paired with jeans that manage to be both casual and unmistakably deliberate in their fit. His hair, a perfect shade that catches the light, is styled in a seemingly effortless manner, falling just so to frame his striking features.
Sunghoon’s face is a canvas of attractive contrasts; sharp jawlines meet soft, inviting lips, and his eyes, deep and expressive, hold a hint of mischief. There’s a natural symmetry to his features that’s compelling, drawing you in despite any reservations. The easy smirk that often plays across his lips suggests a man who knows his allure and isn’t afraid to use it to his advantage.
But it's not just his looks that have earned him his reputation. He's known to be overconfident, a trait that, combined with his status as a football player, makes him all the more prominent in the social hierarchy of campus life. His charm is scandalous, wielded with the precision of someone who knows just how impactful they are. He's the epitome of a fuckboy, leaving a trail of whispers and rumors in his wake.
Yet, despite the warnings, the stories of hearts left in his path, there's something undeniably captivating about him. He's social, able to navigate any conversation with ease, drawing people in with a magnetism that's hard to resist. And fucking handsome? Absolutely. There's a reason every glance he throws seems to linger, every smile feels like it's meant just for the receiver. It's this mix of danger and allure that makes him an enigma .
Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when you catch Sunghoon and Nayoung exchanging glances so intense, they could only be described as eye fucking. And you're almost certain he's touching her under the table. Casting a discreet glance their way, disbelief washes over you. Their boldness in such a public setting is startling—where's the sense of privacy, the modesty? It's a display that leaves you questioning the very notions of discretion and boundaries in social interactions.
You assumed your silent judgment would go unnoticed, as usual. Being invisible had its perks; it let you navigate these social seas undisturbed, a mode of survival that had become your comfort zone. Yet, just as you side-eye the intimate display between Sunghoon and Nayoung, Jungwon catches your gaze. With a wink, he throws a comment your way, "Don't feel left out, I'll fuck you," assuming a familiarity that you've never invited.
Your response is immediate and flat, "Shut up," hoping to quash the conversation then and there with your deadpan delivery.
But then Jay chimes in, laughter barely concealed in his voice, "Dude, she's not gonna fuck you, that's the girl who's waiting until marriage."
At Jay's words, a familiar rumor audible for all to hear, you can't help but roll your eyes. It's not the first time your personal choices became the focus of campus gossip, yet it never gets easier to hear it discussed so openly.
In that moment, Sunghoon's gaze locks with yours, a brief encounter that feels like an eternity. His eyes, sharp and probing, offer no hint of his thoughts, leaving you floundering in their depths. The intensity of his stare is unexpectedly captivating, sending a jolt of weakness through you that's both unsettling and embarrassingly thrilling. Despite the rumors and the situation, you're forced to admit, Sunghoon is undeniably hot.
But just as quickly as the moment arrives, it passes. Sunghoon breaks the eye contact, returning to his own world with an ease that suggests he's completely unfazed by Jay's comment. This reaction, or lack thereof, catches you off guard. You had braced yourself for a tease or a quip, something to match Jungwon and Jay's playful torment. Yet, Sunghoon's disinterest and quick dismissal of the conversation leave you in a curious mix of relief and disappointment.
One day you’re gonna cut Park Sunghoon’s cock off.
There’s no way he can make a girl scream that loud.
The frustration builds within you as you sit in your room, once again failing to focus on studying the medical procedures you need to know by tomorrow. And who’s to blame? Park Sunghoon, of course. It’s the second time today his fucking with Nayoung has derailed your concentration. Normally, living with her is a joy; she’s your best friend, your better half. But in moments like these, you wish you could live alone, away from the constant distractions of her sex life.
She gets laid a lot, it’s a regular occurrence in your shared apartment. She’s louder than she normally is tonight, her moans and screams echoing through the walls without a hint of restraint. You try to drown out the noise, burying your head in your textbooks, but it's futile. You can't focus, your mind consumed by thoughts of Sunghoon and his cock.
(Unfortunately)
Eventually, the noise subsides, and you cautiously step out of your room, relieved that Sunghoon seems to have finally left. But as you round the corner, a low, deep voice sends a shiver down your spine, and you freeze in your tracks. He's still here.
Panic sets in as you realise how you're practically walking around naked in an oversized top and short shorts, no bra to conceal your exposed skin. You curse under your breath, desperate to escape to the safety of your room, but you know he'll see and hear you if you make a move now.
With no other option, you dart behind the sofa, thankful for its strategic placement that shields you from his view. Heart racing, you hold your breath, praying he doesn't notice you hiding just a few feet away.
Unbeknownst to you, Sunghoon's attention isn't on Nayoung; he wouldn't have recognized your presence even if you made noise. You're pretty sure Nayoung doesn't realize you're here either. Sunghoon is shirtless, basking in the afterglow of sex, but his focus isn't on Nayoung; he's not even looking at her.
The moment he entered the house for the first time, Sunghoon became enamored. It felt as though he was right where he was supposed to be. His eyes lit up with surprise and thrill as he noticed certain things and items that caught his attention—things he found cool and eye-catching. Despite never having been in this house before, it felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.
His eyes sparkled with a light that you should've seen, a light that no other girl had brought to him before. "How did you get this?" he asks Nayoung in awe, marveling at a rare Lego set.
"I didn't. It's my roommate's," she replies, her features showing amusement and disinterest. You had so many nerdy and niche things lying around, and Nayoung found none of them interesting.
Sunghoon spots a rare album, one he's never seen anyone have before. "This is really cool. I didn't know you were into—"
"Yeah, that's also my roommate's," Nayoung interrupts.
Sunghoon shakes his head in amusement, his eyes landing on a book, ‘Normal People' by Sally Rooney. "What about this?”
"A birthday gift from my roommate. I haven't checked it out yet," Nayoung replies.
"Oh, you should. It's really cool," Sunghoon says, scratching his head. He's about to apologise, realising he's delving too much into your personal space. But then his eyes land on a bass guitar and the apology fails to slip from his tongue. "Do you play bass? I always say that my ideal woman—" Sunghoon catches himself, sighing as he realises Nayoung silence. "—does not play bass, because this is clearly your roommate's."
"She's in a band," Nayoung says simply.
"Damn, that's cool," Sunghoon whispers. "What's she like?"
You gulp nervously, wondering why Park Sunghoon wants to know about you. You’re not used to the feeling of someone being interested in you, you’re not used to someone wanting to find out more and uncover you. It's incredibly foreign and unfamiliar.
“She's in the matrix, she's a whore," Nayoung says, and you open your mouth in shock. What the fuck? No, you were not!
Sunghoon chuckles, and you realise Nayoung was just joking. Her next words warm your heart. "She's the best person I've ever met. She's really chill and calm, sweet to everyone, and fair. She has a really good heart. She's different from everyone we see on campus, different in a good way. She's a bit of a nerd; her main worries in life are how to get the next rare Lego set or make sure she has enough time to balance being in her band, acing all her med exams, and doing all that volunteering and extracurricular crap. She's a breath of fresh air."
Nayoung shakes her head with a dry chuckle. "This is unbelievable. You just picked out all the things in here that belong to my roommate. You didn't even spare a glance at the stuff that's mine.”
Yeah, because they're not interesting, Sunghoon thinks.
Nayoung eyes all of your possessions and shakes her head. She turns to Sunghoon. "It's really weird stuff, and I'm really shocked you find it interesting. I didn't expect it from you. I've never seen someone as interested in it... other than you and my roommate."
“My roommate is into pretty weird stuff. She does these weird paintings of robots playing sports.”
Sunghoon scratches his neck and nods. “Yeah, that’s weird…” (He thought it sounded pretty cool).
“She also has this crazy habit of making breakfast food sing show tunes, I mean, it’s not that annoying because she’s an amazing singer, she’s in a band so I’ll give that to her.”
"So does your roommate's band ever play shows or...?" Sunghoon asks.
"Get out," Nayoung bluntly says, pointing her arm towards the door.
Nayoung sighs; this always happens. Nayoung had a roommate complex. Unbeknownst to you, guys always dug her roommate, you. Only you would never know the full extent or seriousness of this, as you would never return the affection or interest. You were robotic, denying all forms of affection, so nothing ever came from guys wanting to fuck you. Paired with the rumor that you were strictly Christian and waiting until marriage to fuck, yeah, you weren’t going to get laid anytime soon.
She takes a seat on the sofa and nearly jumps when she sees you sleeping there soundly. She didn’t know that you staged this; you knew she’d come to the couch after Sunghoon left, so you had to pretend you were sleeping. You couldn’t let Nayoung or Sunghoon know that you had heard and witnessed that entire interaction. She smiles at you and covers you in the blankets fully, readjusting your head and dimming the lights. She wasn’t surprised that you drew attention without trying to or even knowing that people were into you.
She did have a really fucking cool roommate.
The next morning, Nayoung looks sad, her shoulders slumped as she sits at the kitchen table, picking at her breakfast. You take in her demeanor, noting the furrow in her brow and the downturn of her lips. You have to put your acting skills to use, masking the knowledge of why she's upset with a concerned expression. You go to her immediately, your voice filled with worry, "What's wrong? Did he? I'm gonna kill him—"
Nayoung huffs softly, a mix of frustration and resignation in her breath. "We're gonna stop seeing each other," she explains, her voice tinged with sadness.
Your eyes widen in surprise, and you're about to throw hands but she shakes her head and tells you to calm down, making ‘no’ motions, a small smile playing at her lips. She shakes her head and chuckles softly, "No, he did nothing wrong. I'm not gonna miss him. I know this was just sex, but god, he's really attractive and has a good personality. I'm not getting caught up, but wow, I just feel overwhelmed and intense. How can someone be such an attractive and hot person and know how to use his cock?"
You're at a loss for words, your voice catching in your throat as you struggle to find the right response. You were awkward when it came to emotional conversations, you didn’t know how to comfort someone! One to one intimate moments like this overwhelmed you. However, Nayoung drops a bomb that leaves you speechless and stunned.
"And he likes you."
You choke on your own breath, your eyes widening in disbelief as you shake your head vehemently. "Me? What? That’s absolutely ridiculous, Nayoung, no he doesn’t! He doesn’t even know who I am."
Inner turmoil consumes you as conflicting thoughts swirl in your mind. How could someone like Sunghoon possibly be interested in you? You've never exchanged a single word, never shared a moment beyond fleeting glances in passing. Logically, it doesn't add up; you're strangers. He revels in the chaos of getting high and fuckinf, while you find solace in quiet evenings, lost in the intricate world of LEGO creations and the soothing melody of your bass guitar. It's inconceivable that someone like him could find anything remotely intriguing in someone like you.
"I'm telling you. He likes you. It's true! He pointed out every single thing in the living room that was yours. He likes all the things you do. He's a nerd like you."
Your voice cracks with disbelief, your hands gesturing in denial as you try to process Nayoung's words. "Park Sunghoon? Nerd? He's far from... he's a fuckboy and a football player, he's popular and parties like there's no tomorrow, he smokes and does drugs and—"
"Y/N! You know better than to stereotype. Yes, he does party, is popular, and loves fucking, but he's more than that. He's obviously more than that, and it's not like he hides it. You're only seeing what you want to see. The image you have of him in your head is an image that is surface level. He's actually a good guy, he doesn’t think of himself as above people, and he's chill and kind. He aces exams, and he fucking knows about all the rare little Legos like you do, so he’s clearly a nerd!"
You sigh heavily, feeling a mix of frustration and realization wash over you. Nayoung was right. You were only seeing what you wanted to see. Your idea of him was so fixed and stubborn that you refused to look deeper, beyond the surface.
"It’s like you, Y/N. People only see you as that nerdy, quiet loner who doesn’t talk to anyone and doesn’t drink or party. People think you’re weird—"
"Gee, thanks a lot," you cut off Nayoung's words, sarcastically thanking her for her honesty.
"But I know that you’re way more than that! Your main focus may be your studies, but you’ve got so many cute little side interests! It all adds to your personality and it’s all important. It shouldn’t be overlooked. It makes you who you are. Not only are you a med student, but you’re also in a fucking band! You’re the bassist! It’s fucking hot and cool, Y/N. Park Sunghoon even asked for the name of your band."
What you knew about Park Sunghoon’s cock was against your own will.
Nayoung’s words echo in your mind, each syllable sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. "Sunghoon’s literally so good at dirty talk," she continues, her voice dripping with excitement. "He knows exactly how to please a woman. He doesn’t just stick his dick in and out. He actually has superb technique."
You breathe heavily, shutting your laptop once and for all. "If you and Sunghoon have stopped seeing each other then why are you telling me this?" you interrupt, unable to conceal the frustration in your voice. Nayoung and Yeji exchange a glance, their eyes twinkling mischievously as they exchange silent communication. It's like they're speaking a language that only they understand, leaving you feeling increasingly left out and confused.
Nayoung and Eunji exchanged a look, and it utterly confused you. They'd been giving each other these secretive glances for the past week, making you desperately wish you could tap into whatever little secret they were keeping. Yet, whenever you brought it up, they simply shifted the topic.
"You guys are seriously starting to annoy me," you finally snap, unable to contain your frustration any longer. "Can you just tell me whatever the fuck it is you’re thinking about?" You're met with a knowing smirk from both Nayoung and Eunji, their lips quirking into sly smiles as they continue to exchange secretive glances.
Nayoung leans in closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper as she continues to regale you with tales of Sunghoon’s abilities in the bedroom. "You know, Sunghoon’s not just about the physical stuff," she says cryptically, her gaze flickering with something you can’t quite decipher.
Eunji nods in agreement, her lips quirking into a sly smile as she adds, "He’s got this way of making you feel like you’re the only woman in the world when he’s with you. Once he went down on me and I couldn’t walk for days."
Your eyes widen in surprise at Eunji’s revelation, feeling a mix of shock and arousal coursing through you. "When did you fuck him?" you blurt out, unable to conceal your curiosity.
She just laughs, shaking her head as she brushes off your question with ease. "We’ve casually fucked from time to time," she says nonchalantly. "It’s not that shocking, Y/N. His body count is high, after he broke up with Arin, his cock has been unstoppable."
You huff in disbelief. "Who has he not fucked?" you mutter under your breath, your mind reeling with thoughts of Sunghoon's sexual conquests.
"You," Nayoung and Eunji say simultaneously, their words hitting you like a ton of bricks. Silence falls over you as you process their words, feeling a strange mix of shock and excitement swirling inside you.
"What is that even supposed to mean?" you stammer, feeling a sense of unease creeping over you at their cryptic words.
Nayoung just smirks. “Nothing. I’m just telling you how good he is in bed.” You had a feeling she was lying. She had her reasons and motives, ones you were far from understanding.
"And why is that of use to me?" you question, expecting an answer. You turn to Sunwoo when you’re met with silence from the girls.
"Sunwoo, help me," you nudge him from beside you, knowing you could trust your closest and oldest friend.
You sigh in relief when he turns to the two girls. “Leave her alone, this Sunghoon thing is ridiculous, he’s way out of her league.” His words bring you peace and you rest your head against his shoulder, taking a deep breath.
“I’m sorry, I love you, Y/N, but no one is out of Sunghoon’s league. If anything, it’s the other way around,” Nayoung retorts.
“Thanks a lot,” you snort.
“It’s not just you, everyone is out of his league,” Eunji clarifies.
“I’m not,” Sunwoo says dryly.
“You shut up!” Eunji points an accusing finger at Sunwoo. “I know you have protective, brotherly tendencies when it comes to Y/N, but you have to admit… our girl needs cock!”
He turns to you, a knowing smirk that only the two of you will understand. “You do really need to get laid though,” he says in a low voice.
Nayoung goes back to praising Sunghoon for his sexual abilities. “And let me tell you, his dirty talk is next level,”
A devilish grin spreads across Eunji’s face as she shares a smirk with Nayoung, recalling one of her past encounters with Sunghoon. “I’ve never had sex with someone who has such good timing and pace,” she confesses. "He knows exactly what to do with his cock, hands, and lips, and where to do it."
"He’s not just in it for himself, you know," Eunji adds, her tone serious as she looks you straight in the eye. "He genuinely cares about his partner’s pleasure. He’s the perfect person to experience all of your firsts with."
"Hey!" you exclaim, feeling a surge of indignation rising up inside you. "This feels very targeted and personal," you accuse, your voice cracking with frustration. "Where is this coming from?"
You had never spoken a word to Park Sunghoon in your life. Sure, you noticed that he seemed to take an interest in your belongings around the apartment, but that wasn't enough to warrant Nayoung and Eunji sudden push to get you interested in him. It all felt too orchestrated, too deliberate, and you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to their agenda than they were letting on. Despite their efforts to convince you otherwise, you remained skeptical about the idea of getting involved with someone like Sunghoon, especially considering your vastly different personalities and lifestyles.
"I'm not saying you have to jump into bed with him right away," Nayoung says, her voice softening with sincerity. "But maybe give him a chance. You might be surprised. I know what you're gonna say, 'He's the Park Sunghoon, campus fuckboy and resident player, we're in completely different leagues and scenes, and we'll never get along.'" Nayoung mimics your voice, and you narrow your eyes.
"I sound nothing like that!" you frown, realizing you sounded exactly like that.
"Just think about it, Y/N," Nayoung says, her voice tinged with excitement.
"I'm not gonna think about it, my mind is gonna be on the gig I have tonight. You guys better be there!" you declare.
Nayoung's response comes with a gleam in her eye, a spark of something mischievous lurking beneath her casual assurance. "Oh, we wouldn't miss it for the world," she says, her glance sliding over to Yeji as they share a knowing look. They wink at each other, sealing a silent pact, the first stage of their mission to bring you and Sunghoon closer is already in motion.
Sunghoon received a text from Nayoung, inviting him to meet for some drinks at the bar. The anticipation of a night filled with pleasure courses through his veins, driving him to accept the invitation without hesitation.
He goes because he anticipates getting laid. Sunghoon enjoyed the sex with Nayoung, as he did with any other girl. He had an insatiable appetite for sex, and he never shied away from indulging in it. However, he was always respectful and mindful of boundaries. His partners knew that he was only seeking physical satisfaction, and he made sure they felt just as much pleasure as they gave him.
It didn’t matter to him if Nayoung's personality didn’t align with his; he was solely focused on fulfilling his carnal desires. Feeling sexually frustrated, Sunghoon eagerly heads to the bar, eager to find release in Nayoung's company.
Feeling sexually frustrated and on edge, Sunghoon's steps quicken as he approaches the bar, the dim lights and pulsing music heightening his senses. He craves the distraction, the temporary oblivion that comes with losing himself in the warmth of another body. And so, with a determined stride, he pushes open the door.
As Sunghoon strides into the dimly lit bar, the air heavy with the scent of alcohol and anticipation, he feels a rush of excitement course through him. Dressed in a sleek leather jacket that hugs his form, he exudes an air of rugged charm and allure as he scans the room, his eyes alight with anticipation.
The bar is cast in shadows, a dimly lit sanctuary with a retro flair that gives it an air of timeless charm. Neon signs flicker softly against the dark walls, casting a warm, inviting glow over the eclectic mix of patrons. The atmosphere is a blend of nostalgia and mystery, each corner telling a story, each shadow holding a secret. Vinyl records adorn one wall, a nod to the classics, while the low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses provide a steady soundtrack to the night.
A familiar tingle zips through him, it’s an echo of the sensation he felt that first time he crossed the threshold into your apartment, a sense of rightness, of being exactly where he’s supposed to be.
Something shifts inside him. The retro vibe, combined with the sultry air, sets a scene that's both familiar and charged with new energy. Shadows dance across the walls, and the music's pulse syncs with his own heartbeat, signaling a night of unexpected turns.
Amidst the noise and the crowd, Sunghoon spots Nayoung. She's there, laughing, surrounded by friends, exactly where he should want to be. But he doesn’t move towards her. Instead, there's a compelling force, a curiosity leading him elsewhere, towards something—or someone—he hadn't anticipated.
It’s you.
Amongst the faces, yours catches his gaze like a lighthouse in the fog. It's inexplicable, this sudden redirection of his night, his desires. Something inside him has decided, without a word, that the night was never really about Nayoung. It was about discovering what he didn't even know he was looking for—until now.
Perched on the stage, bathed in the soft glow of the neon lights, you exude a magnetic energy that draws him in like a match to its flame. You were breathtaking. Dressed in a mini skirt that accentuates every curve of your ass and thighs, paired with a top that leaves little to the imagination, you radiate confidence and sensuality that leaves Sunghoon spellbound.
For a moment, time seems to stand still as Sunghoon’s gaze locks with yours, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of you. In that instant, he feels a surge of desire unlike anything he’s ever experienced. Who were you? He was sure that you were one of the students at the college, he was sure he had seen you before. He’s just shocked that this is the first time he’s recognising how hot you are.
In that fleeting moment, as Sunghoon's eyes meet yours, time itself seems to pause, the air charged with an electric tension. His gaze, intense and unyielding, speaks of a yearning that goes beyond mere attraction, hinting at depths of desire that are raw and untamed. As your smile fades, replaced by a questioning frown, the atmosphere thickens with unspoken possibilities, a palpable sense of what could be.
The sudden break in your smile sends a pang through Sunghoon, a silent plea for the connection not to sever. The eye contact between you is a live wire, sparking with the potential to ignite. Amidst the crowd, amidst the noise, there's a silent conversation happening, a dance of glances that speaks volumes.
Your mind races with questions. Why was Park Sunghoon here? He was the campus heartbreak and residential fuckboy, the last person you’d expect to see you play. You always assumed no one ever found you interesting so why does his interest seem to settle on you tonight? His reputation precedes him, yet here he is, looking at you with an intensity that suggests a desire for something more profound than his usual pursuits.
You weren't naive, why was he looking at you like he wanted you? Like he wanted to fuck you. Why now? His gaze, laden with an unmistakable intensity, seeks to pierce through the layers, to see beyond the facade everyone else sees.
Your band commands the space. The rhythm is captivating, a vibrant blend of guitar riffs and drum beats that fills the room with an infectious energy. You're on the bass, and it's clear this is a passion. The bass itself is a striking piece, its sleek, polished wood and the smooth curves of its body reflecting the stage lights.
As Sunghoon watches, he can't help but marvel at the skill in your fingers. The way they dance and glide over the strings, with precision and a sort of grace that's both powerful and delicate, stirs something unexpected in him. His gaze fixates on your hands, fingers moving in perfect harmony with the music, and a primal desire ignites within him.
The thought of those talented fingers exploring your own body, tracing every curve and fold, sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine. He imagines the sensation of your touch, firm yet gentle. Lost in the moment, Sunghoon feels a surge of arousal building within him, his breath hitching as he envisions your fingers delving deeper.
What fucks him up even more is when you smile at him, such an innocent smile that makes his chest tighten with an unexpected surge of desire. It's a smile that lights up your entire face, eyes sparkling with warmth and sincerity, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through Sunghoon's veins.
As you lock eyes with him and smile, Sunghoon feels as though the air has been knocked out of his lungs. You look breathtaking, radiant in the soft glow of the stage lights, your beauty almost otherworldly in its intensity. Every curve and contour of your features seems to be highlighted.
You had no idea what he was thinking, so oblivious to the effect you had on him. It was maddening how effortlessly captivating you were, how your mere presence could stir such intense longing within him.
He knows this is wrong, that he shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts, shouldn’t be so turned on by you. Desperately trying to regain control of his thoughts, Sunghoon attempts to focus on the other members of the band. They exude coolness, lost in the music and their own world. But for all their visual appeal, none of them compare to you.
In that moment, Sunghoon finds himself singularly captivated by you, unable to tear his gaze away as he succumbs to the intoxicating allure of your presence.
He’s not the only one. The energy of the room has shifted, centering on your presence on stage. It's palpable, the way you've drawn every eye towards you. You're undeniably magnetic, a fact made evident by the sea of faces turned in your direction, yet what truly fascinates Sunghoon, what truly fucks his mind, is your obliviousness to the effect you're having. You’re just lost in the music, not looking for any approval or basking in the spotlight. This contrast, between how much you stand out and your indifference to it, really catches him.
Though he can't hear your laugh over the music, he sees the way your shoulders shake, the brightness in your eyes, and he knows—it's a sound he wants to discover, to keep. A smile, unbidden, spreads across his face, mirroring the joy he sees in you. It's a strange, fluttery feeling that takes residence in his chest, a sensation both foreign and exhilarating.
Nayoung makes her way through the crowd to him, a knowing smile playing on her lips. She leans in close, her fingers tracing a daring path down his back and over his thighs. Her touch, bold and teasing, makes his heart skip a beat. "You wish that was Y/N touching you, right?" she whispers, her voice a blend of mischief and suggestion.
Turning to face her, Sunghoon's eyes darken, a smoulder of intensity burning within them as he contemplated her words. "Y/N?" The name, unfamiliar and yet suddenly significant, rolls off his tongue.
Nayoung's nod is all the confirmation he needs. "Yeah, she's the one. She's my roommate," she reveals, each word painting a clearer picture in his mind.
"I'm off to Jake's house, but you're staying here, right? Y/N normally walks home from the bar. Maybe you could offer to walk her, maybe keep her company. Our apartment is going to be empty… use your imagination." With a final wink, she slips away.
As Sunghoon steps out into the cool night, he spots you alone under a streetlamp, the smoke from your cigarette curling into the night air. As you take another drag, the ember glows, casting a soft light on your features. He’s mesmerised by the sight, a girl smoking would always be hot to him, the sight of the smoke framing your face proves that. It gives you a mysterious vibe, making you appear all the more captivating and irresistibly sexy in his eyes.
Drawn to you, he moves closer and asks if he can join. Noticing his gaze linger, you offer him a cigarette with a knowing smile. You offer him a cigarette with a knowing smile. As he accepts, your fingers brush against his, sending a jolt of electricity through both of you. There’s a charged energy in the way your gazes lock. As he inhales, his jawline becomes more pronounced, the smoke curling around him like a caress. There’s a deliberate slowness to his exhale, the smoke weaving between you, creating an intimate veil.
As the conversation between you and Sunghoon progresses, you find yourself surprisingly at ease in his presence. Normally, you'd keep your guard up, especially around someone as notorious as Sunghoon, but tonight, there's something different. Before you realize it, you're drawing him in closer, the usual barriers falling away. You might have blamed it on alcohol, but you're sober, leaving the connection between you both intriguingly genuine.
Conversation starts light, with Sunghoon leaning in slightly, the warmth of the moment closing the distance between you. "Watching you tonight… I was taken aback, you’re really good," he says, his voice low and appreciative, tinged with genuine admiration.
You laugh softly, a bit of surprise flickering across your face at his observation. "I just love playing, didn't think anyone actually noticed," you reply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, a hint of bashfulness in your smile.
"Oh, trust me, it's hard not to notice," Sunghoon continues, his gaze steady on you, making sure you understand he's talking about more than just the music.
You giggle, feeling a mix of flattery and nervousness under his focused attention. "Well, I'm glad you think so. I'm usually just hoping I don't mess up the chords," you respond, trying to maintain a lighthearted tone, even as his compliment sends a warm flutter through you.
"Mess up? I think you could play anything and make it sound incredible," he asserts, a playful yet sincere edge to his words. His flirtatious confidence is smooth, but it's his underlying earnestness that catches you off guard, drawing an unguarded smile from you.
The conversation flows, creating a comfortable yet charged atmosphere. Your laughter comes more easily. With a playful smirk, Sunghoon’s eyes trail down your figure, appreciating the way your tight top accentuates your curves and your skirt hugs your hips and thighs. “You look stunning,” he comments, his tone flirtatious yet respectful.
Blushing at his compliment, you giggle softly and playfully respond, “I thought I looked pretty today.”
Sunghoon’s gaze meets yours, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as he leans in closer. “You look hot,” he says, his voice dripping with desire, sending a thrill down your spine.
Your cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink as you accept Sunghoon's jacket, letting out a soft giggle that speaks volumes of your appreciation and the fluttering emotions within. "Thank you," you manage to say, your voice light and airy, tinged with a mix of gratitude and a growing warmth that has little to do with the dropping temperatures around you.
The way Sunghoon looked at you changed everything. You had noticed his eyes when you were on the stage and you’re noticing it now. The opinions you had formed about him, the guard you had meticulously built up, the walls you constructed around yourself—all of it began to crumble the moment his gaze met yours. You found yourself inexplicably drawn towards him, a magnetic pull you couldn't resist.
There's just something about him.
There's something about his eyes, particularly striking, that makes it impossible for you to look away. It's as if they hold a depth of understanding and kindness, captivating you, making you feel seen and acknowledged in a way that's disarmingly comforting.
There's something about his smile, too. It's genuine, radiant even, cutting through your defenses as if they were made of paper. His smile seems to speak directly to your soul, warming you from the inside out, and making the corners of your own lips twitch upwards in response.
You can't help but admit, there's something about him—something undeniably compelling that makes you feel like you’re rediscovering something familiar, a connection that's both unexpected and deeply welcome.
You start to shiver, you’re not sure whether it’s because of the weather or how he’s making you feel. Sunghoon, noticing your discomfort, doesn't hesitate. He smoothly takes off his jacket and places it over your shoulders. The sudden warmth from the jacket contrasts sharply with the cool air.
As Sunghoon's jacket settles around your shoulders, the immediate sensation is one of warmth, the material soft against your skin. The jacket, slightly too large, feels like a hug, a protective barrier against the chill. But it's his scent that truly captivates you — infused with notes of wood and spice, subtle yet distinctly masculine.
Sunghoon's gaze inadvertently falls on your arm. There, slightly peeking out from under the fabric, is a tattoo that immediately captures his attention. It's a butterfly, intricately designed, its wings seemingly crafted from delicate wisps of ashes, as if it has risen, reborn from the remnants of a past life. The detail is exquisite, symbolising transformation, resilience, and the beauty of emerging stronger from challenges.
"That's... I have the same tattoo," Sunghoon reveals, his voice tinged with disbelief and a newfound depth of connection.
For a moment, the world seems to pause, the ambient noise of your surroundings fading into the background as you lock eyes. The eye contact is intense, it’s as if the discovery of your matching tattoos has unveiled a deeper layer of understanding, a serendipitous link that neither of you expected but both inherently feel.
The butterfly, for you, symbolizes a journey through personal trials, a testament to the strength it takes to rise anew. For Sunghoon, it represents a parallel path, a reminder of his own resilience and the transformative power of embracing change.
You feel a surge of heat pooling in your core as he shifts slightly, his movements drawing you in closer. “Are you okay with me showing you?” he asks, voice low and husky, dripping with seduction. It sends a rush of heat straight to your core. You narrow your eyes, confused but nod immediately, your chest tightening and your eyes firing when you realise what he means. It’s a tattoo under his shirt, and the thought of him revealing it to you ignites a fiery desire within you.
Your heart races as you meet his gaze, your eyes smouldering with desire. With a deliberate yet sensual touch, you place your hand on his, stopping him from lifting his shirt. “Do you want to come home with me?” you whisper, surprised at how forward you’re being but this feels right. Your voice is laced with longing and need. You can feel the electricity crackling between you, the air thick with anticipation.
A wicked grin spreads across Sunghoon’s lips as he gazes at you, his eyes darkening with desire. “You can show me then. I have a tattoo on my thigh too that I want to show you,” you add, your words sending a surge of arousal through both of you. The tension between you is palpable, the desire for each other burning hotter with every passing moment.
Ultimately, you made the first move. The walk back home was charged with an energy that couldn't be ignored, an undeniable sexual tension that seemed to pull you both closer with every step. Heated glances were exchanged, each look sending a clear message of the attraction between you.
The moment the front door clicked shut, you seized him, your fingers digging into his shirt as you pulled him into you with an urgency that bordered on desperation. His lips crashed against yours like a tidal wave, igniting a firestorm of passion that consumed you both. It was a kiss fueled by the electric charge that had crackled between you since the moment you laid eyes on each other.
His lips were like a drug, intoxicating and addictive, sending shockwaves of desire coursing through your veins. He knew exactly how to move his lips against yours, each brush and caress igniting a blaze of longing deep within you. The taste of him, a heady blend of musk and spice, lingered on your lips, driving you to explore every inch of his mouth.
His tongue traced the outline of your lips with a teasing flick, coaxing them to part with an insistence. His tongue delved deep into the recesses of your mouth, seeking out every hidden corner with an eager hunger. Your tongues tangled together with a longing that left you both breathless. With each stroke and caress, the intensity of the kiss grew.
His arms encircled your waist, pulling you impossibly close until there was no space between you, his body pressing against yours with a delicious urgency. You tangled your fingers in his hair, each touch and pull of his hair igniting a wildfire of need within you.
As you stumbled blindly through the room, knocking over objects in your path, you couldn't bring yourself to care about the mess you left in your wake. You knocked over one of your lego sets, one that took endless hours to build but in that moment, all that mattered was kissing him, the taste of him on your lips, and the overwhelming need that consumed you both.
Sunghoon’s hands are rough and eager as he rips your top off, the fabric tearing with a satisfying sound that echoes in the room. He wastes no time in unzipping your mini skirt, but the tightness proves to be a challenge. You both share a moment of laughter, the sound muffled by your desperate kisses, as he struggles to pull it down your legs.
Giggles mix with moans as you continue to ravage each other. You dragged him impossibly closer, as if trying to meld your bodies together into one. His arms wrapped around you, his hands roaming over your back and shoulders, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
You detach your lips for just a moment, recapturing your breath, then you leap into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as he lifted you effortlessly off the ground. The sensation of his body against yours was electrifying. Your breath mingled with his, hot and heavy against each other’s mouths as you panted and moaned.
"Who's home?" he breathes out, desperation lacing his words, a different side of him emerging with a heavier, more urgent tone.
"No one. Just us," you reply, your voice a low, throaty moan, thick with desire.
You've heard Chaeyoung talk about her experiences with him, listened to her descriptions of how it felt to fuck him. You knew more about what you were getting yourself into than you let on. She had mentioned how he was softer in the beginning, but that wasn't what you wanted.
"I don't want you to hold back. I don't want you to be soft," you pant out, the words dripping with raw need and insatiable longing. "I want you to fuck me like you mean it," you demand, your voice husky with desire, your eyes blazing with primal hunger.
In response, he lets out a low, primal moan, almost a growl, that resonates deep within you, setting your senses ablaze and igniting a fire in the depths of your core.
He throws you onto the bed, a rush of exhilaration coursing through you as you land with a soft thud. His lips remain locked with yours, refusing to break the connection as he positions himself on top of you.
With a fierce determination, he discards your lace bra and thong, his hands moving with precision and purpose. As you lay exposed before him, you feel the heat in his eyes, a primal desire burning bright as he admires every inch of your bare form. His growl of appreciation sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that can only be quenched by his touch.
Between kisses, he whispers, "You don't know how much I've wanted to see every inch of your skin like this," his tone heavy with longing and anticipation. His lips continue their exploration, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. He murmurs, "I've been thinking about you all night long,"
Between kisses, he whispers, "Thinking about how you'd moan my name as I take every inch of you," his tone heavy with longing and anticipation. "The feeling of your body underneath mine, how it would arch and tremble," he continues, his breath hot against your skin. "Feeling your tight pussy gripping me.” He confesses, his words sending a surge of heat straight to your core.
Your whimper, feeling utterly speechless, yet you manage to muster one pleading request. "Take your clothes off," you whine, pouting as the realisation sinks in that he remains fully clothed against your bare skin.
He responds with a shake of his head, a smile dancing on his lips. "Not now," he murmurs before returning his focus to admiring every inch of your body. "You're so fucking pretty," he purrs, his voice low and husky with desire as he drinks in the sight of you. He groans softly, unable to resist the magnetic pull of your beauty, longing to taste every inch of your skin.
His body presses down against yours with unyielding force, the weight of him grounding you to the mattress. You can feel every contour of his form pressing into you, every muscle tense with desire as he hungrily devours you.
The sensation of him against you is overwhelming, a reminder of his presence as he presses closer, leaving no space between you. Your breath hitches when you feel the unmistakable hardness of his cock rubbing against your thigh, igniting a fire of need within you.
As his lips trail from yours to your neck, he leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses in his wake. Each touch leaves behind a mark of his possession, a hickey to brand you as his own in the heat of the moment.
As his lips trail from yours to your neck, he leaves a scorching path of hot, wet kisses in his wake. His kisses are possessive and rough, each touch a declaration of his dominance as he claims you as his own. With each press of his lips against your skin, he leaves behind a red mark of his possession, his lips tugging at your skin with a delicious mix of pleasure and pain, leaving behind teeth marks that throb with a sensation that borders on ecstasy.
With a lingering kiss that sets your senses ablaze, he teases your lips before trailing down your body with determined intent. Each movement is deliberate, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine.
As he reaches your nipples, he captures them between his lips with a hunger that leaves you breathless. His tongue dances across your sensitive peaks, tracing intricate patterns before swirling around them in long, languid strokes. The sensation is electric, igniting a firestorm of desire deep within you as he sucks and licks with an insatiable hunger.
"Fuck," you moan, your voice dripping with need as he drives you wild with pleasure. "Sunghoon," you urge, your fingers grasping at his hair as you lose yourself in the overwhelming sensation.
"Harder," you demand, your voice laced with desperation as you beg for more of his intoxicating touch. "I need you to make me cum," you whimper, your body arching towards him as he complies with your wishes, his movements growing more urgent with each passing moment and you can’t help but feel his smirk against your skin.
With every tug of his hair, you feel a surge of pleasure coursing through you, intensifying the already overwhelming sensation of his mouth on your nipples. As he trails scorching kisses down your body, every touch sets your skin ablaze with desire, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. His lips linger over every inch of your flesh, igniting a firestorm of need that consumes you from within.
"That's it, good girl, cum for me," he murmurs against your skin, his voice a sultry whisper that sends shivers down your spine. His head rests against your thigh, his gaze locked with yours as he watches you with dazed eyes, the intensity of his stare driving you wild with desire.
"Keep your eyes on me when you cum," he demands, his voice low and deep, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. You whimper in response, your hands trembling as you remove them from covering your face, laying them by your sides as your orgasm approaches rapidly.
As he locks his hands with yours, his touch sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, his fingers coaxing and guiding you towards ecstasy. "Cum all over my tongue, pretty girl, can you do that for me?" he urges, his voice a husky growl that ignites a firestorm of need deep within you.
As the tension coils tighter within you, you feel your release building, a primal urge threatening to consume you entirely. With a tight grip on his hands, you surrender to the overwhelming sensation, your body trembling with anticipation.
The pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave, your senses overwhelmed as you feel yourself spiraling into ecstasy. Behind closed eyelids, flashes of intense pleasure dance across your vision, colors swirling in a sensation.
He smashes his lips against yours, the kiss suffocating but so hot and heated that it sends a jolt of desire coursing through your veins. As he breaks away from the kiss, his words hang in the air, a response to the desire you had expressed earlier.
You notice a shift in him, a different look in his eyes that sends a thrill of excitement down your spine. There's a hot, intense side to him that you hadn't expected, a side that turns you on more than you could have imagined.
“How do you want me to fuck you?” Sunghoon whispers huskily, his lips trailing languid kisses all over your face.
His gaze softens with anticipation as he waits for your response, and you find yourself ready to comply. You nod eagerly, but he just tuts, wanting a clear answer.
"Tell me what you want me to do to you," he says, his voice a mixture of softness and anticipation, contrasting with the demanding tone in his voice. He's really asking you? You hadn't expected this, never experienced this level of openness and desire before.
"I - I..." you begin, stumbling over your words, unsure how to articulate your deepest desires.
"Baby, don't hold back," he tuts gently, his index finger resting at the bottom of your chin, keeping your gaze locked on his.
"Don't laugh at me," you pout.
"Why would I do that?" His voice deepens, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he reassures you with his words.
"I - I want you to be rough," you finally admit, your voice trembling with anticipation. "I want you to slap me, choke me, spit on me. I don't want you to be gentle. I want to see if you live up to the hype of being this 'sex god' that everyone claims you are. I - just do whatever you want to me. Use me and control me."
Your confession leaves you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you await his reaction. You gasp in shock at your own words, your eyes widening in disbelief at the boldness of your desires. But as you look into his eyes, you see nothing but desire and hunger reflected back at you, fueling the fire of anticipation burning between you.
His movements are confident and commanding as he grips your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his intense gaze. You dare not look away, captivated by the raw desire burning in his eyes. With his other hand, he traces the curves of your body, his touch rough and demanding, igniting a fire within you.
As his fingers trail lower, teasing your already sensitive peaks, you gasp at the electrifying sensation. A low growl escapes his lips as he feels how wet you already are, his finger slipping effortlessly into your eager heat.
“Fuck, you’re already dripping?” he murmurs, his voice laced with desire and disbelief. “I haven’t even touched you yet, needy slut.”
You moan as his fingers slide effortlessly into your eager heat, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure racing through your body. He doesn't hold back, pushing deeper with each thrust, stretching you to accommodate his every movement. The rough pads of his fingertips brush against your sensitive walls, igniting a firestorm of desire deep within you. You arch your back, offering yourself up to him completely, craving more of his intoxicating touch.
He adds another finger, and then another, the stretch deliciously overwhelming as he fills you completely. You can feel the pressure building, the tight coil of pleasure threatening to unravel at any moment. His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more urgent and relentless as he drives you closer to the edge. You can't help but cry out, lost in the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.
With each stroke, he pushes you closer and closer to the brink, until finally, you shatter into a million pieces, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as you succumb to the overwhelming pleasure he's given you.
"I want you to eat me out –" you manage to breathe out, your voice trembling with anticipation and need.
With a hungry glint in his eyes, Sunghoon positions you just how he likes, spreading your legs wide as he settles between them. His touch is demanding, yet precise, as he dips his fingers between your slick folds, reveling in the wetness that greets him. Already, he's moved his head down, and you eagerly cage it between your thighs, your breath hitching in anticipation.
Throwing your legs around his shoulders, you pull him closer, urging him to delve deeper. And delve he does, his tongue tracing intricate patterns along your throbbing heat, each stroke sending jolts of electricity coursing through your body. There's no gentleness in his approach; he's forceful, relentless, determined to devour you whole.
He attacks your clit with fervor, his tongue flicking against it with a ferocity that leaves you gasping for air. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you in place as he intensifies his assault, his head bobbing between your legs as he drives you to the brink of ecstasy.
"Fuck, you taste so good," he growls against your sensitive flesh, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. He's not content until you're a writhing mess beneath him, lost in a sea of pleasure that only he can provide.
Your moans fill the room, broken and desperate, as he takes you higher and higher, pushing you closer to the brink with each skilled stroke of his tongue. But just as you close your eyes to savour the moment, his hand comes down hard on your pussy, giving you a sharp slap. "I told you to look at me when you cum," he growls, his voice a commanding presence that leaves you breathless. You let out a moan, not expecting to be so turned on by this. It sends shockwaves of pleasure radiating through you.
With a small nod, you oblige, opening your eyes to meet his gaze, letting him see the raw, unbridled desire written across your face. You're completely at his mercy, your body aching with need as he continues to devour you with his mouth.
He sucks dry every last drop of your pleasure, his praises ringing in your ears like a symphony of desire.
He presses his lips against your throbbing core with a mouthy and wet kiss. "Good girl," he murmurs, his words a soothing balm to your fractured senses. "Such a pretty cunt," he adds, his voice a husky growl as he admires your pussy.
And as you come down from the dizzying heights of ecstasy, you're left panting and trembling in his arms, completely spent and utterly satisfied.
As Sunghoon pulls back from devouring you, his eyes blaze with unquenchable desire, hungry for more of you. Your body trembles with anticipation, aching for his touch as you meet his intense gaze, silently begging for him to fulfill your craving.
“Please, Sunghoon,” you plead, your voice thick with need, your fingers grasping at the sheets beneath you. “I need you inside me.” His grin is wicked, a mirror of your own desire, as he savors your desperation, relishing the power he holds over you.
“You want me to fuck you, baby?” he purrs, the husky timbre of his voice sending shivers down your spine.
You nod fervently, a smile tugging at your lips as your hands reach for his top, swiftly pulling it over his head. Your fingers trace over his bare chest and abs, the sight of his toned physique eliciting a gasp of admiration. His chest and abs glisten in the dim light, sculpted to perfection, each muscle defined with precision.
Your breath hitches with each passing moment, the ache between your legs growing more insistent with every heartbeat. Fingers trembling, you reach for his belt, your urgency evident in the way you fumble with the buckle. With a swift motion, he pulls it down himself, his boxers following suit, revealing his hardened length. You gasp at the sight, your eyes fixated on his cock as you reach out instinctively. He groans in response, his voice strained with desire as he warns, "Don't, baby. I won't last."
With a primal growl, he positions himself between your parted thighs, his throbbing cock poised at your entrance, close yet agonisingly out of reach. You can see it in his eyes, and the way he's looking at you, he's going to go soft despite his earlier promises of roughness.
As you express your disappointment with a soft whine, he silences you with a gentle shake of his head. "Trust me, baby, I'm big," he whispers in a husky tone, his words sending a thrill through you.
"I don't care. I still want you to be rough with me," you assert, your desire palpable in your voice.
He shakes his head once more. “You don't want me to be too rough for the first time," he explains softly, his eyes filled with tenderness. "Maybe next time," he adds with a teasing wink, prolonging the anticipation as he plays with your desires.
As his lips crash against yours in a breathy kiss, a symphony of moans escapes from the depths of your souls, mingling in the air like sweet melodies of desire. Each touch of his lips against yours ignites a fire within, sending sparks of electricity dancing across your skin. With every exhale, you both moan into each other’s mouth.
He backs away from your lips too early for your liking. With a devious glint in his eyes, he teases, testing your patience and leaving you craving more.
You grow increasingly impatient when he doesn’t move, he smirks, he’s teasing you, testing your patience. Your whimpers become more urgent with each passing moment. “Please,” you beg for any type of movement
But he continues to toy with you, his smirk widening as he revels in your desperation. “I don’t know, should I let you have my cock?” he taunts, his voice dripping with desire and dominance.
You deadpan. “Your cock is literally inside of my vagina right now—”
“Do you really think you deserve it?” he says, his voice low and dark, sending shivers down your spine.
You roll your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you match his tone. You find yourself enjoying the charged atmosphere, how comfortable it feels with him. You find yourself holding back a grin. "I bet you're not even that big," you retort.
“Oh?” he says, a smirk playing on his lips as he closes the distance between you, his gaze burning with intensity.
As he thrusts into you with relentless force, you feel an overwhelming mix of pleasure and discomfort wash over you. His cock is so thick, stretching you to your limits with each deep penetration. You whimper, struggling to adjust to his size, but he shows no mercy, drilling into you with undefeated determination.
His movements are harsh and unforgiving, his hips driving forward with brutal force as he claims you as his own. Each thrust sends shockwaves through your body, leaving you trembling with need. You moan uncontrollably, unable to form coherent words as he pounds into you relentlessly.
“You’re so big,” you manage to gasp out between ragged breaths, your words breathy with a hint of disbelief in your voice as you feel him filling you completely. But his response is cold and mocking.
“You were talking so much shit earlier,” he sneers, his voice dripping with contempt. “Now stay there and fucking take it.”
As his hips collide with yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, a rhythmic symphony of lust and desire. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, your moans echoing off the walls as you surrender to the raw intensity of his touch.
He fucks you with a primal urgency, his movements rough and demanding as he claims you as his own. His cock drives into you with relentless force, stretching you to your limits and filling you completely with each deep penetration. You can feel every inch of him inside you, his hardness pressing against your most sensitive spots and sending waves of ecstasy crashing over you.
His cock pounds into you relentlessly, driving deep into your slick heat with each forceful thrust. You can feel every inch of him stretching you, pushing you to your limits as he claims you as his own. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and pain that only serves to fuel your desire for more. “More,” you gasp, your voice barely a whisper.
"Beg for it, beg for my cock deeper inside you," he commands, his voice dripping with desire and dominance. As his words hang in the air, you feel his hands gripping your thighs, pulling your legs around his waist. With a swift movement, he positions you exactly how he wants, allowing for deeper penetration and intensifying the sensations between you. This change in angle sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body, pushing you both to new heights of ecstasy. With each thrust, he buries himself deeper inside you, his cock filling you completely as you cling to him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of the moment.
"Harder, please," you plead, your voice trembling with need as you yearn for him to give you everything he's got. Your body craves the intensity of his touch, the roughness of his thrusts driving you wild with desire. You arch your back, offering yourself up to him completely, desperate for him to take you to the brink of ecstasy and beyond.
He obliges, increasing the tempo of his thrusts, his movements becoming more urgent as he drives himself deeper into you. The sound of your moans fills the room, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin, loud moans and your headboard creaking.
With each merciless thrust, your body succumbs to the relentless assault, every movement driving you closer to the brink of ecstasy. The raw power of his domination leaves you breathless, your senses consumed by the overwhelming pleasure he bestows upon you. You teeter on the edge of climax, every nerve ending ablaze with desire, craving release like never before.
“I’m gonna cum,” you moan desperately, your plea echoing through the room, but instead of granting you release, he chuckles darkly, a sinister sound that sends a shiver down your spine.
With a cruel twist, he wrenches his cock back, the abrupt movement sending a jolt of pain coursing through you. His gaze is unforgiving, a menacing glint in his eyes as he stares down at you, relishing in your torment. Your whimpers of protest only fuel his cruel pleasure, a smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your frustration.
“You were talking so much shit earlier,” he taunts, his voice dripping with contempt as he watches you squirm beneath him. “Do you think you deserve to cum?” His words are like daggers, each one laced with venom as he taunts and belittles you, his dominance asserting itself with every syllable. “Only good girls deserve to cum.”
Sunghoon’s anger is palpable as he flips you onto your back, the force of his movement taking you by surprise. Your heart races with anticipation, knowing that his roughness is a sign of his frustration. You can feel the tension in the air as he shifts you onto all fours, his movements primal and commanding.
“Spread your legs wider,” he demands, his tone brooking no argument. “That’s it,” he murmurs.
With a primal growl, he positions himself between your legs, his grip on your hips firm and unyielding. “Hold onto the headboard,” he orders, his voice commanding obedience. You obey without hesitation, your nails digging into the wood as he takes you from behind.
Each forceful thrust elicits a gasp from your lips, the intensity of his desire overwhelming your senses. “You like it rough, don’t you?” he taunts, his words punctuated by the sound of skin slapping against skin. “Tell me how much you want it,” he demands, his voice rough with desire.
In the heat of the moment, his anger fuels his actions, his movements rough and unyielding. As he fills you completely, you’re overwhelmed by the sensation, your senses flooded with pleasure. Gasping for air, you’re left breathless, the intensity of his desire consuming you.
Each powerful thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, driving you further toward the edge of ecstasy. Your ass meets his thighs with each forceful movement, the impact sending a shiver down your spine. He takes advantage of your vulnerability, delivering sharp slaps to your pussy, each one igniting a fire within you.
With a forceful grip, he fists your hair back, tilting your head upwards to expose your neck to him. He leaves bruises and hickies along your skin, marking you as his own. His grip tightens, asserting his control over you, his hands roaming possessively over your body.
With a firm grip on your hips, he dictates the rhythm of his thrusts, each one a testament to his dominance. Your arms are held in place, you're left feeling exposed, entirely at his mercy. “I could fuck you like this forever,” he muses in a dark whisper
As he relentlessly pounds into you, his cock stretching you beyond your limits, tears well up in your eyes. The sheer force of his thrusts drives you to the brink of madness, each movement sending waves of both pleasure and pain rippling through your body.
“You really thought you could handle me?” he taunts, his voice dripping with disdain as he continues to ravage you without mercy. His words cut through you like a knife, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable beneath his intense gaze.
Despite the overwhelming sensations coursing through you, there’s a perverse sense of pleasure that accompanies the pain and humiliation. You find yourself surrendering to him completely, lost in the primal rhythm of his thrusts and the raw power he exudes.
Your cries mingle with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the room filled with the symphony of your shared desire. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice low and menacing. “Take it all”
Each thrust drives you closer to the edge of sanity, your body trembling with the exquisite torment of his rough ministrations. The pleasure-pain dichotomy consumes you entirely, leaving you lost in a haze of ecstasy and agony.
You feel completely overwhelmed by him, your senses drowning in the intoxicating cocktail of desire and desperation. The need to please him at any cost drives you to new heights of submission, your every thought and action dedicated to his satisfaction.
His reaction is one of twisted satisfaction, his grin a sinister reflection of the dominance he wields over you. He takes perverse pleasure in your tears, viewing them as a testament to his power and control. With each sob that escapes your lips, he revels in the knowledge that he holds your very soul in his hands, a willing captive to his every whim.
“I-I’m so close,” you gasp out between ragged breaths, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, let me cum.”
His response is immediate and commanding. His hands wrap around your throat with a firm grip. As he tightens his hold, you feel a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, intensifying the sensations overwhelming your body. At the same time, his other hand delivers a sharp, stinging spank to your cheek, sending a jolt of mixed pleasure and pain radiating through you.
“You don’t get to cum until I say so,” he growls, his voice low and authoritative. “Remember that.”
"Please," you beg, your voice strained with desperation. "I need you to cum inside me. Fill me up."
His resolve breaks at your plea, his control slipping as he gives in. Sunghoon ravages you mercilessly, his own release momentarily forgotten as he focuses solely on driving you to the brink of pleasure. His hands roam over your trembling body, his touch igniting sparks of electricity that dance along your skin. He holds you close and with one final thrust, he sends you hurtling over the edge into blissful oblivion.
As the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy. Your body trembles with anticipation, every nerve ending alive with sensation. With a primal cry, you shatter into a million pieces, your orgasm consuming you completely. Waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you gasping for air as you ride the euphoric high.
Shortly after, with a primal roar, he releases inside you, his hot seed flooding your depths as you both reach the peak of ecstasy together. Waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you breathless and sated in each other's embrace.
He removes his cock from you, a mixture of wetness and cum slipping out in its wake. With a firm grip, he manhandles you, turning you around to face him. His touch is surprisingly gentle, a complete contrast to the roughness with which he just fucked you. Using his thumb, he wipes away the mascara trailing down your face, his expression softening as he takes in your fucked-out appearance.
Your eyelids droop with exhaustion, but before you can succumb to sleep, he speaks with a gentleness that catches you off guard. "Don't sleep just yet. I need to get you cleaned up." The difference in his tone leaves you feeling dizzy and confused, his soft eyes meeting yours.
Later on, you’re all cleaned up, thanks to him running a bath for you and cleaning your body with your favorite scent of soap. There were lingering kisses and massages, and he even sat in the bath with you, sharing in the intimacy of the moment. Now, you’re in your pajamas, feeling cozy and comfortable, then he asks if he can stay. It’s late so you nod in agreement. That was the only reason. He settles onto your bed, his eyes closing with a contented smile.
But suddenly, you get up, breaking the serene atmosphere. “I need to clean the apartment,” you declare, and he laughs at first, thinking it’s a joke. However, his expression turns serious when he realises you’re not joking.
‘Did the four positions and the five times I made you cum not make you sleepy?’ He questions from behind you.
You turn to him, shaking your head. “It was not four —”
You feel the heat rising to your cheeks as he lists them off. “Missionary, from the back and then against the wall in the shower. You also rode my cock in the shower.’ His words send a shiver down your spine and you gulp. Where did this sex drive come from?
“I just counted, and I made you cum six times,” he adds with a satisfied grin.
You roll your eyes. “Do you count the amount of times you’ve made a girl cum for every girl you sleep with?”
He winks, his voice bringing chills to your spine. “Only you.”
As he leans down beside you, your heart skips a beat. “What do you need help with?” he asks, his gaze locking deeply with yours. Despite the tired lines etched on his face, he alludes such an effortless attractiveness. He was incredibly magnetising and radiant, basking in a sex afterglow.
Your voice is soft and gentle as you speak. “We dropped so many lego sets… I could do with some help putting them back together.”
He smiles warmly and nods, his tired eyes twinkling with affection. "Let's do it."
As you both delve into the intricate world of Lego, your fingers deftly reassembling the scattered pieces, you find yourself opening up to Sunghoon in a way you never have before.
“You know… no one ever wants to build them with me, this is quite surprising,” you admit, your eyes fixated on the task at hand.
He hums in response, his attention fully captured by your words. “It’s not common for people in their 20s to be into Lego,” he remarks, his tone tinged with curiosity.
As you delve into the details of your Lego collection, Sunghoon’s genuine interest shines through. He listens intently as you recount the origins of each set, marking the first time you’ve shared this hobby so thoroughly. “I got this one from a fair I went to when I was 12, my uncle got me this one, Nayoung got me this one,” you explain, a nostalgic smile playing on your lips.
His curiosity peaks as he spots a rare Lego set on your shelf, one he surprisingly recognizes by name. “How the fuck did you get that one?” he asks, pointing directly at it.
You respond with a deadpan expression, “I camped out at 3am in the winter to get it.” The absurdity of the situation hits both of you at once, sparking uncontrollable laughter.
Sunghoon, catching his breath, manages to say, “Tough,” with a mix of admiration and amusement in his voice.
“Did anyone get you this one?” Sunghoon points at a very rare and expensive set, his eyes glowing with awe. It’s one that was already made, one of your prized possessions, you were glad it was still in tact.
You giggle, a smile lighting up your face as you give him the go-ahead to touch it. You don’t let anyone touch your Lego collection. Especially that set.
An immediate smile lights up your face, and you nod. “Sunwoo got me that one,” you say, relishing the memory. It was one of his random gifts, one that cheered you up when you needed it most.
“Kim Sunwoo? You’re friends with him?” Sunghoon’s curiosity peaks, his surprise at the mention of Sunwoo not shocking you.
You nod. “My best friend.”
“You seem really different from each other,” Sunghoon observes.
“We are,” you agree. It’s a common observation, one that you’ve heard countless times before. Sunwoo spends his time getting high and indulging in casual sex; he’s the ultimate fuck boy. But despite his wild ways, he’s also your best friend. He’s intense, but you need him in your life. “People say opposites attract, we balance each other out well. Plus, I’ve known him since we were kids.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you don’t spend your time getting laid because the things you were doing when we were fucking… it takes experience to —”
You interject with a soft whisper, “I’m not a virgin.” You anticipate a reaction from him, but he surprises you by simply smiling and nodding in acknowledgment.
“It was clear when I was fucking you,” he explains calmly, “I could tell it wasn’t your first time.”
Your laughter fills the room, accompanied by a blush coloring your cheeks. “It’s just that there’s a ridiculous rumor that goes around that I’m some Christian girl who’s waiting until marriage and that I’m untouched when it’s not true.”
Sunghoon’s curiosity persists. “Why did that rumor start?”
Shrugging slightly, you respond, “I don’t even know… I guess people just see me as a quiet and shy person and automatically equate that to me being innocent and clueless. I’m very private; I keep my sexual life on the low. I don’t gossip about it or talk about things like that openly, even to my closest friends. They’re my best friends, so they know I’ve had sex before, but they still join in on the joke that I’m a Christian virgin just to wind me up.”
As Sunghoon hums thoughtfully, you sense his presence beside you, his silence speaking volumes. Despite not responding verbally, you know he's listening intently, absorbing every word you say. His attentive demeanour reassures you, reminding you that he's there, fully engaged in the conversation. It's a rare quality that you appreciate, his ability to be present and attentive without the need for constant verbal affirmation.
“Why did you start playing bass?” Sunghoon’s question catches you off guard, his gaze lingering on the eccentric blue bass in the corner of the room in a way that makes your head spin.
You can’t help but giggle at his curiosity. “I was kinda forced to, actually.”
“Really?” His surprise is evident in his voice.
You nod, recalling how Sunwoo had roped you into joining his band. “It’s Sunwoo’s band, and he needed a bass player. He decided it was going to be me, so he taught me how to play. He’s very serious about his band, you know. His major is music, so it makes sense. Sunwoo’s good at everything. He can sing, rap, dance, and play any instrument. I’m the bassist in the band, but he’s better than me at playing it.”
Sunghoon shakes his head with a smile. “Don’t say that. You’re such a natural at playing bass.”
You offer him a grateful smile in return, touched by his compliment.
“I didn’t see Sunwoo at the gig, though,” Sunghoon observes, his gaze lingering on your face.
“Or Winter,” you add, a burst of laughter escaping your lips. Sunghoon’s eyebrow quirks up in confusion.
“She’s our main vocalist and plays piano. She wasn’t there either because Sunwoo was balls deep inside of her,” you explain, amusement evident in your voice. “She’s our fifth main vocalist, and we’re probably gonna need to replace her soon. Sunwoo keeps fucking the main vocalists in the band, and they always leave because it makes everything awkward and tense.”
Sunghoon shakes his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Sounds like him.”
You nod in agreement, a knowing look passing between you. “He can’t keep his fucking cock in his pants. Always has to go fuck the woman in the group.”
Sunghoon chuckles in response, the sound warm and genuine.
You and Sunghoon have been talking for what felt like hours.
The ease of conversation made it feel like you've known each other for much longer. You didn’t expect to have so much in common with him, you didn’t expect the conversation to flow as smoothly as it did, you also didn’t expect for him to actually stay, especially after you had finished having sex.
His confidence and appeal enhance the atmosphere. Sunghoon's casual demeanor sets the tone the moment he begins to speak, his confidence is almost dripping from him, as if it's part of the very air around him. He's got this cool, laid-back vibe that's utterly captivating, standing here in your apartment as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
Sunghoon's gaze holds yours, an unspoken intensity lingering in the way he looks at you. There's an undeniable attractiveness in his focus, in the deliberate way he gives you his undivided attention. Each time he listens, it's with an intensity that makes the moment stretch, filling it with an undeniable tension.
His eyes, expressive and deep, seem to capture and reflect every flicker of emotion, making the connection between you feel both electrifying and profoundly intimate. His smile, when it breaks, is like a slow dawn, gradually illuminating his features and warming the space between you.
You bond about little things but in retrospect they were big, they were such specific and unique things, things that were so special to you.
You give him a tour of your apartment, showing him around with a sense of pride. Each room holds a piece of you, and you’re eager to share it with him. As you lead him through the space, you point out your prized possessions, sharing the stories behind each one.
“This is where I keep my vinyl collection,” you explain, gesturing towards a shelf filled with records. He pauses, running his fingers over the sleek covers with a sense of appreciation.
“Your taste is… amazing.”
He believes in those words even more when you show him your book collection, you're surprised to find that Sunghoon has read them all. You point out one of the most important books to you, ‘A Thousand Splendid Suns’ and as you're about to recite your favourite line, he says it at the same time as you. “One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs, or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.” you both say in unison, the words echoing in the room.
The eye contact that follows is strong and intense, making you feel weak in the knees. You want to look away, but you can't tear your gaze from his. He's captivating, and in that moment, you feel a magnetic connection that transcends words.
You sit surrounded by your closest friends in a secluded corner of the student lounge. You and Eunji are working on university assignments and projects, both studying musical arts. The steady hum of youthful chatter and the clatter of laptop keys fail to distract you. You’re here but you’re not really here. The noise around you fades into the background as thoughts of Sunghoon consume your mind every time you close your eyes.
Your mind relentlessly replays the sensation of Sunghoon's lips against yours, the way his hands explored every inch of your body, and the intensity in his eyes as he gazed at you. The memory of his touch lingers, leaving you dazed and confused. And then there's his cock, thick and pulsating with desire, the mere thought of it sending a shiver down your spine. It's as if his presence has etched itself into every corner of your mind, dominating your thoughts and leaving little room for anything else.
You try to push the memories aside, to focus on the task at hand, but it's no use. His image, his touch, his presence, his lips—it all feels so real. To make matters worse, Eric and Nayoung keep probing and probing.
“Y/N!!!!!” Nayoung interrupts your thoughts. “Are you ready to tell us what happened last night?” she asks with a mischievous wink, raising her eyebrows suggestively, and you immediately understand the implication. You discretely shush her, promising to tell her later, not wanting to draw attention, but nothing ever slips past Eric’s sharp eyes.
As you’re grappling with the weight of your previous conversation, Sunwoo walks in, offering what you hope might be a timely distraction.
The moment he enters, you shoot him an accusatory glare. “You left me and Eric stranded yesterday! We had to find two people willing to perform with us last minute,” you scold, your frustration evident in your tone.
Sunwoo shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, I was balls deep inside of Ryujin,” he says casually, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You turn to him, tutting and shaking your head in disbelief. But deep down, you’re not truly surprised. “Really? Again?” you sigh, knowing all too well the consequences of Sunwoo’s actions.
Ryujin, the lead vocalist and keyboard player in your band, was now the latest victim of Sunwoo’s need of fucking the lead vocalists. It has become a recurring theme in your band’s history. Sunwoo's habit of sleeping with the lead vocalists inevitably leads to their departure from the band, as they realize he's only interested in a fling without any emotional attachment.
There had been four lead vocalists before Ryujin who had left for the same reason, and now she was the fifth. It was a cycle that seemed impossible to break, it was annoying but it was pretty funny.
“Pay up,” Eric demands, holding out the money jar to Sunwoo. With a roll of his eyes, Sunwoo begrudgingly adds a £5 note to the jar, another contribution to Eric’s growing collection of Sunwoo’s indiscretions.
Sunwoo lets out a deep sigh, his head tilting back against the cool wall with a suggestive noise that’s entirely inappropriate for 8 AM on a Monday morning. He’s always horny, he was missing Ryujin, missing her pussy.
The brief distraction provided by Sunwoo’s antics quickly fades as Eric, always persistent, picks up the previous line of questioning. He laughs loudly, turning to face you with an expression that feels a bit too much like an interrogation. You brace yourself, knowing exactly where he’s heading with this.
Eric lets out a loud laugh, turning to you like it was an an interrogation, letting you know he wouldn’t drop it you instantly know what he’s going to say. “Where did you run off to after the gig?” he questions, but before you can respond, he answers for you. “I did see a certain Park Sunghoon checking you out.”
Silence fills the room, and then Nayoung screams in excitement. “They fucked!!! They had sex!!! Look, it’s all over Y/N’s face, she’s practically basking in the afterglow of Park Sunghoon’s massive cock.”
The room erupts into laughter, and you can feel your cheeks burning with embarrassment as everyone turns their attention to you, leaving you wishing for the floor to swallow you whole.
You groan and sit there silently, wearing a defeated expression as Eric and Nayoung exchange comments and jokes, teasing you mercilessly. Sunwoo, however, remains silent, his expression unreadable as always, leaving you feeling perplexed by his demeanour.
He turns to face you subtly, and all he says is, “Really?” before breaking into a smirk.
You shoot Sunwoo a deadpan look. “You’re not allowed to judge me. You keep fucking our lead vocalists out of the group!”
As Sunwoo is about to defend himself, Eric’s playful smirk and words cut him off. “Hey, missed a spot?” he quips, at first you narrow your eyes in confusion but then you gulp when you realise he’s talking about the concealer on your neck. A suggestive grin plays on his lips. “Need some help covering up all those hickeys Sunghoon left all over your neck? I’m sure Nayoung has some concealer in her bag.”
You shoot him a warning look, shushing him with a nervous glance around the room. “Keep it down, Eric,” you hiss, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “People could be listening.”
Nayoung, always one to push boundaries, takes it a step further. “Hey, do you need to order a new bed frame?” she asks innocently, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “I’m sure yours has broken after Sunghoon fucked you in it all night long.”
Eric's teasing hits a nerve, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. "Seriously though, I heard that you were moaning like a bitch in heat," he says with a sly grin, his words laced with mischief.
You roll your eyes, trying to brush off his remarks. "You weren't even there," you retort, hoping to shut down the conversation before it escalates any further.
But Eric wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh, did you want me to be there? To watch?" he asks, his tone playful yet suggestive. "I didn't have you down as a kinky bitch, Y/N," he adds with a smirk, clearly enjoying getting under your skin.
You huff in frustration. "Oh? You don't want me to watch but to join in? I'm down! And so is Sunghoon, I heard he lost his virginity to not one girl but two girls... at the same time," Eric continues, his grin widening at the shocked expression on your face.
“That’s not true, he lost it to Arin. But he’s been in plenty of threesomes and orgies too,” Nayoung drops casually, her knowledge of everyone’s secrets almost uncanny. She even knew about your first time, despite your best efforts to keep it private.
“Arin?” you respond, taken aback. “Isn’t she the one from our classes with that angelic voice?”
“Yeah she studied music and she’s also a bitch,” Nayoung doesn’t hold back.
You huff. “Really? She looks quite sweet.”
“She’s got talent, sure, but she’s like a snake. All sweet to your face then she strikes when you’re not looking,” she continues with a grimace.
“You’re just pissed because after you fucked Sunghoon, he ghosted you,” Sunwoo chimes in, unable to resist teasing her.
“Why did he ghost you?” you ask, intrigued by the drama unfolding.
“Because he went back to fucking Arin,” Nayoung says, a hint of bitterness in her voice.
You scratch your neck, ignoring this sinking feeling. “Did they ever actually date?”
Nayoung shrugs. “I don’t think they dated, just fucked. But she’s been the one constant in his bed. Seems like they’re casual fuck buddies, on and off whenever it suits them.”
Sunwoo’s expression catches you off guard, his eyebrows arching in genuine confusion. “Y/N? Are you jealous?” he probes, clearly trying to understand your reaction.
Quick to dispel any misconceptions, you respond firmly, making sure there’s no room for doubt. “No! We only had sex, nothing else. There’s nothing to be jealous over,” you assert, hoping to shut down any further speculation about your feelings towards the situation.
However you can’t supress the swirls of discomfort and confusion inside you, unsettling you more than you'd like to admit. Arin’s history with Sunghoon, something intense and vaguely defined, gnaws at your peace, leaving you to wonder about the legitimacy of your feelings. Was it valid for you to even be jealous?
But as these thoughts churn, the lounge's doors swing open, and a group of engineering students enters, breaking your inward spiral. Sunghoon is among them, still dressed in his work attire—an apron dusted from a practical session, and a tool belt loosely hanging around his hips. The engineering gear marks a stark contrast against the casual styles of your graphic tee and jeans, emphasising the divide between your worlds.
Your eyes instinctively find him as he walks in. He's laughing with his friends, completely at ease, seemingly untouched by the intense sex you had just hours ago. He looks so calm, so put together. It's as if he's able to effortlessly recompose himself, while you're still reeling from the memories and his touch. It’s as if the night you shared was just another ordinary event for him.
As Sunghoon adjusts his apron, a simple yet deliberate action, your gaze inevitably travels to his hands—those same hands that had so expertly explored the depths of you just hours earlier. The casual way he shifts the strap of his tool belt, his fingers brushing against the coarse fabric, vividly conjures memories of how those very fingers had traced your curves and navigated your folds in a way that left you breathless. The memory of his touch, precise and bold, sends a wave of warmth flooding your cheeks, your body involuntarily responding to the mere thought of his proximity.
He casually stretches his fingers, the joints clicking softly in the quiet of the lounge. The sound, distinct and resonant, wasn't loud enough to be heard by others, but your focus is entirely on him. To you, the soft click echoes significantly, a subtle reminder of the way those fingers had moved with such deliberate intent, exploring and memorising every contour of your body with a precision that left an indelible mark on your senses.
Your gaze can't help but follow the motion of his hands up to his forearms. His sleeves are pushed up slightly, revealing forearms marked by prominent veins that stand out against his skin, tracing paths of strength and vitality. These are the arms that had held you with a confident, yet gentle touch, their power barely restrained as they explored you. The casual way he shifts the strap of his tool belt, his fingers brushing against the coarse fabric, each movement of his hands, the visible veins pulsing slightly with each flex, brings back a rush of sensations, the memory of his touch—both precise and bold—sending a wave of warmth flooding your cheeks.
Caught in this reverie, you almost miss the moment he looks up. His eyes meet yours, and for a suspended heartbeat, the world around you blurs into insignificance. His gaze holds a depth that reflects a shared history, mirroring the intensity of your intimate encounter. It's a knowing look, laden with an unspoken promise, silently communicating that he recalls every detail just as vividly as you do.
Eric’s voice breaks through, calling out, “Hey, Sunghoon!” He motions for him to come over.
As Sunghoon approaches, the simple tee visible beneath his partly open engineering apron catches your eye again. The initials ‘P.S.’ are neatly embroidered on the pocket, adding a personal touch to his otherwise utilitarian outfit. With each step he takes, it seems as though the room rearranges itself to accommodate the energy he brings. Despite there being an empty seat next to Nayoung, Sunghoon bypasses it, choosing instead the space directly beside you. It's a deliberate choice, requiring him to traverse around the table from where he started, signalling his intent to be as close to you as possible.
As he settles down, his body exudes a warmth you can feel even before he fully sits. The proximity is almost too much to handle, his scent—a rich blend of brown sugar, cinnamon, and a hint of citrus, underlined by a masculine note of metal and solder from his engineering lab—fills your senses, making your breath hitch. The unique aroma is both comforting and intoxicating, distinctly Sunghoon, and unmistakably alluring. The scent takes you back to mere hours before when you both had fucked.
His knee brushes against yours as he adjusts in his seat, the simple touch sending a jolt through your body. You catch your breath, your attempt to focus on anything else utterly futile. Sunghoon is here, right next to you, and every fibre of your being is acutely aware of his nearness.
Beside you, Eunji leans closer, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. "You okay?" she whispers, noticing the sudden pallor that has overtaken your features. You manage a nod and offer her a shaky smile, trying to mask the turmoil inside.
As Eric yaps on and on, you find his voice a magnetic force. Just focus on Eric, you repeat internally, seeking any lifeline to distract you. But Sunghoon’s presence is a force impossible to ignore. He leans closer, his body shifting just enough so his knee presses gently against yours under the table.
The subtle contact sends a shiver up your spine as he leans in, his voice a low whisper meant only for your ears, "I didn’t know you were interested in Eric." His words, edged with a teasing undertone, jolt you. The closeness of his mouth to your ear, the warmth of his breath, it all muddles your thoughts
"I… um, he’s fascinating," you reply, your voice a hushed stutter, drowned out almost entirely by the pounding of your heart.
Sunghoon pulls back slightly, his eyes holding yours in a steady, penetrating gaze that seems to delve deeper than the casual jest warrants. He nods, a slow, thoughtful movement, but the intensity doesn't wane. His eyes linger, searching, as if trying to read the unspoken feelings you're struggling so hard to mask.
“Are your legs okay?” Sunghoon asks, his tone serious but with an unmistakable undertone of teasing—a playful provocation he seems unable to resist.
You swallow hard, the sudden dryness in your throat making it difficult to speak. With a slight tremor in your voice, you whisper back, “Yeah.”
“Are you sure?” His smile is soft yet knowing, as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a breathy whisper. Then, almost as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, his hand finds its way to your thigh. His fingers gently press into your skin, starting a slow, deliberate massage that sends waves of both comfort and electric tension through your body.
His eyes lock with yours, holding the gaze intensely. The world around you seems to blur into the background, all sounds fading away except for the intimate space he’s created. As his hand moves subtly, the connection deepens, communicated through that steady, penetrating eye contact that says more than words ever could.
"What are you thinking about?" he asks, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.
You offer a shy and closed-off response, "Nothing much." But the truth is, your mind is racing with thoughts of him-his touch, his scent, the way he made you feel.
"What about you?" you ask, trying to gauge his thoughts.
With a devilish grin, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I can't stop thinking about the way your pussy clenched around my cock when you came. I also can’t get over how good your ass looked bouncing on my cock.” He whispers, his voice dripping with desire.
As Sunghoon's words swirl around you, suffocating you with their intensity, you gasp for air, feeling the tight grip of panic clenching your chest. Your fingers tighten around the coffee cup, the ceramic surface offering a fleeting sense of stability amidst the whirlwind of sensations. Each breath feels strained, as if the air itself has thickened, making it difficult to draw in the oxygen your body craves. Despite the burning embarrassment prickling at your skin, you cling to the mundane act of sipping your drink, a feeble attempt to anchor yourself.
Sunwoo speaks up from beside you, thankfully shifting the atmosphere with a different topic. "Guys... we need to host auditions for a new lead singer," he announces, clicking off his phone before flicking his eyes between you and Eric, signalling the urgency of the situation.
Nayoung can't help but burst into laughter at Sunwoo's statement. "He's fucked Ryujin so hard she found her way out of the band," she jokes, her comment cutting through the seriousness with her typical irreverence. Her laughter echoes around the group, lightening the mood and drawing a collective chuckle that momentarily dispels the heaviness in your heart.
You’re all in the campus’ performance hall, Spotlights illuminate the stage, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden floors and plush red curtains. You, Sunwoo, and Eric are perched in the judges’ area, positioned strategically to catch every nuance of the performances.
Suddenly, Nayoung rushes into the room with a tray of four steaming coffees, her hurried steps echoing against the polished floor. “I’m sorry I’m late! I’m here now, let’s start!” She shouts as a strand of hair escapes from her bun, framing her delicate features in a soft halo of morning light. Her beauty is striking, even in the early hours of the day. There's an effortless elegance to her appearance, from the way her eyes sparkle with warmth to the curve of her lips as she smiles apologetically.
Nayoung wasn’t a member of the band, and she never had been nor probably ever would be, but she relished the opportunity to judge people, which explained why she always ended up as a judge alongside you, Sunwoo, and Eric.
“Guys, the auditions are starting,” Eric says.
The first person walks in, accompanied by two others. “I thought we were auditioning for a female lead vocalist?” you mumble, confused. But Eric just claps his hands together, excited for what’s to come.
“We’re the Foreign Swaggers,” one of the guys introduces the group name.
“Guys, you know we’re looking for one female lead vocalist, and you guys—” You’re interrupted by Mark Lee, known for being one of the best students in the music department. You know him, you’ve seen him at some parties, he’s friends with Donghyuc who was friends with Sunwoo. Mark was notorious for his talent and popularity among the girls.
“Alright, guys, what’s up,” Mark starts, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
“Yeah,” Jaehyun adds, trying to sound confident.
“What’s up,” Johnny chimes in, his tone more relaxed.
“We’re the, uh— we’re the, uh— Foreign Swaggers,” Mark stutters, trying to maintain composure.
“So, yeah, uh— Johnny’s gonna rap,” Johnny declares.
“I lived in America for four years! That’s why I’m here, man!” Jaehyun boasts.
The audition starts with a beatbox, followed by some mediocre rapping at best. They’re awkward, but there’s a certain charisma about them.
However, Sunwoo cuts them off as soon as their performance ends, not even bothering to judge them. “That’s it, you can go now.” he says hastily, signalling for them to leave.
You were about eight people in, and no one had impressed you yet. No one seemed to fit the image of your band, and you were starting to lose hope. Then, Hwang Yeji walked in, and your eyes lit up, though not as much as Eric and Sunwoo’s. You side-eye them and roll your own eyes, especially as you catch a glimpse of something very familiar in Sunwoo’s eyes—the fire and hunger.
Yeji introduces herself sweetly, with the most beautiful smile and laugh. You hope she can sing well, as visually she matches the image of your band very well. You let out a sigh of relief when she does sing, and she’s really good. Her voice is perfect, and you can already see her in the band.
“I’ve found the voice of an angel. I’ve fallen in love,” Sunwoo breathes heavily, his typical behaviour not surprising you in the least.
“You should view the auditions objectively. You shouldn’t let personal feelings get in the way of your judging,” you say, smirking.
“Shut up,” he replies hastily, unable to deny the truth in your words.
You’re taken aback by the look of genuine admiration in Sunwoo’s eyes. Could it be that he’s actually serious about his feelings for once? You’ve known Sunwoo long enough to recognize when he’s being sincere, and this time, it feels real.
After Yeji finishes her audition, a serene silence envelops the room, filled with admiration and appreciation for her talent. Sunwoo seems ready to offer her the role of lead vocalist on the spot, but you intervene before he can speak.
“Wait,” you interject, ignoring Sunwoo’s eagerness and turning to Yeji with a warm smile. “There’s one more person who wants to audition. Let’s hear her out before making a decision.”
You can feel Sunwoo’s frustration, but you know it’s important to give everyone a fair chance, even if Yeji seems like the perfect fit.
Your heart sinks when you see who walks in
—it's Arin. An unsettling feeling washes over you, stirring up uncertainty that you try to push away, but it lingers like a stubborn shadow. She's so radiant and beautiful, exuding an energy and light that's hard to ignore. You understand why she's so popular; she's captivating in every way.
Of course, you know who she is—someone in the
year above, who seems to have a magnetic pull on everyone around her. All the guys are crazy for her, drawn to her like she's the centre of gravity in the room. And it's not just the guys; even Sunwoo and Eric seem infatuated by her presence, their eyes lingering on her like she's the only thing in the room.
She's sweet, with an infectious laugh and a presence that commands attention. She's the girl every guy wants to fuck and every girl wants to be.
And apparently, she has a beautiful singing voice too?
She's good. Really good. Her voice is like an angel's, filling the room with a captivating melody that earns her instant appreciation from everyone present.
You scoff and shoot a sideways glance at Sunwoo, muttering, "She's so bad."
He just smirks and shakes his head, clearly disagreeing with you. "She's definitely not," Eric chimes in, his voice laced with a dreamy quality that seems to be a common affliction among the guys in the room. Arin has this effect on every single one of them.
Nayoung smirks knowingly and teases, "I thought you didn't care about Sunghoon fucking her?"
You huff in response, denying any emotional investment in the matter. But no matter how much you try to defend yourself, it's clear that they all think your judgement is clouded by the rumour about Sunghoon and Arin.
Sunwoo remarks, "You should view the auditions objectively... You shouldn't let personal feelings get in the way of your judgement," he smirks, a reference to your previous words.
As the crisp autumn evening settled over the campus, the university art gallery was abuzz with activity, its warmly lit interior casting a welcoming glow through the expansive glass doors. Tonight, it hosted the annual student art exhibition, a highlight for the arts department and an event that drew a crowd of eager students, local art enthusiasts, and faculty alike.
You, dressed in a favourite band tee that had seen better days and comfortable, well-worn jeans, felt a surge of excitement as you stepped into the gallery with Nayoung at your side. Your casual outfit, coupled with a pair of sturdy sneakers, was perfect for an evening spent on your feet, moving from one display to another.
As you adjusted the strap of your camera bag and pulled out your camera, the bustling art gallery buzzed around you. “Smileee,” you called out to Nayoung, who obliged with a fake grin and a thumbs-up. You rolled your eyes, she did not want to be here. She looked hot though, styled in her black mini dress and brown leather jacket
As you entered the gallery, the air was filled with the murmurs of impressed spectators and the soft, jazzy undertones of background music that added a sophisticated touch to the evening. The exhibition space was vibrant and packed, walls adorned with an array of artworks that ranged from abstract paintings to complex sculptures and daring installations.
Your eyes widened with genuine appreciation as you took in the scene. The exhibition was a canvas of creativity, each piece telling its own vivid story. Driven by your innate love for art, you began to ramble enthusiastically about the techniques and hidden meanings behind various artworks, pointing out the bold strokes and intricate details that might escape the untrained eye.
Nayoung, trailing slightly behind, matched your pace but not your enthusiasm. Her responses were polite, nodding along and offering the occasional “that’s really cool” or “wow,” though it was clear that her interest lay more in the social than the artistic aspects of the event. Despite this, she was there for you, you had dragged her here.
As you delved deeper into the nuances of a particularly captivating installation—a mixed media piece that utilised recycled materials to comment on consumer culture—Nayoung’s attention occasionally drifted. She was more absorbed in scanning the crowd, perhaps looking for familiar faces or simply taking in the overall ambiance.
You couldn’t help but launch into detailed explanations as you moved from one artwork to another, your enthusiasm bubbling over. “See the way the light is captured here?” you pointed out, gesturing toward a series of dramatic black-and-white photographs that explored the interplay of shadow and light. “It’s all about the angle and timing, which is something we discuss a lot in my music composition classes, except we’re capturing sound, not light.”
Nayoung trailed beside you, her interest clearly elsewhere. With a drink already in hand, thanks to the small flask she'd pulled from the pocket of her leather jacket, she took occasional sips, her other hand frequently fishing her phone out to check messages or scroll through her feed.
"Do you ever get tired of talking about brush strokes?" Nayoung teased, an exasperated but playful tone in her voice as she watched you analyze yet another painting. Her question hung in the air, punctuated by her taking another discreet sip from her flask.
Throughout the evening, Nayoung seemed more intent on steering the conversation away from art and towards more personal topics. "So, let's talk about Sunghoon," she says with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
You sigh inwardly, already anticipating where this conversation is headed. "No," you reply bluntly, hoping to steer the discussion away from your private life.
But Nayoung is undeterred. "Yes!" she insists, her tone teasing.
"So, in what position did he fuck you? How big is his cock?" she asks with a playful smirk, taking a sip of her drink.
You can't help but laugh at her audacity. "Nayoung, you've literally had sex with him. You know how big his cock is," you retort, rolling your eyes.
She tuts mockingly. "Who said I was looking?"
You shoot her a skeptical look. "If I tell you, will you finally leave me alone?" you challenge.
Nayoung nods eagerly, but you can tell she's not entirely sincere in her promise.
"We did it in missionary," you lie smoothly, not wanting to divulge too much. "And his cock? It's about two inches bigger than Eric's," you add truthfully.
Nayoung nearly chokes on her drink, her eyes widening in surprise. "It's that big?" she exclaims, clearly impressed.
You lean in closer, whispering, "You know how big it is! You fucked him too!"
Despite her promise to drop the subject, Nayoung continues to pester you, her questions becoming more probing with each passing moment.
"How was it? Did you feel anything when having sex with him? Anything deeper?" she inquires, her gaze fixated on you with an intensity that makes you uncomfortable.
You shake your head firmly, maintaining your composure. "Absolutely nothing," you lie smoothly, not yet ready to divulge the details of your encounter with Sunghoon-especially not the parts that still make your heart race just thinking about them.
While you were mid-sentence, breaking down the complexity of an abstract painting that caught your artistic eye, a movement at the entrance abruptly halted your train of thought. Sunghoon strolled in, he was impossible to miss, He had shifted the room's focus. He moved with an unassuming confidence that drew looks from every corner, a quiet testament to his presence. You watched, just for a moment, as all eyes flickered toward him.
He wore a plain white tee that seemed to accentuate his toned figure, paired with jeans that fit just right. His hair, effortlessly swept back, gave him a look that was both polished and carefree. Jake, his best friend, was by his side, the light catching his blonde hair, a relaxed figure in his hoodie. But it was Sunghoon who had stolen the moment, his mere presence causing your heart to skip a beat and your words to stumble into silence.
Reacting instinctively, you reached out and clasped Nayoung’s arm, diverting her mid-chuckle into a quick detour. “Let’s check out the sculptures,” you said hastily, feeling the weight of Sunghoon’s unintended intrusion tighten around your chest as you steered both yourself and Nayoung toward a distant corner of the gallery.
Concealed behind the angular shadows of a towering metal sculpture, you and Nayoung stood secluded from the gallery’s hum. Its cool, hard surface offered a strange comfort, a silent ally amidst the turmoil within you. Nayoung’s face, usually so composed, now mirrored concern. “Why are you hiding from him? Haven’t you talked to Sunghoon since that night?” Her voice, though soft, seemed to fill the entire space around you.
Leaning against the sculpture’s chill offered a small reprieve, its coldness a stark counter to the warmth flushing your skin. Words felt like distant things, hard to grasp, harder to voice. You responded not with words but with a faint shake of your head, the motion carrying the weight of unspoken confessions.
“Y/N, this is messy,” Nayoung said, her voice layered with a mix of reprimand and concern.
“He messages me,” you found your voice, albeit shaky, “tries to talk to me, to come up to me on campus.” The words felt heavy, laden with a confusion that seemed to cloud your thoughts.
Nayoung’s smile flickered with a glimmer of hope. “That’s good, right? It means he’s interested in you,” she reasoned, her smile fading into a frown as she caught the turmoil twisting your features.
You sucked in a breath, feeling trapped in the sculpture’s cast shadow, a dim refuge from the gallery’s soft lights. “I don’t know how to face him,” you admitted, your whisper barely rising above the hush of distant conversations. “That night was overwhelming, and now… now I’m just lost.”
“Why are you so scared if that night meant nothing to you?” Nayoung probed gently, her fingers interlacing with yours in a solid, warm grip.
You covered your face with your free hand, rubbing at your eyes as if you could wipe away the uncertainty. “I don’t know what it meant. I’m confused. It’s all just so intense, so much for my heart… I’ve never felt this way, and it’s terrifying.” The words tumbled out, a chaotic mix of fear and longing. “Every time I close my eyes, I see him.”
“I’m scared, Nayoung. I’m scared of what I’m feeling, of what all this might mean.” Your words hung suspended, resonating with the same enduring presence as the art around you.
Nayoung didn’t release your hand; instead, she drew you closer, a pillar of support in the echoing vastness of the gallery. “It’s okay to be scared,” she assured you. “But hiding here won’t answer any of your questions. You can’t let fear hold you back.” Her encouragement was soft but firm, a gentle push toward the clarity you so desperately needed.
You nod. As you step backward, ready to leave the comfort of the sculpture’s shadow, your movement is abruptly halted by a solid, unexpected barrier. A quick gasp escapes your lips as you spin around, words of apology already forming, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”
Your voice trails off when you see it’s Sunghoon you’ve bumped into. His presence, so close and unexpected, sends a jolt through you that’s part shock, part something more electric. For a split second, you’re frozen.
He stands mere inches away, his expression initially mirroring the tired detachment you’ve seen in Nayoung’s eyes tonight, suggesting he’d rather be anywhere but here. But the moment his gaze meets yours, something shifts. There’s a flicker of something more intense, more profound.
Your eyes lock with his for a fleeting second, and in that brief exchange, his look deepens, becoming electric and unreadable. The air around you thickens as if charged by this sudden connection, leaving your heart pounding not just with nervousness but with a bewildering rush of emotions that you can’t quite decipher. His presence envelops you, intense and palpable, drawing you into a moment you both seem reluctant to break, yet overwhelmed to sustain.
Sunghoon, dressed casually but looking every bit the effortless figure who haunts your quieter moments, just smiles slightly. His voice, when he speaks, is soft and carries an undertone of warmth that only adds to your turmoil. “It’s a beautiful sculpture, isn’t it?” he comments, his eyes lingering on yours, trying to capture your gaze.
You notice the slight upturn of his lips—a knowing, almost teasing smirk that suggests he might understand more than he lets on. But you can’t hold his gaze, your eyes darting away after a fleeting, charged moment of eye contact that sends an array of sensations coursing through you. It’s too much, too intense—every nerve ending seems to scream, your skin tingling from the nearness of him.
With a rushed, barely audible excuse, you stutter, “Sorry, gotta get to the lecture!!!” Your hand shoots out, finding Nayoung’s, and without waiting for a response, you pull her away from Sunghoon and the sculpture, eager to escape into the crowd. Nayoung follows without protest, casting an amused glance back at Sunghoon, who stands there watching you leave, his expression unreadable.
As you navigate through the throng of people, your pulse racing, you don’t dare look back. The brief interaction leaves you with a flood of emotions you’re not ready to dissect—not here, not now. Nayoung remains silent beside you, her presence a comforting constant as you put distance between yourself and Sunghoon. Your escape feels both like a victory and a defeat, the complex emotions swirling inside you mirroring the intricate artworks you leave behind.
Nayoung’s laughter echoed in the otherwise quieting atmosphere of the lecture hall as you both settled into the back left corner. “Would you stop?” you whispered harshly, crossing your arms and sinking lower into your seat, though a secret smile tugged at your lips for securing such a strategically secluded spot.
“I’m just happy we got the best seats in the house,” you added with a pout, pretending to sulk yet relieved by the thought that Sunghoon wouldn’t easily spot you here.
The hall gradually filled, the buzz of conversation growing as students gathered. Your heart skipped a beat when Sunghoon walked in, accompanied by Jake. They took seats a few rows ahead, seemingly unaware of your presence. You let out a silent breath, hoping to remain unnoticed.
Professor Doyoung, widely recognized as the best arts professor at the university, began the lecture with his usual charismatic flair. Today’s session was special—a celebration of student achievements, spotlighting various art pieces and sculptures. The room dimmed slightly as the projector lit up with images of student artwork.
Your pulse quickened when a photo of your own creation appeared on the screen. The room filled with murmurs of admiration, but your own heart pounded for an entirely different reason. “And here we have an outstanding piece by one of our brightest students,” Professor Doyoung announced, his voice filling the lecture hall with enthusiastic approval. “This innovative work was created by none other than Y/N, whose artistic vision and execution have consistently impressed us.”
As he showered you with praise, detailing the depth and creativity behind your work, a sense of pride mixed with intense embarrassment washed over you. It was meant to be an anonymous exhibition, yet here was Professor Doyoung, breaking protocol because he believed certain students deserved recognition for their efforts.
While you appreciated the acknowledgment, your cheeks burned hotter when Professor Doyoung, spotting you trying to sink further into your seat, pointed you out to the entire auditorium. “Let’s give a round of applause to Y/N, sitting right at the back there, for such a brilliant contribution!”
The audience’s applause thundered in your ears, but it was the sound of bodies shifting and heads turning that heightened your anxiety. Sunghoon turned around, his eyes scanning the crowd before settling on you. When your gazes locked, a silent jolt of electricity shot through you. His expression transformed from casual interest to a more intense, unreadable look, tinged with a hint of a smile that seemed both knowing and curious.
The world around you seemed to blur into the background as the two of you maintained eye contact. The warmth of his smile, despite the distance, sent waves of nerves dancing up your spine, mixing with a thrill that you couldn’t quite suppress. You felt exposed yet oddly seen, the kind of visibility that made your stomach twist yet somehow left you wanting more.
You averted your gaze first, looking down at your lap as your face heated up. Beside you, Nayoung nudged you gently, a silent gesture of support—or perhaps encouragement to acknowledge the connection you obviously had with Sunghoon, one that seemed to extend beyond mere academic coincidences.
The lecture continued, but your mind was elsewhere, caught up in the whirlwind of emotions triggered by that brief yet impactful exchange of looks with Sunghoon. Your heart still raced, not just from the public praise but because of him.
After the lecture, you spot Jake lingering near the front of the room. Despite sharing a few classes, your interactions had always been casual—pleasant exchanges about coursework and occasional class discussions. Jake was known for his calm demeanor, a stark contrast to Sunghoon’s more dynamic presence. Now, with your recent involvement with Sunghoon weighing on your mind, you find yourself curious about their friendship. They seemed like opposites yet clearly got along so well, everyone knew they were best friends, brothers even. Perhaps it was true what they said about opposites attracting.
As you’re methodically packing up your things, Jake approaches with a gentle ease that diminishes the room’s formality. His presence feels like a quiet reassurance in the noisy aftermath of the lecture.
“He went ahead, you don’t need to worry,” Jake says softly, noticing the tightness in your expression. It catches you off-guard how observant he is, how he seems to catch even the subtlest shifts in your mood.
You gulp, a bit flustered by his insight. “I—”
“I think he’s really intrigued by you, you know,” Jake continues, his voice warm and encouraging. “I don’t know why, but he seems genuinely interested in getting to know you better. You always seem to run the other way, though.” His smile is gentle, nudging you towards reconsideration without pushing too hard. “Maybe you should give him a chance; Sunghoon’s actually a decent guy.”
“I’m not intentionally trying to avoid him,” you confess, the words tumbling out in a rush. “He just… makes me nervous.”
Jake’s chuckle is soft, a sound that spreads calm. He reaches out, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder for a fleeting moment, grounding you. “He makes everyone nervous at first. You get used to it,” he reassures, his touch light but affirming. “Who knows, you might even start to like it. I know I like it.” You can’t help but giggle when he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.
“I know it might seem like he’s intense, and yeah, he’s serious when it comes to things and people he cares about. But he’s also really chill once you get to know him better. He’s the kind of person you’d want in your corner,” he explains, his tone earnest.
“He doesn’t just give his attention and effort to anyone,” Jake continues, his eyes locking with yours to emphasise his point. “So don’t take it for granted or push him away. You might lose his interest forever, and trust me, you’d miss it. He’s someone you really want in your life. He's a really good guy..”
His comforting grin lingers as he steps back, giving you space to process his words. With a friendly nod, Jake walks away, leaving a trail of thoughtfulness behind him. His advice resonates with you, stirring a mix of anticipation and resolve. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to confront your nerves and see where things with Sunghoon could lead.
The crisp morning air nips at your skin as you traverse the campus pathway, lost in the world curated by your playlist. With every sip of your coffee, you feel the warmth spread through you, contrasting with the coolness of the day. Your steps are unhurried, a rare moment of solitude embraced amidst the hustle of your life.
Suddenly, a gentle tap on your shoulder pulls you from your reverie. You pull out one earbud, turning to see Sunghoon standing behind you. Despite the flutter in your stomach, you remember Jake’s words: Don’t push him away. Taking a deep breath, you muster a smile, not just any smile, but one that reaches your eyes, showing Sunghoon you’re here in this moment with him.
“Hey,” Sunghoon greets, his voice smooth, drawing a line of warmth up your spine despite the autumn chill.
You manage a nod, trying to appear composed. “Hi, Sunghoon,” you reply, your voice steadier than you feel. His gaze is intense, and you find yourself unable to meet his eyes directly, focusing instead slightly over his shoulder.
As you walk together, Sunghoon’s voice breaks through the crisp air. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for the last month now…”
Every attempt he made to bridge the gap between you was met with your nervous laughter or hasty excuses. His presence—so wanted yet so overwhelming—left you fumbling, your words tripping over your rapid heartbeat. But today you would handle things differently.
Or so you wished.
His voice seemed to blend into the background, making it difficult to focus. “Are you free this weekend?” he asked, a simple question that felt loaded with possibilities. Is he asking you out? Or is this just casual?
The campus around you felt unusually constricted as pairs of eyes turned to follow your interaction, their stares prickling uncomfortably on your skin. The judgmental looks from passing students, especially from girls who eyed you with undisguised envy or disdain, made it challenging to concentrate on Sunghoon’s words.
Sunghoon closes the distance between you with a measured step, his presence enveloping you in a subtle but undeniable warmth. His fingers tuck a stray hair behind your ear, the contact tender yet anchoring, pulling you back to the moment. His eyes lock onto yours, his voice a soothing whisper, “Just ignore them. Just look at me.”
Your breath catches, the simple command resonating deeply as you murmur, “But they’re all looking at me. At us,” your voice trembles in the air.
He smiles softly, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks as he holds your face with a careful, affectionate grip. “And I want you to look at me,” he insists, his gaze steady and piercing, radiating a calm confidence that makes your heart race yet somehow reassures you.
As Sunghoon's hands gently cradle your face, his thumbs softly caressing your skin, you find yourself nodding as he tells you to focus on him.. The steady throb of your heart begins to calm, settling into a rhythm that feels less frantic, more in tune with the moment. Your eyes lock with his, and as you let yourself truly look at him, all fears begin to melt away. You lean slightly into the warmth of his touch, the tension in your body easing as you allow yourself to be anchored by his presence.
“Are you coming to Sunwoo’s party tonight?” he asks casually, his hands resting gently on your shoulders.
You give a small nod. “Maybe.”
“I hope you’re there,” he says, his tone sincere. “It gives me a reason to go.” He’s always so honest.
“Sunwoo will be dealing, are you sure that’s not reason enough?”
He smirks. “Close second.”
“It’s too much,” Yeji giggles shyly, running her hands over the dress she was going to wear tonight, in awe of the beautiful decorations and sparkles.
Her eyes moved to the brand new microphone Sunwoo had gifted her to congratulate her for winning the auditions and becoming the newest member of the band. “It's definitely too much, I didn't anticipate or expect any of this.”
You shake your head. “It’s not too much, you deserve it all.”
“Plus the dress is stunning, you’ll look beautiful,” you add. The dress was quite out there, adorned with sparkles and glitters. Yeji was definitely going to stand out and be the star of the show. “How did you get a dress as beautiful as that?” you ask.
“I don’t know… it just turned up to my door with a note telling me to wear it!” she responds.
“Sunwoo,” you respond immediately.
You both laugh. You know why he’s throwing this party randomly, with no warning or planning. It’s a surprise party for her, celebrating her joining the band. Sunwoo is welcoming her.
“I bet he buys dresses for all his girls,” she rolls her eyes as she slips into the dress.
“No, he doesn’t,” you say matter-of-factly, shaking your head in astonishment. Yeji was different for him. You could already feel that.
Applying the prettiest shade of pink to her cheeks, you couldn’t help but admire how blush looked so beautiful on Yeji. It complemented her complexion perfectly, adding a touch of radiance to her already glowing skin. As she examined herself in the mirror, a smile lit up her face, and you knew she was going to steal the show tonight.
“Aren’t you going?” she questioned, her eyes glancing over your pyjamas and messy bun.
You sighed softly, feeling the weight of exhaustion and a slight headache creeping in. “I don’t feel well,” you admitted, hoping she’d understand.
“No, you have to come. I’ll be nervous all there by myself,” she pleaded, her voice tinged with genuine concern.
Despite your reluctance, you couldn’t resist her puppy-dog eyes and the genuine warmth in her voice. Yeji had a way of making even the most mundane moments feel special, and you didn’t want to disappoint her.
“You won’t be by yourself,” you assured her with a smile, knowing Sunwoo and Eric would be there to keep her company.
Yeji was a new student, still adjusting to the rhythm of college life, but she had quickly become a familiar presence. Her easygoing nature and infectious enthusiasm had won over the hearts of many, including yours.
But she’s so sweet, and you couldn’t bear to see her disappointed.
“I’ll come,” you relented, knowing that her smile was worth it.
Her eyes lit up with excitement, and she practically bounced off the bed. “We need to get you ready,” she declared, already bustling around the room, gathering clothes and makeup.
As Yeji helps you pick out what to wear, her eyes light up when she spots a particular outfit. “This,” she exclaims, her gaze hungry as she holds up a daringly bold ensemble.
You feel your cheeks flush crimson at the sight of the revealing outfit. “That’s way too much,” you protest, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and excitement at her suggestion.
“But you’ll look so sexy though!” she insists, her excitement infectious as she imagines you rocking the outfit.
Despite your reservations, you can’t deny the thrill of the idea. “I don’t want to draw too much attention…” you murmur, but Yeji is already convincing you otherwise.
In the end, you settle on the cherry blossom pink mini dress she picked out, the soft hue flattering your complexion perfectly. As you change into the outfit, you can’t help but feel a surge of confidence wash over you. You opted for minimal makeup, you wanted to enhance your natural features, and soon you’re both admiring the stunning result in the mirror.
“Your wardrobe is so daring,” Yeji remarks, her eyes scanning through your clothes with awe.
As you step into Sunwoo’s house, a wave of nervousness washes over you despite how familiar you are to this house. It’s practically your second home, yet tonight feels different somehow.
A rush of color and a buzz of activity immediately greet you. You walk through the entryway bathed in vibrant lighting that casts dynamic shadows across the textured, dark-stained wooden walls. The decorations hanging there are bold and modern, each piece making a statement with its bright colours and daring strokes.
Beneath your feet, dark hardwood floors stretch out, absorbing the light and noise, giving the house a grounded, almost intimate feel. In the living area, a group of people lounge on oversized furniture, upholstered in deep, rich tones, chatting over glasses of chilled drinks pulled from stacked ice coolers that blend seamlessly into the decor.
You walk to the backyard where the atmosphere shifts from subdued luxury to a lively party scene. The garden is lit by strategically placed neon lights that highlight the lush greenery with an almost surreal glow. Music pulses in the background, the bassline vibrating softly underfoot.
It was a chaotic blur of vibrant colours, pulsating music, and energetic bodies moving to the rhythm. The air is thick with the smell of alcohol and the haze of cigarette smoke, mingling with the scent of drugs and anticipation.
The sight of so many people, each lost in their own world of intoxication and euphoria, is both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. Everywhere you look, there are couples making out, friends sharing laughter and secrets, and strangers forging connections in the dimly lit corners of the room.
Amidst the chaos, you catch sight of Sunwoo, his expression dazed and his movements sluggish as he navigates through the crowd. He spots you and stumbles over, enveloping you in a drunken hug. “You actually came!” he slurs, planting a sloppy kiss on your forehead before his attention is quickly diverted to Yeji, already taking her hand and leading her somewhere.
As you weave through the lively crowd, the familiar laughter of Nayoung and Eunji draws you in like a beacon. You break into a wide smile, the tension melting away as soon as you see them, both teetering slightly, drinks in hand, their laughter filling the air.
“Heyyyy!” you shout over the music as you approach, arms open wide. They spot you and immediately stumble forward, nearly spilling their drinks in their excitement.
Eunji, with a tipsy grin, throws her arms around you, pulling you into a wobbly hug. “Oh my god, look at you, gorgeous!” she squeals, squeezing you tight. Nayoung joins in, her arms encircling both of you, her laughter contagious.
“We’ve been waiting for you!” Nayoung exclaims, her words slurring just a bit. She steps back to give you a once-over, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Look at you!!!” She whistles, holding your hand above and twirling you around.
As Jake’s advice echoes in your mind, you find yourself fully immersed in the party atmosphere. Surrounded by the pulsing lights and thumping bass, you allow yourself to embrace the carefree spirit of the night. You’re a college student—young, pretty, and ready to let loose. If everyone else can dive into the highs of a college party, why shouldn’t you?
One step at a time. You want to take things slow tonight, hoping to eventually join Nayoung and Eunji on the dance floor, dancing and laughing without a care. But for now, you need a few more drinks to help shake off your inhibitions. Sitting beside Eric, who's thankfully keeping you company, you feel a bit more anchored. He hands you a cup filled with your favourite drink—your first for the evening and hopefully the first of many.
"Y/N, I might be going crazy but everyone seems to be staring at you," he whispers, close enough for only you to hear. You hum in response, your eyes scanning the room. He's right. Unlike other nights where you blended into the background, tonight it feels like you're under a spotlight. Is it because of your earlier encounter with Sunghoon on campus? That thought unsettles you as you realise people had stared then, and they’re obviously staring now.
Not quite drunk enough to completely let go of your inhibitions, you feel the weight of the stares pushing you to the edge. "Let's dance!!!" you suddenly exclaim, seizing Eric's arm and pulling him towards the dance floor where Nayoung and Eunji are already lost in the rhythm. Eric follows, his surprise evident but quickly morphing into enthusiasm as you both join the lively crowd.
You join Nayoung and Eunji on the dance floor, their bodies moving freely to the rhythm of the music. Joining them, the three of you fall into sync, bodies swaying and twirling in a shared rhythm. The energy is infectious, and soon Eric joins in, the four of you forming a tight circle.
Laughter and song blend as you dance, the music enveloping you completely. There’s a moment of pure joy as you all grind against each other, singing at the top of your lungs, the world outside fading away. Tonight, it’s just you, your friends, and the music—nothing else matters.
The relentless pace of the party begins to wear on you, and you wonder how your fellow students manage this every weekend. As your head starts to spin and a wave of dizziness washes over you, you realize you need a break. Muttering a quick excuse, you make your way to the quieter snacks section to catch your breath and steady yourself.
You smile when you see one of your favourite snacks, content to just munch on it, knowing Sunwoo got it just for you. Suddenly, he appears and checks on you, prompting a playful eye roll from you when you realise he’s been absent for the entire night. He was the host and was normally present but he was clearly occupied with Yeji.
You notice lipstick stains scattered across Sunwoo's neck, prompting a raised eyebrow from you. "You already fucked Yeji? Sunwoo, she hasn't even been in the band for a month—"
Sunwoo interrupts, "I haven't fucked her yet. We're just chilling in my room."
Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Really?"
He smiles, nodding. "Yeah. I want to take it slow. I really like her."
Sunwoo puts his arm around your back, concern evident in his voice as he asks, "Are you okay? You look tired. You can go and rest in one of the spare rooms; if anyone's fucking there, I'll kick them out."
You raise an eyebrow, teasing, "You'll walk in on them having sex?"
He shrugs nonchalantly, but you barely register his response. Your attention is suddenly captured by someone else.
Sunghoon.
He's here, partying, and he looks hot. Your eyes instantly gravitate towards him, taking in his appearance. Sunghoon is wearing a fitted button down shirt that manages to accentuate his muscles and toned chest, a chain dangling from his neck, adding to his appeal.
You’re engulfed in a whirlwind of emotions, your heart somersaulting within your chest, each beat a drumroll of anticipation. A nervous energy courses through your veins, setting your skin ablaze with a feverish heat, as if every nerve ending is on high alert, tingling with anticipation. Despite your attempts to remain composed, you can’t shake the feeling of butterflies fluttering wildly in the pit of your stomach, a chaotic dance of excitement and nervousness.
He’s in his element, downing shots with ease, his movements fluid and effortless. Girls press against him, grinding against him, each one vying for his attention. Laughter fills the air and his smile makes your heart twist, his presence is so magnetic and captivating. Despite the chaos around him, he’s the calm in the storm, his confidence unwavering as he basks in the attention of those around him.
The party’s intensity overwhelms you as much as you don’t want to admit it. You can’t help but feel suffocated amidst the pounding music and throngs of people. You need a break. So, you slip away to one of the rooms in Sunwoo’s vast house, seeking solace from the chaos. You were sure no one would find you here, Sunwoo’s house was massive so it was easy to hide away.
This dimly lit room on the lowest floor is your sanctuary, a hidden refuge from the party’s noise. Sinking onto the plush couch, you find comfort in its soft cushions. Closing your eyes, you let out a sigh, feeling the weight of the world lift from your shoulders.
Surrounded by silence, your thoughts fill the space. Reflecting on the evening, you wish you could shed your self-consciousness, to join the fun without fear of judgement. But anxiety holds you back, trapping you in doubt.
Taking a deep breath, you try to let go. In this quiet room, you find peace, if only for a moment, amidst the chaos outside.
Parties always felt like too much for you. The noise, the crowds, the energy—it all overwhelmed you. You'd stand there awkwardly, like a wallflower, while everyone else seemed to thrive in the chaos. You wished you could just let loose, have fun without worrying so much.
The door creaks open, breaking the silence of the empty room. Startled, you look up to see Sunghoon standing there, his presence filling the space with an unexpected intensity. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still as the connection between you sparks to life. You feel a flutter in your chest, an electrifying sensation that makes your breath catch in your throat. Unable to hold his gaze, you quickly look away, feeling a rush of heat flood your cheeks.
As Sunghoon steps into the room, his energy is different from the chaotic atmosphere of the party. It’s composed, calm, yet brimming with an underlying intensity that sends shivers down your spine. There’s something unspoken in the air, a silent understanding that hangs between you, pulling you closer despite the distance.
He takes a seat beside you, and when you steal a glance at him, you find his eyes already locked onto yours. The intensity of his gaze sends a jolt of electricity through you, and you can’t help but feel drawn to him, as if there’s an invisible thread connecting you both.
As his gaze bores into yours, it feels like he’s peeling away the layers of your soul, seeing you for who you truly are. It’s intense, electric, sending shivers down your spine and igniting a fire deep within. His eyes hold a mixture of curiosity, desire, and a hint of something more profound, leaving you breathless and longing for more.
In a soft voice that sends tingles down your spine, he asks, “Why aren’t you enjoying yourself? Why did you come?” His words are laced with concern, genuine and caring, yet there’s an underlying tone of desire that makes your heart race.
You can’t help but laugh nervously, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “I came for my friends, but I already regret it… I don’t know why I can’t let myself have fun, I really don’t know… I tried to let loose but I just can’t.” Your voice trails off, filled with uncertainty and self-doubt.
His response is like a bolt of lightning, unexpected and thrilling. “That’s a shame… The prettiest girl here tonight should be enjoying herself,” he says, his words dripping with charm and confidence. The way he looks at you, coupled with his bold statement, sends a rush of heat straight to your core.
Feeling a mixture of surprise and desire, you meet his gaze head-on, your eyes locking in a silent exchange filled with unspoken longing. “I-I…” you stutter, unable to form coherent words as his proximity overwhelms you. “I… thank you,” you manage to whisper, your cheeks flushing with heat as you avert your gaze, feeling his intense presence enveloping you like a warm embrace.
“But I’m definitely not the prettiest girl here tonight, not even close. Have you seen Yeji? Or Nayoung and Eunji? Or Karina? I even saw you dancing with her, and I don’t blame you if you left with her tonight because she’s breathtaking and—” Your words tumble out in a rush, cheeks flushing crimson as you realise how much you’ve said. Fortunately, he cuts you off with a forward tone, sending your heart racing again.
“You’re prettier than all of them,” he declares, his words laced with confidence and desire.
“Why aren’t you partying right now? Did you follow me here?” you question, narrowing your eyes at him. His chuckle sends shivers down your spine as he shakes his head. “I was partying, then I saw you and realised you were here. I saw Sunwoo with you and got distracted. I didn’t follow you, I just wanted to find a room that no one would be in, and that’s how I came here…” His words hang in the air, leaving you speechless and breathless.
As he moves closer, you feel your pulse quicken, his presence overwhelming yet comforting. “Why can’t you look me in the eyes?” he asks softly, his fingers gently lifting your chin to meet his gaze. You try to avert your eyes, but his touch guides your focus back to him.
“Why do you always look at me like that?” you finally muster the courage to whisper, the intensity of his gaze leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.
“Like what?” he replies, his tone smug yet enticing, as if he’s enjoying the effect he has on you.
“Like you’ve seen me naked,” the words spill out, unfiltered and honest, hanging between you in the charged air. It feels like a confession, a secret desire laid bare, but instead of recoiling, he leans in closer, a smirk playing on his lips.
Without a word, he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a heated passion that sends sparks flying. His lips are warm and demanding against yours, moulding perfectly to fit as if they were made to kiss yours. The taste of him is intoxicating, a heady mix of brown sugar and whiskey that ignites a fire within you. Your hands instinctively find their way to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his soft hair as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss.
There's a primal hunger in the way he kisses you, a raw, animalistic need that leaves you breathless and wanting more. His tongue dances with yours in a tantalising rhythm, exploring every crevice of your mouth as if he's trying to imprint himself on you.
Moans escape your lips as the kiss grows more fervent, the passion between you reaching a fever pitch. With a low growl, Sunghoon's hands roam over your body, tracing every curve and contour with deliberate intent. His touch ignites a fire within you, sending shivers down your spine as his fingers trail up and down your back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
You can feel the heat between your bodies intensifying, the urgency of desire driving you closer together. As he pulls you onto his lap, you straddle him eagerly, the hardness of his arousal pressing against you, a potent reminder of the passion between you.
With each movement, Sunghoon grinds against you, his hips rocking in perfect synchrony with yours, creating a rhythm that sets your heart racing. The friction between your bodies sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, building the intensity of your desire with every touch. His hands guide your movements, urging you to grind against him with increasing urgency
"Good girl," he whispers against your ear, his voice husky with desire, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. His words fuel the fire burning between you, igniting a primal hunger that demands to be sated.
You reach for the buttons of his shirt, unbuttoning with urgency while still grinding against him, your ass meeting his clothed thighs with every bounce. His hands grip the flesh underneath your dress, and you feel the tension in the air as you both lose yourselves in the moment. With a swift motion, his shirt is off, discarded in the heat of the passion that envelops you both.
As you look into his eyes, you see the same emotions reflected — lust, longing, want and need. You're consumed by the desire to pleasure him, to take him to the heights of ecstasy and beyond. With a primal urge coursing through your veins, you drop to your knees before him.
As you look up at him, a playful and innocent smile dancing on your lips, he groans in response, his reaction uncontrolled and raw. His moans escape him in a series of loud, guttural sounds, each one filled with the urgency of his desire and the pleasure coursing through him.
With a confident hand, you unzip his jeans, anticipation building with each tug of the zipper, until they're open and his arousal is straining against the fabric of his boxers. Pressing open-mouthed kisses to the fabric covering his cock, you revel in the feeling of his hardness beneath your lips, the heat of his desire seeping through the fabric. His reaction is immediate, a guttural groan escaping him as he feels your warm breath against his skin, the promise of pleasure tantalisingly close.
With a wicked grin, you tease him further, nipping at the edge of his boxers before slowly sliding them down, revealing his throbbing length in all its glory. The sight of him, hard and ready for you, only fuels your own desire, igniting a hunger that demands to be sated.
"You're driving me insane," he growls, his voice thick with desire as he locks eyes with you, the intensity of the moment igniting a fire between you. "Now, are you gonna suck my cock like the good girl you are?"
With a smirk playing on his lips, he teases you with his cock, tracing the tip along your parted lips. He grips his hardness firmly, using it to lightly slap against your eager mouth, the sensation sending shivers of excitement down your spine. Your mouth hangs open, ready and waiting for him, aching to feel him fill you completely.
With a hungry urgency, you take him into your mouth, your lips wrapping around him as you sink down onto his hardness. You touch each other all over, your hands exploring his body while his fingers tangle in your hair,
Your head bobs rhythmically, your mouth working him with skill and determination, each movement eliciting loud grunts and moans from him. He guides your movements with his hands, urging you to take him deeper, to suck him harder, to drive him to the brink of ecstasy.
"Fuck, that's it," he groans, his voice thick with desire as he watches you pleasure him. "Just like that, baby, take me all the way."
You comply eagerly, your hand tight around his length as you stroke and tease him, syncing your movements with the rhythm of your mouth for maximum pleasure. His rough and primal sounds of pleasure fill the air, spurring you on as you work him towards release.
But he wants more, needs more. With a sudden roughness, he tightens his grip on your hair, pulling you closer until your head is arched back, your neck exposed for him to take control. With a makeshift ponytail in his grasp, he guides your movements, angling your head for a better angle as he thrusts into your mouth with renewed intensity.
You surrender to his dominance, letting him guide you as he thrusts deeper into your mouth, each movement driving you both closer to the edge. Your senses are overwhelmed by the taste, the scent, the feeling of him filling you completely, and you revel in the primal pleasure of giving yourself over to him entirely.
"Fuck yes," he growls, his voice a primal command as he takes control. "Suck my cock, just like that. I want to feel you swallow me whole."
His grunts and moans grow louder, more urgent, as he approaches the pinnacle of his ecstasy. With one final, powerful thrust, he releases himself into your waiting mouth,
As you take his cum, you look up at him with eyes that are both desperate and satisfied, your mouth aching for more of him even as you savour the taste of his release. “That’s it, baby.” He strokes your hair softly, relishing in the feeling of you tasting his cum.
He whispers huskily, "take it all, baby... swallow every fucking drop."
You gaze up at him with a mix of desire and vulnerability, your eyes pleading and soft. He feels a primal urge stir deep within him. The sight of you, so desperately wanting, ignites a fire in his veins and a fluttering feeling in his chest.
With a growl of need, he effortlessly lifts you from the floor, his strength undeniable as he pulls you into his arms. Lowering you onto his lap, he holds you close, his hands roaming over your body with possessive urgency. Each touch is rough yet tender, a silent declaration of his desire to claim you as his own. And as he pulls you closer, the heat between you intensifies, the air thick with anticipation and need.
In his hold, your bodies meld together, hips moving in a primal rhythm, grinding against each other with an urgency that borders on desperation. As your lips meet, it's a clash of tongues and teeth, a passionate exchange that leaves you both breathless. Moans and sighs escape between kisses, mingling with the sound of your heavy breathing as you lose yourselves in the moment.
Breaking apart briefly, you pant against his lips, your desire evident in every ragged breath. "I wanna fuck you so badly, please," you whisper, your voice a husky plea.
With a low growl of desire, he meets your gaze, his eyes smouldering with need. "Ride my cock, baby," he commands, his voice rough with urgency as he guides your hips, urging you to take control.
His hands move with purpose as he pulls your dress up to bunch around your waist. His fingers deftly unzip the back of your dress, exposing your back and revealing your breasts, a sight that only fuels his desire further. With a primal need, he leans down to pepper kisses along your exposed neck, his lips trailing a path of fire along your skin.
You feel the pulsating heat of his arousal throbbing against your dripping core as you lower yourself onto his cock. A primal moan escapes his lips as you take him deep inside, your walls greedily enveloping him in a tight, wet embrace. With each downward thrust, you revel in the sensation of him stretching you, filling you completely, sending sparks of ecstasy coursing through your veins.
"That’s it," he groans, his voice husky with desire as he grips your hips, urging you to ride him harder. "You take me so well." He praises, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek.
Your bodies move together in a frenzied rhythm, the sound of your skin slapping against his filling the room with the symphony of your passion. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, your senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating heat between you.
Your breasts bounce in front of him, a tempting display that drives him wild with need. He reaches up to grasp them, his fingers kneading and teasing your sensitive flesh, sending bolts of pleasure shooting straight to your core.
"You’re so fucking hot," he growls, his voice rough with urgency as he meets your gaze, his eyes burning with unbridled lust.
With each bounce on his cock, you relentlessly ride him, your bodies colliding with the sound of skin slapping against skin. The sensation of him filling you completely, stretching you to your limits, is overwhelming, a delicious tightness that leaves you breathless with desire.
Sunghoon can't help but marvel at how impossibly tight you feel around him. Every inch of his cock is enveloped in the warm, velvety embrace of your pussy, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through him with each thrust.
Your walls grip him with an intensity that leaves him breathless, a sensation so exquisite it borders on agonizing. He can feel every twitch, every ripple of your inner muscles as you ride him relentlessly, driving him to the brink of ecstasy with your insatiable hunger.
As the intensity of your rhythm escalates, the impending release becomes undeniable. "Sunghoon, Sunghoon," you gasp, your voice barely audible as you cling to him, the sensations overwhelming.
He meets your gaze with a primal hunger, his own need evident in the depths of his eyes. "I know, I know," he growls, his voice strained with urgency. With synchronised movements, you both reach the peak together. Your bodies tremble with the force of your climax, every nerve ending ablaze with pleasure.
"I'm cumming!" you cry out, your voice echoing in the room as your walls clamp down around him, milking him for every drop of pleasure. Sunghoon's own release follows suit, his moans mingling with yours as he spills himself into you, filling you with his warmth.
As you reach up to gently brush the hair away from his face, you notice a change in Sunghoon’s demeanour. His features soften, his expression becoming more relaxed and carefree under your touch. An unspoken tension, one that he didn’t even realise he was carrying, was released, leaving him looking more casual and at ease. Under your hold, you can feel the satisfaction coursing through you, you did this to him.
“Are you tired?” he asks sweetly, his voice laced with concern as he looks down at you.
You shake your head with a shy smile, reassured by the warmth in his gaze.
But before you can say anything else, he surprises you by suddenly lifting you effortlessly into his arms, turning you around with a speed that leaves you yelping in surprise. The sudden movement catches you off guard, a rush of exhilaration and excitement coursing through you as you find yourself wrapped up in his embrace.
As Sunghoon holds you in his arms, you feel a surge of exhilaration mixed with a potent cocktail of desire and trust. His strong and steady embrace grounds you, his warmth enveloping you in a sense of security and anticipation.
“Do you trust me, beautiful?” His whispered words send shivers down your spine. You nod eagerly in response. His kiss on the side of your head ignites a fire within you, fueling your desire and surrender.
Positioning himself behind you, Sunghoon aligns his throbbing cock with your eager entrance. With a primal growl that resonates deep within your core, he thrusts forward, driving deep into you as he supports your weight effortlessly.
His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding the rhythm of your movements with precision and intensity. Each thrust is a calculated display of strength and control, hitting all the right spots with a relentless pace that leaves you breathless and wanting more.
Despite carrying you, his movements are powerful and controlled, each thrust driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy. The sensation of him deep inside you, his cock driving into you with primal intensity, is overwhelming and intoxicating.
With each thrust, he emphasises his strength, his dominance evident in every movement as he holds you close to him, his body pressed against yours. The slickness of your combined arousal acts as a natural lubricant, enhancing the pleasure of each thrust and driving you both closer to the brink of release.
In the heat of the moment, Sunghoon’s dominance takes centre stage as his fingers entwine themselves in your hair, firmly grasping a fistful of your locks. With each deliberate tug, he exerts his control over the pace and intensity of your movements, guiding you with a commanding yet sensual grip. As he pulls you closer, you can feel the electric tension building.
With each rhythmic movement, his hand connects with your flesh, delivering a sharp, stinging sensation that ignites your senses. The contrast between the gentle glide of his thrusts and the sudden impact of his hand sends jolts of pleasure racing through your body, heightening the intensity of the experience. Each spank leaves behind a lingering warmth, a tangible reminder of his dominance and your shared desire. As the sensations wash over you, you find yourself surrendering to the raw passion of the moment, lost in the electrifying connection between you and Sunghoon
With your hands securely pinned behind your back, you’re completely at his mercy, unable to move or resist as he takes you with an intoxicating blend of strength and desire. His muscles ripple with every movement, his veins pulsating with the intensity of his passion. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, his biceps flexing with each powerful thrust. You can feel the heat of his body against yours, his primal energy consuming you as he claims you as his own. In his embrace, you’re lost in a whirlwind of pleasure and surrender, utterly captivated by the raw masculinity of his touch.
He’s crazy. With each sharp slap to your cheek and each forceful tug of your hair, there’s a gentleness in his soft kisses grazing your cheeks. Amidst the heat of passion, he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, his breath warm against your skin.
You find yourself on the brink of ecstasy, your body writhing with desire as you whimper, “Please, I need to cum.”
Sunghoon’s response is immediate, his deep whisper urging you on, “Cum for me, that’s my good girl.”
With renewed intensity, he thrusts harder, driving you to the edge and beyond. Finally, as the pleasure overwhelms you, you reach the pinnacle of bliss, and with a primal cry, you release, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave. In that moment of euphoria, you feel Sunghoon’s own release, his body tensing against yours as he joins you in ecstasy, the culmination of your shared passion leaving you both breathless and spent.
Sunghoon’s house is not what you expected.
The cool evening air brushes against your skin as you approach Sunghoon’s place, his hand gently holding yours. He’d asked if you were comfortable coming over after the party, and something in his gaze made it impossible to say no. As you near his home, you’re taken aback by its appearance. Unlike the typical cramped student accommodations, Sunghoon’s house boasts a spacious front porch, its design minimalist but striking with shades of grey and sharp black accents.
“I live with a few other guys… it’s not all mine,” Sunghoon chuckles, noticing your wide-eyed wonder. His laughter eases the awe that had momentarily seized you.
“Who do you live with?” you ask, glancing around the spacious interior curiously.
Sunghoon chuckles, leading you through the open layout of the living room. “Jake, Jay, and Jungwon. Ni-ki and Yangyang practically live here too, though. It’s a big place, it never really feels crowded… the more, the better, actually,” he explains, his voice echoing slightly in the expansive space.
He continues, a smirk playing on his lips as he mentions Jungwon. “Jungwon can be a real pain sometimes, he’s the one who keeps telling me
you’re some Christian virgin but I tell him to shut up and hit him.” He says nonchalantly while you let out giggle. “But he’s one of my best friends. Always keeps things interesting around here.” He laughs softly, shaking his head at some unspoken memory.
“As for Jay, he’s the quiet, mysterious type. Doesn’t talk much, but he’s reliable, always there when you need him.” He adds thoughtfully.
“Are they your best friends?” you ask, intrigued by the warmth in his voice when he speaks of them.
He nods, his expression softening. “Yeah, they’re the people I’m closest to. We’ve been through a lot together—it’s like having a second family, you know?”
“And Jake?” you ask, knowing he was closest to him out of all people
“I love Jake.” He responds quickly and surely.
“Awww.” You coo.
Sunghoon’s expression softens. “Yeah, Jake and I go way back. He’s one of those friends who’s seen you at your worst and still thinks the best of you,” he explains with a laugh. “I’ve known him the longest. He has this way of keeping me grounded, especially when things start to feel overwhelming. His voice is so calm and he’s always so understanding, I’ll always be so thankful for him.”
He shifts slightly, his enthusiasm growing as he talks about his friend. “We don’t always have to talk to communicate. All we need to do is look in each other's eyes and we know what the other is thinking.”
He says it so seriously but you can’t help but snort. “That’s incredibly romantic.”
He rolls his eyes, a sign he’s used to that response whenever he speaks about Jake.
He takes you inside, then leads you on a brief tour, his hand still warm in yours. “My favourite part, the kitchen,” he announces as you step into a sleek, modern space. The kitchen is a testament to minimalist design, dominated by grey tones with vibrant blue accents that add a playful splash of color. The clean lines and uncluttered surfaces reflect a sense of order and style.
“You cook?” you ask, genuinely surprised by the sophisticated setup.
“Do I cook?” he repeats with a raised eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m the best cook around.”
The confidence in his voice sparks a smile on your face. “You’re gonna have to cook for me one day,” you say, the words slipping out more comfortably than you expected. It feels natural, easy even and you just allow it to happen.
“Yeah, I’ll make it my best work,” he responds, his smile broadening. He looks down at you with a warmth that makes your heart flutter slightly.
As you and Sunghoon chat comfortably in the kitchen, the sudden sound of footsteps causes you to startle. Before your nerves can fully spike, you realize it’s Jake entering the room. He seems nonchalant, sporting headphones and munching on popcorn, oblivious—or perhaps indifferent—to your presence.
Jake’s casual demeanour initially leaves you wondering if this is a common scene for him, witnessing Sunghoon with company. Sunghoon, for his part, doesn’t seem surprised or perturbed by his friend’s appearance, reinforcing the depth of their friendship. They’re comfortable around each other, sharing a living space without the constant need to fill it with conversation.
However, the quiet moment shifts as Jake finally acknowledges the room. He pulls one earbud out, glancing up from his phone with a mischievous smirk. His eyes flicker between your entwined hands and both your faces, a hint of amusement in his gaze. “Don’t start fucking each other against the countertop. I just cleaned it,” he quips, his tone light but pointed.
Sunghoon simply rolls his eyes, a small laugh escaping him as he looks at you, unfazed by Jake’s comment. “Ignore him,” he advises with a grin, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “He always loves to tease.”
Some time passes and Sunghoon leads you to the third floor, to his room. When he pushes open the door, a sense of tranquillity washes over you. The room is meticulously curated, the white walls pristine, exuding an aura of calm and control. Your eyes immediately travel to the bed, high-set with a soft charcoal comforter. Above his bed, an abstract painting commands attention—its tempestuous strokes of blues and greys mirroring the complexity within Sunghoon himself.
On one side, a sleek desk stands, supporting a high-powered computer with dual monitors. A nearby shelf holds a collection of engineering textbooks and a scattering of eclectic reads, your eyes lighting when you see some of your own favourite books.
The room’s ambiance is carefully controlled, LED strips casting an intentional glow, highlighting the books and illuminating a space that is both a study and a sanctuary. His headphones lie within reach, resting comfortably on its own stand.
As Sunghoon’s voice breaks the quiet, you realise he’s been watching you take it all in. “Do you want to change into something more comfortable?”
You nod but then your smile falters. “I didn’t bring anything —”
Before you can finish, Sunghoon is pulling out one of his black hoodies, his movements smooth and assured. You accept it with a quiet “thank you,” your fingers brushing against his as you take it.
The moment’s calmness is palpable as you sit on the edge of Sunghoon’s bed, the comforter cool beneath you. Sunghoon bends down to retrieve a couple of drinks and snacks from a compact compartment below, something you hadn’t noticed in his room prior. With a fluid motion that suggests familiarity, he pops open your drink using his teeth, his hands full, and hands it to you.
Does he realise how hot that was?
It’s then, as you reach out to accept the cold can, that your gaze lands on a photo by his bedside—a polaroid capturing a candid moment. A leaden sensation creeps into your chest, a tightness that’s unfamiliar yet instinctive. The polaroid shows Sunghoon with Arin share a blissfully happy moment, her radiant smile lighting up the room as she sits comfortably on his lap. They are wrapped in an intimate embrace, his arm securely around her, their gazes locked in an affectionate fondness. Arin looks breathtaking, embodying a natural beauty that deepens the pang of unease in your chest. Witnessing their intimate connection depicted so vividly in the snapshot, you can’t help but frown, a reaction Sunghoon catches instantly.
Without realising, a frown forms on your face, your fingers tightening around the can. Sunghoon’s gaze shifts from you to follow your line of sight, and with an ease that startles you, he plucks the photo from its place. The action is dismissive, an erasure of history as he tosses it into the nearby bin without a second glance.
“What do you want to watch?” he asks, turning to face you with the remote in hand.
You shrug playfully, “You choose.” A grin spreads across your face as you hear the faint clicks of him browsing through the movie selections.
As Sunghoon fiddles with the projector, the soft glow of the screen illuminates the room, casting playful shadows around his minimalist space. You settle more comfortably into his bed, pulling a cushion under your arm.
Your giggle fills the room when you see his choice pop up on the screen—Lemonade Mouth. It’s unexpected, and his reasoning makes you chuckle even more. “Seems fitting to watch the most iconic movie about a band with the hottest and coolest band member I know,” he explains, a teasing tone in his voice.
“It’s an amazing movie,” you whisper, sinking deeper into his bed, drawing the comforter up to your chin. You’re so engrossed in the opening scene that you don’t notice Sunghoon’s gaze lingering on you, his attention only half on the movie.
The film’s lighthearted humour unexpectedly draws peals of laughter from you, your giggles echoing in the quiet room. It’s endearing to Sunghoon, how easily you find joy in simple moments.
“Did you guys start your band in detention too?” he jokes, referencing the plot of the movie, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
You shake your head, still smiling. “No, we started it because Sunwoo lost a bet. We’ve only been a band for like… less than a year.”
Settling back, he watches you more than the movie, a soft smile playing on his lips as he enjoys your reactions just as much as the film itself. The evening unfolds with a gentle, easy magic, the kind that seems to pause time just for the two of you.
As the characters in Lemonade Mouth rally together for their iconic ‘Determinate’ performance, Sunghoon chuckles, pointing at the screen. “Can Sunwoo and Eric rap like that?” he asks, genuinely curious yet teasingly.
You laugh, the sound is light and easy. “Both, actually. Especially Sunwoo—he’s surprisingly good. But he can’t ever be serious about it. I swear, half the time, I can’t take him seriously at all, and I can’t believe he’s in a band.”
Sunghoon’s laughter joins yours, creating a symphony of amusement that fills the room. “That must make rehearsals interesting,” he comments, imagining the scene.
“It’s like managing a group of kids sometimes.” You deadpan, eyes twinkling with the memories of countless rehearsals.
As the movie winds down and the room dims with the soft light of the credits rolling, your eyelids grow heavy. Nestled comfortably under his covers, you find the cosy warmth too inviting, your voice barely above a whisper, “Can I stay here tonight?” You’re already sinking deeper into the cushion of his pillow, the fatigue of the night drawing you closer to sleep.
Sunghoon’s response comes with a gentle chuckle, warm and reassuring. “Yeah, you can,” he smiles, the softness in his voice making it clear you didn’t even need to ask. As you nestle in, he reaches out, his touch light as he brushes his hand over your cheek. “Don’t you wanna remove your makeup before you sleep?” he asks, his concern tender.
You groan softly. “Can’t be bothered,” you mumble.
Without hesitation, Sunghoon offers, “I’ll do it for you.” He pulls open a drawer, retrieving cotton pads and makeup remover. His movements pause as his fingers brush over the items—remnants of past routines, he frowns, breathing in deeply before letting it out. Not tonight, not now.
He gently turns your face towards him, ensuring not to disturb you too much as your eyelids flutter in the struggle to stay awake. With care and immense attentiveness, he begins to dab at your face, removing the makeup with strokes so soft they could be mistaken for a caress. Each motion is careful, ensuring not to tug at your skin, his touch as light as air.
“So pretty,” he whispers, his voice a hush in the quiet room. He finds you absolutely breathtaking like this, bare-faced and in his hoodie, resting on his side of the bed. Normally he doesn’t let anyone sleep on his side of his bed, but with you, he decides to make an exception.
Sunghoon reaches for a spare blanket and pillow, throwing both onto the couch beside his bed but just as he turns to leave, your hand reaches out, catching his wrist with a gentle, yet firm grip, your fingernails embedded in his wrists slightly.
“Don’t go,” you murmur, the softness of your voice masking the intensity of your plea.
He pauses, turning back with a chuckle. “I sleep here all the time, it’s fine,” he assures you, his voice a blend of amusement and comfort.
But tonight, you want him closer. “I want you to stay,”
Sunghoon sighs, a sound of subtle delight, he can’t argue with that. as he slides into the bed beside you. “You’re kinda on my side of the bed,” he teases, a playful note in his voice that makes you smile in the dimly lit room.
“Come closer then,” you whisper back, shifting to make room and tossing the spare pillow off the bed. Your arms open, inviting him into a more intimate embrace. He obliges without hesitation, his hands finding their way to the small of your back, his fingers trailing along your skin as he pulls you closer, the heat of his breath mingling with yours.
You wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. The fabric of his shirt is soft under your fingertips, and you trace patterns absentmindedly as you both adjust into a comfortable cuddle. His presence is a calming force, and you feel the earlier tension of the evening begin to dissipate.
The proximity is electrifying yet soothing, with his breath rhythmic and steady against the side of your face. “This is better,” you admit, your voice a soft confession in the quiet of the room.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear. His hand finds its way to your hair, fingers gently sifting through the strands, a touch that sends shivers down your spine.
“Mmm,” you hum in response, content and a little more daring as the night deepens. “I like having you close,” you continue, the words spilling out with a vulnerability that feels right in the moment.
Sunghoon’s response is a gentle squeeze of his arms around you, pulling you even closer. “I’m not going anywhere,” he assures you, his voice a low rumble that you feel rather than hear. His hand trails down your back, settling with a comforting weight that anchors you to the moment, to him.
The morning after, sunlight sneaks through the curtains, painting the sheets in a warm glow. You wake up to find yourself comfortably nestled in Sunghoon’s arms, his arms secure around you. Is it the bed or his strong embrace making you feel so cozy?
You feel his warm breath on your skin as Sunghoon leans in to kiss you, his lips hovering just inches from yours. But before he can make contact, you blurt out the question that catches him off guard.
“How did you find fucking me?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
He pauses, his lips lingering near yours for a moment before he chuckles softly. “Good morning to you too,” he replies, giving you a quick peck on the lips.
“Was I good?” you press, your heart pounding in your chest.
Sunghoon plays with your earrings, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “Really good,” he admits, his voice husky with desire.
“Really?” you can’t help but sound a bit silly, your insecurities bubbling to the surface.
“There’s a reason I kept calling you my ‘good girl’,” he reassures you, his words sending a flutter of excitement through you.
You giggle at his response, feeling a surge of confidence wash over you. “I mean, who taught you how to suck cock like that?” he teases, wiggling your eyebrows playfully.
“I’m self-taught,” you continue, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “No one needs to teach me.”
He moves his body on top of you, his gaze smouldering with desire. “Do you want to show me what else you’ve learned?” he asks, his voice low and husky with anticipation. His eyes lighting when you nod eagerly.
You fidget with the hem of Sunghoon’s hoodie as you descend the stairs, the fabric soft against your skin but heavy with the weight of the night before. Hickeys dot your neck, a visible reminder of the passion that unfolded in the quiet of his room. Sunghoon follows closely behind, his hand finding the small of your back, a silent assurance as you step into the heart of his home.
The kitchen buzzes with morning activity, the air thick with the scent of coffee and the low hum of conversation. It’s a stark contrast to the serene isolation of Sunghoon’s bedroom. You’re not prepared for the burst of energy that greets you, but then again, you should have expected it. Sunghoon’s housemates, a notorious and eclectic group known campus-wide, are gathered around the island, their presence as commanding as their reputations.
Jake spots you first, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “Good morning, did you sleep well? Or should I say, fuck well?” he teases, winking at you with a grin that spells trouble.
Jungwon stands, clapping dramatically as he eyes the marks on your neck. “Oh, look, someone lost their virginity!” he declares, earning a chorus of laughs from the others.
You shoot him an annoyed look, choosing not to engage with his antics. Jay leans against the counter, a smirk playing on his lips. “Did he fuck you do hard that you couldn’t make a sound? We didn’t hear a peep last night,” he adds, his voice dripping with mock concern.
Despite the barrage of teasing, Sunghoon remains unfazed. He steps closer, his arm snaking around you, pulling you to his side. His presence is a wall against the playful onslaught. “Ignore them,” he murmurs, his voice low and comforting by your ear, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek.
You feel a tightness in your chest as their chatter swirls around you, the familiarity and ease of Sunghoon’s friends contrasting sharply with your own nervousness. You cling slightly to Sunghoon, tightening your grip on his arm. You manage a small smile, avoiding direct eye contact with the group, your gaze flickering between the countertop and the mug you’re now holding.
With a soft touch, he leans down, his breath warm against your ear. "Hey, just take a deep breath, okay? They really like you," he whispers just for you, the reassuring tone blending with the underlying rumble of his voice. He guides you subtly to stand slightly behind him.
You nod, managing a shy smile as you lean into his protective form, feeling the tension begin to ease. The physical closeness, Sunghoon's body shielding yours, brings a quiet comfort that helps you relax into the moment, the earlier apprehension slowly melting away under his attentive care.
As the weeks pass, your interactions with Sunghoon become increasingly frequent and intense. You find yourself actively seeking him out.You’ve spent endless nights in his house, in his room. Endless laughter and soft touches weave between you, gradually building a deeper connection. Days without seeing him leave a noticeable void, highlighting just how integral he has become to your daily life.
Park Sunghoon was not what you expected, he was better, he left you breathless. He had effortlessly evolved into a constant presence in your world. His ability to make you laugh and smile becomes a cherished aspect of your days together. You don’t shut up around him; it’s something he wasn’t expecting. He finds it endearing, how much you babble and talk. You simply share every thought and feeling with him — unmasked and raw. It was a massive difference to the shy girl who never used to be able to look him in the eyes.
(You still struggle making direct eye contact with him though).
You don’t know how it happened so quickly, but you begin trusting him and instinctively needing him around before actively realizing it. It was your bodies and minds’ natural response.
In getting to know Sunghoon, you discover a multitude of shared interests, from music and literature to movies and even Lego sets. Yet, it's the differences that add depth to your connection. Sunghoon exuded confidence, his outgoing nature and commanding presence drawing you in. He knew how to navigate any situation with ease, always in control and never at a loss for words.
Yet, alongside his confidence was a wild streak that ignited a fire within you. He embraced the thrill of indulging in drugs, drinking, sex and getting high, finding euphoria in the freedom of letting loose. His uninhibited nature was undeniably attractive, adding to the magnetic pull you felt towards him.
Despite his wild side, Sunghoon displayed a remarkable intellect and dedication to his studies. He approached engineering with a seriousness that spoke to his ambition and drive. Behind his cool exterior lay a focused individual with clear goals and aspirations for the future. This combination of intelligence, ambition, and spontaneity only served to deepen your admiration for him.
You also love when he kisses you.
The entire world melts away in those moments, as his soft lips meet yours in a dance of warmth and affection. Each kiss is filled with smiles and unspoken promises, drawing you closer to him with every tender touch. The closeness you share in those stolen moments is everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more.
It happens often—more often than you would have expected. You find yourselves kissing, making out, lost in each other’s embrace, more frequently than you could have imagined. Yet, despite the overwhelming desire that burns between you, you haven’t been able to take that next step.
Do you want to have sex with him again? Yes, without a doubt. The thought of being intimate with him again sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. But have you been able to? No. And why? The answer eludes you, buried beneath layers of uncertainty and hesitation.
You meet his eyes through the reflection in the mirror, the anticipation palpable in the charged air between you. His hands trail down the curve of your back. As he zips up the back of your dress and places your necklace around your neck, his whispered words send a wave of bliss coursing through you.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs into your ear, arching your neck to meet his eyes directly now. his lips pressing against yours with longing, roughness, and breathlessness all at once. You moan softly into his mouth, your fingers instinctively fisting in his hair as he effortlessly picks you up, your legs immediately wrapping around his waist.
With a sense of urgency, he guides you to the chair by his desk, both of you breathless and eager for more. You straddle him, the heat of your bodies igniting as you grind against each other. As the cool metal of the zipper trails down the small of your back, a shiver runs through you—mixed, not with the anticipated thrill, but an unsettling trepidation. Your breath hitches, caught in the tangle of your conflicting desires. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? The question haunts the fringes of your mind, echoing with each inch of fabric that parts under his fingers.
He pauses, and the room suddenly feels too small, the air too thick. You can feel his gaze, heavy with concern, as he leans back to look at you. It’s a careful, searching look, one that seems to pierce right through the façade of readiness you’ve put up. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice low, a soft thread in the tense silence.
Your heart pounds louder, faster, betraying your outward calm. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as you meet his eyes—so full of worry now. Why can’t you just be okay with this? The frustration at yourself bubbles up, sour and accusing. You feel exposed, not just in flesh but in spirit, as if he’s peeling back layers you’re not ready to shed.
You open your mouth to speak, to explain, but the words dissolve into a heavy breath. His concern deepens, the atmosphere shifts; it’s no longer just about desire, but about the raw, unmasked corners of vulnerability. “Y/N,” he says, and it’s gentle, almost reverent.
In that moment, caught between wanting and uncertainty, you realize the gravity of intimacy—not just the physical merging, but the emotional exposure. It’s not just bodies that are laid bare in such encounters, but hearts and hidden fears, all intertwined.
He catches every faltering word, his expression softened by an empathetic understanding that seems to wrap around you like a warm blanket. “It’s okay. You don’t need to say sorry,” he reassures you, his voice steady, a stark contrast to the tremble in your own.
You glance up at him, the turmoil inside bubbling over. “No, I do… I do want to have sex with you, I think I do but something is holding me back. Something doesn’t feel right inside of me, and I don’t know what it is. I just feel weird, I feel tense, my anxiety has never felt this high.” The words spill out in a rush, your voice cracking under the strain of the heavy, churning emotions.
“I feel nauseous. I’m sorry… I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or guilty. I’m really sorry.” You mumble, biting your lip to hold back the tears that threaten to break free. Guilt gnaws at you, twisting tighter with each apology, fearing how your words might weigh on him.
He listens, his eyes never leaving yours, not even for a moment. There’s no hint of frustration or judgement, only deep, unwavering patience. “You don’t need to say sorry to me about that, or explain yourself to me, ever,” he responds, his tone firm yet gentle. It’s comforting, like a steady anchor in the tumultuous sea of your emotions.
“I know what you’re feeling. Having sex does take a toll on your body and mind. It can be a lot mentally. You don’t need to explain yourself to me because I will always understand, okay? Just tell me if anything is making you uncomfortable and don’t ever feel guilty about it.” His assurance is a soothing balm, addressing not just the immediate anxiety but acknowledging the broader, often unspoken pressures that come with intimacy.
The room stills, the earlier tension slowly dissipating as his words settle over you. You nod, a silent acknowledgment of his kindness. In this moment, the physical space between you is charged with a new, quiet intimacy—a connection not of bodies, but of souls understanding each other in profound silence.
His hand reaches out, brushing a stray tear from your cheek with a tenderness that makes your heart swell. It’s a simple gesture, yet it speaks volumes, reinforcing the safety and acceptance in his presence. It’s not about what happens next, or what didn’t happen tonight. It’s about being seen, understood, and cared for without conditions. And in that understanding, the heavy cloak of anxiety begins to lift, replaced by a lighter, more hopeful sensation—a whisper of peace amidst the storm.
“Do you still wanna go or do you wanna stay here and chill for the night?” he asks, his voice gentle, leaning in close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath. His eyes search yours for an answer, patient and undemanding.
You smile, a wave of relief washing over you at how understanding he is. “Of course I still want to go.” You respond, your voice steady but soft. There’s comfort in his presence, a safety that peels back the layers of guard you’ve meticulously built around yourself. For a moment, you hold his gaze, seeing the sincerity and warmth that flicker in his eyes, revealing his true intentions. It’s this truth that captivates you, locking your eyes with his and making the world around you fade.
He nods, a small, understanding smile playing on his lips. Standing, he offers his hand, and you place yours in it, feeling a rush of warmth from his touch. His hand is strong and secure around yours, a contrast to the smooth, gentle hold that sends a thrill up your arm. As he leads you through the crowd, you can’t help but notice the confident way he moves—each stride purposeful and assured, his shoulders relaxed yet commanding presence. The feeling of your hand in his—a delicate yet perfect fit—makes your heartbeat a little faster.
Sunghoon also bonded with your friends, although it got a bit awkward considering he had fucked Nayoung and Eunji before, it’s not shocking, he has a high body count. It wasn’t easy to forget that the way he met you was through Nayoung, through his initial interest in her. But it was clear that boundaries were now set, and he viewed them as your friends specifically.
Sunghoon exuded an unexpected chill vibe that effortlessly drew people to him. He possessed a natural charisma that made it easy for him to get along with everyone, though not in a desperate, boundary-less way. Rather, he was the type who genuinely wanted to keep everyone happy and safe, yet he also harbored a darker, more defensive side. If you crossed him or someone he cared about, he wouldn’t hesitate to assert himself.
His presence was magnetic, with eyes following him wherever he went. Being around him was like basking in sunshine—impossible not to smile, to feel light and happy, to keep your eyes fixed on him with a wide smile. That’s why you warmed up to him so easily. His ability to effortlessly connect with your friends was incredibly hot, and seeing him make an effort was a major turn-on.
Your friends have grown accustomed to seeing you in their own world, whenever you and Sunghoon are together, their glances and remarks go unnoticed by both of you. You’re so engrossed and caught up in each other that the outside world fades away. There’s constant eye smiles, giggling, stolen glances, whispers, and communications, all adding to the intimate atmosphere. Physical closeness comes naturally, and you always make space for him. He, in turn, chooses to sit next to you and focuses solely on you.
You’re in the campus student lounge rooms. The last time you were here, the mere thought of him used to send chills down your spine, he used to make you incredibly nervous. The last time you were here with him was the morning after you had sex, and the memories flood back, mingling with the present moment.
But now? You’d say you’ve become a lot more comfortable around him. Don’t get it wrong, he still makes you nervous. At times it’s still difficult to look into his eyes and he loves it, especially right now, when he’s tracing the skin under your pretty little skirt with such precision. His eyes gaze into yours, penetrating deep into your soul, while the sides of his lips upturn into a smirk. As always, your friends are rolling their eyes as you and Sunghoon are eye-fucking again, completely oblivious to the scene around you.
Why is he touching you? Well, you mentioned wanting a tattoo, so you asked Sunghoon to trace an artistic outline of what he thinks would look good on you. Of course, deep down, you just wanted his hands on you; you weren’t actually planning to get inked. But you couldn’t exactly blurt out, “Sunghoon, please touch me!” in front of everyone, could you? He doesn’t mind though; he sees right through you and finds you endearing and cute. Plus, he’s not exactly opposed to any excuse to touch you either.
As Sunghoon’s fingers glide over the bare skin of your thigh, you feel a surge of desire coursing through your veins. His touch is electric, sending shivers of anticipation up your spine. You bite your lip to stifle a moan, but the sound escapes anyway, earning a smirk from Sunghoon.
“Really? In front of everyone?” he teases, his voice husky in your ear, dripping with desire. You shake your head, unable to form words as his touch sets your nerves on fire. Every brush of his fingertips sends waves of pleasure straight to your core.
“You like that?” he whispers, his warm breath tickling your ear. You can only whimper in response, the ache between your legs growing more insistent with each passing moment.
His hand moves with purpose, tracing the curve of your thigh before inching higher, closer to where you need him most. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, matching the fire burning within you.
In your mind, you’re chanting “higher” over and over, craving his touch to escalate. Suddenly, his voice, a low whisper in your ear, sends shivers down your spine. “You want me to touch you higher?” His words, dripping with seduction, fuel the fire burning within you.
How does he know? It’s maddening yet exhilarating, the way he can read your desires with just a glance. You bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan building in your throat, but it’s futile. You want him to know, to feel the raw intensity of your longing.
“No,” you manage to whisper, but it’s a lie, a feeble attempt to resist his irresistible allure. He smirks knowingly, his fingers teasingly brushing against your folds, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You can’t hold back anymore as desire consumes you, craving his touch, his warmth, his everything.
He repeats his question with a smirk, his tone dripping with teasing temptation. “No?” he says, drawing out the word, his eyes sparkling with mischief. But you’re beyond words now, lost in a haze of desire as his touch threatens to unravel you completely. All you can think about is him, his hands, his lips, igniting a hunger that only he can satisfy. “Hoon—”
As you lay your head on Sunghoon’s lap, the comfortable silence of the room wraps around you. You’re scrolling through his phone, a small gesture that shows just how close you’ve become, trusting each other with such personal devices. He’s doing the same with yours, each of you lost in a quiet exploration of memories captured in digital form.
Your fingers pause as you swipe through his camera roll, a gallery of his life displayed in bursts of pixels and colours. There’s an array of images: candid shots with friends, selfies, beautiful scenic photos, gym progress and a few of his university projects. You also come across an array of your own photos that you’d almost forgotten sending him—naughty and risqué shots of you in lingerie, revealing outfits, and even some playful nudes.
Then, amidst the casual swiping, you halt. A photo pops up that halts your breath and tightens your chest. It’s an image of Sunghoon with Arin.
You were still unclear about who Arin was to Sunghoon, and the nature of their past relationship. He hadn’t ever spoken about her, and the bits you pieced together from Eunji and Nayoung suggested they were together a while ago, though whether it was serious or not, you couldn’t be sure. But seeing this photo cuts your breath in half.
They’re caught in a serene moment—her seated on his lap, an arm draped comfortably around her. Her smile is radiant, the kind that seems to illuminate her entire face, and her eyes sparkle with joy. Sunghoon’s gaze is fixed on her with an intensity that’s palpable, his eyes soft, mesmerised. It’s clear from the photo that there was something deep and affectionate between them.
Among the multitude of images, this one stands out conspicuously, the only visual record of her presence in his phone. The absence of any other pictures of her prompts a troubling realisation: he must have deliberately removed them, yet this one remains, was it accidental? Was it not?
You doubt it. A chill runs through your spine, your breath shakes, and you feel a painful strain in your chest at the realisation. This photo had to be recent—you notice him wearing one of his commonly used jackets, and the hairstyle is the same.
You’re so incredibly jealous and shaken up that your vision blurs; you can’t think straight, you feel like you’re about to throw up, you feel so fucked up and nauseous that you don’t even think to check the date the photo was taken. All you can focus on is looking at her.
You can’t believe how breathtaking the photo is. Arin’s dress hugs her figure elegantly, accentuating her curves in all the right places, while her radiant smile lights up the frame, infusing the image with an undeniable warmth. Her eyes sparkle with genuine joy, drawing you into their depths with an irresistible allure. But it’s the way Sunghoon looks at her that leaves an indelible impression on your mind—he’s captivated, his gaze fixed on her with a mesmerising intensity that speaks volumes.
As you stare at the image, a cold realisation washes over you. She embodies everything you fear you’re not; her ease and vibrancy in the photo make you painfully aware of what you perceive as your own shortcomings. Sunghoon’s mesmerised look serves as a sharp reminder of your insecurities, feeding the jealousy that coils tight in your chest.
Now you know what it means when people say that a photo speaks a thousand words. It’s evident just by one photo—they look like they’re in love. The realisation hits you like a ton of bricks, confirming what your heart already suspected. With a single glance, the photo lays bare the truth of their relationship, leaving you reeling with a pang of heartache.
The photo stirs a storm of emotions within you—jealousy, envy, confusion. “She’s pretty,” you whisper to yourself, so quietly that Sunghoon doesn’t hear. You try to shake off the discomfort, to scroll past, but your eyes are glued to the image. Arin’s beauty, her dress, the happiness on his face—it’s a vivid portrayal of a potential love that fills Sunghoon’s life.
Silence stretches, heavy and thick, as you digest the image and its implications. The room suddenly feels smaller, the air around you charged with unsaid words and emerging doubts. Your fingers tremble slightly as they linger on the screen, the brightness of the phone casting shadows on your thoughtful face.
Sunghoon’s voice breaks through the heavy silence, calling out your name with increasing urgency. He notices the sudden change in your demeanor, the way you’ve gone silent and still, and follows your gaze to the photo of him and Arin. He meets your eyes, and there’s an unreadable, cold expression as if he’s masking or hiding something.
Your faint, broken voice fills the room with a small whisper. “Why do you have this photo on your phone?”
He’s about to answer, his mouth opening to form words that you’re not sure you’re ready to hear, when suddenly his phone vibrates loudly on the table. Your head snaps towards the device, a sharp intake of breath catching in your throat as you see the name illuminated on the screen. A single tear escapes, tracing a hot path down your cheek, but you quickly wipe it away before he can notice. With a huff, tinged with a mix of anger and hurt, you ask, your voice trembling slightly, “Why is Arin calling you?”
read part two here
as always. asks, comments, reblogs and likes are always appreciated :) it takes a few minutes and means you’ll make my day! please don’t be a silent reader 💗
♡ when heeseung agrees to test jungwon’s new dating sim game, girlfriend simulator, he expects a dumb, half finished game, until he boots it up on his switch, the screen glitches, and he’s dragged straight into the world he just created. the “girlfriend” character, you, isn’t scripted at all; and heeseung has to figure out how to get out while accidentally developing feelings for a girl who inconveniently does not exist in real life.
♡ pairing: heeseung × fem!reader | ♡ genre: fantasy; romcom; fluff; comedy; light sci fi; college au; game simulator; slow burn; smut (mdni) | ♡ playlist: gameboy - katseye | jellyous - illit | super shy - new jeans | i am shampoo - bibi | turn it up - pinkpantheress | sun and moon - aespa | ♡ wc: 37k
♡ ronnie notes: hi guyssss!! hope you enjoy this fic 🫶 i wanted to make this as a little celebration for hitting 4k followers here hehe i’ve been writing this for a while and i lowkey think it’s about to become my little favorite / comfort fic around here!! i’ve always wanted to write something with a gaming theme because i am a gamer (derogatory) so huge thank you to my sister @iyoonjh and @hoonieyun and @jayflrt for helping me with everything league of legends related because yeah i was dumb enough to write league scenes without ever having played that shit myself lmaoo anyway i really hope you guys like girlfriend simulator
HEESEUNG'S FAVORITE PART OF ANY GAME WAS THE DIALOGUE OPTIONS. Little boxes that told you exactly what to say and exactly what would happen after. Real life should've come with that feature. would've saved him a lot of trouble. He wasn't completely hopeless, though. He had friends, he could hold a conversation if he had to. But there was always this gap between what he meant and what came out, or worse, between what he said and how people reacted to it. Like everyone else had gotten a patch update on social interaction and he was still running on the default version.
Maybe that's why dating never quite worked for him. Every time he tried, he felt like he’d missed a tutorial somewhere. He could talk, sure, and he could be funny when he wanted, but halfway through a conversation he always drifted, like thinking about assignments or projects or that interesting research thread he'd meant to look into. People would smile at him politely, the kind of smile that told him they’d already made up their mind: sweet guy, but not for me.
The last time he'd tried going on a date, he’d barely made it through an hour. He’d checked the timestamp afterwards and realized he’d spent exactly forty eight minutes pretending he wasn't thinking about a bug he’d found in his graphics project. He’d texted Jungwon: "bro i think i fumbled bad." Jungwon had sent back a voice note where he laughed so hard he hiccuped. Comforting, in its own way.
Jungwon was one of like three people Heeseung could be around without keeping a mental checklist of normal things to say. They’d been friends since first year when they got paired on a project and realized they both worked better at two in the morning with no one else around. Jungwon was quiet in the same way Heeseung was, but also completely unhinged when it came to code. He’d get an idea and just lock in for days. So one afternoon, while Heeseung was in the lab pretending to fix code he’d actually broken on purpose because he didn’t want to admit he didn’t understand it, Jungwon walked in with that mischief look. He sat down next to him, opened his laptop, and said, "ok, don’t make fun of me, but I made something."
Heeseung didn’t look up. "Is it stable this time?" which was generous, because Jungwon’s projects were never stable.
"Define stable," Jungwon said, clicking through a folder that had way too many warning icons. "Anyway, it’s a dating sim."
That finally made Heeseung look. "A dating sim? Why?"
"Research." Jungwon always said that when he’d clearly done something for fun and wanted it to sound academic. "It’s called Girlfriend Simulator."
Heeseung stared at him. "That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard."
Jungwon didn’t even blink. "Yeah, I know. But I need someone to test it, and you're the only person who’ll actually give me notes instead of lying to make me feel better."
Heeseung wanted to argue, but he was tired and they had a midterm coming up and honestly he didn't care enough to fight. So he sighed and pushed his chair closer. "Fine. Show me." Jungwon grinned like that was all he’d wanted since morning. He opened the build file, and the screen filled with placeholder art, branching choices, and a character slot labeled "y/n_default." And Heeseung, who was too distracted to think twice, just shrugged.
He had no idea that saying yes to that stupid looking game would end up being the most disastrous decision of his entire academic life.
He only agreed because Jungwon wouldn't shut up about it, and because even with all his complaints, he had this soft spot for him that made it hard to say no. Also, he didn’t have anything better to do on a friday night; the rest of their friends were out, and he wasn't in the mood to socialize. And, honestly, he liked games where he could pretend to be slightly less single than he actually was. It was pathetic, sure, but it wasn't like anyone needed to know.
So later that night, Heeseung sat on his bed with the lights off and his switch on max brightness, which was probably not great for his already questionable sleep schedule but whatever. Jungwon had sent him the build file with a message that just said "lmk if it crashes :)" which was not exactly confidence inspiring, but Heeseung had agreed to this so he couldn't really back out now.
The game booted with this weirdly soft 8 bit lullaby that sounded like it was trying to hypnotize him. The title screen was clean, minimalist, just the words "Girlfriend Simulator" in a font that looked expensive. Heeseung snorted. Jungwon had definitely spent more time on the typography than the actual game mechanics, which tracked. Character customization loaded next, and Heeseung had to admit it was smoother than he expected. The interface was intuitive, the options were detailed, and the hairstyle physics were suspiciously good for something Jungwon had supposedly coded in his free time between problem sets.
He made his character half heartedly. Messy hair because that's what he had in real life and he wasn't creative enough to imagine anything else. A hoodie because hoodies were safe. He picked "student" as his class, and when it came to stats, he maxed out "humor" because he genuinely thought he was funny, even if nobody else seemed to agree. Then he looked at "emotional intelligence" and left it at zero. Honesty was important, right?
The loading screen that followed was surprisingly elegant. Just a slow fade to black with some text that read "Your First Meeting" in delicate script. Heeseung settled back against his pillow, expecting the usual dating sim fare: a classroom, a coffee shop, maybe a cherry blossom tree if Jungwon was feeling cliché.
And then the screen flickered. Just once, quick enough that Heeseung thought maybe it was his eyes. But then it happened again and the lights in his bedroom pulsed in sync, like someone had wired his lamp to the game's framerate. "What the hell," Heeseung said to no one.
The switch started vibrating in his hands. Not the normal rumble feature, but something harder, more insistent, like the controller was trying to shake itself apart. On screen, a figure materialized. The girlfriend character. For a second Heeseung just stared because the sprite work was genuinely impressive. The lighting was too good, the shadows moved wrong. Everything felt almost real in a way that made his skin prickle.
And then the girlfriend, you, turned around. Slowly like you already knew he was watching. Your face came into view and Heeseung's brain did this weird stutter because you didn't look like a game character, you looked like a person, with the kind of detail you didn't get from placeholder art. Heeseung felt this uncomfortable twist in his stomach like he was the one being observed.
Then you spoke. Not with a text box, not with that awkward text to speech voice that indie games always used. Actual audio, clear and warm and way too close for his own good. "You're here!"
Heeseung's hands went cold. The voice didn't sound small or synthetic or compressed. It sounded like someone was standing directly behind him in his dark bedroom, breath on his neck, words in his ear. He whipped around so fast he nearly dropped the switch, but his room was empty. Just his desk and his dying succulent and his pile of laundry that he'd been meaning to deal with for a week. "What the—"
Before he could finish the thought, before he could even process what was happening, the lights in his room popped, like every bulb had blown at once. The screen went pure white, so bright it hurt to look at, and the controller in his hands went from cold to burning hot in the span of a heartbeat. He tried to drop it but his fingers wouldn't move, locked in place like the plastic had fused to his skin. The air pressure in the room shifted. His ears popped like he was in a plane taking off, and he felt this pull, this hook behind his ribs, yanking him forward with a force that didn't make any physical sense. He tried to pull back, tried to let go, tried to do anything, but the world was already dissolving.
The last thing Heeseung managed to think before everything shattered into pixels was that he was going to kill Yang Jungwon.
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that the world was too bright. The grass beneath him looked like high definition fairy dust, each blade catching light in a way that grass absolutely should not. The sky was blue in that aggressive unnatural way that only existed in concept art. Everything was sharp and vivid and wrong. Heeseung sat up slowly, head spinning, and looked down at himself. His clothes had changed. Instead of his worn out hoodie and sweatpants, he was wearing the outfit his avatar had been wearing. The same hoodie he'd picked in character customization but real now, solid and heavy on his shoulders. His hands looked like his hands but also didn't. The proportions were slightly off, the lines a little too clean.
"What the fuck," he said out loud, and his voice sounded normal, which was worse. Everything else was strange but his voice was still his.
"You made it!"
Heeseung's head snapped up. You were someone standing a few feet away, watching him with this expression that was hard to read. Amusement, maybe, or curiosity. Like you'd been waiting for him and was pleased he'd finally shown up. except you weren't a sprite anymore. You were real, or at least as real as anything else in this place. You looked exactly like the character on screen but with dimension now, depth, the subtle movements of someone actually breathing. Your hair moved slightly in a breeze he couldn't feel. You were wearing something casual but put together in that effortless way that Heeseung had never managed to pull off.
You smiled at him, and he felt something weird in his stomach. "Hi," you said, like this was completely normal, like he hadn't just been ripped through a screen into a video game that shouldn't exist. "Nice to meet you!"
Heeseung opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. His brain was doing this thing where it tried to process too many things at once and ended up processing nothing at all. "What," he finally managed, which wasn't even a complete sentence but it was all he had.
"Sorry I'm late," you said, but you didn't sound particularly sorry. "Jungwon said you might be running behind. He's the one who set this up, by the way. Said we'd get along."
Heeseung blinked. "Jungwon... set this up?"
"Yeah, the blind date?" You looked at him like he was being slow on purpose. "He said you needed to get out more. His words, not mine."
And that was such a Jungwon thing to do that Heeseung almost believed it. Almost. Except he was still processing the fact that the world around him looked like someone had turned reality into a video game filter. "This is insane," he muttered under his breath. "This is the most realistic game I've ever—"
"Game?" You interrupted, and your smile faltered just slightly. "I'm not playing games with you."
The way you said it made Heeseung freeze. It wasn't defensive or annoyed, it was sincere like you genuinely meant it, like you had no idea what he was talking about. And that's when it hit him: You could hear him. Not just the dialogue options he was supposed to pick. Everything. his actual thoughts spoken out loud. "Wait," he said slowly, "you heard that?"
"Heard what?"
"Nothing. Never mind." Heeseung cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. He could freak out later. Right now there was a person in front of him — a very real feeling and cute person — and he was being weird. "So. Blind date. Right. Jungwon's idea."
He really looked at you then. You were pretty, in this approachable, comfortable way that made him think maybe he could actually talk to you without saying something catastrophically stupid. You had this ease about you, like you weren't trying too hard, and your eyes had this spark that suggested you were probably smarter than you let on. Basically, you were everything he'd ever put on one of those hypothetical "ideal type" list.
"So," you said, cutting through his thoughts. "Jungwon mentioned you're into games?"
Heeseung tried not to laugh at the irony. "Uh, yeah. You could say that."
"Me too." You brightened, and it was genuine, not that polite interest people usually faked. "I've been replaying persona 5 royal for like the third time. I know, I know, it's excessive."
"No, that's— that's actually really cool," Heeseung said, and he meant it. "Most people don't get the appeal of replaying stuff."
"Right?" You gestured as you talked, animated in a way that made him want to keep listening. "Everyone's like 'you already know the story' but that's not the point. It's about the experience, the details you missed, trying different builds—"
A notification sound chimed softly in the air between you. Heeseung jumped. You didn't react. In the corner of his vision, barely perceptible, text appeared: romantic interest +5. common interests discovered.
Oh. Oh no. This was a dating sim. An actual, literal dating sim. And he was living it.
"You okay?" You asked, tilting your head slightly.
"Yeah, totally fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thought I heard something."
You nodded, accepting this easily, and then said, "Do you want to walk? There's this spot by the lake that's really nice."
"Sure," Heeseung said, because what else was he going to say?
You started down a path that looked hand painted, every stone deliberately placed, every flower color coordinated. You reached the lake, which was absurdly picturesque, and sat down on a bench that looked like it had been placed there specifically for this moment. Probably because it had. Heeseung sat next to you, not too close but not weirdly far either, and tried to act like this was normal. "Oh," you said suddenly, looking up. "Look at that." Heeseung followed your gaze. There was a flower growing on a low hanging branch, except it wasn't growing so much as hovering there, pulsing slightly with a soft golden glow. It bobbed up and down in a loop, the universal sign of an interactive object. You didn't seem to notice anything weird about it. "That's pretty," you said. "I've never seen a flower like that before."
Heeseung stared at it. The glow intensified slightly, like it was trying to get his attention, like it was waiting for him to do something. Oh god. This is a prompt. He was supposed to pick the flower and give it to you, that's how this worked. That's how you earned affection points or route progression or whateverJungwon had programmed into this thing. So he stood up. "I'll get it for you."
"You don't have to—"
"No, I want to," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was somehow worse. He reached up and plucked the flower from the branch. It came away easily, and the moment his fingers closed around the stem, the glow faded into something softer, more natural. It looked real now. I mean, it felt real. He turned back to you and held it out, suddenly aware of how much this looked like a scene from every romance movie he'd ever suffered through, not that he suffered through many. "Here," he said.
You took it, and your fingers brushed his for just a second. You looked down at the flower, then back up at him, and your smile was so genuinely happy that Heeseung forgot for a moment that this was supposed to be a game. "Thank you," you said. "That's really sweet."
The notifications stacked in his peripheral vision, and Heeseung felt something between triumph and existential dread. "It's just a flower," he said.
"Maybe," you said, twirling it between your fingers. "But it's the thought that counts, right?" And the worst part was that you seemed to actually believe that. You weren't reading from a script or following programmed responses. You felt real, real enough that Heeseung was starting to forget why that should scare him.
You tucked the flower behind your ear, adjusting it carefully, and Heeseung had to physically stop himself from saying something embarrassing about how that was probably the prettiest thing he'd seen all week. He sat back down on the bench, leaving what he hoped was an appropriate amount of space between you. "So," you said, tilting your head. "What do you do for fun? Besides picking flowers for girls in parks."
Heeseung felt his face get warm. "I don't— that's not a thing I do regularly."
"Shame. You're good at it." You were grinning now, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. "Come on, tell me. What's your thing?"
"Uh. Games, mostly. I play a lot of games, like Jungwon said."
Your eyes lit up immediately. "Oh yeah! What kind?"
"Mostly League. Some RPGs. Anything competitive, I guess." He expected the usual response, the polite nod and change of subject that he got whenever he mentioned gaming to people.
Instead, you leaned forward, genuinely interested. "Wait, you play League? What's your main?"
Heeseung blinked. "You play League?"
"Obviously. Answer the question."
"I mean, I play mid usually. Zed, Leblanc, that kind of thing." He was still processing the fact that you not only knew what League was but apparently played it. "What about you?"
"Support. I'm a Janna main and i'm not ashamed of it." You said it with this defiant pride that made Heeseung want to laugh. "I know, I know, support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."
romantic interest +10. shared interests discovered: league of legends.
Heeseung felt something shift in his chest. He'd never met someone who got it like this. Who understood that games weren't just mindless button mashing but actual strategy and skill. "What rank are you?" He asked.
"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and kind of gave up on the grind." You made a face. "What about you?"
"Diamond 3." Heeseung said, oddly proud of himself but pretending he wasn't.
"Oh, so you're actually good." You looked impressed, which made Heeseung feel ridiculously more pleased with himself. "We should play together sometime."
"Yeah, definitely," Heeseung said, and then remembered that this was a game and there probably wasn't a 'sometime' outside of this moment. The thought made something in his stomach twist uncomfortably. You shifted on the bench, getting more comfortable, and somehow ended up closer to him. And just like that, you were off. Heeseung found himself talking more than he had in weeks, and you had opinions, strong ones, and you weren't afraid to argue with him when you disagreed. But it wasn't hostile or competitive, it was fun. At some point, you started talking about other games too. You mentioned playing Stardew Valley when you wanted something relaxing, getting unreasonably invested in Hollow Knight, rage quitting dark souls three times before finally beating it. "I'm not good at souls games," you admitted. "I panic dodge. I know you're supposed to learn the patterns but my brain just goes 'roll roll roll' and then I die."
Heeseung laughed. "That's valid. I did the same thing my first playthrough."
"Really? You seem like you'd be one of those people who does no hit runs for fun."
"Absolutely not. I died to the tutorial boss in Elden Ring."
You gasped, mockingly scandalized. "No you didn't."
"I really did. it Took me like fifteen tries." You were laughing now, the kind of laugh that made your whole face light up, and Heeseung felt ridiculously proud that he'd caused it. There was something about making you laugh that felt like winning.
romantic interest +8. humor appreciated.
You kept talking, jumping from topic to topic with the kind of ease that Heeseung had only ever experienced with Jungwon or Jake at best. Except this was different because you were looking at him like everything he said was interesting, like you actually wanted to hear his thoughts on whether the Death Note ending was satisfying or if Eren from Attack on Titan was justified. The sun was properly setting now, painting everything in warm colors. there were fireflies starting to appear, floating lazily through the air in a way that was definitely too perfect to be natural. Heeseung watched one drift past your face, and you reached out to let it land on your finger. "Pretty," you said softly, watching it glow.
Heeseung was looking at you, at the flower still tucked behind your ear and the way the sunset caught in your hair and the small smile on your face as you watched the firefly. "Yeah," he said. "Really pretty." You glanced at him and caught him staring. For a second, Heeseung thought he'd made it weird, but then you smiled, almost shy, and looked back at the firefly.
romantic interest +15. moment shared.
The firefly flew off, and you watched it go before turning back to him. "Hey, can I tell you something?" He nodded so you kept going. "I wasn't really sure about coming today. I almost canceled, actually." You pulled at a thread on your sleeve, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm not great at the whole meeting new people thing. I always feel like I'm going to say something weird and scare them off."
"You're not weird," Heeseung said automatically.
"You literally just met me. I could be extremely weird."
"Okay, but like, good weird. The kind of weird that's actually interesting." Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain it. "Most people just want to talk about surface level stuff, you know? But you actually have things you care about."
You looked at him for a long moment, and Heeseung couldn't read your expression. Then you smiled, soft and genuine. "You're really nice, you know that?"
"I'm really not," Heeseung said, but he was smiling too.
"Yes you are. You're nice and you're a good listener and you have good taste in games." You counted off on your fingers. "That's like, three whole good qualities. Most people don't even have one."
There was a moment of comfortable silence where you just sat there, watching the fireflies multiply in the growing dusk. Heeseung thought about how easy this felt, how he wasn't checking the time or looking for excuses to leave. How he kind of never wanted this to end.
You turned your head to look at him. "So do you want to do this again? Like, another time?"
Heeseung's heart did a weird jump in his chest. "Like another date?"
"Yeah. If you want. No pressure or anything." You said it casually, but Heeseung could see the hint of nervousness in the way you weren't quite meeting his eyes. "I just think it'd be fun to hang out more. Maybe we could actually play League together or something."
Every logical part of Heeseung's brain was screaming that this was a bad idea. That he should figure out how to exit this game and go back to real life and deal with the fact that he'd just spent hours in a virtual reality dating sim. But the less logical part, the part that was currently winning, wanted to see you again. Wanted to hear you laugh more. Wanted to keep talking about stupid stuff that mattered to him and apparently mattered to you too. "Yeah," he heard himself say. "Definitely, yeah, I'd really like that."
Your smile was so bright it could've competed with the fireflies. "Okay. It's a date then."
romantic interest +20. second date confirmed. route progression: 15% complete.
And then, without any warning at all, the world started to blur at the edges. The colors bled together, the sounds got muffled and distant, and Heeseung felt that same pulling sensation from before. Like someone had hooked a line to his chest and was reeling him back. "Wait— " he started to say, reaching out instinctively. You were looking at him with concern, mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what you were saying anymore. Everything was dissolving into static and white light and that horrible feeling of falling. The last thing he saw before everything went black was your face, still worried, still perfect, with that flower tucked behind your ear. Then he was gasping awake in his dark bedroom, switch controller still hot in his hands, his heart racing. The screen showed a save menu: progress saved. continue tomorrow?
His hands were shaking. "What the hell," Heeseung said to his empty room.
And he barely slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the park, the fireflies, your smile. he kept reaching for memories that felt too solid to be from a game. By the time his alarm went off, he'd already been awake for an hour, staring at his ceiling and trying to convince himself that he hadn't just experienced the most elaborate hallucination of his life.
He found Jungwon in their usual spot in the computer lab, hunched over his laptop with his headphones on, nodding along to whatever he was listening to. There were three empty energy drink cans next to him, which meant he'd probably been there since before sunrise. Heeseung dropped his bag on the desk with more force than necessary. Jungwon jumped, pulling his headphones down. "Jesus, dude. Learn to announce yourself like a normal person."
"We need to talk about your game," Heeseung said.
Jungwon's face lit up. "Oh my god, you played it! what'd you think? Was she cute? Did you get to the part with the—"
"Jungwon." Heeseung sat down, leaning forward. "What the hell did you put in that thing?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean it was way too real." Heeseung ran his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain something that sounded insane even in his own head. "It felt like I was actually inside the game."
Jungwon frowned. "Wait, you used a VR headset or something?"
"No, I just played it normally! On my switch, in my room." Heeseung could hear how crazy he sounded but he kept going anyway. "But it wasn't like regular gameplay. It was like the game pulled me in. I could smell things, Jungwon."
Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly took a sip of his energy drink. "Bro. You got that invested in it?"
"I'm not— that's not what I'm saying."
"You literally just described sensory immersion that doesn't exist yet." Jungwon was grinning now. "Holy shit, you're actually down bad. You played a dating sim for like two hours and now you're having full vivid memories about it."
"It wasn't like that," Heeseung insisted, but even he could hear how weak it sounded.
"Dude, you need to get an actual girlfriend. Like, a real one. Made of flesh and blood and everything." Jungwon was trying not to laugh and failing. "Look, I'm glad you liked it. Genuinely. But maybe we should set you up with someone real before you completely lose touch with reality." Heeseung slumped back in his chair. Maybe Jungwon was right. Maybe he had just gotten way too into it. Maybe his brain had filled in details that weren't actually there because he was that desperate for connection. "I'm not judging! Okay, maybe I'm judging a little bit, but I'm also proud. My game is so good it's causing psychological breaks from reality." Jungwon looked genuinely pleased with himself. "Okay, but if you're playing tonight, there's something you should know."
"What?"
"The second date has a mini game. Like, a fight sequence."
Heeseung blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"A fighting mini game."
"Why the fuck does a dating simulator have a fighting mini game?"
Jungwon shrugged. "I thought it'd be fun. Adds variety and keeps things interesting."
"That makes absolutely no sense. What am I supposed to be fighting?"
"You'll see," Jungwon said, and his smile was deeply suspicious.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting. I'm not spoiling my own game." Jungwon turned back to his laptop. "Just make sure you've been keeping up with your stats. You're gonna need decent strength and agility."
"I maxed out humor and left emotional intelligence at zero."
Jungwon turned around slowly. "You what."
"What! I was being honest about my abilities!"
"Heeseung. My guy. My dude." Jungwon looked pained. "You're supposed to actually try to build a good character."
"My character is fine."
"Your character is going to get his ass kicked." Jungwon pulled up something on his laptop, clicked around for a second, then shook his head. "Okay, you know what? It's fine. You'll figure it out. The game has adaptive difficulty anyway."
Heeseung really looked at Jungwon. "Adaptive difficulty in a dating sim."
"In the fighting portion, yeah. The dating part is all you, buddy. That's pure skill based."
Heeseung wanted to argue that there was something deeply wrong with Jungwon's game design philosophy, but he also kind of wanted to know what the hell happened on the second date that required combat stats. "Is she going to be there?" He asked. "During the fight thing?"
"Obviously. It's her date." Jungwon was smirking now. "Why, you worried about impressing her?"
"No."
"You're totally worried about impressing her. A girl who doesn't exist."
Heeseung threw a pen at him. Jungwon dodged it without even looking up from his screen. And the rest of the day dragged. Heeseung went to his classes and took notes and nodded at the appropriate times, but his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about the park. About the way you'd looked at him when he gave you the flower. About how easy it had been to talk to you. He knew it was just a game. He knew you were just code, just a really well designed character or whatever that Jungwon had somehow made feel real. But knowing that didn't stop him from wanting to see you again.
By the time he got back to his dorm that night, he'd already decided he was playing regardless of how pathetic it made him look. He grabbed his switch, plugged in his headphones even though he hadn't used them last time, and loaded up the save file. The screen flickered once. Twice. Here we go again, Heeseung thought. And then the world tilted, and he was falling forward into light. When the world stopped spinning and Heeseung's vision cleared, he wasn't in a park this time. He was sitting in a desk chair, his own desk chair. In what looked exactly like his dorm room, except cleaner, way cleaner. His laundry wasn't on the floor and his desk wasn't covered in empty energy drink cans. His monitor was on, displaying his league of legends home screen, and his keyboard had that soft RGB glow that looked way more expensive than his actual setup.
"Okay," Heeseung said to the empty room. "This is new." His phone — or the game's version of his phone — buzzed on the desk. He picked it up and saw a discord notification.
you: you're online! finally
you: i've been waiting like ten minutes
you: i was starting to think you ghosted me
Heeseung's heart did that stupid jump thing again. He typed back quickly.
heeseung: sorry, just got on
heeseung: ready when you are
His discord pinged with an incoming call. He stared at it for a second, then clicked accept. "There you are," your voice came through his headphones, clear and warm and doing absolutely nothing good for his heart rate. "I thought you bailed on me."
"I wouldn't do that," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was concerning considering you were a video game character.
"Good. Because I already said we were playing together and if you didn't show up i would've looked stupid." Heeseung could hear the smile in your voice. on his second monitor — since when did he have a second monitor? — a small window popped up showing your avatar. It was cute, some anime style drawing with the same flower from yesterday tucked behind the character's ear. "Okay, so I set up a custom game. Two versus two," you said.
"Sounds good. Who are we playing against?"
There was a pause. "Okay, so don't freak out, but it's my exes."
Heeseung's hand froze on his mouse. "I'm sorry, what?"
"My ex boyfriends. Both of them. They wanted a rematch from last time." You said it so casually, like this was a completely normal thing. "They're kind of toxic about League. They got really mad when I beat them."
"You want me to play League against your ex boyfriends?"
"Technically we're playing against them together as a team. Bonding activity!" You sounded way too cheerful about this. "Come on, It'll be fun. Plus i really want to beat them again. They've been talking shit in the group chat all week."
quest unlocked: defend your girlfriend's honor (in league of legends) | objective: win the 2v2 match | optional objective: make her exes regret queueing up
The notification appeared in the corner of his vision and Heeseung had to resist the urge to laugh. This was insane. This entire situation was insane. But he went for it anyway. "Okay," he said. "Let's do it." the invite popped up and Heeseung accepted. The lobby loaded and he could see the other two players: "toxicking" and "yourworstnightmare" which were possibly the most obnoxious usernames he'd ever seen. "Those are real people you dated?" Heeseung asked.
"Unfortunately. My taste in men used to be really bad." You paused. "It's gotten better though." Heeseung tried not to smile and failed completely.
The chat lobby loaded and immediately one of them started typing.
toxicking: oh look who showed up
toxicking: brought a new victim i see
yourworstnightmare: this gonna be quick lol
"They're always like this," you said, sounding tired. "Just mute them if they get annoying."
"I'm fine," Heeseung said. "I've dealt with worse in solo queue."
"Ooh, confident. I like it."
romantic interest +5. confidence appreciated.
You locked in Janna, just like you'd said yesterday. Heeseung hovered over Zed for a second, then switched to Leblanc. If this was going to be a two versus two, he wanted mobility and burst damage. The game loaded, Heeseung cracked his knuckles and adjusted his grip on his mouse. "Okay, game plan," you said. "I keep you alive, you delete them. Simple." The match started and immediately the other team was in all chat. Heeseung checked their champions. Yasuo and Yone. Of course they were playing the flashy high skill ceiling champions. He would've bet money they had mastery 7 emotes ready to spam. "They always play like this," you said. "Super aggressive, trying to outplay everything. It's kind of predictable once you get used to it." The minions spawned and both teams moved forward. Heeseung played it safe at first, watching how the exes moved, learning their patterns. And then suddenly, first blood!
"THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT," you shouted, and Heeseung couldn't help but grin.
toxicking: wtf
toxicking: that was lag
yourworstnightmare: ur getting carried
yourworstnightmare: ur duo is doing everything
"He's salty," you said, laughing. "This is great." The match continued and it became increasingly clear that Heeseung and you had better coordination. You'd shield him right before he went in. You moved together like you'd been playing as a duo for months. "Behind you," you called out, and Heeseung instantly dodged. It wasn't even close. By fifteen minutes, the score was 15 to 3, and Heeseung had more kills than both of the exes combined.
toxicking: this is bullshit
toxicking: whoever this guy is he's probably smurfing
yourworstnightmare: yeah no way he's actually this rank
toxicking: fucking carried loser
"They're so mad," you said, and you sounded absolutely delighted. "Oh my god, they're so mad. This is the best day of my life."
Heeseung was grinning so hard his face hurt. "Should we end it?"
"Absolutely, yeah. Let's make it hurt." You pushed mid together. Heeseung went in first, deleting the Yasuo instantly. You polymorphed the Yone, and Heeseung finished him off before the polymorph even ended. The nexus exploded.
victory! +50 romantic interest. victory achieved. quest completed. achievement unlocked: better than her exes (at league of legends)
Heeseung leaned back in his chair, feeling more satisfied than he had any right to feel about a video game within a video game. "That felt good."
"Right? God, I've been wanting to do that for weeks." You sighed happily. "You're really good, by the way. You weren't kidding about being diamond."
"I don't really joke about my rank."
"Noted. Confidence is earned." There was a pause. "Hey, want to play another one? Just us this time?"
Heeseung absolutely should not spend more time in this game. He should log off and go to sleep and maybe talk to a therapist about why he was emotionally investing in a dating simulator. "Yeah," he said instead. "Let's play another."
You made a happy sound that did dangerous things to his chest. "Okay! I'll make the lobby.” Your laugh was bright and genuine and perfect. "I knew you were my type."
You played two more games and won both of them. When you finally left the lobby, Heeseung realized he'd been playing for almost two hours. His hands were sore from gripping the mouse and his face hurt from smiling. "Hey," you said, your voice softer now. "Thanks for playing with me. And for, you know, obliterating my exes. That was really fun."
"Anytime," Heeseung said, and meant it. "This was really fun. I don't usually have this much fun playing league."
"Me neither," you admitted. "Usually it's just people being toxic or trying too hard. But this was nice. You're nice." There was a comfortable silence, just the sound of both of you breathing through the discord call. Heeseung looked at his monitor, at the League client, at the clean version of his room that didn't exist in real life. "So," you said eventually. "Same time next week?"
Heeseung's chest tightened. "Yeah. Definitely."
"Cool. It's a date." You paused. "Well, another date. Our third date. Okay. Well. I should probably get going. Okay. Goodnight, Heeseung."
"Goodnight." The discord call ended and Heeseung sat there in the quiet of his too clean room, staring at his monitor. The screen started to blur at the edges, colors bleeding together again. Here we go again, he thought, again.
progress saved. route progression: 30% complete.
And this whole thing it became a routine faster than Heeseung wanted to admit. He'd go to class, take notes he barely remembered, nod at Jungwon when they crossed paths in the lab, and then he'd go straight back to his dorm. Dinner was whatever he could eat with one hand because he was already booting up the switch with the other. Jake, his roommate, asked him once if he was okay, and Heeseung said he was fine, just really into this new game. Which was technically true, even if it didn't come close to explaining what was actually happening.
The third date was at an arcade. Not a real arcade, obviously, but the game's version of one. You showed up wearing this oversized hoodie and jeans and you looked so genuinely excited to be there that Heeseung forgot for a solid minute that none of this was real. The mission was simple: win you a prize from the claw machine. Except the claw machine was rigged in that way that all claw machines are rigged, and it took Heeseung fifteen tries before he finally got the stuffed cat you'd been eyeing. When he handed it to you, you hugged it to your chest and smiled at him like he'd just won you something actually valuable, and the notification that popped up said his charm stat had increased by ten points. He was starting to understand how the game worked now; every interaction mattered and every choice added up.
On the fourth date, you took him to a bookstore, and the mission was to pick out a book for each other. You spent almost an hour wandering through the aisles, pulling out books and reading the backs and showing him things you thought he'd like. You picked him this SciFi novel about time loops and said it reminded you of him because he seemed like someone who'd want to figure out how to break the system. He didn't know how to tell you that he was currently living in something that felt suspiciously like a time loop, so he just took the book and thanked you. He picked you a fantasy novel with a really detailed magic system. When you read the description your whole face lit up and you immediately added it to your reading list. His intelligence stat increased and so did the romantic interest meter, which was now sitting at somewhere close to seventy percent.
Date five was a cooking challenge in your apartment, which Heeseung didn't even know you had until he loaded into the game and found himself standing in a kitchen that looked like it came out of an interior design magazine. You were already there, tying your hair back, explaining that you'd challenged him to see who could make the better pasta. Heeseung had never cooked pasta in his life that didn't come from a box with instructions, but he wasn't about to admit that. The mission objective said to impress you with his cooking skills, which seemed optimistic given his actual skill level, but he tried anyway. He burned the garlic immediately. You laughed at him but not in a mean way, more like you thought it was endearing that he was trying. You ended up helping him, standing close enough that he could smell your perfume, guiding his hands when he didn't know how much salt to add. Your pasta turned out better than his but you ate his anyway and said it wasn't that bad, and his cooking stat went from zero to fifteen which felt generous but he wasn't complaining.
By date seven Heeseung's character stats had changed completely. His confidence was maxed out now, sitting at ninety five out of a hundred. his charm was at eighty. Even his emotional intelligence had somehow climbed to sixty despite him never actively trying to level it up. The game was keeping track of everything, he realized. Every time he listened to you talk about something you cared about, every time he remembered a small detail you'd mentioned, every time he made you laugh, the numbers went up. He was being rewarded for paying attention, for caring.
Date seven was a hiking trail that wound up a mountain to a viewpoint. The mission was just to reach the top together, which sounded simple except the trail was longer than expected. Heeseung offered to take a break but you said you wanted to keep going, you wanted to see the view. So you kept climbing and Heeseung found himself naturally slowing his pace to match yours, offering his hand on the steeper parts, pointing out interesting rocks or plants just to give you reasons to stop and catch his breath, because the game kept showing pop ups of him showing that his hydration meter was almost on 10%. When you finally reached the top the sun was setting and the view was objectively incredible, the kind of thing that didn't exist in real life because real life didn't have rendering engines that could make every cloud perfect. You sat down on the bench at the summit and Heeseung sat next to you and you leaned your head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"This is nice," you said quietly. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too," Heeseung said, and he meant it so completely it scared him.
"You know, when we first met, I wasn't sure if this would work out. I didn't like the idea of a blind date." You were looking out at the view, not at him. "But I think I was wrong. I think we make sense together."
The romantic interest meter hit ninety percent and a new notification appeared: relationship milestone approaching. prepare for confession sequence. Heeseung's stomach dropped. Confession sequence. That meant the game was building toward something, toward an ending. toward him having to either commit or walk away. He'd known this was coming, obviously, this was a dating sim, the whole point was to get to the confession. But now that it was actually happening he wasn't ready. He didn't want this to end. He wanted to keep going on dates and learning things about you and making you laugh and existing in this space where things made sense.
"Hey," you said, turning to look at him. "You okay? You got quiet."
"Yeah, I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
About how you're not real, he didn't say. About how I'm going to have to leave eventually and you'll just be code again. About how I'm way too invested in something that was only supposed to be a game. "About how nice this is," he said instead.
You smiled and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. "Yeah. It really is." You sat there until the sun finished setting and the stars came out, which happened too fast because game time didn't move like real time. When the world started to blur at the edges and Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation, you squeezed his hand once before letting go. "See you next time," you said, and your voice was already fading.
Heeseung woke up at his desk again, neck sore, hands cramped around the controller. His phone showed it was three in the morning. He had class in five hours. He should sleep. He should eat something. He should probably shower because he wasn't sure he'd done that today. Instead he looked at the switch screen. progress saved. route progression: 90% complete. next date: confession sequence available.
The next day, Heeseung found Jungwon in the same spot as always, corner desk in the computer lab with three monitors running different programs simultaneously. Heeseung dropped into the chair next to him hard enough that Jungwon jumped. "What happens after the confession?" Heeseung asked without preamble.
Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"
"In your game. What happens after the confession scene. I need to know."
"Oh, you're at that part already?" Jungwon's eyebrows went up. "Uh, I don't know if i should tell you though. Spoilers and all that."
"Jungwon."
"I'm serious! The whole point of a game is discovering it yourself. If I tell you what happens it ruins the experience." Jungwon was grinning now, clearly enjoying this. "You're supposed to go in blind and make your choices based on what feels right in the moment."
Heeseung resisted the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "I just want to know what to expect. Is there a good ending? A bad ending? Multiple endings?"
"There are multiple endings, yeah. Depends on your choices throughout the game and your final stats." Jungwon tilted his head, studying him. "Why are you so stressed about this? It's just a game. If you get a bad ending you can just reload and try again."
"I don't want to reload," Heeseung said, and he could hear how intense he sounded but couldn't seem to stop. "I want to get it right the first time."
Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly set down his drink. "Okay, you need to be honest with me right now. How much have you been playing this game?"
"I don't know. A few hours a day."
"Heeseung."
"Okay, maybe more than a few hours."
"How many hours are we talking? Ballpark estimate."
Heeseung did the mental math and immediately regretted it. "I don't think that's relevant."
"Oh my god, you're obsessed." Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking somewhere between amused and concerned. "Dude, it's a dating sim. A fictional dating sim. With a fictional girl who doesn't exist. You know that, right? You know she's not real?"
"Obviously I know that," Heeseung said defensively, even though there were moments when he forgot, when you felt so real that it didn't matter what you were made of.
"Do you though? Because you look like you haven't slept in three days." Jungwon was trying to be lighthearted about it but there was genuine worry underneath. "I made the game to be immersive but this is kind of next level." Jungwon paused. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask. Do you have the save file on your switch?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Can I see it? I want to check something." Jungwon was already pulling out a cable from his bag. "I've been trying to track some of the game metrics and I want to see how your playthrough data looks. Might help me optimize things for the final build." Heeseung hesitated for a second, then pulled out his switch and handed it over. Jungwon connected it to his laptop and started pulling up files, his eyes scanning lines of code that moved too fast for Heeseung to follow. "Okay so your save file shows you're at ninety percent completion, which tracks," Jungwon muttered, clicking through folders. "Romance points are maxed, most of your stats are really high except wisdom which is still somehow at like twenty, but that's on you for ignoring all the library study sessions —" He stopped mid-sentence. "Wait."
"What?"
"Hang on." Jungwon leaned closer to his screen, scrolling through something. his expression shifted from curious to confused to something that looked almost worried. "This doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't make sense?"
"These files. There are scripts here that I didn't write." Jungwon opened another window, comparing code side by side. "Like, entire dialogue trees that don't exist in my original build. And these asset files, I definitely didn't create these. The arcade date was supposed to be at a generic arcade but your file shows custom assets for specific machines."
Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Maybe you forgot you added them?"
"I don't forget code I write, Heeseung. That's not how this works." Jungwon was scrolling faster now, opening more files. "And look at this, the dating locations are generating based on your preferences. I programmed like five set locations but your save file has seven different ones and they're all places that align with interests you've demonstrated in gameplay." He clicked on something else. "Oh this is weird. Really weird."
"What?"
"The dialogue system. I built it to pull from a database of pre written responses with some randomization for variety, but this–-" Jungwon gestured at the screen. "This is learning. It's analyzing your responses and generating new dialogue options that don't exist in my database. It's writing its own conversations."
"Is that bad?"
"It's not bad, it's impossible. I didn't program that. I don't even know how to program that." Jungwon looked up at him, and for the first time since Heeseung had known him, he looked genuinely unsettled. "Your game is developing its own code."
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of the computer lab's ventilation system and the clicking of someone's mechanical keyboard a few desks over. "Is that dangerous?" Heseung asked.
"I don't know. Probably not? I mean, it's still just a game. It's not like it can affect anything outside of itself." Jungwon didn't sound entirely convinced though. "But it's definitely something I need to look into. This could be a massive bug or it could be the framework doing something really innovative that I didn't anticipate."
"But the game still works, right? Like, I can still finish it?"
Jungwon gave him a look. "You're really determined to finish this thing, aren't you?"
"I'm ninety percent through. I'm not stopping now."
"Even knowing that the game is apparently developing sentience or whatever?"
"It's not sentient, it's just adaptive," Heeseung said, trying to sound convincing.
Jungwon sighed and unplugged the switch, handing it back to him. "Okay, fine. But I'm keeping a copy of your save data so I can analyze this more. And maybe after you're done we can talk about what's actually happening here because this is either a huge breakthrough in game design or a really concerning glitch and I genuinely can't tell which." Heeseung nodded, pocketing the switch. "And Heeseung?" Jungwon's expression was serious now. "Be careful with the confession sequence. I know you want to get it right but just remember that at the end of the day it's still a program. It's responding to inputs and generating outputs. It's not actually feeling anything."
Heeseung nodded, but he was thinking about the way you'd looked at him during the sunset on the hiking date or about how your smile seemed genuinely happy when he won you the stuffed cat. "Right," he said. "Yeah, I know that." Jungwon didn't look convinced, and honestly, Heeseung wasn't either.
By the time he got back to his dorm that evening, he'd made a decision. He was going to finish the game. He was going to do the confession sequence. And he was going to be honest, say what he actually felt, because even if you were just code, the feelings were real, his feelings were real. That had to count for something. So he sat down at his desk, picked up his switch, and loaded the save file. the screen showed the usual menu: Continue, Load, Settings. He selected continue and the familiar loading screen appeared with its soft music and the progress bar that now read ninety percent. The world loaded and Heeseung found himself standing in front of a location marker that hadn't been there before. It was highlighted in gold and pulsing softly, and when he walked up to it, a notification appeared.
final date available: confession sequence. proceed?
Heeseung took a breath, his actual physical breath in his actual room, and then pressed yes. The world reformed around him and he was standing outside an apartment building he recognized as yours. The sun was setting, painting everything in warm golden light. His outfit had changed without him doing anything; he was wearing a button up shirt now, dark jeans, shoes that were nicer than anything he owned in real life. His hair felt different too, like someone had styled it properly instead of his usual routine of running his fingers through it and hoping for the best. And then a notification appeared:
quest: the perfect date. objective: confess your feelings. bonus objective: make it memorable.
current stats — confidence: 95. charm: 80. emotional intelligence: 60. romantic interest: 90%.
Heeseung looked at the apartment door and a dialogue option popped up floating in his vision.
> knock on the door > text her that you're here > wait for her to come down
He selected the first option because knocking felt more personal, more intentional. He walked up to the door and knocked three times, and there was this weird moment where he could feel his heart actually racing even though he was pretty sure his real body was just sitting in a chair holding a controller. The door opened and you were there, and Heeseung forgot how to think for a second. You were wearing a dress, which he'd never seen you in before. It wasn't overly fancy, just simple and nice and it suited you in a way that made his chest tight. Your hair was down and you'd clearly put in effort and you looked nervous in a way that made him want to tell you that you had nothing to be nervous about. "Hi," you said, and you were smiling but there was something uncertain in it.
dialogue options: > you look really pretty > ready to go? > sorry, am i early?
Heeseung picked the first one without hesitating. "You look really pretty," he said, and his voice came out steadier than he expected.
Your smile got more genuine, less nervous. "Yeah? I wasn't sure if this was too much. You didn't tell me where we were going."
"It's perfect," Heeseung said, even though he also didn't know where you were going.
romance +5. successful compliment.
You grabbed your bag and locked the door behind you, and when you turned back to him there was this moment where Heeseung almost offered his hand but wasn't sure if that was too much. The game solved the problem for him by providing another choice.
action options: > offer your arm > walk beside her casually > hold her hand
He selected the first one, old fashioned but confident, and held out his arm. You looked at it for a second and then smiled and took it, linking your arm through his, and suddenly you were walking together down the street like this was something you did all the time. "So where are we going?" You asked, looking up at him.
"This place I found," Heeseung said, even though he hadn't found anything because this was a game and the location was predetermined. "I thought you'd like it."
The restaurant, when you got there, was the kind of place Heeseung had only seen in movies. Small and intimate with soft lighting and candles on every table and windows that looked out over the city. There was a host at the front who smiled at them like he'd been expecting them, and he led them to a table by the window without Heeseung having to say anything. You sat down across from him and looked around, eyes wide. "Heeseung, this place is really nice. You didn't have to do all this."
dialogue options: > i wanted to > you deserve it > it's not that fancy
He picked the second one. "you deserve it," he said, and you looked at him with this expression he couldn't quite read but that made something warm settle in his chest. The waiter came by with menus and Heeseung noticed that all the food options had little stat indicators next to them. Ordering the pasta would give a +5 to sophistication. The steak was +8 to confidence. The wine selection had various charisma bonuses. It was surreal, sitting in what looked like a real restaurant while video game mechanics floated at the edge of his vision. "What are you thinking about?" You asked, and Heeseung realized he'd been quiet for too long.
dialogue options: > just trying to decide what to order > thinking about how nice this is > thinking about you
The third option felt too direct, too soon, so he went with the second. "Just thinking about how nice this is," he said. "Being here with you."
You smiled and looked down at your menu, and Heeseung could see the faint blush on your cheeks. "Yeah. It is nice." You both ordered food and fell into easy conversation. You told him about something funny that happened in your class and he told you about nearly falling asleep during a lecture that morning. The food came and it was actually good, or at least the game's version of good, and Heeseung found himself relaxing into the moment.
Halfway through dinner, you reached across the table and stole a bite of his food without asking. It was casual and comfortable and exactly the kind of thing you'd done on previous dates, but this time when you pulled back, Heeseung caught your hand before you could fully retreat.
action options: > hold her hand > let go after a moment > bring her hand to your lips (high risk)
His confidence stat was at ninety five. He picked the first option and just held your hand there on the table, his fingers laced through yours, and you looked surprised for a second before your expression softened into something that looked almost relieved. "Is this okay?" Heeseung asked quietly.
"Yeah," you said, and your voice was just as quiet. "This is okay."
You finished dinner like that, hands linked across the table, and Heeseung had never felt more present in a moment that he knew wasn't technically real. When the waiter brought the check, Heeseung paid without looking at it, because, well, that wasn't his real money. And you didn't protest, just squeezed his hand once and smiled. Outside the restaurant, the city had transformed into its night version. String lights hung between buildings and the streetlamps cast everything in a warm glow. There was soft music coming from somewhere, ambient and atmospheric. "Do you want to walk for a bit?" You asked. "I'm not really ready to go home yet."
dialogue options: > absolutely > whatever you want > i was hoping you'd say that
Heeseung picked the last one. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said, and you laughed and pulled him down the street, still holding his hand.
You walked through the city without any real destination, just moving together, and Heeseung was hyperaware of every point of contact between you. Your hand in his, the occasional brush of your shoulder against his arm, the way you'd lean into him slightly when you laughed at something he said. Eventually you led him to a park that Heeseung didn't remember seeing before. It was mostly empty at this time of night, just a few NPCs scattered around looking decorative. There was a fountain in the center and benches arranged around it, and you pulled him toward one of the benches and sat down, tugging him down next to you. You didn't let go of his hand. "Can I tell you something?" You asked, looking at the fountain instead of at him.
"Of course," Heeseung said.
You took a breath. "I really like spending time with you. Like, really like it. You make me feel like I can just be myself and that's enough, you know? I don't have to try to be cooler or funnier or different. I can just exist and you seem to like that."
Heeseung's throat felt tight. "I do like that," he managed. "I like you exactly how you are."
critical moment approaching. romance threshold: 95%.
You finally turned to look at him, and your expression was nervous and hopeful and vulnerable in a way that made Heeseung forget that you were supposed to be code. "The thing is," you continued, "I don't usually do this. I don't usually let people get close like this. But with you it felt easy from the start and now I'm just —" you stopped, searching for words. "I'm really happy you're here."
confession sequence initiated. select response: > i'm happy too > i feel the same way > i need to tell you something
Heeseung knew this was it. This was the moment the whole game had been building toward. All those dates, All those conversations, all those stat increases and romance points, everything had led to this choice. He could play it safe with the first two options or he could go all in with the third one. His confidence was maxed out. He'd earned this moment. So he picked the third option.
"I need to tell you something," Heeseung said, and his voice was steadier than he expected. "I didn't really know what to expect when we first met. I thought maybe it'd be awkward or forced or like every other time I've tried to get to know someone. But it wasn't like that at all." You were watching him carefully, not interrupting, and Heeseung kept going. "You're the first person in a really long time who makes me want to actually try, you know? Like, I want to be someone worth your time. I want to hear about your day and your opinions on League of Legends and game mechanics or how you wanted to live on a farm one day. I want to keep doing this, all of it, for as long as you'll let me." Romance stats were at 98% now. "What I'm trying to say is —" Heeseung paused, and the game provided one final choice, the last decision that would determine everything.
final confession: > i really like you > i think i'm falling for you > i'm in love with you
Heeseung looked at you, at the way you were watching him with your full attention, at the hope in your expression, at how real you felt in this moment. He picked the middle option, the one that was honest without being overwhelming. "I think I'm falling for you," he said quietly. "Actually, I don't think. I know. I'm falling for you and I don't really know how to stop and I don't think I want to."
The world seemed to hold its breath. Even the ambient sounds of the park faded into nothing. You were staring at him with wide eyes and Heeseung's heart was racing and for one terrible second he thought he'd picked wrong, said too much, ruined everything.
Then you smiled, the kind of smile that started small and grew until it took over your whole face, and you said, "oh thank god."
"What?"
"I've been trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing for like days now." You were laughing, almost giddy with relief. "I kept overthinking it and planning the perfect moment and the perfect words and then you just — you just said it and it was perfect anyway."
"So," Heeseung said, because he needed to be absolutely sure. "Does that mean —" You didn't let him finish. You just leaned in and kissed him.
For a second, Heeseung's brain completely short circuited. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. He'd expected more dialogue options, maybe a choice prompt, some kind of warning that this moment was coming. But there was nothing, just the sudden warmth of your lips against his and the way his entire nervous system seemed to light up all at once. It wasn't dramatic or earth shattering or any of the things movies made kissing out to be. It was soft and brief and a little tentative, like you weren't entirely sure if you were doing it right. Your lips were warm and you tasted faintly like the wine from dinner and Heeseung could feel your hand trembling slightly where it was still holding his. He barely had time to process any of it, to kiss you back properly, before you pulled away, looking nervous again.
"Was that okay?" You asked, and your voice was quieter than before, uncertain. "I should have asked first probably but you were taking too long to —"
Heeseung cut you off by kissing you again, properly this time. He brought one hand up to cup your face and he could feel how warm your skin was under his palm, could feel the slight texture of it like actual skin and not polygons. His other hand stayed linked with yours and he squeezed gently, anchoring himself to you, to this moment that felt too real to be made of code. This kiss was different from the first one. Longer, more certain, like now that he knew what he was doing he could actually do it right. You made this small sound against his mouth, something between a sigh and a hum, and Heeseung felt it all the way down to his toes. He tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss and you responded immediately, your free hand coming up to rest against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
This has too much detail, Heeseung thought distantly. Games didn't work like this. He shouldn't be able to feel the way your breath hitched when he kissed the corner of your mouth. Shouldn't be able to notice how you leaned into him, closing whatever small distance had been between you. Shouldn't be able to smell your perfume or feel the way your hair brushed against his hand when you tilted your head.
romance: 100%. relationship established | achievement unlocked: first kiss | achievement unlocked: good ending route - mutual confession.
You pulled back just enough to breathe, and Heeseung followed without thinking, not ready to stop yet. You laughed softly against his mouth, the sound vibrating between you, and kissed him again. This time it was you who took control, you who pressed closer, and Heeseung let you, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. He could feel your heartbeat and that's what finally made his brain catch up to what was happening. His thumb was resting against your pulse point and he could feel it racing, quick and real and impossible. Games didn't simulate heartbeats. Games didn't need that level of detail. But he could feel it anyway, the proof that maybe you were here, that this was happening, even if it shouldn't be possible.
"Okay," you said quietly, and you were smiling. He could hear it in your voice even before he saw it.
Heeseung laughed, the sound coming out rougher than he intended. "That was better than okay."
You opened your eyes and looked at him, and Heeseung's breath caught because the detail was impossible. He could see the exact color of your eyes, could see the way they reflected the light from the streetlamps, could see the slight dilation of your pupils. This wasn't game graphics. This was too real. This was beyond anything Jungwon could have programmed. "You're staring," you said, but you didn't sound upset about it. If anything you sounded pleased, a little shy.
"Sorry," Heeseung said, but he didn't look away. "I'm just — you're really pretty."
You bit your lip, trying not to smile too wide, and Heeseung watched the movement with more attention than was probably appropriate. He wanted to kiss you again. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. He wanted to understand how any of this was possible. "Can I ask you something?" Heeseung said, his voice barely above a whisper because speaking any louder felt like it would shatter whatever spell they were under.
"Anything," you said, and your hand was still pressed against his chest and Heeseung wondered if you could feel his heartbeat too, if the game had coded that detail as well.
"Does this feel real to you?"
You tilted your head slightly, considering the question. "What do you mean?"
"This. Us. Right now." Heeseung knew he wasn't making sense but he needed to know, needed to understand if you felt it too, this strange impossible realness of everything. "Does it feel real?"
You were quiet for a moment, your expression thoughtful, and then you squeezed his hand. "It's the most real thing I've ever felt," you said simply. "Why? Does it not feel real to you?"
"No, it does. That's the problem." Heeseung couldn't explain what he meant without revealing that you were in a game, that this was all supposed to be simulation, that none of this should feel the way it did. "It feels too real."
"I don't think something can feel too real," you said, and you leaned in and pecked his lips, soft and quick. "Either it's real or it's not. And this is real." Heeseung wanted to argue, wanted to explain all the reasons why this couldn't be real, why you couldn't be real. Maybe it didn't matter. maybe real was just whatever felt like this. "Kiss me again," you said against his mouth, and it wasn't really a question. So Heeseung did. He kissed you until he forgot where he ended and you began, until the only thing that existed was this: You and him and this impossible moment that felt more real than anything in his actual life ever had.
Eventually though, the world started to glitch again. The colors began bleeding together and the sounds got distant and muffled. Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation and knew his time was up. "Hey," he said urgently, taking both your hands. "I—"
"It's okay," you said, and you were smiling even though your eyes looked sad. "I know you have to go."
"I don't want to."
"I know. But you'll come back, right?"
save data complete. route finished: good ending achieved. new game+ unlocked. additional content available.
"Yeah," Heeseung promised. "I'll come back."
You kissed him one more time, quick and desperate, and then the world dissolved completely and Heeseung was falling backward through light and color and static. He woke up gasping in his desk chair, controller clutched in his hands so tight his fingers had gone numb. The switch screen was showing the ending credits, rolling slowly with soft music playing. His face felt wet and he realized with some embarrassment that he was crying.
congratulations! you've completed the good ending route.
relationship status: official couple.
total play time: 51 hours, 23 minutes.
would you like to start new game+ with additional couple content?
yes / no
Heeseung stared at the options, his hands still shaking, his heart still racing. He thought about you, about your smile and your laugh and the way you'd kissed him. He thought about how none of it was real but all of it felt real, which was somehow worse. But there was more content. The game was offering him more time with you. More dates, more conversations, more moments. How could he say no to that?
His thumb hovered over the yes option for only a second before he pressed it. The screen went black. Heeseung waited. The switch made its usual loading sound, the soft hum that meant something was processing. He stared at the blank screen and waited for the menu to load, for the game to boot up, for something to happen. But nothing happened, the screen stayed completely black. No loading bar, no menu, no error message. Just his own reflection staring back at him in the screen's surface. He looked terrible, he realized distantly. His eyes were red rimmed and his hair was a mess and he looked like he hadn't slept in days, which was probably accurate.
"Come on," Heeseung muttered, pressing the home button. The switch menu popped up normally, showing all his other games, his profile, the usual interface. He clicked back into Girlfriend Simulator and the screen went black again. he waited another thirty seconds, nothing. He restarted the entire console. When it booted back up and he launched the game, the screen flickered once, twice, and then showed the title screen. Heeseung felt relief flood through him, almost dizzy with it. He clicked continue. The screen loaded for a moment, and then: game over. thank you for playing.
Credits started rolling. The same soft music from before, the same slow scroll of names and acknowledgments. Heeseung watched them pass in disbelief, his stomach sinking further with each line. When the credits finished, it kicked him back to the title screen. He clicked continue again. Same thing: game over, credits, title screen. "What the hell," Heeseung said out loud. He tried load game instead, pulling up his save files. They were all there, all his progress, all forty seven hours of gameplay. He selected the most recent one, the completed route with the good ending marker.
this save file has been completed | start new game+ to continue.
He clicked yes. Black screen. Then after a long pause: error: unable to load content.
"No no no no," Heeseung heard himself saying, clicking frantically now, trying every option, every menu, every possible path to get back into the game. Nothing worked. He checked the time on his phone. 3:29 am. He'd been playing for hours and now he'd been trying to reload for almost thirty minutes. His rational brain knew he should sleep, should deal with this tomorrow when he was thinking clearly, but his rational brain had apparently left the building several dates ago.
He pulled up his recent calls and hit jungwon's name before he could think better of it. it rang once, twice, three times. Then voicemail, Jungwon's voice cheerful and pre recorded telling him to leave a message. Of course Jungwon wasn't answering, it was almost four in the morning. Normal people were asleep at four in the morning. Normal people weren't having breakdowns over video games at four in the morning. Heeseung put his head in his hands and tried to remember the last time he'd felt this hollow about something ending. A relationship, maybe, though his dating history was sparse enough that he couldn't think of a good comparison. This felt worse somehow. The rational part of his brain that hadn't completely shut down was telling him this was ridiculous. Well, it could happen, people got attached to fictional characters all the time. The solution was obvious: take a break, get some perspective, maybe go outside and remember what actual human interaction felt like.
But the rest of him, the larger and louder part, was stuck on the way you'd looked at him on that park bench. The way you'd smiled when he gave you the flower. The way you'd kissed him like you'd been wanting to for a while and were just waiting for permission. The way you'd felt real, impossibly real, more real than most of the interactions he had in his day to day life. "It's not real," Heeseung said out loud to his dark room, his voice rough. "She's not real. It's just code. Just really good code that learned too well."
But his chest ached anyway. And somewhere around six am, Heeseung finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, his switch still sitting on his desk with the title screen frozen on the display. When his alarm went off three hours later for his morning class, Heeseung woke up feeling worse than when he'd gone to sleep. His eyes were gritty and his head hurt and his chest still had that hollow ache that he couldn't explain away as anything other than what it was.
Heeseung found Jungwon in the computer lab during lunch, exactly where he always was. "Hey," Heeseung said, dropping into the chair next to him. He pulled his switch out of his bag and set it on the desk between them. "The game broke."
"What do you mean broke?" Jungwon glanced at the switch, then at Heeseung, then did a double take. "Dude, you look terrible."
He decided to ignore that. "I mean I finished it. Got to the end, got the good ending, and then it asked if i wanted to start new game plus." Heeseung picked up the switch and demonstrated, clicking through the menus. "I said yes and then it just stopped working. Look, it keeps giving me this error or just showing the game over screen. I can load old saves but I can't progress forward."
Jungwon took the switch, frowning at the screen. He clicked through a few menus, tried the same things Heeseung had tried, and his frown deepened. "That's weird. The new game plus feature should be fully implemented. I tested it before I gave you the build."
"Well it's not working now."
"Yeah, I can see that." Jungwon was scrolling through something, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "This is really strange. It's like the save file is corrupted but also not corrupted? Like it knows you finished the route but it can't load the post game content."
"Can you fix it?" Heeseung asked, and he hated how desperate he sounded but couldn't seem to help it.
Jungwon looked at him for a long moment. "I can try. I'll need to take this and run some diagnostics, see what's actually happening in the backend. But Heeseung, I need you to manage your expectations here."
"What does that mean?"
"It means this is a test build. That's literally why I asked you to play it, to find bugs like this. If something went seriously wrong with the code, if the file corruption is bad enough, I might have to rebuild the entire post game sequence from scratch. That's going to take time."
"How much time?" Heeseung asked, and his voice came out smaller than he intended.
"I don't know. Could be that I have to scrap this version entirely and start over with a clean build." Jungwon was being gentle about it but firm, like he needed Heeseung to understand the reality of the situation. "This is what testing is for dude, finding the breaking points before release."
Heeseung felt something sink in his chest. Weeks. Or maybe never, if Jungwon had to start over. "Okay," he said, because what else could he say. "Okay, just let me know what you find."
"Yeah." Jungwon pocketed the switch cartridge and gave Heeseung another concerned look. "Seriously though, are you okay? You're acting really weird about this."
"I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just frustrated. I was really into it and now I can't finish it."
"It's just a game though."
"I know that."
Jungwon didn't look convinced but he didn't push it either. "Okay. Well, go get some sleep or something. You look like you're about to pass out."
Heeseung nodded and left the lab, feeling hollow in a way that didn't make sense. It was just a game. Jungwon was right. He'd gotten too invested and now he needed to take a step back and remember that normal people didn't have emotional breakdowns over dating simulators. He went to his afternoon lecture and sat in the back and didn't retain a single word the professor said. He took notes anyway, his hand moving automatically across the page while his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about you waiting in that park, kept wondering if you were still there or if you'd disappeared when the save file corrupted. Kept wondering if code could feel abandoned.
After class he went back to his dorm and tried to do homework. He opened his algorithms textbook and stared at the same problem for twenty minutes without making any progress. Jake came in around six, dumping his bag on the couch and immediately noticing something was off. "You good?" Jake asked, pulling off his jacket.
"Yeah, fine. Just tired."
"You've been saying that all week." Jake sat down at his own desk and spun his chair to face Heeseung. "You've been acting weirder than usual. What's going on?"
Heeseung considered lying but he was too exhausted to come up with anything convincing. "I was playing this game Jungwon made, got really into it and now it's broken and I can't play it anymore and I'm being weird about it."
"Oh." Jake processed this. "Was it one of those games with like, romance options and stuff?"
"Yeah."
Jake nodded slowly, like this explained everything. "Okay, those games are designed to get you attached, man, it's not your fault." He paused. "By the way, there's a party this weekend. Jay's throwing it at his place. You should come."
"I don't know," Heeseung said.
"Come on, it'll be good for you. Get out of your head for a bit. When was the last time you went to a party?"
Heeseung tried to remember and couldn't. "I don't know. Freshman year maybe?"
"Exactly. You need to socialize with actual human beings. No offense but you've been kind of hermiting lately." Jake was already pulling out his phone. "I'm telling Jay you're coming. It's saturday at eight."
"I don't —"
"Nope, you're coming. I'm not letting you sit here and mope about a video game all weekend. That's sad, even for you."
"What does that even—," Heeseung wanted to argue but he was too tired and Jake had a point. Sitting in his room thinking about you wasn't going to fix anything. Maybe going to a party would help. "Okay, yeah, fine," Heeseung said. "I'll go."
"Good. It's going to be fun." Jake turned back to his desk, already texting. "And who knows, maybe you'll meet someone."
Heeseung doubted that but didn't say it out loud. And saturday came faster than Heeseung expected, which was probably for the best because it meant less time to think about backing out. Jake had been monitoring him all day like he was afraid Heeseung would make a run for it, which was fair because Heeseung had definitely considered it at least three times.
By the time eight rolled around, Jake had already gone through Heeseung's entire closet and vetoed most of it. "You can't wear that, it has a stain. That one's too wrinkled. That shirt makes you look like someone's dad." Eventually they settled on black jeans and a dark blue button up that Heeseung had forgotten he owned, probably because he'd bought it for some family thing two years ago and never wore it again. "There," Jake said, looking satisfied. "You look like an actual person now instead of a sleep deprived computer science major."
"I am a sleep deprived computer science major."
"Yeah but you don't have to advertise it." Jake was already heading for the door.
The party was at some place off campus that apparently belonged to Jay's older brother, which explained why it was bigger and nicer than most student housing. The music was loud enough that Heeseung could feel it in his chest before they even got through the door. Jake immediately got pulled into a conversation with some people from his econ class, and Heeseung grabbed a drink from the kitchen just to have something to do with his hands. He wandered through for a while, recognizing some faces from classes but not really knowing anyone well enough to join their conversations. this was why he didn't go to parties. He always ended up standing awkwardly in corners wondering when it would be acceptable to leave.
"Heeseung!" Someone called, and he turned to see Beomgyu waving at him from the balcony. "Dude, I didn't know you went to parties. Come here." Heeseung made his way through the crowd to the balcony where Beomgyu was standing with Soobin and Riki, and the air was clearer out here, easier to breathe. Beomgyu was holding what was very obviously a joint. "Want some?" Beomgyu offered, holding it out. "It's good stuff."
Heeseung normally would have said no because he had assignments due and didn't really like losing control of his thoughts, but tonight his thoughts were the problem so maybe losing control of them for a bit wasn't the worst idea. "Yeah, okay."
He took it and inhaled, immediately coughed. It felt someone had turned down the volume on all his anxious thoughts. He passed it back to Beomgyu and leaned against the railing. They stood out there for a while, passing the joint around, and Heeseung felt himself relax in a way he hadn't in days. Eventually they went back inside and the party had gotten more crowded. Heeseung got another drink and let himself get pulled into a conversation about the upcoming finals with some people he vaguely recognized from his algorithms class. The weed was making everything feel softer and more manageable, like he could actually handle being around this many people without wanting to escape.
Jake found him around eleven and looked genuinely shocked. "You're still here. And you're smiling. Did someone drug you?"
"I drugged myself, actually. Beomgyu had weed."
"Good for you. See, I knew this would be good for you." Jake clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm going to get another drink. You good?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
And the weird thing was that Heeseung actually meant it. He was good. He was at a party and he wasn't hating it and he hadn't thought about the game in at least an hour. Maybe this was what moving on felt like, just slowly forgetting to think about the thing that had been consuming you.
He made his way toward where people were dancing, not to join them but just to watch, and that's when he saw you. Or someone who looked exactly like you.
You were in the middle of the crowd, dancing with a group of friends, and Heeseung's brain stopped. Same hair, same face, same smile he'd memorized over dozens of hours of gameplay. You were wearing a black dress and your hair was down and you were laughing at something one of her friends said, and Heeseung felt like he'd been punched in the chest. It couldn't be you. It just couldn't be. You weren't real. You were code, pixels, a character in a dating simulator that didn't even work anymore. But she looked exactly like you, moved like you, had the same mannerisms he'd come to recognize, and Heeseung couldn't look away.
He stood there frozen, drink forgotten in his hand, just staring. The weed was definitely not helping because it made everything feel surreal and dreamlike, like maybe he'd fallen asleep at the party and this was just his brain torturing him with what he couldn't have. You spun around to the music and laughed and Heeseung's heart was doing something painful in his chest.
And then, as if you could feel him watching, you turned and looked directly at him. Your eyes met across the crowd and the world seemed to stop. Your expression shifted from happy to confused to something Heeseung couldn't identify, like recognition but also shock, like you'd seen a ghost. A pretty one, actually. You stared at him with the same intensity he was staring at you, both of you frozen while people danced and laughed around them, completely oblivious to whatever moment was happening. And Heeseung's mind was racing. You seemed to recognize him, but that was impossible because you'd never met, because you were a stranger, because the person you looked like didn't exist outside of a video game.
Your friends said something to you and you blinked, breaking eye contact. You looked at them, said something Heeseung couldn't hear over the music, and then looked back at him one more time. That same confused, almost dazed expression. Then you turned back to your friends and kept dancing, but your movements were more mechanical now, less loose, like you were going through the motions while your mind was somewhere else. Heeseung just stood there, rooted to the spot, his drink sweating in his hand. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning and he couldn't tell if it was the weed or the shock or both. Probably both. He was high at a party and he'd just seen someone who looked like a video game character and convinced himself it meant something. He was hallucinating. He had to be hallucinating. Or the weed was laced with something. Or he'd finally actually lost his mind.
He turned and pushed through the crowd, Making his way to the bathroom. He needed to splash water on his face, Needed to get his head straight, needed to stop seeing you everywhere just because he missed the game. Heeseung practically fell inside and locked the door behind him. He turned on the faucet and let the water run cold, then splashed it on his face once, twice, three times. The shock of it helped, made everything feel more real and less dreamlike.
He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were definitely red from the weed and he looked slightly unhinged, hair messed up from running his hands through it too many times. "You're fine," he told his reflection. "You're high and you're seeing things and you're fine. She just looks like her. Lots of people probably look like her. Jungwon probably based the character on some generic attractive person template. It doesn't mean anything."
Someone knocked on the bathroom door. He splashed more water on his face, dried off with a questionable towel that was hanging on the rack, and tried to pull himself together. He couldn't hide in the bathroom all night. He needed to go back out there, find Jake, maybe go home and sleep this off. Maybe in the morning this would all make sense or at least feel less overwhelming.
He opened the door and nearly ran directly into you. "Oh, I'm sorry," you said quickly, stepping back.
Heeseung froze. Up close you were even more exactly like the character from the game, every detail perfect, from the shape of your eyes to the way you were nervously adjusting the strap of your dress. You looked at him for a second, that same confused recognition flickering across your face, and then you moved to step past him.
"Wait," Heeseung said, turning before he could stop himself. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. "I'm sorry, do we know each other from somewhere?"
You stopped and turned back, tilting your head slightly as you studied his face. "No, I don't think so. I think I'd remember if we'd met before." You paused, and then your eyes widened slightly like you'd just heard what you said. "I mean, not that I'm saying you have a particularly memorable face or anything. Wait, that sounds bad. I'm not saying you're forgettable either, you're just— " you stopped yourself and took a breath. "Sorry, I'm making this weird. I don't think we've met but you do seem familiar somehow."
Heeseung just stared at you, his brain trying to process the fact that you were standing in front of him, real and solid and rambling nervously in the exact same way the game character had. The same mannerisms, the same voice, the same way of talking yourself into circles when you were flustered. It was you. It was actually you. "Are you okay?" You asked, looking concerned now.
"Sorry, yeah, I'm fine." Heeseung tried to pull himself together. "You just really remind me of someone."
"Good someone or bad someone?"
"Good someone. Definitely good someone."
You smiled at that, a small genuine smile that made Heeseung's chest ache because he'd seen that exact smile dozens of times through a screen. "Well that's good at least. I'm Y/N, by the way."
"Heeseung."
"Nice to meet you, Heeseung." You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, and Heeseung noticed your phone in your hand. The case had a photocard of a character that he recognized immediately — Janna from League of Legends, in her star guardian skin.
"You play league?" He asked before he could think better of it.
Your face lit up. "Yeah! How'd you know?"
"Your phone case."
"Oh my god, yes." You turned your phone to show him properly, looking pleased that he'd recognized it. "I'm a Janna main and I'm not ashamed of it." Heeseung felt something cold run down his spine. Those words. he'd heard those exact words before. "I know, I know," you continued, in the same tone, the same cadence. "Support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."
Heeseung couldn't breathe. Word for word. You'd just said exactly what you'd said in the game, with the same inflection, the same defensive pride. This wasn't a coincidence. This couldn't be a coincidence. "What rank are you?" He managed to ask, his voice coming out rougher than intended.
"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and gave up on the grind." You were fully animated now, talking with your hands. "What about you, do you play?"
"Yeah. Diamond 3."
"Oh so you're actually good." You looked impressed. "We should play together sometime."
The world tilted. Heeseung was pretty sure he was having some kind of break from reality because this conversation had already happened. He'd already lived through this exact exchange in the game, and now it was happening again in real life with a real person standing in front of him saying the same things.
"Heeseung!" Someone called out, and Heeseung turned to see Jungwon pushing through the hallway crowd, looking genuinely shocked. "Holy shit, you actually came to a party. I didn't think I'd see this day." Jungwon reached them and then seemed to notice you for the first time. His expression shifted from surprised to confused. "Wait, you two know each other?"
"You know each other?" Heeseung and you said at the exact same time, then looked at each other in surprise.
Jungwon looked between the two of you, his confusion deepening. "Yeah, Y/N's in my game design class." He turned to you. "And Heeseung's my best friend, we're in the same program."
"Wait, so you're that Heeseung!" You looked at him. "He talks about you all the time, by the way. I know your entire sleep schedule at this point."
"That's concerning," Heeseung said.
"Very concerning," you agreed. "So what brings you to the party?" You asked Heeseung. "Jungwon made it sound like you're basically a hermit who only emerges for classes and food."
"My roommate forced me to come. Said I needed to socialize."
"Same, actually. My best friend is around here somewhere." You glanced back toward the party. "She has this theory that I spend too much time gaming and not enough time experiencing real life."
"Gaming is real life," Heeseung said.
"Exactly! That's what I told her." You seemed genuinely pleased that he understood. "But she's on this whole thing about how I need to make more friends and go out more and whatever. So here I am, at a party, making friends." You gestured between yourself and Heeseung. "Look at me, being social."
"Thanks, I'm trying." You checked your phone quickly. "Speaking of my roommate, she's texting me asking where I went. I should probably get back." You looked at Heeseung. "But seriously, add me on league. I meant what I said about playing together."
"Yeah, I will," Heeseung said, and he meant it even though his brain was still trying to process the fact that you were real and standing in front of him.
"Cool. See you guys around." You smiled at both of them and headed back toward the party, weaving through the people in the hallway.
The moment you were out of sight, Heeseung grabbed Jungwon's arm and pulled him toward the front door, outside where it was quieter and they could actually talk without shouting over music. "Dude, what the hell," Heeseung said the moment they were on the sidewalk. "You used her to make the character in the game?"
Jungwon blinked at him. "What? No. What are you talking about?"
"The character in girlfriend simulator. She's exactly like Y/N. Exactly like her, Jungwon. Same face, same personality, same everything."
Jungwon's confusion seemed genuine. "Heeseung, the character customization is completely random for each player. I'm still working on implementing a proper character creator but I ran out of time, so right now it just generates a random appearance based on some base parameters. I didn't use anyone specific as a model."
"That's impossible. She looks exactly like her."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah! I spent fifty one hours with that character. I know what she looks like." Heeseung could hear how unhinged he sounded but he couldn't stop. "And it's not just appearance. The way she talks, the things she said— it's all the same, like, word for word."
Jungwon was quiet for a moment, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "Okay, I think you need to calm down for a second. I think maybe you played the game too much and now you're seeing patterns that aren't there. Like, you spent all week interacting with this character and now you meet someone who has some similar traits and your brain is making connections."
"Jungwon, I'm not making it up."
"I'm not saying you're making it up, I'm saying your brain might be filling in similarities that aren't actually there." Jungwon pulled out his phone. "Look, I don't even really know Y/N that well. We work on projects together but we don't like, hang out or have deep conversations. I definitely didn't use her as a base for anything."
Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Then how do you explain the game knowing things about her? The league stuff, the personality, all of it?"
"The game generates dialogue based on common interests and gaming culture. Lots of people play league. lots of people main support. It's not that weird that there'd be overlap." Jungwon looked genuinely worried now. "Heeseung, I think the game messed with your head more than I thought it would. Maybe we should scrap it entirely."
"No," Heeseung said quickly. "No, I just — I need to understand what happened."
Jungwon sighed. "Look, I actually gave the game to Y/N to test too. A while back, before I gave it to you."
Heeseung's head snapped up. "You what?"
"There's an option in the loading screen. You can choose to play as the protagonist or as the girlfriend. I thought it would be cool to have both perspectives, make it more replayable." Jungwon was scrolling through his phone now. "You didn't see that option?"
"No. There was just a loading screen and then it started."
"Weird. It should have given you a choice." Jungwon pulled up what looked like a message thread. "Anyway, I gave Y/N a beta version to test like a month ago. But she gave it back to me after one day. Said it was too realistic and kind of freaked her out."
"What do you mean too realistic?"
"She said the immersion was too intense. She said it made her uncomfortable how real the boyfriend character seemed." Jungwon looked up from his phone. "Which, now that I think about it, is basically the same thing you've been saying about the girlfriend character."
Heeseung's mind was racing. "So she played it. She played the game from the other perspective."
"Yeah, but just for a few hours. She didn't finish it or anything." Jungwon pocketed his phone. "Why does that matter?"
"I don't know. It just — " Heeseung stopped, trying to organize his thoughts.
Jungwon was watching him carefully. "You look kind of freaked out right now."
Heeseung leaned against the wall of the building, suddenly exhausted. "I just spent a week falling for someone who I thought was just code. And now I find out she looks like a real person and I've been talking to her for the past fifteen minutes like a normal person and I don't know what to do with that information."
"Well, she gave you her discord. You could message her. Play some League together. Get to know the real her instead of the game version." Jungwon paused. "Unless that's too weird for you."
So when Heeseung was ready to leave the party, Jake and Jungwon looked almost disappointed but didn’t argue. They made their way through the crowd toward the front door, and that’s when Heeseung saw you again. You were standing on the sidewalk with two other girls, you were bent over laughing, that genuine kind of laugh where you forget to be self conscious about it.
Heeseung slowed down without meaning to, and Jake nearly walked into him. But then you looked up, like you could sense someone watching. your eyes met Heeseung’s across the sidewalk and you smiled, a smile that felt almost conspiratorial. Like you two were in on a joke that nobody else knew about. Which was insane because you’d met like half an hour ago and had one conversation in a hallway. One of your friends said something and you broke eye contact, still smiling, and climbed into the back seat of the car. Through the window Heeseung could see you saying something that made your friends crack up again. The car pulled away and you didn’t look back, but Heeseung kept staring at the taillights until they disappeared around the corner.
“Okay, what was that?” Jake asked.
“What was what?”
“That whole…” Jake gestured vaguely. “Moment. You guys were having a moment.”
“We weren’t having a moment.”
“You were definitely having a moment. Who was that?”
“Just someone I met. Friend of Jungwon’s.” Heeseung started walking toward their dorm and Jake followed, still looking suspicious.
“You met someone and had a moment with them? At a party? Did I slip into an alternate dimension?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious, this is unprecedented behavior from you. You don’t do moments with strangers.” Heeseung didn’t know how to explain that it hadn’t felt like meeting a stranger. It had felt like running into someone he already knew, someone he’d been thinking about for days. Which was objectively insane but that didn’t make it any less true.
When they got back to the dorm, Jake immediately went to take a shower, still talking about the party through the bathroom door. Heeseung sat down at his desk and opened his laptop, pulling up discord before he could talk himself out of it. He typed your name into the search bar. There were like fifteen results but he scrolled through until he found one account that matched your username, with a profile picture that matched; a cute drawing of what looked like a cat in a witch hat. He clicked on your profile and immediately started going through your connected accounts and activity like some kind of creep, but whatever, that’s what public profiles were for, right?
Steam account: 847 hours in League of Legends, which was honestly rookie numbers compared to his own. Recently played Roblox, which he wasn’t going to judge because he had his own embarrassing game collection. He’d been growing a garden in Grow a Garden for like six months now and his sunflowers were thriving, thank you very much. Stardew Valley with 234 hours, which was extremely respectable and also adorable. Unpacking with a lot of hours, which he’d never played but had heard good things about. And The Sims 4 with an amount of hours that suggested you had a serious problem with simulation games. Which, to be honest, he kind of had it now too.
Your Spotify was connected too and he could see you’d been listening to a lot of bedroom pop and indie stuff. Your about me section just said “life ain't cookies n cream lil fella,” which made Heeseung chuckle. You had a sense of humor, which is something he kind of already knew, even though he only knew the game version of you.
Heeseung realized he’d been sitting there scrolling through your profile for like ten minutes and definitely needed to actually send the friend request before this got any weirder. He clicked add friend and then immediately closed his laptop like it might explode. He tried to do other things. He checked his phone. He looked at his algorithms homework and immediately closed that because absolutely not. He reorganized the pens on his desk. He considered making ramen but wasn’t actually hungry. Until his laptop pinged. Heeseung lunged for it so fast he almost his water bottle off the desk. He opened discord and there it was: you accepted his friend request. His heart was doing something stupid in his chest. It was just a discord notification, normal people didn’t have heart palpitations over discord notifications. But Heeseung wasn't normal anymore.
But before he could stop himself, before his brain could catch up with what his hands were doing, he opened the dm and typed hey and then, because apparently he was determined to embarrass himself, he sent the little waving robot sticker that discord suggested unintentionally. He stared at what he’d just done in absolute horror. The waving robot. He’d sent you the waving robot sticker. “Oh my god,” Heeseung said out loud to his empty room. His fingers were already flying across the keyboard.
heeseung: sorry lol
heeseung: idk why i sent that
heeseung: the robot i mean
heeseung: anyway hi
He watched the three dots appear that meant you were typing. they disappeared. appeared again. Disappeared. Heeseung was going to have a heart attack.
you: no the robot was cute
you: very welcoming
you: really set the tone
Heeseung couldn’t tell if you were making fun of him or not.
heeseung: the tone being what exactly
heeseung: desperate?
you: i was gonna say endearing but sure we can go with desperate
Heeseung laughed out loud, an actual laugh that made Jake yell “You good?” from the bathroom. Heeseung didn't answer.
heeseung: cool cool cool love that for me
heeseung: starting strong
you: you’re doing great
you: so did you add me just to apologize for an emoji or was there something else
Heeseung stared at the message. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could play it cool, say something casual about League or whatever. Or he could be honest, which was terrifying but also the weed was still kind of in his system making everything feel less scary than it probably should.
heeseung: honestly i just wanted to talk to you more
heeseung: the conversation in the hallway was cool
The thing was, Heeseung felt bold saying that. Actually bold. This was probably the most direct he’d been with someone (in real life) in years, and he half expected you to think it was weird or too forward or whatever. But you didn’t. You just said “aw that’s sweet, me too!” with a smiley face and kept talking, and Heeseung felt something in his chest unclench. And you talked for hours. About games mostly, because that was the safe territory, the common ground. You told him about how you had been completely consumed by Pokemon Legends ZA, playing it every free moment you had. He admitted he’d loved Arceus when it came out but hadn’t gotten around to ZA yet, and you immediately started telling him everything he was missing out on, your messages coming in quick bursts of enthusiasm about the new mechanics and the Kalos region and how you’d already put in like sixty hours.
You asked him what his favorite games of all time were and he gave you his top five, and you had opinions about all of them, good opinions, the kind that made him want to keep talking just to hear what you’d say next. Somewhere around 1am you sent: “btw you seem really cool hee. we should play something together sometime if you’re down” and Heeseung stared at that message for long enough. You’d called him hee. You’d given him a nickname. And you wanted to play games together. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and he could feel his face getting warm, which was stupid because you couldn’t even see him, but his body didn’t seem to care about logic.
heeseung: yeah definitely
heeseung: i’d be really down for that
You sent back a heart emoji and said you had to sleep, and Heeseung said goodnight, and then he just sat there for a minute staring at the conversation like if he looked at it long enough he could figure out what was happening to him. He was down bad, really down bad. Which was insane because he’d been down bad before this even happened, down bad for a video game character that turned out to look exactly like you, and now he was down bad for the actual real you, and his brain couldn’t quite process the overlap. It felt like two separate situations that had merged into one extremely confusing situation that he didn’t know how to handle.
When he finally went to bed that night, he had that specific feeling you get when something really good has just happened and you’re lying in the dark replaying it in your head. That flutter in your stomach, that slight buzz of excitement, that sense that you’ve just met someone who’s probably going to matter. Someone who’s going to take up space in your life in a way you can’t predict yet but can already feel coming.
And he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t spend the entire next week looking for you on campus. Not in a weird way. Or maybe in a weird way, but he was trying to make it not weird. He’d just happen to walk past the design building between classes. He’d just happen to take a longer route to the dining hall that went by the areas where Jungwon said you usually hung out. He’d just happen to check the game design lab when he was meeting Jungwon, looking around all casual like he wasn’t actively scanning for your face.
Monday: nothing. Tuesday: he saw someone with similar hair from behind and did a weird half jog to catch up only to realize it was absolutely not you and he’d just chased down a complete stranger for no reason. Wednesday: he sat in the campus coffee shop for two hours pretending to do homework but really just watching the door. Thursday: more nothing. By friday Heeseung was starting to think maybe you were a figment of his imagination, maybe the whole party had been a fever dream, maybe he’d made you up entirely. So by afternoon Heeseung had given up. He was going to the library to actually do the algorithms homework he’d been ignoring all week, and he was going to stop being a weird person who wandered around campus hoping to accidentally run into someone.
Except then he walked into the library and saw you. You were tucked into a corner on the second floor, the quiet study section where people went to actually focus. Your laptop was open in front of you, headphones on, and you were doing that thing where you chewed on your pen cap while reading something on the screen. There were books and papers scattered around you in what looked like organized chaos, and your coffee cup said something in sharpie that Heeseung couldn’t read from where he was standing like a creep behind a bookshelf.
Okay. Okay, this was fine. This was a normal situation. You were here, he was here, both of you were in a library because that’s what students do. He just had to walk over there and say hi. Simple. Easy. Not weird at all. But what if you were in the zone? What if you were working on something important and he interrupted and you got annoyed? What if you didn’t actually want to see him and had just been being polite when you said you should play games sometime? He could just sit near you, not like right next to you, but in the general area. That would be natural. He needed to study anyway, it made sense to sit in the quiet section. So he picked a table that was close but not too close. Close enough that you might notice him but far enough that it didn’t look intentional.
He sat down and pulled out his laptop and his textbook, arranging them very carefully, very normally. Then he just sat there, staring at his algorithms homework. Not doing it, just staring. But five minutes passed and you hadn’t looked up. Heeseung opened his laptop. Closed it. Opened it again. He was being ridiculous. He should just get up and go say hi because that’s what normal people did. Normal people didn’t stage elaborate accidental meetings, they just walked up and said hello. He stood up, sat back down, stood up again. And then you finally looked up. Heeseung froze, half standing, half sitting, in the most awkward position possible. You pulled off your headphones and your face went from confused to surprised to happy in the span of like two seconds.
“Heeseung?” You said, keeping your voice library quiet. “What are you doing?”
“Studying,” Heeseung said too quickly, and then realized he was still in that weird half crouch position and sat down properly. “I mean, I was about to. study. I’m here to study.”
You smiled and Heeseung’s brain stopped for a moment. “Oh cool. Me too, obviously.” You gestured at your chaos of books and papers. "Working on this project that’s slowly killing me.”
“Do you want company?” Heeseung asked, and then immediately wanted to take it back because what if you said no, what if you were here specifically to study alone, what if—
“Yeah, actually that’d be nice.” You started clearing some space on your table, moving books and papers around. “I’ve been here for like three hours and I’m losing my mind. Could use a distraction.” So Heeseung grabbed his stuff and moved to your table, trying very hard to look like this was a normal thing he did all the time, sitting with people in libraries, being a person who had casual study sessions with other people. “So,” you said, once he was settled across from you. “What are the odds we both ended up in the same random corner of the library?”
You agreed, and there was something in the way you said it that made Heeseung think maybe you knew it wasn’t really a coincidence, maybe you’d seen him doing his weird laps around the second floor, but you were being nice about it. You settled into studying, or at least Heeseung pretended to study while you actually did work. You’d put your headphones back on but kept one ear uncovered, just in case he needed to ask you something about something, which he definitely wasn’t going to do because he wasn’t actually reading anything on the page in front of him.
Instead he was watching you, maybe in a weird way, but he couldn’t help it. Because sitting there across from you, seeing you up close in the quiet library light, Heeseung was hit with how much you looked like the character from the game. It wasn’t just the face, though that was uncanny enough. It was the mannerisms and the little things, like the way you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating, eyes narrowed slightly at your screen. The way you’d tuck your hair behind your ear every few minutes even though it would just fall back. The way your nose would scrunch up a little when you read something confusing. He’d seen all of this before, dozens of times, in the game. I mean you had done all of these exact things, in the game.
You looked up suddenly and Heeseung’s eyes immediately darted to his textbook, pretending he’d been reading the whole time. He could feel you looking at him for a second before you went back to your work, and Heeseung let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This happened like four more times. Very smooth. Very natural. Definitely not obvious at all.
Then you checked your phone and made a small sound of surprise. “Oh shit, I have class in ten minutes.” You started packing up your stuff quickly, shoving papers into your bag without any real organization. “I totally lost track of time.”
“Yeah, me too,” Heeseung lied, because he’d been very aware of every single minute.
You stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and then you leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Just like that. Casual and quick. Your lips pressed against his cheek for maybe half a second before you pulled back. “Thanks for keeping me company,” you said, smiling. “See you later, Hee.”
And then you were gone, weaving through the tables toward the stairs, and Heeseung just sat there frozen. His hand slowly came up to touch his cheek where you’d kissed him, like he needed to confirm it had actually happened. His face felt hot. His brain felt scrambled. You’d kissed him on the cheek. People did that, right? That was a normal friend thing? Except you barely knew each other so were you even friends? And why did his cheek feel like it was burning? And Heeseung realized he was just sitting there touching his face like a complete idiot and forced himself to put his hand down. He should pack up, he should go to his next class. He should do literally anything except sit here having a crisis over a cheek kiss. But he didn’t move, he just sat there, staring at nothing, replaying the moment over and over.
“You good, man?” Heeseung’s head snapped up. Jungwon was standing next to the table, looking at him with concern and also amusement, which was a terrible combination.
“When did you get here?”
“Like two minutes ago. You were very deep in thought.” Jungwon sat down and then casually tossed something onto the table. The switch cartridge, the Girlfriend Simulator cartridge. Heeseung stared at it. “I fixed the game.” Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking proud of himself. “You can keep playing from where you left off. It was easier to fix than I thought it’d be, just had to rebuild some of the backend routing for the post game content.” Heeseung picked up the cartridge, turning it over in his hands. "The save file's intact," Jungwon continued. “All your progress is still there. The new game plus should work now. I tested it on my switch and it loaded fine."
"Thanks,” Heeseung said, and his voice came out quieter than he meant it to. He shoved the cartridge into his bag and stood up. “I’m leaving."
“Don’t you have that lecture in twenty minutes?”
“Don’t care. Bye.” He left Jungwon sitting there chuckling and headed straight out of the library, across campus, back to his dorm. Jake wasn’t there, which was good because Heeseung didn’t need any more people commenting on his alleged vibe. He sat down at his desk and just looked at the cartridge for a minute. He should think about this. should consider whether playing the game again was a good idea now that he knew you, the real you. Now that things were getting complicated in a way that made his head hurt. But he wasn’t thinking. He was just plugging in his switch, loading up the game, watching the title screen appear with its soft music and clean typography.
continue from last save? yes / no
Heeseung pressed yes immediately. The world materialized around him in that same disorienting rush, colors bleeding into focus, sounds filtering in like someone was slowly turning up the volume. When his vision cleared, he was standing exactly where he’d left off at the park. The fireflies were still drifting lazily through the air like they’d been paused mid flight waiting for him to come back. And you were still sitting on the same bench, looking at him with an expression that made Heeseung’s chest tight.
“You’re back,” you said, and your smile was so genuinely happy it hurt to look at. You stood up and walked over to him, and Heeseung noticed the way the game rendered every detail. The way your hair moved, the exact shade of your eyes, the slight flush on your cheeks. “I missed you.” The words hit him harder than they should have. Heeseung opened his mouth and closed it, trying to figure out what to say. In the game, no time was supposed to have passed. He’d left right after your confession, after the kiss, and now he was back and theoretically it should feel like seconds had gone by. But for him it had been days. Almost a week. A week where he’d met the real you, talked to you, sat across from you in a library, felt your lips on his cheek.
Dialogue options appeared: > i missed you too > sorry i was gone so long > it feels like it’s been forever
Heeseung picked the first one because it was the most honest. “I missed you too,” he said, and he meant it in a way that felt complicated and confusing.
You stepped closer, close enough that Heeseung could see the individual pixels that made up your irises, except they didn’t look like pixels at all. “I was worried you wouldn’t come back,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “After everything, I thought maybe you’d just… disappear.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Heeseung said automatically, and then felt weird about it because he kind of had done that, he’d been gone for days even if the game didn’t register it that way.
You reached up and touched his face, your hand warm against his cheek, and Heeseung’s brain short circuited a little because he could feel it. the texture of your palm, the slight pressure of your fingers. This level of detail shouldn’t be possible. “I really like you,” you said, looking directly into his eyes. “Like, a lot. Is that okay?”
Before Heeseung could pick a dialogue option for that, you kissed him. It wasn’t like the first kiss, this was different. Your hand slid from his cheek to the back of his neck and you pressed closer, and Heeseung forgot for a second that this was supposed to be a game. His hands found your waist automatically, pulling you against him, and you made this small sound that he felt more than heard. When you pulled back, you were breathing harder and your eyes had this look in them that Heeseung recognized from somewhere, that slightly dazed expression people get when they’re thinking about something they want. “Do you want to come back to my place?” You asked, your voice lower now, and your hand was still on the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair in a way that was extremely distracting.
quest update: relationship progression available | warning: mature content ahead | proceed? yes / no | action options: > yes, i’d like that > maybe we should slow down > are you sure?
Heeseung stared at the options. What the fuck. What the actual fuck. This was new, this was definitely new. The game had never had anything like this before. Jungwon had mentioned adding post game content but he definitely hadn’t mentioned adding this kind of content. “Heeseung?” You said, tilting your head slightly. “You okay? We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought—”
“No, I want to,” Heeseung said, picking the first option before he could overthink it. “I definitely want to.”
Your smile turned into something that could only be described as pleased, maybe a little mischievous. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and started walking. The park dissolved around you in that smooth transition the game did, colors bleeding together and reforming into a new location, your apartment, and it looked different now, with softer lighting, more intimate somehow. There was music playing quietly from somewhere, something ambient and atmospheric. You let go of his hand and walked further, then turned to look at him. “You can sit down, you know. You don’t have to just stand there.” Heeseung moved to the couch and sat down, hyperaware of every movement, every detail. His hands felt sweaty and his heart was racing. This was insane, this was absolutely insane. He was about to have virtual sex with a video game character that looked exactly like a real person he’d just met and had a weird complicated semi crush on. You sat down next to him, close enough that your thigh pressed against his. “Can I ask you something?” You said.
“Sure.”
“Why did you come back?” Your expression was serious now, searching his face. “I mean, you finished the route. You got the good ending. You didn’t have to come back.”
dialogue options: > i wanted to see you again > i wasn’t ready to say goodbye > because i care about you
Heeseung picked the third option. “Because I care about you,” he said, and it felt true even though it shouldn’t, even though you were code, even though this wasn’t real.
“I care about you too,” you said quietly. Then you leaned in and kissed him again, and this time Heeseung didn’t think about the game mechanics or the dialogue options or any of it. He just kissed you back. Your hands slid under his shirt and Heeseung gasped slightly at the sensation, the feeling of your fingers on his skin. It felt real, too real, like impossibly real. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes dark. “Is this okay?” You asked, your hands still under his shirt, warm against his stomach.
action options: > yes > this is more than okay > [pull her closer]
Heeseung picked the third option and pulled you closer, and you made this satisfied sound and kissed him harder. You shifted in his lap so you were straddling him, and Heeseung’s brain was trying very hard to process the logistics of what was happening. This was a Nintendo Switch game. This was running on a console made for Pokemon and Mario Kart. There was no way this level of content was actually programmed in here. You smiled and kissed his jaw, then his neck, and Heeseung felt his brain dissolve into static. Your teeth grazed his skin lightly and he made a sound that was probably embarrassing but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
intimate scene progression: 45% | continue? yes / no
current comfort level: high | romantic tension: maximum |achievement unlocked: relationship deepening
The notifications kept appearing in his peripheral vision and Heeseung tried to ignore them because they were extremely distracting and also kind of killing the mood, if a video game could have a mood, which apparently this one could. “Hey,” you said, pulling back to look at him. Your face was flushed and your lips were slightly swollen and you looked devastating. “You’re thinking too hard. I can tell.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
dialogue options: > nothing’s wrong > this feels really intense > i’m just overwhelmed > i keep forgetting this isn’t real
Heeseung wanted to pick the last option but that felt like it would break something, some unspoken rule about the game. So he picked the third one. “I’m just overwhelmed,” he admitted. “In a good way. You’re just really… a lot. In the best way possible.”
You softened at that, your expression shifting from concerned to affectionate. “You’re sweet, you know that?” You kissed his cheek. “We can slow down if you want. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“No, I want this,” Heeseung said, and he did, desperately, even though he knew he probably shouldn’t. “I’m just trying to figure out how this is even possible.”
“How what’s possible?”
“You. This. All of it.” Heeseung knew he wasn’t making sense but the words kept coming anyway. “You feel so real. More real than anything I’ve experienced before. More real than most things I've experienced in actual life, honestly."
You looked at him for a long moment, something unreadable in your expression. Then you said, very quietly, "Maybe that’s because I am real.”
The world glitched. Just for a second, so quick Heeseung almost missed it. The lighting flickered, the textures of the room seemed to shift and resettle, and there was this sound, like static, like interference. You didn’t seem to notice. You were still looking at him with that same expression, waiting for him to respond. error log: reality sync mismatch detected | warning: boundary deviation exceeding normal parameterssystem status: unknown variable introduced
“What do you mean?” Heeseung asked, his voice coming out strained.
“I said maybe I’m real. Maybe this is real. Does it matter?” You touched his face again, gentle. "Does it change anything if I'm real or not real? You’re here, I’m here, this moment exists. Isn’t that enough?”
dialogue options:> yes, that’s enough > no, i need to understand what’s happening >i think something’s wrong with the game > [kiss her to avoid answering]
Heeseung stared at the options, his heart pounding. Part of him wanted to pick the second or third option, wanted to understand what was happening, wanted to figure out why the game was doing things it shouldn’t be able to do. But another part of him, the larger part, just wanted to stop thinking and exist in this moment with you, real or not real, code or person or whatever you were. So he picked the fourth option. His hands moved before his brain could catch up— one sliding to the small of your back, the other cupping your jaw — and he pulled you in, kissing you like the question itself might disappear if he just didn't let go. You made a soft, surprised sound against his lips, but it melted into something needier, as you kissed him back just as fiercely. His hands slid up your thighs, over the soft fabric of your dress, until his fingers found the hem. He tugged lightly, a silent question, and you answered by pressing closer, your body rolling against his in a way that pulled a rough sound from his throat.
action options: > pull her closer > slide hands under her dress > grip her waist and guide her hips > [kiss her neck]
Heeseung didn't even look at the options properly this time. He picked the third one instantly, fingers digging into your waist as he pulled you flush against him, guiding the slow, deliberate grind of your hips. You gasped into his mouth, nails scraping lightly down his chest through his shirt, and the sound you made was needy and it went straight through him. "Heeseung," you breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to look at him. your cheeks were flushed deep, lips swollen and wet, dress riding up slightly from the way you were moving in his lap. "You feel—"
He didn't let you finish. He kissed you deeper, harder, tongue sliding against yours like he needed to taste every part of you. One hand stayed firm on your waist, keeping the rhythm, while the other slipped higher under the hem of your dress, tracing the bare skin of your thigh. You shivered, thighs tightening around his hips, and he felt you press down harder, chasing the friction. You pulled back suddenly, just far enough to grab the bottom of his shirt. Your eyes locked on his, asking. He nodded once, barely, and you tugged it up and over his head in one smooth motion. The second it was gone, your hands were on him again, palms sliding over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle like you were mapping him out. "Better," you whispered, voice rough now, and then your mouth was on his collarbone, kissing down his chest, teeth grazing just enough to make him hiss. Heeseung's head fell back against the couch for a second, eyes squeezing shut, before he surged forward again.
action options: > pull the straps of her dress down > flip her onto the couch > trace her back and pull her even closer > [let her take control]
He picked the third, hands sliding up your back under the thin straps of your dress, fingers splaying wide as he pulled you impossibly closer. Your chest pressed against his, skin on skin now except for the flimsy fabric between you, and he could feel your heart racing just as fast as his. You moaned softly against his neck, hips moving faster, more desperate, and Heeseung matched the rhythm, guiding you with his grip on your waist. Every roll of your body against his made his breath catch, made the heat coil tighter low in his stomach. Your hands were everywhere — his hair, his shoulders, nails dragging down his back— and he was losing it, completely losing it.
action options: > slip the straps down her shoulders > lift the dress over her head > tease the hem higher > [kiss her while undressing her]
He picked the first one, sliding the straps down slowly, watching as the dress loosened and slipped lower, exposing more of your skin. You didn't stop him, instead, you arched your back slightly, helping it along, your eyes locked on his with a look that dared him to keep going. The dress pooled around your waist, and Heeseung's breath caught at the sight of you, bare from the waist up, the soft curve of your breasts rising and falling with each breath. "God," he muttered, voice barely audible, and then he leaned in, mouth finding the sensitive spot on your neck. He kissed there first, open mouthed, then grazed his teeth lightly, sucking just enough to leave a faint mark. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, a low moan escaping your lips that vibrated against his skin. Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, and Heeseung felt that coil of tension wind tighter, his hips bucking up instinctively to meet your rhythm. The friction was maddening, too much and not enough, and he could feel himself hardening against you, the thin layers between you doing nothing to dull the sensation.
intimate scene progression: 92% | arousal level: peak | system warning: immersion threshold breached
A faint static hum buzzed in his ears for a split second, the room's edges blurring like a bad render, but it passed as quickly as it came. You didn't notice, or if you did, you didn't care — your focus was on him, on the way his mouth moved down your neck to your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face flushed, eyes glassy with want. "Heeseung," you said, voice husky and breathless, "Do you want to take this to the bedroom? We can… get more comfortable."
The action wheel popped up: action options: > carry her to the bedroom > pull her up and walk together > push her down on the couch instead > [deepen the kiss and decide later]
Heeseung picked the first one without a second thought. In one fluid motion, he stood, arms wrapping around your waist to lift you effortlessly. You yelped in surprise, legs wrapping around his hips instinctively. the sudden shift made you cling to him, arms around his neck, and Heeseung kissed you hard as he carried you, tasting the salt on your lips from the heat of the moment. The transition was seamless, the game dissolving the living room around you in that familiar bleed of colors, reforming into your bedroom. Soft lighting from a bedside lamp, sheets rumpled like they'd been waiting, the air thicker somehow. Heeseung lowered you onto the bed gently, following you down, his body covering yours as he settled between your legs. You looked up at him, hands sliding down his chest to his waistband, fingers teasing the edge. "Now where were we?" You whispered, pulling him closer.
Heeseung lowered you onto the bed gently, the mattress dipping under your combined weight as he settled between your legs. Your dress was already bunched high on your thighs, and the air between you crackled with anticipation. You looked up at him through half lidded eyes, hands tugging at his waistband, pulling him closer until his hips pressed against yours. The heat of you through the thin fabric was driving him insane — his hands braced on either side of your head, breath ragged as he leaned down to kiss you again, deeper, hungrier.
But just as his fingers brushed the hem of your dress to slide it off completely, everything froze. The world glitched hard; colors inverting for a split second, a low error chime ringing in his ears like a nintendo switch low battery warning. You froze mid motion, lips parted, eyes wide and unblinking, like a paused cutscene. The music cut out. Notifications exploded across his vision in a pop up that took over half the screen:
kink compatibility survey | new content unlock: personalized intimacy | please select preferences to optimize experience (this will not affect main storyline) > time remaining: 30 seconds
Heeseung blinked, staring in horror as a massive form materialized, checkboxes scrolling down like some deranged tinder profile from hell:
His face burning hotter than the tension from seconds ago. "What the fuck is this?" His thumbs mashed the joy cons frantically, heart pounding from equal parts embarrassment and urgency. Thirty seconds? He wasn't even thinking straight — he just spam clicked the safe ones to get it over with. Checkmark on praise kink. Oral focus (both). Dirty talk (why not, he was already losing his mind). Slider cranked to 7 because... yeah. No bondage — keep it simple, game. Vanilla only stayed unchecked because apparently this freakshow had layers.
The pop up vanished with a cheerful ding. You unfroze instantly, blinking like nothing happened, your hands resuming their path down his chest. "Hee?" you murmured, voice soft and teasing, thighs parting wider beneath him. "You okay?"
He swallowed hard, brain still reeling. "Yeah, yeah." You smiled, wicked and knowing somehow, and pulled him down into another kiss. His hands finally obeyed, pushing the dress the rest of the way off your hips, sliding it down your legs until you were bare except for your underwear. The sight of you all spread out hit him. He trailed kisses down your chest, mouth closing over one nipple, sucking gently as you arched into him with a gasp. "You feel perfect," he whispered against your skin, the praise slipping out naturally, and you shivered, fingers threading into his hair. His hand slid lower, between your thighs, fingers brushing over the damp fabric of your underwear. You moaned his name, hips lifting eagerly, and Heeseung pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had you writhing. "So wet for me already," he murmured, voice rough with want, testing the dirty talk, and god, it worked, because your breath was hitching beautifully.
You tugged at his pants impatiently. "Off. Now." He obliged in a blur, shedding them along with everything else until there was nothing between you. He hooked his fingers into your underwear, pulling them down slowly, eyes locked on yours as he tossed them aside.
action options: > taste her first > enter her slowly > tease with fingers > [let her guide]
He picked the first, Heeseung's mind was a haze of want and disbelief as he settled between your thighs, your legs parting wider for him like an invitation he couldn't refuse. The sight of you — bare, glistening, so ready —made his mouth water. This is a game, he reminded himself, heart pounding. Just a fucking game. I can do whatever I want. Things I'd never have the guts to try in real life. No judgment, no consequences. Just you, writhing under him, and the freedom to indulge every filthy thought he'd ever buried.
He hooked his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer until his face was buried between your legs. His tongue flicked out experimentally at first, tasting you, sweet and tangy, like nothing he'd imagined, but better. You bucked against him with a sharp gasp, and that sound flipped a switch. Heeseung groaned against you, the vibration making you whimper, and he dove in deeper, tongue flat and broad as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit. "Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured, voice muffled against your skin, dirty words spilling out because why the hell not? In real life, he'd be too shy, too careful, but here? He could be filthy. "So wet for me already, dripping down my chin. You like that, huh?"
You moaned louder, hands fisting the sheets, then tangling in his hair to pull him closer. "Yes god, Heeseung don't stop." Your voice was wrecked, breathy and desperate, and it fueled him. He sucked your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it in circles, then flicking fast and hard, alternating with long, sloppy licks that had you trembling. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you open, spreading you wider so he could bury his face deeper, nose pressing against you as he devoured you like he was starving.
He picked the fourth mentally, because fuck it, this was his chance to let loose. "Tell me how good it feels," he growled, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over your slick folds, watching you shiver. "Tell me you want my tongue fucking you deeper."
"Please," you gasped, hips grinding up toward his mouth, chasing the contact. "Heeseung, your tongue— fuck, it's so good. Deeper, I need it deeper."
He plunged his tongue inside you, thrusting it in and out, mimicking what he wanted to do with his cock later. His thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles while he tongue fucked you, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. You were soaking him, face, chin, and he loved it, lapping it up greedily, humming in approval at how messy it was getting. "You're gonna come on my face, aren't you?" He taunted, voice rough and low, pulling back to suck your clit again, harder this time, teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out. "Do it. Come for me, show me how much you love my mouth on this pretty pussy."
You arched off the bed, a broken moan tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit, waves crashing through you. Heeseung didn't stop, licking you through it, drawing it out until you were oversensitive and twitching, begging him to ease up. only then did he pull away, lips shiny and swollen, grinning up at you with a wicked, satisfied look. "Good girl," he praised, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, though he didn't really want to, part of him liked the mess, the evidence. you were panting, eyes hazy as you reached for him. He crawled back up your body, capturing your lips in a kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue, another thing he'd never dare in real life, but here it felt right, hot. "You taste yourself? So fucking dirty," he whispered against your mouth, positioning himself at your entrance. "Ready for more?"
"Yes please," you begged, nails digging into his shoulders, your voice a needy whine that made his cock twitch against you. You were so wet, slick from his mouth and your own release, and Heeseung could feel the heat radiating from you, pulling him in. But before he could thrust forward, the game intervened again again:
position selection: customize your intimacy > missionary (classic connection) > doggy style (deeper access) > her on top (let her ride) > against the wall (intense standing) > [spooning (gentle side entry)]
Heeseung stared at the options, a mix of arousal and exasperation flooding him. Jungwon, you pervert, he thought, adding a fucking position menu? He timer was ticking— 15 seconds — and you were frozen mid breath, eyes locked on his with that desperate, submissive Gaze that made him want to wreck you. He picked the third option fast, because fuck, the idea of you riding him, taking control but still under his command? Yeah, that was it. The menu vanished with a satisfied beep, and the scene resumed seamlessly. You blinked, as if nothing happened, but your hands were already pushing at his chest gently, urging him to lie back. "Let me... let me ride you," you murmured, voice soft and obedient, like you were reading his mind, or the game's script. "Please? I want to make you feel good."
Heeseung grinned, dark and dominant, shifting onto his back and pulling you with him until you straddled his hips. His hands gripped your thighs hard, fingers digging in possessively as he looked up at you, flushed, eager, completely at his mercy. "Yeah? You wanna ride my cock like a good girl?" He growled, the words coming easier now, dirtier, because this wasn't real life. No holding back.
You whimpered, hands bracing on his chest, your hips grinding down instinctively against his length, coating him in your wetness. "Please, Hee... I need you inside me so bad. I'll be good."
Fuck, he thought, she's so subby, so perfect. The game's kink sync must've kicked in, amplifying everything — your voice trembling, eyes wide and pleading, body arching like you were made to submit. Heeseung's hands slid up to your hips, guiding you, lifting you just enough to position himself at your entrance. "That's my girl. Sink down on me slow— let me watch you take every inch." You obeyed instantly, lowering yourself onto him, the head of his cock pushing past your folds, stretching you open. It was agonizingly slow, and Heeseung groaned low in his throat, feeling the tight, wet heat envelop him inch by inch. You were so fucking real, hotter than any game should allow, clenching around him like velvet, your walls fluttering as you took him deeper.
"Oh god you're so big," you gasped, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted, a shiver running through you. It felt too real, the stretch, the fullness, the way he throbbed inside you, every vein and ridge pressing against your sensitive spots. Heeseung could feel it all, amplified, like the game had cranked the sensitivity to max. Sweat beaded on his skin, your thighs trembling around him, and for a second, he forgot it was code — this was you, real you, riding him.
intimate scene progression: 98% | dominance level: high | submission sync: optimal | warning: haptic feedback overload
A faint glitch rippled through the air — the lamp flickering, your moan echoing with a digital edge for a heartbeat — but it only made him thrust up harder, hands gripping your ass to pull you down rougher. "Ride me, baby. Bounce on my cock," he commanded, voice gravelly and demanding, slapping your ass lightly to spur you on. "Faster, come on."
You moaned louder, hands on his chest for leverage as you started moving up and down, hips rolling in circles that ground your clit against him. "Like this? Fuck, Heeseung it feels so good— you're so deep." Your voice broke on a whimper, body obeying his every cue, riding him harder, faster, tits bouncing with each thrust.
Heeseung bucked up to meet you, thrusting deep enough to make you cry out, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat gently. "That's it, take it all. You're mine in here, aren't you? My perfect little girl, creaming all over my cock." You clenched tighter, nodding frantically.
"Yes—fuck, Heeseung, I love it. You're so deep, so big...." Your voice was breathy, submissive, breaking on moans as you submitted completely, body moving exactly how he wanted, faster when he slapped your ass, slower when he pulled you down hard.
action options: > thrust up harder > put a finger in her mouth > choke lightly > [pull her hair]
Heeseung picked the second without hesitation, his thumb tracing your lower lip before pushing it into your mouth. You sucked on it immediately, tongue swirling around it like it was his cock, eyes half lidded and locked on his, so obedient it made his dick twitch inside you. "That's it, suck it like a good girl," he rasped, your wet lips wrapped around his finger, drool starting to drip. "Imagine it's my cock in your mouth while I fuck this tight pussy. You'd take both, wouldn't you?" You moaned around his thumb, sucking harder, hips stuttering as the added sensation pushed you closer to the edge. Then, in the corner of his screen, a new notification flickered: partner preference update: increase roughness? yes / no | affinity: high for dominant play
She likes it rougher? Heeseung thought, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mentally selected yes. Wow, this is way easier than in real life. The game adjusted instantly, your moans turning needier, body arching more desperately as he ramped up the intensity. "You want it rougher, huh?" He taunted, pulling his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting it to your lips. He grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise — if this were real— and thrust up sharply, slamming into you with more force. "Beg for it then. Tell me how bad you want me to wreck this pussy."
"Please—fuck me harder, Heeseung," you cried out, leaning forward to brace on his shoulders as you rode him faster, chasing the roughness.
intimate scene progression: 99% | climax indicator: approaching for both | options: prolong / climax now / switch position
The bar flashed red in his peripheral, both your arousal meters pulsing near max. He could feel it too, the coil tightening low in his gut, your body starting to tense and shake. But Heeseung wasn't ready to end it. He selected prolong and switch position, flipping the script. He rolled you both over, pulling out just long enough to maneuver you onto your side, spooning behind you. His chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you tight, the other lifting your thigh high. "Not yet," he whispered hot against your ear, nipping the lobe. "Gonna fuck you like this now." You nodded weakly, pushing your ass back against him. Heeseung thrust back in from behind, the angle hitting deeper, his cock dragging against your g-spot with every slow, rough pump. His hand slid between your legs, fingers circling your clit fast and hard, while his other arm pinned you close. "That's my good girl," he growled, pounding into you now, the spooning position letting him grind deep. "Taking it so well." Your moans turned into desperate sobs, body arching back into him.
Heeseung's thrusts were relentless, his cock dragging deep inside you with every slow, powerful snap of his hips. You were a whimpering mess against him, back arched, ass grinding back to meet him as his fingers worked your clit in tight, fast circles. "Fuck you're so tight like this," he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder, leaving a mark that made you shiver.
intimate scene progression: 99.5% | climax indicator: critical for both | options: prolong / climax now / switch position
The meters were flashing urgently now, his own arousal bar teetering on the edge, but Heeseung still wasn't done — he wanted more, wanted to push the limits of this insane game until it broke. One more switch, he thought, selecting prolong and switch position again. The game responded instantly, a soft chime echoing as he pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach with rough hands. You gasped at the sudden movement, face down on the bed, ass up as he positioned himself behind you, knees spreading your thighs wide. "On your stomach, baby— ass up for me," he commanded. He slapped your ass hard, the crack echoing, your skin blooming red under his palm, and you cried out, pushing back eagerly like the subby little thing the game had turned you into. "That's right, take it. You love being fucked like this, don't you?"
You nodded into the sheets, voice muffled and needy. "Yes—god, yes, Heeseung." The game's encouragement popped up in his vision — dominance boost: activated | roughness level: max | achievement: total submission unlocked — and it spurred him on, like the system was egging him to go further, deeper into the filth.
He thrust back in from behind, burying himself to the hilt in one rough stroke, the angle hitting even deeper, making you scream into the pillow. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, pounding into you with brutal force, skin slapping loud and obscene. "So fucking wet, dripping all over me," he snarled, spanking your ass again, harder this time, alternating cheeks until they were stinging red. You arched higher, offering more, moans turning into sobs of pleasure. He tangled one hand in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your neck, lips brushing your ear as he growled, "look at you, taking my cock like a good girl. Beg for more — tell me how much you need me to ruin this pussy."
"Please—ruin me, Heeseung," you begged, voice breaking. The game flashed more incentives — rough play affinity: 100% | continue for bonus immersion — and Heeseung lost it, spanking you in rhythm with his thrusts, pulling your hair tighter to arch your back, fucking you rougher, faster, the bed shaking under the force. Glitches were hitting harder now, but it only made him thrust deeper, the hyper real sensations overwhelming: the sting of your skin under his palm, the tight ripple of your walls around him, your sweat slicked back against his chest.
intimate scene progression: 99.99% | climax indicator: imminent | warning: system overload detected
He was right there, teetering on the edge, cock throbbing inside you, but you twisted slightly, looking back at him with glassy, desperate eyes. "Heeseung — cum inside me, please," you implored. "Fill me up, I need it."
For a split second, his brain stopped. Wait, cum inside? What if— but then reality (or unreality) hit him comically hard. It's a game, dumbass. Pixels can't get pregnant. He almost laughed mid thrust, the absurdity breaking through the haze, but he shoved it aside, diving back. "Yeah? You want me to breed this tight pussy?" He growled, slamming into you harder, spanking one last time for good measure. "Beg for it louder—"
"Yes—fuck, Hee!" You cried, clenching around him desperately, body trembling on the brink. "Cum inside me, please— breed me, make me yours!" That did it. The climax hit like a wave, crashing over you both at once. Heeseung thrust deep one final time, groaning loud as he spilled inside you, feeling the hot pulse of his release mix with your own orgasm, walls milking him dry. You screamed his name, body convulsing under him, the shared peak amplified by the game — sensations exploding, vision blurring with pleasure and glitches alike.
As your body shuddered through the aftershocks, Heeseung collapsed beside you, pulling you close against his chest with a gentleness that felt worlds away from the roughness just moments ago. His arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand stroking your hair softly, fingers threading through the tangled strands like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. The room was still glitching faintly, but he ignored it, focusing on you, on the way your breaths synced with his, slowing down together.
Heeseung pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your temple, his voice dropping to a whisper, sweet and caring, laced with concern. "Hey... you okay? I got carried away back there. I'm sorry if I hurt you."
You looked up at him, eyes soft and hazy, a small smile tugging at your lips as you snuggled closer, head resting on his chest. "No, Hee... I liked it. A lot. It was perfect." Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his skin, voice turning playful, like the dynamic lingered just a bit. "You made me feel so good. Don't apologize."
He chuckled quietly, relief washing over him, and he hugged you tighter, hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Good. I just... want to take care of you now." The game prompted options in his vision, soft and glowing: aftercare options: > hold her closer > kiss her gently > whisper sweet nothings > [offer water/snack] -- he picked the third, leaning down to murmur against your ear, "you're amazing, you know that? So beautiful, so perfect for me. I could stay like this forever." You hummed contentedly, body relaxing fully into his, the contrast hitting him. The glitches were fading, but notifications kept pinging: comfort level: maximum | post intimacy glow: active | save progress? yes / no
You shifted slightly, looking up at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Affectionate, but something deeper, almost knowing. "Heeseung..." your voice was quiet. "See you out there."
He blinked, confusion creasing his brow. "What do you mean?" He sat up a little, heart picking up again, but before you could answer — or before the dialogue wheel could pop up — the world started dissolving. colors bled out, the room flickering violently, static roaring in his ears like a system crash.
Everything went black. Heeseung jolted upright in his chair, the Switch still clutched in his sweaty hands, the screen dark and powered off. His room came into focus: the dim light from his desk lamp, posters on the wall, the faint hum of his pc in the background. His heart was racing, breaths coming fast, and then he felt a sticky, warm mess in his pants, soaking through his boxers. "What the—" he muttered, voice cracking as the full reality sank in. His face burned hotter than ever, cheeks flaming red as he shifted in the gaming chair. He'd actually cum inside his pants. For real. Not just some weird dream or an asleep fantasy — no, full on, pants ruining orgasm from a Nintendo Switch Girlfriend Simulator game. "Holy shit."
Heeseung stared at the dark screen in his hands, the console now completely powered off, innocent looking with its cute joy cons and pastel buttons. It looked so harmless sitting there on his lap, like it hadn't just mind fucked him for hours and then physically fucked him back. He finally set the switch down on his desk, pushing it as far away as the cords allowed. He groaned, dropping his face into his hands.
After cleaning himself up in the bathroom — which involved avoiding eye contact with his own reflection because he couldn't handle the judgment he knew he'd see there — Heeseung collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. His body felt loose and tired in a way that should have been relaxing but instead just made him feel deeply, profoundly embarrassed.
The worst part was that he wanted to do it again. That was what really got him. Not the fact that it happened, but the fact that his brain was already thinking about when he could play next, or well, when he could fuck you next. He felt like a teenager who'd just discovered something he definitely shouldn't have and was now completely obsessed with it.
He'd spent most of his Sunday in his room alternating between staring at his Switch and telling himself he absolutely was not going to play it again, which had been moderately successful except for the part where he'd picked it up four different times before forcing himself to put it back down. So on that week, he started walking across campus toward the engineering building, head down and hoodie up because he felt like everyone could somehow tell what he'd done just by looking at him, when he saw you. You were sitting on one of the benches outside the library with your laptop open, clearly working on something, your hair pulled back and you were wearing an oversized hoodie that had some game logo on it he couldn't quite make out from this distance. Heeseung immediately changed direction.
He took the long way around the building, added an extra five minutes to his walk, and showed up to lecture slightly out of breath. He was very deliberately not thinking about the fact that he'd just actively avoided you. Which was ridiculous. You hadn't done anything, you didn't even know what had happened. You probably hadn't thought about him at all since that day at the library, were probably just sitting there doing homework like a normal person while Heeseung was having a complete psychological breakdown over a video game.
The problem was that every time he thought about you now, his brain immediately supplied images from the game. The way you'd looked at him, the way you moaned, the sounds you'd made, the way you came, the way it had felt so impossibly real that his body had reacted like it was actually happening. And now he couldn't separate that from the real you, the person he'd met at the party who'd been nice and funny and way too easy to talk to. The rest of the week continued like this. He saw you everywhere now, which was ironic because before the party he'd never noticed you once and now you were apparently in every building he entered. Tuesday you were in the coffee shop in the student center. Wednesday you walked past him in the hallway between classes. Thursday he saw you in the library again, this time on the second floor, and he'd actually turned around and walked back out.
His switch was on his desk, fully charged, basically taunting him. He'd managed to avoid playing it all week, had told himself he was being responsible and mature about the whole situation. But he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every time his mind wandered, it went right back to that night, to the game, to you. And his body was betraying him too, which was mortifying. He'd be sitting in lecture and think about the game for half a second and suddenly he'd have to adjust his laptop to hide the fact that he was getting hard in the middle of algorithms class. It happened during study sessions, during meals, during completely random moments when his brain decided to remind him that the game existed and he could play it whenever he wanted.
He felt disgusting. He was kink shaming himself, which he didn't even know was possible, but here he was, lying in bed at two am feeling like a creep for being attracted to a video game character who happened to look exactly like a real person he'd met. But he also couldn't stop thinking about playing again. About whether it would be like the first time or if there were other features, other scenarios. His brain kept supplying possibilities and his body kept responding and he felt trapped in this cycle of shame and want that he didn't know how to break.
And then on friday afternoon, Heeseung was in his dorm trying to focus on an assignment that was due monday when someone knocked on his door with the kind of aggressive persistence that could only be Jungwon. He considered pretending he wasn't home but Jake had already opened the door before Heeseung could say anything. "Oh hey Jungwon," Jake said. "He's here but he's been weird all week so good luck."
"Thanks for the warning," Jungwon said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He went to Heeseung's room and looked at him, who was very deliberately staring at his laptop screen. "Okay, we're going to Five Guys. Get up."
"I'm busy."
"No you're not." Jungwon grabbed Heeseung's hoodie off his chair and threw it at him. "Come on. We're getting burgers and you're going to tell me why you've been ignoring me all week."
"I haven't been ignoring you."
"You answered my texts with one word responses and you've avoided me on campus. That's ignoring me." Jungwon crossed his arms. "So either you come willingly or I'm going to make a scene. Your choice."
Heeseung knew Jungwon well enough to know he absolutely would make a scene. "Fine. But I'm not hungry."
"You're never not hungry. Let's go." And twenty minutes later they were sitting in Five Guys with their orders, the place mostly empty since it was that weird time between lunch and dinner.
Heeseung had been hoping the walk would give him time to figure out what to say to Jungwon, but instead he'd just spent it thinking about the game and feeling more and more uncomfortable. Because the thing was, if Heeseung had done what he'd done in the game, that meant Jungwon had programmed it. Jungwon had sat at his computer and coded in all those options, all those scenarios, all those very specific and detailed features that Heeseung had discovered. Which meant either Jungwon was way more perverted than Heeseung had ever given him credit for, or something else was going on.
"Okay, you're doing it again," Jungwon said, interrupting Heeseung's spiral. "You're being weird and quiet and you won't look at me. What's going on? Is it about the game? Did something break again?"
Heeseung knew he had to say something because this had gone too far. Because if the mature content was intentional, then they needed to have a very different conversation about boundaries and warnings and maybe Jungwon's concerning lack of shame. And if it wasn't intentional, if this was some kind of glitch or malfunction, then that was somehow even worse because it meant the game was doing things beyond anyone's control. Either way, Heeseung couldn't keep avoiding this. Jungwon was his best friend. If he couldn't talk to Jungwon about this, even if it was mortifying, then what was the point of having a best friend? So Heeseung admitted: "Yeah, it's about the game."
"Okay, so tell me." Jungwon looked at him.
"Look, you could've just... you could have warned me that it had adult content." Heeseung forced himself to look at Jungwon. "Like, explicit that I wasn't expecting in a dating simulator."
Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"
"I'm just saying, a heads up would have been nice. I know you're trying to make it realistic but I wasn't prepared for how detailed it was going to get."
"Bro, what are you talking about?"
And then it all came out like Heeseung couldn't stop himself. "I'm talking about the fact that the game has very explicit scenes with very detailed options and I don't know if you've ever actually looked at what you programmed but it's intense, Jungwon. Like the dialogue options were insane, I could say basically anything and the character would respond and some of those options were really freaky. And the action options were even worse, there were so many of them and they were all very specific and very detailed and I'm not going to list them but oh my god and then there was a whole section where it asked me about preferences and kinks and I thought that was just for character building but no, it actually used that information! And there were position suggestions. Position suggestions, Jungwon! With fucking diagrams, man. Why did you add diagrams?! And the whole thing was just very immersive and very realistic and I had a physical reaction that I'm not going to elaborate on but I think you can figure out what I mean and I've been avoiding you all week because I didn't know how to have this conversation without wanting to die of embarrassment."
Heeseung finally stopped to breathe and realized Jungwon was staring at him with an expression of complete bewilderment. "Heeseung," Jungwon said slowly. "I didn't add any of that content."
"What."
"I didn't program explicit scenes. There's no adult content in the game. It's a dating simulator not a porn game. The most intimate it gets is like, hand holding and maybe a kiss at the end if you get the good ending." Jungwon set down his burger. "What are you talking about dude?"
"Don't fuck with me right now."
"I'm not fucking with you, I'm being completely serious." Jungwon was looking at him, shocked. "I didn't add any of that stuff. I wouldn't even know how to program half of what you just described. Like what the fuck is even a kink questionnaire?!"
Heeseung felt cold. "Then how did I experience it, man?!"
"I don't know!" Jungwon was still shocked. "But this actually makes sense now. Y/N's been avoiding me too this week, even more than you have. She won't answer my texts and she literally ran away from me in the hallway yesterday. I thought maybe she was mad at me about something but what if she experienced the same thing you did?"
"What do you mean?"
"Okay, last Friday, remember when you were studying in the library and Y/N left suddenly? I texted her right after she left asking if she wanted to try the updated version of the game and she texted back immediately saying yes and that she was coming to get it right then." Heeseung remembered that day, your phone had buzzed and you'd looked at it and your whole expression had changed, you'd packed up your stuff so fast, muttering something about being late for class even though Heeseung was pretty sure you didn't have class at that time. "She took the game and left," Jungwon continued. "I didn't hear from her after that until she texted me the next day saying she was returning it and that she didn't want to play anymore. And now she won't talk to me."
"What time did she take the game?" Heeseung asked, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.
"I don't know, maybe around four? Four thirty?" Jungwon paused. "Why?"
Heeseung felt like the world was tilting. "I picked up the game from you around four forty five. Remember?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So we both had the game that night. We both played it that same night." Heeseung's mind was racing, putting pieces together. "And you're saying there's no adult content programmed into the game. But we both experienced something intense enough that we're both avoiding you. And we both played it at the same time."
Jungwon's eyes widened. "Oh my god."
"What if—" Heeseung stopped, because what he was about to say sounded insane. But everything about this situation was insane. "What if the game connected us somehow? What if when we both played it at the same time and it put us in the same… I don't know, session?"
"That's not possible because I didn't program any multiplayer features."
"You also didn't program explicit content but I definitely experienced it, man!" Heeseung put his head in his hands. "Jungwon, the character in my game looked exactly like Y/N, exactly like her. And you said the character customization was random."
"It is random. I didn't—" Jungwon stopped. "Wait. She actually said something similar. When she gave the game back she mentioned that the boyfriend character looked really realistic, like someone she could actually know."
Heeseung felt like throwing up. "Did she say who?"
"No, she just said it freaked her out how real he seemed."
Heeseung was pale now. His brain was doing that thing where it tried to process too much information at once and ended up just kind of spinning in place. You had played the game, you had seen a character that probably looked like him. You had found it so realistic it freaked you out. And then you'd played it again last friday, the same day he did, probably around the same time. And Jungwon was sitting here swearing he hadn't programmed any of the content that Heeseung had definitely experienced. Which meant one of two things: either Jungwon was full of shit, which didn't make sense because why would he lie about this, or the game had somehow done something it wasn't supposed to do. Connected two players who didn't know they were playing together, made them interact without telling them, let them do things with each other while both of them thought they were just playing a single player game with really good immersion.
And if that was true, if you'd actually been playing together, then the character Heeseung had been with wasn't just some algorithm. It was you, making choices and responding to him. Doing all those things that he'd been replaying in his head all week. Which meant you'd been doing those things with him, or with a version of him, and you probably had no idea it was real either. So Heeseung stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. "What's Y/N's dorm?"
Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"
"Her dorm. Which building is she in?"
"Uh, west campus. Building C, I think? Room 304, why?"
"I gotta go." Heeseung was already grabbing his hoodie.
"Ho where? Heeseung, what—" but Heeseung was already walking, he heard Jungwon call after him something about texting him later but he wasn't really listening. His mind was too busy spiraling through everything he needed to say to you, everything he needed to ask, everything that didn't make sense.
The walk to west campus took fifteen minutes but it felt both longer and shorter than that. Heeseung's hands were shaking and he shoved them in his pockets. He tried to figure out what he was going to say. Hey, so I think we accidentally had virtual sex through a Nintendo Switch last week and neither of us knew it was real. Yeah, that would go over great. Or maybe, hi, remember how we both played that game? Turns out we were playing together. Surprise! Yeah, also worse.
By the time he got to building C, he still hadn't figured it out. Heeseung stood outside the door and realized he couldn't actually get in without a key card or someone letting him in. He was standing there trying to figure out his next move when the door opened and two girls walked out, laughing about something on one of their phones. Heeseung caught the door before it closed and slipped inside. Probably not his finest moment in terms of dorm security, but he was past caring about minor rule violations.
He stood in front of your door for a solid thirty seconds, hand raised to knock, unable to make himself actually do it. This was insane, he was insane. He should turn around and leave and text Jungwon and let Jungwon handle this because Jungwon had made the game and this was technically his responsibility. But he didn't leave, he knocked. And nothing happened for a long moment. Heeseung was starting to think maybe you weren't home, or maybe you were home but ignoring the door, when he heard movement from inside. Footsteps and then a pause. Then your voice, muffled through the door.
"Who is it?"
Heeseung's mouth was dry. "It's Heeseung."
Another pause, longer this time. He could picture you on the other side of the door, probably frozen, probably panicking, probably wondering why the hell he was at your dorm right now. Then the lock turned and you opened the door. You were pale, like actually pale, but you smiled anyway. "Hi Hee. Is… everything alright?"
Heeseung looked at you. You were in pajamas, soft looking sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with some faded band logo on it. Your hair was up in a bun that was more mess than anything else, strands falling out around your face, no makeup. You were standing there at your door at five pm on a friday looking comfortable and real and so pretty it made his chest hurt. He knew he was down bad already. Had been since the game, since the party, since the moment you'd turned around in that park with a flower behind your ear that he'd picked for you except it hadn't actually been you, or maybe it had been, he didn't even know anymore. But looking at you now, in your actual dorm with your actual face and your actual voice saying his name like that, soft and a little worried, he realized the game version hadn't even come close. This was better because this was real.
"Well, yeah, I mean, technically no," he said. Then stopped. "I mean yes. I mean, I need to ask you something and I don't want to sound crazy but I'm probably going to sound crazy anyway so I don't know how to do this without sounding crazy."
Your expression shifted. Something in your eyes changed, like you knew exactly what he was going to say but didn't want to believe it. You stepped back and pulled the door open wider. "Come in."
Heeseung walked into your dorm and tried not to look around but he couldn't help it. The space was small but you'd made it yours, there was a Janna poster on the wall near your desk, the star guardian skin, same one you had on your phone case. Next to it was a persona 5 royal poster that looked like it had been put up carefully. Your Switch was sitting on your desk next to your laptop, the joy cons that soft pink and blue that came with the Animal Crossing edition. Your bed was unmade, blankets pushed to one side like you'd gotten up in a hurry. There were books stacked on your nightstand, a pair of headphones tangled on top of them. A stuffed cat that looked old and well loved sitting on your pillow. It was so much like the apartment in the game that Heeseung felt dizzy. The colors, the vibe, the way things were organized. But also different and better because it was lived in and messy in ways the game couldn't replicate.
"Do you want water or something?" You were standing by your mini fridge, hand on the door, looking at him with that same careful expression.
And then Heeseung opened his mouth and everything just came out.
"Jungwon gave me this game to test Called Girlfriend simulator and I thought it was stupid, like, the most desperate thing I could possibly do, like an actual certificate that I'm way too single for a guy my age. But I played it anyway because I can't say no to Jungwon and also because I was curious and I went on this date with this girl and she liked League of Legends and I had to pick this flower that was glowing and she loved it, and this firefly landed on her hand and she smiled at me like and then we played league together and destroyed her ex boyfriends, and we cooked pasta and she helped me because I was burning the garlic and the game kept giving me dialogue options but then I started just talking and it kept responding like it knew what I was going to say. And then things got really intimate, like really intimate, in ways I'm not going to describe because I'll die of embarrassment but you can probably guess what I mean. And the girl, she... she looked exactly like you. Not kind of like you, exactly like you. same face, same voice, same everything. and i talked to jungwon today And he said there's no adult content in the game, that he never programmed any of that, and that you played it too, last friday on the same night I did. And I think we were playing together and I think we were in the same game, in the same session or server or whatever, and I think the characters we were playing with weren't just game characters and I think they were each other. So I need you to tell me right now, does the boyfriend character in your game look like me?"
You were staring at him. Your hand was still on the mini fridge door but you weren't moving. Your face had gone from pale to flushed and your mouth was slightly open like you wanted to say something but couldn't figure out what. Heeseung's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat and his hands were shaking and he'd just word vomited the entire situation at you without taking a single breath but he couldn't take it back now. You closed the mini fridge. Didn't get water, just stood there looking at him like you were seeing him for the first time. Your eyes were moving across his face, his hair, his shoulders, like you were checking something or maybe confirming something.
"Yes," you said finally. Your voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.
The word hung in the air between you. Heeseung felt something in his chest crack open, something between relief and panic and a feeling he didn't have a name for.
"Yes he looks like you," you continued, louder now. "Exactly like you and I thought I was going crazy and I thought Jungwon had somehow used photos of you without telling me, or that I was seeing patterns that weren't there, or that I'd just completely lost my mind. But it was you."
Heeseung took a step closer without meaning to. "You played it last friday."
"Yes."
"Around six thirty."
"Yes."
"And things got—" he stopped, couldn't say it.
"Intense." You finished for him. Your face was completely red now.
"So it was real." Heeseung's voice sounded strange. "We were playing together. We were with each other and we didn't know it."
You were breathing faster now. He could see your chest rising and falling under your hoodie. "So when I— when we—"
"Yeah." The room got quiet after that. You looked at him and he looked back and there it was again, that pull from the game, except now there was no screen between you. Just him standing in your dorm with his messy hair and that hoodie you'd seen in the character creator, and you knowing exactly how his hands felt even though you'd never actually touched him before. Your breath caught. His did it too, you saw his chest hitch. Neither of you said anything, you both just moved, like someone had pressed play at the same time. He leaned in, you tilted up, and your mouths met in the middle.
You kissed at the same time.
His mind was racing: this is real, this is actually happening. No reset button, no save file, and he could not stop it even if he tried. Your lips were soft and moving against his in a way that made his hands come out of his pockets and find your waist, pulling you in a bit. You felt his fingers press into the fabric of your hoodie, and you responded by sliding your hands up to his shoulders, gripping the soft material there.
The kiss deepened, his tongue brushed yours lightly, exploratory, and you leaned into it, your back arching off the mini fridge as he stepped closer, bodies pressing together now. A small sound escaped you, not a moan exactly, but something involuntary, and Heeseung reacted by tilting his head more, his hand moving up your back under the hoodie, fingers splaying against your skin, warm and calloused a little. His hands shook a little on your hips, and thank god there were no pop up flashing with options like "kiss deeper" or "pull away," and no dialogue tree to pick from.
You broke for air just a second, foreheads touching, both of you breathing hard. "this is way better than the game," he muttered, voice low and rough, with a tiny grin pulling at his lips.
You huffed a laugh, your hands still on his shoulders. "Shut up."
You pulled him back in before he could say anything else. This kiss was different, harder, more sure. Your teeth caught his bottom lip and he made a noise he'd be embarrassed about later. His hand came up to your face, thumb against your cheek. Your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged and he pressed you back against the fridge hard enough that the door rattled. He kissed down your jaw, taking his time, and you tilted your head to give him room. Your breathing was coming in short bursts. He got to your neck and stayed there, face buried against your skin, breathing you in. You made a sound that kinda sounded like a purr and that did something in him. In his head, he was scrambling, piecing together bits from the game, like the survey thing, where things got rough, when he knew you liked it rough. But now? No way, he wanted this slow, careful, the way you deserved. He slowed his kisses on your neck, his thumb tracing small circles on your side under the hoodie. Don't rush, idiot, his brain nagged, you're not on a timer here.
He pulled back just a bit, forehead against yours, and said, "Sorry, this was kinda... out of nowhere."
You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. "It wasn't."
He looked at your mouth, then back up to your eyes. "If this is weird for you though. With everything. I can stop."
"No." You said it fast, then quieter. "I want this."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." you paused, then added quieter, "I haven't stopped thinking about it. Or… you. I can't stop thinking about you."
His brain glitched hard at that. wWait, she what? Holy shit, okay, don't screw this up. And he leaned in again, kissing you deeper now, hands sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him. He nipped at your lip, testing, as things heated back up, his pulse loud in his ears. You pushed him back gently, hands on his chest, guiding him across the room step by step until his back hit the wall with a soft thud. The kiss turned messy then, tongues clashing, breaths mixing in quick gasps, neither of you holding back anymore. Your lips moved to his jaw, nipping lightly, then down to his neck, sucking at the skin there.
He let out an uncontrolled whine, his hands tightening on your hips. That sound made you bolder, so you slipped one hand under his hoodie, fingers tracing the warm skin of his stomach, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. You pulled back up to kiss him again, fast and urgent, teeth grazing his lip. He bent his knees a bit, hands sliding down to your thighs, and lifted you up in one smooth motion. Your legs wrapped around his torso automatically, and he spun you around, pressing your back against the wall now. No action option popped up in his head, no prompt telling him what to do next — he'd done it all on instinct, and that made a quick flash of pride hit him, like he was finally off script, just going with it.
Between kisses, you murmured against his mouth, "Hee, you feel so good."
"You too, god" he breathed back, voice rough. He pressed in closer, his body flush against yours, the bulge in his pants obvious now between your legs. You let out a quiet moan, your head tipping back against the wall. He kept you pinned there against the wall, his hips rolling slow against yours in a rhythm that matched your breaths, each grind pulling a small gasp from you. His hands slid up under your hoodie, fingers spreading wide over your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra as he kissed you deeper, tongue sweeping in like he couldn't get enough. You arched into his touch and nipped at his earlobe, then soothed it with your tongue. He shivered, a low groan escaping him, and you felt him harden more against you, the friction sending sparks up your spine.
He lowered you slowly to the floor, knees bending as he guided you toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. You tugged at his hoodie, pulling it over his head in one messy motion, his hair falling wild as it came off. His skin was warm, flushed, and you ran your hands over his chest, thumbs circling his nipples until they peaked under your touch. He laughed softly, a little breathless, as he peeled your hoodie off next, tossing it aside. His fingers traced the strap of your bra, slipping it down your shoulder before leaning in to kiss the exposed skin.
You pushed him back onto the bed, climbing onto his lap, your thighs straddling his as you ground down slowly, feeling his erection press right where you needed it. His hands gripped your hips, guiding the motion. As his fingers worked the clasp of your bra, letting it fall away, Heeseung's mind clicked into place: this was infinitely better than any simulator. In the game it was all presets, like surveys and options that guessed at what you liked, scripted responses that felt good but flat. Here, he could watch your reactions for real, feel the way your body tensed or relaxed under his hands, discover the spots that made you squirm without a pop up telling him what to do. No algorithms dictating the pace; just trial and error, his lips on your skin, learning from every shiver, every moan. Why settle for a program when he could map you out himself, piece by piece?
Things picked up then, his mouth closing over one of your nipples, tongue flicking slow at first, then sucking harder when you arched into it, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Hee, yes— like that," you breathed, grinding down firmer, the wet heat between your legs soaking through against his sweatpants. He switched sides, hand cupping the other breast, thumb rolling over the peak. He helped you take your sweatpants off, and then his free hand slipped between you, fingers pressing over your clit through your panties, rubbing in tight circles that had you moaning louder, hips bucking. You reached down, palming him through his pants, feeling the outline of his cock twitch under your hand. "You're so hard already," you said, squeezing gently, watching his face contort. He thrust up into your touch, a whine slipping out as he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and deep.
His fingers dipped under your waistband now, sliding through your slick folds, one dipping inside you slow, curling just right. "So wet, fuck," he whispered, adding another finger, pumping steadily as his thumb found your clit again. You rocked against his hand, breaths coming faster, and tugged at his sweatpants, freeing him enough to wrap your fingers around his length, stroking slow from base to tip, thumb swiping over the precum beading there. He bucked into your grip, groaning into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. "Keep going," he panted, fingers speeding up inside you, hitting that spot that made your toes curl.
You sped up your strokes, matching his rhythm, the slick sound of your hand on him mixing with the wet push of his fingers in you. He dropped his head to your shoulder, mouthing at your neck, teeth grazing skin as his free hand gripped your thigh hard enough to leave marks. You rolled your palm over the head on every upstroke, spreading the precum down his length, and he thrust into your fist harder, a low whine catching in his throat. His hips stuttered, thrusts into your hand getting erratic, and you felt him swell thicker against your palm. Suddenly he grabbed your wrist, stopping your movement, chest heaving. "I can't— fuck— I'll cum so fast like this."
"Yeah," you breathed, nodding quick, "Fuck, okay." He kissed you hard once more, then pulled his fingers out slow, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean while looking right at you. You bit your lip, heat rushing lower. You shifted back a bit, still catching your breath. "You got a condom?"
"Oh shit," he muttered, eyes widening. He reached down to his sweatpants, still tangled around one thigh from your handjob. And dug into the pocket, fumbling for his wallet. You leaned in, kissing along his neck slow, tongue flicking the spot that made him shiver earlier, just to keep him distracted. He huffed as he finally pulled out the foil packet. He glanced at it, then chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. In the game you didn't need this shit — couldn't exactly knock up pixel pussy.
He tore the packet open with his teeth, rolling it on quick but careful, hand stroking himself once to settle it. Then he nudged you back onto the bed, settling between your legs as you lay on your back. He kicked off the sweatpants fully, nearly tripping when they caught on his ankle, and you both grinned at the awkward shuffle. He hovered over you, one hand bracing by your head, the other guiding himself, tip brushing through your folds once, twice, coating in your wetness. "You okay?" he asked, voice low, eyes locked on yours.
"Yeah, fuck, please," you said, wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him closer.
He pushed in slow, the head of his cock breaching you first, that initial stretch making him grit his teeth; tight, wet heat wrapping around him like a vice, slick from all the buildup, but still enough resistance that he had to ease forward inch by inch. His breath caught sharp in his throat, eyes squeezing shut for a second as the sensation hit him full force: warm walls fluttering around him, pulling him deeper, the condom dulling it just a bit but not enough to hide how perfectly you fit, how your body gave way but clung at the same time. He bottomed out with a low groan, hips flush against yours, and stayed there, pulsing inside you, the fullness making his thighs tense.
This was miles better than the game. In the sim, it was all smooth, predictable friction, coded to feel good but always a step removed, like jacking off to a video. Here, though, buried deep in you, he felt every twitch, every squeeze of your cunt around his cock, the real heat radiating through him, the way your wetness coated him completely, Making each tiny shift send sparks up his spine. It was messy and raw, just the obscene reality of how soaked you were, how his balls pressed between your thighs, heavy and tight, begging for more. He started moving then, slow pulls back and thrusts in, the wet slap of skin filling the room as he found a rhythm. You arched up to meet him, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red lines he could feel stinging already. "Fuck, you're taking me so well," he muttered, voice wrecked, as he snapped his hips harder once, watching your tits bounce with the impact. He leaned down, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise while he ground deep, cock dragging along your walls, hitting spots that made you clench tighter around him.
Your legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into his back, urging him faster, and he obliged, thrusts turning rougher, the bed creaking under you both. He could hear the squelch each time he buried himself balls-deep, your pussy gripping him. "So fucking wet," he groaned against your skin, one hand sliding down to grab your ass, pulling you onto him harder. You moaned louder, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging as he pounded in, the angle shifting so his pubic bone ground against your clit with every thrust.
He flipped you over suddenly, hands on your hips yanking you up onto all fours, and slid back in from behind in one smooth push, deeper this way, his cock curving just right to make you gasp. He started railing you, skin slapping loud, his balls smacking against you with each brutal thrust. You pushed back against him, meeting every snap, your walls fluttering around him, milking him tighter. He reached around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing messy circles while he fucked you harder.
His mind flashed back to the game then, that kink survey popping up, how you'd picked options that leaned heavy into rough. He wondered if it carried over, if real you craved that edge too. Testing it, he drew back a hand and landed a smack on your ass, not too hard, just enough to sting and make the flesh jiggle under his palm. The sound cracked through the room, sharp over the wet slaps of his thrusts. You moaned low, pushing back harder against him, your pussy clenching tight around his cock like a reflex. That reaction lit him up — okay, she likes it — and he felt bolder, the dom side kicking in without overthinking. "Yeah, you take that so good," he groaned, rubbing the spot he smacked, soothing the heat before landing another, a bit firmer this time, watching your skin pink up.
He kept pounding in, deep and steady, the angle letting him hit that spot inside you that made your knees buckle a little. Reaching forward, he grabbed your wrists, pulling your arms back and pinning them at the small of your back with one hand, your chest dropping lower to the mattress. It arched your ass higher, letting him drive deeper, his free hand gripping your hip hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. The restraint made everything tighter, your walls hugging his cock obscenely, slick dripping down his balls with each thrust. "Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he panted, voice breaking as he felt you flutter around him, the build-up coiling tight in his gut.
"Hee—close, I'm so close," you gasped, face pressed into the sheets, hips grinding back desperate now. He picked up the pace, thrusts turning frantic, skin slapping louder, his balls tightening as he railed you harder. "Come on, let go for me, you feel so good clenching like that," he muttered, leaning over you, breath hot on your back. The friction built fast, your moans turning high and broken, and he felt you shatter first, your pussy spasming hard around his cock, milking him in waves, wetness gushing out and coating his thighs. That pushed him over, his hips stuttering as he buried deep one last time, groaning loud as he came, pulsing inside you, the condom catching every thick spurt while your bodies locked together, shaking through it.
You both stayed like that for a minute, chests heaving, sweat cooling on your skin, the room thick with the smell of sex. He was still buried inside you, pulsing faintly with aftershocks, but he didn't want it to end yet. Slowly, he eased out, the condom slick and heavy as he tied it off and dropped it on the floor beside the bed. His hands loosened on your wrists, letting your arms fall forward as you collapsed onto your stomach with a soft groan. He leaned down, lips brushing the small of your back, tasting the salt there, then lower, kissing along the curve where your spine dipped. His teeth grazed the swell of your ass, biting just hard enough to make you twitch, then soothing it with his tongue. You pushed back slightly, thighs parting on instinct, and he took the invitation— hands spreading you open as he dragged his tongue slow from your asshole down to your entrance, lapping up the mess you'd both made. The taste hit him full: tangy, musky, mixed with the latex from the condom and your arousal, thick and real coating his tongue. He groaned into you, diving deeper, tongue pushing inside your pussy, curling to scoop out more, nose buried against you as he ate you out sloppy from behind.
Your hips started rocking back, muffled moans into the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets. He kept going, alternating broad licks up your slit with flicks over your clit, then back to spearing his tongue inside, feeling your walls flutter again. His face was soaked now, chin dripping, lips swollen, as he sucked your clit into his mouth, humming low. You tensed hard, thighs shaking, and came again with a broken cry, pushing back against his face, wetness flooding his mouth as he licked you through it, not stopping until you sagged limp.
He pulled back finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand but mostly just smearing it, face shiny and wrecked. He flipped you over gentle, onto your back, and just looked; your cheeks flushed deep red, hair stuck to your forehead, neck and thighs dotted with fresh bruises from his mouth and grip, chest rising fast. You looked completely fucked out, eyes half lidded, lips bitten raw. His gaze dropped to himself: cock half hard again already, hanging heavy, the used condom on the floor bloated with his load, cum visible through the latex. This was nothing like the game. There, everything reset clean, no mess, no lingering taste on his tongue, no actual bruises blooming on skin. Here, he could smell you on his face, feel the ache in his jaw from eating you out, see the evidence of how hard he'd fucked you. Way better. Infinitely better.
He crawled up beside you, collapsing half on top, one leg tangled with yours, hand resting on your stomach as you both caught your breath again. The air was still thick, sheets twisted around your ankles, and Heeseung shifted a little closer, propping his head on one hand to look at you. He picked up your hand, fingers tracing over your knuckles before bringing them to his lips, kissing each one slow, like he was checking they were real. "Hey," he said soft, "was is... good for you?"
You glanced away for a second, cheeks heating up again, then nodded. "Yeah. Really good." Your voice came out quieter than you meant, thumb brushing his wrist. He smiled small, relieved, and pressed another kiss to your fingertips. You swallowed, still coming down, and mumbled, "want some water?"
"Yeah I'll get it," he said quick, already pushing up. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, then paused mid step, one hand going to his lower back with a quiet "Ow—shit." He stretched a bit, wincing. Last time he'd moved like that was... well, in the game and pixels don't pull muscles. He huffed a laugh at himself and shuffled over to the mini fridge, the floor cool under his feet.
He grabbed two bottles, cracked one open for you first, and came back, sitting on the edge of the bed close enough that his knee bumped yours. You sat up a little, taking the water, and he reached out, fingers threading through your messy hair, smoothing it back gently while you drank. His touch was light, almost absent minded, but steady. You lowered the bottle and just looked at him— hair sticking up, lips swollen, a faint red mark on his neck from earlier. You let out a soft laugh, nose scrunching. he raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Hi."
"Hi," you said back, still smiling.
He tilted his head, thumb brushing your cheek. "You need to pee."
You snorted, covering your face with one hand. "Yes, I know." He didn't even hesitate, just slid his arms under you, one behind your back, the other under your knees, and lifted you up like you weighed nothing. You yelped quietly, arms looping around his neck on reflex. "Hee—"
"I got you," he muttered, carrying you across the room to the bathroom door, stepping carefully around the clothes scattered on the floor. He set you down gentle inside, kissed your forehead quick, and pulled the door almost shut behind you. "Take your time." You heard him flop back onto the bed with a dramatic groan, probably rubbing his back again, and couldn't help smiling to yourself in the mirror.
When you came back, he was sitting on the edge of your bed, boxers pulled on, knees apart, elbows resting on his thighs. He looked up as the bathroom door opened and gave you this small, lopsided smile, half awkward, half couldn't-hide-it-if-he-tried glad. His hair was still a mess, sticking up where your fingers had been, and he rubbed the back of his neck like he didn't know where to put his hands now. You walked over and sat next to him, close enough that your thighs touched, the mattress dipping a little under both of you.
For a second neither of you said anything, just the quiet hum of the mini fridge and the faint rustle of sheets when you shifted. He glanced at you sideways. "So... that happened."
You huffed a small laugh, pulling your knees up. "Yeah. It did."
He was quiet for a moment. "Was it—" he stopped, started again. "I don't want you to think that's why I came here. Or that I expected—"
"I know."
"Because we don't really know each other. Like, actually know each other. And I don't want you to feel like this was too much or—"
"Don't we though?"
He looked at you. "What?"
"Know each other." You tucked your hair behind your ear. "I lived all of it with you. In the game."
"Yeah but that wasn't—"
"The date in the park," you said. "You picked that flower for me. The one that was glowing.” Heeseung was very still now, watching you. "And we played League together," you continued. "Destroyed my exes, even though they don't even exist in real life. Also, you were so smug about it, kept emoting after every kill, I thought you were so cute. And then we cooked pasta at my place and you almost burned the garlic and I had to help you and we ended up just—" you stopped, smiled a little. "It felt easy and natural like I'd known you forever. And the dates after that. Like the arcade, that hiking trail." You were looking at your hands now. "And then the park again at night. You told me you were falling for me. I remember it all too well. It was the most real thing that's ever happened to me." You finally looked at him. "And when I met you at the party and realized you were an actual person, I freaked out. Because how was I supposed to deal with the fact that I'd already fallen for you before we'd even met?"
"You—" his voice cracked slightly. "You fell for me?"
"Yeah." You said it simple, like it was obvious. "In the game. I didn't know it was you, but I felt everything. And then when Jungwon texted me about the update, I couldn't — I had to play it again. I had to see you again, even if it was just in the game. I thought it was just the game being really immersive and really realistic and I didn't think you were actually there."
Heeseung let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I thought the same thing but I couldn't figure out what else it could be."
"And then we both avoided each other for a week." You laughed, dropping your head against his shoulder. "We're idiots."
"Complete idiots." He leaned his head against yours. "But like, in our defense, how were we supposed to know we were accidentally having virtual sex through a Nintendo Switch?"
You snorted, shoulders shaking with laughter. "Please never say that sentence again."
"Which part, the virtual sex or the Nintendo Switch?"
"Both. That whole thing."
He was grinning now. "But it happened."
"Ynfortunately yes."
"And it was—" he stopped.
"Really good," you finished.
He pulled back a little, just enough to look at you, his fingers sliding up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, thumb brushing your cheek. "Yeah. It was. But this way is better." You smiled, he did too. But then he paused, and said quieter, "We don't have to figure it all out right now, you know. The whole... what this means. But," he swallowed, hand dropping to lace with yours on the sheet. "If you want to. If you're down... I'd really like to try this for real. Like, dates that don't require a Switch cartridge. Real hiking and a real arcade. And the boring real stuff too."
You turned your hand over, squeezing his fingers. "Boring real stuff sounds good."
"Yeah?" His smile went soft, relieved, and he shifted closer, knee bumping yours. His free hand came up to your waist, pulling you gently until you were half in his lap, legs tangled again. He kissed you slow then, nothing rushed, just lips moving soft, his hand splaying warm on your back. You kissed back, fingers threading through the hair at his nape, tugging lightly when he deepened it a bit. He pulled away just enough to breathe, lips still grazing yours. "This okay?"
"More than okay," you murmured, chasing his mouth for another quick kiss. He smiled into it, then another, hand sliding up your spine, thumb tracing lazy lines. You broke apart for air, but stayed close, foreheads together. "So," you said, poking his chest. "First real date. You picking or me?"
"I owe you that glowing flower," he said, fingers playing with your hair. "But like, from an actual field this time."
You laughed softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Deal. But you're still helping with the garlic."
He groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the pillow and pulling you with him so you landed half on his chest. "Fine. But no emoting when I burn it."
You settled there, ear over his heartbeat, his arms wrapping loose around you. "We'll see."
And you did see, because you saw him burn garlic three more times over the next month, and you emoted every single time, just to watch him get flustered and defensive about it. And the dates weren't like the game. There were no perfectly timed sunsets or fireflies that landed on cue.
Your first real date was at a diner near campus at two in the afternoon because that's when you both had free time between classes. He ordered pancakes and you stole half of them. The syrup was too sweet and the coffee was burnt and it was perfect anyway. You went to an arcade on a Tuesday night because you both thought it would be funny and all the good machines were broken. Heeseung spent twenty bucks trying to win you a stuffed cat from the claw machine and failed every time, just like the game. You ended up buying one from the prize counter with your own money and he carried it around for the rest of the night looking mildly offended. The hiking trail he took you on wasn't the picturesque mountain path from the game. It was a local trail that was mostly flat and next to a highway. You could hear cars the entire time. He tripped over a root and almost took you down with him. But he held your hand the whole way and pointed out a bird he thought was cool, and when you sat on a bench to rest, he kissed you and it tasted like the granola bars you'd been sharing.
You learned things about him that the game had never shown you. That he was grumpy in the mornings and needed at least ten minutes of silence before he could form coherent sentences. That he had a specific way of organizing his desk and got stressed when things were out of place. That he laughed at his own jokes before he finished telling them and it was the most endearing thing you'd ever seen. Meanwhile, he learned that you talked to yourself when you were concentrating, narrating your own thoughts out loud without realizing it. That you had strong opinions about which anime openings were skippable and which were sacred. That you stress baked at midnight and would show up at his dorm at one am with cookies that were still warm and slightly misshapen.
You played League together and he actually did run it down once and you flamed him for fifteen minutes straight. He took you to his favorite boba place and you hated the drink you ordered but drank it anyway because you didn't want to admit you'd made a mistake. He noticed and switched cups with you without saying anything.
And the domestic stuff was better than any game could've captured: grocery shopping together and arguing about which brand of ramen to buy; him falling asleep on your shoulder during study sessions in the library; you stealing his hoodies and him pretending to be annoyed but leaving them at your place on purpose. The way he'd text you random memes at three am just because he thought you'd find them funny. The way you'd save the last bite of your food for him without thinking about it. It was real and messy and nothing like the perfect dates the game had generated. It was so much better.
Three months in, Jungwon decided he wanted to do a pizza night at his place. Make-your-own-pizza, he'd said. It'll be fun, he'd said. He'd assigned everyone tasks and you and Heeseung got stuck with grocery shopping because apparently you were the only ones who could be trusted not to forget something important. Which is how you ended up in the pasta sauce aisle of the grocery store on a Saturday afternoon, having an increasingly heated debate about pizza sauce. "This one has basil already in it," Heeseung said, holding up a jar.
"But that one's too sweet. We need the plain one so we can add our own seasonings." You grabbed a different jar.
"Nobody's going to taste the difference."
"I'm going to taste the difference!"
"Yeah, that's because ou have the most specific opinions about things that don't matter."
"Excuse me, pizza sauce matters. This is important." He looked at you, standing there in your hoodie and jeans with your hair falling out of your bun, holding a jar of pasta sauce like it was a matter of life and death, and he felt something in his chest shift. You'd been arguing about groceries for ten minutes. Before that it had been flour — he'd grabbed all purpose and you'd insisted on bread flour even though Jungwon probably wouldn't care. You had strong opinions about olive oil brands. You'd spent five minutes reading the labels on different types of cheese. It was so mundane and domestic and real and he was so gone for you it was ridiculous.
Heeseung caught your wrist and pulled you back. You turned, surprised, the jar of sauce still in your hand. "What?" He just looked at you for a second. The fluorescent grocery store lighting was terrible and someone's kid was screaming two aisles over and the store radio was playing a compressed version of some pop song from five years ago. Nothing about this moment was romantic or special or anything like the game would've generated.
"You know," he said, "if this was a cooking game, you'd be picking all the wrong action options right now."
You laughed. "What?"
"The wrong sauce. Insisting on fresh garlic when the jarred stuff is right there. Making this way more complicated than it needs to be." He was smiling now, pulling you closer. "You'd be failing the efficiency route."
"Good thing this isn't a game then."
"Yeah." His other hand came up to your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Good thing." You were looking at him with this soft expression, waiting for whatever he was going to say, and Heeseung realized he'd been waiting for the perfect moment for weeks now. The right time, the right place, the right words. But standing in a grocery store on a random Saturday arguing about pizza sauce felt more right than any perfectly rendered sunset could've been. "I love you," he said.
You went very still. "What?"
"I love you." He said it again, steadier this time. "And I want to finally beat fuck ass Girlfriend Simulator. Make it official."
"Heeseung—"
"I want to complete the Girlfriend Simulator route," he continued, and he was grinning now because he could see you trying not to smile. "Get the good ending. Unlock the girlfriend achievement."
You laughed. "You're such a nerd."
"Yeah, I know. so?" He squeezed your hand. "Will you be my girlfriend? For real this time?"
You set the jar of sauce down on the nearest shelf, not even checking if it was the right spot, and kissed him. Right there in the middle of the grocery store with terrible lighting and screaming children and elevator music playing overhead. His arms came around you and you could feel him smiling against your mouth. When you pulled back, you were both grinning like idiots. "Yes," you said. "Obviously yes.”
And you kissed him. His arms came around you and you could feel him smiling against your mouth. You pulled back just a little, hands sliding up to rest on his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. The kiss turned slower then, softer, your lips brushing his again and again like you couldn't quite stop. He made this quiet hum, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking the skin there while the other stayed firm on your waist, keeping you close. Some lady pushed her cart past you both, wheels squeaking on the linoleum, but neither of you moved.
When you finally broke apart, foreheads still touching, you were both breathing a little harder. "I love you too," you said, voice low but steady. "Obviously. And I'm really glad I beat Boyfriend Simulator."
He laughed soft, nose bumping yours. "Wait." His face went serious all of a sudden, eyes narrowing. "That was the name of your game? Boyfriend Simulator?"
"Yeah." You bit your lip, trying not to grin too big. "Jungwon said it was different from Girlfriend Simulator because this one has a multiplayer option."
He shook his head slow, arms still around you, holding you there in the aisle like he wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon. You both just stood there, wrapped up in each other between the shelves of pasta sauce, carts rumbling by, some kid yelling about cereal in the distance. Heeseung stared at you, processing, then let out this quiet groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "I'm going to kill Yang Jungwon."
You laughed into his hair, fingers threading through it at the nape of his neck. "Get in line."
[GAME COMPLETE] GOOD ENDING UNLOCKED: REAL LIFE ROUTE ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: GIRLFRIEND.EXE NEW GAME+ AVAILABLE: THE REST OF YOUR LIVES
♡ when heeseung agrees to test jungwon’s new dating sim game, girlfriend simulator, he expects a dumb, half finished game, until he boots it up on his switch, the screen glitches, and he’s dragged straight into the world he just created. the “girlfriend” character, you, isn’t scripted at all; and heeseung has to figure out how to get out while accidentally developing feelings for a girl who inconveniently does not exist in real life.
♡ pairing: heeseung × fem!reader | ♡ genre: fantasy; romcom; fluff; comedy; light sci fi; college au; game simulator; slow burn; smut (mdni) | ♡ playlist: gameboy - katseye | jellyous - illit | super shy - new jeans | i am shampoo - bibi | turn it up - pinkpantheress | sun and moon - aespa | ♡ wc: 37k
♡ ronnie notes: hi guyssss!! hope you enjoy this fic 🫶 i wanted to make this as a little celebration for hitting 4k followers here hehe i’ve been writing this for a while and i lowkey think it’s about to become my little favorite / comfort fic around here!! i’ve always wanted to write something with a gaming theme because i am a gamer (derogatory) so huge thank you to my sister @iyoonjh and @hoonieyun and @jayflrt for helping me with everything league of legends related because yeah i was dumb enough to write league scenes without ever having played that shit myself lmaoo anyway i really hope you guys like girlfriend simulator
HEESEUNG'S FAVORITE PART OF ANY GAME WAS THE DIALOGUE OPTIONS. Little boxes that told you exactly what to say and exactly what would happen after. Real life should've come with that feature. would've saved him a lot of trouble. He wasn't completely hopeless, though. He had friends, he could hold a conversation if he had to. But there was always this gap between what he meant and what came out, or worse, between what he said and how people reacted to it. Like everyone else had gotten a patch update on social interaction and he was still running on the default version.
Maybe that's why dating never quite worked for him. Every time he tried, he felt like he’d missed a tutorial somewhere. He could talk, sure, and he could be funny when he wanted, but halfway through a conversation he always drifted, like thinking about assignments or projects or that interesting research thread he'd meant to look into. People would smile at him politely, the kind of smile that told him they’d already made up their mind: sweet guy, but not for me.
The last time he'd tried going on a date, he’d barely made it through an hour. He’d checked the timestamp afterwards and realized he’d spent exactly forty eight minutes pretending he wasn't thinking about a bug he’d found in his graphics project. He’d texted Jungwon: "bro i think i fumbled bad." Jungwon had sent back a voice note where he laughed so hard he hiccuped. Comforting, in its own way.
Jungwon was one of like three people Heeseung could be around without keeping a mental checklist of normal things to say. They’d been friends since first year when they got paired on a project and realized they both worked better at two in the morning with no one else around. Jungwon was quiet in the same way Heeseung was, but also completely unhinged when it came to code. He’d get an idea and just lock in for days. So one afternoon, while Heeseung was in the lab pretending to fix code he’d actually broken on purpose because he didn’t want to admit he didn’t understand it, Jungwon walked in with that mischief look. He sat down next to him, opened his laptop, and said, "ok, don’t make fun of me, but I made something."
Heeseung didn’t look up. "Is it stable this time?" which was generous, because Jungwon’s projects were never stable.
"Define stable," Jungwon said, clicking through a folder that had way too many warning icons. "Anyway, it’s a dating sim."
That finally made Heeseung look. "A dating sim? Why?"
"Research." Jungwon always said that when he’d clearly done something for fun and wanted it to sound academic. "It’s called Girlfriend Simulator."
Heeseung stared at him. "That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard."
Jungwon didn’t even blink. "Yeah, I know. But I need someone to test it, and you're the only person who’ll actually give me notes instead of lying to make me feel better."
Heeseung wanted to argue, but he was tired and they had a midterm coming up and honestly he didn't care enough to fight. So he sighed and pushed his chair closer. "Fine. Show me." Jungwon grinned like that was all he’d wanted since morning. He opened the build file, and the screen filled with placeholder art, branching choices, and a character slot labeled "y/n_default." And Heeseung, who was too distracted to think twice, just shrugged.
He had no idea that saying yes to that stupid looking game would end up being the most disastrous decision of his entire academic life.
He only agreed because Jungwon wouldn't shut up about it, and because even with all his complaints, he had this soft spot for him that made it hard to say no. Also, he didn’t have anything better to do on a friday night; the rest of their friends were out, and he wasn't in the mood to socialize. And, honestly, he liked games where he could pretend to be slightly less single than he actually was. It was pathetic, sure, but it wasn't like anyone needed to know.
So later that night, Heeseung sat on his bed with the lights off and his switch on max brightness, which was probably not great for his already questionable sleep schedule but whatever. Jungwon had sent him the build file with a message that just said "lmk if it crashes :)" which was not exactly confidence inspiring, but Heeseung had agreed to this so he couldn't really back out now.
The game booted with this weirdly soft 8 bit lullaby that sounded like it was trying to hypnotize him. The title screen was clean, minimalist, just the words "Girlfriend Simulator" in a font that looked expensive. Heeseung snorted. Jungwon had definitely spent more time on the typography than the actual game mechanics, which tracked. Character customization loaded next, and Heeseung had to admit it was smoother than he expected. The interface was intuitive, the options were detailed, and the hairstyle physics were suspiciously good for something Jungwon had supposedly coded in his free time between problem sets.
He made his character half heartedly. Messy hair because that's what he had in real life and he wasn't creative enough to imagine anything else. A hoodie because hoodies were safe. He picked "student" as his class, and when it came to stats, he maxed out "humor" because he genuinely thought he was funny, even if nobody else seemed to agree. Then he looked at "emotional intelligence" and left it at zero. Honesty was important, right?
The loading screen that followed was surprisingly elegant. Just a slow fade to black with some text that read "Your First Meeting" in delicate script. Heeseung settled back against his pillow, expecting the usual dating sim fare: a classroom, a coffee shop, maybe a cherry blossom tree if Jungwon was feeling cliché.
And then the screen flickered. Just once, quick enough that Heeseung thought maybe it was his eyes. But then it happened again and the lights in his bedroom pulsed in sync, like someone had wired his lamp to the game's framerate. "What the hell," Heeseung said to no one.
The switch started vibrating in his hands. Not the normal rumble feature, but something harder, more insistent, like the controller was trying to shake itself apart. On screen, a figure materialized. The girlfriend character. For a second Heeseung just stared because the sprite work was genuinely impressive. The lighting was too good, the shadows moved wrong. Everything felt almost real in a way that made his skin prickle.
And then the girlfriend, you, turned around. Slowly like you already knew he was watching. Your face came into view and Heeseung's brain did this weird stutter because you didn't look like a game character, you looked like a person, with the kind of detail you didn't get from placeholder art. Heeseung felt this uncomfortable twist in his stomach like he was the one being observed.
Then you spoke. Not with a text box, not with that awkward text to speech voice that indie games always used. Actual audio, clear and warm and way too close for his own good. "You're here!"
Heeseung's hands went cold. The voice didn't sound small or synthetic or compressed. It sounded like someone was standing directly behind him in his dark bedroom, breath on his neck, words in his ear. He whipped around so fast he nearly dropped the switch, but his room was empty. Just his desk and his dying succulent and his pile of laundry that he'd been meaning to deal with for a week. "What the—"
Before he could finish the thought, before he could even process what was happening, the lights in his room popped, like every bulb had blown at once. The screen went pure white, so bright it hurt to look at, and the controller in his hands went from cold to burning hot in the span of a heartbeat. He tried to drop it but his fingers wouldn't move, locked in place like the plastic had fused to his skin. The air pressure in the room shifted. His ears popped like he was in a plane taking off, and he felt this pull, this hook behind his ribs, yanking him forward with a force that didn't make any physical sense. He tried to pull back, tried to let go, tried to do anything, but the world was already dissolving.
The last thing Heeseung managed to think before everything shattered into pixels was that he was going to kill Yang Jungwon.
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that the world was too bright. The grass beneath him looked like high definition fairy dust, each blade catching light in a way that grass absolutely should not. The sky was blue in that aggressive unnatural way that only existed in concept art. Everything was sharp and vivid and wrong. Heeseung sat up slowly, head spinning, and looked down at himself. His clothes had changed. Instead of his worn out hoodie and sweatpants, he was wearing the outfit his avatar had been wearing. The same hoodie he'd picked in character customization but real now, solid and heavy on his shoulders. His hands looked like his hands but also didn't. The proportions were slightly off, the lines a little too clean.
"What the fuck," he said out loud, and his voice sounded normal, which was worse. Everything else was strange but his voice was still his.
"You made it!"
Heeseung's head snapped up. You were someone standing a few feet away, watching him with this expression that was hard to read. Amusement, maybe, or curiosity. Like you'd been waiting for him and was pleased he'd finally shown up. except you weren't a sprite anymore. You were real, or at least as real as anything else in this place. You looked exactly like the character on screen but with dimension now, depth, the subtle movements of someone actually breathing. Your hair moved slightly in a breeze he couldn't feel. You were wearing something casual but put together in that effortless way that Heeseung had never managed to pull off.
You smiled at him, and he felt something weird in his stomach. "Hi," you said, like this was completely normal, like he hadn't just been ripped through a screen into a video game that shouldn't exist. "Nice to meet you!"
Heeseung opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. His brain was doing this thing where it tried to process too many things at once and ended up processing nothing at all. "What," he finally managed, which wasn't even a complete sentence but it was all he had.
"Sorry I'm late," you said, but you didn't sound particularly sorry. "Jungwon said you might be running behind. He's the one who set this up, by the way. Said we'd get along."
Heeseung blinked. "Jungwon... set this up?"
"Yeah, the blind date?" You looked at him like he was being slow on purpose. "He said you needed to get out more. His words, not mine."
And that was such a Jungwon thing to do that Heeseung almost believed it. Almost. Except he was still processing the fact that the world around him looked like someone had turned reality into a video game filter. "This is insane," he muttered under his breath. "This is the most realistic game I've ever—"
"Game?" You interrupted, and your smile faltered just slightly. "I'm not playing games with you."
The way you said it made Heeseung freeze. It wasn't defensive or annoyed, it was sincere like you genuinely meant it, like you had no idea what he was talking about. And that's when it hit him: You could hear him. Not just the dialogue options he was supposed to pick. Everything. his actual thoughts spoken out loud. "Wait," he said slowly, "you heard that?"
"Heard what?"
"Nothing. Never mind." Heeseung cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. He could freak out later. Right now there was a person in front of him — a very real feeling and cute person — and he was being weird. "So. Blind date. Right. Jungwon's idea."
He really looked at you then. You were pretty, in this approachable, comfortable way that made him think maybe he could actually talk to you without saying something catastrophically stupid. You had this ease about you, like you weren't trying too hard, and your eyes had this spark that suggested you were probably smarter than you let on. Basically, you were everything he'd ever put on one of those hypothetical "ideal type" list.
"So," you said, cutting through his thoughts. "Jungwon mentioned you're into games?"
Heeseung tried not to laugh at the irony. "Uh, yeah. You could say that."
"Me too." You brightened, and it was genuine, not that polite interest people usually faked. "I've been replaying persona 5 royal for like the third time. I know, I know, it's excessive."
"No, that's— that's actually really cool," Heeseung said, and he meant it. "Most people don't get the appeal of replaying stuff."
"Right?" You gestured as you talked, animated in a way that made him want to keep listening. "Everyone's like 'you already know the story' but that's not the point. It's about the experience, the details you missed, trying different builds—"
A notification sound chimed softly in the air between you. Heeseung jumped. You didn't react. In the corner of his vision, barely perceptible, text appeared: romantic interest +5. common interests discovered.
Oh. Oh no. This was a dating sim. An actual, literal dating sim. And he was living it.
"You okay?" You asked, tilting your head slightly.
"Yeah, totally fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thought I heard something."
You nodded, accepting this easily, and then said, "Do you want to walk? There's this spot by the lake that's really nice."
"Sure," Heeseung said, because what else was he going to say?
You started down a path that looked hand painted, every stone deliberately placed, every flower color coordinated. You reached the lake, which was absurdly picturesque, and sat down on a bench that looked like it had been placed there specifically for this moment. Probably because it had. Heeseung sat next to you, not too close but not weirdly far either, and tried to act like this was normal. "Oh," you said suddenly, looking up. "Look at that." Heeseung followed your gaze. There was a flower growing on a low hanging branch, except it wasn't growing so much as hovering there, pulsing slightly with a soft golden glow. It bobbed up and down in a loop, the universal sign of an interactive object. You didn't seem to notice anything weird about it. "That's pretty," you said. "I've never seen a flower like that before."
Heeseung stared at it. The glow intensified slightly, like it was trying to get his attention, like it was waiting for him to do something. Oh god. This is a prompt. He was supposed to pick the flower and give it to you, that's how this worked. That's how you earned affection points or route progression or whateverJungwon had programmed into this thing. So he stood up. "I'll get it for you."
"You don't have to—"
"No, I want to," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was somehow worse. He reached up and plucked the flower from the branch. It came away easily, and the moment his fingers closed around the stem, the glow faded into something softer, more natural. It looked real now. I mean, it felt real. He turned back to you and held it out, suddenly aware of how much this looked like a scene from every romance movie he'd ever suffered through, not that he suffered through many. "Here," he said.
You took it, and your fingers brushed his for just a second. You looked down at the flower, then back up at him, and your smile was so genuinely happy that Heeseung forgot for a moment that this was supposed to be a game. "Thank you," you said. "That's really sweet."
The notifications stacked in his peripheral vision, and Heeseung felt something between triumph and existential dread. "It's just a flower," he said.
"Maybe," you said, twirling it between your fingers. "But it's the thought that counts, right?" And the worst part was that you seemed to actually believe that. You weren't reading from a script or following programmed responses. You felt real, real enough that Heeseung was starting to forget why that should scare him.
You tucked the flower behind your ear, adjusting it carefully, and Heeseung had to physically stop himself from saying something embarrassing about how that was probably the prettiest thing he'd seen all week. He sat back down on the bench, leaving what he hoped was an appropriate amount of space between you. "So," you said, tilting your head. "What do you do for fun? Besides picking flowers for girls in parks."
Heeseung felt his face get warm. "I don't— that's not a thing I do regularly."
"Shame. You're good at it." You were grinning now, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. "Come on, tell me. What's your thing?"
"Uh. Games, mostly. I play a lot of games, like Jungwon said."
Your eyes lit up immediately. "Oh yeah! What kind?"
"Mostly League. Some RPGs. Anything competitive, I guess." He expected the usual response, the polite nod and change of subject that he got whenever he mentioned gaming to people.
Instead, you leaned forward, genuinely interested. "Wait, you play League? What's your main?"
Heeseung blinked. "You play League?"
"Obviously. Answer the question."
"I mean, I play mid usually. Zed, Leblanc, that kind of thing." He was still processing the fact that you not only knew what League was but apparently played it. "What about you?"
"Support. I'm a Janna main and i'm not ashamed of it." You said it with this defiant pride that made Heeseung want to laugh. "I know, I know, support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."
romantic interest +10. shared interests discovered: league of legends.
Heeseung felt something shift in his chest. He'd never met someone who got it like this. Who understood that games weren't just mindless button mashing but actual strategy and skill. "What rank are you?" He asked.
"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and kind of gave up on the grind." You made a face. "What about you?"
"Diamond 3." Heeseung said, oddly proud of himself but pretending he wasn't.
"Oh, so you're actually good." You looked impressed, which made Heeseung feel ridiculously more pleased with himself. "We should play together sometime."
"Yeah, definitely," Heeseung said, and then remembered that this was a game and there probably wasn't a 'sometime' outside of this moment. The thought made something in his stomach twist uncomfortably. You shifted on the bench, getting more comfortable, and somehow ended up closer to him. And just like that, you were off. Heeseung found himself talking more than he had in weeks, and you had opinions, strong ones, and you weren't afraid to argue with him when you disagreed. But it wasn't hostile or competitive, it was fun. At some point, you started talking about other games too. You mentioned playing Stardew Valley when you wanted something relaxing, getting unreasonably invested in Hollow Knight, rage quitting dark souls three times before finally beating it. "I'm not good at souls games," you admitted. "I panic dodge. I know you're supposed to learn the patterns but my brain just goes 'roll roll roll' and then I die."
Heeseung laughed. "That's valid. I did the same thing my first playthrough."
"Really? You seem like you'd be one of those people who does no hit runs for fun."
"Absolutely not. I died to the tutorial boss in Elden Ring."
You gasped, mockingly scandalized. "No you didn't."
"I really did. it Took me like fifteen tries." You were laughing now, the kind of laugh that made your whole face light up, and Heeseung felt ridiculously proud that he'd caused it. There was something about making you laugh that felt like winning.
romantic interest +8. humor appreciated.
You kept talking, jumping from topic to topic with the kind of ease that Heeseung had only ever experienced with Jungwon or Jake at best. Except this was different because you were looking at him like everything he said was interesting, like you actually wanted to hear his thoughts on whether the Death Note ending was satisfying or if Eren from Attack on Titan was justified. The sun was properly setting now, painting everything in warm colors. there were fireflies starting to appear, floating lazily through the air in a way that was definitely too perfect to be natural. Heeseung watched one drift past your face, and you reached out to let it land on your finger. "Pretty," you said softly, watching it glow.
Heeseung was looking at you, at the flower still tucked behind your ear and the way the sunset caught in your hair and the small smile on your face as you watched the firefly. "Yeah," he said. "Really pretty." You glanced at him and caught him staring. For a second, Heeseung thought he'd made it weird, but then you smiled, almost shy, and looked back at the firefly.
romantic interest +15. moment shared.
The firefly flew off, and you watched it go before turning back to him. "Hey, can I tell you something?" He nodded so you kept going. "I wasn't really sure about coming today. I almost canceled, actually." You pulled at a thread on your sleeve, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm not great at the whole meeting new people thing. I always feel like I'm going to say something weird and scare them off."
"You're not weird," Heeseung said automatically.
"You literally just met me. I could be extremely weird."
"Okay, but like, good weird. The kind of weird that's actually interesting." Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain it. "Most people just want to talk about surface level stuff, you know? But you actually have things you care about."
You looked at him for a long moment, and Heeseung couldn't read your expression. Then you smiled, soft and genuine. "You're really nice, you know that?"
"I'm really not," Heeseung said, but he was smiling too.
"Yes you are. You're nice and you're a good listener and you have good taste in games." You counted off on your fingers. "That's like, three whole good qualities. Most people don't even have one."
There was a moment of comfortable silence where you just sat there, watching the fireflies multiply in the growing dusk. Heeseung thought about how easy this felt, how he wasn't checking the time or looking for excuses to leave. How he kind of never wanted this to end.
You turned your head to look at him. "So do you want to do this again? Like, another time?"
Heeseung's heart did a weird jump in his chest. "Like another date?"
"Yeah. If you want. No pressure or anything." You said it casually, but Heeseung could see the hint of nervousness in the way you weren't quite meeting his eyes. "I just think it'd be fun to hang out more. Maybe we could actually play League together or something."
Every logical part of Heeseung's brain was screaming that this was a bad idea. That he should figure out how to exit this game and go back to real life and deal with the fact that he'd just spent hours in a virtual reality dating sim. But the less logical part, the part that was currently winning, wanted to see you again. Wanted to hear you laugh more. Wanted to keep talking about stupid stuff that mattered to him and apparently mattered to you too. "Yeah," he heard himself say. "Definitely, yeah, I'd really like that."
Your smile was so bright it could've competed with the fireflies. "Okay. It's a date then."
romantic interest +20. second date confirmed. route progression: 15% complete.
And then, without any warning at all, the world started to blur at the edges. The colors bled together, the sounds got muffled and distant, and Heeseung felt that same pulling sensation from before. Like someone had hooked a line to his chest and was reeling him back. "Wait— " he started to say, reaching out instinctively. You were looking at him with concern, mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what you were saying anymore. Everything was dissolving into static and white light and that horrible feeling of falling. The last thing he saw before everything went black was your face, still worried, still perfect, with that flower tucked behind your ear. Then he was gasping awake in his dark bedroom, switch controller still hot in his hands, his heart racing. The screen showed a save menu: progress saved. continue tomorrow?
His hands were shaking. "What the hell," Heeseung said to his empty room.
And he barely slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the park, the fireflies, your smile. he kept reaching for memories that felt too solid to be from a game. By the time his alarm went off, he'd already been awake for an hour, staring at his ceiling and trying to convince himself that he hadn't just experienced the most elaborate hallucination of his life.
He found Jungwon in their usual spot in the computer lab, hunched over his laptop with his headphones on, nodding along to whatever he was listening to. There were three empty energy drink cans next to him, which meant he'd probably been there since before sunrise. Heeseung dropped his bag on the desk with more force than necessary. Jungwon jumped, pulling his headphones down. "Jesus, dude. Learn to announce yourself like a normal person."
"We need to talk about your game," Heeseung said.
Jungwon's face lit up. "Oh my god, you played it! what'd you think? Was she cute? Did you get to the part with the—"
"Jungwon." Heeseung sat down, leaning forward. "What the hell did you put in that thing?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean it was way too real." Heeseung ran his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain something that sounded insane even in his own head. "It felt like I was actually inside the game."
Jungwon frowned. "Wait, you used a VR headset or something?"
"No, I just played it normally! On my switch, in my room." Heeseung could hear how crazy he sounded but he kept going anyway. "But it wasn't like regular gameplay. It was like the game pulled me in. I could smell things, Jungwon."
Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly took a sip of his energy drink. "Bro. You got that invested in it?"
"I'm not— that's not what I'm saying."
"You literally just described sensory immersion that doesn't exist yet." Jungwon was grinning now. "Holy shit, you're actually down bad. You played a dating sim for like two hours and now you're having full vivid memories about it."
"It wasn't like that," Heeseung insisted, but even he could hear how weak it sounded.
"Dude, you need to get an actual girlfriend. Like, a real one. Made of flesh and blood and everything." Jungwon was trying not to laugh and failing. "Look, I'm glad you liked it. Genuinely. But maybe we should set you up with someone real before you completely lose touch with reality." Heeseung slumped back in his chair. Maybe Jungwon was right. Maybe he had just gotten way too into it. Maybe his brain had filled in details that weren't actually there because he was that desperate for connection. "I'm not judging! Okay, maybe I'm judging a little bit, but I'm also proud. My game is so good it's causing psychological breaks from reality." Jungwon looked genuinely pleased with himself. "Okay, but if you're playing tonight, there's something you should know."
"What?"
"The second date has a mini game. Like, a fight sequence."
Heeseung blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"A fighting mini game."
"Why the fuck does a dating simulator have a fighting mini game?"
Jungwon shrugged. "I thought it'd be fun. Adds variety and keeps things interesting."
"That makes absolutely no sense. What am I supposed to be fighting?"
"You'll see," Jungwon said, and his smile was deeply suspicious.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting. I'm not spoiling my own game." Jungwon turned back to his laptop. "Just make sure you've been keeping up with your stats. You're gonna need decent strength and agility."
"I maxed out humor and left emotional intelligence at zero."
Jungwon turned around slowly. "You what."
"What! I was being honest about my abilities!"
"Heeseung. My guy. My dude." Jungwon looked pained. "You're supposed to actually try to build a good character."
"My character is fine."
"Your character is going to get his ass kicked." Jungwon pulled up something on his laptop, clicked around for a second, then shook his head. "Okay, you know what? It's fine. You'll figure it out. The game has adaptive difficulty anyway."
Heeseung really looked at Jungwon. "Adaptive difficulty in a dating sim."
"In the fighting portion, yeah. The dating part is all you, buddy. That's pure skill based."
Heeseung wanted to argue that there was something deeply wrong with Jungwon's game design philosophy, but he also kind of wanted to know what the hell happened on the second date that required combat stats. "Is she going to be there?" He asked. "During the fight thing?"
"Obviously. It's her date." Jungwon was smirking now. "Why, you worried about impressing her?"
"No."
"You're totally worried about impressing her. A girl who doesn't exist."
Heeseung threw a pen at him. Jungwon dodged it without even looking up from his screen. And the rest of the day dragged. Heeseung went to his classes and took notes and nodded at the appropriate times, but his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about the park. About the way you'd looked at him when he gave you the flower. About how easy it had been to talk to you. He knew it was just a game. He knew you were just code, just a really well designed character or whatever that Jungwon had somehow made feel real. But knowing that didn't stop him from wanting to see you again.
By the time he got back to his dorm that night, he'd already decided he was playing regardless of how pathetic it made him look. He grabbed his switch, plugged in his headphones even though he hadn't used them last time, and loaded up the save file. The screen flickered once. Twice. Here we go again, Heeseung thought. And then the world tilted, and he was falling forward into light. When the world stopped spinning and Heeseung's vision cleared, he wasn't in a park this time. He was sitting in a desk chair, his own desk chair. In what looked exactly like his dorm room, except cleaner, way cleaner. His laundry wasn't on the floor and his desk wasn't covered in empty energy drink cans. His monitor was on, displaying his league of legends home screen, and his keyboard had that soft RGB glow that looked way more expensive than his actual setup.
"Okay," Heeseung said to the empty room. "This is new." His phone — or the game's version of his phone — buzzed on the desk. He picked it up and saw a discord notification.
you: you're online! finally
you: i've been waiting like ten minutes
you: i was starting to think you ghosted me
Heeseung's heart did that stupid jump thing again. He typed back quickly.
heeseung: sorry, just got on
heeseung: ready when you are
His discord pinged with an incoming call. He stared at it for a second, then clicked accept. "There you are," your voice came through his headphones, clear and warm and doing absolutely nothing good for his heart rate. "I thought you bailed on me."
"I wouldn't do that," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was concerning considering you were a video game character.
"Good. Because I already said we were playing together and if you didn't show up i would've looked stupid." Heeseung could hear the smile in your voice. on his second monitor — since when did he have a second monitor? — a small window popped up showing your avatar. It was cute, some anime style drawing with the same flower from yesterday tucked behind the character's ear. "Okay, so I set up a custom game. Two versus two," you said.
"Sounds good. Who are we playing against?"
There was a pause. "Okay, so don't freak out, but it's my exes."
Heeseung's hand froze on his mouse. "I'm sorry, what?"
"My ex boyfriends. Both of them. They wanted a rematch from last time." You said it so casually, like this was a completely normal thing. "They're kind of toxic about League. They got really mad when I beat them."
"You want me to play League against your ex boyfriends?"
"Technically we're playing against them together as a team. Bonding activity!" You sounded way too cheerful about this. "Come on, It'll be fun. Plus i really want to beat them again. They've been talking shit in the group chat all week."
quest unlocked: defend your girlfriend's honor (in league of legends) | objective: win the 2v2 match | optional objective: make her exes regret queueing up
The notification appeared in the corner of his vision and Heeseung had to resist the urge to laugh. This was insane. This entire situation was insane. But he went for it anyway. "Okay," he said. "Let's do it." the invite popped up and Heeseung accepted. The lobby loaded and he could see the other two players: "toxicking" and "yourworstnightmare" which were possibly the most obnoxious usernames he'd ever seen. "Those are real people you dated?" Heeseung asked.
"Unfortunately. My taste in men used to be really bad." You paused. "It's gotten better though." Heeseung tried not to smile and failed completely.
The chat lobby loaded and immediately one of them started typing.
toxicking: oh look who showed up
toxicking: brought a new victim i see
yourworstnightmare: this gonna be quick lol
"They're always like this," you said, sounding tired. "Just mute them if they get annoying."
"I'm fine," Heeseung said. "I've dealt with worse in solo queue."
"Ooh, confident. I like it."
romantic interest +5. confidence appreciated.
You locked in Janna, just like you'd said yesterday. Heeseung hovered over Zed for a second, then switched to Leblanc. If this was going to be a two versus two, he wanted mobility and burst damage. The game loaded, Heeseung cracked his knuckles and adjusted his grip on his mouse. "Okay, game plan," you said. "I keep you alive, you delete them. Simple." The match started and immediately the other team was in all chat. Heeseung checked their champions. Yasuo and Yone. Of course they were playing the flashy high skill ceiling champions. He would've bet money they had mastery 7 emotes ready to spam. "They always play like this," you said. "Super aggressive, trying to outplay everything. It's kind of predictable once you get used to it." The minions spawned and both teams moved forward. Heeseung played it safe at first, watching how the exes moved, learning their patterns. And then suddenly, first blood!
"THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT," you shouted, and Heeseung couldn't help but grin.
toxicking: wtf
toxicking: that was lag
yourworstnightmare: ur getting carried
yourworstnightmare: ur duo is doing everything
"He's salty," you said, laughing. "This is great." The match continued and it became increasingly clear that Heeseung and you had better coordination. You'd shield him right before he went in. You moved together like you'd been playing as a duo for months. "Behind you," you called out, and Heeseung instantly dodged. It wasn't even close. By fifteen minutes, the score was 15 to 3, and Heeseung had more kills than both of the exes combined.
toxicking: this is bullshit
toxicking: whoever this guy is he's probably smurfing
yourworstnightmare: yeah no way he's actually this rank
toxicking: fucking carried loser
"They're so mad," you said, and you sounded absolutely delighted. "Oh my god, they're so mad. This is the best day of my life."
Heeseung was grinning so hard his face hurt. "Should we end it?"
"Absolutely, yeah. Let's make it hurt." You pushed mid together. Heeseung went in first, deleting the Yasuo instantly. You polymorphed the Yone, and Heeseung finished him off before the polymorph even ended. The nexus exploded.
victory! +50 romantic interest. victory achieved. quest completed. achievement unlocked: better than her exes (at league of legends)
Heeseung leaned back in his chair, feeling more satisfied than he had any right to feel about a video game within a video game. "That felt good."
"Right? God, I've been wanting to do that for weeks." You sighed happily. "You're really good, by the way. You weren't kidding about being diamond."
"I don't really joke about my rank."
"Noted. Confidence is earned." There was a pause. "Hey, want to play another one? Just us this time?"
Heeseung absolutely should not spend more time in this game. He should log off and go to sleep and maybe talk to a therapist about why he was emotionally investing in a dating simulator. "Yeah," he said instead. "Let's play another."
You made a happy sound that did dangerous things to his chest. "Okay! I'll make the lobby.” Your laugh was bright and genuine and perfect. "I knew you were my type."
You played two more games and won both of them. When you finally left the lobby, Heeseung realized he'd been playing for almost two hours. His hands were sore from gripping the mouse and his face hurt from smiling. "Hey," you said, your voice softer now. "Thanks for playing with me. And for, you know, obliterating my exes. That was really fun."
"Anytime," Heeseung said, and meant it. "This was really fun. I don't usually have this much fun playing league."
"Me neither," you admitted. "Usually it's just people being toxic or trying too hard. But this was nice. You're nice." There was a comfortable silence, just the sound of both of you breathing through the discord call. Heeseung looked at his monitor, at the League client, at the clean version of his room that didn't exist in real life. "So," you said eventually. "Same time next week?"
Heeseung's chest tightened. "Yeah. Definitely."
"Cool. It's a date." You paused. "Well, another date. Our third date. Okay. Well. I should probably get going. Okay. Goodnight, Heeseung."
"Goodnight." The discord call ended and Heeseung sat there in the quiet of his too clean room, staring at his monitor. The screen started to blur at the edges, colors bleeding together again. Here we go again, he thought, again.
progress saved. route progression: 30% complete.
And this whole thing it became a routine faster than Heeseung wanted to admit. He'd go to class, take notes he barely remembered, nod at Jungwon when they crossed paths in the lab, and then he'd go straight back to his dorm. Dinner was whatever he could eat with one hand because he was already booting up the switch with the other. Jake, his roommate, asked him once if he was okay, and Heeseung said he was fine, just really into this new game. Which was technically true, even if it didn't come close to explaining what was actually happening.
The third date was at an arcade. Not a real arcade, obviously, but the game's version of one. You showed up wearing this oversized hoodie and jeans and you looked so genuinely excited to be there that Heeseung forgot for a solid minute that none of this was real. The mission was simple: win you a prize from the claw machine. Except the claw machine was rigged in that way that all claw machines are rigged, and it took Heeseung fifteen tries before he finally got the stuffed cat you'd been eyeing. When he handed it to you, you hugged it to your chest and smiled at him like he'd just won you something actually valuable, and the notification that popped up said his charm stat had increased by ten points. He was starting to understand how the game worked now; every interaction mattered and every choice added up.
On the fourth date, you took him to a bookstore, and the mission was to pick out a book for each other. You spent almost an hour wandering through the aisles, pulling out books and reading the backs and showing him things you thought he'd like. You picked him this SciFi novel about time loops and said it reminded you of him because he seemed like someone who'd want to figure out how to break the system. He didn't know how to tell you that he was currently living in something that felt suspiciously like a time loop, so he just took the book and thanked you. He picked you a fantasy novel with a really detailed magic system. When you read the description your whole face lit up and you immediately added it to your reading list. His intelligence stat increased and so did the romantic interest meter, which was now sitting at somewhere close to seventy percent.
Date five was a cooking challenge in your apartment, which Heeseung didn't even know you had until he loaded into the game and found himself standing in a kitchen that looked like it came out of an interior design magazine. You were already there, tying your hair back, explaining that you'd challenged him to see who could make the better pasta. Heeseung had never cooked pasta in his life that didn't come from a box with instructions, but he wasn't about to admit that. The mission objective said to impress you with his cooking skills, which seemed optimistic given his actual skill level, but he tried anyway. He burned the garlic immediately. You laughed at him but not in a mean way, more like you thought it was endearing that he was trying. You ended up helping him, standing close enough that he could smell your perfume, guiding his hands when he didn't know how much salt to add. Your pasta turned out better than his but you ate his anyway and said it wasn't that bad, and his cooking stat went from zero to fifteen which felt generous but he wasn't complaining.
By date seven Heeseung's character stats had changed completely. His confidence was maxed out now, sitting at ninety five out of a hundred. his charm was at eighty. Even his emotional intelligence had somehow climbed to sixty despite him never actively trying to level it up. The game was keeping track of everything, he realized. Every time he listened to you talk about something you cared about, every time he remembered a small detail you'd mentioned, every time he made you laugh, the numbers went up. He was being rewarded for paying attention, for caring.
Date seven was a hiking trail that wound up a mountain to a viewpoint. The mission was just to reach the top together, which sounded simple except the trail was longer than expected. Heeseung offered to take a break but you said you wanted to keep going, you wanted to see the view. So you kept climbing and Heeseung found himself naturally slowing his pace to match yours, offering his hand on the steeper parts, pointing out interesting rocks or plants just to give you reasons to stop and catch his breath, because the game kept showing pop ups of him showing that his hydration meter was almost on 10%. When you finally reached the top the sun was setting and the view was objectively incredible, the kind of thing that didn't exist in real life because real life didn't have rendering engines that could make every cloud perfect. You sat down on the bench at the summit and Heeseung sat next to you and you leaned your head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"This is nice," you said quietly. "I'm glad you're here."
"Me too," Heeseung said, and he meant it so completely it scared him.
"You know, when we first met, I wasn't sure if this would work out. I didn't like the idea of a blind date." You were looking out at the view, not at him. "But I think I was wrong. I think we make sense together."
The romantic interest meter hit ninety percent and a new notification appeared: relationship milestone approaching. prepare for confession sequence. Heeseung's stomach dropped. Confession sequence. That meant the game was building toward something, toward an ending. toward him having to either commit or walk away. He'd known this was coming, obviously, this was a dating sim, the whole point was to get to the confession. But now that it was actually happening he wasn't ready. He didn't want this to end. He wanted to keep going on dates and learning things about you and making you laugh and existing in this space where things made sense.
"Hey," you said, turning to look at him. "You okay? You got quiet."
"Yeah, I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thinking."
"About what?"
About how you're not real, he didn't say. About how I'm going to have to leave eventually and you'll just be code again. About how I'm way too invested in something that was only supposed to be a game. "About how nice this is," he said instead.
You smiled and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. "Yeah. It really is." You sat there until the sun finished setting and the stars came out, which happened too fast because game time didn't move like real time. When the world started to blur at the edges and Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation, you squeezed his hand once before letting go. "See you next time," you said, and your voice was already fading.
Heeseung woke up at his desk again, neck sore, hands cramped around the controller. His phone showed it was three in the morning. He had class in five hours. He should sleep. He should eat something. He should probably shower because he wasn't sure he'd done that today. Instead he looked at the switch screen. progress saved. route progression: 90% complete. next date: confession sequence available.
The next day, Heeseung found Jungwon in the same spot as always, corner desk in the computer lab with three monitors running different programs simultaneously. Heeseung dropped into the chair next to him hard enough that Jungwon jumped. "What happens after the confession?" Heeseung asked without preamble.
Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"
"In your game. What happens after the confession scene. I need to know."
"Oh, you're at that part already?" Jungwon's eyebrows went up. "Uh, I don't know if i should tell you though. Spoilers and all that."
"Jungwon."
"I'm serious! The whole point of a game is discovering it yourself. If I tell you what happens it ruins the experience." Jungwon was grinning now, clearly enjoying this. "You're supposed to go in blind and make your choices based on what feels right in the moment."
Heeseung resisted the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "I just want to know what to expect. Is there a good ending? A bad ending? Multiple endings?"
"There are multiple endings, yeah. Depends on your choices throughout the game and your final stats." Jungwon tilted his head, studying him. "Why are you so stressed about this? It's just a game. If you get a bad ending you can just reload and try again."
"I don't want to reload," Heeseung said, and he could hear how intense he sounded but couldn't seem to stop. "I want to get it right the first time."
Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly set down his drink. "Okay, you need to be honest with me right now. How much have you been playing this game?"
"I don't know. A few hours a day."
"Heeseung."
"Okay, maybe more than a few hours."
"How many hours are we talking? Ballpark estimate."
Heeseung did the mental math and immediately regretted it. "I don't think that's relevant."
"Oh my god, you're obsessed." Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking somewhere between amused and concerned. "Dude, it's a dating sim. A fictional dating sim. With a fictional girl who doesn't exist. You know that, right? You know she's not real?"
"Obviously I know that," Heeseung said defensively, even though there were moments when he forgot, when you felt so real that it didn't matter what you were made of.
"Do you though? Because you look like you haven't slept in three days." Jungwon was trying to be lighthearted about it but there was genuine worry underneath. "I made the game to be immersive but this is kind of next level." Jungwon paused. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask. Do you have the save file on your switch?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Can I see it? I want to check something." Jungwon was already pulling out a cable from his bag. "I've been trying to track some of the game metrics and I want to see how your playthrough data looks. Might help me optimize things for the final build." Heeseung hesitated for a second, then pulled out his switch and handed it over. Jungwon connected it to his laptop and started pulling up files, his eyes scanning lines of code that moved too fast for Heeseung to follow. "Okay so your save file shows you're at ninety percent completion, which tracks," Jungwon muttered, clicking through folders. "Romance points are maxed, most of your stats are really high except wisdom which is still somehow at like twenty, but that's on you for ignoring all the library study sessions —" He stopped mid-sentence. "Wait."
"What?"
"Hang on." Jungwon leaned closer to his screen, scrolling through something. his expression shifted from curious to confused to something that looked almost worried. "This doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't make sense?"
"These files. There are scripts here that I didn't write." Jungwon opened another window, comparing code side by side. "Like, entire dialogue trees that don't exist in my original build. And these asset files, I definitely didn't create these. The arcade date was supposed to be at a generic arcade but your file shows custom assets for specific machines."
Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Maybe you forgot you added them?"
"I don't forget code I write, Heeseung. That's not how this works." Jungwon was scrolling faster now, opening more files. "And look at this, the dating locations are generating based on your preferences. I programmed like five set locations but your save file has seven different ones and they're all places that align with interests you've demonstrated in gameplay." He clicked on something else. "Oh this is weird. Really weird."
"What?"
"The dialogue system. I built it to pull from a database of pre written responses with some randomization for variety, but this–-" Jungwon gestured at the screen. "This is learning. It's analyzing your responses and generating new dialogue options that don't exist in my database. It's writing its own conversations."
"Is that bad?"
"It's not bad, it's impossible. I didn't program that. I don't even know how to program that." Jungwon looked up at him, and for the first time since Heeseung had known him, he looked genuinely unsettled. "Your game is developing its own code."
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of the computer lab's ventilation system and the clicking of someone's mechanical keyboard a few desks over. "Is that dangerous?" Heseung asked.
"I don't know. Probably not? I mean, it's still just a game. It's not like it can affect anything outside of itself." Jungwon didn't sound entirely convinced though. "But it's definitely something I need to look into. This could be a massive bug or it could be the framework doing something really innovative that I didn't anticipate."
"But the game still works, right? Like, I can still finish it?"
Jungwon gave him a look. "You're really determined to finish this thing, aren't you?"
"I'm ninety percent through. I'm not stopping now."
"Even knowing that the game is apparently developing sentience or whatever?"
"It's not sentient, it's just adaptive," Heeseung said, trying to sound convincing.
Jungwon sighed and unplugged the switch, handing it back to him. "Okay, fine. But I'm keeping a copy of your save data so I can analyze this more. And maybe after you're done we can talk about what's actually happening here because this is either a huge breakthrough in game design or a really concerning glitch and I genuinely can't tell which." Heeseung nodded, pocketing the switch. "And Heeseung?" Jungwon's expression was serious now. "Be careful with the confession sequence. I know you want to get it right but just remember that at the end of the day it's still a program. It's responding to inputs and generating outputs. It's not actually feeling anything."
Heeseung nodded, but he was thinking about the way you'd looked at him during the sunset on the hiking date or about how your smile seemed genuinely happy when he won you the stuffed cat. "Right," he said. "Yeah, I know that." Jungwon didn't look convinced, and honestly, Heeseung wasn't either.
By the time he got back to his dorm that evening, he'd made a decision. He was going to finish the game. He was going to do the confession sequence. And he was going to be honest, say what he actually felt, because even if you were just code, the feelings were real, his feelings were real. That had to count for something. So he sat down at his desk, picked up his switch, and loaded the save file. the screen showed the usual menu: Continue, Load, Settings. He selected continue and the familiar loading screen appeared with its soft music and the progress bar that now read ninety percent. The world loaded and Heeseung found himself standing in front of a location marker that hadn't been there before. It was highlighted in gold and pulsing softly, and when he walked up to it, a notification appeared.
final date available: confession sequence. proceed?
Heeseung took a breath, his actual physical breath in his actual room, and then pressed yes. The world reformed around him and he was standing outside an apartment building he recognized as yours. The sun was setting, painting everything in warm golden light. His outfit had changed without him doing anything; he was wearing a button up shirt now, dark jeans, shoes that were nicer than anything he owned in real life. His hair felt different too, like someone had styled it properly instead of his usual routine of running his fingers through it and hoping for the best. And then a notification appeared:
quest: the perfect date. objective: confess your feelings. bonus objective: make it memorable.
current stats — confidence: 95. charm: 80. emotional intelligence: 60. romantic interest: 90%.
Heeseung looked at the apartment door and a dialogue option popped up floating in his vision.
> knock on the door > text her that you're here > wait for her to come down
He selected the first option because knocking felt more personal, more intentional. He walked up to the door and knocked three times, and there was this weird moment where he could feel his heart actually racing even though he was pretty sure his real body was just sitting in a chair holding a controller. The door opened and you were there, and Heeseung forgot how to think for a second. You were wearing a dress, which he'd never seen you in before. It wasn't overly fancy, just simple and nice and it suited you in a way that made his chest tight. Your hair was down and you'd clearly put in effort and you looked nervous in a way that made him want to tell you that you had nothing to be nervous about. "Hi," you said, and you were smiling but there was something uncertain in it.
dialogue options: > you look really pretty > ready to go? > sorry, am i early?
Heeseung picked the first one without hesitating. "You look really pretty," he said, and his voice came out steadier than he expected.
Your smile got more genuine, less nervous. "Yeah? I wasn't sure if this was too much. You didn't tell me where we were going."
"It's perfect," Heeseung said, even though he also didn't know where you were going.
romance +5. successful compliment.
You grabbed your bag and locked the door behind you, and when you turned back to him there was this moment where Heeseung almost offered his hand but wasn't sure if that was too much. The game solved the problem for him by providing another choice.
action options: > offer your arm > walk beside her casually > hold her hand
He selected the first one, old fashioned but confident, and held out his arm. You looked at it for a second and then smiled and took it, linking your arm through his, and suddenly you were walking together down the street like this was something you did all the time. "So where are we going?" You asked, looking up at him.
"This place I found," Heeseung said, even though he hadn't found anything because this was a game and the location was predetermined. "I thought you'd like it."
The restaurant, when you got there, was the kind of place Heeseung had only seen in movies. Small and intimate with soft lighting and candles on every table and windows that looked out over the city. There was a host at the front who smiled at them like he'd been expecting them, and he led them to a table by the window without Heeseung having to say anything. You sat down across from him and looked around, eyes wide. "Heeseung, this place is really nice. You didn't have to do all this."
dialogue options: > i wanted to > you deserve it > it's not that fancy
He picked the second one. "you deserve it," he said, and you looked at him with this expression he couldn't quite read but that made something warm settle in his chest. The waiter came by with menus and Heeseung noticed that all the food options had little stat indicators next to them. Ordering the pasta would give a +5 to sophistication. The steak was +8 to confidence. The wine selection had various charisma bonuses. It was surreal, sitting in what looked like a real restaurant while video game mechanics floated at the edge of his vision. "What are you thinking about?" You asked, and Heeseung realized he'd been quiet for too long.
dialogue options: > just trying to decide what to order > thinking about how nice this is > thinking about you
The third option felt too direct, too soon, so he went with the second. "Just thinking about how nice this is," he said. "Being here with you."
You smiled and looked down at your menu, and Heeseung could see the faint blush on your cheeks. "Yeah. It is nice." You both ordered food and fell into easy conversation. You told him about something funny that happened in your class and he told you about nearly falling asleep during a lecture that morning. The food came and it was actually good, or at least the game's version of good, and Heeseung found himself relaxing into the moment.
Halfway through dinner, you reached across the table and stole a bite of his food without asking. It was casual and comfortable and exactly the kind of thing you'd done on previous dates, but this time when you pulled back, Heeseung caught your hand before you could fully retreat.
action options: > hold her hand > let go after a moment > bring her hand to your lips (high risk)
His confidence stat was at ninety five. He picked the first option and just held your hand there on the table, his fingers laced through yours, and you looked surprised for a second before your expression softened into something that looked almost relieved. "Is this okay?" Heeseung asked quietly.
"Yeah," you said, and your voice was just as quiet. "This is okay."
You finished dinner like that, hands linked across the table, and Heeseung had never felt more present in a moment that he knew wasn't technically real. When the waiter brought the check, Heeseung paid without looking at it, because, well, that wasn't his real money. And you didn't protest, just squeezed his hand once and smiled. Outside the restaurant, the city had transformed into its night version. String lights hung between buildings and the streetlamps cast everything in a warm glow. There was soft music coming from somewhere, ambient and atmospheric. "Do you want to walk for a bit?" You asked. "I'm not really ready to go home yet."
dialogue options: > absolutely > whatever you want > i was hoping you'd say that
Heeseung picked the last one. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said, and you laughed and pulled him down the street, still holding his hand.
You walked through the city without any real destination, just moving together, and Heeseung was hyperaware of every point of contact between you. Your hand in his, the occasional brush of your shoulder against his arm, the way you'd lean into him slightly when you laughed at something he said. Eventually you led him to a park that Heeseung didn't remember seeing before. It was mostly empty at this time of night, just a few NPCs scattered around looking decorative. There was a fountain in the center and benches arranged around it, and you pulled him toward one of the benches and sat down, tugging him down next to you. You didn't let go of his hand. "Can I tell you something?" You asked, looking at the fountain instead of at him.
"Of course," Heeseung said.
You took a breath. "I really like spending time with you. Like, really like it. You make me feel like I can just be myself and that's enough, you know? I don't have to try to be cooler or funnier or different. I can just exist and you seem to like that."
Heeseung's throat felt tight. "I do like that," he managed. "I like you exactly how you are."
critical moment approaching. romance threshold: 95%.
You finally turned to look at him, and your expression was nervous and hopeful and vulnerable in a way that made Heeseung forget that you were supposed to be code. "The thing is," you continued, "I don't usually do this. I don't usually let people get close like this. But with you it felt easy from the start and now I'm just —" you stopped, searching for words. "I'm really happy you're here."
confession sequence initiated. select response: > i'm happy too > i feel the same way > i need to tell you something
Heeseung knew this was it. This was the moment the whole game had been building toward. All those dates, All those conversations, all those stat increases and romance points, everything had led to this choice. He could play it safe with the first two options or he could go all in with the third one. His confidence was maxed out. He'd earned this moment. So he picked the third option.
"I need to tell you something," Heeseung said, and his voice was steadier than he expected. "I didn't really know what to expect when we first met. I thought maybe it'd be awkward or forced or like every other time I've tried to get to know someone. But it wasn't like that at all." You were watching him carefully, not interrupting, and Heeseung kept going. "You're the first person in a really long time who makes me want to actually try, you know? Like, I want to be someone worth your time. I want to hear about your day and your opinions on League of Legends and game mechanics or how you wanted to live on a farm one day. I want to keep doing this, all of it, for as long as you'll let me." Romance stats were at 98% now. "What I'm trying to say is —" Heeseung paused, and the game provided one final choice, the last decision that would determine everything.
final confession: > i really like you > i think i'm falling for you > i'm in love with you
Heeseung looked at you, at the way you were watching him with your full attention, at the hope in your expression, at how real you felt in this moment. He picked the middle option, the one that was honest without being overwhelming. "I think I'm falling for you," he said quietly. "Actually, I don't think. I know. I'm falling for you and I don't really know how to stop and I don't think I want to."
The world seemed to hold its breath. Even the ambient sounds of the park faded into nothing. You were staring at him with wide eyes and Heeseung's heart was racing and for one terrible second he thought he'd picked wrong, said too much, ruined everything.
Then you smiled, the kind of smile that started small and grew until it took over your whole face, and you said, "oh thank god."
"What?"
"I've been trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing for like days now." You were laughing, almost giddy with relief. "I kept overthinking it and planning the perfect moment and the perfect words and then you just — you just said it and it was perfect anyway."
"So," Heeseung said, because he needed to be absolutely sure. "Does that mean —" You didn't let him finish. You just leaned in and kissed him.
For a second, Heeseung's brain completely short circuited. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. He'd expected more dialogue options, maybe a choice prompt, some kind of warning that this moment was coming. But there was nothing, just the sudden warmth of your lips against his and the way his entire nervous system seemed to light up all at once. It wasn't dramatic or earth shattering or any of the things movies made kissing out to be. It was soft and brief and a little tentative, like you weren't entirely sure if you were doing it right. Your lips were warm and you tasted faintly like the wine from dinner and Heeseung could feel your hand trembling slightly where it was still holding his. He barely had time to process any of it, to kiss you back properly, before you pulled away, looking nervous again.
"Was that okay?" You asked, and your voice was quieter than before, uncertain. "I should have asked first probably but you were taking too long to —"
Heeseung cut you off by kissing you again, properly this time. He brought one hand up to cup your face and he could feel how warm your skin was under his palm, could feel the slight texture of it like actual skin and not polygons. His other hand stayed linked with yours and he squeezed gently, anchoring himself to you, to this moment that felt too real to be made of code. This kiss was different from the first one. Longer, more certain, like now that he knew what he was doing he could actually do it right. You made this small sound against his mouth, something between a sigh and a hum, and Heeseung felt it all the way down to his toes. He tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss and you responded immediately, your free hand coming up to rest against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
This has too much detail, Heeseung thought distantly. Games didn't work like this. He shouldn't be able to feel the way your breath hitched when he kissed the corner of your mouth. Shouldn't be able to notice how you leaned into him, closing whatever small distance had been between you. Shouldn't be able to smell your perfume or feel the way your hair brushed against his hand when you tilted your head.
romance: 100%. relationship established | achievement unlocked: first kiss | achievement unlocked: good ending route - mutual confession.
You pulled back just enough to breathe, and Heeseung followed without thinking, not ready to stop yet. You laughed softly against his mouth, the sound vibrating between you, and kissed him again. This time it was you who took control, you who pressed closer, and Heeseung let you, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. He could feel your heartbeat and that's what finally made his brain catch up to what was happening. His thumb was resting against your pulse point and he could feel it racing, quick and real and impossible. Games didn't simulate heartbeats. Games didn't need that level of detail. But he could feel it anyway, the proof that maybe you were here, that this was happening, even if it shouldn't be possible.
"Okay," you said quietly, and you were smiling. He could hear it in your voice even before he saw it.
Heeseung laughed, the sound coming out rougher than he intended. "That was better than okay."
You opened your eyes and looked at him, and Heeseung's breath caught because the detail was impossible. He could see the exact color of your eyes, could see the way they reflected the light from the streetlamps, could see the slight dilation of your pupils. This wasn't game graphics. This was too real. This was beyond anything Jungwon could have programmed. "You're staring," you said, but you didn't sound upset about it. If anything you sounded pleased, a little shy.
"Sorry," Heeseung said, but he didn't look away. "I'm just — you're really pretty."
You bit your lip, trying not to smile too wide, and Heeseung watched the movement with more attention than was probably appropriate. He wanted to kiss you again. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. He wanted to understand how any of this was possible. "Can I ask you something?" Heeseung said, his voice barely above a whisper because speaking any louder felt like it would shatter whatever spell they were under.
"Anything," you said, and your hand was still pressed against his chest and Heeseung wondered if you could feel his heartbeat too, if the game had coded that detail as well.
"Does this feel real to you?"
You tilted your head slightly, considering the question. "What do you mean?"
"This. Us. Right now." Heeseung knew he wasn't making sense but he needed to know, needed to understand if you felt it too, this strange impossible realness of everything. "Does it feel real?"
You were quiet for a moment, your expression thoughtful, and then you squeezed his hand. "It's the most real thing I've ever felt," you said simply. "Why? Does it not feel real to you?"
"No, it does. That's the problem." Heeseung couldn't explain what he meant without revealing that you were in a game, that this was all supposed to be simulation, that none of this should feel the way it did. "It feels too real."
"I don't think something can feel too real," you said, and you leaned in and pecked his lips, soft and quick. "Either it's real or it's not. And this is real." Heeseung wanted to argue, wanted to explain all the reasons why this couldn't be real, why you couldn't be real. Maybe it didn't matter. maybe real was just whatever felt like this. "Kiss me again," you said against his mouth, and it wasn't really a question. So Heeseung did. He kissed you until he forgot where he ended and you began, until the only thing that existed was this: You and him and this impossible moment that felt more real than anything in his actual life ever had.
Eventually though, the world started to glitch again. The colors began bleeding together and the sounds got distant and muffled. Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation and knew his time was up. "Hey," he said urgently, taking both your hands. "I—"
"It's okay," you said, and you were smiling even though your eyes looked sad. "I know you have to go."
"I don't want to."
"I know. But you'll come back, right?"
save data complete. route finished: good ending achieved. new game+ unlocked. additional content available.
"Yeah," Heeseung promised. "I'll come back."
You kissed him one more time, quick and desperate, and then the world dissolved completely and Heeseung was falling backward through light and color and static. He woke up gasping in his desk chair, controller clutched in his hands so tight his fingers had gone numb. The switch screen was showing the ending credits, rolling slowly with soft music playing. His face felt wet and he realized with some embarrassment that he was crying.
congratulations! you've completed the good ending route.
relationship status: official couple.
total play time: 51 hours, 23 minutes.
would you like to start new game+ with additional couple content?
yes / no
Heeseung stared at the options, his hands still shaking, his heart still racing. He thought about you, about your smile and your laugh and the way you'd kissed him. He thought about how none of it was real but all of it felt real, which was somehow worse. But there was more content. The game was offering him more time with you. More dates, more conversations, more moments. How could he say no to that?
His thumb hovered over the yes option for only a second before he pressed it. The screen went black. Heeseung waited. The switch made its usual loading sound, the soft hum that meant something was processing. He stared at the blank screen and waited for the menu to load, for the game to boot up, for something to happen. But nothing happened, the screen stayed completely black. No loading bar, no menu, no error message. Just his own reflection staring back at him in the screen's surface. He looked terrible, he realized distantly. His eyes were red rimmed and his hair was a mess and he looked like he hadn't slept in days, which was probably accurate.
"Come on," Heeseung muttered, pressing the home button. The switch menu popped up normally, showing all his other games, his profile, the usual interface. He clicked back into Girlfriend Simulator and the screen went black again. he waited another thirty seconds, nothing. He restarted the entire console. When it booted back up and he launched the game, the screen flickered once, twice, and then showed the title screen. Heeseung felt relief flood through him, almost dizzy with it. He clicked continue. The screen loaded for a moment, and then: game over. thank you for playing.
Credits started rolling. The same soft music from before, the same slow scroll of names and acknowledgments. Heeseung watched them pass in disbelief, his stomach sinking further with each line. When the credits finished, it kicked him back to the title screen. He clicked continue again. Same thing: game over, credits, title screen. "What the hell," Heeseung said out loud. He tried load game instead, pulling up his save files. They were all there, all his progress, all forty seven hours of gameplay. He selected the most recent one, the completed route with the good ending marker.
this save file has been completed | start new game+ to continue.
He clicked yes. Black screen. Then after a long pause: error: unable to load content.
"No no no no," Heeseung heard himself saying, clicking frantically now, trying every option, every menu, every possible path to get back into the game. Nothing worked. He checked the time on his phone. 3:29 am. He'd been playing for hours and now he'd been trying to reload for almost thirty minutes. His rational brain knew he should sleep, should deal with this tomorrow when he was thinking clearly, but his rational brain had apparently left the building several dates ago.
He pulled up his recent calls and hit jungwon's name before he could think better of it. it rang once, twice, three times. Then voicemail, Jungwon's voice cheerful and pre recorded telling him to leave a message. Of course Jungwon wasn't answering, it was almost four in the morning. Normal people were asleep at four in the morning. Normal people weren't having breakdowns over video games at four in the morning. Heeseung put his head in his hands and tried to remember the last time he'd felt this hollow about something ending. A relationship, maybe, though his dating history was sparse enough that he couldn't think of a good comparison. This felt worse somehow. The rational part of his brain that hadn't completely shut down was telling him this was ridiculous. Well, it could happen, people got attached to fictional characters all the time. The solution was obvious: take a break, get some perspective, maybe go outside and remember what actual human interaction felt like.
But the rest of him, the larger and louder part, was stuck on the way you'd looked at him on that park bench. The way you'd smiled when he gave you the flower. The way you'd kissed him like you'd been wanting to for a while and were just waiting for permission. The way you'd felt real, impossibly real, more real than most of the interactions he had in his day to day life. "It's not real," Heeseung said out loud to his dark room, his voice rough. "She's not real. It's just code. Just really good code that learned too well."
But his chest ached anyway. And somewhere around six am, Heeseung finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, his switch still sitting on his desk with the title screen frozen on the display. When his alarm went off three hours later for his morning class, Heeseung woke up feeling worse than when he'd gone to sleep. His eyes were gritty and his head hurt and his chest still had that hollow ache that he couldn't explain away as anything other than what it was.
Heeseung found Jungwon in the computer lab during lunch, exactly where he always was. "Hey," Heeseung said, dropping into the chair next to him. He pulled his switch out of his bag and set it on the desk between them. "The game broke."
"What do you mean broke?" Jungwon glanced at the switch, then at Heeseung, then did a double take. "Dude, you look terrible."
He decided to ignore that. "I mean I finished it. Got to the end, got the good ending, and then it asked if i wanted to start new game plus." Heeseung picked up the switch and demonstrated, clicking through the menus. "I said yes and then it just stopped working. Look, it keeps giving me this error or just showing the game over screen. I can load old saves but I can't progress forward."
Jungwon took the switch, frowning at the screen. He clicked through a few menus, tried the same things Heeseung had tried, and his frown deepened. "That's weird. The new game plus feature should be fully implemented. I tested it before I gave you the build."
"Well it's not working now."
"Yeah, I can see that." Jungwon was scrolling through something, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "This is really strange. It's like the save file is corrupted but also not corrupted? Like it knows you finished the route but it can't load the post game content."
"Can you fix it?" Heeseung asked, and he hated how desperate he sounded but couldn't seem to help it.
Jungwon looked at him for a long moment. "I can try. I'll need to take this and run some diagnostics, see what's actually happening in the backend. But Heeseung, I need you to manage your expectations here."
"What does that mean?"
"It means this is a test build. That's literally why I asked you to play it, to find bugs like this. If something went seriously wrong with the code, if the file corruption is bad enough, I might have to rebuild the entire post game sequence from scratch. That's going to take time."
"How much time?" Heeseung asked, and his voice came out smaller than he intended.
"I don't know. Could be that I have to scrap this version entirely and start over with a clean build." Jungwon was being gentle about it but firm, like he needed Heeseung to understand the reality of the situation. "This is what testing is for dude, finding the breaking points before release."
Heeseung felt something sink in his chest. Weeks. Or maybe never, if Jungwon had to start over. "Okay," he said, because what else could he say. "Okay, just let me know what you find."
"Yeah." Jungwon pocketed the switch cartridge and gave Heeseung another concerned look. "Seriously though, are you okay? You're acting really weird about this."
"I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just frustrated. I was really into it and now I can't finish it."
"It's just a game though."
"I know that."
Jungwon didn't look convinced but he didn't push it either. "Okay. Well, go get some sleep or something. You look like you're about to pass out."
Heeseung nodded and left the lab, feeling hollow in a way that didn't make sense. It was just a game. Jungwon was right. He'd gotten too invested and now he needed to take a step back and remember that normal people didn't have emotional breakdowns over dating simulators. He went to his afternoon lecture and sat in the back and didn't retain a single word the professor said. He took notes anyway, his hand moving automatically across the page while his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about you waiting in that park, kept wondering if you were still there or if you'd disappeared when the save file corrupted. Kept wondering if code could feel abandoned.
After class he went back to his dorm and tried to do homework. He opened his algorithms textbook and stared at the same problem for twenty minutes without making any progress. Jake came in around six, dumping his bag on the couch and immediately noticing something was off. "You good?" Jake asked, pulling off his jacket.
"Yeah, fine. Just tired."
"You've been saying that all week." Jake sat down at his own desk and spun his chair to face Heeseung. "You've been acting weirder than usual. What's going on?"
Heeseung considered lying but he was too exhausted to come up with anything convincing. "I was playing this game Jungwon made, got really into it and now it's broken and I can't play it anymore and I'm being weird about it."
"Oh." Jake processed this. "Was it one of those games with like, romance options and stuff?"
"Yeah."
Jake nodded slowly, like this explained everything. "Okay, those games are designed to get you attached, man, it's not your fault." He paused. "By the way, there's a party this weekend. Jay's throwing it at his place. You should come."
"I don't know," Heeseung said.
"Come on, it'll be good for you. Get out of your head for a bit. When was the last time you went to a party?"
Heeseung tried to remember and couldn't. "I don't know. Freshman year maybe?"
"Exactly. You need to socialize with actual human beings. No offense but you've been kind of hermiting lately." Jake was already pulling out his phone. "I'm telling Jay you're coming. It's saturday at eight."
"I don't —"
"Nope, you're coming. I'm not letting you sit here and mope about a video game all weekend. That's sad, even for you."
"What does that even—," Heeseung wanted to argue but he was too tired and Jake had a point. Sitting in his room thinking about you wasn't going to fix anything. Maybe going to a party would help. "Okay, yeah, fine," Heeseung said. "I'll go."
"Good. It's going to be fun." Jake turned back to his desk, already texting. "And who knows, maybe you'll meet someone."
Heeseung doubted that but didn't say it out loud. And saturday came faster than Heeseung expected, which was probably for the best because it meant less time to think about backing out. Jake had been monitoring him all day like he was afraid Heeseung would make a run for it, which was fair because Heeseung had definitely considered it at least three times.
By the time eight rolled around, Jake had already gone through Heeseung's entire closet and vetoed most of it. "You can't wear that, it has a stain. That one's too wrinkled. That shirt makes you look like someone's dad." Eventually they settled on black jeans and a dark blue button up that Heeseung had forgotten he owned, probably because he'd bought it for some family thing two years ago and never wore it again. "There," Jake said, looking satisfied. "You look like an actual person now instead of a sleep deprived computer science major."
"I am a sleep deprived computer science major."
"Yeah but you don't have to advertise it." Jake was already heading for the door.
The party was at some place off campus that apparently belonged to Jay's older brother, which explained why it was bigger and nicer than most student housing. The music was loud enough that Heeseung could feel it in his chest before they even got through the door. Jake immediately got pulled into a conversation with some people from his econ class, and Heeseung grabbed a drink from the kitchen just to have something to do with his hands. He wandered through for a while, recognizing some faces from classes but not really knowing anyone well enough to join their conversations. this was why he didn't go to parties. He always ended up standing awkwardly in corners wondering when it would be acceptable to leave.
"Heeseung!" Someone called, and he turned to see Beomgyu waving at him from the balcony. "Dude, I didn't know you went to parties. Come here." Heeseung made his way through the crowd to the balcony where Beomgyu was standing with Soobin and Riki, and the air was clearer out here, easier to breathe. Beomgyu was holding what was very obviously a joint. "Want some?" Beomgyu offered, holding it out. "It's good stuff."
Heeseung normally would have said no because he had assignments due and didn't really like losing control of his thoughts, but tonight his thoughts were the problem so maybe losing control of them for a bit wasn't the worst idea. "Yeah, okay."
He took it and inhaled, immediately coughed. It felt someone had turned down the volume on all his anxious thoughts. He passed it back to Beomgyu and leaned against the railing. They stood out there for a while, passing the joint around, and Heeseung felt himself relax in a way he hadn't in days. Eventually they went back inside and the party had gotten more crowded. Heeseung got another drink and let himself get pulled into a conversation about the upcoming finals with some people he vaguely recognized from his algorithms class. The weed was making everything feel softer and more manageable, like he could actually handle being around this many people without wanting to escape.
Jake found him around eleven and looked genuinely shocked. "You're still here. And you're smiling. Did someone drug you?"
"I drugged myself, actually. Beomgyu had weed."
"Good for you. See, I knew this would be good for you." Jake clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm going to get another drink. You good?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
And the weird thing was that Heeseung actually meant it. He was good. He was at a party and he wasn't hating it and he hadn't thought about the game in at least an hour. Maybe this was what moving on felt like, just slowly forgetting to think about the thing that had been consuming you.
He made his way toward where people were dancing, not to join them but just to watch, and that's when he saw you. Or someone who looked exactly like you.
You were in the middle of the crowd, dancing with a group of friends, and Heeseung's brain stopped. Same hair, same face, same smile he'd memorized over dozens of hours of gameplay. You were wearing a black dress and your hair was down and you were laughing at something one of her friends said, and Heeseung felt like he'd been punched in the chest. It couldn't be you. It just couldn't be. You weren't real. You were code, pixels, a character in a dating simulator that didn't even work anymore. But she looked exactly like you, moved like you, had the same mannerisms he'd come to recognize, and Heeseung couldn't look away.
He stood there frozen, drink forgotten in his hand, just staring. The weed was definitely not helping because it made everything feel surreal and dreamlike, like maybe he'd fallen asleep at the party and this was just his brain torturing him with what he couldn't have. You spun around to the music and laughed and Heeseung's heart was doing something painful in his chest.
And then, as if you could feel him watching, you turned and looked directly at him. Your eyes met across the crowd and the world seemed to stop. Your expression shifted from happy to confused to something Heeseung couldn't identify, like recognition but also shock, like you'd seen a ghost. A pretty one, actually. You stared at him with the same intensity he was staring at you, both of you frozen while people danced and laughed around them, completely oblivious to whatever moment was happening. And Heeseung's mind was racing. You seemed to recognize him, but that was impossible because you'd never met, because you were a stranger, because the person you looked like didn't exist outside of a video game.
Your friends said something to you and you blinked, breaking eye contact. You looked at them, said something Heeseung couldn't hear over the music, and then looked back at him one more time. That same confused, almost dazed expression. Then you turned back to your friends and kept dancing, but your movements were more mechanical now, less loose, like you were going through the motions while your mind was somewhere else. Heeseung just stood there, rooted to the spot, his drink sweating in his hand. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning and he couldn't tell if it was the weed or the shock or both. Probably both. He was high at a party and he'd just seen someone who looked like a video game character and convinced himself it meant something. He was hallucinating. He had to be hallucinating. Or the weed was laced with something. Or he'd finally actually lost his mind.
He turned and pushed through the crowd, Making his way to the bathroom. He needed to splash water on his face, Needed to get his head straight, needed to stop seeing you everywhere just because he missed the game. Heeseung practically fell inside and locked the door behind him. He turned on the faucet and let the water run cold, then splashed it on his face once, twice, three times. The shock of it helped, made everything feel more real and less dreamlike.
He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were definitely red from the weed and he looked slightly unhinged, hair messed up from running his hands through it too many times. "You're fine," he told his reflection. "You're high and you're seeing things and you're fine. She just looks like her. Lots of people probably look like her. Jungwon probably based the character on some generic attractive person template. It doesn't mean anything."
Someone knocked on the bathroom door. He splashed more water on his face, dried off with a questionable towel that was hanging on the rack, and tried to pull himself together. He couldn't hide in the bathroom all night. He needed to go back out there, find Jake, maybe go home and sleep this off. Maybe in the morning this would all make sense or at least feel less overwhelming.
He opened the door and nearly ran directly into you. "Oh, I'm sorry," you said quickly, stepping back.
Heeseung froze. Up close you were even more exactly like the character from the game, every detail perfect, from the shape of your eyes to the way you were nervously adjusting the strap of your dress. You looked at him for a second, that same confused recognition flickering across your face, and then you moved to step past him.
"Wait," Heeseung said, turning before he could stop himself. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. "I'm sorry, do we know each other from somewhere?"
You stopped and turned back, tilting your head slightly as you studied his face. "No, I don't think so. I think I'd remember if we'd met before." You paused, and then your eyes widened slightly like you'd just heard what you said. "I mean, not that I'm saying you have a particularly memorable face or anything. Wait, that sounds bad. I'm not saying you're forgettable either, you're just— " you stopped yourself and took a breath. "Sorry, I'm making this weird. I don't think we've met but you do seem familiar somehow."
Heeseung just stared at you, his brain trying to process the fact that you were standing in front of him, real and solid and rambling nervously in the exact same way the game character had. The same mannerisms, the same voice, the same way of talking yourself into circles when you were flustered. It was you. It was actually you. "Are you okay?" You asked, looking concerned now.
"Sorry, yeah, I'm fine." Heeseung tried to pull himself together. "You just really remind me of someone."
"Good someone or bad someone?"
"Good someone. Definitely good someone."
You smiled at that, a small genuine smile that made Heeseung's chest ache because he'd seen that exact smile dozens of times through a screen. "Well that's good at least. I'm Y/N, by the way."
"Heeseung."
"Nice to meet you, Heeseung." You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, and Heeseung noticed your phone in your hand. The case had a photocard of a character that he recognized immediately — Janna from League of Legends, in her star guardian skin.
"You play league?" He asked before he could think better of it.
Your face lit up. "Yeah! How'd you know?"
"Your phone case."
"Oh my god, yes." You turned your phone to show him properly, looking pleased that he'd recognized it. "I'm a Janna main and I'm not ashamed of it." Heeseung felt something cold run down his spine. Those words. he'd heard those exact words before. "I know, I know," you continued, in the same tone, the same cadence. "Support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."
Heeseung couldn't breathe. Word for word. You'd just said exactly what you'd said in the game, with the same inflection, the same defensive pride. This wasn't a coincidence. This couldn't be a coincidence. "What rank are you?" He managed to ask, his voice coming out rougher than intended.
"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and gave up on the grind." You were fully animated now, talking with your hands. "What about you, do you play?"
"Yeah. Diamond 3."
"Oh so you're actually good." You looked impressed. "We should play together sometime."
The world tilted. Heeseung was pretty sure he was having some kind of break from reality because this conversation had already happened. He'd already lived through this exact exchange in the game, and now it was happening again in real life with a real person standing in front of him saying the same things.
"Heeseung!" Someone called out, and Heeseung turned to see Jungwon pushing through the hallway crowd, looking genuinely shocked. "Holy shit, you actually came to a party. I didn't think I'd see this day." Jungwon reached them and then seemed to notice you for the first time. His expression shifted from surprised to confused. "Wait, you two know each other?"
"You know each other?" Heeseung and you said at the exact same time, then looked at each other in surprise.
Jungwon looked between the two of you, his confusion deepening. "Yeah, Y/N's in my game design class." He turned to you. "And Heeseung's my best friend, we're in the same program."
"Wait, so you're that Heeseung!" You looked at him. "He talks about you all the time, by the way. I know your entire sleep schedule at this point."
"That's concerning," Heeseung said.
"Very concerning," you agreed. "So what brings you to the party?" You asked Heeseung. "Jungwon made it sound like you're basically a hermit who only emerges for classes and food."
"My roommate forced me to come. Said I needed to socialize."
"Same, actually. My best friend is around here somewhere." You glanced back toward the party. "She has this theory that I spend too much time gaming and not enough time experiencing real life."
"Gaming is real life," Heeseung said.
"Exactly! That's what I told her." You seemed genuinely pleased that he understood. "But she's on this whole thing about how I need to make more friends and go out more and whatever. So here I am, at a party, making friends." You gestured between yourself and Heeseung. "Look at me, being social."
"Thanks, I'm trying." You checked your phone quickly. "Speaking of my roommate, she's texting me asking where I went. I should probably get back." You looked at Heeseung. "But seriously, add me on league. I meant what I said about playing together."
"Yeah, I will," Heeseung said, and he meant it even though his brain was still trying to process the fact that you were real and standing in front of him.
"Cool. See you guys around." You smiled at both of them and headed back toward the party, weaving through the people in the hallway.
The moment you were out of sight, Heeseung grabbed Jungwon's arm and pulled him toward the front door, outside where it was quieter and they could actually talk without shouting over music. "Dude, what the hell," Heeseung said the moment they were on the sidewalk. "You used her to make the character in the game?"
Jungwon blinked at him. "What? No. What are you talking about?"
"The character in girlfriend simulator. She's exactly like Y/N. Exactly like her, Jungwon. Same face, same personality, same everything."
Jungwon's confusion seemed genuine. "Heeseung, the character customization is completely random for each player. I'm still working on implementing a proper character creator but I ran out of time, so right now it just generates a random appearance based on some base parameters. I didn't use anyone specific as a model."
"That's impossible. She looks exactly like her."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah! I spent fifty one hours with that character. I know what she looks like." Heeseung could hear how unhinged he sounded but he couldn't stop. "And it's not just appearance. The way she talks, the things she said— it's all the same, like, word for word."
Jungwon was quiet for a moment, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "Okay, I think you need to calm down for a second. I think maybe you played the game too much and now you're seeing patterns that aren't there. Like, you spent all week interacting with this character and now you meet someone who has some similar traits and your brain is making connections."
"Jungwon, I'm not making it up."
"I'm not saying you're making it up, I'm saying your brain might be filling in similarities that aren't actually there." Jungwon pulled out his phone. "Look, I don't even really know Y/N that well. We work on projects together but we don't like, hang out or have deep conversations. I definitely didn't use her as a base for anything."
Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Then how do you explain the game knowing things about her? The league stuff, the personality, all of it?"
"The game generates dialogue based on common interests and gaming culture. Lots of people play league. lots of people main support. It's not that weird that there'd be overlap." Jungwon looked genuinely worried now. "Heeseung, I think the game messed with your head more than I thought it would. Maybe we should scrap it entirely."
"No," Heeseung said quickly. "No, I just — I need to understand what happened."
Jungwon sighed. "Look, I actually gave the game to Y/N to test too. A while back, before I gave it to you."
Heeseung's head snapped up. "You what?"
"There's an option in the loading screen. You can choose to play as the protagonist or as the girlfriend. I thought it would be cool to have both perspectives, make it more replayable." Jungwon was scrolling through his phone now. "You didn't see that option?"
"No. There was just a loading screen and then it started."
"Weird. It should have given you a choice." Jungwon pulled up what looked like a message thread. "Anyway, I gave Y/N a beta version to test like a month ago. But she gave it back to me after one day. Said it was too realistic and kind of freaked her out."
"What do you mean too realistic?"
"She said the immersion was too intense. She said it made her uncomfortable how real the boyfriend character seemed." Jungwon looked up from his phone. "Which, now that I think about it, is basically the same thing you've been saying about the girlfriend character."
Heeseung's mind was racing. "So she played it. She played the game from the other perspective."
"Yeah, but just for a few hours. She didn't finish it or anything." Jungwon pocketed his phone. "Why does that matter?"
"I don't know. It just — " Heeseung stopped, trying to organize his thoughts.
Jungwon was watching him carefully. "You look kind of freaked out right now."
Heeseung leaned against the wall of the building, suddenly exhausted. "I just spent a week falling for someone who I thought was just code. And now I find out she looks like a real person and I've been talking to her for the past fifteen minutes like a normal person and I don't know what to do with that information."
"Well, she gave you her discord. You could message her. Play some League together. Get to know the real her instead of the game version." Jungwon paused. "Unless that's too weird for you."
So when Heeseung was ready to leave the party, Jake and Jungwon looked almost disappointed but didn’t argue. They made their way through the crowd toward the front door, and that’s when Heeseung saw you again. You were standing on the sidewalk with two other girls, you were bent over laughing, that genuine kind of laugh where you forget to be self conscious about it.
Heeseung slowed down without meaning to, and Jake nearly walked into him. But then you looked up, like you could sense someone watching. your eyes met Heeseung’s across the sidewalk and you smiled, a smile that felt almost conspiratorial. Like you two were in on a joke that nobody else knew about. Which was insane because you’d met like half an hour ago and had one conversation in a hallway. One of your friends said something and you broke eye contact, still smiling, and climbed into the back seat of the car. Through the window Heeseung could see you saying something that made your friends crack up again. The car pulled away and you didn’t look back, but Heeseung kept staring at the taillights until they disappeared around the corner.
“Okay, what was that?” Jake asked.
“What was what?”
“That whole…” Jake gestured vaguely. “Moment. You guys were having a moment.”
“We weren’t having a moment.”
“You were definitely having a moment. Who was that?”
“Just someone I met. Friend of Jungwon’s.” Heeseung started walking toward their dorm and Jake followed, still looking suspicious.
“You met someone and had a moment with them? At a party? Did I slip into an alternate dimension?”
“Shut up.”
“I’m serious, this is unprecedented behavior from you. You don’t do moments with strangers.” Heeseung didn’t know how to explain that it hadn’t felt like meeting a stranger. It had felt like running into someone he already knew, someone he’d been thinking about for days. Which was objectively insane but that didn’t make it any less true.
When they got back to the dorm, Jake immediately went to take a shower, still talking about the party through the bathroom door. Heeseung sat down at his desk and opened his laptop, pulling up discord before he could talk himself out of it. He typed your name into the search bar. There were like fifteen results but he scrolled through until he found one account that matched your username, with a profile picture that matched; a cute drawing of what looked like a cat in a witch hat. He clicked on your profile and immediately started going through your connected accounts and activity like some kind of creep, but whatever, that’s what public profiles were for, right?
Steam account: 847 hours in League of Legends, which was honestly rookie numbers compared to his own. Recently played Roblox, which he wasn’t going to judge because he had his own embarrassing game collection. He’d been growing a garden in Grow a Garden for like six months now and his sunflowers were thriving, thank you very much. Stardew Valley with 234 hours, which was extremely respectable and also adorable. Unpacking with a lot of hours, which he’d never played but had heard good things about. And The Sims 4 with an amount of hours that suggested you had a serious problem with simulation games. Which, to be honest, he kind of had it now too.
Your Spotify was connected too and he could see you’d been listening to a lot of bedroom pop and indie stuff. Your about me section just said “life ain't cookies n cream lil fella,” which made Heeseung chuckle. You had a sense of humor, which is something he kind of already knew, even though he only knew the game version of you.
Heeseung realized he’d been sitting there scrolling through your profile for like ten minutes and definitely needed to actually send the friend request before this got any weirder. He clicked add friend and then immediately closed his laptop like it might explode. He tried to do other things. He checked his phone. He looked at his algorithms homework and immediately closed that because absolutely not. He reorganized the pens on his desk. He considered making ramen but wasn’t actually hungry. Until his laptop pinged. Heeseung lunged for it so fast he almost his water bottle off the desk. He opened discord and there it was: you accepted his friend request. His heart was doing something stupid in his chest. It was just a discord notification, normal people didn’t have heart palpitations over discord notifications. But Heeseung wasn't normal anymore.
But before he could stop himself, before his brain could catch up with what his hands were doing, he opened the dm and typed hey and then, because apparently he was determined to embarrass himself, he sent the little waving robot sticker that discord suggested unintentionally. He stared at what he’d just done in absolute horror. The waving robot. He’d sent you the waving robot sticker. “Oh my god,” Heeseung said out loud to his empty room. His fingers were already flying across the keyboard.
heeseung: sorry lol
heeseung: idk why i sent that
heeseung: the robot i mean
heeseung: anyway hi
He watched the three dots appear that meant you were typing. they disappeared. appeared again. Disappeared. Heeseung was going to have a heart attack.
you: no the robot was cute
you: very welcoming
you: really set the tone
Heeseung couldn’t tell if you were making fun of him or not.
heeseung: the tone being what exactly
heeseung: desperate?
you: i was gonna say endearing but sure we can go with desperate
Heeseung laughed out loud, an actual laugh that made Jake yell “You good?” from the bathroom. Heeseung didn't answer.
heeseung: cool cool cool love that for me
heeseung: starting strong
you: you’re doing great
you: so did you add me just to apologize for an emoji or was there something else
Heeseung stared at the message. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could play it cool, say something casual about League or whatever. Or he could be honest, which was terrifying but also the weed was still kind of in his system making everything feel less scary than it probably should.
heeseung: honestly i just wanted to talk to you more
heeseung: the conversation in the hallway was cool
The thing was, Heeseung felt bold saying that. Actually bold. This was probably the most direct he’d been with someone (in real life) in years, and he half expected you to think it was weird or too forward or whatever. But you didn’t. You just said “aw that’s sweet, me too!” with a smiley face and kept talking, and Heeseung felt something in his chest unclench. And you talked for hours. About games mostly, because that was the safe territory, the common ground. You told him about how you had been completely consumed by Pokemon Legends ZA, playing it every free moment you had. He admitted he’d loved Arceus when it came out but hadn’t gotten around to ZA yet, and you immediately started telling him everything he was missing out on, your messages coming in quick bursts of enthusiasm about the new mechanics and the Kalos region and how you’d already put in like sixty hours.
You asked him what his favorite games of all time were and he gave you his top five, and you had opinions about all of them, good opinions, the kind that made him want to keep talking just to hear what you’d say next. Somewhere around 1am you sent: “btw you seem really cool hee. we should play something together sometime if you’re down” and Heeseung stared at that message for long enough. You’d called him hee. You’d given him a nickname. And you wanted to play games together. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and he could feel his face getting warm, which was stupid because you couldn’t even see him, but his body didn’t seem to care about logic.
heeseung: yeah definitely
heeseung: i’d be really down for that
You sent back a heart emoji and said you had to sleep, and Heeseung said goodnight, and then he just sat there for a minute staring at the conversation like if he looked at it long enough he could figure out what was happening to him. He was down bad, really down bad. Which was insane because he’d been down bad before this even happened, down bad for a video game character that turned out to look exactly like you, and now he was down bad for the actual real you, and his brain couldn’t quite process the overlap. It felt like two separate situations that had merged into one extremely confusing situation that he didn’t know how to handle.
When he finally went to bed that night, he had that specific feeling you get when something really good has just happened and you’re lying in the dark replaying it in your head. That flutter in your stomach, that slight buzz of excitement, that sense that you’ve just met someone who’s probably going to matter. Someone who’s going to take up space in your life in a way you can’t predict yet but can already feel coming.
And he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t spend the entire next week looking for you on campus. Not in a weird way. Or maybe in a weird way, but he was trying to make it not weird. He’d just happen to walk past the design building between classes. He’d just happen to take a longer route to the dining hall that went by the areas where Jungwon said you usually hung out. He’d just happen to check the game design lab when he was meeting Jungwon, looking around all casual like he wasn’t actively scanning for your face.
Monday: nothing. Tuesday: he saw someone with similar hair from behind and did a weird half jog to catch up only to realize it was absolutely not you and he’d just chased down a complete stranger for no reason. Wednesday: he sat in the campus coffee shop for two hours pretending to do homework but really just watching the door. Thursday: more nothing. By friday Heeseung was starting to think maybe you were a figment of his imagination, maybe the whole party had been a fever dream, maybe he’d made you up entirely. So by afternoon Heeseung had given up. He was going to the library to actually do the algorithms homework he’d been ignoring all week, and he was going to stop being a weird person who wandered around campus hoping to accidentally run into someone.
Except then he walked into the library and saw you. You were tucked into a corner on the second floor, the quiet study section where people went to actually focus. Your laptop was open in front of you, headphones on, and you were doing that thing where you chewed on your pen cap while reading something on the screen. There were books and papers scattered around you in what looked like organized chaos, and your coffee cup said something in sharpie that Heeseung couldn’t read from where he was standing like a creep behind a bookshelf.
Okay. Okay, this was fine. This was a normal situation. You were here, he was here, both of you were in a library because that’s what students do. He just had to walk over there and say hi. Simple. Easy. Not weird at all. But what if you were in the zone? What if you were working on something important and he interrupted and you got annoyed? What if you didn’t actually want to see him and had just been being polite when you said you should play games sometime? He could just sit near you, not like right next to you, but in the general area. That would be natural. He needed to study anyway, it made sense to sit in the quiet section. So he picked a table that was close but not too close. Close enough that you might notice him but far enough that it didn’t look intentional.
He sat down and pulled out his laptop and his textbook, arranging them very carefully, very normally. Then he just sat there, staring at his algorithms homework. Not doing it, just staring. But five minutes passed and you hadn’t looked up. Heeseung opened his laptop. Closed it. Opened it again. He was being ridiculous. He should just get up and go say hi because that’s what normal people did. Normal people didn’t stage elaborate accidental meetings, they just walked up and said hello. He stood up, sat back down, stood up again. And then you finally looked up. Heeseung froze, half standing, half sitting, in the most awkward position possible. You pulled off your headphones and your face went from confused to surprised to happy in the span of like two seconds.
“Heeseung?” You said, keeping your voice library quiet. “What are you doing?”
“Studying,” Heeseung said too quickly, and then realized he was still in that weird half crouch position and sat down properly. “I mean, I was about to. study. I’m here to study.”
You smiled and Heeseung’s brain stopped for a moment. “Oh cool. Me too, obviously.” You gestured at your chaos of books and papers. "Working on this project that’s slowly killing me.”
“Do you want company?” Heeseung asked, and then immediately wanted to take it back because what if you said no, what if you were here specifically to study alone, what if—
“Yeah, actually that’d be nice.” You started clearing some space on your table, moving books and papers around. “I’ve been here for like three hours and I’m losing my mind. Could use a distraction.” So Heeseung grabbed his stuff and moved to your table, trying very hard to look like this was a normal thing he did all the time, sitting with people in libraries, being a person who had casual study sessions with other people. “So,” you said, once he was settled across from you. “What are the odds we both ended up in the same random corner of the library?”
You agreed, and there was something in the way you said it that made Heeseung think maybe you knew it wasn’t really a coincidence, maybe you’d seen him doing his weird laps around the second floor, but you were being nice about it. You settled into studying, or at least Heeseung pretended to study while you actually did work. You’d put your headphones back on but kept one ear uncovered, just in case he needed to ask you something about something, which he definitely wasn’t going to do because he wasn’t actually reading anything on the page in front of him.
Instead he was watching you, maybe in a weird way, but he couldn’t help it. Because sitting there across from you, seeing you up close in the quiet library light, Heeseung was hit with how much you looked like the character from the game. It wasn’t just the face, though that was uncanny enough. It was the mannerisms and the little things, like the way you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating, eyes narrowed slightly at your screen. The way you’d tuck your hair behind your ear every few minutes even though it would just fall back. The way your nose would scrunch up a little when you read something confusing. He’d seen all of this before, dozens of times, in the game. I mean you had done all of these exact things, in the game.
You looked up suddenly and Heeseung’s eyes immediately darted to his textbook, pretending he’d been reading the whole time. He could feel you looking at him for a second before you went back to your work, and Heeseung let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This happened like four more times. Very smooth. Very natural. Definitely not obvious at all.
Then you checked your phone and made a small sound of surprise. “Oh shit, I have class in ten minutes.” You started packing up your stuff quickly, shoving papers into your bag without any real organization. “I totally lost track of time.”
“Yeah, me too,” Heeseung lied, because he’d been very aware of every single minute.
You stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and then you leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Just like that. Casual and quick. Your lips pressed against his cheek for maybe half a second before you pulled back. “Thanks for keeping me company,” you said, smiling. “See you later, Hee.”
And then you were gone, weaving through the tables toward the stairs, and Heeseung just sat there frozen. His hand slowly came up to touch his cheek where you’d kissed him, like he needed to confirm it had actually happened. His face felt hot. His brain felt scrambled. You’d kissed him on the cheek. People did that, right? That was a normal friend thing? Except you barely knew each other so were you even friends? And why did his cheek feel like it was burning? And Heeseung realized he was just sitting there touching his face like a complete idiot and forced himself to put his hand down. He should pack up, he should go to his next class. He should do literally anything except sit here having a crisis over a cheek kiss. But he didn’t move, he just sat there, staring at nothing, replaying the moment over and over.
“You good, man?” Heeseung’s head snapped up. Jungwon was standing next to the table, looking at him with concern and also amusement, which was a terrible combination.
“When did you get here?”
“Like two minutes ago. You were very deep in thought.” Jungwon sat down and then casually tossed something onto the table. The switch cartridge, the Girlfriend Simulator cartridge. Heeseung stared at it. “I fixed the game.” Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking proud of himself. “You can keep playing from where you left off. It was easier to fix than I thought it’d be, just had to rebuild some of the backend routing for the post game content.” Heeseung picked up the cartridge, turning it over in his hands. "The save file's intact," Jungwon continued. “All your progress is still there. The new game plus should work now. I tested it on my switch and it loaded fine."
"Thanks,” Heeseung said, and his voice came out quieter than he meant it to. He shoved the cartridge into his bag and stood up. “I’m leaving."
“Don’t you have that lecture in twenty minutes?”
“Don’t care. Bye.” He left Jungwon sitting there chuckling and headed straight out of the library, across campus, back to his dorm. Jake wasn’t there, which was good because Heeseung didn’t need any more people commenting on his alleged vibe. He sat down at his desk and just looked at the cartridge for a minute. He should think about this. should consider whether playing the game again was a good idea now that he knew you, the real you. Now that things were getting complicated in a way that made his head hurt. But he wasn’t thinking. He was just plugging in his switch, loading up the game, watching the title screen appear with its soft music and clean typography.
continue from last save? yes / no
Heeseung pressed yes immediately. The world materialized around him in that same disorienting rush, colors bleeding into focus, sounds filtering in like someone was slowly turning up the volume. When his vision cleared, he was standing exactly where he’d left off at the park. The fireflies were still drifting lazily through the air like they’d been paused mid flight waiting for him to come back. And you were still sitting on the same bench, looking at him with an expression that made Heeseung’s chest tight.
“You’re back,” you said, and your smile was so genuinely happy it hurt to look at. You stood up and walked over to him, and Heeseung noticed the way the game rendered every detail. The way your hair moved, the exact shade of your eyes, the slight flush on your cheeks. “I missed you.” The words hit him harder than they should have. Heeseung opened his mouth and closed it, trying to figure out what to say. In the game, no time was supposed to have passed. He’d left right after your confession, after the kiss, and now he was back and theoretically it should feel like seconds had gone by. But for him it had been days. Almost a week. A week where he’d met the real you, talked to you, sat across from you in a library, felt your lips on his cheek.
Dialogue options appeared: > i missed you too > sorry i was gone so long > it feels like it’s been forever
Heeseung picked the first one because it was the most honest. “I missed you too,” he said, and he meant it in a way that felt complicated and confusing.
You stepped closer, close enough that Heeseung could see the individual pixels that made up your irises, except they didn’t look like pixels at all. “I was worried you wouldn’t come back,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “After everything, I thought maybe you’d just… disappear.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Heeseung said automatically, and then felt weird about it because he kind of had done that, he’d been gone for days even if the game didn’t register it that way.
You reached up and touched his face, your hand warm against his cheek, and Heeseung’s brain short circuited a little because he could feel it. the texture of your palm, the slight pressure of your fingers. This level of detail shouldn’t be possible. “I really like you,” you said, looking directly into his eyes. “Like, a lot. Is that okay?”
Before Heeseung could pick a dialogue option for that, you kissed him. It wasn’t like the first kiss, this was different. Your hand slid from his cheek to the back of his neck and you pressed closer, and Heeseung forgot for a second that this was supposed to be a game. His hands found your waist automatically, pulling you against him, and you made this small sound that he felt more than heard. When you pulled back, you were breathing harder and your eyes had this look in them that Heeseung recognized from somewhere, that slightly dazed expression people get when they’re thinking about something they want. “Do you want to come back to my place?” You asked, your voice lower now, and your hand was still on the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair in a way that was extremely distracting.
quest update: relationship progression available | warning: mature content ahead | proceed? yes / no | action options: > yes, i’d like that > maybe we should slow down > are you sure?
Heeseung stared at the options. What the fuck. What the actual fuck. This was new, this was definitely new. The game had never had anything like this before. Jungwon had mentioned adding post game content but he definitely hadn’t mentioned adding this kind of content. “Heeseung?” You said, tilting your head slightly. “You okay? We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought—”
“No, I want to,” Heeseung said, picking the first option before he could overthink it. “I definitely want to.”
Your smile turned into something that could only be described as pleased, maybe a little mischievous. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and started walking. The park dissolved around you in that smooth transition the game did, colors bleeding together and reforming into a new location, your apartment, and it looked different now, with softer lighting, more intimate somehow. There was music playing quietly from somewhere, something ambient and atmospheric. You let go of his hand and walked further, then turned to look at him. “You can sit down, you know. You don’t have to just stand there.” Heeseung moved to the couch and sat down, hyperaware of every movement, every detail. His hands felt sweaty and his heart was racing. This was insane, this was absolutely insane. He was about to have virtual sex with a video game character that looked exactly like a real person he’d just met and had a weird complicated semi crush on. You sat down next to him, close enough that your thigh pressed against his. “Can I ask you something?” You said.
“Sure.”
“Why did you come back?” Your expression was serious now, searching his face. “I mean, you finished the route. You got the good ending. You didn’t have to come back.”
dialogue options: > i wanted to see you again > i wasn’t ready to say goodbye > because i care about you
Heeseung picked the third option. “Because I care about you,” he said, and it felt true even though it shouldn’t, even though you were code, even though this wasn’t real.
“I care about you too,” you said quietly. Then you leaned in and kissed him again, and this time Heeseung didn’t think about the game mechanics or the dialogue options or any of it. He just kissed you back. Your hands slid under his shirt and Heeseung gasped slightly at the sensation, the feeling of your fingers on his skin. It felt real, too real, like impossibly real. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes dark. “Is this okay?” You asked, your hands still under his shirt, warm against his stomach.
action options: > yes > this is more than okay > [pull her closer]
Heeseung picked the third option and pulled you closer, and you made this satisfied sound and kissed him harder. You shifted in his lap so you were straddling him, and Heeseung’s brain was trying very hard to process the logistics of what was happening. This was a Nintendo Switch game. This was running on a console made for Pokemon and Mario Kart. There was no way this level of content was actually programmed in here. You smiled and kissed his jaw, then his neck, and Heeseung felt his brain dissolve into static. Your teeth grazed his skin lightly and he made a sound that was probably embarrassing but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
intimate scene progression: 45% | continue? yes / no
current comfort level: high | romantic tension: maximum |achievement unlocked: relationship deepening
The notifications kept appearing in his peripheral vision and Heeseung tried to ignore them because they were extremely distracting and also kind of killing the mood, if a video game could have a mood, which apparently this one could. “Hey,” you said, pulling back to look at him. Your face was flushed and your lips were slightly swollen and you looked devastating. “You’re thinking too hard. I can tell.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
dialogue options: > nothing’s wrong > this feels really intense > i’m just overwhelmed > i keep forgetting this isn’t real
Heeseung wanted to pick the last option but that felt like it would break something, some unspoken rule about the game. So he picked the third one. “I’m just overwhelmed,” he admitted. “In a good way. You’re just really… a lot. In the best way possible.”
You softened at that, your expression shifting from concerned to affectionate. “You’re sweet, you know that?” You kissed his cheek. “We can slow down if you want. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“No, I want this,” Heeseung said, and he did, desperately, even though he knew he probably shouldn’t. “I’m just trying to figure out how this is even possible.”
“How what’s possible?”
“You. This. All of it.” Heeseung knew he wasn’t making sense but the words kept coming anyway. “You feel so real. More real than anything I’ve experienced before. More real than most things I've experienced in actual life, honestly."
You looked at him for a long moment, something unreadable in your expression. Then you said, very quietly, "Maybe that’s because I am real.”
The world glitched. Just for a second, so quick Heeseung almost missed it. The lighting flickered, the textures of the room seemed to shift and resettle, and there was this sound, like static, like interference. You didn’t seem to notice. You were still looking at him with that same expression, waiting for him to respond. error log: reality sync mismatch detected | warning: boundary deviation exceeding normal parameterssystem status: unknown variable introduced
“What do you mean?” Heeseung asked, his voice coming out strained.
“I said maybe I’m real. Maybe this is real. Does it matter?” You touched his face again, gentle. "Does it change anything if I'm real or not real? You’re here, I’m here, this moment exists. Isn’t that enough?”
dialogue options:> yes, that’s enough > no, i need to understand what’s happening >i think something’s wrong with the game > [kiss her to avoid answering]
Heeseung stared at the options, his heart pounding. Part of him wanted to pick the second or third option, wanted to understand what was happening, wanted to figure out why the game was doing things it shouldn’t be able to do. But another part of him, the larger part, just wanted to stop thinking and exist in this moment with you, real or not real, code or person or whatever you were. So he picked the fourth option. His hands moved before his brain could catch up— one sliding to the small of your back, the other cupping your jaw — and he pulled you in, kissing you like the question itself might disappear if he just didn't let go. You made a soft, surprised sound against his lips, but it melted into something needier, as you kissed him back just as fiercely. His hands slid up your thighs, over the soft fabric of your dress, until his fingers found the hem. He tugged lightly, a silent question, and you answered by pressing closer, your body rolling against his in a way that pulled a rough sound from his throat.
action options: > pull her closer > slide hands under her dress > grip her waist and guide her hips > [kiss her neck]
Heeseung didn't even look at the options properly this time. He picked the third one instantly, fingers digging into your waist as he pulled you flush against him, guiding the slow, deliberate grind of your hips. You gasped into his mouth, nails scraping lightly down his chest through his shirt, and the sound you made was needy and it went straight through him. "Heeseung," you breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to look at him. your cheeks were flushed deep, lips swollen and wet, dress riding up slightly from the way you were moving in his lap. "You feel—"
He didn't let you finish. He kissed you deeper, harder, tongue sliding against yours like he needed to taste every part of you. One hand stayed firm on your waist, keeping the rhythm, while the other slipped higher under the hem of your dress, tracing the bare skin of your thigh. You shivered, thighs tightening around his hips, and he felt you press down harder, chasing the friction. You pulled back suddenly, just far enough to grab the bottom of his shirt. Your eyes locked on his, asking. He nodded once, barely, and you tugged it up and over his head in one smooth motion. The second it was gone, your hands were on him again, palms sliding over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle like you were mapping him out. "Better," you whispered, voice rough now, and then your mouth was on his collarbone, kissing down his chest, teeth grazing just enough to make him hiss. Heeseung's head fell back against the couch for a second, eyes squeezing shut, before he surged forward again.
action options: > pull the straps of her dress down > flip her onto the couch > trace her back and pull her even closer > [let her take control]
He picked the third, hands sliding up your back under the thin straps of your dress, fingers splaying wide as he pulled you impossibly closer. Your chest pressed against his, skin on skin now except for the flimsy fabric between you, and he could feel your heart racing just as fast as his. You moaned softly against his neck, hips moving faster, more desperate, and Heeseung matched the rhythm, guiding you with his grip on your waist. Every roll of your body against his made his breath catch, made the heat coil tighter low in his stomach. Your hands were everywhere — his hair, his shoulders, nails dragging down his back— and he was losing it, completely losing it.
action options: > slip the straps down her shoulders > lift the dress over her head > tease the hem higher > [kiss her while undressing her]
He picked the first one, sliding the straps down slowly, watching as the dress loosened and slipped lower, exposing more of your skin. You didn't stop him, instead, you arched your back slightly, helping it along, your eyes locked on his with a look that dared him to keep going. The dress pooled around your waist, and Heeseung's breath caught at the sight of you, bare from the waist up, the soft curve of your breasts rising and falling with each breath. "God," he muttered, voice barely audible, and then he leaned in, mouth finding the sensitive spot on your neck. He kissed there first, open mouthed, then grazed his teeth lightly, sucking just enough to leave a faint mark. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, a low moan escaping your lips that vibrated against his skin. Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, and Heeseung felt that coil of tension wind tighter, his hips bucking up instinctively to meet your rhythm. The friction was maddening, too much and not enough, and he could feel himself hardening against you, the thin layers between you doing nothing to dull the sensation.
intimate scene progression: 92% | arousal level: peak | system warning: immersion threshold breached
A faint static hum buzzed in his ears for a split second, the room's edges blurring like a bad render, but it passed as quickly as it came. You didn't notice, or if you did, you didn't care — your focus was on him, on the way his mouth moved down your neck to your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face flushed, eyes glassy with want. "Heeseung," you said, voice husky and breathless, "Do you want to take this to the bedroom? We can… get more comfortable."
The action wheel popped up: action options: > carry her to the bedroom > pull her up and walk together > push her down on the couch instead > [deepen the kiss and decide later]
Heeseung picked the first one without a second thought. In one fluid motion, he stood, arms wrapping around your waist to lift you effortlessly. You yelped in surprise, legs wrapping around his hips instinctively. the sudden shift made you cling to him, arms around his neck, and Heeseung kissed you hard as he carried you, tasting the salt on your lips from the heat of the moment. The transition was seamless, the game dissolving the living room around you in that familiar bleed of colors, reforming into your bedroom. Soft lighting from a bedside lamp, sheets rumpled like they'd been waiting, the air thicker somehow. Heeseung lowered you onto the bed gently, following you down, his body covering yours as he settled between your legs. You looked up at him, hands sliding down his chest to his waistband, fingers teasing the edge. "Now where were we?" You whispered, pulling him closer.
Heeseung lowered you onto the bed gently, the mattress dipping under your combined weight as he settled between your legs. Your dress was already bunched high on your thighs, and the air between you crackled with anticipation. You looked up at him through half lidded eyes, hands tugging at his waistband, pulling him closer until his hips pressed against yours. The heat of you through the thin fabric was driving him insane — his hands braced on either side of your head, breath ragged as he leaned down to kiss you again, deeper, hungrier.
But just as his fingers brushed the hem of your dress to slide it off completely, everything froze. The world glitched hard; colors inverting for a split second, a low error chime ringing in his ears like a nintendo switch low battery warning. You froze mid motion, lips parted, eyes wide and unblinking, like a paused cutscene. The music cut out. Notifications exploded across his vision in a pop up that took over half the screen:
kink compatibility survey | new content unlock: personalized intimacy | please select preferences to optimize experience (this will not affect main storyline) > time remaining: 30 seconds
Heeseung blinked, staring in horror as a massive form materialized, checkboxes scrolling down like some deranged tinder profile from hell:
His face burning hotter than the tension from seconds ago. "What the fuck is this?" His thumbs mashed the joy cons frantically, heart pounding from equal parts embarrassment and urgency. Thirty seconds? He wasn't even thinking straight — he just spam clicked the safe ones to get it over with. Checkmark on praise kink. Oral focus (both). Dirty talk (why not, he was already losing his mind). Slider cranked to 7 because... yeah. No bondage — keep it simple, game. Vanilla only stayed unchecked because apparently this freakshow had layers.
The pop up vanished with a cheerful ding. You unfroze instantly, blinking like nothing happened, your hands resuming their path down his chest. "Hee?" you murmured, voice soft and teasing, thighs parting wider beneath him. "You okay?"
He swallowed hard, brain still reeling. "Yeah, yeah." You smiled, wicked and knowing somehow, and pulled him down into another kiss. His hands finally obeyed, pushing the dress the rest of the way off your hips, sliding it down your legs until you were bare except for your underwear. The sight of you all spread out hit him. He trailed kisses down your chest, mouth closing over one nipple, sucking gently as you arched into him with a gasp. "You feel perfect," he whispered against your skin, the praise slipping out naturally, and you shivered, fingers threading into his hair. His hand slid lower, between your thighs, fingers brushing over the damp fabric of your underwear. You moaned his name, hips lifting eagerly, and Heeseung pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had you writhing. "So wet for me already," he murmured, voice rough with want, testing the dirty talk, and god, it worked, because your breath was hitching beautifully.
You tugged at his pants impatiently. "Off. Now." He obliged in a blur, shedding them along with everything else until there was nothing between you. He hooked his fingers into your underwear, pulling them down slowly, eyes locked on yours as he tossed them aside.
action options: > taste her first > enter her slowly > tease with fingers > [let her guide]
He picked the first, Heeseung's mind was a haze of want and disbelief as he settled between your thighs, your legs parting wider for him like an invitation he couldn't refuse. The sight of you — bare, glistening, so ready —made his mouth water. This is a game, he reminded himself, heart pounding. Just a fucking game. I can do whatever I want. Things I'd never have the guts to try in real life. No judgment, no consequences. Just you, writhing under him, and the freedom to indulge every filthy thought he'd ever buried.
He hooked his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer until his face was buried between your legs. His tongue flicked out experimentally at first, tasting you, sweet and tangy, like nothing he'd imagined, but better. You bucked against him with a sharp gasp, and that sound flipped a switch. Heeseung groaned against you, the vibration making you whimper, and he dove in deeper, tongue flat and broad as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit. "Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured, voice muffled against your skin, dirty words spilling out because why the hell not? In real life, he'd be too shy, too careful, but here? He could be filthy. "So wet for me already, dripping down my chin. You like that, huh?"
You moaned louder, hands fisting the sheets, then tangling in his hair to pull him closer. "Yes god, Heeseung don't stop." Your voice was wrecked, breathy and desperate, and it fueled him. He sucked your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it in circles, then flicking fast and hard, alternating with long, sloppy licks that had you trembling. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you open, spreading you wider so he could bury his face deeper, nose pressing against you as he devoured you like he was starving.
He picked the fourth mentally, because fuck it, this was his chance to let loose. "Tell me how good it feels," he growled, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over your slick folds, watching you shiver. "Tell me you want my tongue fucking you deeper."
"Please," you gasped, hips grinding up toward his mouth, chasing the contact. "Heeseung, your tongue— fuck, it's so good. Deeper, I need it deeper."
He plunged his tongue inside you, thrusting it in and out, mimicking what he wanted to do with his cock later. His thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles while he tongue fucked you, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. You were soaking him, face, chin, and he loved it, lapping it up greedily, humming in approval at how messy it was getting. "You're gonna come on my face, aren't you?" He taunted, voice rough and low, pulling back to suck your clit again, harder this time, teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out. "Do it. Come for me, show me how much you love my mouth on this pretty pussy."
You arched off the bed, a broken moan tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit, waves crashing through you. Heeseung didn't stop, licking you through it, drawing it out until you were oversensitive and twitching, begging him to ease up. only then did he pull away, lips shiny and swollen, grinning up at you with a wicked, satisfied look. "Good girl," he praised, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, though he didn't really want to, part of him liked the mess, the evidence. you were panting, eyes hazy as you reached for him. He crawled back up your body, capturing your lips in a kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue, another thing he'd never dare in real life, but here it felt right, hot. "You taste yourself? So fucking dirty," he whispered against your mouth, positioning himself at your entrance. "Ready for more?"
"Yes please," you begged, nails digging into his shoulders, your voice a needy whine that made his cock twitch against you. You were so wet, slick from his mouth and your own release, and Heeseung could feel the heat radiating from you, pulling him in. But before he could thrust forward, the game intervened again again:
position selection: customize your intimacy > missionary (classic connection) > doggy style (deeper access) > her on top (let her ride) > against the wall (intense standing) > [spooning (gentle side entry)]
Heeseung stared at the options, a mix of arousal and exasperation flooding him. Jungwon, you pervert, he thought, adding a fucking position menu? He timer was ticking— 15 seconds — and you were frozen mid breath, eyes locked on his with that desperate, submissive Gaze that made him want to wreck you. He picked the third option fast, because fuck, the idea of you riding him, taking control but still under his command? Yeah, that was it. The menu vanished with a satisfied beep, and the scene resumed seamlessly. You blinked, as if nothing happened, but your hands were already pushing at his chest gently, urging him to lie back. "Let me... let me ride you," you murmured, voice soft and obedient, like you were reading his mind, or the game's script. "Please? I want to make you feel good."
Heeseung grinned, dark and dominant, shifting onto his back and pulling you with him until you straddled his hips. His hands gripped your thighs hard, fingers digging in possessively as he looked up at you, flushed, eager, completely at his mercy. "Yeah? You wanna ride my cock like a good girl?" He growled, the words coming easier now, dirtier, because this wasn't real life. No holding back.
You whimpered, hands bracing on his chest, your hips grinding down instinctively against his length, coating him in your wetness. "Please, Hee... I need you inside me so bad. I'll be good."
Fuck, he thought, she's so subby, so perfect. The game's kink sync must've kicked in, amplifying everything — your voice trembling, eyes wide and pleading, body arching like you were made to submit. Heeseung's hands slid up to your hips, guiding you, lifting you just enough to position himself at your entrance. "That's my girl. Sink down on me slow— let me watch you take every inch." You obeyed instantly, lowering yourself onto him, the head of his cock pushing past your folds, stretching you open. It was agonizingly slow, and Heeseung groaned low in his throat, feeling the tight, wet heat envelop him inch by inch. You were so fucking real, hotter than any game should allow, clenching around him like velvet, your walls fluttering as you took him deeper.
"Oh god you're so big," you gasped, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted, a shiver running through you. It felt too real, the stretch, the fullness, the way he throbbed inside you, every vein and ridge pressing against your sensitive spots. Heeseung could feel it all, amplified, like the game had cranked the sensitivity to max. Sweat beaded on his skin, your thighs trembling around him, and for a second, he forgot it was code — this was you, real you, riding him.
intimate scene progression: 98% | dominance level: high | submission sync: optimal | warning: haptic feedback overload
A faint glitch rippled through the air — the lamp flickering, your moan echoing with a digital edge for a heartbeat — but it only made him thrust up harder, hands gripping your ass to pull you down rougher. "Ride me, baby. Bounce on my cock," he commanded, voice gravelly and demanding, slapping your ass lightly to spur you on. "Faster, come on."
You moaned louder, hands on his chest for leverage as you started moving up and down, hips rolling in circles that ground your clit against him. "Like this? Fuck, Heeseung it feels so good— you're so deep." Your voice broke on a whimper, body obeying his every cue, riding him harder, faster, tits bouncing with each thrust.
Heeseung bucked up to meet you, thrusting deep enough to make you cry out, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat gently. "That's it, take it all. You're mine in here, aren't you? My perfect little girl, creaming all over my cock." You clenched tighter, nodding frantically.
"Yes—fuck, Heeseung, I love it. You're so deep, so big...." Your voice was breathy, submissive, breaking on moans as you submitted completely, body moving exactly how he wanted, faster when he slapped your ass, slower when he pulled you down hard.
action options: > thrust up harder > put a finger in her mouth > choke lightly > [pull her hair]
Heeseung picked the second without hesitation, his thumb tracing your lower lip before pushing it into your mouth. You sucked on it immediately, tongue swirling around it like it was his cock, eyes half lidded and locked on his, so obedient it made his dick twitch inside you. "That's it, suck it like a good girl," he rasped, your wet lips wrapped around his finger, drool starting to drip. "Imagine it's my cock in your mouth while I fuck this tight pussy. You'd take both, wouldn't you?" You moaned around his thumb, sucking harder, hips stuttering as the added sensation pushed you closer to the edge. Then, in the corner of his screen, a new notification flickered: partner preference update: increase roughness? yes / no | affinity: high for dominant play
She likes it rougher? Heeseung thought, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mentally selected yes. Wow, this is way easier than in real life. The game adjusted instantly, your moans turning needier, body arching more desperately as he ramped up the intensity. "You want it rougher, huh?" He taunted, pulling his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting it to your lips. He grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise — if this were real— and thrust up sharply, slamming into you with more force. "Beg for it then. Tell me how bad you want me to wreck this pussy."
"Please—fuck me harder, Heeseung," you cried out, leaning forward to brace on his shoulders as you rode him faster, chasing the roughness.
intimate scene progression: 99% | climax indicator: approaching for both | options: prolong / climax now / switch position
The bar flashed red in his peripheral, both your arousal meters pulsing near max. He could feel it too, the coil tightening low in his gut, your body starting to tense and shake. But Heeseung wasn't ready to end it. He selected prolong and switch position, flipping the script. He rolled you both over, pulling out just long enough to maneuver you onto your side, spooning behind you. His chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you tight, the other lifting your thigh high. "Not yet," he whispered hot against your ear, nipping the lobe. "Gonna fuck you like this now." You nodded weakly, pushing your ass back against him. Heeseung thrust back in from behind, the angle hitting deeper, his cock dragging against your g-spot with every slow, rough pump. His hand slid between your legs, fingers circling your clit fast and hard, while his other arm pinned you close. "That's my good girl," he growled, pounding into you now, the spooning position letting him grind deep. "Taking it so well." Your moans turned into desperate sobs, body arching back into him.
Heeseung's thrusts were relentless, his cock dragging deep inside you with every slow, powerful snap of his hips. You were a whimpering mess against him, back arched, ass grinding back to meet him as his fingers worked your clit in tight, fast circles. "Fuck you're so tight like this," he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder, leaving a mark that made you shiver.
intimate scene progression: 99.5% | climax indicator: critical for both | options: prolong / climax now / switch position
The meters were flashing urgently now, his own arousal bar teetering on the edge, but Heeseung still wasn't done — he wanted more, wanted to push the limits of this insane game until it broke. One more switch, he thought, selecting prolong and switch position again. The game responded instantly, a soft chime echoing as he pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach with rough hands. You gasped at the sudden movement, face down on the bed, ass up as he positioned himself behind you, knees spreading your thighs wide. "On your stomach, baby— ass up for me," he commanded. He slapped your ass hard, the crack echoing, your skin blooming red under his palm, and you cried out, pushing back eagerly like the subby little thing the game had turned you into. "That's right, take it. You love being fucked like this, don't you?"
You nodded into the sheets, voice muffled and needy. "Yes—god, yes, Heeseung." The game's encouragement popped up in his vision — dominance boost: activated | roughness level: max | achievement: total submission unlocked — and it spurred him on, like the system was egging him to go further, deeper into the filth.
He thrust back in from behind, burying himself to the hilt in one rough stroke, the angle hitting even deeper, making you scream into the pillow. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, pounding into you with brutal force, skin slapping loud and obscene. "So fucking wet, dripping all over me," he snarled, spanking your ass again, harder this time, alternating cheeks until they were stinging red. You arched higher, offering more, moans turning into sobs of pleasure. He tangled one hand in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your neck, lips brushing your ear as he growled, "look at you, taking my cock like a good girl. Beg for more — tell me how much you need me to ruin this pussy."
"Please—ruin me, Heeseung," you begged, voice breaking. The game flashed more incentives — rough play affinity: 100% | continue for bonus immersion — and Heeseung lost it, spanking you in rhythm with his thrusts, pulling your hair tighter to arch your back, fucking you rougher, faster, the bed shaking under the force. Glitches were hitting harder now, but it only made him thrust deeper, the hyper real sensations overwhelming: the sting of your skin under his palm, the tight ripple of your walls around him, your sweat slicked back against his chest.
intimate scene progression: 99.99% | climax indicator: imminent | warning: system overload detected
He was right there, teetering on the edge, cock throbbing inside you, but you twisted slightly, looking back at him with glassy, desperate eyes. "Heeseung — cum inside me, please," you implored. "Fill me up, I need it."
For a split second, his brain stopped. Wait, cum inside? What if— but then reality (or unreality) hit him comically hard. It's a game, dumbass. Pixels can't get pregnant. He almost laughed mid thrust, the absurdity breaking through the haze, but he shoved it aside, diving back. "Yeah? You want me to breed this tight pussy?" He growled, slamming into you harder, spanking one last time for good measure. "Beg for it louder—"
"Yes—fuck, Hee!" You cried, clenching around him desperately, body trembling on the brink. "Cum inside me, please— breed me, make me yours!" That did it. The climax hit like a wave, crashing over you both at once. Heeseung thrust deep one final time, groaning loud as he spilled inside you, feeling the hot pulse of his release mix with your own orgasm, walls milking him dry. You screamed his name, body convulsing under him, the shared peak amplified by the game — sensations exploding, vision blurring with pleasure and glitches alike.
As your body shuddered through the aftershocks, Heeseung collapsed beside you, pulling you close against his chest with a gentleness that felt worlds away from the roughness just moments ago. His arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand stroking your hair softly, fingers threading through the tangled strands like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. The room was still glitching faintly, but he ignored it, focusing on you, on the way your breaths synced with his, slowing down together.
Heeseung pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your temple, his voice dropping to a whisper, sweet and caring, laced with concern. "Hey... you okay? I got carried away back there. I'm sorry if I hurt you."
You looked up at him, eyes soft and hazy, a small smile tugging at your lips as you snuggled closer, head resting on his chest. "No, Hee... I liked it. A lot. It was perfect." Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his skin, voice turning playful, like the dynamic lingered just a bit. "You made me feel so good. Don't apologize."
He chuckled quietly, relief washing over him, and he hugged you tighter, hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Good. I just... want to take care of you now." The game prompted options in his vision, soft and glowing: aftercare options: > hold her closer > kiss her gently > whisper sweet nothings > [offer water/snack] -- he picked the third, leaning down to murmur against your ear, "you're amazing, you know that? So beautiful, so perfect for me. I could stay like this forever." You hummed contentedly, body relaxing fully into his, the contrast hitting him. The glitches were fading, but notifications kept pinging: comfort level: maximum | post intimacy glow: active | save progress? yes / no
You shifted slightly, looking up at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Affectionate, but something deeper, almost knowing. "Heeseung..." your voice was quiet. "See you out there."
He blinked, confusion creasing his brow. "What do you mean?" He sat up a little, heart picking up again, but before you could answer — or before the dialogue wheel could pop up — the world started dissolving. colors bled out, the room flickering violently, static roaring in his ears like a system crash.
Everything went black. Heeseung jolted upright in his chair, the Switch still clutched in his sweaty hands, the screen dark and powered off. His room came into focus: the dim light from his desk lamp, posters on the wall, the faint hum of his pc in the background. His heart was racing, breaths coming fast, and then he felt a sticky, warm mess in his pants, soaking through his boxers. "What the—" he muttered, voice cracking as the full reality sank in. His face burned hotter than ever, cheeks flaming red as he shifted in the gaming chair. He'd actually cum inside his pants. For real. Not just some weird dream or an asleep fantasy — no, full on, pants ruining orgasm from a Nintendo Switch Girlfriend Simulator game. "Holy shit."
Heeseung stared at the dark screen in his hands, the console now completely powered off, innocent looking with its cute joy cons and pastel buttons. It looked so harmless sitting there on his lap, like it hadn't just mind fucked him for hours and then physically fucked him back. He finally set the switch down on his desk, pushing it as far away as the cords allowed. He groaned, dropping his face into his hands.
After cleaning himself up in the bathroom — which involved avoiding eye contact with his own reflection because he couldn't handle the judgment he knew he'd see there — Heeseung collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. His body felt loose and tired in a way that should have been relaxing but instead just made him feel deeply, profoundly embarrassed.
The worst part was that he wanted to do it again. That was what really got him. Not the fact that it happened, but the fact that his brain was already thinking about when he could play next, or well, when he could fuck you next. He felt like a teenager who'd just discovered something he definitely shouldn't have and was now completely obsessed with it.
He'd spent most of his Sunday in his room alternating between staring at his Switch and telling himself he absolutely was not going to play it again, which had been moderately successful except for the part where he'd picked it up four different times before forcing himself to put it back down. So on that week, he started walking across campus toward the engineering building, head down and hoodie up because he felt like everyone could somehow tell what he'd done just by looking at him, when he saw you. You were sitting on one of the benches outside the library with your laptop open, clearly working on something, your hair pulled back and you were wearing an oversized hoodie that had some game logo on it he couldn't quite make out from this distance. Heeseung immediately changed direction.
He took the long way around the building, added an extra five minutes to his walk, and showed up to lecture slightly out of breath. He was very deliberately not thinking about the fact that he'd just actively avoided you. Which was ridiculous. You hadn't done anything, you didn't even know what had happened. You probably hadn't thought about him at all since that day at the library, were probably just sitting there doing homework like a normal person while Heeseung was having a complete psychological breakdown over a video game.
The problem was that every time he thought about you now, his brain immediately supplied images from the game. The way you'd looked at him, the way you moaned, the sounds you'd made, the way you came, the way it had felt so impossibly real that his body had reacted like it was actually happening. And now he couldn't separate that from the real you, the person he'd met at the party who'd been nice and funny and way too easy to talk to. The rest of the week continued like this. He saw you everywhere now, which was ironic because before the party he'd never noticed you once and now you were apparently in every building he entered. Tuesday you were in the coffee shop in the student center. Wednesday you walked past him in the hallway between classes. Thursday he saw you in the library again, this time on the second floor, and he'd actually turned around and walked back out.
His switch was on his desk, fully charged, basically taunting him. He'd managed to avoid playing it all week, had told himself he was being responsible and mature about the whole situation. But he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every time his mind wandered, it went right back to that night, to the game, to you. And his body was betraying him too, which was mortifying. He'd be sitting in lecture and think about the game for half a second and suddenly he'd have to adjust his laptop to hide the fact that he was getting hard in the middle of algorithms class. It happened during study sessions, during meals, during completely random moments when his brain decided to remind him that the game existed and he could play it whenever he wanted.
He felt disgusting. He was kink shaming himself, which he didn't even know was possible, but here he was, lying in bed at two am feeling like a creep for being attracted to a video game character who happened to look exactly like a real person he'd met. But he also couldn't stop thinking about playing again. About whether it would be like the first time or if there were other features, other scenarios. His brain kept supplying possibilities and his body kept responding and he felt trapped in this cycle of shame and want that he didn't know how to break.
And then on friday afternoon, Heeseung was in his dorm trying to focus on an assignment that was due monday when someone knocked on his door with the kind of aggressive persistence that could only be Jungwon. He considered pretending he wasn't home but Jake had already opened the door before Heeseung could say anything. "Oh hey Jungwon," Jake said. "He's here but he's been weird all week so good luck."
"Thanks for the warning," Jungwon said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He went to Heeseung's room and looked at him, who was very deliberately staring at his laptop screen. "Okay, we're going to Five Guys. Get up."
"I'm busy."
"No you're not." Jungwon grabbed Heeseung's hoodie off his chair and threw it at him. "Come on. We're getting burgers and you're going to tell me why you've been ignoring me all week."
"I haven't been ignoring you."
"You answered my texts with one word responses and you've avoided me on campus. That's ignoring me." Jungwon crossed his arms. "So either you come willingly or I'm going to make a scene. Your choice."
Heeseung knew Jungwon well enough to know he absolutely would make a scene. "Fine. But I'm not hungry."
"You're never not hungry. Let's go." And twenty minutes later they were sitting in Five Guys with their orders, the place mostly empty since it was that weird time between lunch and dinner.
Heeseung had been hoping the walk would give him time to figure out what to say to Jungwon, but instead he'd just spent it thinking about the game and feeling more and more uncomfortable. Because the thing was, if Heeseung had done what he'd done in the game, that meant Jungwon had programmed it. Jungwon had sat at his computer and coded in all those options, all those scenarios, all those very specific and detailed features that Heeseung had discovered. Which meant either Jungwon was way more perverted than Heeseung had ever given him credit for, or something else was going on.
"Okay, you're doing it again," Jungwon said, interrupting Heeseung's spiral. "You're being weird and quiet and you won't look at me. What's going on? Is it about the game? Did something break again?"
Heeseung knew he had to say something because this had gone too far. Because if the mature content was intentional, then they needed to have a very different conversation about boundaries and warnings and maybe Jungwon's concerning lack of shame. And if it wasn't intentional, if this was some kind of glitch or malfunction, then that was somehow even worse because it meant the game was doing things beyond anyone's control. Either way, Heeseung couldn't keep avoiding this. Jungwon was his best friend. If he couldn't talk to Jungwon about this, even if it was mortifying, then what was the point of having a best friend? So Heeseung admitted: "Yeah, it's about the game."
"Okay, so tell me." Jungwon looked at him.
"Look, you could've just... you could have warned me that it had adult content." Heeseung forced himself to look at Jungwon. "Like, explicit that I wasn't expecting in a dating simulator."
Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"
"I'm just saying, a heads up would have been nice. I know you're trying to make it realistic but I wasn't prepared for how detailed it was going to get."
"Bro, what are you talking about?"
And then it all came out like Heeseung couldn't stop himself. "I'm talking about the fact that the game has very explicit scenes with very detailed options and I don't know if you've ever actually looked at what you programmed but it's intense, Jungwon. Like the dialogue options were insane, I could say basically anything and the character would respond and some of those options were really freaky. And the action options were even worse, there were so many of them and they were all very specific and very detailed and I'm not going to list them but oh my god and then there was a whole section where it asked me about preferences and kinks and I thought that was just for character building but no, it actually used that information! And there were position suggestions. Position suggestions, Jungwon! With fucking diagrams, man. Why did you add diagrams?! And the whole thing was just very immersive and very realistic and I had a physical reaction that I'm not going to elaborate on but I think you can figure out what I mean and I've been avoiding you all week because I didn't know how to have this conversation without wanting to die of embarrassment."
Heeseung finally stopped to breathe and realized Jungwon was staring at him with an expression of complete bewilderment. "Heeseung," Jungwon said slowly. "I didn't add any of that content."
"What."
"I didn't program explicit scenes. There's no adult content in the game. It's a dating simulator not a porn game. The most intimate it gets is like, hand holding and maybe a kiss at the end if you get the good ending." Jungwon set down his burger. "What are you talking about dude?"
"Don't fuck with me right now."
"I'm not fucking with you, I'm being completely serious." Jungwon was looking at him, shocked. "I didn't add any of that stuff. I wouldn't even know how to program half of what you just described. Like what the fuck is even a kink questionnaire?!"
Heeseung felt cold. "Then how did I experience it, man?!"
"I don't know!" Jungwon was still shocked. "But this actually makes sense now. Y/N's been avoiding me too this week, even more than you have. She won't answer my texts and she literally ran away from me in the hallway yesterday. I thought maybe she was mad at me about something but what if she experienced the same thing you did?"
"What do you mean?"
"Okay, last Friday, remember when you were studying in the library and Y/N left suddenly? I texted her right after she left asking if she wanted to try the updated version of the game and she texted back immediately saying yes and that she was coming to get it right then." Heeseung remembered that day, your phone had buzzed and you'd looked at it and your whole expression had changed, you'd packed up your stuff so fast, muttering something about being late for class even though Heeseung was pretty sure you didn't have class at that time. "She took the game and left," Jungwon continued. "I didn't hear from her after that until she texted me the next day saying she was returning it and that she didn't want to play anymore. And now she won't talk to me."
"What time did she take the game?" Heeseung asked, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.
"I don't know, maybe around four? Four thirty?" Jungwon paused. "Why?"
Heeseung felt like the world was tilting. "I picked up the game from you around four forty five. Remember?"
"Yeah, so?"
"So we both had the game that night. We both played it that same night." Heeseung's mind was racing, putting pieces together. "And you're saying there's no adult content programmed into the game. But we both experienced something intense enough that we're both avoiding you. And we both played it at the same time."
Jungwon's eyes widened. "Oh my god."
"What if—" Heeseung stopped, because what he was about to say sounded insane. But everything about this situation was insane. "What if the game connected us somehow? What if when we both played it at the same time and it put us in the same… I don't know, session?"
"That's not possible because I didn't program any multiplayer features."
"You also didn't program explicit content but I definitely experienced it, man!" Heeseung put his head in his hands. "Jungwon, the character in my game looked exactly like Y/N, exactly like her. And you said the character customization was random."
"It is random. I didn't—" Jungwon stopped. "Wait. She actually said something similar. When she gave the game back she mentioned that the boyfriend character looked really realistic, like someone she could actually know."
Heeseung felt like throwing up. "Did she say who?"
"No, she just said it freaked her out how real he seemed."
Heeseung was pale now. His brain was doing that thing where it tried to process too much information at once and ended up just kind of spinning in place. You had played the game, you had seen a character that probably looked like him. You had found it so realistic it freaked you out. And then you'd played it again last friday, the same day he did, probably around the same time. And Jungwon was sitting here swearing he hadn't programmed any of the content that Heeseung had definitely experienced. Which meant one of two things: either Jungwon was full of shit, which didn't make sense because why would he lie about this, or the game had somehow done something it wasn't supposed to do. Connected two players who didn't know they were playing together, made them interact without telling them, let them do things with each other while both of them thought they were just playing a single player game with really good immersion.
And if that was true, if you'd actually been playing together, then the character Heeseung had been with wasn't just some algorithm. It was you, making choices and responding to him. Doing all those things that he'd been replaying in his head all week. Which meant you'd been doing those things with him, or with a version of him, and you probably had no idea it was real either. So Heeseung stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. "What's Y/N's dorm?"
Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"
"Her dorm. Which building is she in?"
"Uh, west campus. Building C, I think? Room 304, why?"
"I gotta go." Heeseung was already grabbing his hoodie.
"Ho where? Heeseung, what—" but Heeseung was already walking, he heard Jungwon call after him something about texting him later but he wasn't really listening. His mind was too busy spiraling through everything he needed to say to you, everything he needed to ask, everything that didn't make sense.
The walk to west campus took fifteen minutes but it felt both longer and shorter than that. Heeseung's hands were shaking and he shoved them in his pockets. He tried to figure out what he was going to say. Hey, so I think we accidentally had virtual sex through a Nintendo Switch last week and neither of us knew it was real. Yeah, that would go over great. Or maybe, hi, remember how we both played that game? Turns out we were playing together. Surprise! Yeah, also worse.
By the time he got to building C, he still hadn't figured it out. Heeseung stood outside the door and realized he couldn't actually get in without a key card or someone letting him in. He was standing there trying to figure out his next move when the door opened and two girls walked out, laughing about something on one of their phones. Heeseung caught the door before it closed and slipped inside. Probably not his finest moment in terms of dorm security, but he was past caring about minor rule violations.
He stood in front of your door for a solid thirty seconds, hand raised to knock, unable to make himself actually do it. This was insane, he was insane. He should turn around and leave and text Jungwon and let Jungwon handle this because Jungwon had made the game and this was technically his responsibility. But he didn't leave, he knocked. And nothing happened for a long moment. Heeseung was starting to think maybe you weren't home, or maybe you were home but ignoring the door, when he heard movement from inside. Footsteps and then a pause. Then your voice, muffled through the door.
"Who is it?"
Heeseung's mouth was dry. "It's Heeseung."
Another pause, longer this time. He could picture you on the other side of the door, probably frozen, probably panicking, probably wondering why the hell he was at your dorm right now. Then the lock turned and you opened the door. You were pale, like actually pale, but you smiled anyway. "Hi Hee. Is… everything alright?"
Heeseung looked at you. You were in pajamas, soft looking sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with some faded band logo on it. Your hair was up in a bun that was more mess than anything else, strands falling out around your face, no makeup. You were standing there at your door at five pm on a friday looking comfortable and real and so pretty it made his chest hurt. He knew he was down bad already. Had been since the game, since the party, since the moment you'd turned around in that park with a flower behind your ear that he'd picked for you except it hadn't actually been you, or maybe it had been, he didn't even know anymore. But looking at you now, in your actual dorm with your actual face and your actual voice saying his name like that, soft and a little worried, he realized the game version hadn't even come close. This was better because this was real.
"Well, yeah, I mean, technically no," he said. Then stopped. "I mean yes. I mean, I need to ask you something and I don't want to sound crazy but I'm probably going to sound crazy anyway so I don't know how to do this without sounding crazy."
Your expression shifted. Something in your eyes changed, like you knew exactly what he was going to say but didn't want to believe it. You stepped back and pulled the door open wider. "Come in."
Heeseung walked into your dorm and tried not to look around but he couldn't help it. The space was small but you'd made it yours, there was a Janna poster on the wall near your desk, the star guardian skin, same one you had on your phone case. Next to it was a persona 5 royal poster that looked like it had been put up carefully. Your Switch was sitting on your desk next to your laptop, the joy cons that soft pink and blue that came with the Animal Crossing edition. Your bed was unmade, blankets pushed to one side like you'd gotten up in a hurry. There were books stacked on your nightstand, a pair of headphones tangled on top of them. A stuffed cat that looked old and well loved sitting on your pillow. It was so much like the apartment in the game that Heeseung felt dizzy. The colors, the vibe, the way things were organized. But also different and better because it was lived in and messy in ways the game couldn't replicate.
"Do you want water or something?" You were standing by your mini fridge, hand on the door, looking at him with that same careful expression.
And then Heeseung opened his mouth and everything just came out.
"Jungwon gave me this game to test Called Girlfriend simulator and I thought it was stupid, like, the most desperate thing I could possibly do, like an actual certificate that I'm way too single for a guy my age. But I played it anyway because I can't say no to Jungwon and also because I was curious and I went on this date with this girl and she liked League of Legends and I had to pick this flower that was glowing and she loved it, and this firefly landed on her hand and she smiled at me like and then we played league together and destroyed her ex boyfriends, and we cooked pasta and she helped me because I was burning the garlic and the game kept giving me dialogue options but then I started just talking and it kept responding like it knew what I was going to say. And then things got really intimate, like really intimate, in ways I'm not going to describe because I'll die of embarrassment but you can probably guess what I mean. And the girl, she... she looked exactly like you. Not kind of like you, exactly like you. same face, same voice, same everything. and i talked to jungwon today And he said there's no adult content in the game, that he never programmed any of that, and that you played it too, last friday on the same night I did. And I think we were playing together and I think we were in the same game, in the same session or server or whatever, and I think the characters we were playing with weren't just game characters and I think they were each other. So I need you to tell me right now, does the boyfriend character in your game look like me?"
You were staring at him. Your hand was still on the mini fridge door but you weren't moving. Your face had gone from pale to flushed and your mouth was slightly open like you wanted to say something but couldn't figure out what. Heeseung's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat and his hands were shaking and he'd just word vomited the entire situation at you without taking a single breath but he couldn't take it back now. You closed the mini fridge. Didn't get water, just stood there looking at him like you were seeing him for the first time. Your eyes were moving across his face, his hair, his shoulders, like you were checking something or maybe confirming something.
"Yes," you said finally. Your voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.
The word hung in the air between you. Heeseung felt something in his chest crack open, something between relief and panic and a feeling he didn't have a name for.
"Yes he looks like you," you continued, louder now. "Exactly like you and I thought I was going crazy and I thought Jungwon had somehow used photos of you without telling me, or that I was seeing patterns that weren't there, or that I'd just completely lost my mind. But it was you."
Heeseung took a step closer without meaning to. "You played it last friday."
"Yes."
"Around six thirty."
"Yes."
"And things got—" he stopped, couldn't say it.
"Intense." You finished for him. Your face was completely red now.
"So it was real." Heeseung's voice sounded strange. "We were playing together. We were with each other and we didn't know it."
You were breathing faster now. He could see your chest rising and falling under your hoodie. "So when I— when we—"
"Yeah." The room got quiet after that. You looked at him and he looked back and there it was again, that pull from the game, except now there was no screen between you. Just him standing in your dorm with his messy hair and that hoodie you'd seen in the character creator, and you knowing exactly how his hands felt even though you'd never actually touched him before. Your breath caught. His did it too, you saw his chest hitch. Neither of you said anything, you both just moved, like someone had pressed play at the same time. He leaned in, you tilted up, and your mouths met in the middle.
You kissed at the same time.
His mind was racing: this is real, this is actually happening. No reset button, no save file, and he could not stop it even if he tried. Your lips were soft and moving against his in a way that made his hands come out of his pockets and find your waist, pulling you in a bit. You felt his fingers press into the fabric of your hoodie, and you responded by sliding your hands up to his shoulders, gripping the soft material there.
The kiss deepened, his tongue brushed yours lightly, exploratory, and you leaned into it, your back arching off the mini fridge as he stepped closer, bodies pressing together now. A small sound escaped you, not a moan exactly, but something involuntary, and Heeseung reacted by tilting his head more, his hand moving up your back under the hoodie, fingers splaying against your skin, warm and calloused a little. His hands shook a little on your hips, and thank god there were no pop up flashing with options like "kiss deeper" or "pull away," and no dialogue tree to pick from.
You broke for air just a second, foreheads touching, both of you breathing hard. "this is way better than the game," he muttered, voice low and rough, with a tiny grin pulling at his lips.
You huffed a laugh, your hands still on his shoulders. "Shut up."
You pulled him back in before he could say anything else. This kiss was different, harder, more sure. Your teeth caught his bottom lip and he made a noise he'd be embarrassed about later. His hand came up to your face, thumb against your cheek. Your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged and he pressed you back against the fridge hard enough that the door rattled. He kissed down your jaw, taking his time, and you tilted your head to give him room. Your breathing was coming in short bursts. He got to your neck and stayed there, face buried against your skin, breathing you in. You made a sound that kinda sounded like a purr and that did something in him. In his head, he was scrambling, piecing together bits from the game, like the survey thing, where things got rough, when he knew you liked it rough. But now? No way, he wanted this slow, careful, the way you deserved. He slowed his kisses on your neck, his thumb tracing small circles on your side under the hoodie. Don't rush, idiot, his brain nagged, you're not on a timer here.
He pulled back just a bit, forehead against yours, and said, "Sorry, this was kinda... out of nowhere."
You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. "It wasn't."
He looked at your mouth, then back up to your eyes. "If this is weird for you though. With everything. I can stop."
"No." You said it fast, then quieter. "I want this."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." you paused, then added quieter, "I haven't stopped thinking about it. Or… you. I can't stop thinking about you."
His brain glitched hard at that. wWait, she what? Holy shit, okay, don't screw this up. And he leaned in again, kissing you deeper now, hands sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him. He nipped at your lip, testing, as things heated back up, his pulse loud in his ears. You pushed him back gently, hands on his chest, guiding him across the room step by step until his back hit the wall with a soft thud. The kiss turned messy then, tongues clashing, breaths mixing in quick gasps, neither of you holding back anymore. Your lips moved to his jaw, nipping lightly, then down to his neck, sucking at the skin there.
He let out an uncontrolled whine, his hands tightening on your hips. That sound made you bolder, so you slipped one hand under his hoodie, fingers tracing the warm skin of his stomach, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. You pulled back up to kiss him again, fast and urgent, teeth grazing his lip. He bent his knees a bit, hands sliding down to your thighs, and lifted you up in one smooth motion. Your legs wrapped around his torso automatically, and he spun you around, pressing your back against the wall now. No action option popped up in his head, no prompt telling him what to do next — he'd done it all on instinct, and that made a quick flash of pride hit him, like he was finally off script, just going with it.
Between kisses, you murmured against his mouth, "Hee, you feel so good."
"You too, god" he breathed back, voice rough. He pressed in closer, his body flush against yours, the bulge in his pants obvious now between your legs. You let out a quiet moan, your head tipping back against the wall. He kept you pinned there against the wall, his hips rolling slow against yours in a rhythm that matched your breaths, each grind pulling a small gasp from you. His hands slid up under your hoodie, fingers spreading wide over your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra as he kissed you deeper, tongue sweeping in like he couldn't get enough. You arched into his touch and nipped at his earlobe, then soothed it with your tongue. He shivered, a low groan escaping him, and you felt him harden more against you, the friction sending sparks up your spine.
He lowered you slowly to the floor, knees bending as he guided you toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. You tugged at his hoodie, pulling it over his head in one messy motion, his hair falling wild as it came off. His skin was warm, flushed, and you ran your hands over his chest, thumbs circling his nipples until they peaked under your touch. He laughed softly, a little breathless, as he peeled your hoodie off next, tossing it aside. His fingers traced the strap of your bra, slipping it down your shoulder before leaning in to kiss the exposed skin.
You pushed him back onto the bed, climbing onto his lap, your thighs straddling his as you ground down slowly, feeling his erection press right where you needed it. His hands gripped your hips, guiding the motion. As his fingers worked the clasp of your bra, letting it fall away, Heeseung's mind clicked into place: this was infinitely better than any simulator. In the game it was all presets, like surveys and options that guessed at what you liked, scripted responses that felt good but flat. Here, he could watch your reactions for real, feel the way your body tensed or relaxed under his hands, discover the spots that made you squirm without a pop up telling him what to do. No algorithms dictating the pace; just trial and error, his lips on your skin, learning from every shiver, every moan. Why settle for a program when he could map you out himself, piece by piece?
Things picked up then, his mouth closing over one of your nipples, tongue flicking slow at first, then sucking harder when you arched into it, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Hee, yes— like that," you breathed, grinding down firmer, the wet heat between your legs soaking through against his sweatpants. He switched sides, hand cupping the other breast, thumb rolling over the peak. He helped you take your sweatpants off, and then his free hand slipped between you, fingers pressing over your clit through your panties, rubbing in tight circles that had you moaning louder, hips bucking. You reached down, palming him through his pants, feeling the outline of his cock twitch under your hand. "You're so hard already," you said, squeezing gently, watching his face contort. He thrust up into your touch, a whine slipping out as he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and deep.
His fingers dipped under your waistband now, sliding through your slick folds, one dipping inside you slow, curling just right. "So wet, fuck," he whispered, adding another finger, pumping steadily as his thumb found your clit again. You rocked against his hand, breaths coming faster, and tugged at his sweatpants, freeing him enough to wrap your fingers around his length, stroking slow from base to tip, thumb swiping over the precum beading there. He bucked into your grip, groaning into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. "Keep going," he panted, fingers speeding up inside you, hitting that spot that made your toes curl.
You sped up your strokes, matching his rhythm, the slick sound of your hand on him mixing with the wet push of his fingers in you. He dropped his head to your shoulder, mouthing at your neck, teeth grazing skin as his free hand gripped your thigh hard enough to leave marks. You rolled your palm over the head on every upstroke, spreading the precum down his length, and he thrust into your fist harder, a low whine catching in his throat. His hips stuttered, thrusts into your hand getting erratic, and you felt him swell thicker against your palm. Suddenly he grabbed your wrist, stopping your movement, chest heaving. "I can't— fuck— I'll cum so fast like this."
"Yeah," you breathed, nodding quick, "Fuck, okay." He kissed you hard once more, then pulled his fingers out slow, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean while looking right at you. You bit your lip, heat rushing lower. You shifted back a bit, still catching your breath. "You got a condom?"
"Oh shit," he muttered, eyes widening. He reached down to his sweatpants, still tangled around one thigh from your handjob. And dug into the pocket, fumbling for his wallet. You leaned in, kissing along his neck slow, tongue flicking the spot that made him shiver earlier, just to keep him distracted. He huffed as he finally pulled out the foil packet. He glanced at it, then chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. In the game you didn't need this shit — couldn't exactly knock up pixel pussy.
He tore the packet open with his teeth, rolling it on quick but careful, hand stroking himself once to settle it. Then he nudged you back onto the bed, settling between your legs as you lay on your back. He kicked off the sweatpants fully, nearly tripping when they caught on his ankle, and you both grinned at the awkward shuffle. He hovered over you, one hand bracing by your head, the other guiding himself, tip brushing through your folds once, twice, coating in your wetness. "You okay?" he asked, voice low, eyes locked on yours.
"Yeah, fuck, please," you said, wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him closer.
He pushed in slow, the head of his cock breaching you first, that initial stretch making him grit his teeth; tight, wet heat wrapping around him like a vice, slick from all the buildup, but still enough resistance that he had to ease forward inch by inch. His breath caught sharp in his throat, eyes squeezing shut for a second as the sensation hit him full force: warm walls fluttering around him, pulling him deeper, the condom dulling it just a bit but not enough to hide how perfectly you fit, how your body gave way but clung at the same time. He bottomed out with a low groan, hips flush against yours, and stayed there, pulsing inside you, the fullness making his thighs tense.
This was miles better than the game. In the sim, it was all smooth, predictable friction, coded to feel good but always a step removed, like jacking off to a video. Here, though, buried deep in you, he felt every twitch, every squeeze of your cunt around his cock, the real heat radiating through him, the way your wetness coated him completely, Making each tiny shift send sparks up his spine. It was messy and raw, just the obscene reality of how soaked you were, how his balls pressed between your thighs, heavy and tight, begging for more. He started moving then, slow pulls back and thrusts in, the wet slap of skin filling the room as he found a rhythm. You arched up to meet him, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red lines he could feel stinging already. "Fuck, you're taking me so well," he muttered, voice wrecked, as he snapped his hips harder once, watching your tits bounce with the impact. He leaned down, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise while he ground deep, cock dragging along your walls, hitting spots that made you clench tighter around him.
Your legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into his back, urging him faster, and he obliged, thrusts turning rougher, the bed creaking under you both. He could hear the squelch each time he buried himself balls-deep, your pussy gripping him. "So fucking wet," he groaned against your skin, one hand sliding down to grab your ass, pulling you onto him harder. You moaned louder, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging as he pounded in, the angle shifting so his pubic bone ground against your clit with every thrust.
He flipped you over suddenly, hands on your hips yanking you up onto all fours, and slid back in from behind in one smooth push, deeper this way, his cock curving just right to make you gasp. He started railing you, skin slapping loud, his balls smacking against you with each brutal thrust. You pushed back against him, meeting every snap, your walls fluttering around him, milking him tighter. He reached around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing messy circles while he fucked you harder.
His mind flashed back to the game then, that kink survey popping up, how you'd picked options that leaned heavy into rough. He wondered if it carried over, if real you craved that edge too. Testing it, he drew back a hand and landed a smack on your ass, not too hard, just enough to sting and make the flesh jiggle under his palm. The sound cracked through the room, sharp over the wet slaps of his thrusts. You moaned low, pushing back harder against him, your pussy clenching tight around his cock like a reflex. That reaction lit him up — okay, she likes it — and he felt bolder, the dom side kicking in without overthinking. "Yeah, you take that so good," he groaned, rubbing the spot he smacked, soothing the heat before landing another, a bit firmer this time, watching your skin pink up.
He kept pounding in, deep and steady, the angle letting him hit that spot inside you that made your knees buckle a little. Reaching forward, he grabbed your wrists, pulling your arms back and pinning them at the small of your back with one hand, your chest dropping lower to the mattress. It arched your ass higher, letting him drive deeper, his free hand gripping your hip hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. The restraint made everything tighter, your walls hugging his cock obscenely, slick dripping down his balls with each thrust. "Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he panted, voice breaking as he felt you flutter around him, the build-up coiling tight in his gut.
"Hee—close, I'm so close," you gasped, face pressed into the sheets, hips grinding back desperate now. He picked up the pace, thrusts turning frantic, skin slapping louder, his balls tightening as he railed you harder. "Come on, let go for me, you feel so good clenching like that," he muttered, leaning over you, breath hot on your back. The friction built fast, your moans turning high and broken, and he felt you shatter first, your pussy spasming hard around his cock, milking him in waves, wetness gushing out and coating his thighs. That pushed him over, his hips stuttering as he buried deep one last time, groaning loud as he came, pulsing inside you, the condom catching every thick spurt while your bodies locked together, shaking through it.
You both stayed like that for a minute, chests heaving, sweat cooling on your skin, the room thick with the smell of sex. He was still buried inside you, pulsing faintly with aftershocks, but he didn't want it to end yet. Slowly, he eased out, the condom slick and heavy as he tied it off and dropped it on the floor beside the bed. His hands loosened on your wrists, letting your arms fall forward as you collapsed onto your stomach with a soft groan. He leaned down, lips brushing the small of your back, tasting the salt there, then lower, kissing along the curve where your spine dipped. His teeth grazed the swell of your ass, biting just hard enough to make you twitch, then soothing it with his tongue. You pushed back slightly, thighs parting on instinct, and he took the invitation— hands spreading you open as he dragged his tongue slow from your asshole down to your entrance, lapping up the mess you'd both made. The taste hit him full: tangy, musky, mixed with the latex from the condom and your arousal, thick and real coating his tongue. He groaned into you, diving deeper, tongue pushing inside your pussy, curling to scoop out more, nose buried against you as he ate you out sloppy from behind.
Your hips started rocking back, muffled moans into the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets. He kept going, alternating broad licks up your slit with flicks over your clit, then back to spearing his tongue inside, feeling your walls flutter again. His face was soaked now, chin dripping, lips swollen, as he sucked your clit into his mouth, humming low. You tensed hard, thighs shaking, and came again with a broken cry, pushing back against his face, wetness flooding his mouth as he licked you through it, not stopping until you sagged limp.
He pulled back finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand but mostly just smearing it, face shiny and wrecked. He flipped you over gentle, onto your back, and just looked; your cheeks flushed deep red, hair stuck to your forehead, neck and thighs dotted with fresh bruises from his mouth and grip, chest rising fast. You looked completely fucked out, eyes half lidded, lips bitten raw. His gaze dropped to himself: cock half hard again already, hanging heavy, the used condom on the floor bloated with his load, cum visible through the latex. This was nothing like the game. There, everything reset clean, no mess, no lingering taste on his tongue, no actual bruises blooming on skin. Here, he could smell you on his face, feel the ache in his jaw from eating you out, see the evidence of how hard he'd fucked you. Way better. Infinitely better.
He crawled up beside you, collapsing half on top, one leg tangled with yours, hand resting on your stomach as you both caught your breath again. The air was still thick, sheets twisted around your ankles, and Heeseung shifted a little closer, propping his head on one hand to look at you. He picked up your hand, fingers tracing over your knuckles before bringing them to his lips, kissing each one slow, like he was checking they were real. "Hey," he said soft, "was is... good for you?"
You glanced away for a second, cheeks heating up again, then nodded. "Yeah. Really good." Your voice came out quieter than you meant, thumb brushing his wrist. He smiled small, relieved, and pressed another kiss to your fingertips. You swallowed, still coming down, and mumbled, "want some water?"
"Yeah I'll get it," he said quick, already pushing up. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, then paused mid step, one hand going to his lower back with a quiet "Ow—shit." He stretched a bit, wincing. Last time he'd moved like that was... well, in the game and pixels don't pull muscles. He huffed a laugh at himself and shuffled over to the mini fridge, the floor cool under his feet.
He grabbed two bottles, cracked one open for you first, and came back, sitting on the edge of the bed close enough that his knee bumped yours. You sat up a little, taking the water, and he reached out, fingers threading through your messy hair, smoothing it back gently while you drank. His touch was light, almost absent minded, but steady. You lowered the bottle and just looked at him— hair sticking up, lips swollen, a faint red mark on his neck from earlier. You let out a soft laugh, nose scrunching. he raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Hi."
"Hi," you said back, still smiling.
He tilted his head, thumb brushing your cheek. "You need to pee."
You snorted, covering your face with one hand. "Yes, I know." He didn't even hesitate, just slid his arms under you, one behind your back, the other under your knees, and lifted you up like you weighed nothing. You yelped quietly, arms looping around his neck on reflex. "Hee—"
"I got you," he muttered, carrying you across the room to the bathroom door, stepping carefully around the clothes scattered on the floor. He set you down gentle inside, kissed your forehead quick, and pulled the door almost shut behind you. "Take your time." You heard him flop back onto the bed with a dramatic groan, probably rubbing his back again, and couldn't help smiling to yourself in the mirror.
When you came back, he was sitting on the edge of your bed, boxers pulled on, knees apart, elbows resting on his thighs. He looked up as the bathroom door opened and gave you this small, lopsided smile, half awkward, half couldn't-hide-it-if-he-tried glad. His hair was still a mess, sticking up where your fingers had been, and he rubbed the back of his neck like he didn't know where to put his hands now. You walked over and sat next to him, close enough that your thighs touched, the mattress dipping a little under both of you.
For a second neither of you said anything, just the quiet hum of the mini fridge and the faint rustle of sheets when you shifted. He glanced at you sideways. "So... that happened."
You huffed a small laugh, pulling your knees up. "Yeah. It did."
He was quiet for a moment. "Was it—" he stopped, started again. "I don't want you to think that's why I came here. Or that I expected—"
"I know."
"Because we don't really know each other. Like, actually know each other. And I don't want you to feel like this was too much or—"
"Don't we though?"
He looked at you. "What?"
"Know each other." You tucked your hair behind your ear. "I lived all of it with you. In the game."
"Yeah but that wasn't—"
"The date in the park," you said. "You picked that flower for me. The one that was glowing.” Heeseung was very still now, watching you. "And we played League together," you continued. "Destroyed my exes, even though they don't even exist in real life. Also, you were so smug about it, kept emoting after every kill, I thought you were so cute. And then we cooked pasta at my place and you almost burned the garlic and I had to help you and we ended up just—" you stopped, smiled a little. "It felt easy and natural like I'd known you forever. And the dates after that. Like the arcade, that hiking trail." You were looking at your hands now. "And then the park again at night. You told me you were falling for me. I remember it all too well. It was the most real thing that's ever happened to me." You finally looked at him. "And when I met you at the party and realized you were an actual person, I freaked out. Because how was I supposed to deal with the fact that I'd already fallen for you before we'd even met?"
"You—" his voice cracked slightly. "You fell for me?"
"Yeah." You said it simple, like it was obvious. "In the game. I didn't know it was you, but I felt everything. And then when Jungwon texted me about the update, I couldn't — I had to play it again. I had to see you again, even if it was just in the game. I thought it was just the game being really immersive and really realistic and I didn't think you were actually there."
Heeseung let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I thought the same thing but I couldn't figure out what else it could be."
"And then we both avoided each other for a week." You laughed, dropping your head against his shoulder. "We're idiots."
"Complete idiots." He leaned his head against yours. "But like, in our defense, how were we supposed to know we were accidentally having virtual sex through a Nintendo Switch?"
You snorted, shoulders shaking with laughter. "Please never say that sentence again."
"Which part, the virtual sex or the Nintendo Switch?"
"Both. That whole thing."
He was grinning now. "But it happened."
"Ynfortunately yes."
"And it was—" he stopped.
"Really good," you finished.
He pulled back a little, just enough to look at you, his fingers sliding up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, thumb brushing your cheek. "Yeah. It was. But this way is better." You smiled, he did too. But then he paused, and said quieter, "We don't have to figure it all out right now, you know. The whole... what this means. But," he swallowed, hand dropping to lace with yours on the sheet. "If you want to. If you're down... I'd really like to try this for real. Like, dates that don't require a Switch cartridge. Real hiking and a real arcade. And the boring real stuff too."
You turned your hand over, squeezing his fingers. "Boring real stuff sounds good."
"Yeah?" His smile went soft, relieved, and he shifted closer, knee bumping yours. His free hand came up to your waist, pulling you gently until you were half in his lap, legs tangled again. He kissed you slow then, nothing rushed, just lips moving soft, his hand splaying warm on your back. You kissed back, fingers threading through the hair at his nape, tugging lightly when he deepened it a bit. He pulled away just enough to breathe, lips still grazing yours. "This okay?"
"More than okay," you murmured, chasing his mouth for another quick kiss. He smiled into it, then another, hand sliding up your spine, thumb tracing lazy lines. You broke apart for air, but stayed close, foreheads together. "So," you said, poking his chest. "First real date. You picking or me?"
"I owe you that glowing flower," he said, fingers playing with your hair. "But like, from an actual field this time."
You laughed softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Deal. But you're still helping with the garlic."
He groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the pillow and pulling you with him so you landed half on his chest. "Fine. But no emoting when I burn it."
You settled there, ear over his heartbeat, his arms wrapping loose around you. "We'll see."
And you did see, because you saw him burn garlic three more times over the next month, and you emoted every single time, just to watch him get flustered and defensive about it. And the dates weren't like the game. There were no perfectly timed sunsets or fireflies that landed on cue.
Your first real date was at a diner near campus at two in the afternoon because that's when you both had free time between classes. He ordered pancakes and you stole half of them. The syrup was too sweet and the coffee was burnt and it was perfect anyway. You went to an arcade on a Tuesday night because you both thought it would be funny and all the good machines were broken. Heeseung spent twenty bucks trying to win you a stuffed cat from the claw machine and failed every time, just like the game. You ended up buying one from the prize counter with your own money and he carried it around for the rest of the night looking mildly offended. The hiking trail he took you on wasn't the picturesque mountain path from the game. It was a local trail that was mostly flat and next to a highway. You could hear cars the entire time. He tripped over a root and almost took you down with him. But he held your hand the whole way and pointed out a bird he thought was cool, and when you sat on a bench to rest, he kissed you and it tasted like the granola bars you'd been sharing.
You learned things about him that the game had never shown you. That he was grumpy in the mornings and needed at least ten minutes of silence before he could form coherent sentences. That he had a specific way of organizing his desk and got stressed when things were out of place. That he laughed at his own jokes before he finished telling them and it was the most endearing thing you'd ever seen. Meanwhile, he learned that you talked to yourself when you were concentrating, narrating your own thoughts out loud without realizing it. That you had strong opinions about which anime openings were skippable and which were sacred. That you stress baked at midnight and would show up at his dorm at one am with cookies that were still warm and slightly misshapen.
You played League together and he actually did run it down once and you flamed him for fifteen minutes straight. He took you to his favorite boba place and you hated the drink you ordered but drank it anyway because you didn't want to admit you'd made a mistake. He noticed and switched cups with you without saying anything.
And the domestic stuff was better than any game could've captured: grocery shopping together and arguing about which brand of ramen to buy; him falling asleep on your shoulder during study sessions in the library; you stealing his hoodies and him pretending to be annoyed but leaving them at your place on purpose. The way he'd text you random memes at three am just because he thought you'd find them funny. The way you'd save the last bite of your food for him without thinking about it. It was real and messy and nothing like the perfect dates the game had generated. It was so much better.
Three months in, Jungwon decided he wanted to do a pizza night at his place. Make-your-own-pizza, he'd said. It'll be fun, he'd said. He'd assigned everyone tasks and you and Heeseung got stuck with grocery shopping because apparently you were the only ones who could be trusted not to forget something important. Which is how you ended up in the pasta sauce aisle of the grocery store on a Saturday afternoon, having an increasingly heated debate about pizza sauce. "This one has basil already in it," Heeseung said, holding up a jar.
"But that one's too sweet. We need the plain one so we can add our own seasonings." You grabbed a different jar.
"Nobody's going to taste the difference."
"I'm going to taste the difference!"
"Yeah, that's because ou have the most specific opinions about things that don't matter."
"Excuse me, pizza sauce matters. This is important." He looked at you, standing there in your hoodie and jeans with your hair falling out of your bun, holding a jar of pasta sauce like it was a matter of life and death, and he felt something in his chest shift. You'd been arguing about groceries for ten minutes. Before that it had been flour — he'd grabbed all purpose and you'd insisted on bread flour even though Jungwon probably wouldn't care. You had strong opinions about olive oil brands. You'd spent five minutes reading the labels on different types of cheese. It was so mundane and domestic and real and he was so gone for you it was ridiculous.
Heeseung caught your wrist and pulled you back. You turned, surprised, the jar of sauce still in your hand. "What?" He just looked at you for a second. The fluorescent grocery store lighting was terrible and someone's kid was screaming two aisles over and the store radio was playing a compressed version of some pop song from five years ago. Nothing about this moment was romantic or special or anything like the game would've generated.
"You know," he said, "if this was a cooking game, you'd be picking all the wrong action options right now."
You laughed. "What?"
"The wrong sauce. Insisting on fresh garlic when the jarred stuff is right there. Making this way more complicated than it needs to be." He was smiling now, pulling you closer. "You'd be failing the efficiency route."
"Good thing this isn't a game then."
"Yeah." His other hand came up to your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Good thing." You were looking at him with this soft expression, waiting for whatever he was going to say, and Heeseung realized he'd been waiting for the perfect moment for weeks now. The right time, the right place, the right words. But standing in a grocery store on a random Saturday arguing about pizza sauce felt more right than any perfectly rendered sunset could've been. "I love you," he said.
You went very still. "What?"
"I love you." He said it again, steadier this time. "And I want to finally beat fuck ass Girlfriend Simulator. Make it official."
"Heeseung—"
"I want to complete the Girlfriend Simulator route," he continued, and he was grinning now because he could see you trying not to smile. "Get the good ending. Unlock the girlfriend achievement."
You laughed. "You're such a nerd."
"Yeah, I know. so?" He squeezed your hand. "Will you be my girlfriend? For real this time?"
You set the jar of sauce down on the nearest shelf, not even checking if it was the right spot, and kissed him. Right there in the middle of the grocery store with terrible lighting and screaming children and elevator music playing overhead. His arms came around you and you could feel him smiling against your mouth. When you pulled back, you were both grinning like idiots. "Yes," you said. "Obviously yes.”
And you kissed him. His arms came around you and you could feel him smiling against your mouth. You pulled back just a little, hands sliding up to rest on his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. The kiss turned slower then, softer, your lips brushing his again and again like you couldn't quite stop. He made this quiet hum, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking the skin there while the other stayed firm on your waist, keeping you close. Some lady pushed her cart past you both, wheels squeaking on the linoleum, but neither of you moved.
When you finally broke apart, foreheads still touching, you were both breathing a little harder. "I love you too," you said, voice low but steady. "Obviously. And I'm really glad I beat Boyfriend Simulator."
He laughed soft, nose bumping yours. "Wait." His face went serious all of a sudden, eyes narrowing. "That was the name of your game? Boyfriend Simulator?"
"Yeah." You bit your lip, trying not to grin too big. "Jungwon said it was different from Girlfriend Simulator because this one has a multiplayer option."
He shook his head slow, arms still around you, holding you there in the aisle like he wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon. You both just stood there, wrapped up in each other between the shelves of pasta sauce, carts rumbling by, some kid yelling about cereal in the distance. Heeseung stared at you, processing, then let out this quiet groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "I'm going to kill Yang Jungwon."
You laughed into his hair, fingers threading through it at the nape of his neck. "Get in line."
[GAME COMPLETE] GOOD ENDING UNLOCKED: REAL LIFE ROUTE ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: GIRLFRIEND.EXE NEW GAME+ AVAILABLE: THE REST OF YOUR LIVES
you've never had a desire to leave home. valley point offers solace, a place where you know you fit in, or even stand out in a good way. working at your uncle's bakery is a blessing you can never appreciate enough; what more could you ask for?
enter heeseung lee, a 23-year-old free spirit whom your uncle hires from the outside. you insist that you don't need him—it's a family business. he only wants to help. you won't give him a chance.
so, what happens when you uncover the layers of heeseung lee and begin to realize that there's more to him than meets the eye, and with that, someone to love?
now showing: incandescence (color my world).
PAIRING: nonidol!heeseung x baker!reader (hallmark christmas au)
WORD COUNT: 23.1k
ꨄ︎: merry christmas, everyone! i've been working on this nonstop for a while now, and i'm just now finishing it at 11:00 pm, but i think it'll be worth the wait :) i first came up with this idea way back in august, and i've been so excited to release her to the world 🥹 incandescence!heeseung is my favorite interpretation of him that i've written, mostly because i was really able to explore him as a whole. i hope you all love this story as much as i do. i'd love to continue their story. enjoy, and happy reading. xo <3
CONTENT: fluff, “enemies” to friends to ? to lovers, eventual smut mdni, fingering, multiple orgasms, sex not too detailed, unprotected sex, creampie(?), (semi?) public sex, pet names (baby), slow burn, mentions of blood, he cleans her cut, profanity, slight situationship, heavy angst, heeseung has no mom and slight daddy issues, baking au, christmas au, new england small town hallmark fic, tooth-rotting fluff, han jisung from stray kids, other enhypen members mentioned, boston bruins mentioned, arguing
incandescent.
(adjective)
to be full of strong emotion; passionate.
describes a person who is glowing with a strong emotion or feeling, such as passion, joy, excitement, or rage.
—
47 Days Until Christmas
“A what?”
Your uncle chuckles as you practically explode behind the counter, flailing your arms around like a small child not getting their way. “I said that I hired a coworker for you,” he simply states over a sip of his hot coffee, eyes glazing over the newspaper in his free hand. “You’re going to need help this year. I’m in no shape to be handling the rushes anymore. I’m getting too old.”
“Uncle Arthur, I’m fully capable—”
“Y/N,” he interrupts, and you freeze. “You’re going to work with him,” he sets the newspaper down and looks up, “so you’d better get used to it.”
“Where’s this guy even from?”
“He’s 23, around your age,” he replies. “From South Korea. Said he moved here for a change of scenery.”
“How did he find Valley Point?” you wonder aloud, arm tired from cleaning off the counter. If it weren’t 7:00 at night on a Tuesday, maybe you wouldn’t be so easily irritable, and in hindsight, he probably should’ve picked a better time to drop the bomb. But then again, you’ve always been this stubborn, so really, it wouldn’t matter.
“Beats me,” he shrugs, folding the paper neatly and tucking it into his flannel shirt pocket. “He probably wanted somewhere small if he was looking to escape the city. That’s usually the case for those boys. But I will agree with you that it’s quite odd that someone from Korea, of all places, stumbles upon us.” He chuckles softly to himself, but you only grimace. You’re not all that amused, clearly.
“I guess.”
He stands up from the barstool and braces a hand on his back, trying to stretch it out. “Well,” he winces, “I’d better be on my way.” He yawns, and you round the counter to stand in front of him.
“Uncle Arthur, please,” you try one last time, “I’ll be fine, I promise. You know I have a system, and—I mean, come on, can’t you just get Taylor or Diane here to help me? They know how to carry their weight around here.”
“They won’t be available as much as you’ll need them,” he counters with a pointing finger. “I tried to avoid this, but honestly, it might be good for you. Remember—you don’t own this place, Y/N, I do.” You want to protest, but damnit, he’s making a valid point—why can’t he just let you be? “I may be your uncle, but I can take this position away from you if you refuse to cooperate with me.”
You sigh with defeat, shoulders slugging beside you, eyes closing tightly. “Okay,” you whisper begrudgingly. “Fine. I’ll just have to...figure it out.”
“That’s my girl,” he smiles, patting your back, and you grimace again. He laughs—the kind that’s usually sweet but only annoys you further—and heads for the door. “You’ll like him.”
“Doubt it.”
“Just trust me,” he winks. “He’s quite the looker, ya know,” he jokes, and he finds that you’re not all that amused. “Well,” he motions for you to get back to cleaning, “you should be fine closing up alone. I’ll see you in the morning.”
You roll your eyes—and admittedly stick your tongue out—as your uncle exits the shop, leaving you alone with his empty coffee cup and the nerves of working with a complete stranger for the entire holiday season.
-
“And then he said ‘you’ll like him’ as if I’d ever like some random guy impeding on the system I so perfectly built up!”
Jisung laughs on the other end of the line. “Well, Y/N, you are just about the worst person to work with,” he giggles, popping a chip into his mouth. “Uncle Arthur might have a point there.”
He scrolls through Instagram on his iPad as he lies flat on his stomach, kicking his feet in the air like a little kid. “What if he’s hot, or something?”
“Pfft,” you scoff, “yeah, right. Some random guy stumbling upon a small town and interrupting my peace? I highly doubt it.” You sigh exasperatedly as you flop back onto your mattress, cold from the extreme lack of heat reaching your room; damn the central air system in townhouses.
“Don’t count the possibility out,” he mumbles, cutting himself short. “Oh, my god,” he snorts.
“What is it?”
“Did you see what Taylor posted?”
Taylor is a few years older than you. She’s the eldest daughter of Uncle Arthur’s good friend, who helped him start up the shop and passed away just a couple of years back. To keep her busy and give her a little piece of her dad, he let her help out during the busiest rushes of the year. You always got along with her, sure, but something always felt off, so you never kept all that close with her, and well—it seems you’ve been right all along.
“No,” you furrow your brows, putting him on speaker and opening the app to check. “That bitch,” you scowl. “She’s going on vacation to the goddamn Bahamas while I’m stuck here to work the Christmas rush with some fucking stranger?” You angrily slam the phone onto the bed beside you, and you hear Jisung gasp from the loud noise. “Seriously, I knew she didn’t care!”
“Hey,” Jisung pipes up, rolling onto his back, “look on the bright side—maybe you’ll make a friend out of him.”
“I dunno, Jisung—”
“Just…don’t let it ruin the season for you, okay?” he breathes. “It’s only until January.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
-
Alright, so you might have let it ruin your week. Not the whole season, or anything, but your week has basically gone to shit, and the blame is going to fall on him. A man you literally have never met, mind you. You don’t even know his name, because your uncle always butchers it in typical elderly American fashion.
But still, you’re too set in your own way to leave well enough alone. You’ve convinced yourself that this can only go wrong, and that’s what is going to happen, no exceptions. When he doesn’t show up at 7:00 a.m. sharp like you were told he was going to, the uneasy feeling in your stomach multiplies. You like people to be punctual, and even your uncle thinks the same way, so why is it nearing quarter past seven, and this guy has yet to show his face?
You angrily pop open the register to check the money, barely sorting through the paper before a loud, swishing noise interrupts you. A cold breeze makes its way in, and you turn your attention to the front door, where a man stands at about 5 feet 11, panic set in his face, two hot drinks in his hands.
It’s him; you know it is.
“You’re late,” you grit out and re-focus your attention on the open drawer. “Not a good look for your first shift here.”
“I am so sorry,” he begins, opting not to take off his comically puffy jacket and practically running towards you. “I swear, this isn’t how it was supposed to play out. I left my place almost an hour ago, and there were no buses, so I had to walk. I stopped for coffee on the way, because I almost died out there, and I grabbed one for you as an apology, but now that I think about it, you might not even like it.”
He finally takes a breath. “Shit, uh, I’m sorry,” he places the warm cup beside you, and you reluctantly accept it with a curt thank you. “You must be Y/N. Your uncle told me about you.” He extends a hand out to you.
“Yeah,” you respond dryly, “Y/N Whitmore.” You shake his hand without looking up. “Heeseung, right? I’m sure he told you how nice and friendly I am to new blood around here.” You finally get a clear look at his face when you close the drawer, nervously laughing at what he hopes is a joke, like he’s afraid you’re going to beat him up with the cash register if he doesn’t.
Okay, so maybe Jisung was onto something. He’s a looker. Like, really nice to look at.
He’s got the type of eyes that look straight into your soul. Not intimidatingly, just—deep. Big. Like boba. His face is soft, but it’s detailed, like the upturn of his nose and its sharp, straight bridge. His lips. His teeth flash with his smile, and it’s…pretty. And you have to admit that he has a really nice head of hair. The ashy blonde color looks a bit eccentric because it’s very clearly not his natural one, but it suits him. He kind of looks like a deer, if you squint your eyes and look, like, really closely.
Alright, so he’s hot; it doesn’t change the fact that he’s late and the person you’ve been not-so-excitedly anticipating to ruin your workflow.
“So,” he claps his hands and rubs them together in a dorky fashion, “where do we start?”
You breathe air out through your nose. “Cases,” you mumble, standing up straight and turning to the display cases beside you. “We need to make and thaw out what goes in every morning.” You gesture towards the empty shelves and the dry-erase labels. “It changes every once in a while. Our regular guy, Gerry, comes in late at night after closing to clean out the kitchen and prepare for us to make the pastries that go here,” you point to the shelves on the bottom, “and we deal with the rest. I usually come a little early to help with those, but I doubt I’ll be doing much of that anymore. As for you, we’ll make the muffins, some cookies, et cetera in the mornings, put out the other premades, and boom—ready to open by 9.”
“Okay…sounds…easy enough,” he nods along.
“Yeah,” you shift your weight from one foot to the other. “Do you know how to bake, or did my uncle go into this completely blind?”
“Go in blind?” he asks like he doesn’t know what you’re saying, and you blink in confusion until you realize he doesn’t. You haven’t really left Valley Point much, and the most time you’ve spent in a city probably only totals up to about 2 days, so the concept of someone not being born and raised here—or at least not speaking the language natively—is foreign. Your right-hand man is Jisung, but he was raised here. Things like this simply aren’t common in a small and sheltered town like yours.
“It means, like,” you tilt your head in thought, debating on how to explain, “when you do something without doing research first. I was asking if he hired you without even asking if you know how to bake.”
“Oh. I see,” he nods. “Sorry if my English isn’t great. I’ve gotten better, but being born and raised in Korea makes it harder to understand some things.”
“It’s okay.” Your nails scratch at the nape of your neck, “That’s my error, really.”
“Maybe you can teach me,” he adds with a smile that fades almost as quickly as it comes when your half-cold, half-unamused expression doesn’t change. “Uh, yeah, I know a little bit,” he clears his throat and answers your earlier question with a shrug. “Most of it isn’t stuff you make here, though. I’ve been here for a bit, but I’m not that good at it. I’m willing to learn.” He leans on the counter behind him and folds his arms nonchalantly, like you’re not staring at him blankly. “Besides, your uncle hired me to help you, so I think I should try to do my part.”
“Alright, well…since I’m not sure how much knowledge you have of some of these things, we’ll just start with the basics.”
And that’s what you do. You start slowly, spending the next few hours before opening carefully showing him how to prepare each item you’ll be making for the day. You make sure he watches carefully and doesn’t touch anything to disrupt your flow. You’ve got a system that cannot be broken, and he needs to be aware of that as soon as possible, or else there will be more problems than you already anticipate.
“Heeseung, you can’t put the flour in that fast. You’re going to dry out the cookie dough,” you palm your face. “Have you never made cookies before?”
If anything, he seems to be an attentive listener. But you’re not sure he’ll be a fast learner.
“But you said to add it,” he furrows his brows, and you breathe a long sigh past your lips, which only confuses him more.
“Just—do it little by little, okay?” you try again; he’s clearly not well-versed in this, and it really isn’t his fault, so you suppose you’ve got to give him a little benefit of the doubt.
“Alright…” he breathes and focuses a little harder, making sure to follow your rules. “I’ve really never baked anything before. I don’t even have a m—”
“It’s fine, Heeseung,” you sigh. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
You’re not a bad person. In fact, you’re anything but; you’d do anything for the people you care about. Your only real crime is that you’re far too easily annoyed.
The rest of the shift goes by smoothly; much better than you thought it would. He does ask a lot of questions about pricing and the register and whatever else you can imagine someone in his position would, but you suppose you can’t get too upset by that, because at least he’s trying to figure things out.
Still, this season isn’t going to be a cake walk, and it’s all thanks to that damn uncle of yours and his itch to make things perfect.
-
It doesn’t take long for you to become irritated.
Crowds are becoming more frequent, and you don’t have the time to be worrying about training someone, and not just training him, but literally teaching him how to make the food he’s selling. You could’ve handled this by yourself. You always do. The only people who have ever helped you with this are Taylor, your semi-friend from high school, who usually only worked this time of year as an extra set of hands, and Diane, who is around Uncle Arthur’s age and in the same predicament as him.
You worked your way to the top here fair and square, and no matter who has accused you of nepotism, it’s all baseless. You’ve had this system in place for years. It’s hard to watch the outer layers of it start to chip off because of Heeseung. It’s already stressing you out, and it’s not even Thanksgiving yet.
“It’s just so hard to get used to this when all I’ve done for years is work around my being alone,” you take a sip of your latte. “Like, I don’t know how to navigate it, and it’s making things even harder.”
Jisung crosses one leg over the other from across the table. “Well, for starters, you are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” he stresses, “and it seems like the poor guy is just trying to figure out how to a, not piss you off, and b, learn how to bake while maintaining a.”
“Jisungggg,” you sigh, letting your head fall into your hand. “You’re supposed to be on my side,” you mumble into your palm.
“I mean, he kind of has a point,” Ellie, your other close friend from school (but nowhere near as much as Jisung), chimes in with the bite of her danish still in her mouth.
“We’ve already established that I was right and that he is hot, so—”
“Jisung, please.”
“I’m serious! I know you won’t admit it out loud, but we all know you think he is.”
“It doesn’t matter how attractive or unattractive he is to me. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s the sole reason for my current and upcoming problems, and it’s gonna affect the way I work,” you argue, gesturing with your hands. “I don’t know why this year, of all years, he decides to hire someone else, who isn’t even from Valley Point, or the States, mind you.”
“Let’s just change the subject, okay?” Ellie interjects. “Jisung, you need to stop being such a drama fiend! That is not what she needs right now, okay?” She turns to you. “And Y/N, you need to stop being such an anxiety freak and accept the fact that you’re stuck with Heeseung one way or another, okay? Great. Glad we’ve got that settled. Now, can we please talk about something else before my head explodes?”
One thing you’ve always prided Ellie on is her ability to mediate a situation when it’s beginning to escalate. As much as you love Jisung to death, he’s just as hotheaded as you, and it always leads to both of you beating a dead horse almost every time you’re together. Which is great and all if you’re alone, but not when someone else is there. That’s usually where Ellie comes in, and you’ve got to be thankful for that, whether you like it or not.
“Okay, uhh…There’s some crazy stuff going on at the publishing office, if anyone cares to hear.”
Ellie palms her forehead. “Jisung, that’s literally what I was just talking—”
“Oh, shit! I gotta go,” you shoot up from your seat, frantically grabbing your things and stuffing your trash in your pocket. “I told Heeseung I’d only be gone for thirty minutes, and it’s been almost an hour. Fuck, I can’t leave him alone for that long.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair, walking towards the café’s exit. “Sorry, guys, I’ll text you later.”
When you finally arrive back at the bakery after basically flooring the gas pedal the entire way back and somehow avoiding the police, you scramble around and slam your car door shut, which you probably shouldn’t do considering it’s a 2012 and cannot handle any more damage. But you ignore that and run inside to see Heeseung behind the counter, serving people, and looking…calm?
You already knew he was pretty easygoing. Still, even with the incredible number of people inside this place, he actually seems to be holding the fort down decently well. Then again, you haven’t been monitoring him at all since you left, and he could be doing everything wrong, so you beeline for the staff closet and throw everything inside before taking a fresh apron and slipping it on.
“You’re late,” he says plainly as the final customer in line walks away. “I thought you said you’d only be thirty minutes? And oh, if I remember correctly, you love it when people are…How do you put it? Right. ‘Punctual.’”
“Don’t get me started, Heeseung,” you roll your eyes, tying the apron behind your back. “Everyone loses track of time at some point in their life. Seems you were fine here alone, anyway.”
He scoffs, “What, after you basically implied that I’d burn this place down without you? Yikes, what’s that saying…Rules for thee, but not for me?”
“Heeseung,” you grit, and he laughs, nudging your shoulder with his.
“Relax, Sunshine, I’m just messing with you. Show a little enthusiasm,” he teases. “I can handle serving people. It’s just the other stuff that I need help with. Like, baking.”
-
“Heeseung, I told you that you can’t leave the cookies in for that long.” You palm your forehead as the smoke crowds around you, wafting into both his and your faces. “They’re burnt to a crisp, and we don’t have time to make more before the morning rush starts. It’s hard enough to serve people coffee and food if they’re at a table, and we’ll never have time to do all of this over, too.”
It’s only been a few days since you met Jisung and Ellie for lunch, and even when you thought for some reason that it would, nothing has changed.
“Fuck,” he coughs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying, it’s just—it’s hard to remember all of
this.”
“You know what? Just—just stay back here and make more. I’ll deal with the people out there by myself,” you sigh, smoothing out your apron and tightening your ponytail irritably. “Clean all of this up, and don’t take them out of your sight once they’re in there. If anything happens again, I’m going to be pissed.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You know, an apology doesn’t have much meaning when things like this keep happening.”
It’s all you say before you push your way out of the kitchen and to the front, where a few people wait in line at the register, and you frown.
“So sorry for the wait. What can I get you?”
As you help the customers, Heeseung remains in the back, doing as you tasked him with and trying desperately not to fuck it up. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t irritated, too.
You haven’t given him a chance in Hell in the few weeks he’s worked here. Even Arthur has been nothing but lenient with him, often apologizing for your behavior and trying to knock some sense into you, but it isn’t working. You’re clearly not willing to budge, and he’s starting to wonder if it’s even worth the hassle.
He manages to fix his error and make a fresh batch of cookies that look good enough to sell, and he brings them out to stock the case quietly, mostly avoiding eye contact with you in the process.
He doesn’t notice anyone standing above him until a girl no younger than him speaks, startling him, and he looks up.
“Are you new here?” she asks, twirling a strand of honey blonde hair between her fingers.
“Uh, yeah.”
“I figured. I’ve never seen you before,” she smiles sweetly, eyes glancing down, but not for long enough to warrant much suspicion. “I don’t think I’d forget a face like yours, anyway,” she all but whispers, so low that only he hears.
“Yeah?” he hums, a little intrigued, and leans over the case with the empty tray still in his hand. “I think I could say the same for you.”
Heeseung has quite the confident streak, but it hasn’t come out in the time you’ve known him. How would it, with how evilly you’ve treated him since you met him? Regardless, it’s there, and it’s awfully powerful. It’s not like he doesn’t know that he’s conventionally attractive, and well, then some.
The moment doesn’t last for long, anyway.
“Heeseung!”
“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath and looks down with his eyes screwed shut.
“Stop flirting with the customers, and go back into the kitchen,” you mutter through gritted teeth, and he swears he can see steam coming out of your ears. “Or I swear to God, you will be fired.”
He drops the innocent act and huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes and making damn sure you see it before he slams his hand on the double-hinged door and enters the kitchen.
“So sorry about that,” you switch back to your perfectly-tailored customer service voice and turn to the girl he was talking to, whose name you don’t know, but you recognize from coming in frequently. “I’ll take you over here.”
“Can I just grab a blueberry muffin, and,” she scans the menu above your head, “a medium hot with three creams and two sugars?”
“Of course,” you smile, ringing up the order. “For here, or to go?”
“To go.”
“Alright, total’s gonna be six dollars and fifty cents,” you send the order to the card reader and walk away to grab the muffin and coffee as she pays. “Here’s the blueberry,” you place the bag on the counter, “and the coffee.”
“Great,” she smiles. “Oh, and also,” she interrupts, “that new guy—he’s kinda hot, isn’t he?”
“Not really,” you shake your head, but your conscience says otherwise. “He’s disrupting my flow here. He’s more of a nuisance, honestly.”
“Well, let me tell you—I wouldn’t care,” she giggles. “You wouldn’t happen to have his number—”
“—I can take who’s next in line!” a male voice shouts, and you turn to see that Heeseung has returned, and he’s not wearing his usual expression.
“Have a good one,” you say, and then force the girl out of the bakery, turning to him. “I thought I told you to stay back there.”
He looks you dead in the eye, and for the first time, you feel a little intimidated. “You’re not sticking me back there like a damn puppet anymore.”
Taken aback by his bluntness, you widen your eyes and front a smile for the next customer, not speaking another word to him during the rush. The air is a lot thicker than it was when you met, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to change any time soon.
It’s gonna be a long winter.
-
“Okay, I’m gonna start cleaning the front if you wanna take charge of the back.”
It has been hours since Heeseung spoke a single word to you that wasn’t entirely necessary, and it’s starting to tick you off. Usually, you’re easily irritated by his way-too-energetic personality, but right now, you’d almost pay to have that version of him back, because whatever he’s got going on now is ten times worse.
“Come on, Grumpy, show a little enthusiasm,” Heeseung nudged your shoulder as you hung your head dejectedly over the counter. It was only 7:00 at night, and the bakery was deserted. You even swore you saw a tumbleweed pass through at one point, but it was highly unlikely to happen in bumfuck, Maine. Still, you had another hour left until close, and time only seemed to tick more slowly with each passing minute.
“Heeseung, I am not in the mood right now.”
“You’re never in the mood,” he countered, drumming his fingers on the countertop. You reached out and slammed your hand on top of his, forcing the noise to stop, and when you finally lifted it, he perched his hands onto his hips. “So let me get this straight—I can’t bake anything, I can’t clean anything, can’t talk to you or make noise with my fingers, and I can’t leave your line of vision. What can I do?”
“Leave, preferably,” you mumbled.
“You know, you’re kind of miserable.”
“Good.”
Heeseung doesn’t respond, doesn’t even give a nod to tell you that he’ll clean it. In fact, he doesn’t even look at you. He just walks into the back silently, not even breathing too loudly, and begins tidying up. You wonder briefly if this mood of his will remain constant, but you don’t know Heeseung—maybe it’s only a phase, or a short grudge, and he’ll return as normal within the next few days. Or maybe he’ll quit, you pray to yourself, but you doubt that you’ll get that lucky.
The sound of the vacuum whirring thwarts your thoughts, and you turn around to start cleaning the tables. The mop’s handle is cold against your palms, like it hasn’t been touched in years, but really, it’s because it usually sits in the supply closet where the heat never reaches. The rhythm you clean in is mundane. Typically, you’d put music on your phone and let it play quietly, or even sometimes, you wouldn’t mind if Heeseung buzzed in your ear about mindless nonsense. But now, it’s quiet. And it’s odd; off-putting in a way you don’t care to make sense of, because you’d rather not admit that you kind of miss him.
Hah.
Once you finish the all-too-exciting cleanup of the front—where you discover a beautiful clump of muffin that someone dropped beneath one of the corner tables and have to dispose of it—you sigh and stretch out your back, listening as a set of car keys jingle from the back.
“You ready to lock up?” you ask Heeseung as he walks out of the kitchen, his sweatshirt unzipped and hanging loosely over his shoulders.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, fumbling around with the keys in his hand. “I’ll let you do it, since you’re so set on making this all about you.”
He brushes past you and walks out of the bakery, leaving you standing alone, the room dimly lit from only half of the lights on. You guess it’s your own fault.
You turn the remaining lights off and head out, locking the door behind you, and watch as he pulls out of the parking lot without a second thought, not even caring to spare you a passing glance. You never considered that Heeseung could’ve been as petty as you, but you’re beginning to think that might not be so impossible.
The November air is much cooler this year than last. You wish you had opted for more than a cable-knit sweater as you walk back to your car, holding your palms over your arms to give them a shred of warmth. When you finally slip inside, you shiver and turn on the ignition, letting the cold air hit your face until it becomes warm with the engine. “God, I need a new car,” you mumble to yourself when the warm air hits, omitting the same almost rancid scent as it always does at first. Finally, you relax into your seat, lying still for a moment and letting out a tired sigh before putting the car in drive and setting your sights for home.
As you drive down the road, you notice the fallen leaves on the sidewalk, turning slightly brown from the damp ground beneath them. You’ve always loved autumn. There’s a lot to love with it—the change in weather, the colors, the New England foliage, oh, and the scents and flavors—what’s not to like? When you were still with your ex, you weren’t really able to enjoy it for the two years you spent with him. He always found a way to make you feel like a little kid, and not in the nostalgic way—it was the kind of judgment that made you feel small and childish. But he was the “perfect match”, as most would say, because you’d known him for years in your childhood, and Valley Point is a small town—the kind where everybody knows everybody. There really aren’t many other fish in the sea.
When you pass your favorite late-night coffee shop, you decide to pop through the drive-thru and order a small, hot drink. You’re usually not one for lattes, since they tend to be a little too strong for your taste, but you know it’s pumpkin spice, so you assume it’ll do the trick. And really, you just want to let yourself enjoy it since there was a time when you’d be chastised for a damn drink. Fuck him, anyway.
You probably shouldn’t be drinking something that’s caffeinated at this hour, but you don’t really care; it tastes phenomenal, and it’s exactly what you needed tonight, after the long day at work and off-putting silent treatment you’d been getting.
When you finally arrive home, your quaint, burgundy-bricked townhouse stares back at you welcomingly. You’re sure it’s never looked so appealing before. You tiredly walk in and set your purse down, kicking off your shoes and throwing out the empty foam cup that once yielded the delicious, pumpkin-flavored drink (you chugged it all before you even got to your street).
Stepping into the hot shower has never felt so relaxing. Your muscles have been tense all day, and the steam clouds your senses enough to make you forget about the long day you’ve had. As the water cascades down your back, you’re finally able to let go of the stress from the day and just breathe.
The fresh strawberry scent of your shampoo serves to relax you further as you massage it into your hair, closing your eyes and smiling faintly to yourself. Maybe this silence from him isn’t such a bad thing, after all. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to work alone again, or at least work in peace.
You wrap a clean, fluffy towel around your torso when you step out of the shower, the steam rising to the ceiling and fogging up the mirror. You wipe your hand across the reflective glass and stare back at yourself. It’s a quick, routine process from there: brushing your teeth, washing your face, changing into your silk sleepwear, and towel-drying your hair until you’re happy with it.
Then, you’re finally sinking into your warm, inviting bed.
As you lie still under the sheets, sleep doesn’t find you as quickly as you had pictured it would. Instead, you feel an odd sense of discomfort, something preventing you, putting up a wall that doesn’t let it reach you. With a heavy sigh, you pick up your phone and prop the pillow up behind you, scrolling through apps, playing whatever games you still have downloaded in two-minute increments until you become tired of that. But then, in a moment of weakness, you open Instagram—perhaps, the one thing you’ve been trying to avoid subjecting yourself to.
Typing his name into the search bar and finding his account is the easy part, feels like instinct rather than curiosity or reluctance, and that’s probably what frustrates you more about the whole thing. It’s when your eyes catch sight of his account that you’re culture shocked. He has…a good handful of followers. Not that much, but enough to prove that he was pretty well-liked back at home. At least, by one group of people.
And, well, his posts.
You don’t know why you’re clicking on them and staring at them so intently. It’s not like he’s some unattainable celebrity, or something—shit, you work with the guy. You train him, and if you think about it, you’re basically one of his bosses. So what is it about him that, for some reason, lures you in the middle of the night? Whatever vulnerability you’ve got flying around in your head is clearly working its magic.
You wish that he weren’t as attractive as he is. Especially with certain hair colors, because you’ve noticed that he’s gone through at least six from what you can see, and you’ve barely scrolled. Black, red, pink, blonde, purple—and a brief moment of dark blue—like a cycle. For whatever reason, something in your stomach ticks at the cherry red he looks to have had for only a few weeks. Well, shit—this isn’t humbling.
There are at least thirty posts, all littered with praises and thirsts in the replies, as if he’s someone important, someone in the public eye enough for all these women to be so bold. And in a span of about five minutes, you’ve gone through half of them. Staring. Studying. Wondering what has gotten into you and who must have spiked your latte. To hell with that coffee shop, anyway.
Mirror photos, landscapes, back shots, high angles, and fuck, the ones taken in bed that make him look like the sexiest person in the world, just because he’s barefaced and jaded in them. Like something you’d see in one of those edits that people make on the internet.
You close the app and put the phone face down on your nightstand, because you’re a little scared of what thoughts your semi-conscious brain was just conjuring up about the guy you’re supposed to hate. Well, okay—you didn’t like him before, and you still don’t. The only difference now is that before, you weren’t imagining what it would be like to have him all over you. Or on top of you.
Or both.
You suppose that looking at those photos must have given you some sort of weird closure, because your eyelids quickly become heavy after that, and sleep overtakes you within minutes.
-
You’re sitting on the couch when Jisung bursts through the front door, letting all of the cold from outside in. You begin to regret giving him a house key.
“We need to talk,” he shouts, beelining for the empty spot beside you and flopping onto the cushions, knocking your book clean off your lap.
“A ‘hello’ would be nice,” you mumble.
“You haven’t called me in three days and six hours,” he says from below, where his head rests in your lap. “And not only does that mean something is going on, but it also means that you are missing out on very. Important. Matters.”
“Such as?”
“I’m glad you asked.” He pops up from his spot—because he’s incapable of staying in one for too long—and takes the space next to you, pulling his legs into a criss-cross as his arm rests on the back of the couch. “So, I met this guy, and—wait.”
You cock a brow.
“This is deflecting. Why haven’t you talked to me in days?”
“Perhaps because I’m busy, Ji?”
“Too busy for your best friend in the whole world?” He narrows his eyes. “I highly doubt that. You have, like, one other friend, Y/N. And she’s also my friend. Your life is also…really boring.”
“Should I take this key away? Because I do not need to catch strays in my own—”
“Okay, yeah, yeah,” he interrupts, “whatever, you’re super cool and fun and stuff. But something is up. Despite all of this, I have known you like a book since we were eleven years old, so spill.”
He gasps, “Oh, my God, is it that Heeseung guy? Did something happen?”
You don’t respond; he takes that as a cue.
“I was right. He is hot,” he grins. “You finally came to terms with the fact that you wanna slide into his bed at night, and that’s why you haven’t been talking! You’re ashamed.”
“He hasn’t spoken to me in over a week.”
Jisung blinks.
“Oh.”
He tilts his head, “Wait, then—shouldn’t you be, like…throwing a party over that? I thought he was a dick. You said you hated him.”
“Yeah, well. He is. I mean,” you sigh, “he got mad because I told him to stop flirting with one of the customers—you know that blonde girl who always comes in, red lipstick and all that?” Jisung nods. “Yeah, well, she took a liking to Mr. Dimples, and he was supposed to be helping. So I said something to him, and he’s been stone-cold ever since.”
“Maybe you should try talking to him.”
“I don’t know, Ji,” you breathe. “He clearly has his mind made up. I doubt anything I can say will change it, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to.”
“You sure you don’t have anything to do with this?”
“I—no!”
“Y’know, you talk all this talk about him, but I’ve still yet to see him.”
You roll your eyes and sigh. “Will you let me breathe if I show you?”
“Yes,” he quickly answers, eyes lighting up at the thought.
You sigh, reaching for your phone, and Jisung raises a fist in celebration. “I can still refuse, you know,” you threaten, scrolling through your apps to find the one you ashamedly searched a few nights ago, and he stops moving. “Alright,” you swallow, “here.”
Jisung takes the phone from you and looks at the screen, visibly freezing when his eyes catch sight of the man you’re doomed to work with until at least the first of next year. You watch his jaw drop open, and regret washes over you—you’re never going to hear the end of it.
“Dude,” he whispers. “You’ve been working with this, and you’re complaining?”
“Oh, I knew it.”
“Y/N, you’re stronger than me. If I were you, I’d be on that so fast—”
“Peter Han!”
“Here, just take it back,” he shoves the phone back into your hands, “I don’t want to look at it anymore…Bitch.”
“Jesus, you are so dramatic,” you laugh, turning the phone off and setting it face down back onto the coffee table. “So enough about me—you said something about a guy?”
“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “On this app. He’s, like, my type personified. And he’s kinda far away, but I think we could make it work. I mean, I wasn’t going to stay here forever, so…”
“What’s his name?”
“Minho,” he smiles proudly.
“Well, I’m happy for you, Ji,” you smile back, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “You deserve it. But, uh…” You look over at the clock, and Jisung tuts his teeth. “It’s late, and I have to get up for a nice, long day of hostile work tomorrow.”
“I’ll go before you kick me out,” he swallows, rising to his feet. “Y’know, you’re scary when you’re bossy.”
“Jisung!”
“Okay, okay!” He runs for the door. “I’ll see you soon! Update me on the hottie!”
You threaten to stand and chase after him, but he laughs and runs out the door before you can even get to your feet. You shake your head, sighing as you fold your blanket.
Your best friend is a lot of things, but most of all, he’s a handful.
And even he can’t uplift your spirits about the day you know you’ll have tomorrow.
-
“Evan! Good to see ya, buddy,” Uncle Arthur says as he walks into the bakery, walking over to Heeseung and giving him a firm pat on the back.
“Hey, Mr. Whitmore. How’s it going?” he smiles, and your uncle shakes his head, laughing.
“I told you about a thousand times that you can just call me Arthur. I’m too old and tired for formalities, anyway,” he laughs and takes a scan around the shop. “But I will ask—where is my dear niece on this fine morning?”
“Couldn’t tell you,” he shrugs. “Haven’t seen her all morning. It’s not like her,” he notes as he dries out a mug to pour himself a cup of coffee. “If it were me coming in late, I’d be scolded like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’d believe it.”
“What brings you this morning?” Heeseung asks, grabbing a second mug and holding it up. “Can I make you a coffee or something?”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” your uncle replies and waves his hand.
“No, really, it’s fine. I was making one for myself, anyway, and…considering that Y/N isn’t here yet, I don’t think I’m going to finish the whole pot alone,” he laughs and sets the mug down anyway, reaching for the steaming pot. “How do you take it, Mr. W?”
“You’re too kind, really. Two creams and two sugars,” he smiles. “And to answer your other question—I just wanted to check on business. Y/N has been bothering me through the roof, complaining about this, and that, and the other thing. That girl is more stubborn than a boulder in quicksand, I tell you.”
Heeseung chuckles at your uncle’s remark, because it can’t be any closer to the truth. He really has no idea what you’ve been putting him through, but he doesn’t want to trouble him with that—he can handle you on his own. And you’d be stupid to think that he’d leave because of it. That would be letting you win, and he’s a lot more determined than you could ever imagine.
“Oh, believe me, I know,” he says as he hands your uncle his coffee, steam rising from the mug and heating up Arthur’s face, still red from the crisp air outside.
He hums softly and takes a sip, savoring the warmth in his mouth before placing it back down, leaving a few fingers loosely threaded in the handle. “She been treating you alright?” he asks, tapping the ceramic cup with the tip of his finger. “If she isn’t, just let me know. She tends to forget that I pay the bills here and not her.”
“No, no, she’s been alright,” he waves him off, taking a small sip of his own coffee before reaching for an apron below the counter and slipping it around his waist. “She’s a handful, but I haven’t been perfect, either,” he says as his hands tie the apron in the back. “I think she’ll come around eventually. It’s nothing I can’t handle, or at least try to.”
“Good,” Arthur smiles, “that’s nice to hear. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kid.”
Just then, the front door swings open and nearly slams against the glass beside it, forcing both Heeseung and your uncle to turn towards the noise. Both men are met with the sight of you, bolting inside and to the counter, a half-empty cup of coffee in one hand and your keys in the other.
“Shit!” you spit as you finally reach the counter, ripping your jacket off and stuffing it into the small storage cubby, along with your purse. “Oh God, I am so sorry,” you breathe, walking over to the two, both still looking slightly puzzled. “My alarms didn’t go off, and I panicked, and,” you turn to Heeseung, “I was gonna get you a coffee, too, but then I remembered we usually make them in the morning, so I figured, ‘Hey, maybe I shouldn’t do that!’ and then—”
“Y/N,” your uncle interrupts, forcing your lips to screw shut as you look at him sheepishly. “Calm down. Everything is fine.”
“Sorry…Uncle Arthur,” you swallow. “Hi…by the way.” You wave, offering an awkward smile while your uncle takes the final sip of his coffee and wipes his mouth with an old napkin he stored in his pocket.
“Hi, dear,” he finally laughs and stands up from the stool, sighing as his muscles tense up from sitting for too long. “I just stopped in to check on things,” he smiles, “and it seems that Heeseung here has been doing a splendid job at holding down the fort for us.”
You try not to roll your eyes.
“I’m sure he is,” you front a matching smile, leaning down to grab an apron of your own, smoothing down your crimson sweater before wrapping it around your waist. “He’s been very attentive. I think I can whip him into shape, after all.” You nudge Heeseung’s side with a playful elbow, “Right, Heeseung?”
“Right,” he nods.
“Well, if you don’t need me for anything,” your uncle begins, happily adjusting his coat, “then I’ll be on my way. I wasn’t planning to stay for too long, and you two seem to be doing well.” He turns to you, pulling your side into a small hug and ruffling your hair with his palm, at which you protest after spending far too long styling it this morning after waking up late. “I’ll see you soon,” he says, “and if I don’t see you, Heeseung, enjoy the Thanksgiving weekend.”
“I don’t celebrate.”
“I know that,” he laughs, “but you’ll still get the days off. Enjoy them, won’t you?”
Heeseung nods, and Uncle Arthur heads for the door, lifting an arm and waving to both of you.
“Bye, Uncle Arthur!” you shout, waving back.
“See ya, Mr. W!”
When you turn to Heeseung again, your uncle far out of view, his expression morphs into something stoic—leaving behind any happiness that he just had moments ago. You open your mouth to speak, hopefully offer more of an explanation than you gave when you ran in, but he doesn’t let you get the words out. Not before his voice abruptly cuts yours off, using a tone sharp enough to cut skin.
“Don’t worry, you can drop the nice act. He’s gone now.”
“I wasn’t putting on an act,” you bite back, but he turns his back to you and walks into the kitchen, bringing the empty coffee mugs with him. You’re a lot of things, but sitting back and letting some kid from outside of your hometown walk all over you? No, that won’t slide. You follow Heeseung into the back, the double-hinged door slamming against the old tile wall beside it. He’s leaning over the sink, steam rising from the hot water and sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he washes the dirty mugs. “I was talking to you, Heeseung.”
“Oh, were you? Sorry.” He doesn’t look at you; he barely bats an eye. “Doesn’t feel nice, does it?”
“I might have been harsh, but I never ignored—”
“—save it, Y/N,” he interrupts again, tone flat and voice low. “You’re the only one who likes to hear you talk.”
If there was a single bone in your body that had considered apologizing, there is a 0% chance that it’s still intact. You scoff and exit the kitchen, opting to stay out front and prepare to open. “This is what being nice gets me,” you mumble under your breath, huffing as you clean up a small coffee spill beside the pot Heeseung brewed earlier.
The rest of the day doesn’t go by any smoother. It passes in a blur—you, stationing yourself at the register closest to the edge of the counter, only moving to package orders or refill sitting customers’ coffee, and Heeseung, limiting himself to the back, where he helps bake and cleans utensils and plates and silverware ten times over just to avoid stepping into the front. Just to avoid seeing you.
It’s not as awkward working when the Christmas seasonal hires are there—Kira, who just turned 21 and helps you at the register, and Diane, who did return to help Gerry with the baking, after all—serving as a buffer between the two of you. But they only work until mid-afternoon, leaving you alone with him during closing as usual.
It starts as a simple mistake.
You’re gathering the half-empty mugs, dirty silverware, and bare trays from the display case to carry into the kitchen to be cleaned. The neon sign on the door is switched to “Closed”; it burns lowly in the silence of the front. Only one street light works outside, the one directly across the street from the front entrance. The others had blown out a few nights ago, and the town still hasn’t sent someone to check them out.
Footsteps sound in the back, but your ears don’t register them—not soon enough. The moment your hand reaches to push in the door to the kitchen, it hurls forward, knocking into your forehead with a force that stings, sending the tray out of your hand and your feet backward until you trip on spilled coffee and hit the floor.
“Ow, fuck,” you hiss, grabbing at the top of your head with your palm, feeling for a bump or wound. Your forehead throbs with sudden pain, and your other hand grabs your ankle—the same one you tripped over and twisted as you fell. “Shit.”
“Oh, God, are you okay?” Heeseung sputters as he kneels beside you. He raises a hand and gently pulls your hand away from your face to see the cut, but you quickly swat him off. He doesn’t protest.
“Don’t touch me,” you mutter.
Heeseung doesn’t get angry. In fact, the whole act he’s been maintaining all week disappears as quickly as it came the day this whole mess started. “You’re bleeding,” he whispers, eyes wide and remorseful. You flip your hand over to see a few drops of blood resting in the middle of your palm, and a short gasp slips past your lips. “Let me fix it.”
“No, it’s fine—”
“Please?” he asks, and the soft look in his eyes makes you falter.
“Alright,” you sigh, shoulders sagging as you flatten your palms on the floor and try to stand. Heeseung’s hand rests on the small of your back, but you don’t push him away—your ankle is in too much pain to stand without his support, and you almost reach for his arm, too. “At least let me clean the,” you suck in a breath when you put pressure on your ankle, “floor.”
“No, I’ll do it,” he shakes his head and guides you to the nearest chair, lowering you onto it. “It’s my fault.” He walks over to the cabinet where you keep the First-Aid kit and fishes through it until his fingers grip the handle, pulling out the case and bringing it over to the table you’re sitting at.
“Really, I can do this myself—”
“Y/N, just shut up and let me help you.”
Your lips tighten into a flat line.
Heeseung flips open the latches on the box and takes out a small bandage, accompanied by a half-empty tube of ointment and an alcohol pad. He tears the foil wrapper open and unfolds the damp napkin, wrapping it snugly around his index finger. Then, as his eyes gauge your face, the pads of his fingers tuck a few loose strands of hair away from the small slice, and he brings the napkin to the wound, dabbing it carefully over the blood to clean it. A sharp sting shoots through your forehead, and you wince from the pain, eyes screwing shut.
“I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, applying small bits of pressure as he dabs the liquid away.
Heeseung is gentle with you; for a moment, you forget that you haven’t gotten along since the day you met. For a fraction of a second, you think you like the softness of his touch; the way his voice drops to a whisper to ground you.
“Good,” he removes the napkin, now spotted with crimson, “hard part’s over.”
Your eyes flutter back open, still on the cusp of a squint as they focus on a small flour stain on his sweater just below his ribs. He opens the bandage and squeezes a small dollop of ointment onto the cotton in the middle, then takes it carefully between his fingers. Your eyes trail up to his face, tracking his slow movements. His eyes focus carefully on the small incision as he aligns the bandage with it, lips subconsiously parted just enough to reveal the top row of his teeth.
He’s close enough to feel the warmth of his breath graze your skin, and you swallow, eyes transfixed on him. You don’t move. You can’t. As if your body is on autopilot, just like the night you purged his entire page without a second thought.
“Okay,” he breathes as he finally steps away, smoothing his palms over his jeans, and you blink out of your trance. “How does it feel?”
“Better,” you admit gently, focusing on the flour stain again to avoid his eyes.
He nods and gathers the trash into his palm, tossing it into the trash bin a few feet away as his empty hand closes the clasps on the kit. He slides it back into its place in the cabinet and carefully steps over the spilled drinks and shards of the ceramic mugs to get to the kitchen. You hear running water, a couple of clanks of plastic and wood, and then the door swings open again, where Heeseung stands with a mop and a bucket.
But you’re too stubborn.
You push out of the chair, wincing again as you put pressure on your ankle, and limp over to the mess on the floor. The tray sits upside down, edges covered in old coffee. Shards litter the tile, along with coffee grounds and brown liquid that could stain the white floor. Heeseung kneels beside it, not quite noticing your presence until you manage to get down to your knee on the other side of the spill, hissing with the sharp pain.
“I told you I’d do this,” Heeseung says when his eyes finally catch your frame.
“You already bandaged me up.”
“And your foot is shaking.”
You try to protest, but he has no intention of budging and every intention of cleaning everything himself. The position your body is in—crouched on the floor, ankle shaking from the pressure despite barely putting any on it—says enough. And as much as you don’t want to accept his help, you falter again with his gaze, standing with a sigh that resonates in your chest.
“Why are you so stubborn?” he asks, voice soft as he picks up the glass shards. “I mean—you never take my help, and you treat me like I’m incapable. Even on the first day, you didn’t want me here.”
His gentle confrontation forces a question onto you that you always thought he wouldn’t ask, and it sets you back. If anything, you expected an argument because of his recent demeanor, for him to lash out. Instead, he insisted on cleaning you up and touched you like something fragile.
Maybe he is a breath of fresh air that you’ve just been refusing to take in.
“I don’t know,” you breathe, lifting yourself onto the edge of the counter and bracing yourself with your palms. “I guess I just…I’ve always been independent, you know? My uncle, he…taught me everything here, and then he left it all to me a few years ago.” You watch as Heeseung silently gathers the shards into a pile and disposes of them safely. He moves toward the mop and takes the handle, tapping it along the edge of the bucket before bringing it down to the tiled floor.
“Having you come here on such short notice lodged a wedge into my plans, and I guess…I thought that you’d screw everything up,” you admit, looking away when his eyes drift over to your figure, too embarrassed to make contact with them. “So I was cold, and I didn’t give you a chance.”
“You know I’m not here to do any of that, right?” Heeseung asks, and your eyes flit back to him at the gentle manner in which he speaks to you. His elbow is propped up on the tip of the mop’s handle, and he leans into it, still looking at you as if he’s trying to convince you of something you don’t believe.
“I know,” you nod.
You take a deep breath, exhaling through your nose as he resumes the circular motion with the mop over the spill until the brown soaks into the fabric at the bottom. “How did you even end up here?”
Heeseung freezes—so quickly that you almost don’t notice—and continues as if you’ve hit a nerve just by asking. And as you decide that you shouldn’t pry, he speaks anyway.
“My mom died when I was ten,” he whispers, and your heart sinks to your stomach; you feel it fall from its place in your chest.
“It’s been just me and my father since. He tried to raise me well, and he did, really. But sometimes, with my mom gone, he just…wanted things to be too perfect, or else he wouldn’t be doing right by her.” He squeezes the dirty water back into the bucket with his hands, and your nose crinkles at the thought of him being so alone, having to lose his mother at such a young and vulnerable age. Tears well in your eyes, but you will them away; this isn’t about you.
“I always liked to sing, y’know? Not that I was really any good, but some people told me I could make something of it, if I tried,” he shrugs. “My mom, she used to sing sometimes, for some small venues. She didn’t make a lot of money, neither did my dad. So, when they had me, he felt like he had to shape up, and then, she…got sick.”
He sighs, hands visibly shaking, though you try not to notice. “And when I told my dad, he…lost his composure. It was a lot of yelling back and forth, and he told me I was disgracing my mom. So I left.” He glances around the café until he lands back on you, and a frown tugs at your lips when you catch a glimpse of his gaze, eyes tired and sad so visibly—an expression he’s never worn for you before. “Somehow, I ended up here. And I met Arthur just down the street when I was looking for a place to stay, or work…or both.”
He breathes.
“So I’m sorry, for ruining your plans. I never meant to.”
You blink as he walks into the back to empty the bucket, letting his words, his expression, his life sink in, amidst the silence at the front of the store. Guilt plagues your body, starting with your heart and spreading through each limb until you’re mindlessly pushing off the counter and following him into the back, limping in the process and ignoring the shooting pain that comes with it.
When the door swings open, Heeseung turns to the noise from his spot in front of the closet to find you walking carefully towards him, bandage snug on your forehead, and hair still tucked behind your ear.
He flinches when your arms initially wrap around his waist, but his body quickly relaxes when he realizes you only want to comfort him, and his hands find your upper back, resting atop your shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “About your mom…and me…and everything. I was wrong.”
His chest vibrates as he chuckles softly, palms rising to your shoulders and pulling you back to look at him. “It’s okay,” he smiles, “you didn’t know.”
“Can we just…start over?”
He nods, arms falling to his sides.
“I’m Heeseung Lee,” he extends a hand, “and I’m the new hire here.”
“Y/N Whitmore,” you shake it gently, “your new co-worker.”
“Friends?”
“Friends,” you smile.
He lets go of your hand and brings his fingers to your hairline, thumb brushing along the Band-Aid stuck to the side of your forehead. “You should be more careful when you walk towards double-hinged doors…going forward,” he jokes, and you laugh, eyes still glancing up at him until his eyes fall back on them. “Now go home and get some rest—and ice that ankle. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, right?”
“Right.”
“Go ahead,” he motions with his head, “I’ll take care of the lights.”
“Okay,” you nod, carefully stepping toward the door and flattening your palm on the cold metal to push it open. You turn back to Heeseung, who still hasn’t moved from his place beside the closet. “Thank you, Heeseung.”
He offers a curt nod, and you gather your belongings as he closes up, smiling to yourself when you finally exit through the front door, leaving behind only the faint sound of the bell that hangs above it.
-
“Christmas lights—we need, like, ten sets of Christmas lights.”
Heeseung looks up from the notebook. “Ten? What the fuck are we supposed to do with more than two?”
“Look, I don’t know what you guys do over in Korea, but in Valley Point, Maine, if there are any existing parts of a building without decoration on it, you’re doing it wrong.”
“Jeez, alright,” he looks back down and scribbles another tick onto the checklist. “I put us down for twelve.”
You smile. “That’s the spirit!” you shout as he sits at one of the empty tables closest to the windows, and you tidy up the front counters, ridding them of old crumbs and small spills from the day’s events.
For the first time since the day he arrived, you and Heeseung have gotten along. And, if you’re being honest, you’re glad that he’s here.
You decided to put him on Christmas decoration duty over the weekend, since you’re not quite sure that you’ll have the time, and you promised him that you’d give him a fair chance. He happily accepted the challenge, and the moment that you started the closing chores, you sat Heeseung down with a pen and a piece of paper, shouting various things to add to the list of decorations that he needed to buy.
“Are you trying to turn this place into the North Pole?” he asks, his voice wavering with concern. “Where are we going to fit all of this?”
“Oh, Heeseung, you poor, innocent soul,” you murmur, tutting your teeth as you approach the table he sits at, still with a half-limp, gently patting his back. “You have no idea.”
You walk over to the cubby that stores your belongings and begin pulling them out, starting with your winter coat and slipping it onto your frame, then your purse, and finally, the small set of keys that have only one decorative keychain: a Boston Bruins logo that is frayed at the edges and faded with time, one that your father gifted you for your sixteenth birthday when you received your first car.
“Everything’s done already?” he asks, and you nod.
“All you have to worry about is that list,” you point, zipping up your black coat. “I took care of the rest already. We weren’t too busy today, anyway.”
Heeseung takes a breath and stands up, grabbing the paper and folding it to shove in his pocket for tomorrow. He flips his chair and places it onto the table for the night, along with the other two, before making his way towards the cabinet you’re still standing at.
Another thing you hadn’t particularly noticed until today is your difference in height; how the top of your head just barely breaches his shoulders. You swallow, mouth suddenly parched, though you can’t pinpoint why.
Heeseung isn’t intimidating. He’s just…intense.
“Text me tomorrow if you have any questions, okay?” you finally speak as he takes his own jacket from the cubby. “I’ll be around.”
“Okay,” he nods, and you give him another pat on the back before walking to the door, noting the cold air as it whips against your face when you finally step outside.
-
The first ring wakes you.
Your body jolts awake, and your eyes barely open enough to register your surroundings—your bedroom, lit only by the dim light streaming in through your closed curtains, and…your phone screen. It buzzes beside you, a name present but too blurry to read with your tired eyes.
Your hand flops over the device, fingers lazily curling around it and bringing it closer to your face to read. The letters, still not perfectly clear, are familiar. Too familiar.
You reluctantly press the button to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sorry to bother you,” Heeseung’s soft voice rings through the speaker. You hear beeping in the distance, akin to the sound of items scanning at a register, realizing that—at what is apparently 8:00 in the morning on a Sunday—Heeseung is Christmas shopping. Already. “So you wanted me to get a light-up deer, but there are at least four different types. Did you want an inflatable one, or the ones with,” he crouches down to inspect a display, “wire?”
You groan into the microphone, and he stands back up, expression puzzled. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but…Why are you doing this at 8 o’clock in the morning?”
“I needed to have as much time as possible to get it right.”
“Okay,” you mumble. “What do you have already?”
“Well…” he murmurs, trailing off as he holds the phone in one hand and sifts through the decorations with the other. “A few boxes of lights, garland, icicles—oh, and I even found some plastic candy canes that we can hang inside. Where did I put them…oh, shibal,” as he nearly slices a finger on the edge of the plastic.
“Huh?”
“Er—nothing. I found them.” He steps away from his cart and looks back over to the various types of decorative reindeer. “So, which kind do you want? I don’t want to get the wrong one.”
When you don’t respond, he pipes up again. “Y/N?”
“…Yeah?”
“Oh…shit, I woke you, didn’t I?”
You breathe. “Yeah, kinda.”
“Sorry, sorry—I’ll figure it out,” he stammers. “You can go back to sleep.”
“It’s okay, just,” a yawn interrupts, and you turn onto your side, “send me a picture, okay?”
“Okay,” he responds, and the line goes dead, leaving you alone and awake far too early for today in bed, staring mindlessly at the window as you wait for the chime of your phone. Then, it pings.
HEESEUNG: [attachment: 1 image]
HEESEUNG: inflatable or wired?
You laugh at the stupidity of his message so early in the morning, though you’re admittedly endeared by his dedication to the job you gave him.
YOU: wired. you can pick which one, i’ll put my trust in you
From the other end of the conversation, Heeseung smiles and reacts to your reply with a thumbs up, then slides his phone back into his pocket as he bends down to pick up the box of his favorite deer. White, one front paw up with the neck craned down as if it’s drinking from something. Something about it—perhaps the elegance of its form, or maybe the sternness in its posture—reminds him of you.
He places the box carefully into the shopping cart and checks off the “light-up deer” scribble on the paper from last night.
You, on the other hand, are awake for the day, and though being woken up by such an insignificant question wasn’t exactly ideal, you do have plans to visit your parents, so it isn’t so bad.
The day passes in a blur—air so brisk that a few flakes of snow fall onto the roads, a hectic hour of cooking and cleaning up the mess that your parents’ dog created, and a constant stream of questions from Heeseung to the point that you consider blocking him.
But you suppose you can’t be too upset. He’s only trying, after all, and when you finally sink into your sheets after the long day, you can’t help but let your mind wander. The thought of him not being able to experience the season the way you always had as a child—losing a mother so young—brings a frown to your face.
Mothers are the holidays, the birthdays—any occasion that needs them. And Heeseung had that taken away from him.
YOU: next weekend, we’ll put the decorations up
YOU: promise, i’ll show you everything there is to love here
You set your phone down beside you, letting the noise of the wind outside grazing your window and the warmth that your bedsheets provide lull you to sleep as the new week arrives, and you intend on making it the best. Your phone buzzes once, twice beside you, just gently enough not to wake you.
public enemy #1: great, can’t wait
public enemy #1: see you tomorrow
-
The week flies by in a flash so fast that it feels like it doesn’t even happen.
Your uncle visits a few times to check in on things, make sure that you’re holding down the fort like you should be doing without the stress of bickering. And if you’re being honest? It’s going well—so much smoother, now that you’re finally on the same page, and you trust Heeseung enough to carry his weight. As he’s said about a hundred times already this week, “Uncle Art has nothing to worry about.”
Monday and Tuesday drag; not the way they usually do, at least, not with Heeseung around. While the incessant finger drumming and the constant yapping in your ear and the 24/7 chipper attitude used to be the very attributes of his that made you despise him so deeply, you’ve come to find them entertaining. At least when there are no customers and not much work to be done.
Come Wednesday evening—when the closing hours slowly start to become your unspoken time to bond—music is blasting throughout the store over the speakers at a volume that would get you smacked upside the head by your uncle if he ever heard it with customers around. You’re wiping down the tables and counters, emptying the trash, and even cleaning every last speck off of the display cases until they’re entirely spotless, your sudden burst of energy courtesy of Heeseung and his unexpected obsession with Justin Bieber (and another handful of artists that you can’t name on just one hand).
“Just give me a chanceeee, ‘cause you’re all I need, girl,” he sings as he pushes through the door with the broom, using the tip of the handle as a fake microphone, making your whole body cringe at the sight.
“Oh, God, I can’t look.”
He saunters over, taking your hand and lifting it into the air. “If I was your man, I’d never leave you, giiirl,” he twirls you around, and you laugh, humoring him so that he won’t keep pestering you until you do. And maybe you don’t hate it, either.
“If I was your boyfriend,” as his hand slides down to your lower back, fingertips grazing over your sweater, “I’d never let you go.”
“Heeseung, come on,” you swallow and mask it with a laugh as he removes his hand slowly, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine. “We have to finish.”
“I’d never let you go,” he purses his lips and winks, seductively disappearing back into the kitchen without even sweeping a single ounce of dirt from the floor.
The music stops, and you blink at the door as it still swings gently from his impromptu dance number. The only real thought that you can form in your head is damn, because the man can sing; what does his father even have to worry about with a face like his and the pipes of an idol?
But you shake that feeling off fast and push your way into the kitchen, flicking him on the shoulder.
“Ow!” Heeseung yelps and grabs his shoulder as he whips around. “What was that for?”
“You didn’t even sweep the floor, dickhead.”
“Oh, shit. Whoops.”
And that about sums up your week.
-
“Today is the day,” Heeseung chimes as he bursts through the front door, soft Christmas music already humming through the speakers that decorate the walls of Arthur’s. The large box in his arms is stocked full of the decorations he meticulously picked out six days ago, practically overflowing as he pushes the wooden box that contains the deer inside with his foot.
You laugh from the other side of the counter, the clock behind your head already reading 4:00 as the sun starts to set, giving you a clean slate to work with, despite already having put some of last year’s decor up. “Someone’s excited to be at work on a Saturday,” you tease as he places the giant box onto an empty table and clasps his hands together.
The store, historically, closes after breakfast on Saturdays and is only open every other week on Sundays. “You’ve got to keep them on their toes,” said your uncle when he first decided on it. “If we want to be the best in town, then we’ve got to force business into one day. They’ll come in packs!” And somehow, he was right about that.
So naturally, today is the perfect day to decorate.
“Hey, when you don’t have to do any actual work, it’s not so bad,” he counters, emptying the cardboard box’s contents onto the table and chairs. “Besides, now that you’re not such a scrooge, I don’t mind spending my quality time with you.”
“Y’know, I can always turn back into one,” you threaten. “Nothing’s stopping me.”
“I doubt that.” He walks over and holds the strand of garland in place for you to pin it, since you’re very clearly too short to reach, and he happens to want to prove a point. “Once someone has fallen for Heeseung Lee’s charms, they often find it difficult to escape. It’s really a sad thing.”
Your hand freezes in its place, and you slowly turn to the man beside you, face contorted into the ugliest grimace he’s ever seen. “That was disgusting.”
“But notice how you couldn’t find it in you to move away?” He takes the pin from your hand and tacks the garland into place on the wall himself. “That’s the phenomenon in action, baby.”
“Ew.”
Heeseung trots back over to his pile of decor that looks like the Christmas section of Target exploded onto the table, and fishes through them until he finds some signage that he purchased to put on the windows. “Hm, I think these could look good on the windows, y’know?” he asks, completely disregarding the visible cringe still left on your frame. “I mean, come on—who wouldn’t walk into a bakery with a Santa Stop Here sign? That screams friendly atmosphere.”
“Where do you learn this terminology? Seriously, like, how did you even learn to speak like this?”
“I watched a lot of American television growing up,” he says as he grabs a roll of tape and some window hooks. “Also, one of my best friends back home grew up in Australia.”
“Oh. Wow,” you blink. “That explains the weird accent you’ve got going on, then.”
“Well fuck you, too, Y/N.”
You laugh.
“His name is Jake. Nice guy, kinda dramatic, kinda—horny, but he’s a good friend.” He peels the sticker off a hook and sticks it to the window, pressing down as he checks to make sure it’s aligned properly. As he grabs the sign and hangs it behind the glass, he chuckles quietly to himself. “He actually taught me most of my English. He’d usually use it when speaking to me, so I’d pick up on it. But once I took things into my own hands, I stopped being able to understand him.” He shakes his head, “Seriously, why do people talk like that down there?”
“Well, I dunno,” you shrug. “I mean—we have some pretty weird accents here, too. Look at, like, the south. Or even Boston. I’m from New England, but I wake up and thank God every day that I don’t speak like them. So, I guess we both got lucky.”
“Yeah,” Heeseung smiles, “I guess I did.”
The hours tick by much faster than either of you anticipated they would. Before you know it, it’s already dark outside, nearly seven o’clock at night, and you’ve moved outside, still tacking lights and signs and random shit Heeseung found onto the outside walls of the building. You gave him bush duty, since last year, you tripped and fell into it, and you swore you’d never decorate one again after the cuts healed and left a few light scars on your ankles.
At one point—before you stepped into the cold—Heeseung poked fun at one of the songs that played through the speakers, and you made sure that he regretted it.
“What is this even about?” he’d asked, cocking a brow. “Africa?”
“For your information, this is one of the top ten Christmas songs, and no, I will not be accepting counterarguments,” you interrupted from across the store, pointing a finger into the air and waving it around like some kind of child having a tantrum. “It was written and produced in 1984 by some of the greatest British artists of the 1980s for charity, and it is simply one of the best songs of its time. Never mind the controversy, it’s a hit.”
“It’s kind of…sad.”
“Well, take that up with Band-Aid, not me.”
So Heeseung shut his mouth and let you enjoy the song. But it all worked out—you let him pick the next few, and you went on as if nothing had happened.
But now, as your whole face practically burns from the cold, and you can’t really feel your fingers anymore, you step back, noting that the final thing to set up is the reindeer. Heeseung retrieves the box from inside and takes it out, carefully following your instructions to plug the extension cord in and pull it out just far enough to reach where the deer will stand in the grass, now frosted over from the cold and the thin layer of snow.
“Okay,” he mumbles as he crouches down to construct the reindeer correctly. He inspects the pieces, and you hold the manual in your hands, standing above him as your eyes gloss over the page.
“So what I’m gathering here is that you take these things,” you bend over to grab the small, V-shaped metal pieces, “and stick them into the ground over the deer’s feet. That should keep it in place. I think the rest is kinda self-explanatory as for where the deer’s body parts…connect.”
Heeseung nods and makes quick work of putting the pieces together, listening carefully to which order they should be connected in until everything is in place, and all he needs to do is stick the metal into the ground to hold it up. You crouch beside him and grab two of the stands, opting to set up the hind legs, while Heeseung takes care of the front, but you quickly find that you didn’t account enough for the ground being frozen.
As you push—with all of your strength—you can only manage to get the metal halfway into the ground, sighing as your body sags, too weak, but also too determined not to get them in. You don’t register Heeseung moving until he’s behind you, hands sliding over the backs of yours with his head just beside your ear, close enough to feel the ends of his hair brushing against your neck.
“On three, yeah?”
You nod.
“One…two…three,” Heeseung pushes down with you, and the metal sinks into the dirt, steadying the deer’s foot. He breathes in your ear, a small sound rising from his throat as he exerts his strength, and you swallow, opting to ignore it—at least, to the best of your ability. “Good,” he whispers. “One more.”
He helps you put the last piece in, practicing the same position, count, exhale until he sits back on his knees, and you sigh, hands trembling from the cold and the pressure.
“Let’s go inside,” Heeseung finally says, rising to his feet and extending a hand to help you up, “it’s freezing out here.”
After packing away the storage boxes and containers, you kill the lights and lock up, finally noticing how late it’s gotten as you walk to your cars. Heeseung turns to you and you match his gaze, tilting your head slightly as you wait for him to speak, noticing the familiar expression on his face that signals a question he’s trying to determine how to ask. Then,
“You wanna get a coffee?”
The corners of your lips pull into a soft smile; he doesn’t wait for an answer before his hand is on your wrist, tugging you down the sidewalk.
He leads you to a coffee shop—the same late-night favorite you’d stopped at a few weeks ago—and steps inside, smiling bashfully as he shifts his weight between his heels and his toes. You match his smile but don’t meet his gaze, looking away when he turns to you.
You opt for a medium hot, nothing too fancy for the late hour, but enough to keep you awake until you arrive back home. Heeseung matches your order and insists on paying, despite your protests, making sure to hand you the one with the cup sleeve since only one cup came with it, and he doesn’t want your hand to burn. You grin, thank him gently, and take the coffee, letting him lead the way outside, where—gentlemanly as before—he holds the door open for you.
“Is it everything you’ve ever dreamed of?” you murmur, taking a small sip and watching the steam from your breath waft into the air above your nose.
“Yeah,” Heeseung laughs, and you nudge his shoulder, adorned with a long, beige peacoat and a maroon scarf hanging just by his shoulder blade. “It’s good, though. I like it. After the long day, at least.”
You nod, “I’ll toast to that.”
Suddenly, Heeseung’s phone rings, and he furrows a brow, pulling it out and glancing at the name. “What the…” he mumbles as he presses the button to answer.
“Yooo. Any updates on the baddie from the bak—”
The line immediately falls flat.
“What—who was that?”
“...Jake.”
“Oh,” you nod, clearing your throat as you continue the walk, taking a timid sip of your coffee. “Seems nice.”
The moon, shaded by the clouds bearing snow for tomorrow, shines high in the sky as you walk down the sidewalk, the street empty at such a late hour; Valley Point is far too small for people to travel through this late. It’s peaceful, with most of the light in your path coming from the warm streetlights and the occasional small shops with decorated exteriors for the upcoming holiday. Heeseung looks around, and for the first time in a while, he looks relaxed—wholly, not for show.
“I’m sorry,” you swallow, voice a near-whisper as your fingers clench around the coffee cup, “for…everything. I shouldn’t have judged you so quickly.”
Heeseung looks down at his feet, and the ghost of a smile graces his lips. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“I just…I’ve been sheltered from a lot, growing up here. And you felt like a threat,” you sigh. “I should’ve never assumed so much of you.” You slow your steps, fingers pressing into the cup harder, turning your head just enough to catch a glimpse of his face. “You’re a good guy, Heeseung.”
His lips stretch further. “I think I assumed something of you, too,” he admits softly as he walks, staring at a tree in the distance as a squall of snow hits the ground you walk on. His footsteps slow down until they’ve come to a halt, and you match his pace, stopping just beside him. He turns on the ball of his foot.
“I’m glad that I was wrong,” he breathes.
“I’m glad, too,” you whisper back, staying firm in your place when he steps closer—tentatively—and raises his hand to the side of your head. You don’t flinch when his thumb brushes along the half-healed cut on your forehead, eyes drifting down to yours and never leaving.
“Can I kiss you?”
You nod before your mind can catch up with your body.
Heeseung’s hand slides further back, caressing your head as he slowly leans down and slots his lips with yours. It’s soft, gentle, comforting—just like him, from the moment he first spoke to you to the night he carefully bandaged your forehead as if it were the most important task in the world, despite barely having spoken to you in days. But that’s who he is—it’s who he’s always been, even if you failed to realize it.
His tongue presses against your bottom lip for entrance—not to rush or force, but to feel more of you, more of the person he’s grown to care more for in the last few weeks than he ever thought possible. Your lips part, letting it slip through, gently graze along your teeth; he tastes of coffee and faintly of peppermint, perhaps from the mints you’ve watched him swipe from the jar beside the register countless times, despite them being for the customers. His taste is familiar and comforting all at once, something you gravitate towards on instinct, and your body melts into his as you lift your empty hand, flattening your palm gently against his chest.
It feels like you’ve known him forever.
As he pulls back—so slowly that your lips fight to part ways—his hand stays in its place, and his eyes don’t leave yours, looking into them with an intensity behind them that you’ve never seen before. At least, nothing you’ve ever noticed.
“What now?”
“I don’t know,” you breathe.
A car drives by and interrupts; Heeseung’s hand falls back to its side, and you clear your throat, turning and taking a swig of the coffee as if your life depends on it. He looks in the distance and finds the familiar parking lot with only two cars parked just by the corner, swallowing as he looks past the snow.
“Our…cars are over there.”
“Yeah.”
You walk to them without speaking, the tension far too tight to be cut with words. The footsteps suddenly become louder, your ears become aware of every small sound, and your heartbeat pounds in your head; you’re not quite sure what to do or say, if you can do or say anything.
“So,” Heeseung coughs as you stop in front of the two cars, noses red from the cold, fingertips growing more numb as the heat from the coffee dissipates, “I’ll see you…Monday?”
You nod, throat dry, still unsure of what else to say.
He leans in—hesitates—then presses his lips to the side of your head, just over the small incision.
“Goodnight…Y/N,” he whispers, traces your figure awkwardly with his eyes, and bows his head just slightly before walking away and stepping into his car.
You lift a hand and wave, still standing beside the hood of your car as he returns the gesture and pulls out of the parking lot, eyes never quite leaving your body through the rear view until you’re no longer in sight.
-
How does one go about returning to work after kissing the man they’re supposed to hate? You suppose your guess is as good as any.
But you manage, slug yourself out of bed after a long, hard day of overthinking and what ifs that almost kept you up all night, but thankfully didn’t. And even better—Heeseung doesn’t change, not in the slightest. Not visibly, at least.
Not to you, to Diane, to Kira, to Gerry, or to any of the customers (including the hot ticket from the day you yelled at Heeseung in front of essentially everyone, who still hits on him but doesn’t quite get the reaction she wants).
But on the inside, when he’s left alone with you on late nights, acting cool and collected, he’s numb; trying to determine if it was all a mistake, or if you’re just conflicted, too. When he brushes past you mid-shift, no matter if it’s in front of other people or not, he wonders if you feel the same pause in the air that he does. If you want to kiss him again, if you want him at all, even in the slightest, or if you simply reacted instead of felt when he kissed you that night.
The week doesn’t drag. It feels still. Unmoving in the sort of way that makes time feel warped, coffee taste stale, smiles feel forced and devoid of the warmth they usually withhold.
But just like any week, Friday hits, the day before the seeming end. Three weeks before Christmas, when the first rush arrives, and your co-workers grow stressed, shifts extend by hours as work piles up. Customers find themselves entitled to things they don’t deserve, their impatience influencing their demeanor until you’re being yelled at, but you can’t retort—you’re only the employee.
“You can’t work the week of Christmas?” you shout at Kira as she grabs her belongings for the end of the shift; 5:00 sharp, never a minute more, never even letting the word “overtime” grace her spoiled lips. “What’s the point? We need you; we already lost Taylor.”
“I’m sorry,” she shrugs like it’s not important. “I can’t.”
“Just—go, I’ll figure it out.”
And she leaves without a second thought, adding fuel to the fire already burning inside of you from the stress of the day, the week, everything.
Heeseung tries to console you, but you shove him off, letting the stress turn you back into the monster you once were without trying to be. He thinks he’s the problem; that he’s made you hate him again. He lets the time pass, each employee filing out the same as any day until the last hour—the one that’s become so painfully familiar—arrives. It starts with customers slowly dwindling until close, when you lock the door to clean and watch the town fall silent, dark, with the oncoming night.
It ends with him approaching your frame—hunched over the countertop with your hands on your head—solemnly, placing a hand on your shoulder gently, though it still makes you flinch, and he pulls back.
“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, and you turn to him, eyes tired, the circles beneath them far too dark. “I ruined it, didn’t I?”
You shake your head.
“Okay,” he nods, stepping closer, bringing his hands to your waist, only ghosting over it until your expression allows him to touch you. “Then let me help,” he pulls you closer, “please.”
You don’t stop him when he kisses you.
Slower, firmer than the last. Sure of himself, lacking the hesitation his lips harbored on the cold sidewalk, where his brain couldn’t decipher hope from reality. You lean into him, sighing into his mouth as your muscles relax under his touch, hands gliding up his arms until they’re locked around his neck, pulling him down to you.
His lips curve into a smile against yours, and you almost swear that you feel his heartbeat against your chest, racing at a speed that’s far too fast to be normal. His palms knead the swell of your hips, fingers pressing firmer into the skin just as they lift you onto the counter behind you—thankfully wiped down just minutes ago. You gasp, gripping him tighter but not resisting, legs parting to let him stand between them as you brace your weight onto your palm, one hand still toying with a long, ash-blonde strand of hair.
His palm skates across your front until it stops just above the waistband of your pants, and your breath hitches as his lips kiss a path along your jaw until they’re resting at your temple, just above your ear.
His hand slides between your legs, palming you through your pants; your hips lift, chasing the feeling. The pads of his fingers rub small, soft circles against the fabric, your own fingers tugging at a few strands of his hair, and he smiles, but you don’t notice. He presses the pad of his thumb over your clit, and you almost whimper, but you refrain.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs into your hair, and you nod mindlessly, body craving the release of built-up stress and tension from the week.
His fingers finally dip below the waistband of both your pants and underwear until the tips brush against your clit, and your body shudders against the countertop, your palm pressing harder into the white marble. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t tease, doesn’t build you up until you’re begging for something you’re not even sure of; his fingers push into you, slowly at first, letting you adjust to every inch as he breathes out, breath grazing the shell of your ear.
He curls them when they’re fully inside, and your body tenses again, gripping him tighter, pulling him closer, even if you’re not meaning to. You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut as you bite back a noise, too scarred from your last relationship and the embarrassment of letting him see you like this so soon after meeting you.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, taking his fingers out and pushing them back in carefully, the hand on your waist keeping you in place as your hips involuntarily writhe against the cold surface beneath them. “It’s just me.”
You nod, finally allowing a strained moan to slip past your lips. “Heeseung,” you whisper, so quiet that it’s barely audible, disappearing into the air as soon as it leaves your mouth.
His fingers move a little faster, pressing just against the sweet spot inside of you, causing your hips to jolt. He notices the shift and switches his focus, pushing the tips of his fingers in again and again—never too fast, never too slow—right against the same spot until your breaths morph into whimpers, unintelligible whines that don’t quite reach his ears. Your hand tugs at his hair again, hips chasing the release, lips perpetually parted in his grasp.
“H—Hee.”
Your eyes drill shut as the orgasm suddenly washes over you, knuckles white against the marble as your head fights the urge to fall back, but it doesn’t; Heeseung’s lips keep it in place, pressing soft kisses to your temple and whispering into your ear, though the soft ring in your ears keeps you from comprehending any of it. The sound of his voice is enough to ground you.
Warm droplets drip down the sides of his fingers, coating the creases between them, but he keeps the movement up, gradually slowing it until he pulls them out, your body still beneath his, your chest rising and falling with each breath. His thumb brushes away the release from the surrounding skin before he slips his hand out of the fabric and grabs the nearest napkin to wipe it dry, not bothering to make a show of things, not now.
He readjusts the waistband of your pants, smoothing them back into place and pulling your shirt down to cover the exposed skin.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” you nod, sliding off the counter as Heeseung’s hands fall on your waist to stabilize you. “Better. Thank you.”
“Good.”
He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear and lets his fingers linger there, eyes scanning your face. “Go home,” he whispers. “Get some rest. I’ll take care of things.”
“No, I can help—”
“Y/N,” he interrupts, “go.”
You exhale, offering a soft nod as Heeseung admires your face, the way the soft glow of the Christmas lights shines against your skin. He steps back to let you gather your belongings, holds your coat up so you can slide your arms in, and follows you to the door, making sure you don’t try to do any more than you already have today.
“What is…this?”
He breathes. “Whatever you want it to be.”
You nod.
“Text me when you get home,” he winks and closes the door, locking it for good measure. He watches you enter the car, turn the ignition, and pull out of the lot.
You arrive home, haphazardly toss everything onto the stairs, rather than put it away properly. Run a hot shower and wash the evidence of whatever it was that occurred at your uncle’s shop, the one he so graciously extended a hand out to you only for you to do something so obscene with the man he hired but a month ago. Yet, despite all of that, you don’t regret it.
Finally, after trying to scrub the sin off your body, you slide into bed, tired, yet relaxed at the same time, relieved of the pressure that the week had put on you. Your head turns to the phone, stares at it like the mask of the Green Goblin, urging you to send the message, despite knowing that he’s not someone you should pursue; someone you can.
But,
YOU: i’m in bed. i’m sorry for not texting sooner
public enemy #1: good. i just locked up not long ago, on the way home now
public enemy #1: sleep well
You guess you do.
-
Relationships haven’t been your speed for years.
But what you have with Heeseung almost feels too close to one; that scares you.
You introduce him to your house for the first time—a quaint, brick townhouse just down the road from the shop, almost central to the town, if someone were to pinpoint it. It welcomes him, perhaps too naturally, lets the hours slip past a lot easier than they should, than they would with anyone else. But Heeseung doesn’t notice. He doesn’t see a problem, he doesn’t feel the pit of worry in his stomach as strongly as you do—he just sees you. And maybe that’s why it feels so difficult to keep the line between friends and more from blurring with each day that passes.
You find that Heeseung has an obsession with ramen (or ramyeon, as he forces you to spell it now), so much so that he apparently even ate strictly that for an entire year straight. So during the nights when he breaches the line between professional and personal, stepping past the threshold of your front door and into your home, your sanctuary, he teaches you all of the ways he likes it. Maybe you’ll like them, too, and you can learn to make them yourself. Maybe you won’t, and he’ll just forget about it entirely. He doesn’t do things for himself; he does them for you.
You exchange languages in your spare time, during the moments when the shift drags, and the others can hold their own. The small sections of the day when it feels like you’re the only ones there, until you are, and your body just wants to be close to him, whether you should be or not. You help him with phrases, pronunciation, teach him some ways to put sentences together, or add filler words that are never necessary, but sound more native when you use them. Heeseung, in turn, teaches you Korean—the differing sentence structure, how to read Hangul, though it seems too daunting at first, and even how to speak some of it. Basic knowledge that can only go so far, but he’s proud, anyway. He likes hearing his language in your voice.
“Hey, are you okay?” you ask into the phone one morning, lodged between your ear and your shoulder as you take the chairs off the tables with Heeseung on the other line. “It’s…” you glance at the clock, “almost ten, and you’re not here. What’s up?”
“Oh, yeah, I—” he coughs, “—I’m sick. I must have caught something from the cold.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” you apologize, masking the part of you that’s upset, even if only slightly. Even if he’s not supposed to mean anything. “I’ll find someone to cover, or I’ll just try to do both. You can sleep.”
You hang up the phone and slide it back into your pocket as you work to prepare the store for the day, sighing as you glance at the clock again, knowing that time won’t pass as fast. Somehow, over the course of the last few weeks, you’ve grown dependent on Heeseung—someone you originally wished would leave your life as quickly as he came.
public enemy #1: come over tonight?
public enemy #1: i won’t bite. promise
The first time your eyes glaze over the messages, your body shudders. He’s been in your house a thousand times, taught you to cook his favorite meals (ramyeon aside), spoken Korean, watched television, and helped you decorate, for Christ’s sake. It shouldn’t be so jarring to accept an invite to his small, old apartment only ten minutes away from yours. But it is. Everything with him is.
But you show up, anyway. Ring the doorbell exactly fifteen minutes after your closing shift ends; punctual, just as normal. Heeseung answers the door, sporting a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt that you can read but aren’t sure what it really says. He looks tired, still clearly ill, but his face lights up with his smile. You feel a pang in your chest; guilt or happiness, you’re not sure.
You sit on the sofa with him and complain about the day, how busy work had gotten on the one day staff was short, making a complete show of it. Heeseung laughs, doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.
But he’s quiet; too quiet, nothing close to the Heeseung Lee you know.
“You should lie down,” you whisper, turning to him and rubbing your hand on his shoulder. “You look exhausted.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it,” you nudge him. “Come on.”
Reluctantly, he lets you force him into his bed, and you pull the covers over until they rest just below his elbows. You prop the pillow up behind his head until he looks comfortable.
“I’ll be right back,” you tell him, and he just nods.
You decide to put his lessons to use. You rummage through the cabinets, searching for the stash of what you know is hiding somewhere until you find the cabinet stocked with various brands and flavors of Heeseung’s favorite ramyeon. You take one that looks familiar—doing the best you can to understand the Korean name—and rack your brain to remember the way he taught you to make it, back at your place, with his hands resting over yours and your back pressed to his chest.
You’re surprised that you can even remember.
But you manage to complete a bowl that looks and smells edible, as close to his finished product as possible, and you stick a pair of chopsticks inside. You grab him a glass of ice water and a napkin and walk back into his room, where he lies idly on his phone. Your mind wanders back to the night you decided he was attractive at the sight of the familiar profile layout on the screen, and you swallow, stepping further inside.
“Hee,” you whisper, and his head turns. His eyes grow three sizes, and he quickly sits up, cocking a brow as you step closer, setting the warm bowl into his hands.
“You made this for me?”
“I tried.”
“I was wondering what took so long…” He twirls a clump of noodles onto the chopsticks and brings them to his mouth, taking a bite and slurping the remainder inside. His eyes fall shut, and a warm smile stretches across his face. “Perfect,” he compliments. “I taught you well.”
You giggle, moving to the other side of the bed and propping yourself up beside him. “Eat up,” you tell him, lifting a hand to brush a messy strand of hair away from his face. “You’re sick, you should be eating.”
“You’re good to me,” he murmurs, and you offer a smile in return, watching as he slowly clears the bowl. Even drinks every last drop of the broth—you swear he’s too obsessed, but you suppose it’s cute. He reaches for the water and takes a few sips, placing the empty bowl on the nightstand and turning back to you.
He leans closer, and you try to pull back. “You’re sick,” you repeat, but he persists.
“Not contagious anymore,” as he presses his lips to yours, and you laugh against them, letting him pull you into his lap, despite the protests you just made.
His hand finds purchase on your waist, thumb rubbing the skin just beneath the hem of your shirt as the other slips to the underside of your jaw, holding you closer to him. It shouldn’t feel right—being here, with him, in the apartment he bought a matter of weeks ago, derailing every bit of self-respect you thought you’d gained after everything with your ex, knowing that this is nothing, because it has to be. Because he just showed up one day and weaseled himself into your life. Knowing that deep down, he knows that, too. But still, as his tongue melts with yours, fingers grazing your skin like worship, you just want him.
For the first time, you don’t stop yourself.
And you don’t go home that night.
You read as friends, enjoying each other’s company when you have it, admiring decorations and listening to holiday music, watching the snow fall and collect in the crevices where the exterior walls of the store meet the ground—things anyone does with someone close to them. Things you’ve done with Jisung, with Ellie, with every person that’s come your way and considered themselves your friend.
But when you find yourself craving Heeseung’s proximity, making excuses to have time with him, even if only for a moment, invite him into your house, steal kisses that no one sees, brush past him and feel comfort, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world…when you begin showing up to work together, you start to realize that none of this is friendly. Not a single ounce.
And it can’t possibly be real, either.
-
“Evan!”
He jumps at the old man’s voice, the sound far too familiar to go unnoticed. He turns on his heel to see his boss—your uncle—approaching the counter, saying hello to some of the patrons as he walks around the corner and pats him on the shoulder.
“Someone looks hard at work.”
“Yeah,” he laughs, using a rag to dry off a clean coffee mug, “it’s been pretty busy recently. I can understand why you’ve got so many people here, Art.”
“Art. That’s a new one,” your uncle ponders as the kitchen door swings open, and out flies you, a large tray of cookies in your hand to re-fill the display case with. You almost don’t notice him standing there until you place them onto the counter, and Heeseung taps your calf with the edge of his foot.
“Oh, Uncle Arthur! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” you exclaim apologetically, walking over to wrap an arm around him. He kisses your forehead, and you smile, perched idly beside Heeseung, whose eyes have been glued to you since you walked in, regardless of the others standing nearby amidst the chaos.
“Hm,” his eyes flit between you, finger lifting and gesturing back and forth, “you two…?”
“No!” you both shout a bit too comically synchronized (and loudly), eyes wide, hands waving in front of you.
“No, no,” you tack on, giving an awkward laugh. “Never, this guy?” You turn, mocking a grimace. “He’s lucky I even came around to him.”
“Okay, okay,” your uncle mock-surrenders, “just asking, no need to get hasty.” He laughs, reaching into his pocket to grab his eyeglasses and unfolding them, slipping them onto his face. He looks up at the menu—spending so long out of his establishment that he’s forgotten some of the options—and orders a few things, on the house.
“I bet, though,” he chuckles, still glancing up at the menu, “if I checked those cameras, you two would be just as close as I’d imagine. You kids are easy to read these days.”
That’s when it registers.
Your eyes lock with Heeseung’s; wide, terrified, horrified.
“The cameras,” you whisper, pointing up and gesturing at the one just above the counter, panic etched deep into your face.
Yeah, take one look at the cameras, and he’ll be fucking scarred. That’ll be the day he finds out some guy he barely knows fingered his niece right on the goddamn counter.
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” you shake your head, “we can’t just leave it there!”
“Then, what do you suppose—”
“—hello?”
“Yes!” You clear your throat, “Yeah—Uncle…Arthur?”
“You guys okay?”
“Yeah!” simultaneously, “yeah.”
Heeseung moves to grab his order, and you step into the back, beelining for the office that typically stays empty, since your uncle rarely visits for any longer than minutes at a time. You open the computer, sift through files, applications, everything until you find the ones you’re looking for, marked with the date of each day, each hour.
The door flies open; you sigh, noticing that it’s only Heeseung.
“God, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
He closes the door behind him, “He’s gone. I extended your goodbye.”
“Thank you,” you breathe, focusing back on the files until you come across the day you’re looking for, swallowing thickly as the footage appears on the screen in a minimized window.
You click and drag the mouse along the timeline, face dusted red the moment you find what it is you’ve been looking for, and lift your finger to let it play. You breathe, clearly embarrassed by the ordeal, despite the only person seeing this besides yourself being Heeseung. Yet, that doesn’t make it better.
You’re thankful there’s no audio.
You hover the cursor over the Delete button, then follow it to the Trash folder and delete it from there, clearing any evidence from that night. Leaving it only in your memories. You lean back in the chair, closing your eyes and letting out a sigh of relief, almost forgetting that he’s even there until you feel his lips press against the side of your head.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby,” he whispers, and your stomach caves. “You’re perfect.”
He ruffles a hand in your hair before leaving the office, not giving you time to counter his claim.
Damn, that handsome son of a bitch.
-
Saturday—six days until Christmas.
public enemy #1: come to arthur’s. rooftop. stairs at the back
You stare at the words—confused—for a few minutes, furrow a brow, contemplate. You still end up in the driver’s seat of your car, chugging down the street at such a late hour, your feet carrying you more than anything else.
You walk up the stairs carefully, swallowing down your nerves, though you’re not quite sure why it has you so rattled. Perhaps, because he’s usually asking to come to your place or inviting you to his, rather than this. This has to mean something; you’re scared of what.
As you finally approach his figure, he senses your presence and turns around. You gasp, nearly stepping back as your hand rises, running your fingers through his hair.
Faded cherry red; the same wine color you paused at all those weeks ago on his page. Bangs hanging loose in his face. Change accurate as an instinct, like he knew.
“Heeseung…” you whisper, swallowing as your fingers linger just behind his ear, and he fronts a bashful smile.
“You like it?”
“It’s…yeah,” you laugh, “I love it.”
“Good. I thought you would.”
Your brows knit together, “How would you have…known?”
“Well,” he breathes, shifting his weight between feet, “you sort of liked a post a few weeks ago. More than that—over a month ago, I think. I don’t think you noticed.”
“You love it,” he smiles, lifting a hand to your cheek as he leans forward, slotting his lips with yours.
He tastes sweeter tonight; like cherries and sugar, maybe from old gum or a mint, or perhaps it’s neither, and it’s the Chapstick on his lips that’s flavored like this. Your lips stretch into a smile against his, too natural to be simply casual, and you sigh contentedly into his mouth, one arm wrapped loosely around his waist, while the other extends upward, palm resting over his heart. You feel it beating again beneath your fingertips; it grounds you, still.
The wind swirls around you, forcing your hair to mingle with his, but it doesn’t matter; you don’t feel the cold, the breeze, the dust of snow falling onto the rooftop beneath your feet.
You think—for a moment—that you could stay like this forever, and you’ll be happy.
“Come with me,” he mumbles against your lips, and you pull away, looking into his eyes, head tilted.
“What?”
“Come with me,” he repeats firmly, words laced with a conviction that scares you. “When I leave, next year. After this.” His hands slide down your arms, and he laces his fingers with yours, rubs the backs of them with his thumbs. “I want to do this, see the world. And I want you with me.”
Your heart drops to your stomach. Heeseung is leaving. It shouldn’t come as a surprise—that was his plan, that was always the plan, wasn’t it? So, why does it hurt so much when you’ve known it all along?
You think about all of the times you’ve told him to pursue it; the times you’d lie in bed together, and he’d sing you gently to sleep, never thinking anything of it. When you’d play music at work, and he’d hum along to the songs he liked, to the ones he learned for you. When he’d start singing Do They Know It’s Christmas? after the stink you made the first time, and you’d tell him he was good, more than good.
Because to you, he’s perfect.
But sometimes, that isn’t enough.
“Heeseung, I—I can’t.”
The life in his eyes is the first thing to go.
Then, the smile falters, his hands loosen their grip on yours, and his jaw clenches as he holds back tears, though he tries not to let it show.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t, I—” you breathe, choking over your own words as tears brim in the corners of your eyes, making no effort to hold them back. “My whole life is here, Heeseung. I can’t just—leave it.”
“But that’s just it, Y/N,” he counters, trying to hold his composure. “You’ve only ever known this. Don’t you want to see what’s out there?” He steps closer, and you let him, knowing that you shouldn’t. “You have so much to offer.”
“I’m not like you, Hee,” you shake your head, “that’s not what I want.”
“Not with me?”
Your heart lurches, but you don’t reply. The words get stuck in your throat. Heeseung takes it as an answer, despite the tears running down your face—ones he makes no effort to wipe away, to acknowledge, though he would’ve jumped to get rid of them just minutes ago.
“I thought you would’ve changed your mind by now.”
“That’s not how that works, Heeseung. I can’t just up and leave, and you know that. You know I can’t just come with you like it’s nothing.”
He scoffs, poking his tongue into his cheek as he looks down at his feet. “You sound just like him.”
“Who, your father?” you shout, offense mixing with hurt and lacing your voice. “Because I don’t want to leave my home? Because I don’t want you to go?”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to leave without you, either, because I lo—”
“—Don’t say it,” you warn.
“Why not? You don’t want the truth?”
“No. Because I can’t handle it,” you admit, bile rising in your throat, but you swallow it down. “I can’t deal with that reality, Heeseung.”
“So what, you’re just gonna stay here forever?” he asks, hurt breaking his voice, the noise wedging the knife deeper into your heart. “You’re gonna just work here forever? That’s all you ever want to be? Just come cashier?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means,” he bites back, and you look away, taking a breath.
“You can’t expect me to do that for you, Heeseung. I haven’t even known you for two fucking months!”
“Well, from the way you’ve been acting, it seemed like we were a lot more than I thought, so I’m sorry that I misinterpreted whatever this was.”
“Look, I didn’t ask for you to just show up and derail my entire fucking life, okay?”
He freezes; you step forward, guilt immediately washing over you.
“Hee,” you reach out, but he moves away, doesn’t speak.
He walks down the stairs without another word, and you chase after him, breaths increasing in weight, your heartbeat hammering in your head like an anvil that just won’t stop. He opens the car door and slips inside, and your hand catches on it before he can shut it.
“Hee, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“—save it.”
He looks up at you, eyes red and glossed over. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave. Just like you always wanted me to, alright?”
“No, Heeseung—”
He turns the ignition and slams the door, forcing your hand to lift before it gets crushed, and he takes off, not looking back at you, not thinking twice, just leaving.
Realization hits like a truck; you sink to your knees, broken, battered. The cold of the fallen snow on the ground burns on your kneecaps, but you don’t care—you think you deserve it. Tears run down your cheeks, burning hot in contrast to the freezing cold outside, and you shove your hand in your pocket, pulling out your phone. Your fingers tremble so severely that you can barely grasp the device, vision blurred from the tears spilling down your cheeks; the painful fear in your chest is too severe to bear.
You dial the number without thinking. The ringing feels like agony, grating pain against your heart until you hear the voice on the other line that stops the ache just for a fraction of a second.
“Ji,” you sob, “I fucked up.”
-
“Hey, hey, what’s the matter, baby?”
You sob into Jisung’s chest, dampening his shirt, but he doesn’t care. He holds you closer and runs his palm along your back. Your knees still hurt from the cold, but they’ve numbed, just a little.
“He’s gone,” you cry, shaking your head as if it isn’t real. “I made him leave.”
“What?”
You bury your face deeper into his chest. “He wanted me to go with him, and I told him no,” you ashamedly tell him. “I can’t lose him. I don’t wanna lose him.”
“Lose who, Y/N?”
“Heeseung.”
Jisung blinks above you; you don’t notice, you don’t even look up, but you feel the way his hold loosens just slightly. “Heeseung? I thought you—what? I thought you hated him.”
“I don’t hate him, Ji,” you whisper, “I never did.”
“You have a lot to catch me up on when you’re done crying and warm in your house.”
And you’ll tell him, because you know where you stand with Heeseung now.
Only, you might never see him again, and your body can’t accept that fact. Not one bit.
-
You expected work without him to be difficult.
You didn’t expect life without him to be.
When the others ask where Heeseung is, you shrug—a partial truth, despite knowing that you’re the reason, that you’d hurt him too much for him to stay. You’d already been keeping him at an arm’s length, tried your best to, at least, but you’d pushed him too far, and now, you’ll have to pay for it.
His presence in your life feels like a candle that you never knew was burning, until one day, you noticed it, and then, it was out. Gone like it was never there, despite the smell left behind, the reminder of its existence never quite dissipating, not enough to forget.
“I don’t know, I guess he must have quit.”
—your usual response, dry, uninterested. Because you can’t bring yourself to feel the loss; if you do, you don’t think you’ll recover. You check your phone, even when it doesn’t ping, silently hoping that his contact will pop up, say something like gotcha! and then, he’ll show up out of nowhere, sliding right back into the hole he burrowed in your heart. But days pass, the holiday draws closer, and he’s radio silent. Some nights, you drive past the apartments, try to see if a light is on inside, if his car is nearby—you never quite find what you’re looking for.
Your uncle apologizes, thinking all of it is his fault, but you don’t have the courage to tell him the truth: that you did have something with Heeseung, and you let him go as quickly as he came. The wish you wanted to come true until he suddenly became everything.
You find yourself staring at the decorations inside the store, propping your hand up on the counter, and glancing around. You want to hear his voice, him to burst out of the kitchen with some stupid thing to say, wrap his arms around you, and kiss you until you can’t breathe. You realize—standing alone in the store, just as you always wished for—that none of this place matters anymore, not without him.
You don’t know who you are without this place. Maybe that’s even scarier than leaving it.
But it’s too late—you’ve done the damage, sent the best person to happen to you away as if he meant nothing to you at all.
As the final shift before Christmas Eve finishes, you open the cabinet to grab your things—keeping them on the same half you always had with him, not daring to fill his side. The closing process feels monotonous; unplug the decorative lights, check the counters, organize the orders, turn off the ceiling lights, walk out the door, and lock it behind you. Staring at the space he always parked in as you sit in the driver’s seat of your car, nearly breaking down from the pressure and the immense silence inside, is a new part you add to the list tonight.
You drive home without music, only half-paying attention to the road. The heavy snowfall blows against your windshield but makes no noise, clouds your vision more than the fog that’s already there. But your mind wanders elsewhere, unable to stay completely focused, much like most of your time as of late. Only the shell of you remains. And nobody notices—nobody even bats an eye. Not like he would.
Never like him.
You push through the front door, and even in your own house, you can’t escape Heeseung—he plagues your thoughts and haunts the inside of your little townhouse like a spirit that won’t leave. Every corner of the house holds a memory of him. Nothing remains untouched. Everything feels like a punishment; packages of ramyeon stashed away in the back of one of your cabinets, the Boston Bruins blanket that he claimed to be his favorite still folded in the spot he usually took on your couch (after which you forced him to watch a game because he “deserved to know the best sport in the world”), and even your bed—where the ghost of him still lies, his cologne etched into the sheets that you haven’t yet changed.
A rap on the door takes you out of your thoughts, jolting your body away from the refrigerator as you try to fill a glass of water. You place the half-full glass onto the counter and smooth your hands over your pants, furrowing your brows. You don’t bother to check the peephole; you simply turn the lock on the door, hand trembling slightly from stress and nerves, then the knob, swinging it open.
Your body tenses—eyes well with tears the moment they catch sight of his face. Familiar, loving eyes looking back at you, the soft, now cherry red hair you love to run your hands through, spotted with flakes of snow as they fall onto his head, the lips you’ve kissed with every ounce of affection in your heart pressed together as he swallows.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The snow falls behind him, around him, melts into his hair as he stands before you, unfazed by the cold outside as long as you’re near him; he thinks it’s been that way for a while.
“I can’t pretend like I don’t think about you every second.” He steps closer, almost crossing the threshold but not quite touching it, still not without your permission, despite every bone in his body screaming for him to. “I can’t act like I’m not in love with you. And maybe you don’t want to hear that, but you need to.”
The lights he helped string on the arch of your doorway twinkle above, illuminating his face with a soft red glow that somehow makes him prettier, if even possible. You falter at his words, legs fighting to stay steady beneath you as he says it with conviction and forces the tears to fall from your eyes.
“Hee,” you whisper weakly—all it takes for him to step forward and slide his hand behind your head, holding it in place for him to kiss you.
It’s different from the other times, a declaration and a promise all at once, desperation seeping into it like it hadn’t before. His tongue finds yours the moment your lips part to let it in, and he steps forward, forcing your bodies closer as if he’s trying to meld them together. You smile against him, hand trailing into his hair and taking the soft burgundy strands between your fingers, needing to feel him just as much. The thought of losing him—someone who made you realize everything you’d been missing out on—hurts more than any insult anyone could throw at you.
Because Heeseung is your person, and you’ll never let him slip away again.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between kisses, refusing to part from you after not seeing you for days; your mouth chases his, kisses becoming sloppy, but neither of you seems to care, not when it feels so good, for once. You hum into his mouth, and his hands grip your body tighter, fingers pressing into your skin. Heeseung moans, and you grin wider.
“No, I’m sorry,” you finally counter, pulling back to breathe. “I was wrong. You didn’t ruin anything, Heeseung.” Your hands slide down his arms until they reach his, lacing your fingers together and gripping them firmly, lips swollen. “I want to do this with you. I don’t want to be here if you’re not,” you say, shaking your head. “This is all I’ve known…But I want to know more. With you.”
“I don’t want to force you.”
“All my life, I’ve never even entertained the notion of leaving this town.”
You close your eyes and take a breath, exhaling deeply through your nose. “But if it means being with the person I love, I’ll travel as far away from here as possible.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, kissing along your jaw, the corner of your mouth, your lips. “‘m gonna make up for everything, okay?”
You nod, and his hands slip beneath the swell of your ass, hoisting you up for your legs to wrap around his waist. He carries you up the stairs, kissing a path along the underside of your jaw as your hand fists in his hair.
Heeseung takes his time with you, laying you onto the bed, fingers dancing along the edges of your clothes and peeling each item off, one by one. His lips find every dip and curve on your body, pressing kisses to them like worship, his touch reverent as he takes the first release from you with just his mouth, the second with his fingers, prying soft moans that seep into the four walls of your bedroom as if he’s the only other person meant to set foot in it.
When his hips meet yours, he kisses you as if his life depends on it, one hand palming your kneecap and holding it in place while the other entwines its fingers with yours, holding them above your head and against the headboard. You feel him in your stomach, on your knees, above you, around you—everywhere, all at once. He takes care of you; lets you feel every last inch of his want for you, shows his love for you rather than trying to control you. He wants you comfortable and pleased and satisfied all at once.
The soft light that streams in from outside the door—mixed with the small, white-lit tree in the corner of the room—makes you feel at ease, with Heeseung hovering above you, holding onto you like a lifeline, something you never thought possible the day you met him.
Your body relaxes under his touch, and your brain takes a vacation, focusing only on Heeseung, how perfect he feels like this, how nothing could feel any better than this very moment. And you smile against his lips, sighing deeply when you reach your final peak, giving yourself to him, wholly. Let the evidence drip down your inner thigh for his thumb to carefully brush away, unsure of whether its origin is from you or him. Kiss him until your lips go numb, until you can’t breathe, until he’s sure that he’s made up for every ounce of pain, every minute he missed with you, every night he could’ve made you feel this good and hadn’t, because he left. Not bothering to consider what anyone will think, what will happen if you leave, how tomorrow will go—all you think about is him as he pulls back to look at you.
And that stupid, beautiful smile of his.
-
The Christmas Eve shift passes by in a blur. With Heeseung back, everything returns in full swing, all hands on deck for the morning until close. Handfuls of people file in and out, picking up orders, grabbing passing drinks, admiring the scenery that he and you spent far too many hours meticulously creating.
On the short break you get, you pull out your phone, scroll through it mindlessly until a text message flashes on the screen.
public enemy #1: off the phone, slacker
You look up; Heeseung stands on the other side of the door, shaking his head and tutting his teeth. You flash him a smile (and a choice finger) that makes him laugh, loudly enough that you can hear it through the door. He blows you a dramatic kiss and walks away.
YOU: asshole.
public enemy #1: you love it
YOU: focus on working instead of me. and start thinking of outfits for tomorrow
The annual Whitmore family dinner on Christmas Day, usually hosted by your parents, but now extended to you. You invited Heeseung, intending to introduce him to the others as your boyfriend, the boy you love—whatever it takes to describe what he means to you. Where he’ll finally meet your parents, where they’ll find out that you’re going to navigate life with him outside of Valley Point, despite the challenges that you’ll face, and the fear that pits in your stomach.
You know that if he’s there, you’ll be okay.
Which reminds you,
hee ♥︎: anything for you
-
“Merry Christmas!”
You smile, wrapping your arms around your uncle as he walks into your house, your aunt following closely behind. Heeseung stands beside you, nervously fumbling with his thumbs as his eyes follow their path.
“Heeseung! I heard you’ve been absent for a few days,” he teases as he pats him on the back, not quite tall enough to reach his shoulder so easily. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he nods, eyes flitting over to you as you give him the go-ahead, and his arm slowly wraps around your waist, fingers resting just over your hip. “Just…figuring things out.”
“I knew it,” he grins, and you shove him with your palm.
“Yeah, yeah. Go inside and talk to the others, okay?”
Heeseung shifts his weight between feet, unintentionally moving your body along with his. You turn to him, tilting your head to see his face as he looks forward, not particularly focused on anything.
“Hey,” you whisper, and he looks down, his nervousness etched into his features. “It’s okay. They’re gonna love you.”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs.
“Heeseung,” you scold. “My parents are going to love you. I promise.”
“Okay,” he breathes. “Yeah…yeah, okay.”
The front door flies open, nearly slamming against the wall behind it; you don’t have to look to know who it is.
“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Heeseung Lee,” Jisung says as he saunters over, hands perched on his hips like he has a personal score to settle with him. “Heard a lot about you.”
“Have…you now?” Heeseung asks, already far too nervous to be confronted about things he has clue idea of.
“Yup.” He extends a hand for Heeseung to take and waits until he does to clamp down and practically cut off his circulation with his fingers. “Jisung,” he introduces proudly.
“Oh,” Heeseung nods. “I’m, uh—yeah. Heeseung.”
You notice a familiar figure outside the window and usher Heeseung into the kitchen with Jisung where the others are gathered, telling him that your parents have arrived. He goes without question. Once he’s in the kitchen, he gets swooped up in conversation almost instantly, only half-listening as his mind wanders off, worrying about what your their first impressions of him will be, if they’ll even like him at all. He hears your gentle “Hey!” from the kitchen, but can’t tear himself away enough to look back at you, despite his attempts.
“Heeseung?” you call from the empty sitting room on the other side of the house, and his head whips around. He takes a breath and walks toward the noise, preparing to see you standing there with your parents, waiting to introduce them finally, after so much back and forth, so much uncertainty.
But when Heeseung walks into the room, it’s not what he expected at all.
“Appa?”
You stand just around the corner, biting your lip nervously as Heeseung timidly speaks to his father, just a few feet in front of him. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before—a son, just a boy with his father, who lost his mother as a kid and only wanted to succeed for them. You swallow, not quite understanding what they’re saying; you make out a few words from what he’s taught you, but it’s not nearly enough. You don’t think you should understand, anyway—it’s their personal business, not yours.
Heeseung hesitantly steps forward, and his dad meets him halfway, pulling him into a hug that looks long overdue. You turn away, not wanting to pry, to give them their time alone, though you can still hear Heeseung’s quiet sobs, and you blink back tears.
As they pull away and exchange a few more words, Mr. Lee motions you in with an arm, and you bow gently, thanking him before letting him step out to join the group of people already accumulating in your dining room, socializing as the snow continues to fall outside.
“I love you,” he smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground, letting out a soft laugh that transfers over to you as you twirl around in the air, gripping him tightly, like you’ll fly away if you let go.
When your feet finally touch the ground, the tips of your fingers meet behind his neck, and you admire his expression, happiness glowing in his eyes. “I love you, too,” you whisper back, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. “You deserve to be happy, Hee.”
“I already have been,” he sniffs, and a tear runs down his cheek, barely reaching his jaw before your thumb catches it. “But God, you get better every day.”
He leans down and catches your lips in a gentle kiss, tasting of that same sweet Chapstick he’s been using and familiarity; comfort, warmth, love. Everything you’ve ever wanted—everything you’ll ever need. You don’t think you’ve ever felt as free as you do with him; though it scares you, you want to start this next chapter with him, because you’re not sure that you’d trust anyone else.
47 days can do a lot to a person.
Heeseung is a plot twist you never expected.
“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he whispers into the air between you, bringing a finger up to poke the tip of your nose. He laughs gently, and you match it; Heeseung thinks it might be the best sound in the world.
“Merry Christmas, Heeseung.”
You let the silence create a blanket around you, wrapping the two of you in your own world, even if for just a moment, where all that exists is you, Heeseung, and the faint glow of the incandescent lights strung around the house—present as a reminder of the love you gained this season, even after they’re taken down and stored away in boxes until next year.
Because they’ll always represent what you are: passion, joy, excitement, love—
you've never had a desire to leave home. valley point offers solace, a place where you know you fit in, or even stand out in a good way. working at your uncle's bakery is a blessing you can never appreciate enough; what more could you ask for?
enter heeseung lee, a 23-year-old free spirit whom your uncle hires from the outside. you insist that you don't need him—it's a family business. he only wants to help. you won't give him a chance.
so, what happens when you uncover the layers of heeseung lee and begin to realize that there's more to him than meets the eye, and with that, someone to love?
now showing: incandescence (color my world).
PAIRING: nonidol!heeseung x baker!reader (hallmark christmas au)
WORD COUNT: 23.1k
ꨄ︎: merry christmas, everyone! i've been working on this nonstop for a while now, and i'm just now finishing it at 11:00 pm, but i think it'll be worth the wait :) i first came up with this idea way back in august, and i've been so excited to release her to the world 🥹 incandescence!heeseung is my favorite interpretation of him that i've written, mostly because i was really able to explore him as a whole. i hope you all love this story as much as i do. i'd love to continue their story. enjoy, and happy reading. xo <3
CONTENT: fluff, “enemies” to friends to ? to lovers, eventual smut mdni, fingering, multiple orgasms, sex not too detailed, unprotected sex, creampie(?), (semi?) public sex, pet names (baby), slow burn, mentions of blood, he cleans her cut, profanity, slight situationship, heavy angst, heeseung has no mom and slight daddy issues, baking au, christmas au, new england small town hallmark fic, tooth-rotting fluff, han jisung from stray kids, other enhypen members mentioned, boston bruins mentioned, arguing
incandescent.
(adjective)
to be full of strong emotion; passionate.
describes a person who is glowing with a strong emotion or feeling, such as passion, joy, excitement, or rage.
—
47 Days Until Christmas
“A what?”
Your uncle chuckles as you practically explode behind the counter, flailing your arms around like a small child not getting their way. “I said that I hired a coworker for you,” he simply states over a sip of his hot coffee, eyes glazing over the newspaper in his free hand. “You’re going to need help this year. I’m in no shape to be handling the rushes anymore. I’m getting too old.”
“Uncle Arthur, I’m fully capable—”
“Y/N,” he interrupts, and you freeze. “You’re going to work with him,” he sets the newspaper down and looks up, “so you’d better get used to it.”
“Where’s this guy even from?”
“He’s 23, around your age,” he replies. “From South Korea. Said he moved here for a change of scenery.”
“How did he find Valley Point?” you wonder aloud, arm tired from cleaning off the counter. If it weren’t 7:00 at night on a Tuesday, maybe you wouldn’t be so easily irritable, and in hindsight, he probably should’ve picked a better time to drop the bomb. But then again, you’ve always been this stubborn, so really, it wouldn’t matter.
“Beats me,” he shrugs, folding the paper neatly and tucking it into his flannel shirt pocket. “He probably wanted somewhere small if he was looking to escape the city. That’s usually the case for those boys. But I will agree with you that it’s quite odd that someone from Korea, of all places, stumbles upon us.” He chuckles softly to himself, but you only grimace. You’re not all that amused, clearly.
“I guess.”
He stands up from the barstool and braces a hand on his back, trying to stretch it out. “Well,” he winces, “I’d better be on my way.” He yawns, and you round the counter to stand in front of him.
“Uncle Arthur, please,” you try one last time, “I’ll be fine, I promise. You know I have a system, and—I mean, come on, can’t you just get Taylor or Diane here to help me? They know how to carry their weight around here.”
“They won’t be available as much as you’ll need them,” he counters with a pointing finger. “I tried to avoid this, but honestly, it might be good for you. Remember—you don’t own this place, Y/N, I do.” You want to protest, but damnit, he’s making a valid point—why can’t he just let you be? “I may be your uncle, but I can take this position away from you if you refuse to cooperate with me.”
You sigh with defeat, shoulders slugging beside you, eyes closing tightly. “Okay,” you whisper begrudgingly. “Fine. I’ll just have to...figure it out.”
“That’s my girl,” he smiles, patting your back, and you grimace again. He laughs—the kind that’s usually sweet but only annoys you further—and heads for the door. “You’ll like him.”
“Doubt it.”
“Just trust me,” he winks. “He’s quite the looker, ya know,” he jokes, and he finds that you’re not all that amused. “Well,” he motions for you to get back to cleaning, “you should be fine closing up alone. I’ll see you in the morning.”
You roll your eyes—and admittedly stick your tongue out—as your uncle exits the shop, leaving you alone with his empty coffee cup and the nerves of working with a complete stranger for the entire holiday season.
-
“And then he said ‘you’ll like him’ as if I’d ever like some random guy impeding on the system I so perfectly built up!”
Jisung laughs on the other end of the line. “Well, Y/N, you are just about the worst person to work with,” he giggles, popping a chip into his mouth. “Uncle Arthur might have a point there.”
He scrolls through Instagram on his iPad as he lies flat on his stomach, kicking his feet in the air like a little kid. “What if he’s hot, or something?”
“Pfft,” you scoff, “yeah, right. Some random guy stumbling upon a small town and interrupting my peace? I highly doubt it.” You sigh exasperatedly as you flop back onto your mattress, cold from the extreme lack of heat reaching your room; damn the central air system in townhouses.
“Don’t count the possibility out,” he mumbles, cutting himself short. “Oh, my god,” he snorts.
“What is it?”
“Did you see what Taylor posted?”
Taylor is a few years older than you. She’s the eldest daughter of Uncle Arthur’s good friend, who helped him start up the shop and passed away just a couple of years back. To keep her busy and give her a little piece of her dad, he let her help out during the busiest rushes of the year. You always got along with her, sure, but something always felt off, so you never kept all that close with her, and well—it seems you’ve been right all along.
“No,” you furrow your brows, putting him on speaker and opening the app to check. “That bitch,” you scowl. “She’s going on vacation to the goddamn Bahamas while I’m stuck here to work the Christmas rush with some fucking stranger?” You angrily slam the phone onto the bed beside you, and you hear Jisung gasp from the loud noise. “Seriously, I knew she didn’t care!”
“Hey,” Jisung pipes up, rolling onto his back, “look on the bright side—maybe you’ll make a friend out of him.”
“I dunno, Jisung—”
“Just…don’t let it ruin the season for you, okay?” he breathes. “It’s only until January.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
-
Alright, so you might have let it ruin your week. Not the whole season, or anything, but your week has basically gone to shit, and the blame is going to fall on him. A man you literally have never met, mind you. You don’t even know his name, because your uncle always butchers it in typical elderly American fashion.
But still, you’re too set in your own way to leave well enough alone. You’ve convinced yourself that this can only go wrong, and that’s what is going to happen, no exceptions. When he doesn’t show up at 7:00 a.m. sharp like you were told he was going to, the uneasy feeling in your stomach multiplies. You like people to be punctual, and even your uncle thinks the same way, so why is it nearing quarter past seven, and this guy has yet to show his face?
You angrily pop open the register to check the money, barely sorting through the paper before a loud, swishing noise interrupts you. A cold breeze makes its way in, and you turn your attention to the front door, where a man stands at about 5 feet 11, panic set in his face, two hot drinks in his hands.
It’s him; you know it is.
“You’re late,” you grit out and re-focus your attention on the open drawer. “Not a good look for your first shift here.”
“I am so sorry,” he begins, opting not to take off his comically puffy jacket and practically running towards you. “I swear, this isn’t how it was supposed to play out. I left my place almost an hour ago, and there were no buses, so I had to walk. I stopped for coffee on the way, because I almost died out there, and I grabbed one for you as an apology, but now that I think about it, you might not even like it.”
He finally takes a breath. “Shit, uh, I’m sorry,” he places the warm cup beside you, and you reluctantly accept it with a curt thank you. “You must be Y/N. Your uncle told me about you.” He extends a hand out to you.
“Yeah,” you respond dryly, “Y/N Whitmore.” You shake his hand without looking up. “Heeseung, right? I’m sure he told you how nice and friendly I am to new blood around here.” You finally get a clear look at his face when you close the drawer, nervously laughing at what he hopes is a joke, like he’s afraid you’re going to beat him up with the cash register if he doesn’t.
Okay, so maybe Jisung was onto something. He’s a looker. Like, really nice to look at.
He’s got the type of eyes that look straight into your soul. Not intimidatingly, just—deep. Big. Like boba. His face is soft, but it’s detailed, like the upturn of his nose and its sharp, straight bridge. His lips. His teeth flash with his smile, and it’s…pretty. And you have to admit that he has a really nice head of hair. The ashy blonde color looks a bit eccentric because it’s very clearly not his natural one, but it suits him. He kind of looks like a deer, if you squint your eyes and look, like, really closely.
Alright, so he’s hot; it doesn’t change the fact that he’s late and the person you’ve been not-so-excitedly anticipating to ruin your workflow.
“So,” he claps his hands and rubs them together in a dorky fashion, “where do we start?”
You breathe air out through your nose. “Cases,” you mumble, standing up straight and turning to the display cases beside you. “We need to make and thaw out what goes in every morning.” You gesture towards the empty shelves and the dry-erase labels. “It changes every once in a while. Our regular guy, Gerry, comes in late at night after closing to clean out the kitchen and prepare for us to make the pastries that go here,” you point to the shelves on the bottom, “and we deal with the rest. I usually come a little early to help with those, but I doubt I’ll be doing much of that anymore. As for you, we’ll make the muffins, some cookies, et cetera in the mornings, put out the other premades, and boom—ready to open by 9.”
“Okay…sounds…easy enough,” he nods along.
“Yeah,” you shift your weight from one foot to the other. “Do you know how to bake, or did my uncle go into this completely blind?”
“Go in blind?” he asks like he doesn’t know what you’re saying, and you blink in confusion until you realize he doesn’t. You haven’t really left Valley Point much, and the most time you’ve spent in a city probably only totals up to about 2 days, so the concept of someone not being born and raised here—or at least not speaking the language natively—is foreign. Your right-hand man is Jisung, but he was raised here. Things like this simply aren’t common in a small and sheltered town like yours.
“It means, like,” you tilt your head in thought, debating on how to explain, “when you do something without doing research first. I was asking if he hired you without even asking if you know how to bake.”
“Oh. I see,” he nods. “Sorry if my English isn’t great. I’ve gotten better, but being born and raised in Korea makes it harder to understand some things.”
“It’s okay.” Your nails scratch at the nape of your neck, “That’s my error, really.”
“Maybe you can teach me,” he adds with a smile that fades almost as quickly as it comes when your half-cold, half-unamused expression doesn’t change. “Uh, yeah, I know a little bit,” he clears his throat and answers your earlier question with a shrug. “Most of it isn’t stuff you make here, though. I’ve been here for a bit, but I’m not that good at it. I’m willing to learn.” He leans on the counter behind him and folds his arms nonchalantly, like you’re not staring at him blankly. “Besides, your uncle hired me to help you, so I think I should try to do my part.”
“Alright, well…since I’m not sure how much knowledge you have of some of these things, we’ll just start with the basics.”
And that’s what you do. You start slowly, spending the next few hours before opening carefully showing him how to prepare each item you’ll be making for the day. You make sure he watches carefully and doesn’t touch anything to disrupt your flow. You’ve got a system that cannot be broken, and he needs to be aware of that as soon as possible, or else there will be more problems than you already anticipate.
“Heeseung, you can’t put the flour in that fast. You’re going to dry out the cookie dough,” you palm your face. “Have you never made cookies before?”
If anything, he seems to be an attentive listener. But you’re not sure he’ll be a fast learner.
“But you said to add it,” he furrows his brows, and you breathe a long sigh past your lips, which only confuses him more.
“Just—do it little by little, okay?” you try again; he’s clearly not well-versed in this, and it really isn’t his fault, so you suppose you’ve got to give him a little benefit of the doubt.
“Alright…” he breathes and focuses a little harder, making sure to follow your rules. “I’ve really never baked anything before. I don’t even have a m—”
“It’s fine, Heeseung,” you sigh. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
You’re not a bad person. In fact, you’re anything but; you’d do anything for the people you care about. Your only real crime is that you’re far too easily annoyed.
The rest of the shift goes by smoothly; much better than you thought it would. He does ask a lot of questions about pricing and the register and whatever else you can imagine someone in his position would, but you suppose you can’t get too upset by that, because at least he’s trying to figure things out.
Still, this season isn’t going to be a cake walk, and it’s all thanks to that damn uncle of yours and his itch to make things perfect.
-
It doesn’t take long for you to become irritated.
Crowds are becoming more frequent, and you don’t have the time to be worrying about training someone, and not just training him, but literally teaching him how to make the food he’s selling. You could’ve handled this by yourself. You always do. The only people who have ever helped you with this are Taylor, your semi-friend from high school, who usually only worked this time of year as an extra set of hands, and Diane, who is around Uncle Arthur’s age and in the same predicament as him.
You worked your way to the top here fair and square, and no matter who has accused you of nepotism, it’s all baseless. You’ve had this system in place for years. It’s hard to watch the outer layers of it start to chip off because of Heeseung. It’s already stressing you out, and it’s not even Thanksgiving yet.
“It’s just so hard to get used to this when all I’ve done for years is work around my being alone,” you take a sip of your latte. “Like, I don’t know how to navigate it, and it’s making things even harder.”
Jisung crosses one leg over the other from across the table. “Well, for starters, you are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” he stresses, “and it seems like the poor guy is just trying to figure out how to a, not piss you off, and b, learn how to bake while maintaining a.”
“Jisungggg,” you sigh, letting your head fall into your hand. “You’re supposed to be on my side,” you mumble into your palm.
“I mean, he kind of has a point,” Ellie, your other close friend from school (but nowhere near as much as Jisung), chimes in with the bite of her danish still in her mouth.
“We’ve already established that I was right and that he is hot, so—”
“Jisung, please.”
“I’m serious! I know you won’t admit it out loud, but we all know you think he is.”
“It doesn’t matter how attractive or unattractive he is to me. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s the sole reason for my current and upcoming problems, and it’s gonna affect the way I work,” you argue, gesturing with your hands. “I don’t know why this year, of all years, he decides to hire someone else, who isn’t even from Valley Point, or the States, mind you.”
“Let’s just change the subject, okay?” Ellie interjects. “Jisung, you need to stop being such a drama fiend! That is not what she needs right now, okay?” She turns to you. “And Y/N, you need to stop being such an anxiety freak and accept the fact that you’re stuck with Heeseung one way or another, okay? Great. Glad we’ve got that settled. Now, can we please talk about something else before my head explodes?”
One thing you’ve always prided Ellie on is her ability to mediate a situation when it’s beginning to escalate. As much as you love Jisung to death, he’s just as hotheaded as you, and it always leads to both of you beating a dead horse almost every time you’re together. Which is great and all if you’re alone, but not when someone else is there. That’s usually where Ellie comes in, and you’ve got to be thankful for that, whether you like it or not.
“Okay, uhh…There’s some crazy stuff going on at the publishing office, if anyone cares to hear.”
Ellie palms her forehead. “Jisung, that’s literally what I was just talking—”
“Oh, shit! I gotta go,” you shoot up from your seat, frantically grabbing your things and stuffing your trash in your pocket. “I told Heeseung I’d only be gone for thirty minutes, and it’s been almost an hour. Fuck, I can’t leave him alone for that long.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair, walking towards the café’s exit. “Sorry, guys, I’ll text you later.”
When you finally arrive back at the bakery after basically flooring the gas pedal the entire way back and somehow avoiding the police, you scramble around and slam your car door shut, which you probably shouldn’t do considering it’s a 2012 and cannot handle any more damage. But you ignore that and run inside to see Heeseung behind the counter, serving people, and looking…calm?
You already knew he was pretty easygoing. Still, even with the incredible number of people inside this place, he actually seems to be holding the fort down decently well. Then again, you haven’t been monitoring him at all since you left, and he could be doing everything wrong, so you beeline for the staff closet and throw everything inside before taking a fresh apron and slipping it on.
“You’re late,” he says plainly as the final customer in line walks away. “I thought you said you’d only be thirty minutes? And oh, if I remember correctly, you love it when people are…How do you put it? Right. ‘Punctual.’”
“Don’t get me started, Heeseung,” you roll your eyes, tying the apron behind your back. “Everyone loses track of time at some point in their life. Seems you were fine here alone, anyway.”
He scoffs, “What, after you basically implied that I’d burn this place down without you? Yikes, what’s that saying…Rules for thee, but not for me?”
“Heeseung,” you grit, and he laughs, nudging your shoulder with his.
“Relax, Sunshine, I’m just messing with you. Show a little enthusiasm,” he teases. “I can handle serving people. It’s just the other stuff that I need help with. Like, baking.”
-
“Heeseung, I told you that you can’t leave the cookies in for that long.” You palm your forehead as the smoke crowds around you, wafting into both his and your faces. “They’re burnt to a crisp, and we don’t have time to make more before the morning rush starts. It’s hard enough to serve people coffee and food if they’re at a table, and we’ll never have time to do all of this over, too.”
It’s only been a few days since you met Jisung and Ellie for lunch, and even when you thought for some reason that it would, nothing has changed.
“Fuck,” he coughs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying, it’s just—it’s hard to remember all of
this.”
“You know what? Just—just stay back here and make more. I’ll deal with the people out there by myself,” you sigh, smoothing out your apron and tightening your ponytail irritably. “Clean all of this up, and don’t take them out of your sight once they’re in there. If anything happens again, I’m going to be pissed.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You know, an apology doesn’t have much meaning when things like this keep happening.”
It’s all you say before you push your way out of the kitchen and to the front, where a few people wait in line at the register, and you frown.
“So sorry for the wait. What can I get you?”
As you help the customers, Heeseung remains in the back, doing as you tasked him with and trying desperately not to fuck it up. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t irritated, too.
You haven’t given him a chance in Hell in the few weeks he’s worked here. Even Arthur has been nothing but lenient with him, often apologizing for your behavior and trying to knock some sense into you, but it isn’t working. You’re clearly not willing to budge, and he’s starting to wonder if it’s even worth the hassle.
He manages to fix his error and make a fresh batch of cookies that look good enough to sell, and he brings them out to stock the case quietly, mostly avoiding eye contact with you in the process.
He doesn’t notice anyone standing above him until a girl no younger than him speaks, startling him, and he looks up.
“Are you new here?” she asks, twirling a strand of honey blonde hair between her fingers.
“Uh, yeah.”
“I figured. I’ve never seen you before,” she smiles sweetly, eyes glancing down, but not for long enough to warrant much suspicion. “I don’t think I’d forget a face like yours, anyway,” she all but whispers, so low that only he hears.
“Yeah?” he hums, a little intrigued, and leans over the case with the empty tray still in his hand. “I think I could say the same for you.”
Heeseung has quite the confident streak, but it hasn’t come out in the time you’ve known him. How would it, with how evilly you’ve treated him since you met him? Regardless, it’s there, and it’s awfully powerful. It’s not like he doesn’t know that he’s conventionally attractive, and well, then some.
The moment doesn’t last for long, anyway.
“Heeseung!”
“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath and looks down with his eyes screwed shut.
“Stop flirting with the customers, and go back into the kitchen,” you mutter through gritted teeth, and he swears he can see steam coming out of your ears. “Or I swear to God, you will be fired.”
He drops the innocent act and huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes and making damn sure you see it before he slams his hand on the double-hinged door and enters the kitchen.
“So sorry about that,” you switch back to your perfectly-tailored customer service voice and turn to the girl he was talking to, whose name you don’t know, but you recognize from coming in frequently. “I’ll take you over here.”
“Can I just grab a blueberry muffin, and,” she scans the menu above your head, “a medium hot with three creams and two sugars?”
“Of course,” you smile, ringing up the order. “For here, or to go?”
“To go.”
“Alright, total’s gonna be six dollars and fifty cents,” you send the order to the card reader and walk away to grab the muffin and coffee as she pays. “Here’s the blueberry,” you place the bag on the counter, “and the coffee.”
“Great,” she smiles. “Oh, and also,” she interrupts, “that new guy—he’s kinda hot, isn’t he?”
“Not really,” you shake your head, but your conscience says otherwise. “He’s disrupting my flow here. He’s more of a nuisance, honestly.”
“Well, let me tell you—I wouldn’t care,” she giggles. “You wouldn’t happen to have his number—”
“—I can take who’s next in line!” a male voice shouts, and you turn to see that Heeseung has returned, and he’s not wearing his usual expression.
“Have a good one,” you say, and then force the girl out of the bakery, turning to him. “I thought I told you to stay back there.”
He looks you dead in the eye, and for the first time, you feel a little intimidated. “You’re not sticking me back there like a damn puppet anymore.”
Taken aback by his bluntness, you widen your eyes and front a smile for the next customer, not speaking another word to him during the rush. The air is a lot thicker than it was when you met, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to change any time soon.
It’s gonna be a long winter.
-
“Okay, I’m gonna start cleaning the front if you wanna take charge of the back.”
It has been hours since Heeseung spoke a single word to you that wasn’t entirely necessary, and it’s starting to tick you off. Usually, you’re easily irritated by his way-too-energetic personality, but right now, you’d almost pay to have that version of him back, because whatever he’s got going on now is ten times worse.
“Come on, Grumpy, show a little enthusiasm,” Heeseung nudged your shoulder as you hung your head dejectedly over the counter. It was only 7:00 at night, and the bakery was deserted. You even swore you saw a tumbleweed pass through at one point, but it was highly unlikely to happen in bumfuck, Maine. Still, you had another hour left until close, and time only seemed to tick more slowly with each passing minute.
“Heeseung, I am not in the mood right now.”
“You’re never in the mood,” he countered, drumming his fingers on the countertop. You reached out and slammed your hand on top of his, forcing the noise to stop, and when you finally lifted it, he perched his hands onto his hips. “So let me get this straight—I can’t bake anything, I can’t clean anything, can’t talk to you or make noise with my fingers, and I can’t leave your line of vision. What can I do?”
“Leave, preferably,” you mumbled.
“You know, you’re kind of miserable.”
“Good.”
Heeseung doesn’t respond, doesn’t even give a nod to tell you that he’ll clean it. In fact, he doesn’t even look at you. He just walks into the back silently, not even breathing too loudly, and begins tidying up. You wonder briefly if this mood of his will remain constant, but you don’t know Heeseung—maybe it’s only a phase, or a short grudge, and he’ll return as normal within the next few days. Or maybe he’ll quit, you pray to yourself, but you doubt that you’ll get that lucky.
The sound of the vacuum whirring thwarts your thoughts, and you turn around to start cleaning the tables. The mop’s handle is cold against your palms, like it hasn’t been touched in years, but really, it’s because it usually sits in the supply closet where the heat never reaches. The rhythm you clean in is mundane. Typically, you’d put music on your phone and let it play quietly, or even sometimes, you wouldn’t mind if Heeseung buzzed in your ear about mindless nonsense. But now, it’s quiet. And it’s odd; off-putting in a way you don’t care to make sense of, because you’d rather not admit that you kind of miss him.
Hah.
Once you finish the all-too-exciting cleanup of the front—where you discover a beautiful clump of muffin that someone dropped beneath one of the corner tables and have to dispose of it—you sigh and stretch out your back, listening as a set of car keys jingle from the back.
“You ready to lock up?” you ask Heeseung as he walks out of the kitchen, his sweatshirt unzipped and hanging loosely over his shoulders.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, fumbling around with the keys in his hand. “I’ll let you do it, since you’re so set on making this all about you.”
He brushes past you and walks out of the bakery, leaving you standing alone, the room dimly lit from only half of the lights on. You guess it’s your own fault.
You turn the remaining lights off and head out, locking the door behind you, and watch as he pulls out of the parking lot without a second thought, not even caring to spare you a passing glance. You never considered that Heeseung could’ve been as petty as you, but you’re beginning to think that might not be so impossible.
The November air is much cooler this year than last. You wish you had opted for more than a cable-knit sweater as you walk back to your car, holding your palms over your arms to give them a shred of warmth. When you finally slip inside, you shiver and turn on the ignition, letting the cold air hit your face until it becomes warm with the engine. “God, I need a new car,” you mumble to yourself when the warm air hits, omitting the same almost rancid scent as it always does at first. Finally, you relax into your seat, lying still for a moment and letting out a tired sigh before putting the car in drive and setting your sights for home.
As you drive down the road, you notice the fallen leaves on the sidewalk, turning slightly brown from the damp ground beneath them. You’ve always loved autumn. There’s a lot to love with it—the change in weather, the colors, the New England foliage, oh, and the scents and flavors—what’s not to like? When you were still with your ex, you weren’t really able to enjoy it for the two years you spent with him. He always found a way to make you feel like a little kid, and not in the nostalgic way—it was the kind of judgment that made you feel small and childish. But he was the “perfect match”, as most would say, because you’d known him for years in your childhood, and Valley Point is a small town—the kind where everybody knows everybody. There really aren’t many other fish in the sea.
When you pass your favorite late-night coffee shop, you decide to pop through the drive-thru and order a small, hot drink. You’re usually not one for lattes, since they tend to be a little too strong for your taste, but you know it’s pumpkin spice, so you assume it’ll do the trick. And really, you just want to let yourself enjoy it since there was a time when you’d be chastised for a damn drink. Fuck him, anyway.
You probably shouldn’t be drinking something that’s caffeinated at this hour, but you don’t really care; it tastes phenomenal, and it’s exactly what you needed tonight, after the long day at work and off-putting silent treatment you’d been getting.
When you finally arrive home, your quaint, burgundy-bricked townhouse stares back at you welcomingly. You’re sure it’s never looked so appealing before. You tiredly walk in and set your purse down, kicking off your shoes and throwing out the empty foam cup that once yielded the delicious, pumpkin-flavored drink (you chugged it all before you even got to your street).
Stepping into the hot shower has never felt so relaxing. Your muscles have been tense all day, and the steam clouds your senses enough to make you forget about the long day you’ve had. As the water cascades down your back, you’re finally able to let go of the stress from the day and just breathe.
The fresh strawberry scent of your shampoo serves to relax you further as you massage it into your hair, closing your eyes and smiling faintly to yourself. Maybe this silence from him isn’t such a bad thing, after all. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to work alone again, or at least work in peace.
You wrap a clean, fluffy towel around your torso when you step out of the shower, the steam rising to the ceiling and fogging up the mirror. You wipe your hand across the reflective glass and stare back at yourself. It’s a quick, routine process from there: brushing your teeth, washing your face, changing into your silk sleepwear, and towel-drying your hair until you’re happy with it.
Then, you’re finally sinking into your warm, inviting bed.
As you lie still under the sheets, sleep doesn’t find you as quickly as you had pictured it would. Instead, you feel an odd sense of discomfort, something preventing you, putting up a wall that doesn’t let it reach you. With a heavy sigh, you pick up your phone and prop the pillow up behind you, scrolling through apps, playing whatever games you still have downloaded in two-minute increments until you become tired of that. But then, in a moment of weakness, you open Instagram—perhaps, the one thing you’ve been trying to avoid subjecting yourself to.
Typing his name into the search bar and finding his account is the easy part, feels like instinct rather than curiosity or reluctance, and that’s probably what frustrates you more about the whole thing. It’s when your eyes catch sight of his account that you’re culture shocked. He has…a good handful of followers. Not that much, but enough to prove that he was pretty well-liked back at home. At least, by one group of people.
And, well, his posts.
You don’t know why you’re clicking on them and staring at them so intently. It’s not like he’s some unattainable celebrity, or something—shit, you work with the guy. You train him, and if you think about it, you’re basically one of his bosses. So what is it about him that, for some reason, lures you in the middle of the night? Whatever vulnerability you’ve got flying around in your head is clearly working its magic.
You wish that he weren’t as attractive as he is. Especially with certain hair colors, because you’ve noticed that he’s gone through at least six from what you can see, and you’ve barely scrolled. Black, red, pink, blonde, purple—and a brief moment of dark blue—like a cycle. For whatever reason, something in your stomach ticks at the cherry red he looks to have had for only a few weeks. Well, shit—this isn’t humbling.
There are at least thirty posts, all littered with praises and thirsts in the replies, as if he’s someone important, someone in the public eye enough for all these women to be so bold. And in a span of about five minutes, you’ve gone through half of them. Staring. Studying. Wondering what has gotten into you and who must have spiked your latte. To hell with that coffee shop, anyway.
Mirror photos, landscapes, back shots, high angles, and fuck, the ones taken in bed that make him look like the sexiest person in the world, just because he’s barefaced and jaded in them. Like something you’d see in one of those edits that people make on the internet.
You close the app and put the phone face down on your nightstand, because you’re a little scared of what thoughts your semi-conscious brain was just conjuring up about the guy you’re supposed to hate. Well, okay—you didn’t like him before, and you still don’t. The only difference now is that before, you weren’t imagining what it would be like to have him all over you. Or on top of you.
Or both.
You suppose that looking at those photos must have given you some sort of weird closure, because your eyelids quickly become heavy after that, and sleep overtakes you within minutes.
-
You’re sitting on the couch when Jisung bursts through the front door, letting all of the cold from outside in. You begin to regret giving him a house key.
“We need to talk,” he shouts, beelining for the empty spot beside you and flopping onto the cushions, knocking your book clean off your lap.
“A ‘hello’ would be nice,” you mumble.
“You haven’t called me in three days and six hours,” he says from below, where his head rests in your lap. “And not only does that mean something is going on, but it also means that you are missing out on very. Important. Matters.”
“Such as?”
“I’m glad you asked.” He pops up from his spot—because he’s incapable of staying in one for too long—and takes the space next to you, pulling his legs into a criss-cross as his arm rests on the back of the couch. “So, I met this guy, and—wait.”
You cock a brow.
“This is deflecting. Why haven’t you talked to me in days?”
“Perhaps because I’m busy, Ji?”
“Too busy for your best friend in the whole world?” He narrows his eyes. “I highly doubt that. You have, like, one other friend, Y/N. And she’s also my friend. Your life is also…really boring.”
“Should I take this key away? Because I do not need to catch strays in my own—”
“Okay, yeah, yeah,” he interrupts, “whatever, you’re super cool and fun and stuff. But something is up. Despite all of this, I have known you like a book since we were eleven years old, so spill.”
He gasps, “Oh, my God, is it that Heeseung guy? Did something happen?”
You don’t respond; he takes that as a cue.
“I was right. He is hot,” he grins. “You finally came to terms with the fact that you wanna slide into his bed at night, and that’s why you haven’t been talking! You’re ashamed.”
“He hasn’t spoken to me in over a week.”
Jisung blinks.
“Oh.”
He tilts his head, “Wait, then—shouldn’t you be, like…throwing a party over that? I thought he was a dick. You said you hated him.”
“Yeah, well. He is. I mean,” you sigh, “he got mad because I told him to stop flirting with one of the customers—you know that blonde girl who always comes in, red lipstick and all that?” Jisung nods. “Yeah, well, she took a liking to Mr. Dimples, and he was supposed to be helping. So I said something to him, and he’s been stone-cold ever since.”
“Maybe you should try talking to him.”
“I don’t know, Ji,” you breathe. “He clearly has his mind made up. I doubt anything I can say will change it, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to.”
“You sure you don’t have anything to do with this?”
“I—no!”
“Y’know, you talk all this talk about him, but I’ve still yet to see him.”
You roll your eyes and sigh. “Will you let me breathe if I show you?”
“Yes,” he quickly answers, eyes lighting up at the thought.
You sigh, reaching for your phone, and Jisung raises a fist in celebration. “I can still refuse, you know,” you threaten, scrolling through your apps to find the one you ashamedly searched a few nights ago, and he stops moving. “Alright,” you swallow, “here.”
Jisung takes the phone from you and looks at the screen, visibly freezing when his eyes catch sight of the man you’re doomed to work with until at least the first of next year. You watch his jaw drop open, and regret washes over you—you’re never going to hear the end of it.
“Dude,” he whispers. “You’ve been working with this, and you’re complaining?”
“Oh, I knew it.”
“Y/N, you’re stronger than me. If I were you, I’d be on that so fast—”
“Peter Han!”
“Here, just take it back,” he shoves the phone back into your hands, “I don’t want to look at it anymore…Bitch.”
“Jesus, you are so dramatic,” you laugh, turning the phone off and setting it face down back onto the coffee table. “So enough about me—you said something about a guy?”
“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “On this app. He’s, like, my type personified. And he’s kinda far away, but I think we could make it work. I mean, I wasn’t going to stay here forever, so…”
“What’s his name?”
“Minho,” he smiles proudly.
“Well, I’m happy for you, Ji,” you smile back, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “You deserve it. But, uh…” You look over at the clock, and Jisung tuts his teeth. “It’s late, and I have to get up for a nice, long day of hostile work tomorrow.”
“I’ll go before you kick me out,” he swallows, rising to his feet. “Y’know, you’re scary when you’re bossy.”
“Jisung!”
“Okay, okay!” He runs for the door. “I’ll see you soon! Update me on the hottie!”
You threaten to stand and chase after him, but he laughs and runs out the door before you can even get to your feet. You shake your head, sighing as you fold your blanket.
Your best friend is a lot of things, but most of all, he’s a handful.
And even he can’t uplift your spirits about the day you know you’ll have tomorrow.
-
“Evan! Good to see ya, buddy,” Uncle Arthur says as he walks into the bakery, walking over to Heeseung and giving him a firm pat on the back.
“Hey, Mr. Whitmore. How’s it going?” he smiles, and your uncle shakes his head, laughing.
“I told you about a thousand times that you can just call me Arthur. I’m too old and tired for formalities, anyway,” he laughs and takes a scan around the shop. “But I will ask—where is my dear niece on this fine morning?”
“Couldn’t tell you,” he shrugs. “Haven’t seen her all morning. It’s not like her,” he notes as he dries out a mug to pour himself a cup of coffee. “If it were me coming in late, I’d be scolded like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’d believe it.”
“What brings you this morning?” Heeseung asks, grabbing a second mug and holding it up. “Can I make you a coffee or something?”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” your uncle replies and waves his hand.
“No, really, it’s fine. I was making one for myself, anyway, and…considering that Y/N isn’t here yet, I don’t think I’m going to finish the whole pot alone,” he laughs and sets the mug down anyway, reaching for the steaming pot. “How do you take it, Mr. W?”
“You’re too kind, really. Two creams and two sugars,” he smiles. “And to answer your other question—I just wanted to check on business. Y/N has been bothering me through the roof, complaining about this, and that, and the other thing. That girl is more stubborn than a boulder in quicksand, I tell you.”
Heeseung chuckles at your uncle’s remark, because it can’t be any closer to the truth. He really has no idea what you’ve been putting him through, but he doesn’t want to trouble him with that—he can handle you on his own. And you’d be stupid to think that he’d leave because of it. That would be letting you win, and he’s a lot more determined than you could ever imagine.
“Oh, believe me, I know,” he says as he hands your uncle his coffee, steam rising from the mug and heating up Arthur’s face, still red from the crisp air outside.
He hums softly and takes a sip, savoring the warmth in his mouth before placing it back down, leaving a few fingers loosely threaded in the handle. “She been treating you alright?” he asks, tapping the ceramic cup with the tip of his finger. “If she isn’t, just let me know. She tends to forget that I pay the bills here and not her.”
“No, no, she’s been alright,” he waves him off, taking a small sip of his own coffee before reaching for an apron below the counter and slipping it around his waist. “She’s a handful, but I haven’t been perfect, either,” he says as his hands tie the apron in the back. “I think she’ll come around eventually. It’s nothing I can’t handle, or at least try to.”
“Good,” Arthur smiles, “that’s nice to hear. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kid.”
Just then, the front door swings open and nearly slams against the glass beside it, forcing both Heeseung and your uncle to turn towards the noise. Both men are met with the sight of you, bolting inside and to the counter, a half-empty cup of coffee in one hand and your keys in the other.
“Shit!” you spit as you finally reach the counter, ripping your jacket off and stuffing it into the small storage cubby, along with your purse. “Oh God, I am so sorry,” you breathe, walking over to the two, both still looking slightly puzzled. “My alarms didn’t go off, and I panicked, and,” you turn to Heeseung, “I was gonna get you a coffee, too, but then I remembered we usually make them in the morning, so I figured, ‘Hey, maybe I shouldn’t do that!’ and then—”
“Y/N,” your uncle interrupts, forcing your lips to screw shut as you look at him sheepishly. “Calm down. Everything is fine.”
“Sorry…Uncle Arthur,” you swallow. “Hi…by the way.” You wave, offering an awkward smile while your uncle takes the final sip of his coffee and wipes his mouth with an old napkin he stored in his pocket.
“Hi, dear,” he finally laughs and stands up from the stool, sighing as his muscles tense up from sitting for too long. “I just stopped in to check on things,” he smiles, “and it seems that Heeseung here has been doing a splendid job at holding down the fort for us.”
You try not to roll your eyes.
“I’m sure he is,” you front a matching smile, leaning down to grab an apron of your own, smoothing down your crimson sweater before wrapping it around your waist. “He’s been very attentive. I think I can whip him into shape, after all.” You nudge Heeseung’s side with a playful elbow, “Right, Heeseung?”
“Right,” he nods.
“Well, if you don’t need me for anything,” your uncle begins, happily adjusting his coat, “then I’ll be on my way. I wasn’t planning to stay for too long, and you two seem to be doing well.” He turns to you, pulling your side into a small hug and ruffling your hair with his palm, at which you protest after spending far too long styling it this morning after waking up late. “I’ll see you soon,” he says, “and if I don’t see you, Heeseung, enjoy the Thanksgiving weekend.”
“I don’t celebrate.”
“I know that,” he laughs, “but you’ll still get the days off. Enjoy them, won’t you?”
Heeseung nods, and Uncle Arthur heads for the door, lifting an arm and waving to both of you.
“Bye, Uncle Arthur!” you shout, waving back.
“See ya, Mr. W!”
When you turn to Heeseung again, your uncle far out of view, his expression morphs into something stoic—leaving behind any happiness that he just had moments ago. You open your mouth to speak, hopefully offer more of an explanation than you gave when you ran in, but he doesn’t let you get the words out. Not before his voice abruptly cuts yours off, using a tone sharp enough to cut skin.
“Don’t worry, you can drop the nice act. He’s gone now.”
“I wasn’t putting on an act,” you bite back, but he turns his back to you and walks into the kitchen, bringing the empty coffee mugs with him. You’re a lot of things, but sitting back and letting some kid from outside of your hometown walk all over you? No, that won’t slide. You follow Heeseung into the back, the double-hinged door slamming against the old tile wall beside it. He’s leaning over the sink, steam rising from the hot water and sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he washes the dirty mugs. “I was talking to you, Heeseung.”
“Oh, were you? Sorry.” He doesn’t look at you; he barely bats an eye. “Doesn’t feel nice, does it?”
“I might have been harsh, but I never ignored—”
“—save it, Y/N,” he interrupts again, tone flat and voice low. “You’re the only one who likes to hear you talk.”
If there was a single bone in your body that had considered apologizing, there is a 0% chance that it’s still intact. You scoff and exit the kitchen, opting to stay out front and prepare to open. “This is what being nice gets me,” you mumble under your breath, huffing as you clean up a small coffee spill beside the pot Heeseung brewed earlier.
The rest of the day doesn’t go by any smoother. It passes in a blur—you, stationing yourself at the register closest to the edge of the counter, only moving to package orders or refill sitting customers’ coffee, and Heeseung, limiting himself to the back, where he helps bake and cleans utensils and plates and silverware ten times over just to avoid stepping into the front. Just to avoid seeing you.
It’s not as awkward working when the Christmas seasonal hires are there—Kira, who just turned 21 and helps you at the register, and Diane, who did return to help Gerry with the baking, after all—serving as a buffer between the two of you. But they only work until mid-afternoon, leaving you alone with him during closing as usual.
It starts as a simple mistake.
You’re gathering the half-empty mugs, dirty silverware, and bare trays from the display case to carry into the kitchen to be cleaned. The neon sign on the door is switched to “Closed”; it burns lowly in the silence of the front. Only one street light works outside, the one directly across the street from the front entrance. The others had blown out a few nights ago, and the town still hasn’t sent someone to check them out.
Footsteps sound in the back, but your ears don’t register them—not soon enough. The moment your hand reaches to push in the door to the kitchen, it hurls forward, knocking into your forehead with a force that stings, sending the tray out of your hand and your feet backward until you trip on spilled coffee and hit the floor.
“Ow, fuck,” you hiss, grabbing at the top of your head with your palm, feeling for a bump or wound. Your forehead throbs with sudden pain, and your other hand grabs your ankle—the same one you tripped over and twisted as you fell. “Shit.”
“Oh, God, are you okay?” Heeseung sputters as he kneels beside you. He raises a hand and gently pulls your hand away from your face to see the cut, but you quickly swat him off. He doesn’t protest.
“Don’t touch me,” you mutter.
Heeseung doesn’t get angry. In fact, the whole act he’s been maintaining all week disappears as quickly as it came the day this whole mess started. “You’re bleeding,” he whispers, eyes wide and remorseful. You flip your hand over to see a few drops of blood resting in the middle of your palm, and a short gasp slips past your lips. “Let me fix it.”
“No, it’s fine—”
“Please?” he asks, and the soft look in his eyes makes you falter.
“Alright,” you sigh, shoulders sagging as you flatten your palms on the floor and try to stand. Heeseung’s hand rests on the small of your back, but you don’t push him away—your ankle is in too much pain to stand without his support, and you almost reach for his arm, too. “At least let me clean the,” you suck in a breath when you put pressure on your ankle, “floor.”
“No, I’ll do it,” he shakes his head and guides you to the nearest chair, lowering you onto it. “It’s my fault.” He walks over to the cabinet where you keep the First-Aid kit and fishes through it until his fingers grip the handle, pulling out the case and bringing it over to the table you’re sitting at.
“Really, I can do this myself—”
“Y/N, just shut up and let me help you.”
Your lips tighten into a flat line.
Heeseung flips open the latches on the box and takes out a small bandage, accompanied by a half-empty tube of ointment and an alcohol pad. He tears the foil wrapper open and unfolds the damp napkin, wrapping it snugly around his index finger. Then, as his eyes gauge your face, the pads of his fingers tuck a few loose strands of hair away from the small slice, and he brings the napkin to the wound, dabbing it carefully over the blood to clean it. A sharp sting shoots through your forehead, and you wince from the pain, eyes screwing shut.
“I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, applying small bits of pressure as he dabs the liquid away.
Heeseung is gentle with you; for a moment, you forget that you haven’t gotten along since the day you met. For a fraction of a second, you think you like the softness of his touch; the way his voice drops to a whisper to ground you.
“Good,” he removes the napkin, now spotted with crimson, “hard part’s over.”
Your eyes flutter back open, still on the cusp of a squint as they focus on a small flour stain on his sweater just below his ribs. He opens the bandage and squeezes a small dollop of ointment onto the cotton in the middle, then takes it carefully between his fingers. Your eyes trail up to his face, tracking his slow movements. His eyes focus carefully on the small incision as he aligns the bandage with it, lips subconsiously parted just enough to reveal the top row of his teeth.
He’s close enough to feel the warmth of his breath graze your skin, and you swallow, eyes transfixed on him. You don’t move. You can’t. As if your body is on autopilot, just like the night you purged his entire page without a second thought.
“Okay,” he breathes as he finally steps away, smoothing his palms over his jeans, and you blink out of your trance. “How does it feel?”
“Better,” you admit gently, focusing on the flour stain again to avoid his eyes.
He nods and gathers the trash into his palm, tossing it into the trash bin a few feet away as his empty hand closes the clasps on the kit. He slides it back into its place in the cabinet and carefully steps over the spilled drinks and shards of the ceramic mugs to get to the kitchen. You hear running water, a couple of clanks of plastic and wood, and then the door swings open again, where Heeseung stands with a mop and a bucket.
But you’re too stubborn.
You push out of the chair, wincing again as you put pressure on your ankle, and limp over to the mess on the floor. The tray sits upside down, edges covered in old coffee. Shards litter the tile, along with coffee grounds and brown liquid that could stain the white floor. Heeseung kneels beside it, not quite noticing your presence until you manage to get down to your knee on the other side of the spill, hissing with the sharp pain.
“I told you I’d do this,” Heeseung says when his eyes finally catch your frame.
“You already bandaged me up.”
“And your foot is shaking.”
You try to protest, but he has no intention of budging and every intention of cleaning everything himself. The position your body is in—crouched on the floor, ankle shaking from the pressure despite barely putting any on it—says enough. And as much as you don’t want to accept his help, you falter again with his gaze, standing with a sigh that resonates in your chest.
“Why are you so stubborn?” he asks, voice soft as he picks up the glass shards. “I mean—you never take my help, and you treat me like I’m incapable. Even on the first day, you didn’t want me here.”
His gentle confrontation forces a question onto you that you always thought he wouldn’t ask, and it sets you back. If anything, you expected an argument because of his recent demeanor, for him to lash out. Instead, he insisted on cleaning you up and touched you like something fragile.
Maybe he is a breath of fresh air that you’ve just been refusing to take in.
“I don’t know,” you breathe, lifting yourself onto the edge of the counter and bracing yourself with your palms. “I guess I just…I’ve always been independent, you know? My uncle, he…taught me everything here, and then he left it all to me a few years ago.” You watch as Heeseung silently gathers the shards into a pile and disposes of them safely. He moves toward the mop and takes the handle, tapping it along the edge of the bucket before bringing it down to the tiled floor.
“Having you come here on such short notice lodged a wedge into my plans, and I guess…I thought that you’d screw everything up,” you admit, looking away when his eyes drift over to your figure, too embarrassed to make contact with them. “So I was cold, and I didn’t give you a chance.”
“You know I’m not here to do any of that, right?” Heeseung asks, and your eyes flit back to him at the gentle manner in which he speaks to you. His elbow is propped up on the tip of the mop’s handle, and he leans into it, still looking at you as if he’s trying to convince you of something you don’t believe.
“I know,” you nod.
You take a deep breath, exhaling through your nose as he resumes the circular motion with the mop over the spill until the brown soaks into the fabric at the bottom. “How did you even end up here?”
Heeseung freezes—so quickly that you almost don’t notice—and continues as if you’ve hit a nerve just by asking. And as you decide that you shouldn’t pry, he speaks anyway.
“My mom died when I was ten,” he whispers, and your heart sinks to your stomach; you feel it fall from its place in your chest.
“It’s been just me and my father since. He tried to raise me well, and he did, really. But sometimes, with my mom gone, he just…wanted things to be too perfect, or else he wouldn’t be doing right by her.” He squeezes the dirty water back into the bucket with his hands, and your nose crinkles at the thought of him being so alone, having to lose his mother at such a young and vulnerable age. Tears well in your eyes, but you will them away; this isn’t about you.
“I always liked to sing, y’know? Not that I was really any good, but some people told me I could make something of it, if I tried,” he shrugs. “My mom, she used to sing sometimes, for some small venues. She didn’t make a lot of money, neither did my dad. So, when they had me, he felt like he had to shape up, and then, she…got sick.”
He sighs, hands visibly shaking, though you try not to notice. “And when I told my dad, he…lost his composure. It was a lot of yelling back and forth, and he told me I was disgracing my mom. So I left.” He glances around the café until he lands back on you, and a frown tugs at your lips when you catch a glimpse of his gaze, eyes tired and sad so visibly—an expression he’s never worn for you before. “Somehow, I ended up here. And I met Arthur just down the street when I was looking for a place to stay, or work…or both.”
He breathes.
“So I’m sorry, for ruining your plans. I never meant to.”
You blink as he walks into the back to empty the bucket, letting his words, his expression, his life sink in, amidst the silence at the front of the store. Guilt plagues your body, starting with your heart and spreading through each limb until you’re mindlessly pushing off the counter and following him into the back, limping in the process and ignoring the shooting pain that comes with it.
When the door swings open, Heeseung turns to the noise from his spot in front of the closet to find you walking carefully towards him, bandage snug on your forehead, and hair still tucked behind your ear.
He flinches when your arms initially wrap around his waist, but his body quickly relaxes when he realizes you only want to comfort him, and his hands find your upper back, resting atop your shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “About your mom…and me…and everything. I was wrong.”
His chest vibrates as he chuckles softly, palms rising to your shoulders and pulling you back to look at him. “It’s okay,” he smiles, “you didn’t know.”
“Can we just…start over?”
He nods, arms falling to his sides.
“I’m Heeseung Lee,” he extends a hand, “and I’m the new hire here.”
“Y/N Whitmore,” you shake it gently, “your new co-worker.”
“Friends?”
“Friends,” you smile.
He lets go of your hand and brings his fingers to your hairline, thumb brushing along the Band-Aid stuck to the side of your forehead. “You should be more careful when you walk towards double-hinged doors…going forward,” he jokes, and you laugh, eyes still glancing up at him until his eyes fall back on them. “Now go home and get some rest—and ice that ankle. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, right?”
“Right.”
“Go ahead,” he motions with his head, “I’ll take care of the lights.”
“Okay,” you nod, carefully stepping toward the door and flattening your palm on the cold metal to push it open. You turn back to Heeseung, who still hasn’t moved from his place beside the closet. “Thank you, Heeseung.”
He offers a curt nod, and you gather your belongings as he closes up, smiling to yourself when you finally exit through the front door, leaving behind only the faint sound of the bell that hangs above it.
-
“Christmas lights—we need, like, ten sets of Christmas lights.”
Heeseung looks up from the notebook. “Ten? What the fuck are we supposed to do with more than two?”
“Look, I don’t know what you guys do over in Korea, but in Valley Point, Maine, if there are any existing parts of a building without decoration on it, you’re doing it wrong.”
“Jeez, alright,” he looks back down and scribbles another tick onto the checklist. “I put us down for twelve.”
You smile. “That’s the spirit!” you shout as he sits at one of the empty tables closest to the windows, and you tidy up the front counters, ridding them of old crumbs and small spills from the day’s events.
For the first time since the day he arrived, you and Heeseung have gotten along. And, if you’re being honest, you’re glad that he’s here.
You decided to put him on Christmas decoration duty over the weekend, since you’re not quite sure that you’ll have the time, and you promised him that you’d give him a fair chance. He happily accepted the challenge, and the moment that you started the closing chores, you sat Heeseung down with a pen and a piece of paper, shouting various things to add to the list of decorations that he needed to buy.
“Are you trying to turn this place into the North Pole?” he asks, his voice wavering with concern. “Where are we going to fit all of this?”
“Oh, Heeseung, you poor, innocent soul,” you murmur, tutting your teeth as you approach the table he sits at, still with a half-limp, gently patting his back. “You have no idea.”
You walk over to the cubby that stores your belongings and begin pulling them out, starting with your winter coat and slipping it onto your frame, then your purse, and finally, the small set of keys that have only one decorative keychain: a Boston Bruins logo that is frayed at the edges and faded with time, one that your father gifted you for your sixteenth birthday when you received your first car.
“Everything’s done already?” he asks, and you nod.
“All you have to worry about is that list,” you point, zipping up your black coat. “I took care of the rest already. We weren’t too busy today, anyway.”
Heeseung takes a breath and stands up, grabbing the paper and folding it to shove in his pocket for tomorrow. He flips his chair and places it onto the table for the night, along with the other two, before making his way towards the cabinet you’re still standing at.
Another thing you hadn’t particularly noticed until today is your difference in height; how the top of your head just barely breaches his shoulders. You swallow, mouth suddenly parched, though you can’t pinpoint why.
Heeseung isn’t intimidating. He’s just…intense.
“Text me tomorrow if you have any questions, okay?” you finally speak as he takes his own jacket from the cubby. “I’ll be around.”
“Okay,” he nods, and you give him another pat on the back before walking to the door, noting the cold air as it whips against your face when you finally step outside.
-
The first ring wakes you.
Your body jolts awake, and your eyes barely open enough to register your surroundings—your bedroom, lit only by the dim light streaming in through your closed curtains, and…your phone screen. It buzzes beside you, a name present but too blurry to read with your tired eyes.
Your hand flops over the device, fingers lazily curling around it and bringing it closer to your face to read. The letters, still not perfectly clear, are familiar. Too familiar.
You reluctantly press the button to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sorry to bother you,” Heeseung’s soft voice rings through the speaker. You hear beeping in the distance, akin to the sound of items scanning at a register, realizing that—at what is apparently 8:00 in the morning on a Sunday—Heeseung is Christmas shopping. Already. “So you wanted me to get a light-up deer, but there are at least four different types. Did you want an inflatable one, or the ones with,” he crouches down to inspect a display, “wire?”
You groan into the microphone, and he stands back up, expression puzzled. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but…Why are you doing this at 8 o’clock in the morning?”
“I needed to have as much time as possible to get it right.”
“Okay,” you mumble. “What do you have already?”
“Well…” he murmurs, trailing off as he holds the phone in one hand and sifts through the decorations with the other. “A few boxes of lights, garland, icicles—oh, and I even found some plastic candy canes that we can hang inside. Where did I put them…oh, shibal,” as he nearly slices a finger on the edge of the plastic.
“Huh?”
“Er—nothing. I found them.” He steps away from his cart and looks back over to the various types of decorative reindeer. “So, which kind do you want? I don’t want to get the wrong one.”
When you don’t respond, he pipes up again. “Y/N?”
“…Yeah?”
“Oh…shit, I woke you, didn’t I?”
You breathe. “Yeah, kinda.”
“Sorry, sorry—I’ll figure it out,” he stammers. “You can go back to sleep.”
“It’s okay, just,” a yawn interrupts, and you turn onto your side, “send me a picture, okay?”
“Okay,” he responds, and the line goes dead, leaving you alone and awake far too early for today in bed, staring mindlessly at the window as you wait for the chime of your phone. Then, it pings.
HEESEUNG: [attachment: 1 image]
HEESEUNG: inflatable or wired?
You laugh at the stupidity of his message so early in the morning, though you’re admittedly endeared by his dedication to the job you gave him.
YOU: wired. you can pick which one, i’ll put my trust in you
From the other end of the conversation, Heeseung smiles and reacts to your reply with a thumbs up, then slides his phone back into his pocket as he bends down to pick up the box of his favorite deer. White, one front paw up with the neck craned down as if it’s drinking from something. Something about it—perhaps the elegance of its form, or maybe the sternness in its posture—reminds him of you.
He places the box carefully into the shopping cart and checks off the “light-up deer” scribble on the paper from last night.
You, on the other hand, are awake for the day, and though being woken up by such an insignificant question wasn’t exactly ideal, you do have plans to visit your parents, so it isn’t so bad.
The day passes in a blur—air so brisk that a few flakes of snow fall onto the roads, a hectic hour of cooking and cleaning up the mess that your parents’ dog created, and a constant stream of questions from Heeseung to the point that you consider blocking him.
But you suppose you can’t be too upset. He’s only trying, after all, and when you finally sink into your sheets after the long day, you can’t help but let your mind wander. The thought of him not being able to experience the season the way you always had as a child—losing a mother so young—brings a frown to your face.
Mothers are the holidays, the birthdays—any occasion that needs them. And Heeseung had that taken away from him.
YOU: next weekend, we’ll put the decorations up
YOU: promise, i’ll show you everything there is to love here
You set your phone down beside you, letting the noise of the wind outside grazing your window and the warmth that your bedsheets provide lull you to sleep as the new week arrives, and you intend on making it the best. Your phone buzzes once, twice beside you, just gently enough not to wake you.
public enemy #1: great, can’t wait
public enemy #1: see you tomorrow
-
The week flies by in a flash so fast that it feels like it doesn’t even happen.
Your uncle visits a few times to check in on things, make sure that you’re holding down the fort like you should be doing without the stress of bickering. And if you’re being honest? It’s going well—so much smoother, now that you’re finally on the same page, and you trust Heeseung enough to carry his weight. As he’s said about a hundred times already this week, “Uncle Art has nothing to worry about.”
Monday and Tuesday drag; not the way they usually do, at least, not with Heeseung around. While the incessant finger drumming and the constant yapping in your ear and the 24/7 chipper attitude used to be the very attributes of his that made you despise him so deeply, you’ve come to find them entertaining. At least when there are no customers and not much work to be done.
Come Wednesday evening—when the closing hours slowly start to become your unspoken time to bond—music is blasting throughout the store over the speakers at a volume that would get you smacked upside the head by your uncle if he ever heard it with customers around. You’re wiping down the tables and counters, emptying the trash, and even cleaning every last speck off of the display cases until they’re entirely spotless, your sudden burst of energy courtesy of Heeseung and his unexpected obsession with Justin Bieber (and another handful of artists that you can’t name on just one hand).
“Just give me a chanceeee, ‘cause you’re all I need, girl,” he sings as he pushes through the door with the broom, using the tip of the handle as a fake microphone, making your whole body cringe at the sight.
“Oh, God, I can’t look.”
He saunters over, taking your hand and lifting it into the air. “If I was your man, I’d never leave you, giiirl,” he twirls you around, and you laugh, humoring him so that he won’t keep pestering you until you do. And maybe you don’t hate it, either.
“If I was your boyfriend,” as his hand slides down to your lower back, fingertips grazing over your sweater, “I’d never let you go.”
“Heeseung, come on,” you swallow and mask it with a laugh as he removes his hand slowly, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine. “We have to finish.”
“I’d never let you go,” he purses his lips and winks, seductively disappearing back into the kitchen without even sweeping a single ounce of dirt from the floor.
The music stops, and you blink at the door as it still swings gently from his impromptu dance number. The only real thought that you can form in your head is damn, because the man can sing; what does his father even have to worry about with a face like his and the pipes of an idol?
But you shake that feeling off fast and push your way into the kitchen, flicking him on the shoulder.
“Ow!” Heeseung yelps and grabs his shoulder as he whips around. “What was that for?”
“You didn’t even sweep the floor, dickhead.”
“Oh, shit. Whoops.”
And that about sums up your week.
-
“Today is the day,” Heeseung chimes as he bursts through the front door, soft Christmas music already humming through the speakers that decorate the walls of Arthur’s. The large box in his arms is stocked full of the decorations he meticulously picked out six days ago, practically overflowing as he pushes the wooden box that contains the deer inside with his foot.
You laugh from the other side of the counter, the clock behind your head already reading 4:00 as the sun starts to set, giving you a clean slate to work with, despite already having put some of last year’s decor up. “Someone’s excited to be at work on a Saturday,” you tease as he places the giant box onto an empty table and clasps his hands together.
The store, historically, closes after breakfast on Saturdays and is only open every other week on Sundays. “You’ve got to keep them on their toes,” said your uncle when he first decided on it. “If we want to be the best in town, then we’ve got to force business into one day. They’ll come in packs!” And somehow, he was right about that.
So naturally, today is the perfect day to decorate.
“Hey, when you don’t have to do any actual work, it’s not so bad,” he counters, emptying the cardboard box’s contents onto the table and chairs. “Besides, now that you’re not such a scrooge, I don’t mind spending my quality time with you.”
“Y’know, I can always turn back into one,” you threaten. “Nothing’s stopping me.”
“I doubt that.” He walks over and holds the strand of garland in place for you to pin it, since you’re very clearly too short to reach, and he happens to want to prove a point. “Once someone has fallen for Heeseung Lee’s charms, they often find it difficult to escape. It’s really a sad thing.”
Your hand freezes in its place, and you slowly turn to the man beside you, face contorted into the ugliest grimace he’s ever seen. “That was disgusting.”
“But notice how you couldn’t find it in you to move away?” He takes the pin from your hand and tacks the garland into place on the wall himself. “That’s the phenomenon in action, baby.”
“Ew.”
Heeseung trots back over to his pile of decor that looks like the Christmas section of Target exploded onto the table, and fishes through them until he finds some signage that he purchased to put on the windows. “Hm, I think these could look good on the windows, y’know?” he asks, completely disregarding the visible cringe still left on your frame. “I mean, come on—who wouldn’t walk into a bakery with a Santa Stop Here sign? That screams friendly atmosphere.”
“Where do you learn this terminology? Seriously, like, how did you even learn to speak like this?”
“I watched a lot of American television growing up,” he says as he grabs a roll of tape and some window hooks. “Also, one of my best friends back home grew up in Australia.”
“Oh. Wow,” you blink. “That explains the weird accent you’ve got going on, then.”
“Well fuck you, too, Y/N.”
You laugh.
“His name is Jake. Nice guy, kinda dramatic, kinda—horny, but he’s a good friend.” He peels the sticker off a hook and sticks it to the window, pressing down as he checks to make sure it’s aligned properly. As he grabs the sign and hangs it behind the glass, he chuckles quietly to himself. “He actually taught me most of my English. He’d usually use it when speaking to me, so I’d pick up on it. But once I took things into my own hands, I stopped being able to understand him.” He shakes his head, “Seriously, why do people talk like that down there?”
“Well, I dunno,” you shrug. “I mean—we have some pretty weird accents here, too. Look at, like, the south. Or even Boston. I’m from New England, but I wake up and thank God every day that I don’t speak like them. So, I guess we both got lucky.”
“Yeah,” Heeseung smiles, “I guess I did.”
The hours tick by much faster than either of you anticipated they would. Before you know it, it’s already dark outside, nearly seven o’clock at night, and you’ve moved outside, still tacking lights and signs and random shit Heeseung found onto the outside walls of the building. You gave him bush duty, since last year, you tripped and fell into it, and you swore you’d never decorate one again after the cuts healed and left a few light scars on your ankles.
At one point—before you stepped into the cold—Heeseung poked fun at one of the songs that played through the speakers, and you made sure that he regretted it.
“What is this even about?” he’d asked, cocking a brow. “Africa?”
“For your information, this is one of the top ten Christmas songs, and no, I will not be accepting counterarguments,” you interrupted from across the store, pointing a finger into the air and waving it around like some kind of child having a tantrum. “It was written and produced in 1984 by some of the greatest British artists of the 1980s for charity, and it is simply one of the best songs of its time. Never mind the controversy, it’s a hit.”
“It’s kind of…sad.”
“Well, take that up with Band-Aid, not me.”
So Heeseung shut his mouth and let you enjoy the song. But it all worked out—you let him pick the next few, and you went on as if nothing had happened.
But now, as your whole face practically burns from the cold, and you can’t really feel your fingers anymore, you step back, noting that the final thing to set up is the reindeer. Heeseung retrieves the box from inside and takes it out, carefully following your instructions to plug the extension cord in and pull it out just far enough to reach where the deer will stand in the grass, now frosted over from the cold and the thin layer of snow.
“Okay,” he mumbles as he crouches down to construct the reindeer correctly. He inspects the pieces, and you hold the manual in your hands, standing above him as your eyes gloss over the page.
“So what I’m gathering here is that you take these things,” you bend over to grab the small, V-shaped metal pieces, “and stick them into the ground over the deer’s feet. That should keep it in place. I think the rest is kinda self-explanatory as for where the deer’s body parts…connect.”
Heeseung nods and makes quick work of putting the pieces together, listening carefully to which order they should be connected in until everything is in place, and all he needs to do is stick the metal into the ground to hold it up. You crouch beside him and grab two of the stands, opting to set up the hind legs, while Heeseung takes care of the front, but you quickly find that you didn’t account enough for the ground being frozen.
As you push—with all of your strength—you can only manage to get the metal halfway into the ground, sighing as your body sags, too weak, but also too determined not to get them in. You don’t register Heeseung moving until he’s behind you, hands sliding over the backs of yours with his head just beside your ear, close enough to feel the ends of his hair brushing against your neck.
“On three, yeah?”
You nod.
“One…two…three,” Heeseung pushes down with you, and the metal sinks into the dirt, steadying the deer’s foot. He breathes in your ear, a small sound rising from his throat as he exerts his strength, and you swallow, opting to ignore it—at least, to the best of your ability. “Good,” he whispers. “One more.”
He helps you put the last piece in, practicing the same position, count, exhale until he sits back on his knees, and you sigh, hands trembling from the cold and the pressure.
“Let’s go inside,” Heeseung finally says, rising to his feet and extending a hand to help you up, “it’s freezing out here.”
After packing away the storage boxes and containers, you kill the lights and lock up, finally noticing how late it’s gotten as you walk to your cars. Heeseung turns to you and you match his gaze, tilting your head slightly as you wait for him to speak, noticing the familiar expression on his face that signals a question he’s trying to determine how to ask. Then,
“You wanna get a coffee?”
The corners of your lips pull into a soft smile; he doesn’t wait for an answer before his hand is on your wrist, tugging you down the sidewalk.
He leads you to a coffee shop—the same late-night favorite you’d stopped at a few weeks ago—and steps inside, smiling bashfully as he shifts his weight between his heels and his toes. You match his smile but don’t meet his gaze, looking away when he turns to you.
You opt for a medium hot, nothing too fancy for the late hour, but enough to keep you awake until you arrive back home. Heeseung matches your order and insists on paying, despite your protests, making sure to hand you the one with the cup sleeve since only one cup came with it, and he doesn’t want your hand to burn. You grin, thank him gently, and take the coffee, letting him lead the way outside, where—gentlemanly as before—he holds the door open for you.
“Is it everything you’ve ever dreamed of?” you murmur, taking a small sip and watching the steam from your breath waft into the air above your nose.
“Yeah,” Heeseung laughs, and you nudge his shoulder, adorned with a long, beige peacoat and a maroon scarf hanging just by his shoulder blade. “It’s good, though. I like it. After the long day, at least.”
You nod, “I’ll toast to that.”
Suddenly, Heeseung’s phone rings, and he furrows a brow, pulling it out and glancing at the name. “What the…” he mumbles as he presses the button to answer.
“Yooo. Any updates on the baddie from the bak—”
The line immediately falls flat.
“What—who was that?”
“...Jake.”
“Oh,” you nod, clearing your throat as you continue the walk, taking a timid sip of your coffee. “Seems nice.”
The moon, shaded by the clouds bearing snow for tomorrow, shines high in the sky as you walk down the sidewalk, the street empty at such a late hour; Valley Point is far too small for people to travel through this late. It’s peaceful, with most of the light in your path coming from the warm streetlights and the occasional small shops with decorated exteriors for the upcoming holiday. Heeseung looks around, and for the first time in a while, he looks relaxed—wholly, not for show.
“I’m sorry,” you swallow, voice a near-whisper as your fingers clench around the coffee cup, “for…everything. I shouldn’t have judged you so quickly.”
Heeseung looks down at his feet, and the ghost of a smile graces his lips. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“I just…I’ve been sheltered from a lot, growing up here. And you felt like a threat,” you sigh. “I should’ve never assumed so much of you.” You slow your steps, fingers pressing into the cup harder, turning your head just enough to catch a glimpse of his face. “You’re a good guy, Heeseung.”
His lips stretch further. “I think I assumed something of you, too,” he admits softly as he walks, staring at a tree in the distance as a squall of snow hits the ground you walk on. His footsteps slow down until they’ve come to a halt, and you match his pace, stopping just beside him. He turns on the ball of his foot.
“I’m glad that I was wrong,” he breathes.
“I’m glad, too,” you whisper back, staying firm in your place when he steps closer—tentatively—and raises his hand to the side of your head. You don’t flinch when his thumb brushes along the half-healed cut on your forehead, eyes drifting down to yours and never leaving.
“Can I kiss you?”
You nod before your mind can catch up with your body.
Heeseung’s hand slides further back, caressing your head as he slowly leans down and slots his lips with yours. It’s soft, gentle, comforting—just like him, from the moment he first spoke to you to the night he carefully bandaged your forehead as if it were the most important task in the world, despite barely having spoken to you in days. But that’s who he is—it’s who he’s always been, even if you failed to realize it.
His tongue presses against your bottom lip for entrance—not to rush or force, but to feel more of you, more of the person he’s grown to care more for in the last few weeks than he ever thought possible. Your lips part, letting it slip through, gently graze along your teeth; he tastes of coffee and faintly of peppermint, perhaps from the mints you’ve watched him swipe from the jar beside the register countless times, despite them being for the customers. His taste is familiar and comforting all at once, something you gravitate towards on instinct, and your body melts into his as you lift your empty hand, flattening your palm gently against his chest.
It feels like you’ve known him forever.
As he pulls back—so slowly that your lips fight to part ways—his hand stays in its place, and his eyes don’t leave yours, looking into them with an intensity behind them that you’ve never seen before. At least, nothing you’ve ever noticed.
“What now?”
“I don’t know,” you breathe.
A car drives by and interrupts; Heeseung’s hand falls back to its side, and you clear your throat, turning and taking a swig of the coffee as if your life depends on it. He looks in the distance and finds the familiar parking lot with only two cars parked just by the corner, swallowing as he looks past the snow.
“Our…cars are over there.”
“Yeah.”
You walk to them without speaking, the tension far too tight to be cut with words. The footsteps suddenly become louder, your ears become aware of every small sound, and your heartbeat pounds in your head; you’re not quite sure what to do or say, if you can do or say anything.
“So,” Heeseung coughs as you stop in front of the two cars, noses red from the cold, fingertips growing more numb as the heat from the coffee dissipates, “I’ll see you…Monday?”
You nod, throat dry, still unsure of what else to say.
He leans in—hesitates—then presses his lips to the side of your head, just over the small incision.
“Goodnight…Y/N,” he whispers, traces your figure awkwardly with his eyes, and bows his head just slightly before walking away and stepping into his car.
You lift a hand and wave, still standing beside the hood of your car as he returns the gesture and pulls out of the parking lot, eyes never quite leaving your body through the rear view until you’re no longer in sight.
-
How does one go about returning to work after kissing the man they’re supposed to hate? You suppose your guess is as good as any.
But you manage, slug yourself out of bed after a long, hard day of overthinking and what ifs that almost kept you up all night, but thankfully didn’t. And even better—Heeseung doesn’t change, not in the slightest. Not visibly, at least.
Not to you, to Diane, to Kira, to Gerry, or to any of the customers (including the hot ticket from the day you yelled at Heeseung in front of essentially everyone, who still hits on him but doesn’t quite get the reaction she wants).
But on the inside, when he’s left alone with you on late nights, acting cool and collected, he’s numb; trying to determine if it was all a mistake, or if you’re just conflicted, too. When he brushes past you mid-shift, no matter if it’s in front of other people or not, he wonders if you feel the same pause in the air that he does. If you want to kiss him again, if you want him at all, even in the slightest, or if you simply reacted instead of felt when he kissed you that night.
The week doesn’t drag. It feels still. Unmoving in the sort of way that makes time feel warped, coffee taste stale, smiles feel forced and devoid of the warmth they usually withhold.
But just like any week, Friday hits, the day before the seeming end. Three weeks before Christmas, when the first rush arrives, and your co-workers grow stressed, shifts extend by hours as work piles up. Customers find themselves entitled to things they don’t deserve, their impatience influencing their demeanor until you’re being yelled at, but you can’t retort—you’re only the employee.
“You can’t work the week of Christmas?” you shout at Kira as she grabs her belongings for the end of the shift; 5:00 sharp, never a minute more, never even letting the word “overtime” grace her spoiled lips. “What’s the point? We need you; we already lost Taylor.”
“I’m sorry,” she shrugs like it’s not important. “I can’t.”
“Just—go, I’ll figure it out.”
And she leaves without a second thought, adding fuel to the fire already burning inside of you from the stress of the day, the week, everything.
Heeseung tries to console you, but you shove him off, letting the stress turn you back into the monster you once were without trying to be. He thinks he’s the problem; that he’s made you hate him again. He lets the time pass, each employee filing out the same as any day until the last hour—the one that’s become so painfully familiar—arrives. It starts with customers slowly dwindling until close, when you lock the door to clean and watch the town fall silent, dark, with the oncoming night.
It ends with him approaching your frame—hunched over the countertop with your hands on your head—solemnly, placing a hand on your shoulder gently, though it still makes you flinch, and he pulls back.
“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, and you turn to him, eyes tired, the circles beneath them far too dark. “I ruined it, didn’t I?”
You shake your head.
“Okay,” he nods, stepping closer, bringing his hands to your waist, only ghosting over it until your expression allows him to touch you. “Then let me help,” he pulls you closer, “please.”
You don’t stop him when he kisses you.
Slower, firmer than the last. Sure of himself, lacking the hesitation his lips harbored on the cold sidewalk, where his brain couldn’t decipher hope from reality. You lean into him, sighing into his mouth as your muscles relax under his touch, hands gliding up his arms until they’re locked around his neck, pulling him down to you.
His lips curve into a smile against yours, and you almost swear that you feel his heartbeat against your chest, racing at a speed that’s far too fast to be normal. His palms knead the swell of your hips, fingers pressing firmer into the skin just as they lift you onto the counter behind you—thankfully wiped down just minutes ago. You gasp, gripping him tighter but not resisting, legs parting to let him stand between them as you brace your weight onto your palm, one hand still toying with a long, ash-blonde strand of hair.
His palm skates across your front until it stops just above the waistband of your pants, and your breath hitches as his lips kiss a path along your jaw until they’re resting at your temple, just above your ear.
His hand slides between your legs, palming you through your pants; your hips lift, chasing the feeling. The pads of his fingers rub small, soft circles against the fabric, your own fingers tugging at a few strands of his hair, and he smiles, but you don’t notice. He presses the pad of his thumb over your clit, and you almost whimper, but you refrain.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs into your hair, and you nod mindlessly, body craving the release of built-up stress and tension from the week.
His fingers finally dip below the waistband of both your pants and underwear until the tips brush against your clit, and your body shudders against the countertop, your palm pressing harder into the white marble. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t tease, doesn’t build you up until you’re begging for something you’re not even sure of; his fingers push into you, slowly at first, letting you adjust to every inch as he breathes out, breath grazing the shell of your ear.
He curls them when they’re fully inside, and your body tenses again, gripping him tighter, pulling him closer, even if you’re not meaning to. You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut as you bite back a noise, too scarred from your last relationship and the embarrassment of letting him see you like this so soon after meeting you.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, taking his fingers out and pushing them back in carefully, the hand on your waist keeping you in place as your hips involuntarily writhe against the cold surface beneath them. “It’s just me.”
You nod, finally allowing a strained moan to slip past your lips. “Heeseung,” you whisper, so quiet that it’s barely audible, disappearing into the air as soon as it leaves your mouth.
His fingers move a little faster, pressing just against the sweet spot inside of you, causing your hips to jolt. He notices the shift and switches his focus, pushing the tips of his fingers in again and again—never too fast, never too slow—right against the same spot until your breaths morph into whimpers, unintelligible whines that don’t quite reach his ears. Your hand tugs at his hair again, hips chasing the release, lips perpetually parted in his grasp.
“H—Hee.”
Your eyes drill shut as the orgasm suddenly washes over you, knuckles white against the marble as your head fights the urge to fall back, but it doesn’t; Heeseung’s lips keep it in place, pressing soft kisses to your temple and whispering into your ear, though the soft ring in your ears keeps you from comprehending any of it. The sound of his voice is enough to ground you.
Warm droplets drip down the sides of his fingers, coating the creases between them, but he keeps the movement up, gradually slowing it until he pulls them out, your body still beneath his, your chest rising and falling with each breath. His thumb brushes away the release from the surrounding skin before he slips his hand out of the fabric and grabs the nearest napkin to wipe it dry, not bothering to make a show of things, not now.
He readjusts the waistband of your pants, smoothing them back into place and pulling your shirt down to cover the exposed skin.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” you nod, sliding off the counter as Heeseung’s hands fall on your waist to stabilize you. “Better. Thank you.”
“Good.”
He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear and lets his fingers linger there, eyes scanning your face. “Go home,” he whispers. “Get some rest. I’ll take care of things.”
“No, I can help—”
“Y/N,” he interrupts, “go.”
You exhale, offering a soft nod as Heeseung admires your face, the way the soft glow of the Christmas lights shines against your skin. He steps back to let you gather your belongings, holds your coat up so you can slide your arms in, and follows you to the door, making sure you don’t try to do any more than you already have today.
“What is…this?”
He breathes. “Whatever you want it to be.”
You nod.
“Text me when you get home,” he winks and closes the door, locking it for good measure. He watches you enter the car, turn the ignition, and pull out of the lot.
You arrive home, haphazardly toss everything onto the stairs, rather than put it away properly. Run a hot shower and wash the evidence of whatever it was that occurred at your uncle’s shop, the one he so graciously extended a hand out to you only for you to do something so obscene with the man he hired but a month ago. Yet, despite all of that, you don’t regret it.
Finally, after trying to scrub the sin off your body, you slide into bed, tired, yet relaxed at the same time, relieved of the pressure that the week had put on you. Your head turns to the phone, stares at it like the mask of the Green Goblin, urging you to send the message, despite knowing that he’s not someone you should pursue; someone you can.
But,
YOU: i’m in bed. i’m sorry for not texting sooner
public enemy #1: good. i just locked up not long ago, on the way home now
public enemy #1: sleep well
You guess you do.
-
Relationships haven’t been your speed for years.
But what you have with Heeseung almost feels too close to one; that scares you.
You introduce him to your house for the first time—a quaint, brick townhouse just down the road from the shop, almost central to the town, if someone were to pinpoint it. It welcomes him, perhaps too naturally, lets the hours slip past a lot easier than they should, than they would with anyone else. But Heeseung doesn’t notice. He doesn’t see a problem, he doesn’t feel the pit of worry in his stomach as strongly as you do—he just sees you. And maybe that’s why it feels so difficult to keep the line between friends and more from blurring with each day that passes.
You find that Heeseung has an obsession with ramen (or ramyeon, as he forces you to spell it now), so much so that he apparently even ate strictly that for an entire year straight. So during the nights when he breaches the line between professional and personal, stepping past the threshold of your front door and into your home, your sanctuary, he teaches you all of the ways he likes it. Maybe you’ll like them, too, and you can learn to make them yourself. Maybe you won’t, and he’ll just forget about it entirely. He doesn’t do things for himself; he does them for you.
You exchange languages in your spare time, during the moments when the shift drags, and the others can hold their own. The small sections of the day when it feels like you’re the only ones there, until you are, and your body just wants to be close to him, whether you should be or not. You help him with phrases, pronunciation, teach him some ways to put sentences together, or add filler words that are never necessary, but sound more native when you use them. Heeseung, in turn, teaches you Korean—the differing sentence structure, how to read Hangul, though it seems too daunting at first, and even how to speak some of it. Basic knowledge that can only go so far, but he’s proud, anyway. He likes hearing his language in your voice.
“Hey, are you okay?” you ask into the phone one morning, lodged between your ear and your shoulder as you take the chairs off the tables with Heeseung on the other line. “It’s…” you glance at the clock, “almost ten, and you’re not here. What’s up?”
“Oh, yeah, I—” he coughs, “—I’m sick. I must have caught something from the cold.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” you apologize, masking the part of you that’s upset, even if only slightly. Even if he’s not supposed to mean anything. “I’ll find someone to cover, or I’ll just try to do both. You can sleep.”
You hang up the phone and slide it back into your pocket as you work to prepare the store for the day, sighing as you glance at the clock again, knowing that time won’t pass as fast. Somehow, over the course of the last few weeks, you’ve grown dependent on Heeseung—someone you originally wished would leave your life as quickly as he came.
public enemy #1: come over tonight?
public enemy #1: i won’t bite. promise
The first time your eyes glaze over the messages, your body shudders. He’s been in your house a thousand times, taught you to cook his favorite meals (ramyeon aside), spoken Korean, watched television, and helped you decorate, for Christ’s sake. It shouldn’t be so jarring to accept an invite to his small, old apartment only ten minutes away from yours. But it is. Everything with him is.
But you show up, anyway. Ring the doorbell exactly fifteen minutes after your closing shift ends; punctual, just as normal. Heeseung answers the door, sporting a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt that you can read but aren’t sure what it really says. He looks tired, still clearly ill, but his face lights up with his smile. You feel a pang in your chest; guilt or happiness, you’re not sure.
You sit on the sofa with him and complain about the day, how busy work had gotten on the one day staff was short, making a complete show of it. Heeseung laughs, doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.
But he’s quiet; too quiet, nothing close to the Heeseung Lee you know.
“You should lie down,” you whisper, turning to him and rubbing your hand on his shoulder. “You look exhausted.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it,” you nudge him. “Come on.”
Reluctantly, he lets you force him into his bed, and you pull the covers over until they rest just below his elbows. You prop the pillow up behind his head until he looks comfortable.
“I’ll be right back,” you tell him, and he just nods.
You decide to put his lessons to use. You rummage through the cabinets, searching for the stash of what you know is hiding somewhere until you find the cabinet stocked with various brands and flavors of Heeseung’s favorite ramyeon. You take one that looks familiar—doing the best you can to understand the Korean name—and rack your brain to remember the way he taught you to make it, back at your place, with his hands resting over yours and your back pressed to his chest.
You’re surprised that you can even remember.
But you manage to complete a bowl that looks and smells edible, as close to his finished product as possible, and you stick a pair of chopsticks inside. You grab him a glass of ice water and a napkin and walk back into his room, where he lies idly on his phone. Your mind wanders back to the night you decided he was attractive at the sight of the familiar profile layout on the screen, and you swallow, stepping further inside.
“Hee,” you whisper, and his head turns. His eyes grow three sizes, and he quickly sits up, cocking a brow as you step closer, setting the warm bowl into his hands.
“You made this for me?”
“I tried.”
“I was wondering what took so long…” He twirls a clump of noodles onto the chopsticks and brings them to his mouth, taking a bite and slurping the remainder inside. His eyes fall shut, and a warm smile stretches across his face. “Perfect,” he compliments. “I taught you well.”
You giggle, moving to the other side of the bed and propping yourself up beside him. “Eat up,” you tell him, lifting a hand to brush a messy strand of hair away from his face. “You’re sick, you should be eating.”
“You’re good to me,” he murmurs, and you offer a smile in return, watching as he slowly clears the bowl. Even drinks every last drop of the broth—you swear he’s too obsessed, but you suppose it’s cute. He reaches for the water and takes a few sips, placing the empty bowl on the nightstand and turning back to you.
He leans closer, and you try to pull back. “You’re sick,” you repeat, but he persists.
“Not contagious anymore,” as he presses his lips to yours, and you laugh against them, letting him pull you into his lap, despite the protests you just made.
His hand finds purchase on your waist, thumb rubbing the skin just beneath the hem of your shirt as the other slips to the underside of your jaw, holding you closer to him. It shouldn’t feel right—being here, with him, in the apartment he bought a matter of weeks ago, derailing every bit of self-respect you thought you’d gained after everything with your ex, knowing that this is nothing, because it has to be. Because he just showed up one day and weaseled himself into your life. Knowing that deep down, he knows that, too. But still, as his tongue melts with yours, fingers grazing your skin like worship, you just want him.
For the first time, you don’t stop yourself.
And you don’t go home that night.
You read as friends, enjoying each other’s company when you have it, admiring decorations and listening to holiday music, watching the snow fall and collect in the crevices where the exterior walls of the store meet the ground—things anyone does with someone close to them. Things you’ve done with Jisung, with Ellie, with every person that’s come your way and considered themselves your friend.
But when you find yourself craving Heeseung’s proximity, making excuses to have time with him, even if only for a moment, invite him into your house, steal kisses that no one sees, brush past him and feel comfort, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world…when you begin showing up to work together, you start to realize that none of this is friendly. Not a single ounce.
And it can’t possibly be real, either.
-
“Evan!”
He jumps at the old man’s voice, the sound far too familiar to go unnoticed. He turns on his heel to see his boss—your uncle—approaching the counter, saying hello to some of the patrons as he walks around the corner and pats him on the shoulder.
“Someone looks hard at work.”
“Yeah,” he laughs, using a rag to dry off a clean coffee mug, “it’s been pretty busy recently. I can understand why you’ve got so many people here, Art.”
“Art. That’s a new one,” your uncle ponders as the kitchen door swings open, and out flies you, a large tray of cookies in your hand to re-fill the display case with. You almost don’t notice him standing there until you place them onto the counter, and Heeseung taps your calf with the edge of his foot.
“Oh, Uncle Arthur! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” you exclaim apologetically, walking over to wrap an arm around him. He kisses your forehead, and you smile, perched idly beside Heeseung, whose eyes have been glued to you since you walked in, regardless of the others standing nearby amidst the chaos.
“Hm,” his eyes flit between you, finger lifting and gesturing back and forth, “you two…?”
“No!” you both shout a bit too comically synchronized (and loudly), eyes wide, hands waving in front of you.
“No, no,” you tack on, giving an awkward laugh. “Never, this guy?” You turn, mocking a grimace. “He’s lucky I even came around to him.”
“Okay, okay,” your uncle mock-surrenders, “just asking, no need to get hasty.” He laughs, reaching into his pocket to grab his eyeglasses and unfolding them, slipping them onto his face. He looks up at the menu—spending so long out of his establishment that he’s forgotten some of the options—and orders a few things, on the house.
“I bet, though,” he chuckles, still glancing up at the menu, “if I checked those cameras, you two would be just as close as I’d imagine. You kids are easy to read these days.”
That’s when it registers.
Your eyes lock with Heeseung’s; wide, terrified, horrified.
“The cameras,” you whisper, pointing up and gesturing at the one just above the counter, panic etched deep into your face.
Yeah, take one look at the cameras, and he’ll be fucking scarred. That’ll be the day he finds out some guy he barely knows fingered his niece right on the goddamn counter.
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” you shake your head, “we can’t just leave it there!”
“Then, what do you suppose—”
“—hello?”
“Yes!” You clear your throat, “Yeah—Uncle…Arthur?”
“You guys okay?”
“Yeah!” simultaneously, “yeah.”
Heeseung moves to grab his order, and you step into the back, beelining for the office that typically stays empty, since your uncle rarely visits for any longer than minutes at a time. You open the computer, sift through files, applications, everything until you find the ones you’re looking for, marked with the date of each day, each hour.
The door flies open; you sigh, noticing that it’s only Heeseung.
“God, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
He closes the door behind him, “He’s gone. I extended your goodbye.”
“Thank you,” you breathe, focusing back on the files until you come across the day you’re looking for, swallowing thickly as the footage appears on the screen in a minimized window.
You click and drag the mouse along the timeline, face dusted red the moment you find what it is you’ve been looking for, and lift your finger to let it play. You breathe, clearly embarrassed by the ordeal, despite the only person seeing this besides yourself being Heeseung. Yet, that doesn’t make it better.
You’re thankful there’s no audio.
You hover the cursor over the Delete button, then follow it to the Trash folder and delete it from there, clearing any evidence from that night. Leaving it only in your memories. You lean back in the chair, closing your eyes and letting out a sigh of relief, almost forgetting that he’s even there until you feel his lips press against the side of your head.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby,” he whispers, and your stomach caves. “You’re perfect.”
He ruffles a hand in your hair before leaving the office, not giving you time to counter his claim.
Damn, that handsome son of a bitch.
-
Saturday—six days until Christmas.
public enemy #1: come to arthur’s. rooftop. stairs at the back
You stare at the words—confused—for a few minutes, furrow a brow, contemplate. You still end up in the driver’s seat of your car, chugging down the street at such a late hour, your feet carrying you more than anything else.
You walk up the stairs carefully, swallowing down your nerves, though you’re not quite sure why it has you so rattled. Perhaps, because he’s usually asking to come to your place or inviting you to his, rather than this. This has to mean something; you’re scared of what.
As you finally approach his figure, he senses your presence and turns around. You gasp, nearly stepping back as your hand rises, running your fingers through his hair.
Faded cherry red; the same wine color you paused at all those weeks ago on his page. Bangs hanging loose in his face. Change accurate as an instinct, like he knew.
“Heeseung…” you whisper, swallowing as your fingers linger just behind his ear, and he fronts a bashful smile.
“You like it?”
“It’s…yeah,” you laugh, “I love it.”
“Good. I thought you would.”
Your brows knit together, “How would you have…known?”
“Well,” he breathes, shifting his weight between feet, “you sort of liked a post a few weeks ago. More than that—over a month ago, I think. I don’t think you noticed.”
“You love it,” he smiles, lifting a hand to your cheek as he leans forward, slotting his lips with yours.
He tastes sweeter tonight; like cherries and sugar, maybe from old gum or a mint, or perhaps it’s neither, and it’s the Chapstick on his lips that’s flavored like this. Your lips stretch into a smile against his, too natural to be simply casual, and you sigh contentedly into his mouth, one arm wrapped loosely around his waist, while the other extends upward, palm resting over his heart. You feel it beating again beneath your fingertips; it grounds you, still.
The wind swirls around you, forcing your hair to mingle with his, but it doesn’t matter; you don’t feel the cold, the breeze, the dust of snow falling onto the rooftop beneath your feet.
You think—for a moment—that you could stay like this forever, and you’ll be happy.
“Come with me,” he mumbles against your lips, and you pull away, looking into his eyes, head tilted.
“What?”
“Come with me,” he repeats firmly, words laced with a conviction that scares you. “When I leave, next year. After this.” His hands slide down your arms, and he laces his fingers with yours, rubs the backs of them with his thumbs. “I want to do this, see the world. And I want you with me.”
Your heart drops to your stomach. Heeseung is leaving. It shouldn’t come as a surprise—that was his plan, that was always the plan, wasn’t it? So, why does it hurt so much when you’ve known it all along?
You think about all of the times you’ve told him to pursue it; the times you’d lie in bed together, and he’d sing you gently to sleep, never thinking anything of it. When you’d play music at work, and he’d hum along to the songs he liked, to the ones he learned for you. When he’d start singing Do They Know It’s Christmas? after the stink you made the first time, and you’d tell him he was good, more than good.
Because to you, he’s perfect.
But sometimes, that isn’t enough.
“Heeseung, I—I can’t.”
The life in his eyes is the first thing to go.
Then, the smile falters, his hands loosen their grip on yours, and his jaw clenches as he holds back tears, though he tries not to let it show.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t, I—” you breathe, choking over your own words as tears brim in the corners of your eyes, making no effort to hold them back. “My whole life is here, Heeseung. I can’t just—leave it.”
“But that’s just it, Y/N,” he counters, trying to hold his composure. “You’ve only ever known this. Don’t you want to see what’s out there?” He steps closer, and you let him, knowing that you shouldn’t. “You have so much to offer.”
“I’m not like you, Hee,” you shake your head, “that’s not what I want.”
“Not with me?”
Your heart lurches, but you don’t reply. The words get stuck in your throat. Heeseung takes it as an answer, despite the tears running down your face—ones he makes no effort to wipe away, to acknowledge, though he would’ve jumped to get rid of them just minutes ago.
“I thought you would’ve changed your mind by now.”
“That’s not how that works, Heeseung. I can’t just up and leave, and you know that. You know I can’t just come with you like it’s nothing.”
He scoffs, poking his tongue into his cheek as he looks down at his feet. “You sound just like him.”
“Who, your father?” you shout, offense mixing with hurt and lacing your voice. “Because I don’t want to leave my home? Because I don’t want you to go?”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to leave without you, either, because I lo—”
“—Don’t say it,” you warn.
“Why not? You don’t want the truth?”
“No. Because I can’t handle it,” you admit, bile rising in your throat, but you swallow it down. “I can’t deal with that reality, Heeseung.”
“So what, you’re just gonna stay here forever?” he asks, hurt breaking his voice, the noise wedging the knife deeper into your heart. “You’re gonna just work here forever? That’s all you ever want to be? Just come cashier?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means,” he bites back, and you look away, taking a breath.
“You can’t expect me to do that for you, Heeseung. I haven’t even known you for two fucking months!”
“Well, from the way you’ve been acting, it seemed like we were a lot more than I thought, so I’m sorry that I misinterpreted whatever this was.”
“Look, I didn’t ask for you to just show up and derail my entire fucking life, okay?”
He freezes; you step forward, guilt immediately washing over you.
“Hee,” you reach out, but he moves away, doesn’t speak.
He walks down the stairs without another word, and you chase after him, breaths increasing in weight, your heartbeat hammering in your head like an anvil that just won’t stop. He opens the car door and slips inside, and your hand catches on it before he can shut it.
“Hee, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“—save it.”
He looks up at you, eyes red and glossed over. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave. Just like you always wanted me to, alright?”
“No, Heeseung—”
He turns the ignition and slams the door, forcing your hand to lift before it gets crushed, and he takes off, not looking back at you, not thinking twice, just leaving.
Realization hits like a truck; you sink to your knees, broken, battered. The cold of the fallen snow on the ground burns on your kneecaps, but you don’t care—you think you deserve it. Tears run down your cheeks, burning hot in contrast to the freezing cold outside, and you shove your hand in your pocket, pulling out your phone. Your fingers tremble so severely that you can barely grasp the device, vision blurred from the tears spilling down your cheeks; the painful fear in your chest is too severe to bear.
You dial the number without thinking. The ringing feels like agony, grating pain against your heart until you hear the voice on the other line that stops the ache just for a fraction of a second.
“Ji,” you sob, “I fucked up.”
-
“Hey, hey, what’s the matter, baby?”
You sob into Jisung’s chest, dampening his shirt, but he doesn’t care. He holds you closer and runs his palm along your back. Your knees still hurt from the cold, but they’ve numbed, just a little.
“He’s gone,” you cry, shaking your head as if it isn’t real. “I made him leave.”
“What?”
You bury your face deeper into his chest. “He wanted me to go with him, and I told him no,” you ashamedly tell him. “I can’t lose him. I don’t wanna lose him.”
“Lose who, Y/N?”
“Heeseung.”
Jisung blinks above you; you don’t notice, you don’t even look up, but you feel the way his hold loosens just slightly. “Heeseung? I thought you—what? I thought you hated him.”
“I don’t hate him, Ji,” you whisper, “I never did.”
“You have a lot to catch me up on when you’re done crying and warm in your house.”
And you’ll tell him, because you know where you stand with Heeseung now.
Only, you might never see him again, and your body can’t accept that fact. Not one bit.
-
You expected work without him to be difficult.
You didn’t expect life without him to be.
When the others ask where Heeseung is, you shrug—a partial truth, despite knowing that you’re the reason, that you’d hurt him too much for him to stay. You’d already been keeping him at an arm’s length, tried your best to, at least, but you’d pushed him too far, and now, you’ll have to pay for it.
His presence in your life feels like a candle that you never knew was burning, until one day, you noticed it, and then, it was out. Gone like it was never there, despite the smell left behind, the reminder of its existence never quite dissipating, not enough to forget.
“I don’t know, I guess he must have quit.”
—your usual response, dry, uninterested. Because you can’t bring yourself to feel the loss; if you do, you don’t think you’ll recover. You check your phone, even when it doesn’t ping, silently hoping that his contact will pop up, say something like gotcha! and then, he’ll show up out of nowhere, sliding right back into the hole he burrowed in your heart. But days pass, the holiday draws closer, and he’s radio silent. Some nights, you drive past the apartments, try to see if a light is on inside, if his car is nearby—you never quite find what you’re looking for.
Your uncle apologizes, thinking all of it is his fault, but you don’t have the courage to tell him the truth: that you did have something with Heeseung, and you let him go as quickly as he came. The wish you wanted to come true until he suddenly became everything.
You find yourself staring at the decorations inside the store, propping your hand up on the counter, and glancing around. You want to hear his voice, him to burst out of the kitchen with some stupid thing to say, wrap his arms around you, and kiss you until you can’t breathe. You realize—standing alone in the store, just as you always wished for—that none of this place matters anymore, not without him.
You don’t know who you are without this place. Maybe that’s even scarier than leaving it.
But it’s too late—you’ve done the damage, sent the best person to happen to you away as if he meant nothing to you at all.
As the final shift before Christmas Eve finishes, you open the cabinet to grab your things—keeping them on the same half you always had with him, not daring to fill his side. The closing process feels monotonous; unplug the decorative lights, check the counters, organize the orders, turn off the ceiling lights, walk out the door, and lock it behind you. Staring at the space he always parked in as you sit in the driver’s seat of your car, nearly breaking down from the pressure and the immense silence inside, is a new part you add to the list tonight.
You drive home without music, only half-paying attention to the road. The heavy snowfall blows against your windshield but makes no noise, clouds your vision more than the fog that’s already there. But your mind wanders elsewhere, unable to stay completely focused, much like most of your time as of late. Only the shell of you remains. And nobody notices—nobody even bats an eye. Not like he would.
Never like him.
You push through the front door, and even in your own house, you can’t escape Heeseung—he plagues your thoughts and haunts the inside of your little townhouse like a spirit that won’t leave. Every corner of the house holds a memory of him. Nothing remains untouched. Everything feels like a punishment; packages of ramyeon stashed away in the back of one of your cabinets, the Boston Bruins blanket that he claimed to be his favorite still folded in the spot he usually took on your couch (after which you forced him to watch a game because he “deserved to know the best sport in the world”), and even your bed—where the ghost of him still lies, his cologne etched into the sheets that you haven’t yet changed.
A rap on the door takes you out of your thoughts, jolting your body away from the refrigerator as you try to fill a glass of water. You place the half-full glass onto the counter and smooth your hands over your pants, furrowing your brows. You don’t bother to check the peephole; you simply turn the lock on the door, hand trembling slightly from stress and nerves, then the knob, swinging it open.
Your body tenses—eyes well with tears the moment they catch sight of his face. Familiar, loving eyes looking back at you, the soft, now cherry red hair you love to run your hands through, spotted with flakes of snow as they fall onto his head, the lips you’ve kissed with every ounce of affection in your heart pressed together as he swallows.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The snow falls behind him, around him, melts into his hair as he stands before you, unfazed by the cold outside as long as you’re near him; he thinks it’s been that way for a while.
“I can’t pretend like I don’t think about you every second.” He steps closer, almost crossing the threshold but not quite touching it, still not without your permission, despite every bone in his body screaming for him to. “I can’t act like I’m not in love with you. And maybe you don’t want to hear that, but you need to.”
The lights he helped string on the arch of your doorway twinkle above, illuminating his face with a soft red glow that somehow makes him prettier, if even possible. You falter at his words, legs fighting to stay steady beneath you as he says it with conviction and forces the tears to fall from your eyes.
“Hee,” you whisper weakly—all it takes for him to step forward and slide his hand behind your head, holding it in place for him to kiss you.
It’s different from the other times, a declaration and a promise all at once, desperation seeping into it like it hadn’t before. His tongue finds yours the moment your lips part to let it in, and he steps forward, forcing your bodies closer as if he’s trying to meld them together. You smile against him, hand trailing into his hair and taking the soft burgundy strands between your fingers, needing to feel him just as much. The thought of losing him—someone who made you realize everything you’d been missing out on—hurts more than any insult anyone could throw at you.
Because Heeseung is your person, and you’ll never let him slip away again.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between kisses, refusing to part from you after not seeing you for days; your mouth chases his, kisses becoming sloppy, but neither of you seems to care, not when it feels so good, for once. You hum into his mouth, and his hands grip your body tighter, fingers pressing into your skin. Heeseung moans, and you grin wider.
“No, I’m sorry,” you finally counter, pulling back to breathe. “I was wrong. You didn’t ruin anything, Heeseung.” Your hands slide down his arms until they reach his, lacing your fingers together and gripping them firmly, lips swollen. “I want to do this with you. I don’t want to be here if you’re not,” you say, shaking your head. “This is all I’ve known…But I want to know more. With you.”
“I don’t want to force you.”
“All my life, I’ve never even entertained the notion of leaving this town.”
You close your eyes and take a breath, exhaling deeply through your nose. “But if it means being with the person I love, I’ll travel as far away from here as possible.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, kissing along your jaw, the corner of your mouth, your lips. “‘m gonna make up for everything, okay?”
You nod, and his hands slip beneath the swell of your ass, hoisting you up for your legs to wrap around his waist. He carries you up the stairs, kissing a path along the underside of your jaw as your hand fists in his hair.
Heeseung takes his time with you, laying you onto the bed, fingers dancing along the edges of your clothes and peeling each item off, one by one. His lips find every dip and curve on your body, pressing kisses to them like worship, his touch reverent as he takes the first release from you with just his mouth, the second with his fingers, prying soft moans that seep into the four walls of your bedroom as if he’s the only other person meant to set foot in it.
When his hips meet yours, he kisses you as if his life depends on it, one hand palming your kneecap and holding it in place while the other entwines its fingers with yours, holding them above your head and against the headboard. You feel him in your stomach, on your knees, above you, around you—everywhere, all at once. He takes care of you; lets you feel every last inch of his want for you, shows his love for you rather than trying to control you. He wants you comfortable and pleased and satisfied all at once.
The soft light that streams in from outside the door—mixed with the small, white-lit tree in the corner of the room—makes you feel at ease, with Heeseung hovering above you, holding onto you like a lifeline, something you never thought possible the day you met him.
Your body relaxes under his touch, and your brain takes a vacation, focusing only on Heeseung, how perfect he feels like this, how nothing could feel any better than this very moment. And you smile against his lips, sighing deeply when you reach your final peak, giving yourself to him, wholly. Let the evidence drip down your inner thigh for his thumb to carefully brush away, unsure of whether its origin is from you or him. Kiss him until your lips go numb, until you can’t breathe, until he’s sure that he’s made up for every ounce of pain, every minute he missed with you, every night he could’ve made you feel this good and hadn’t, because he left. Not bothering to consider what anyone will think, what will happen if you leave, how tomorrow will go—all you think about is him as he pulls back to look at you.
And that stupid, beautiful smile of his.
-
The Christmas Eve shift passes by in a blur. With Heeseung back, everything returns in full swing, all hands on deck for the morning until close. Handfuls of people file in and out, picking up orders, grabbing passing drinks, admiring the scenery that he and you spent far too many hours meticulously creating.
On the short break you get, you pull out your phone, scroll through it mindlessly until a text message flashes on the screen.
public enemy #1: off the phone, slacker
You look up; Heeseung stands on the other side of the door, shaking his head and tutting his teeth. You flash him a smile (and a choice finger) that makes him laugh, loudly enough that you can hear it through the door. He blows you a dramatic kiss and walks away.
YOU: asshole.
public enemy #1: you love it
YOU: focus on working instead of me. and start thinking of outfits for tomorrow
The annual Whitmore family dinner on Christmas Day, usually hosted by your parents, but now extended to you. You invited Heeseung, intending to introduce him to the others as your boyfriend, the boy you love—whatever it takes to describe what he means to you. Where he’ll finally meet your parents, where they’ll find out that you’re going to navigate life with him outside of Valley Point, despite the challenges that you’ll face, and the fear that pits in your stomach.
You know that if he’s there, you’ll be okay.
Which reminds you,
hee ♥︎: anything for you
-
“Merry Christmas!”
You smile, wrapping your arms around your uncle as he walks into your house, your aunt following closely behind. Heeseung stands beside you, nervously fumbling with his thumbs as his eyes follow their path.
“Heeseung! I heard you’ve been absent for a few days,” he teases as he pats him on the back, not quite tall enough to reach his shoulder so easily. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he nods, eyes flitting over to you as you give him the go-ahead, and his arm slowly wraps around your waist, fingers resting just over your hip. “Just…figuring things out.”
“I knew it,” he grins, and you shove him with your palm.
“Yeah, yeah. Go inside and talk to the others, okay?”
Heeseung shifts his weight between feet, unintentionally moving your body along with his. You turn to him, tilting your head to see his face as he looks forward, not particularly focused on anything.
“Hey,” you whisper, and he looks down, his nervousness etched into his features. “It’s okay. They’re gonna love you.”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs.
“Heeseung,” you scold. “My parents are going to love you. I promise.”
“Okay,” he breathes. “Yeah…yeah, okay.”
The front door flies open, nearly slamming against the wall behind it; you don’t have to look to know who it is.
“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Heeseung Lee,” Jisung says as he saunters over, hands perched on his hips like he has a personal score to settle with him. “Heard a lot about you.”
“Have…you now?” Heeseung asks, already far too nervous to be confronted about things he has clue idea of.
“Yup.” He extends a hand for Heeseung to take and waits until he does to clamp down and practically cut off his circulation with his fingers. “Jisung,” he introduces proudly.
“Oh,” Heeseung nods. “I’m, uh—yeah. Heeseung.”
You notice a familiar figure outside the window and usher Heeseung into the kitchen with Jisung where the others are gathered, telling him that your parents have arrived. He goes without question. Once he’s in the kitchen, he gets swooped up in conversation almost instantly, only half-listening as his mind wanders off, worrying about what your their first impressions of him will be, if they’ll even like him at all. He hears your gentle “Hey!” from the kitchen, but can’t tear himself away enough to look back at you, despite his attempts.
“Heeseung?” you call from the empty sitting room on the other side of the house, and his head whips around. He takes a breath and walks toward the noise, preparing to see you standing there with your parents, waiting to introduce them finally, after so much back and forth, so much uncertainty.
But when Heeseung walks into the room, it’s not what he expected at all.
“Appa?”
You stand just around the corner, biting your lip nervously as Heeseung timidly speaks to his father, just a few feet in front of him. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before—a son, just a boy with his father, who lost his mother as a kid and only wanted to succeed for them. You swallow, not quite understanding what they’re saying; you make out a few words from what he’s taught you, but it’s not nearly enough. You don’t think you should understand, anyway—it’s their personal business, not yours.
Heeseung hesitantly steps forward, and his dad meets him halfway, pulling him into a hug that looks long overdue. You turn away, not wanting to pry, to give them their time alone, though you can still hear Heeseung’s quiet sobs, and you blink back tears.
As they pull away and exchange a few more words, Mr. Lee motions you in with an arm, and you bow gently, thanking him before letting him step out to join the group of people already accumulating in your dining room, socializing as the snow continues to fall outside.
“I love you,” he smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground, letting out a soft laugh that transfers over to you as you twirl around in the air, gripping him tightly, like you’ll fly away if you let go.
When your feet finally touch the ground, the tips of your fingers meet behind his neck, and you admire his expression, happiness glowing in his eyes. “I love you, too,” you whisper back, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. “You deserve to be happy, Hee.”
“I already have been,” he sniffs, and a tear runs down his cheek, barely reaching his jaw before your thumb catches it. “But God, you get better every day.”
He leans down and catches your lips in a gentle kiss, tasting of that same sweet Chapstick he’s been using and familiarity; comfort, warmth, love. Everything you’ve ever wanted—everything you’ll ever need. You don’t think you’ve ever felt as free as you do with him; though it scares you, you want to start this next chapter with him, because you’re not sure that you’d trust anyone else.
47 days can do a lot to a person.
Heeseung is a plot twist you never expected.
“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he whispers into the air between you, bringing a finger up to poke the tip of your nose. He laughs gently, and you match it; Heeseung thinks it might be the best sound in the world.
“Merry Christmas, Heeseung.”
You let the silence create a blanket around you, wrapping the two of you in your own world, even if for just a moment, where all that exists is you, Heeseung, and the faint glow of the incandescent lights strung around the house—present as a reminder of the love you gained this season, even after they’re taken down and stored away in boxes until next year.
Because they’ll always represent what you are: passion, joy, excitement, love—
this fic is an absolute masterpiece. it is so well written, the characters are so relatable, the scenery is described so beautifully… i enjoyed every second i spent reading. let alone the fact i absolutely love this kind of christmassy tropes, it was such a nice read! the confession scene made my heart pump so fast i could feel it in my throat omg. i loooved the little forced proximity and how they fell in love little by little, you can literally feel how much they care about each other whenever they speak 💔
ps. the fact that he dyed his hair just because he knew y/n would like it………. yeah that’s so heeseung, this fic is canon, 100%.
thank u for being here every time i complained about having to finish this and closing the app to slack off. also THANK YOU!! i tried to make the scenery as accurate as possible because i’m from new england so i wanted to add a little slice of my life 🙂↕️
ps. yeah heeseung is a whipped try hard so him dying his hair is a surprise to absolutely nobody ever
you've never had a desire to leave home. valley point offers solace, a place where you know you fit in, or even stand out in a good way. working at your uncle's bakery is a blessing you can never appreciate enough; what more could you ask for?
enter heeseung lee, a 23-year-old free spirit whom your uncle hires from the outside. you insist that you don't need him—it's a family business. he only wants to help. you won't give him a chance.
so, what happens when you uncover the layers of heeseung lee and begin to realize that there's more to him than meets the eye, and with that, someone to love?
now showing: incandescence (color my world).
PAIRING: nonidol!heeseung x baker!reader (hallmark christmas au)
WORD COUNT: 23.1k
ꨄ︎: merry christmas, everyone! i've been working on this nonstop for a while now, and i'm just now finishing it at 11:00 pm, but i think it'll be worth the wait :) i first came up with this idea way back in august, and i've been so excited to release her to the world 🥹 incandescence!heeseung is my favorite interpretation of him that i've written, mostly because i was really able to explore him as a whole. i hope you all love this story as much as i do. i'd love to continue their story. enjoy, and happy reading. xo <3
CONTENT: fluff, “enemies” to friends to ? to lovers, eventual smut mdni, fingering, multiple orgasms, sex not too detailed, unprotected sex, creampie(?), (semi?) public sex, pet names (baby), slow burn, mentions of blood, he cleans her cut, profanity, slight situationship, heavy angst, heeseung has no mom and slight daddy issues, baking au, christmas au, new england small town hallmark fic, tooth-rotting fluff, han jisung from stray kids, other enhypen members mentioned, boston bruins mentioned, arguing
incandescent.
(adjective)
to be full of strong emotion; passionate.
describes a person who is glowing with a strong emotion or feeling, such as passion, joy, excitement, or rage.
—
47 Days Until Christmas
“A what?”
Your uncle chuckles as you practically explode behind the counter, flailing your arms around like a small child not getting their way. “I said that I hired a coworker for you,” he simply states over a sip of his hot coffee, eyes glazing over the newspaper in his free hand. “You’re going to need help this year. I’m in no shape to be handling the rushes anymore. I’m getting too old.”
“Uncle Arthur, I’m fully capable—”
“Y/N,” he interrupts, and you freeze. “You’re going to work with him,” he sets the newspaper down and looks up, “so you’d better get used to it.”
“Where’s this guy even from?”
“He’s 23, around your age,” he replies. “From South Korea. Said he moved here for a change of scenery.”
“How did he find Valley Point?” you wonder aloud, arm tired from cleaning off the counter. If it weren’t 7:00 at night on a Tuesday, maybe you wouldn’t be so easily irritable, and in hindsight, he probably should’ve picked a better time to drop the bomb. But then again, you’ve always been this stubborn, so really, it wouldn’t matter.
“Beats me,” he shrugs, folding the paper neatly and tucking it into his flannel shirt pocket. “He probably wanted somewhere small if he was looking to escape the city. That’s usually the case for those boys. But I will agree with you that it’s quite odd that someone from Korea, of all places, stumbles upon us.” He chuckles softly to himself, but you only grimace. You’re not all that amused, clearly.
“I guess.”
He stands up from the barstool and braces a hand on his back, trying to stretch it out. “Well,” he winces, “I’d better be on my way.” He yawns, and you round the counter to stand in front of him.
“Uncle Arthur, please,” you try one last time, “I’ll be fine, I promise. You know I have a system, and—I mean, come on, can’t you just get Taylor or Diane here to help me? They know how to carry their weight around here.”
“They won’t be available as much as you’ll need them,” he counters with a pointing finger. “I tried to avoid this, but honestly, it might be good for you. Remember—you don’t own this place, Y/N, I do.” You want to protest, but damnit, he’s making a valid point—why can’t he just let you be? “I may be your uncle, but I can take this position away from you if you refuse to cooperate with me.”
You sigh with defeat, shoulders slugging beside you, eyes closing tightly. “Okay,” you whisper begrudgingly. “Fine. I’ll just have to...figure it out.”
“That’s my girl,” he smiles, patting your back, and you grimace again. He laughs—the kind that’s usually sweet but only annoys you further—and heads for the door. “You’ll like him.”
“Doubt it.”
“Just trust me,” he winks. “He’s quite the looker, ya know,” he jokes, and he finds that you’re not all that amused. “Well,” he motions for you to get back to cleaning, “you should be fine closing up alone. I’ll see you in the morning.”
You roll your eyes—and admittedly stick your tongue out—as your uncle exits the shop, leaving you alone with his empty coffee cup and the nerves of working with a complete stranger for the entire holiday season.
-
“And then he said ‘you’ll like him’ as if I’d ever like some random guy impeding on the system I so perfectly built up!”
Jisung laughs on the other end of the line. “Well, Y/N, you are just about the worst person to work with,” he giggles, popping a chip into his mouth. “Uncle Arthur might have a point there.”
He scrolls through Instagram on his iPad as he lies flat on his stomach, kicking his feet in the air like a little kid. “What if he’s hot, or something?”
“Pfft,” you scoff, “yeah, right. Some random guy stumbling upon a small town and interrupting my peace? I highly doubt it.” You sigh exasperatedly as you flop back onto your mattress, cold from the extreme lack of heat reaching your room; damn the central air system in townhouses.
“Don’t count the possibility out,” he mumbles, cutting himself short. “Oh, my god,” he snorts.
“What is it?”
“Did you see what Taylor posted?”
Taylor is a few years older than you. She’s the eldest daughter of Uncle Arthur’s good friend, who helped him start up the shop and passed away just a couple of years back. To keep her busy and give her a little piece of her dad, he let her help out during the busiest rushes of the year. You always got along with her, sure, but something always felt off, so you never kept all that close with her, and well—it seems you’ve been right all along.
“No,” you furrow your brows, putting him on speaker and opening the app to check. “That bitch,” you scowl. “She’s going on vacation to the goddamn Bahamas while I’m stuck here to work the Christmas rush with some fucking stranger?” You angrily slam the phone onto the bed beside you, and you hear Jisung gasp from the loud noise. “Seriously, I knew she didn’t care!”
“Hey,” Jisung pipes up, rolling onto his back, “look on the bright side—maybe you’ll make a friend out of him.”
“I dunno, Jisung—”
“Just…don’t let it ruin the season for you, okay?” he breathes. “It’s only until January.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
-
Alright, so you might have let it ruin your week. Not the whole season, or anything, but your week has basically gone to shit, and the blame is going to fall on him. A man you literally have never met, mind you. You don’t even know his name, because your uncle always butchers it in typical elderly American fashion.
But still, you’re too set in your own way to leave well enough alone. You’ve convinced yourself that this can only go wrong, and that’s what is going to happen, no exceptions. When he doesn’t show up at 7:00 a.m. sharp like you were told he was going to, the uneasy feeling in your stomach multiplies. You like people to be punctual, and even your uncle thinks the same way, so why is it nearing quarter past seven, and this guy has yet to show his face?
You angrily pop open the register to check the money, barely sorting through the paper before a loud, swishing noise interrupts you. A cold breeze makes its way in, and you turn your attention to the front door, where a man stands at about 5 feet 11, panic set in his face, two hot drinks in his hands.
It’s him; you know it is.
“You’re late,” you grit out and re-focus your attention on the open drawer. “Not a good look for your first shift here.”
“I am so sorry,” he begins, opting not to take off his comically puffy jacket and practically running towards you. “I swear, this isn’t how it was supposed to play out. I left my place almost an hour ago, and there were no buses, so I had to walk. I stopped for coffee on the way, because I almost died out there, and I grabbed one for you as an apology, but now that I think about it, you might not even like it.”
He finally takes a breath. “Shit, uh, I’m sorry,” he places the warm cup beside you, and you reluctantly accept it with a curt thank you. “You must be Y/N. Your uncle told me about you.” He extends a hand out to you.
“Yeah,” you respond dryly, “Y/N Whitmore.” You shake his hand without looking up. “Heeseung, right? I’m sure he told you how nice and friendly I am to new blood around here.” You finally get a clear look at his face when you close the drawer, nervously laughing at what he hopes is a joke, like he’s afraid you’re going to beat him up with the cash register if he doesn’t.
Okay, so maybe Jisung was onto something. He’s a looker. Like, really nice to look at.
He’s got the type of eyes that look straight into your soul. Not intimidatingly, just—deep. Big. Like boba. His face is soft, but it’s detailed, like the upturn of his nose and its sharp, straight bridge. His lips. His teeth flash with his smile, and it’s…pretty. And you have to admit that he has a really nice head of hair. The ashy blonde color looks a bit eccentric because it’s very clearly not his natural one, but it suits him. He kind of looks like a deer, if you squint your eyes and look, like, really closely.
Alright, so he’s hot; it doesn’t change the fact that he’s late and the person you’ve been not-so-excitedly anticipating to ruin your workflow.
“So,” he claps his hands and rubs them together in a dorky fashion, “where do we start?”
You breathe air out through your nose. “Cases,” you mumble, standing up straight and turning to the display cases beside you. “We need to make and thaw out what goes in every morning.” You gesture towards the empty shelves and the dry-erase labels. “It changes every once in a while. Our regular guy, Gerry, comes in late at night after closing to clean out the kitchen and prepare for us to make the pastries that go here,” you point to the shelves on the bottom, “and we deal with the rest. I usually come a little early to help with those, but I doubt I’ll be doing much of that anymore. As for you, we’ll make the muffins, some cookies, et cetera in the mornings, put out the other premades, and boom—ready to open by 9.”
“Okay…sounds…easy enough,” he nods along.
“Yeah,” you shift your weight from one foot to the other. “Do you know how to bake, or did my uncle go into this completely blind?”
“Go in blind?” he asks like he doesn’t know what you’re saying, and you blink in confusion until you realize he doesn’t. You haven’t really left Valley Point much, and the most time you’ve spent in a city probably only totals up to about 2 days, so the concept of someone not being born and raised here—or at least not speaking the language natively—is foreign. Your right-hand man is Jisung, but he was raised here. Things like this simply aren’t common in a small and sheltered town like yours.
“It means, like,” you tilt your head in thought, debating on how to explain, “when you do something without doing research first. I was asking if he hired you without even asking if you know how to bake.”
“Oh. I see,” he nods. “Sorry if my English isn’t great. I’ve gotten better, but being born and raised in Korea makes it harder to understand some things.”
“It’s okay.” Your nails scratch at the nape of your neck, “That’s my error, really.”
“Maybe you can teach me,” he adds with a smile that fades almost as quickly as it comes when your half-cold, half-unamused expression doesn’t change. “Uh, yeah, I know a little bit,” he clears his throat and answers your earlier question with a shrug. “Most of it isn’t stuff you make here, though. I’ve been here for a bit, but I’m not that good at it. I’m willing to learn.” He leans on the counter behind him and folds his arms nonchalantly, like you’re not staring at him blankly. “Besides, your uncle hired me to help you, so I think I should try to do my part.”
“Alright, well…since I’m not sure how much knowledge you have of some of these things, we’ll just start with the basics.”
And that’s what you do. You start slowly, spending the next few hours before opening carefully showing him how to prepare each item you’ll be making for the day. You make sure he watches carefully and doesn’t touch anything to disrupt your flow. You’ve got a system that cannot be broken, and he needs to be aware of that as soon as possible, or else there will be more problems than you already anticipate.
“Heeseung, you can’t put the flour in that fast. You’re going to dry out the cookie dough,” you palm your face. “Have you never made cookies before?”
If anything, he seems to be an attentive listener. But you’re not sure he’ll be a fast learner.
“But you said to add it,” he furrows his brows, and you breathe a long sigh past your lips, which only confuses him more.
“Just—do it little by little, okay?” you try again; he’s clearly not well-versed in this, and it really isn’t his fault, so you suppose you’ve got to give him a little benefit of the doubt.
“Alright…” he breathes and focuses a little harder, making sure to follow your rules. “I’ve really never baked anything before. I don’t even have a m—”
“It’s fine, Heeseung,” you sigh. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
You’re not a bad person. In fact, you’re anything but; you’d do anything for the people you care about. Your only real crime is that you’re far too easily annoyed.
The rest of the shift goes by smoothly; much better than you thought it would. He does ask a lot of questions about pricing and the register and whatever else you can imagine someone in his position would, but you suppose you can’t get too upset by that, because at least he’s trying to figure things out.
Still, this season isn’t going to be a cake walk, and it’s all thanks to that damn uncle of yours and his itch to make things perfect.
-
It doesn’t take long for you to become irritated.
Crowds are becoming more frequent, and you don’t have the time to be worrying about training someone, and not just training him, but literally teaching him how to make the food he’s selling. You could’ve handled this by yourself. You always do. The only people who have ever helped you with this are Taylor, your semi-friend from high school, who usually only worked this time of year as an extra set of hands, and Diane, who is around Uncle Arthur’s age and in the same predicament as him.
You worked your way to the top here fair and square, and no matter who has accused you of nepotism, it’s all baseless. You’ve had this system in place for years. It’s hard to watch the outer layers of it start to chip off because of Heeseung. It’s already stressing you out, and it’s not even Thanksgiving yet.
“It’s just so hard to get used to this when all I’ve done for years is work around my being alone,” you take a sip of your latte. “Like, I don’t know how to navigate it, and it’s making things even harder.”
Jisung crosses one leg over the other from across the table. “Well, for starters, you are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” he stresses, “and it seems like the poor guy is just trying to figure out how to a, not piss you off, and b, learn how to bake while maintaining a.”
“Jisungggg,” you sigh, letting your head fall into your hand. “You’re supposed to be on my side,” you mumble into your palm.
“I mean, he kind of has a point,” Ellie, your other close friend from school (but nowhere near as much as Jisung), chimes in with the bite of her danish still in her mouth.
“We’ve already established that I was right and that he is hot, so—”
“Jisung, please.”
“I’m serious! I know you won’t admit it out loud, but we all know you think he is.”
“It doesn’t matter how attractive or unattractive he is to me. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s the sole reason for my current and upcoming problems, and it’s gonna affect the way I work,” you argue, gesturing with your hands. “I don’t know why this year, of all years, he decides to hire someone else, who isn’t even from Valley Point, or the States, mind you.”
“Let’s just change the subject, okay?” Ellie interjects. “Jisung, you need to stop being such a drama fiend! That is not what she needs right now, okay?” She turns to you. “And Y/N, you need to stop being such an anxiety freak and accept the fact that you’re stuck with Heeseung one way or another, okay? Great. Glad we’ve got that settled. Now, can we please talk about something else before my head explodes?”
One thing you’ve always prided Ellie on is her ability to mediate a situation when it’s beginning to escalate. As much as you love Jisung to death, he’s just as hotheaded as you, and it always leads to both of you beating a dead horse almost every time you’re together. Which is great and all if you’re alone, but not when someone else is there. That’s usually where Ellie comes in, and you’ve got to be thankful for that, whether you like it or not.
“Okay, uhh…There’s some crazy stuff going on at the publishing office, if anyone cares to hear.”
Ellie palms her forehead. “Jisung, that’s literally what I was just talking—”
“Oh, shit! I gotta go,” you shoot up from your seat, frantically grabbing your things and stuffing your trash in your pocket. “I told Heeseung I’d only be gone for thirty minutes, and it’s been almost an hour. Fuck, I can’t leave him alone for that long.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair, walking towards the café’s exit. “Sorry, guys, I’ll text you later.”
When you finally arrive back at the bakery after basically flooring the gas pedal the entire way back and somehow avoiding the police, you scramble around and slam your car door shut, which you probably shouldn’t do considering it’s a 2012 and cannot handle any more damage. But you ignore that and run inside to see Heeseung behind the counter, serving people, and looking…calm?
You already knew he was pretty easygoing. Still, even with the incredible number of people inside this place, he actually seems to be holding the fort down decently well. Then again, you haven’t been monitoring him at all since you left, and he could be doing everything wrong, so you beeline for the staff closet and throw everything inside before taking a fresh apron and slipping it on.
“You’re late,” he says plainly as the final customer in line walks away. “I thought you said you’d only be thirty minutes? And oh, if I remember correctly, you love it when people are…How do you put it? Right. ‘Punctual.’”
“Don’t get me started, Heeseung,” you roll your eyes, tying the apron behind your back. “Everyone loses track of time at some point in their life. Seems you were fine here alone, anyway.”
He scoffs, “What, after you basically implied that I’d burn this place down without you? Yikes, what’s that saying…Rules for thee, but not for me?”
“Heeseung,” you grit, and he laughs, nudging your shoulder with his.
“Relax, Sunshine, I’m just messing with you. Show a little enthusiasm,” he teases. “I can handle serving people. It’s just the other stuff that I need help with. Like, baking.”
-
“Heeseung, I told you that you can’t leave the cookies in for that long.” You palm your forehead as the smoke crowds around you, wafting into both his and your faces. “They’re burnt to a crisp, and we don’t have time to make more before the morning rush starts. It’s hard enough to serve people coffee and food if they’re at a table, and we’ll never have time to do all of this over, too.”
It’s only been a few days since you met Jisung and Ellie for lunch, and even when you thought for some reason that it would, nothing has changed.
“Fuck,” he coughs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying, it’s just—it’s hard to remember all of
this.”
“You know what? Just—just stay back here and make more. I’ll deal with the people out there by myself,” you sigh, smoothing out your apron and tightening your ponytail irritably. “Clean all of this up, and don’t take them out of your sight once they’re in there. If anything happens again, I’m going to be pissed.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You know, an apology doesn’t have much meaning when things like this keep happening.”
It’s all you say before you push your way out of the kitchen and to the front, where a few people wait in line at the register, and you frown.
“So sorry for the wait. What can I get you?”
As you help the customers, Heeseung remains in the back, doing as you tasked him with and trying desperately not to fuck it up. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t irritated, too.
You haven’t given him a chance in Hell in the few weeks he’s worked here. Even Arthur has been nothing but lenient with him, often apologizing for your behavior and trying to knock some sense into you, but it isn’t working. You’re clearly not willing to budge, and he’s starting to wonder if it’s even worth the hassle.
He manages to fix his error and make a fresh batch of cookies that look good enough to sell, and he brings them out to stock the case quietly, mostly avoiding eye contact with you in the process.
He doesn’t notice anyone standing above him until a girl no younger than him speaks, startling him, and he looks up.
“Are you new here?” she asks, twirling a strand of honey blonde hair between her fingers.
“Uh, yeah.”
“I figured. I’ve never seen you before,” she smiles sweetly, eyes glancing down, but not for long enough to warrant much suspicion. “I don’t think I’d forget a face like yours, anyway,” she all but whispers, so low that only he hears.
“Yeah?” he hums, a little intrigued, and leans over the case with the empty tray still in his hand. “I think I could say the same for you.”
Heeseung has quite the confident streak, but it hasn’t come out in the time you’ve known him. How would it, with how evilly you’ve treated him since you met him? Regardless, it’s there, and it’s awfully powerful. It’s not like he doesn’t know that he’s conventionally attractive, and well, then some.
The moment doesn’t last for long, anyway.
“Heeseung!”
“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath and looks down with his eyes screwed shut.
“Stop flirting with the customers, and go back into the kitchen,” you mutter through gritted teeth, and he swears he can see steam coming out of your ears. “Or I swear to God, you will be fired.”
He drops the innocent act and huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes and making damn sure you see it before he slams his hand on the double-hinged door and enters the kitchen.
“So sorry about that,” you switch back to your perfectly-tailored customer service voice and turn to the girl he was talking to, whose name you don’t know, but you recognize from coming in frequently. “I’ll take you over here.”
“Can I just grab a blueberry muffin, and,” she scans the menu above your head, “a medium hot with three creams and two sugars?”
“Of course,” you smile, ringing up the order. “For here, or to go?”
“To go.”
“Alright, total’s gonna be six dollars and fifty cents,” you send the order to the card reader and walk away to grab the muffin and coffee as she pays. “Here’s the blueberry,” you place the bag on the counter, “and the coffee.”
“Great,” she smiles. “Oh, and also,” she interrupts, “that new guy—he’s kinda hot, isn’t he?”
“Not really,” you shake your head, but your conscience says otherwise. “He’s disrupting my flow here. He’s more of a nuisance, honestly.”
“Well, let me tell you—I wouldn’t care,” she giggles. “You wouldn’t happen to have his number—”
“—I can take who’s next in line!” a male voice shouts, and you turn to see that Heeseung has returned, and he’s not wearing his usual expression.
“Have a good one,” you say, and then force the girl out of the bakery, turning to him. “I thought I told you to stay back there.”
He looks you dead in the eye, and for the first time, you feel a little intimidated. “You’re not sticking me back there like a damn puppet anymore.”
Taken aback by his bluntness, you widen your eyes and front a smile for the next customer, not speaking another word to him during the rush. The air is a lot thicker than it was when you met, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to change any time soon.
It’s gonna be a long winter.
-
“Okay, I’m gonna start cleaning the front if you wanna take charge of the back.”
It has been hours since Heeseung spoke a single word to you that wasn’t entirely necessary, and it’s starting to tick you off. Usually, you’re easily irritated by his way-too-energetic personality, but right now, you’d almost pay to have that version of him back, because whatever he’s got going on now is ten times worse.
“Come on, Grumpy, show a little enthusiasm,” Heeseung nudged your shoulder as you hung your head dejectedly over the counter. It was only 7:00 at night, and the bakery was deserted. You even swore you saw a tumbleweed pass through at one point, but it was highly unlikely to happen in bumfuck, Maine. Still, you had another hour left until close, and time only seemed to tick more slowly with each passing minute.
“Heeseung, I am not in the mood right now.”
“You’re never in the mood,” he countered, drumming his fingers on the countertop. You reached out and slammed your hand on top of his, forcing the noise to stop, and when you finally lifted it, he perched his hands onto his hips. “So let me get this straight—I can’t bake anything, I can’t clean anything, can’t talk to you or make noise with my fingers, and I can’t leave your line of vision. What can I do?”
“Leave, preferably,” you mumbled.
“You know, you’re kind of miserable.”
“Good.”
Heeseung doesn’t respond, doesn’t even give a nod to tell you that he’ll clean it. In fact, he doesn’t even look at you. He just walks into the back silently, not even breathing too loudly, and begins tidying up. You wonder briefly if this mood of his will remain constant, but you don’t know Heeseung—maybe it’s only a phase, or a short grudge, and he’ll return as normal within the next few days. Or maybe he’ll quit, you pray to yourself, but you doubt that you’ll get that lucky.
The sound of the vacuum whirring thwarts your thoughts, and you turn around to start cleaning the tables. The mop’s handle is cold against your palms, like it hasn’t been touched in years, but really, it’s because it usually sits in the supply closet where the heat never reaches. The rhythm you clean in is mundane. Typically, you’d put music on your phone and let it play quietly, or even sometimes, you wouldn’t mind if Heeseung buzzed in your ear about mindless nonsense. But now, it’s quiet. And it’s odd; off-putting in a way you don’t care to make sense of, because you’d rather not admit that you kind of miss him.
Hah.
Once you finish the all-too-exciting cleanup of the front—where you discover a beautiful clump of muffin that someone dropped beneath one of the corner tables and have to dispose of it—you sigh and stretch out your back, listening as a set of car keys jingle from the back.
“You ready to lock up?” you ask Heeseung as he walks out of the kitchen, his sweatshirt unzipped and hanging loosely over his shoulders.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, fumbling around with the keys in his hand. “I’ll let you do it, since you’re so set on making this all about you.”
He brushes past you and walks out of the bakery, leaving you standing alone, the room dimly lit from only half of the lights on. You guess it’s your own fault.
You turn the remaining lights off and head out, locking the door behind you, and watch as he pulls out of the parking lot without a second thought, not even caring to spare you a passing glance. You never considered that Heeseung could’ve been as petty as you, but you’re beginning to think that might not be so impossible.
The November air is much cooler this year than last. You wish you had opted for more than a cable-knit sweater as you walk back to your car, holding your palms over your arms to give them a shred of warmth. When you finally slip inside, you shiver and turn on the ignition, letting the cold air hit your face until it becomes warm with the engine. “God, I need a new car,” you mumble to yourself when the warm air hits, omitting the same almost rancid scent as it always does at first. Finally, you relax into your seat, lying still for a moment and letting out a tired sigh before putting the car in drive and setting your sights for home.
As you drive down the road, you notice the fallen leaves on the sidewalk, turning slightly brown from the damp ground beneath them. You’ve always loved autumn. There’s a lot to love with it—the change in weather, the colors, the New England foliage, oh, and the scents and flavors—what’s not to like? When you were still with your ex, you weren’t really able to enjoy it for the two years you spent with him. He always found a way to make you feel like a little kid, and not in the nostalgic way—it was the kind of judgment that made you feel small and childish. But he was the “perfect match”, as most would say, because you’d known him for years in your childhood, and Valley Point is a small town—the kind where everybody knows everybody. There really aren’t many other fish in the sea.
When you pass your favorite late-night coffee shop, you decide to pop through the drive-thru and order a small, hot drink. You’re usually not one for lattes, since they tend to be a little too strong for your taste, but you know it’s pumpkin spice, so you assume it’ll do the trick. And really, you just want to let yourself enjoy it since there was a time when you’d be chastised for a damn drink. Fuck him, anyway.
You probably shouldn’t be drinking something that’s caffeinated at this hour, but you don’t really care; it tastes phenomenal, and it’s exactly what you needed tonight, after the long day at work and off-putting silent treatment you’d been getting.
When you finally arrive home, your quaint, burgundy-bricked townhouse stares back at you welcomingly. You’re sure it’s never looked so appealing before. You tiredly walk in and set your purse down, kicking off your shoes and throwing out the empty foam cup that once yielded the delicious, pumpkin-flavored drink (you chugged it all before you even got to your street).
Stepping into the hot shower has never felt so relaxing. Your muscles have been tense all day, and the steam clouds your senses enough to make you forget about the long day you’ve had. As the water cascades down your back, you’re finally able to let go of the stress from the day and just breathe.
The fresh strawberry scent of your shampoo serves to relax you further as you massage it into your hair, closing your eyes and smiling faintly to yourself. Maybe this silence from him isn’t such a bad thing, after all. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to work alone again, or at least work in peace.
You wrap a clean, fluffy towel around your torso when you step out of the shower, the steam rising to the ceiling and fogging up the mirror. You wipe your hand across the reflective glass and stare back at yourself. It’s a quick, routine process from there: brushing your teeth, washing your face, changing into your silk sleepwear, and towel-drying your hair until you’re happy with it.
Then, you’re finally sinking into your warm, inviting bed.
As you lie still under the sheets, sleep doesn’t find you as quickly as you had pictured it would. Instead, you feel an odd sense of discomfort, something preventing you, putting up a wall that doesn’t let it reach you. With a heavy sigh, you pick up your phone and prop the pillow up behind you, scrolling through apps, playing whatever games you still have downloaded in two-minute increments until you become tired of that. But then, in a moment of weakness, you open Instagram—perhaps, the one thing you’ve been trying to avoid subjecting yourself to.
Typing his name into the search bar and finding his account is the easy part, feels like instinct rather than curiosity or reluctance, and that’s probably what frustrates you more about the whole thing. It’s when your eyes catch sight of his account that you’re culture shocked. He has…a good handful of followers. Not that much, but enough to prove that he was pretty well-liked back at home. At least, by one group of people.
And, well, his posts.
You don’t know why you’re clicking on them and staring at them so intently. It’s not like he’s some unattainable celebrity, or something—shit, you work with the guy. You train him, and if you think about it, you’re basically one of his bosses. So what is it about him that, for some reason, lures you in the middle of the night? Whatever vulnerability you’ve got flying around in your head is clearly working its magic.
You wish that he weren’t as attractive as he is. Especially with certain hair colors, because you’ve noticed that he’s gone through at least six from what you can see, and you’ve barely scrolled. Black, red, pink, blonde, purple—and a brief moment of dark blue—like a cycle. For whatever reason, something in your stomach ticks at the cherry red he looks to have had for only a few weeks. Well, shit—this isn’t humbling.
There are at least thirty posts, all littered with praises and thirsts in the replies, as if he’s someone important, someone in the public eye enough for all these women to be so bold. And in a span of about five minutes, you’ve gone through half of them. Staring. Studying. Wondering what has gotten into you and who must have spiked your latte. To hell with that coffee shop, anyway.
Mirror photos, landscapes, back shots, high angles, and fuck, the ones taken in bed that make him look like the sexiest person in the world, just because he’s barefaced and jaded in them. Like something you’d see in one of those edits that people make on the internet.
You close the app and put the phone face down on your nightstand, because you’re a little scared of what thoughts your semi-conscious brain was just conjuring up about the guy you’re supposed to hate. Well, okay—you didn’t like him before, and you still don’t. The only difference now is that before, you weren’t imagining what it would be like to have him all over you. Or on top of you.
Or both.
You suppose that looking at those photos must have given you some sort of weird closure, because your eyelids quickly become heavy after that, and sleep overtakes you within minutes.
-
You’re sitting on the couch when Jisung bursts through the front door, letting all of the cold from outside in. You begin to regret giving him a house key.
“We need to talk,” he shouts, beelining for the empty spot beside you and flopping onto the cushions, knocking your book clean off your lap.
“A ‘hello’ would be nice,” you mumble.
“You haven’t called me in three days and six hours,” he says from below, where his head rests in your lap. “And not only does that mean something is going on, but it also means that you are missing out on very. Important. Matters.”
“Such as?”
“I’m glad you asked.” He pops up from his spot—because he’s incapable of staying in one for too long—and takes the space next to you, pulling his legs into a criss-cross as his arm rests on the back of the couch. “So, I met this guy, and—wait.”
You cock a brow.
“This is deflecting. Why haven’t you talked to me in days?”
“Perhaps because I’m busy, Ji?”
“Too busy for your best friend in the whole world?” He narrows his eyes. “I highly doubt that. You have, like, one other friend, Y/N. And she’s also my friend. Your life is also…really boring.”
“Should I take this key away? Because I do not need to catch strays in my own—”
“Okay, yeah, yeah,” he interrupts, “whatever, you’re super cool and fun and stuff. But something is up. Despite all of this, I have known you like a book since we were eleven years old, so spill.”
He gasps, “Oh, my God, is it that Heeseung guy? Did something happen?”
You don’t respond; he takes that as a cue.
“I was right. He is hot,” he grins. “You finally came to terms with the fact that you wanna slide into his bed at night, and that’s why you haven’t been talking! You’re ashamed.”
“He hasn’t spoken to me in over a week.”
Jisung blinks.
“Oh.”
He tilts his head, “Wait, then—shouldn’t you be, like…throwing a party over that? I thought he was a dick. You said you hated him.”
“Yeah, well. He is. I mean,” you sigh, “he got mad because I told him to stop flirting with one of the customers—you know that blonde girl who always comes in, red lipstick and all that?” Jisung nods. “Yeah, well, she took a liking to Mr. Dimples, and he was supposed to be helping. So I said something to him, and he’s been stone-cold ever since.”
“Maybe you should try talking to him.”
“I don’t know, Ji,” you breathe. “He clearly has his mind made up. I doubt anything I can say will change it, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to.”
“You sure you don’t have anything to do with this?”
“I—no!”
“Y’know, you talk all this talk about him, but I’ve still yet to see him.”
You roll your eyes and sigh. “Will you let me breathe if I show you?”
“Yes,” he quickly answers, eyes lighting up at the thought.
You sigh, reaching for your phone, and Jisung raises a fist in celebration. “I can still refuse, you know,” you threaten, scrolling through your apps to find the one you ashamedly searched a few nights ago, and he stops moving. “Alright,” you swallow, “here.”
Jisung takes the phone from you and looks at the screen, visibly freezing when his eyes catch sight of the man you’re doomed to work with until at least the first of next year. You watch his jaw drop open, and regret washes over you—you’re never going to hear the end of it.
“Dude,” he whispers. “You’ve been working with this, and you’re complaining?”
“Oh, I knew it.”
“Y/N, you’re stronger than me. If I were you, I’d be on that so fast—”
“Peter Han!”
“Here, just take it back,” he shoves the phone back into your hands, “I don’t want to look at it anymore…Bitch.”
“Jesus, you are so dramatic,” you laugh, turning the phone off and setting it face down back onto the coffee table. “So enough about me—you said something about a guy?”
“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “On this app. He’s, like, my type personified. And he’s kinda far away, but I think we could make it work. I mean, I wasn’t going to stay here forever, so…”
“What’s his name?”
“Minho,” he smiles proudly.
“Well, I’m happy for you, Ji,” you smile back, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “You deserve it. But, uh…” You look over at the clock, and Jisung tuts his teeth. “It’s late, and I have to get up for a nice, long day of hostile work tomorrow.”
“I’ll go before you kick me out,” he swallows, rising to his feet. “Y’know, you’re scary when you’re bossy.”
“Jisung!”
“Okay, okay!” He runs for the door. “I’ll see you soon! Update me on the hottie!”
You threaten to stand and chase after him, but he laughs and runs out the door before you can even get to your feet. You shake your head, sighing as you fold your blanket.
Your best friend is a lot of things, but most of all, he’s a handful.
And even he can’t uplift your spirits about the day you know you’ll have tomorrow.
-
“Evan! Good to see ya, buddy,” Uncle Arthur says as he walks into the bakery, walking over to Heeseung and giving him a firm pat on the back.
“Hey, Mr. Whitmore. How’s it going?” he smiles, and your uncle shakes his head, laughing.
“I told you about a thousand times that you can just call me Arthur. I’m too old and tired for formalities, anyway,” he laughs and takes a scan around the shop. “But I will ask—where is my dear niece on this fine morning?”
“Couldn’t tell you,” he shrugs. “Haven’t seen her all morning. It’s not like her,” he notes as he dries out a mug to pour himself a cup of coffee. “If it were me coming in late, I’d be scolded like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’d believe it.”
“What brings you this morning?” Heeseung asks, grabbing a second mug and holding it up. “Can I make you a coffee or something?”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” your uncle replies and waves his hand.
“No, really, it’s fine. I was making one for myself, anyway, and…considering that Y/N isn’t here yet, I don’t think I’m going to finish the whole pot alone,” he laughs and sets the mug down anyway, reaching for the steaming pot. “How do you take it, Mr. W?”
“You’re too kind, really. Two creams and two sugars,” he smiles. “And to answer your other question—I just wanted to check on business. Y/N has been bothering me through the roof, complaining about this, and that, and the other thing. That girl is more stubborn than a boulder in quicksand, I tell you.”
Heeseung chuckles at your uncle’s remark, because it can’t be any closer to the truth. He really has no idea what you’ve been putting him through, but he doesn’t want to trouble him with that—he can handle you on his own. And you’d be stupid to think that he’d leave because of it. That would be letting you win, and he’s a lot more determined than you could ever imagine.
“Oh, believe me, I know,” he says as he hands your uncle his coffee, steam rising from the mug and heating up Arthur’s face, still red from the crisp air outside.
He hums softly and takes a sip, savoring the warmth in his mouth before placing it back down, leaving a few fingers loosely threaded in the handle. “She been treating you alright?” he asks, tapping the ceramic cup with the tip of his finger. “If she isn’t, just let me know. She tends to forget that I pay the bills here and not her.”
“No, no, she’s been alright,” he waves him off, taking a small sip of his own coffee before reaching for an apron below the counter and slipping it around his waist. “She’s a handful, but I haven’t been perfect, either,” he says as his hands tie the apron in the back. “I think she’ll come around eventually. It’s nothing I can’t handle, or at least try to.”
“Good,” Arthur smiles, “that’s nice to hear. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kid.”
Just then, the front door swings open and nearly slams against the glass beside it, forcing both Heeseung and your uncle to turn towards the noise. Both men are met with the sight of you, bolting inside and to the counter, a half-empty cup of coffee in one hand and your keys in the other.
“Shit!” you spit as you finally reach the counter, ripping your jacket off and stuffing it into the small storage cubby, along with your purse. “Oh God, I am so sorry,” you breathe, walking over to the two, both still looking slightly puzzled. “My alarms didn’t go off, and I panicked, and,” you turn to Heeseung, “I was gonna get you a coffee, too, but then I remembered we usually make them in the morning, so I figured, ‘Hey, maybe I shouldn’t do that!’ and then—”
“Y/N,” your uncle interrupts, forcing your lips to screw shut as you look at him sheepishly. “Calm down. Everything is fine.”
“Sorry…Uncle Arthur,” you swallow. “Hi…by the way.” You wave, offering an awkward smile while your uncle takes the final sip of his coffee and wipes his mouth with an old napkin he stored in his pocket.
“Hi, dear,” he finally laughs and stands up from the stool, sighing as his muscles tense up from sitting for too long. “I just stopped in to check on things,” he smiles, “and it seems that Heeseung here has been doing a splendid job at holding down the fort for us.”
You try not to roll your eyes.
“I’m sure he is,” you front a matching smile, leaning down to grab an apron of your own, smoothing down your crimson sweater before wrapping it around your waist. “He’s been very attentive. I think I can whip him into shape, after all.” You nudge Heeseung’s side with a playful elbow, “Right, Heeseung?”
“Right,” he nods.
“Well, if you don’t need me for anything,” your uncle begins, happily adjusting his coat, “then I’ll be on my way. I wasn’t planning to stay for too long, and you two seem to be doing well.” He turns to you, pulling your side into a small hug and ruffling your hair with his palm, at which you protest after spending far too long styling it this morning after waking up late. “I’ll see you soon,” he says, “and if I don’t see you, Heeseung, enjoy the Thanksgiving weekend.”
“I don’t celebrate.”
“I know that,” he laughs, “but you’ll still get the days off. Enjoy them, won’t you?”
Heeseung nods, and Uncle Arthur heads for the door, lifting an arm and waving to both of you.
“Bye, Uncle Arthur!” you shout, waving back.
“See ya, Mr. W!”
When you turn to Heeseung again, your uncle far out of view, his expression morphs into something stoic—leaving behind any happiness that he just had moments ago. You open your mouth to speak, hopefully offer more of an explanation than you gave when you ran in, but he doesn’t let you get the words out. Not before his voice abruptly cuts yours off, using a tone sharp enough to cut skin.
“Don’t worry, you can drop the nice act. He’s gone now.”
“I wasn’t putting on an act,” you bite back, but he turns his back to you and walks into the kitchen, bringing the empty coffee mugs with him. You’re a lot of things, but sitting back and letting some kid from outside of your hometown walk all over you? No, that won’t slide. You follow Heeseung into the back, the double-hinged door slamming against the old tile wall beside it. He’s leaning over the sink, steam rising from the hot water and sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he washes the dirty mugs. “I was talking to you, Heeseung.”
“Oh, were you? Sorry.” He doesn’t look at you; he barely bats an eye. “Doesn’t feel nice, does it?”
“I might have been harsh, but I never ignored—”
“—save it, Y/N,” he interrupts again, tone flat and voice low. “You’re the only one who likes to hear you talk.”
If there was a single bone in your body that had considered apologizing, there is a 0% chance that it’s still intact. You scoff and exit the kitchen, opting to stay out front and prepare to open. “This is what being nice gets me,” you mumble under your breath, huffing as you clean up a small coffee spill beside the pot Heeseung brewed earlier.
The rest of the day doesn’t go by any smoother. It passes in a blur—you, stationing yourself at the register closest to the edge of the counter, only moving to package orders or refill sitting customers’ coffee, and Heeseung, limiting himself to the back, where he helps bake and cleans utensils and plates and silverware ten times over just to avoid stepping into the front. Just to avoid seeing you.
It’s not as awkward working when the Christmas seasonal hires are there—Kira, who just turned 21 and helps you at the register, and Diane, who did return to help Gerry with the baking, after all—serving as a buffer between the two of you. But they only work until mid-afternoon, leaving you alone with him during closing as usual.
It starts as a simple mistake.
You’re gathering the half-empty mugs, dirty silverware, and bare trays from the display case to carry into the kitchen to be cleaned. The neon sign on the door is switched to “Closed”; it burns lowly in the silence of the front. Only one street light works outside, the one directly across the street from the front entrance. The others had blown out a few nights ago, and the town still hasn’t sent someone to check them out.
Footsteps sound in the back, but your ears don’t register them—not soon enough. The moment your hand reaches to push in the door to the kitchen, it hurls forward, knocking into your forehead with a force that stings, sending the tray out of your hand and your feet backward until you trip on spilled coffee and hit the floor.
“Ow, fuck,” you hiss, grabbing at the top of your head with your palm, feeling for a bump or wound. Your forehead throbs with sudden pain, and your other hand grabs your ankle—the same one you tripped over and twisted as you fell. “Shit.”
“Oh, God, are you okay?” Heeseung sputters as he kneels beside you. He raises a hand and gently pulls your hand away from your face to see the cut, but you quickly swat him off. He doesn’t protest.
“Don’t touch me,” you mutter.
Heeseung doesn’t get angry. In fact, the whole act he’s been maintaining all week disappears as quickly as it came the day this whole mess started. “You’re bleeding,” he whispers, eyes wide and remorseful. You flip your hand over to see a few drops of blood resting in the middle of your palm, and a short gasp slips past your lips. “Let me fix it.”
“No, it’s fine—”
“Please?” he asks, and the soft look in his eyes makes you falter.
“Alright,” you sigh, shoulders sagging as you flatten your palms on the floor and try to stand. Heeseung’s hand rests on the small of your back, but you don’t push him away—your ankle is in too much pain to stand without his support, and you almost reach for his arm, too. “At least let me clean the,” you suck in a breath when you put pressure on your ankle, “floor.”
“No, I’ll do it,” he shakes his head and guides you to the nearest chair, lowering you onto it. “It’s my fault.” He walks over to the cabinet where you keep the First-Aid kit and fishes through it until his fingers grip the handle, pulling out the case and bringing it over to the table you’re sitting at.
“Really, I can do this myself—”
“Y/N, just shut up and let me help you.”
Your lips tighten into a flat line.
Heeseung flips open the latches on the box and takes out a small bandage, accompanied by a half-empty tube of ointment and an alcohol pad. He tears the foil wrapper open and unfolds the damp napkin, wrapping it snugly around his index finger. Then, as his eyes gauge your face, the pads of his fingers tuck a few loose strands of hair away from the small slice, and he brings the napkin to the wound, dabbing it carefully over the blood to clean it. A sharp sting shoots through your forehead, and you wince from the pain, eyes screwing shut.
“I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, applying small bits of pressure as he dabs the liquid away.
Heeseung is gentle with you; for a moment, you forget that you haven’t gotten along since the day you met. For a fraction of a second, you think you like the softness of his touch; the way his voice drops to a whisper to ground you.
“Good,” he removes the napkin, now spotted with crimson, “hard part’s over.”
Your eyes flutter back open, still on the cusp of a squint as they focus on a small flour stain on his sweater just below his ribs. He opens the bandage and squeezes a small dollop of ointment onto the cotton in the middle, then takes it carefully between his fingers. Your eyes trail up to his face, tracking his slow movements. His eyes focus carefully on the small incision as he aligns the bandage with it, lips subconsiously parted just enough to reveal the top row of his teeth.
He’s close enough to feel the warmth of his breath graze your skin, and you swallow, eyes transfixed on him. You don’t move. You can’t. As if your body is on autopilot, just like the night you purged his entire page without a second thought.
“Okay,” he breathes as he finally steps away, smoothing his palms over his jeans, and you blink out of your trance. “How does it feel?”
“Better,” you admit gently, focusing on the flour stain again to avoid his eyes.
He nods and gathers the trash into his palm, tossing it into the trash bin a few feet away as his empty hand closes the clasps on the kit. He slides it back into its place in the cabinet and carefully steps over the spilled drinks and shards of the ceramic mugs to get to the kitchen. You hear running water, a couple of clanks of plastic and wood, and then the door swings open again, where Heeseung stands with a mop and a bucket.
But you’re too stubborn.
You push out of the chair, wincing again as you put pressure on your ankle, and limp over to the mess on the floor. The tray sits upside down, edges covered in old coffee. Shards litter the tile, along with coffee grounds and brown liquid that could stain the white floor. Heeseung kneels beside it, not quite noticing your presence until you manage to get down to your knee on the other side of the spill, hissing with the sharp pain.
“I told you I’d do this,” Heeseung says when his eyes finally catch your frame.
“You already bandaged me up.”
“And your foot is shaking.”
You try to protest, but he has no intention of budging and every intention of cleaning everything himself. The position your body is in—crouched on the floor, ankle shaking from the pressure despite barely putting any on it—says enough. And as much as you don’t want to accept his help, you falter again with his gaze, standing with a sigh that resonates in your chest.
“Why are you so stubborn?” he asks, voice soft as he picks up the glass shards. “I mean—you never take my help, and you treat me like I’m incapable. Even on the first day, you didn’t want me here.”
His gentle confrontation forces a question onto you that you always thought he wouldn’t ask, and it sets you back. If anything, you expected an argument because of his recent demeanor, for him to lash out. Instead, he insisted on cleaning you up and touched you like something fragile.
Maybe he is a breath of fresh air that you’ve just been refusing to take in.
“I don’t know,” you breathe, lifting yourself onto the edge of the counter and bracing yourself with your palms. “I guess I just…I’ve always been independent, you know? My uncle, he…taught me everything here, and then he left it all to me a few years ago.” You watch as Heeseung silently gathers the shards into a pile and disposes of them safely. He moves toward the mop and takes the handle, tapping it along the edge of the bucket before bringing it down to the tiled floor.
“Having you come here on such short notice lodged a wedge into my plans, and I guess…I thought that you’d screw everything up,” you admit, looking away when his eyes drift over to your figure, too embarrassed to make contact with them. “So I was cold, and I didn’t give you a chance.”
“You know I’m not here to do any of that, right?” Heeseung asks, and your eyes flit back to him at the gentle manner in which he speaks to you. His elbow is propped up on the tip of the mop’s handle, and he leans into it, still looking at you as if he’s trying to convince you of something you don’t believe.
“I know,” you nod.
You take a deep breath, exhaling through your nose as he resumes the circular motion with the mop over the spill until the brown soaks into the fabric at the bottom. “How did you even end up here?”
Heeseung freezes—so quickly that you almost don’t notice—and continues as if you’ve hit a nerve just by asking. And as you decide that you shouldn’t pry, he speaks anyway.
“My mom died when I was ten,” he whispers, and your heart sinks to your stomach; you feel it fall from its place in your chest.
“It’s been just me and my father since. He tried to raise me well, and he did, really. But sometimes, with my mom gone, he just…wanted things to be too perfect, or else he wouldn’t be doing right by her.” He squeezes the dirty water back into the bucket with his hands, and your nose crinkles at the thought of him being so alone, having to lose his mother at such a young and vulnerable age. Tears well in your eyes, but you will them away; this isn’t about you.
“I always liked to sing, y’know? Not that I was really any good, but some people told me I could make something of it, if I tried,” he shrugs. “My mom, she used to sing sometimes, for some small venues. She didn’t make a lot of money, neither did my dad. So, when they had me, he felt like he had to shape up, and then, she…got sick.”
He sighs, hands visibly shaking, though you try not to notice. “And when I told my dad, he…lost his composure. It was a lot of yelling back and forth, and he told me I was disgracing my mom. So I left.” He glances around the café until he lands back on you, and a frown tugs at your lips when you catch a glimpse of his gaze, eyes tired and sad so visibly—an expression he’s never worn for you before. “Somehow, I ended up here. And I met Arthur just down the street when I was looking for a place to stay, or work…or both.”
He breathes.
“So I’m sorry, for ruining your plans. I never meant to.”
You blink as he walks into the back to empty the bucket, letting his words, his expression, his life sink in, amidst the silence at the front of the store. Guilt plagues your body, starting with your heart and spreading through each limb until you’re mindlessly pushing off the counter and following him into the back, limping in the process and ignoring the shooting pain that comes with it.
When the door swings open, Heeseung turns to the noise from his spot in front of the closet to find you walking carefully towards him, bandage snug on your forehead, and hair still tucked behind your ear.
He flinches when your arms initially wrap around his waist, but his body quickly relaxes when he realizes you only want to comfort him, and his hands find your upper back, resting atop your shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “About your mom…and me…and everything. I was wrong.”
His chest vibrates as he chuckles softly, palms rising to your shoulders and pulling you back to look at him. “It’s okay,” he smiles, “you didn’t know.”
“Can we just…start over?”
He nods, arms falling to his sides.
“I’m Heeseung Lee,” he extends a hand, “and I’m the new hire here.”
“Y/N Whitmore,” you shake it gently, “your new co-worker.”
“Friends?”
“Friends,” you smile.
He lets go of your hand and brings his fingers to your hairline, thumb brushing along the Band-Aid stuck to the side of your forehead. “You should be more careful when you walk towards double-hinged doors…going forward,” he jokes, and you laugh, eyes still glancing up at him until his eyes fall back on them. “Now go home and get some rest—and ice that ankle. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, right?”
“Right.”
“Go ahead,” he motions with his head, “I’ll take care of the lights.”
“Okay,” you nod, carefully stepping toward the door and flattening your palm on the cold metal to push it open. You turn back to Heeseung, who still hasn’t moved from his place beside the closet. “Thank you, Heeseung.”
He offers a curt nod, and you gather your belongings as he closes up, smiling to yourself when you finally exit through the front door, leaving behind only the faint sound of the bell that hangs above it.
-
“Christmas lights—we need, like, ten sets of Christmas lights.”
Heeseung looks up from the notebook. “Ten? What the fuck are we supposed to do with more than two?”
“Look, I don’t know what you guys do over in Korea, but in Valley Point, Maine, if there are any existing parts of a building without decoration on it, you’re doing it wrong.”
“Jeez, alright,” he looks back down and scribbles another tick onto the checklist. “I put us down for twelve.”
You smile. “That’s the spirit!” you shout as he sits at one of the empty tables closest to the windows, and you tidy up the front counters, ridding them of old crumbs and small spills from the day’s events.
For the first time since the day he arrived, you and Heeseung have gotten along. And, if you’re being honest, you’re glad that he’s here.
You decided to put him on Christmas decoration duty over the weekend, since you’re not quite sure that you’ll have the time, and you promised him that you’d give him a fair chance. He happily accepted the challenge, and the moment that you started the closing chores, you sat Heeseung down with a pen and a piece of paper, shouting various things to add to the list of decorations that he needed to buy.
“Are you trying to turn this place into the North Pole?” he asks, his voice wavering with concern. “Where are we going to fit all of this?”
“Oh, Heeseung, you poor, innocent soul,” you murmur, tutting your teeth as you approach the table he sits at, still with a half-limp, gently patting his back. “You have no idea.”
You walk over to the cubby that stores your belongings and begin pulling them out, starting with your winter coat and slipping it onto your frame, then your purse, and finally, the small set of keys that have only one decorative keychain: a Boston Bruins logo that is frayed at the edges and faded with time, one that your father gifted you for your sixteenth birthday when you received your first car.
“Everything’s done already?” he asks, and you nod.
“All you have to worry about is that list,” you point, zipping up your black coat. “I took care of the rest already. We weren’t too busy today, anyway.”
Heeseung takes a breath and stands up, grabbing the paper and folding it to shove in his pocket for tomorrow. He flips his chair and places it onto the table for the night, along with the other two, before making his way towards the cabinet you’re still standing at.
Another thing you hadn’t particularly noticed until today is your difference in height; how the top of your head just barely breaches his shoulders. You swallow, mouth suddenly parched, though you can’t pinpoint why.
Heeseung isn’t intimidating. He’s just…intense.
“Text me tomorrow if you have any questions, okay?” you finally speak as he takes his own jacket from the cubby. “I’ll be around.”
“Okay,” he nods, and you give him another pat on the back before walking to the door, noting the cold air as it whips against your face when you finally step outside.
-
The first ring wakes you.
Your body jolts awake, and your eyes barely open enough to register your surroundings—your bedroom, lit only by the dim light streaming in through your closed curtains, and…your phone screen. It buzzes beside you, a name present but too blurry to read with your tired eyes.
Your hand flops over the device, fingers lazily curling around it and bringing it closer to your face to read. The letters, still not perfectly clear, are familiar. Too familiar.
You reluctantly press the button to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sorry to bother you,” Heeseung’s soft voice rings through the speaker. You hear beeping in the distance, akin to the sound of items scanning at a register, realizing that—at what is apparently 8:00 in the morning on a Sunday—Heeseung is Christmas shopping. Already. “So you wanted me to get a light-up deer, but there are at least four different types. Did you want an inflatable one, or the ones with,” he crouches down to inspect a display, “wire?”
You groan into the microphone, and he stands back up, expression puzzled. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but…Why are you doing this at 8 o’clock in the morning?”
“I needed to have as much time as possible to get it right.”
“Okay,” you mumble. “What do you have already?”
“Well…” he murmurs, trailing off as he holds the phone in one hand and sifts through the decorations with the other. “A few boxes of lights, garland, icicles—oh, and I even found some plastic candy canes that we can hang inside. Where did I put them…oh, shibal,” as he nearly slices a finger on the edge of the plastic.
“Huh?”
“Er—nothing. I found them.” He steps away from his cart and looks back over to the various types of decorative reindeer. “So, which kind do you want? I don’t want to get the wrong one.”
When you don’t respond, he pipes up again. “Y/N?”
“…Yeah?”
“Oh…shit, I woke you, didn’t I?”
You breathe. “Yeah, kinda.”
“Sorry, sorry—I’ll figure it out,” he stammers. “You can go back to sleep.”
“It’s okay, just,” a yawn interrupts, and you turn onto your side, “send me a picture, okay?”
“Okay,” he responds, and the line goes dead, leaving you alone and awake far too early for today in bed, staring mindlessly at the window as you wait for the chime of your phone. Then, it pings.
HEESEUNG: [attachment: 1 image]
HEESEUNG: inflatable or wired?
You laugh at the stupidity of his message so early in the morning, though you’re admittedly endeared by his dedication to the job you gave him.
YOU: wired. you can pick which one, i’ll put my trust in you
From the other end of the conversation, Heeseung smiles and reacts to your reply with a thumbs up, then slides his phone back into his pocket as he bends down to pick up the box of his favorite deer. White, one front paw up with the neck craned down as if it’s drinking from something. Something about it—perhaps the elegance of its form, or maybe the sternness in its posture—reminds him of you.
He places the box carefully into the shopping cart and checks off the “light-up deer” scribble on the paper from last night.
You, on the other hand, are awake for the day, and though being woken up by such an insignificant question wasn’t exactly ideal, you do have plans to visit your parents, so it isn’t so bad.
The day passes in a blur—air so brisk that a few flakes of snow fall onto the roads, a hectic hour of cooking and cleaning up the mess that your parents’ dog created, and a constant stream of questions from Heeseung to the point that you consider blocking him.
But you suppose you can’t be too upset. He’s only trying, after all, and when you finally sink into your sheets after the long day, you can’t help but let your mind wander. The thought of him not being able to experience the season the way you always had as a child—losing a mother so young—brings a frown to your face.
Mothers are the holidays, the birthdays—any occasion that needs them. And Heeseung had that taken away from him.
YOU: next weekend, we’ll put the decorations up
YOU: promise, i’ll show you everything there is to love here
You set your phone down beside you, letting the noise of the wind outside grazing your window and the warmth that your bedsheets provide lull you to sleep as the new week arrives, and you intend on making it the best. Your phone buzzes once, twice beside you, just gently enough not to wake you.
public enemy #1: great, can’t wait
public enemy #1: see you tomorrow
-
The week flies by in a flash so fast that it feels like it doesn’t even happen.
Your uncle visits a few times to check in on things, make sure that you’re holding down the fort like you should be doing without the stress of bickering. And if you’re being honest? It’s going well—so much smoother, now that you’re finally on the same page, and you trust Heeseung enough to carry his weight. As he’s said about a hundred times already this week, “Uncle Art has nothing to worry about.”
Monday and Tuesday drag; not the way they usually do, at least, not with Heeseung around. While the incessant finger drumming and the constant yapping in your ear and the 24/7 chipper attitude used to be the very attributes of his that made you despise him so deeply, you’ve come to find them entertaining. At least when there are no customers and not much work to be done.
Come Wednesday evening—when the closing hours slowly start to become your unspoken time to bond—music is blasting throughout the store over the speakers at a volume that would get you smacked upside the head by your uncle if he ever heard it with customers around. You’re wiping down the tables and counters, emptying the trash, and even cleaning every last speck off of the display cases until they’re entirely spotless, your sudden burst of energy courtesy of Heeseung and his unexpected obsession with Justin Bieber (and another handful of artists that you can’t name on just one hand).
“Just give me a chanceeee, ‘cause you’re all I need, girl,” he sings as he pushes through the door with the broom, using the tip of the handle as a fake microphone, making your whole body cringe at the sight.
“Oh, God, I can’t look.”
He saunters over, taking your hand and lifting it into the air. “If I was your man, I’d never leave you, giiirl,” he twirls you around, and you laugh, humoring him so that he won’t keep pestering you until you do. And maybe you don’t hate it, either.
“If I was your boyfriend,” as his hand slides down to your lower back, fingertips grazing over your sweater, “I’d never let you go.”
“Heeseung, come on,” you swallow and mask it with a laugh as he removes his hand slowly, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine. “We have to finish.”
“I’d never let you go,” he purses his lips and winks, seductively disappearing back into the kitchen without even sweeping a single ounce of dirt from the floor.
The music stops, and you blink at the door as it still swings gently from his impromptu dance number. The only real thought that you can form in your head is damn, because the man can sing; what does his father even have to worry about with a face like his and the pipes of an idol?
But you shake that feeling off fast and push your way into the kitchen, flicking him on the shoulder.
“Ow!” Heeseung yelps and grabs his shoulder as he whips around. “What was that for?”
“You didn’t even sweep the floor, dickhead.”
“Oh, shit. Whoops.”
And that about sums up your week.
-
“Today is the day,” Heeseung chimes as he bursts through the front door, soft Christmas music already humming through the speakers that decorate the walls of Arthur’s. The large box in his arms is stocked full of the decorations he meticulously picked out six days ago, practically overflowing as he pushes the wooden box that contains the deer inside with his foot.
You laugh from the other side of the counter, the clock behind your head already reading 4:00 as the sun starts to set, giving you a clean slate to work with, despite already having put some of last year’s decor up. “Someone’s excited to be at work on a Saturday,” you tease as he places the giant box onto an empty table and clasps his hands together.
The store, historically, closes after breakfast on Saturdays and is only open every other week on Sundays. “You’ve got to keep them on their toes,” said your uncle when he first decided on it. “If we want to be the best in town, then we’ve got to force business into one day. They’ll come in packs!” And somehow, he was right about that.
So naturally, today is the perfect day to decorate.
“Hey, when you don’t have to do any actual work, it’s not so bad,” he counters, emptying the cardboard box’s contents onto the table and chairs. “Besides, now that you’re not such a scrooge, I don’t mind spending my quality time with you.”
“Y’know, I can always turn back into one,” you threaten. “Nothing’s stopping me.”
“I doubt that.” He walks over and holds the strand of garland in place for you to pin it, since you’re very clearly too short to reach, and he happens to want to prove a point. “Once someone has fallen for Heeseung Lee’s charms, they often find it difficult to escape. It’s really a sad thing.”
Your hand freezes in its place, and you slowly turn to the man beside you, face contorted into the ugliest grimace he’s ever seen. “That was disgusting.”
“But notice how you couldn’t find it in you to move away?” He takes the pin from your hand and tacks the garland into place on the wall himself. “That’s the phenomenon in action, baby.”
“Ew.”
Heeseung trots back over to his pile of decor that looks like the Christmas section of Target exploded onto the table, and fishes through them until he finds some signage that he purchased to put on the windows. “Hm, I think these could look good on the windows, y’know?” he asks, completely disregarding the visible cringe still left on your frame. “I mean, come on—who wouldn’t walk into a bakery with a Santa Stop Here sign? That screams friendly atmosphere.”
“Where do you learn this terminology? Seriously, like, how did you even learn to speak like this?”
“I watched a lot of American television growing up,” he says as he grabs a roll of tape and some window hooks. “Also, one of my best friends back home grew up in Australia.”
“Oh. Wow,” you blink. “That explains the weird accent you’ve got going on, then.”
“Well fuck you, too, Y/N.”
You laugh.
“His name is Jake. Nice guy, kinda dramatic, kinda—horny, but he’s a good friend.” He peels the sticker off a hook and sticks it to the window, pressing down as he checks to make sure it’s aligned properly. As he grabs the sign and hangs it behind the glass, he chuckles quietly to himself. “He actually taught me most of my English. He’d usually use it when speaking to me, so I’d pick up on it. But once I took things into my own hands, I stopped being able to understand him.” He shakes his head, “Seriously, why do people talk like that down there?”
“Well, I dunno,” you shrug. “I mean—we have some pretty weird accents here, too. Look at, like, the south. Or even Boston. I’m from New England, but I wake up and thank God every day that I don’t speak like them. So, I guess we both got lucky.”
“Yeah,” Heeseung smiles, “I guess I did.”
The hours tick by much faster than either of you anticipated they would. Before you know it, it’s already dark outside, nearly seven o’clock at night, and you’ve moved outside, still tacking lights and signs and random shit Heeseung found onto the outside walls of the building. You gave him bush duty, since last year, you tripped and fell into it, and you swore you’d never decorate one again after the cuts healed and left a few light scars on your ankles.
At one point—before you stepped into the cold—Heeseung poked fun at one of the songs that played through the speakers, and you made sure that he regretted it.
“What is this even about?” he’d asked, cocking a brow. “Africa?”
“For your information, this is one of the top ten Christmas songs, and no, I will not be accepting counterarguments,” you interrupted from across the store, pointing a finger into the air and waving it around like some kind of child having a tantrum. “It was written and produced in 1984 by some of the greatest British artists of the 1980s for charity, and it is simply one of the best songs of its time. Never mind the controversy, it’s a hit.”
“It’s kind of…sad.”
“Well, take that up with Band-Aid, not me.”
So Heeseung shut his mouth and let you enjoy the song. But it all worked out—you let him pick the next few, and you went on as if nothing had happened.
But now, as your whole face practically burns from the cold, and you can’t really feel your fingers anymore, you step back, noting that the final thing to set up is the reindeer. Heeseung retrieves the box from inside and takes it out, carefully following your instructions to plug the extension cord in and pull it out just far enough to reach where the deer will stand in the grass, now frosted over from the cold and the thin layer of snow.
“Okay,” he mumbles as he crouches down to construct the reindeer correctly. He inspects the pieces, and you hold the manual in your hands, standing above him as your eyes gloss over the page.
“So what I’m gathering here is that you take these things,” you bend over to grab the small, V-shaped metal pieces, “and stick them into the ground over the deer’s feet. That should keep it in place. I think the rest is kinda self-explanatory as for where the deer’s body parts…connect.”
Heeseung nods and makes quick work of putting the pieces together, listening carefully to which order they should be connected in until everything is in place, and all he needs to do is stick the metal into the ground to hold it up. You crouch beside him and grab two of the stands, opting to set up the hind legs, while Heeseung takes care of the front, but you quickly find that you didn’t account enough for the ground being frozen.
As you push—with all of your strength—you can only manage to get the metal halfway into the ground, sighing as your body sags, too weak, but also too determined not to get them in. You don’t register Heeseung moving until he’s behind you, hands sliding over the backs of yours with his head just beside your ear, close enough to feel the ends of his hair brushing against your neck.
“On three, yeah?”
You nod.
“One…two…three,” Heeseung pushes down with you, and the metal sinks into the dirt, steadying the deer’s foot. He breathes in your ear, a small sound rising from his throat as he exerts his strength, and you swallow, opting to ignore it—at least, to the best of your ability. “Good,” he whispers. “One more.”
He helps you put the last piece in, practicing the same position, count, exhale until he sits back on his knees, and you sigh, hands trembling from the cold and the pressure.
“Let’s go inside,” Heeseung finally says, rising to his feet and extending a hand to help you up, “it’s freezing out here.”
After packing away the storage boxes and containers, you kill the lights and lock up, finally noticing how late it’s gotten as you walk to your cars. Heeseung turns to you and you match his gaze, tilting your head slightly as you wait for him to speak, noticing the familiar expression on his face that signals a question he’s trying to determine how to ask. Then,
“You wanna get a coffee?”
The corners of your lips pull into a soft smile; he doesn’t wait for an answer before his hand is on your wrist, tugging you down the sidewalk.
He leads you to a coffee shop—the same late-night favorite you’d stopped at a few weeks ago—and steps inside, smiling bashfully as he shifts his weight between his heels and his toes. You match his smile but don’t meet his gaze, looking away when he turns to you.
You opt for a medium hot, nothing too fancy for the late hour, but enough to keep you awake until you arrive back home. Heeseung matches your order and insists on paying, despite your protests, making sure to hand you the one with the cup sleeve since only one cup came with it, and he doesn’t want your hand to burn. You grin, thank him gently, and take the coffee, letting him lead the way outside, where—gentlemanly as before—he holds the door open for you.
“Is it everything you’ve ever dreamed of?” you murmur, taking a small sip and watching the steam from your breath waft into the air above your nose.
“Yeah,” Heeseung laughs, and you nudge his shoulder, adorned with a long, beige peacoat and a maroon scarf hanging just by his shoulder blade. “It’s good, though. I like it. After the long day, at least.”
You nod, “I’ll toast to that.”
Suddenly, Heeseung’s phone rings, and he furrows a brow, pulling it out and glancing at the name. “What the…” he mumbles as he presses the button to answer.
“Yooo. Any updates on the baddie from the bak—”
The line immediately falls flat.
“What—who was that?”
“...Jake.”
“Oh,” you nod, clearing your throat as you continue the walk, taking a timid sip of your coffee. “Seems nice.”
The moon, shaded by the clouds bearing snow for tomorrow, shines high in the sky as you walk down the sidewalk, the street empty at such a late hour; Valley Point is far too small for people to travel through this late. It’s peaceful, with most of the light in your path coming from the warm streetlights and the occasional small shops with decorated exteriors for the upcoming holiday. Heeseung looks around, and for the first time in a while, he looks relaxed—wholly, not for show.
“I’m sorry,” you swallow, voice a near-whisper as your fingers clench around the coffee cup, “for…everything. I shouldn’t have judged you so quickly.”
Heeseung looks down at his feet, and the ghost of a smile graces his lips. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“I just…I’ve been sheltered from a lot, growing up here. And you felt like a threat,” you sigh. “I should’ve never assumed so much of you.” You slow your steps, fingers pressing into the cup harder, turning your head just enough to catch a glimpse of his face. “You’re a good guy, Heeseung.”
His lips stretch further. “I think I assumed something of you, too,” he admits softly as he walks, staring at a tree in the distance as a squall of snow hits the ground you walk on. His footsteps slow down until they’ve come to a halt, and you match his pace, stopping just beside him. He turns on the ball of his foot.
“I’m glad that I was wrong,” he breathes.
“I’m glad, too,” you whisper back, staying firm in your place when he steps closer—tentatively—and raises his hand to the side of your head. You don’t flinch when his thumb brushes along the half-healed cut on your forehead, eyes drifting down to yours and never leaving.
“Can I kiss you?”
You nod before your mind can catch up with your body.
Heeseung’s hand slides further back, caressing your head as he slowly leans down and slots his lips with yours. It’s soft, gentle, comforting—just like him, from the moment he first spoke to you to the night he carefully bandaged your forehead as if it were the most important task in the world, despite barely having spoken to you in days. But that’s who he is—it’s who he’s always been, even if you failed to realize it.
His tongue presses against your bottom lip for entrance—not to rush or force, but to feel more of you, more of the person he’s grown to care more for in the last few weeks than he ever thought possible. Your lips part, letting it slip through, gently graze along your teeth; he tastes of coffee and faintly of peppermint, perhaps from the mints you’ve watched him swipe from the jar beside the register countless times, despite them being for the customers. His taste is familiar and comforting all at once, something you gravitate towards on instinct, and your body melts into his as you lift your empty hand, flattening your palm gently against his chest.
It feels like you’ve known him forever.
As he pulls back—so slowly that your lips fight to part ways—his hand stays in its place, and his eyes don’t leave yours, looking into them with an intensity behind them that you’ve never seen before. At least, nothing you’ve ever noticed.
“What now?”
“I don’t know,” you breathe.
A car drives by and interrupts; Heeseung’s hand falls back to its side, and you clear your throat, turning and taking a swig of the coffee as if your life depends on it. He looks in the distance and finds the familiar parking lot with only two cars parked just by the corner, swallowing as he looks past the snow.
“Our…cars are over there.”
“Yeah.”
You walk to them without speaking, the tension far too tight to be cut with words. The footsteps suddenly become louder, your ears become aware of every small sound, and your heartbeat pounds in your head; you’re not quite sure what to do or say, if you can do or say anything.
“So,” Heeseung coughs as you stop in front of the two cars, noses red from the cold, fingertips growing more numb as the heat from the coffee dissipates, “I’ll see you…Monday?”
You nod, throat dry, still unsure of what else to say.
He leans in—hesitates—then presses his lips to the side of your head, just over the small incision.
“Goodnight…Y/N,” he whispers, traces your figure awkwardly with his eyes, and bows his head just slightly before walking away and stepping into his car.
You lift a hand and wave, still standing beside the hood of your car as he returns the gesture and pulls out of the parking lot, eyes never quite leaving your body through the rear view until you’re no longer in sight.
-
How does one go about returning to work after kissing the man they’re supposed to hate? You suppose your guess is as good as any.
But you manage, slug yourself out of bed after a long, hard day of overthinking and what ifs that almost kept you up all night, but thankfully didn’t. And even better—Heeseung doesn’t change, not in the slightest. Not visibly, at least.
Not to you, to Diane, to Kira, to Gerry, or to any of the customers (including the hot ticket from the day you yelled at Heeseung in front of essentially everyone, who still hits on him but doesn’t quite get the reaction she wants).
But on the inside, when he’s left alone with you on late nights, acting cool and collected, he’s numb; trying to determine if it was all a mistake, or if you’re just conflicted, too. When he brushes past you mid-shift, no matter if it’s in front of other people or not, he wonders if you feel the same pause in the air that he does. If you want to kiss him again, if you want him at all, even in the slightest, or if you simply reacted instead of felt when he kissed you that night.
The week doesn’t drag. It feels still. Unmoving in the sort of way that makes time feel warped, coffee taste stale, smiles feel forced and devoid of the warmth they usually withhold.
But just like any week, Friday hits, the day before the seeming end. Three weeks before Christmas, when the first rush arrives, and your co-workers grow stressed, shifts extend by hours as work piles up. Customers find themselves entitled to things they don’t deserve, their impatience influencing their demeanor until you’re being yelled at, but you can’t retort—you’re only the employee.
“You can’t work the week of Christmas?” you shout at Kira as she grabs her belongings for the end of the shift; 5:00 sharp, never a minute more, never even letting the word “overtime” grace her spoiled lips. “What’s the point? We need you; we already lost Taylor.”
“I’m sorry,” she shrugs like it’s not important. “I can’t.”
“Just—go, I’ll figure it out.”
And she leaves without a second thought, adding fuel to the fire already burning inside of you from the stress of the day, the week, everything.
Heeseung tries to console you, but you shove him off, letting the stress turn you back into the monster you once were without trying to be. He thinks he’s the problem; that he’s made you hate him again. He lets the time pass, each employee filing out the same as any day until the last hour—the one that’s become so painfully familiar—arrives. It starts with customers slowly dwindling until close, when you lock the door to clean and watch the town fall silent, dark, with the oncoming night.
It ends with him approaching your frame—hunched over the countertop with your hands on your head—solemnly, placing a hand on your shoulder gently, though it still makes you flinch, and he pulls back.
“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, and you turn to him, eyes tired, the circles beneath them far too dark. “I ruined it, didn’t I?”
You shake your head.
“Okay,” he nods, stepping closer, bringing his hands to your waist, only ghosting over it until your expression allows him to touch you. “Then let me help,” he pulls you closer, “please.”
You don’t stop him when he kisses you.
Slower, firmer than the last. Sure of himself, lacking the hesitation his lips harbored on the cold sidewalk, where his brain couldn’t decipher hope from reality. You lean into him, sighing into his mouth as your muscles relax under his touch, hands gliding up his arms until they’re locked around his neck, pulling him down to you.
His lips curve into a smile against yours, and you almost swear that you feel his heartbeat against your chest, racing at a speed that’s far too fast to be normal. His palms knead the swell of your hips, fingers pressing firmer into the skin just as they lift you onto the counter behind you—thankfully wiped down just minutes ago. You gasp, gripping him tighter but not resisting, legs parting to let him stand between them as you brace your weight onto your palm, one hand still toying with a long, ash-blonde strand of hair.
His palm skates across your front until it stops just above the waistband of your pants, and your breath hitches as his lips kiss a path along your jaw until they’re resting at your temple, just above your ear.
His hand slides between your legs, palming you through your pants; your hips lift, chasing the feeling. The pads of his fingers rub small, soft circles against the fabric, your own fingers tugging at a few strands of his hair, and he smiles, but you don’t notice. He presses the pad of his thumb over your clit, and you almost whimper, but you refrain.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs into your hair, and you nod mindlessly, body craving the release of built-up stress and tension from the week.
His fingers finally dip below the waistband of both your pants and underwear until the tips brush against your clit, and your body shudders against the countertop, your palm pressing harder into the white marble. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t tease, doesn’t build you up until you’re begging for something you’re not even sure of; his fingers push into you, slowly at first, letting you adjust to every inch as he breathes out, breath grazing the shell of your ear.
He curls them when they’re fully inside, and your body tenses again, gripping him tighter, pulling him closer, even if you’re not meaning to. You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut as you bite back a noise, too scarred from your last relationship and the embarrassment of letting him see you like this so soon after meeting you.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, taking his fingers out and pushing them back in carefully, the hand on your waist keeping you in place as your hips involuntarily writhe against the cold surface beneath them. “It’s just me.”
You nod, finally allowing a strained moan to slip past your lips. “Heeseung,” you whisper, so quiet that it’s barely audible, disappearing into the air as soon as it leaves your mouth.
His fingers move a little faster, pressing just against the sweet spot inside of you, causing your hips to jolt. He notices the shift and switches his focus, pushing the tips of his fingers in again and again—never too fast, never too slow—right against the same spot until your breaths morph into whimpers, unintelligible whines that don’t quite reach his ears. Your hand tugs at his hair again, hips chasing the release, lips perpetually parted in his grasp.
“H—Hee.”
Your eyes drill shut as the orgasm suddenly washes over you, knuckles white against the marble as your head fights the urge to fall back, but it doesn’t; Heeseung’s lips keep it in place, pressing soft kisses to your temple and whispering into your ear, though the soft ring in your ears keeps you from comprehending any of it. The sound of his voice is enough to ground you.
Warm droplets drip down the sides of his fingers, coating the creases between them, but he keeps the movement up, gradually slowing it until he pulls them out, your body still beneath his, your chest rising and falling with each breath. His thumb brushes away the release from the surrounding skin before he slips his hand out of the fabric and grabs the nearest napkin to wipe it dry, not bothering to make a show of things, not now.
He readjusts the waistband of your pants, smoothing them back into place and pulling your shirt down to cover the exposed skin.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” you nod, sliding off the counter as Heeseung’s hands fall on your waist to stabilize you. “Better. Thank you.”
“Good.”
He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear and lets his fingers linger there, eyes scanning your face. “Go home,” he whispers. “Get some rest. I’ll take care of things.”
“No, I can help—”
“Y/N,” he interrupts, “go.”
You exhale, offering a soft nod as Heeseung admires your face, the way the soft glow of the Christmas lights shines against your skin. He steps back to let you gather your belongings, holds your coat up so you can slide your arms in, and follows you to the door, making sure you don’t try to do any more than you already have today.
“What is…this?”
He breathes. “Whatever you want it to be.”
You nod.
“Text me when you get home,” he winks and closes the door, locking it for good measure. He watches you enter the car, turn the ignition, and pull out of the lot.
You arrive home, haphazardly toss everything onto the stairs, rather than put it away properly. Run a hot shower and wash the evidence of whatever it was that occurred at your uncle’s shop, the one he so graciously extended a hand out to you only for you to do something so obscene with the man he hired but a month ago. Yet, despite all of that, you don’t regret it.
Finally, after trying to scrub the sin off your body, you slide into bed, tired, yet relaxed at the same time, relieved of the pressure that the week had put on you. Your head turns to the phone, stares at it like the mask of the Green Goblin, urging you to send the message, despite knowing that he’s not someone you should pursue; someone you can.
But,
YOU: i’m in bed. i’m sorry for not texting sooner
public enemy #1: good. i just locked up not long ago, on the way home now
public enemy #1: sleep well
You guess you do.
-
Relationships haven’t been your speed for years.
But what you have with Heeseung almost feels too close to one; that scares you.
You introduce him to your house for the first time—a quaint, brick townhouse just down the road from the shop, almost central to the town, if someone were to pinpoint it. It welcomes him, perhaps too naturally, lets the hours slip past a lot easier than they should, than they would with anyone else. But Heeseung doesn’t notice. He doesn’t see a problem, he doesn’t feel the pit of worry in his stomach as strongly as you do—he just sees you. And maybe that’s why it feels so difficult to keep the line between friends and more from blurring with each day that passes.
You find that Heeseung has an obsession with ramen (or ramyeon, as he forces you to spell it now), so much so that he apparently even ate strictly that for an entire year straight. So during the nights when he breaches the line between professional and personal, stepping past the threshold of your front door and into your home, your sanctuary, he teaches you all of the ways he likes it. Maybe you’ll like them, too, and you can learn to make them yourself. Maybe you won’t, and he’ll just forget about it entirely. He doesn’t do things for himself; he does them for you.
You exchange languages in your spare time, during the moments when the shift drags, and the others can hold their own. The small sections of the day when it feels like you’re the only ones there, until you are, and your body just wants to be close to him, whether you should be or not. You help him with phrases, pronunciation, teach him some ways to put sentences together, or add filler words that are never necessary, but sound more native when you use them. Heeseung, in turn, teaches you Korean—the differing sentence structure, how to read Hangul, though it seems too daunting at first, and even how to speak some of it. Basic knowledge that can only go so far, but he’s proud, anyway. He likes hearing his language in your voice.
“Hey, are you okay?” you ask into the phone one morning, lodged between your ear and your shoulder as you take the chairs off the tables with Heeseung on the other line. “It’s…” you glance at the clock, “almost ten, and you’re not here. What’s up?”
“Oh, yeah, I—” he coughs, “—I’m sick. I must have caught something from the cold.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” you apologize, masking the part of you that’s upset, even if only slightly. Even if he’s not supposed to mean anything. “I’ll find someone to cover, or I’ll just try to do both. You can sleep.”
You hang up the phone and slide it back into your pocket as you work to prepare the store for the day, sighing as you glance at the clock again, knowing that time won’t pass as fast. Somehow, over the course of the last few weeks, you’ve grown dependent on Heeseung—someone you originally wished would leave your life as quickly as he came.
public enemy #1: come over tonight?
public enemy #1: i won’t bite. promise
The first time your eyes glaze over the messages, your body shudders. He’s been in your house a thousand times, taught you to cook his favorite meals (ramyeon aside), spoken Korean, watched television, and helped you decorate, for Christ’s sake. It shouldn’t be so jarring to accept an invite to his small, old apartment only ten minutes away from yours. But it is. Everything with him is.
But you show up, anyway. Ring the doorbell exactly fifteen minutes after your closing shift ends; punctual, just as normal. Heeseung answers the door, sporting a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt that you can read but aren’t sure what it really says. He looks tired, still clearly ill, but his face lights up with his smile. You feel a pang in your chest; guilt or happiness, you’re not sure.
You sit on the sofa with him and complain about the day, how busy work had gotten on the one day staff was short, making a complete show of it. Heeseung laughs, doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.
But he’s quiet; too quiet, nothing close to the Heeseung Lee you know.
“You should lie down,” you whisper, turning to him and rubbing your hand on his shoulder. “You look exhausted.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it,” you nudge him. “Come on.”
Reluctantly, he lets you force him into his bed, and you pull the covers over until they rest just below his elbows. You prop the pillow up behind his head until he looks comfortable.
“I’ll be right back,” you tell him, and he just nods.
You decide to put his lessons to use. You rummage through the cabinets, searching for the stash of what you know is hiding somewhere until you find the cabinet stocked with various brands and flavors of Heeseung’s favorite ramyeon. You take one that looks familiar—doing the best you can to understand the Korean name—and rack your brain to remember the way he taught you to make it, back at your place, with his hands resting over yours and your back pressed to his chest.
You’re surprised that you can even remember.
But you manage to complete a bowl that looks and smells edible, as close to his finished product as possible, and you stick a pair of chopsticks inside. You grab him a glass of ice water and a napkin and walk back into his room, where he lies idly on his phone. Your mind wanders back to the night you decided he was attractive at the sight of the familiar profile layout on the screen, and you swallow, stepping further inside.
“Hee,” you whisper, and his head turns. His eyes grow three sizes, and he quickly sits up, cocking a brow as you step closer, setting the warm bowl into his hands.
“You made this for me?”
“I tried.”
“I was wondering what took so long…” He twirls a clump of noodles onto the chopsticks and brings them to his mouth, taking a bite and slurping the remainder inside. His eyes fall shut, and a warm smile stretches across his face. “Perfect,” he compliments. “I taught you well.”
You giggle, moving to the other side of the bed and propping yourself up beside him. “Eat up,” you tell him, lifting a hand to brush a messy strand of hair away from his face. “You’re sick, you should be eating.”
“You’re good to me,” he murmurs, and you offer a smile in return, watching as he slowly clears the bowl. Even drinks every last drop of the broth—you swear he’s too obsessed, but you suppose it’s cute. He reaches for the water and takes a few sips, placing the empty bowl on the nightstand and turning back to you.
He leans closer, and you try to pull back. “You’re sick,” you repeat, but he persists.
“Not contagious anymore,” as he presses his lips to yours, and you laugh against them, letting him pull you into his lap, despite the protests you just made.
His hand finds purchase on your waist, thumb rubbing the skin just beneath the hem of your shirt as the other slips to the underside of your jaw, holding you closer to him. It shouldn’t feel right—being here, with him, in the apartment he bought a matter of weeks ago, derailing every bit of self-respect you thought you’d gained after everything with your ex, knowing that this is nothing, because it has to be. Because he just showed up one day and weaseled himself into your life. Knowing that deep down, he knows that, too. But still, as his tongue melts with yours, fingers grazing your skin like worship, you just want him.
For the first time, you don’t stop yourself.
And you don’t go home that night.
You read as friends, enjoying each other’s company when you have it, admiring decorations and listening to holiday music, watching the snow fall and collect in the crevices where the exterior walls of the store meet the ground—things anyone does with someone close to them. Things you’ve done with Jisung, with Ellie, with every person that’s come your way and considered themselves your friend.
But when you find yourself craving Heeseung’s proximity, making excuses to have time with him, even if only for a moment, invite him into your house, steal kisses that no one sees, brush past him and feel comfort, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world…when you begin showing up to work together, you start to realize that none of this is friendly. Not a single ounce.
And it can’t possibly be real, either.
-
“Evan!”
He jumps at the old man’s voice, the sound far too familiar to go unnoticed. He turns on his heel to see his boss—your uncle—approaching the counter, saying hello to some of the patrons as he walks around the corner and pats him on the shoulder.
“Someone looks hard at work.”
“Yeah,” he laughs, using a rag to dry off a clean coffee mug, “it’s been pretty busy recently. I can understand why you’ve got so many people here, Art.”
“Art. That’s a new one,” your uncle ponders as the kitchen door swings open, and out flies you, a large tray of cookies in your hand to re-fill the display case with. You almost don’t notice him standing there until you place them onto the counter, and Heeseung taps your calf with the edge of his foot.
“Oh, Uncle Arthur! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” you exclaim apologetically, walking over to wrap an arm around him. He kisses your forehead, and you smile, perched idly beside Heeseung, whose eyes have been glued to you since you walked in, regardless of the others standing nearby amidst the chaos.
“Hm,” his eyes flit between you, finger lifting and gesturing back and forth, “you two…?”
“No!” you both shout a bit too comically synchronized (and loudly), eyes wide, hands waving in front of you.
“No, no,” you tack on, giving an awkward laugh. “Never, this guy?” You turn, mocking a grimace. “He’s lucky I even came around to him.”
“Okay, okay,” your uncle mock-surrenders, “just asking, no need to get hasty.” He laughs, reaching into his pocket to grab his eyeglasses and unfolding them, slipping them onto his face. He looks up at the menu—spending so long out of his establishment that he’s forgotten some of the options—and orders a few things, on the house.
“I bet, though,” he chuckles, still glancing up at the menu, “if I checked those cameras, you two would be just as close as I’d imagine. You kids are easy to read these days.”
That’s when it registers.
Your eyes lock with Heeseung’s; wide, terrified, horrified.
“The cameras,” you whisper, pointing up and gesturing at the one just above the counter, panic etched deep into your face.
Yeah, take one look at the cameras, and he’ll be fucking scarred. That’ll be the day he finds out some guy he barely knows fingered his niece right on the goddamn counter.
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” you shake your head, “we can’t just leave it there!”
“Then, what do you suppose—”
“—hello?”
“Yes!” You clear your throat, “Yeah—Uncle…Arthur?”
“You guys okay?”
“Yeah!” simultaneously, “yeah.”
Heeseung moves to grab his order, and you step into the back, beelining for the office that typically stays empty, since your uncle rarely visits for any longer than minutes at a time. You open the computer, sift through files, applications, everything until you find the ones you’re looking for, marked with the date of each day, each hour.
The door flies open; you sigh, noticing that it’s only Heeseung.
“God, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
He closes the door behind him, “He’s gone. I extended your goodbye.”
“Thank you,” you breathe, focusing back on the files until you come across the day you’re looking for, swallowing thickly as the footage appears on the screen in a minimized window.
You click and drag the mouse along the timeline, face dusted red the moment you find what it is you’ve been looking for, and lift your finger to let it play. You breathe, clearly embarrassed by the ordeal, despite the only person seeing this besides yourself being Heeseung. Yet, that doesn’t make it better.
You’re thankful there’s no audio.
You hover the cursor over the Delete button, then follow it to the Trash folder and delete it from there, clearing any evidence from that night. Leaving it only in your memories. You lean back in the chair, closing your eyes and letting out a sigh of relief, almost forgetting that he’s even there until you feel his lips press against the side of your head.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby,” he whispers, and your stomach caves. “You’re perfect.”
He ruffles a hand in your hair before leaving the office, not giving you time to counter his claim.
Damn, that handsome son of a bitch.
-
Saturday—six days until Christmas.
public enemy #1: come to arthur’s. rooftop. stairs at the back
You stare at the words—confused—for a few minutes, furrow a brow, contemplate. You still end up in the driver’s seat of your car, chugging down the street at such a late hour, your feet carrying you more than anything else.
You walk up the stairs carefully, swallowing down your nerves, though you’re not quite sure why it has you so rattled. Perhaps, because he’s usually asking to come to your place or inviting you to his, rather than this. This has to mean something; you’re scared of what.
As you finally approach his figure, he senses your presence and turns around. You gasp, nearly stepping back as your hand rises, running your fingers through his hair.
Faded cherry red; the same wine color you paused at all those weeks ago on his page. Bangs hanging loose in his face. Change accurate as an instinct, like he knew.
“Heeseung…” you whisper, swallowing as your fingers linger just behind his ear, and he fronts a bashful smile.
“You like it?”
“It’s…yeah,” you laugh, “I love it.”
“Good. I thought you would.”
Your brows knit together, “How would you have…known?”
“Well,” he breathes, shifting his weight between feet, “you sort of liked a post a few weeks ago. More than that—over a month ago, I think. I don’t think you noticed.”
“You love it,” he smiles, lifting a hand to your cheek as he leans forward, slotting his lips with yours.
He tastes sweeter tonight; like cherries and sugar, maybe from old gum or a mint, or perhaps it’s neither, and it’s the Chapstick on his lips that’s flavored like this. Your lips stretch into a smile against his, too natural to be simply casual, and you sigh contentedly into his mouth, one arm wrapped loosely around his waist, while the other extends upward, palm resting over his heart. You feel it beating again beneath your fingertips; it grounds you, still.
The wind swirls around you, forcing your hair to mingle with his, but it doesn’t matter; you don’t feel the cold, the breeze, the dust of snow falling onto the rooftop beneath your feet.
You think—for a moment—that you could stay like this forever, and you’ll be happy.
“Come with me,” he mumbles against your lips, and you pull away, looking into his eyes, head tilted.
“What?”
“Come with me,” he repeats firmly, words laced with a conviction that scares you. “When I leave, next year. After this.” His hands slide down your arms, and he laces his fingers with yours, rubs the backs of them with his thumbs. “I want to do this, see the world. And I want you with me.”
Your heart drops to your stomach. Heeseung is leaving. It shouldn’t come as a surprise—that was his plan, that was always the plan, wasn’t it? So, why does it hurt so much when you’ve known it all along?
You think about all of the times you’ve told him to pursue it; the times you’d lie in bed together, and he’d sing you gently to sleep, never thinking anything of it. When you’d play music at work, and he’d hum along to the songs he liked, to the ones he learned for you. When he’d start singing Do They Know It’s Christmas? after the stink you made the first time, and you’d tell him he was good, more than good.
Because to you, he’s perfect.
But sometimes, that isn’t enough.
“Heeseung, I—I can’t.”
The life in his eyes is the first thing to go.
Then, the smile falters, his hands loosen their grip on yours, and his jaw clenches as he holds back tears, though he tries not to let it show.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t, I—” you breathe, choking over your own words as tears brim in the corners of your eyes, making no effort to hold them back. “My whole life is here, Heeseung. I can’t just—leave it.”
“But that’s just it, Y/N,” he counters, trying to hold his composure. “You’ve only ever known this. Don’t you want to see what’s out there?” He steps closer, and you let him, knowing that you shouldn’t. “You have so much to offer.”
“I’m not like you, Hee,” you shake your head, “that’s not what I want.”
“Not with me?”
Your heart lurches, but you don’t reply. The words get stuck in your throat. Heeseung takes it as an answer, despite the tears running down your face—ones he makes no effort to wipe away, to acknowledge, though he would’ve jumped to get rid of them just minutes ago.
“I thought you would’ve changed your mind by now.”
“That’s not how that works, Heeseung. I can’t just up and leave, and you know that. You know I can’t just come with you like it’s nothing.”
He scoffs, poking his tongue into his cheek as he looks down at his feet. “You sound just like him.”
“Who, your father?” you shout, offense mixing with hurt and lacing your voice. “Because I don’t want to leave my home? Because I don’t want you to go?”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to leave without you, either, because I lo—”
“—Don’t say it,” you warn.
“Why not? You don’t want the truth?”
“No. Because I can’t handle it,” you admit, bile rising in your throat, but you swallow it down. “I can’t deal with that reality, Heeseung.”
“So what, you’re just gonna stay here forever?” he asks, hurt breaking his voice, the noise wedging the knife deeper into your heart. “You’re gonna just work here forever? That’s all you ever want to be? Just come cashier?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means,” he bites back, and you look away, taking a breath.
“You can’t expect me to do that for you, Heeseung. I haven’t even known you for two fucking months!”
“Well, from the way you’ve been acting, it seemed like we were a lot more than I thought, so I’m sorry that I misinterpreted whatever this was.”
“Look, I didn’t ask for you to just show up and derail my entire fucking life, okay?”
He freezes; you step forward, guilt immediately washing over you.
“Hee,” you reach out, but he moves away, doesn’t speak.
He walks down the stairs without another word, and you chase after him, breaths increasing in weight, your heartbeat hammering in your head like an anvil that just won’t stop. He opens the car door and slips inside, and your hand catches on it before he can shut it.
“Hee, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“—save it.”
He looks up at you, eyes red and glossed over. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave. Just like you always wanted me to, alright?”
“No, Heeseung—”
He turns the ignition and slams the door, forcing your hand to lift before it gets crushed, and he takes off, not looking back at you, not thinking twice, just leaving.
Realization hits like a truck; you sink to your knees, broken, battered. The cold of the fallen snow on the ground burns on your kneecaps, but you don’t care—you think you deserve it. Tears run down your cheeks, burning hot in contrast to the freezing cold outside, and you shove your hand in your pocket, pulling out your phone. Your fingers tremble so severely that you can barely grasp the device, vision blurred from the tears spilling down your cheeks; the painful fear in your chest is too severe to bear.
You dial the number without thinking. The ringing feels like agony, grating pain against your heart until you hear the voice on the other line that stops the ache just for a fraction of a second.
“Ji,” you sob, “I fucked up.”
-
“Hey, hey, what’s the matter, baby?”
You sob into Jisung’s chest, dampening his shirt, but he doesn’t care. He holds you closer and runs his palm along your back. Your knees still hurt from the cold, but they’ve numbed, just a little.
“He’s gone,” you cry, shaking your head as if it isn’t real. “I made him leave.”
“What?”
You bury your face deeper into his chest. “He wanted me to go with him, and I told him no,” you ashamedly tell him. “I can’t lose him. I don’t wanna lose him.”
“Lose who, Y/N?”
“Heeseung.”
Jisung blinks above you; you don’t notice, you don’t even look up, but you feel the way his hold loosens just slightly. “Heeseung? I thought you—what? I thought you hated him.”
“I don’t hate him, Ji,” you whisper, “I never did.”
“You have a lot to catch me up on when you’re done crying and warm in your house.”
And you’ll tell him, because you know where you stand with Heeseung now.
Only, you might never see him again, and your body can’t accept that fact. Not one bit.
-
You expected work without him to be difficult.
You didn’t expect life without him to be.
When the others ask where Heeseung is, you shrug—a partial truth, despite knowing that you’re the reason, that you’d hurt him too much for him to stay. You’d already been keeping him at an arm’s length, tried your best to, at least, but you’d pushed him too far, and now, you’ll have to pay for it.
His presence in your life feels like a candle that you never knew was burning, until one day, you noticed it, and then, it was out. Gone like it was never there, despite the smell left behind, the reminder of its existence never quite dissipating, not enough to forget.
“I don’t know, I guess he must have quit.”
—your usual response, dry, uninterested. Because you can’t bring yourself to feel the loss; if you do, you don’t think you’ll recover. You check your phone, even when it doesn’t ping, silently hoping that his contact will pop up, say something like gotcha! and then, he’ll show up out of nowhere, sliding right back into the hole he burrowed in your heart. But days pass, the holiday draws closer, and he’s radio silent. Some nights, you drive past the apartments, try to see if a light is on inside, if his car is nearby—you never quite find what you’re looking for.
Your uncle apologizes, thinking all of it is his fault, but you don’t have the courage to tell him the truth: that you did have something with Heeseung, and you let him go as quickly as he came. The wish you wanted to come true until he suddenly became everything.
You find yourself staring at the decorations inside the store, propping your hand up on the counter, and glancing around. You want to hear his voice, him to burst out of the kitchen with some stupid thing to say, wrap his arms around you, and kiss you until you can’t breathe. You realize—standing alone in the store, just as you always wished for—that none of this place matters anymore, not without him.
You don’t know who you are without this place. Maybe that’s even scarier than leaving it.
But it’s too late—you’ve done the damage, sent the best person to happen to you away as if he meant nothing to you at all.
As the final shift before Christmas Eve finishes, you open the cabinet to grab your things—keeping them on the same half you always had with him, not daring to fill his side. The closing process feels monotonous; unplug the decorative lights, check the counters, organize the orders, turn off the ceiling lights, walk out the door, and lock it behind you. Staring at the space he always parked in as you sit in the driver’s seat of your car, nearly breaking down from the pressure and the immense silence inside, is a new part you add to the list tonight.
You drive home without music, only half-paying attention to the road. The heavy snowfall blows against your windshield but makes no noise, clouds your vision more than the fog that’s already there. But your mind wanders elsewhere, unable to stay completely focused, much like most of your time as of late. Only the shell of you remains. And nobody notices—nobody even bats an eye. Not like he would.
Never like him.
You push through the front door, and even in your own house, you can’t escape Heeseung—he plagues your thoughts and haunts the inside of your little townhouse like a spirit that won’t leave. Every corner of the house holds a memory of him. Nothing remains untouched. Everything feels like a punishment; packages of ramyeon stashed away in the back of one of your cabinets, the Boston Bruins blanket that he claimed to be his favorite still folded in the spot he usually took on your couch (after which you forced him to watch a game because he “deserved to know the best sport in the world”), and even your bed—where the ghost of him still lies, his cologne etched into the sheets that you haven’t yet changed.
A rap on the door takes you out of your thoughts, jolting your body away from the refrigerator as you try to fill a glass of water. You place the half-full glass onto the counter and smooth your hands over your pants, furrowing your brows. You don’t bother to check the peephole; you simply turn the lock on the door, hand trembling slightly from stress and nerves, then the knob, swinging it open.
Your body tenses—eyes well with tears the moment they catch sight of his face. Familiar, loving eyes looking back at you, the soft, now cherry red hair you love to run your hands through, spotted with flakes of snow as they fall onto his head, the lips you’ve kissed with every ounce of affection in your heart pressed together as he swallows.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The snow falls behind him, around him, melts into his hair as he stands before you, unfazed by the cold outside as long as you’re near him; he thinks it’s been that way for a while.
“I can’t pretend like I don’t think about you every second.” He steps closer, almost crossing the threshold but not quite touching it, still not without your permission, despite every bone in his body screaming for him to. “I can’t act like I’m not in love with you. And maybe you don’t want to hear that, but you need to.”
The lights he helped string on the arch of your doorway twinkle above, illuminating his face with a soft red glow that somehow makes him prettier, if even possible. You falter at his words, legs fighting to stay steady beneath you as he says it with conviction and forces the tears to fall from your eyes.
“Hee,” you whisper weakly—all it takes for him to step forward and slide his hand behind your head, holding it in place for him to kiss you.
It’s different from the other times, a declaration and a promise all at once, desperation seeping into it like it hadn’t before. His tongue finds yours the moment your lips part to let it in, and he steps forward, forcing your bodies closer as if he’s trying to meld them together. You smile against him, hand trailing into his hair and taking the soft burgundy strands between your fingers, needing to feel him just as much. The thought of losing him—someone who made you realize everything you’d been missing out on—hurts more than any insult anyone could throw at you.
Because Heeseung is your person, and you’ll never let him slip away again.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between kisses, refusing to part from you after not seeing you for days; your mouth chases his, kisses becoming sloppy, but neither of you seems to care, not when it feels so good, for once. You hum into his mouth, and his hands grip your body tighter, fingers pressing into your skin. Heeseung moans, and you grin wider.
“No, I’m sorry,” you finally counter, pulling back to breathe. “I was wrong. You didn’t ruin anything, Heeseung.” Your hands slide down his arms until they reach his, lacing your fingers together and gripping them firmly, lips swollen. “I want to do this with you. I don’t want to be here if you’re not,” you say, shaking your head. “This is all I’ve known…But I want to know more. With you.”
“I don’t want to force you.”
“All my life, I’ve never even entertained the notion of leaving this town.”
You close your eyes and take a breath, exhaling deeply through your nose. “But if it means being with the person I love, I’ll travel as far away from here as possible.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, kissing along your jaw, the corner of your mouth, your lips. “‘m gonna make up for everything, okay?”
You nod, and his hands slip beneath the swell of your ass, hoisting you up for your legs to wrap around his waist. He carries you up the stairs, kissing a path along the underside of your jaw as your hand fists in his hair.
Heeseung takes his time with you, laying you onto the bed, fingers dancing along the edges of your clothes and peeling each item off, one by one. His lips find every dip and curve on your body, pressing kisses to them like worship, his touch reverent as he takes the first release from you with just his mouth, the second with his fingers, prying soft moans that seep into the four walls of your bedroom as if he’s the only other person meant to set foot in it.
When his hips meet yours, he kisses you as if his life depends on it, one hand palming your kneecap and holding it in place while the other entwines its fingers with yours, holding them above your head and against the headboard. You feel him in your stomach, on your knees, above you, around you—everywhere, all at once. He takes care of you; lets you feel every last inch of his want for you, shows his love for you rather than trying to control you. He wants you comfortable and pleased and satisfied all at once.
The soft light that streams in from outside the door—mixed with the small, white-lit tree in the corner of the room—makes you feel at ease, with Heeseung hovering above you, holding onto you like a lifeline, something you never thought possible the day you met him.
Your body relaxes under his touch, and your brain takes a vacation, focusing only on Heeseung, how perfect he feels like this, how nothing could feel any better than this very moment. And you smile against his lips, sighing deeply when you reach your final peak, giving yourself to him, wholly. Let the evidence drip down your inner thigh for his thumb to carefully brush away, unsure of whether its origin is from you or him. Kiss him until your lips go numb, until you can’t breathe, until he’s sure that he’s made up for every ounce of pain, every minute he missed with you, every night he could’ve made you feel this good and hadn’t, because he left. Not bothering to consider what anyone will think, what will happen if you leave, how tomorrow will go—all you think about is him as he pulls back to look at you.
And that stupid, beautiful smile of his.
-
The Christmas Eve shift passes by in a blur. With Heeseung back, everything returns in full swing, all hands on deck for the morning until close. Handfuls of people file in and out, picking up orders, grabbing passing drinks, admiring the scenery that he and you spent far too many hours meticulously creating.
On the short break you get, you pull out your phone, scroll through it mindlessly until a text message flashes on the screen.
public enemy #1: off the phone, slacker
You look up; Heeseung stands on the other side of the door, shaking his head and tutting his teeth. You flash him a smile (and a choice finger) that makes him laugh, loudly enough that you can hear it through the door. He blows you a dramatic kiss and walks away.
YOU: asshole.
public enemy #1: you love it
YOU: focus on working instead of me. and start thinking of outfits for tomorrow
The annual Whitmore family dinner on Christmas Day, usually hosted by your parents, but now extended to you. You invited Heeseung, intending to introduce him to the others as your boyfriend, the boy you love—whatever it takes to describe what he means to you. Where he’ll finally meet your parents, where they’ll find out that you’re going to navigate life with him outside of Valley Point, despite the challenges that you’ll face, and the fear that pits in your stomach.
You know that if he’s there, you’ll be okay.
Which reminds you,
hee ♥︎: anything for you
-
“Merry Christmas!”
You smile, wrapping your arms around your uncle as he walks into your house, your aunt following closely behind. Heeseung stands beside you, nervously fumbling with his thumbs as his eyes follow their path.
“Heeseung! I heard you’ve been absent for a few days,” he teases as he pats him on the back, not quite tall enough to reach his shoulder so easily. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he nods, eyes flitting over to you as you give him the go-ahead, and his arm slowly wraps around your waist, fingers resting just over your hip. “Just…figuring things out.”
“I knew it,” he grins, and you shove him with your palm.
“Yeah, yeah. Go inside and talk to the others, okay?”
Heeseung shifts his weight between feet, unintentionally moving your body along with his. You turn to him, tilting your head to see his face as he looks forward, not particularly focused on anything.
“Hey,” you whisper, and he looks down, his nervousness etched into his features. “It’s okay. They’re gonna love you.”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs.
“Heeseung,” you scold. “My parents are going to love you. I promise.”
“Okay,” he breathes. “Yeah…yeah, okay.”
The front door flies open, nearly slamming against the wall behind it; you don’t have to look to know who it is.
“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Heeseung Lee,” Jisung says as he saunters over, hands perched on his hips like he has a personal score to settle with him. “Heard a lot about you.”
“Have…you now?” Heeseung asks, already far too nervous to be confronted about things he has clue idea of.
“Yup.” He extends a hand for Heeseung to take and waits until he does to clamp down and practically cut off his circulation with his fingers. “Jisung,” he introduces proudly.
“Oh,” Heeseung nods. “I’m, uh—yeah. Heeseung.”
You notice a familiar figure outside the window and usher Heeseung into the kitchen with Jisung where the others are gathered, telling him that your parents have arrived. He goes without question. Once he’s in the kitchen, he gets swooped up in conversation almost instantly, only half-listening as his mind wanders off, worrying about what your their first impressions of him will be, if they’ll even like him at all. He hears your gentle “Hey!” from the kitchen, but can’t tear himself away enough to look back at you, despite his attempts.
“Heeseung?” you call from the empty sitting room on the other side of the house, and his head whips around. He takes a breath and walks toward the noise, preparing to see you standing there with your parents, waiting to introduce them finally, after so much back and forth, so much uncertainty.
But when Heeseung walks into the room, it’s not what he expected at all.
“Appa?”
You stand just around the corner, biting your lip nervously as Heeseung timidly speaks to his father, just a few feet in front of him. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before—a son, just a boy with his father, who lost his mother as a kid and only wanted to succeed for them. You swallow, not quite understanding what they’re saying; you make out a few words from what he’s taught you, but it’s not nearly enough. You don’t think you should understand, anyway—it’s their personal business, not yours.
Heeseung hesitantly steps forward, and his dad meets him halfway, pulling him into a hug that looks long overdue. You turn away, not wanting to pry, to give them their time alone, though you can still hear Heeseung’s quiet sobs, and you blink back tears.
As they pull away and exchange a few more words, Mr. Lee motions you in with an arm, and you bow gently, thanking him before letting him step out to join the group of people already accumulating in your dining room, socializing as the snow continues to fall outside.
“I love you,” he smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground, letting out a soft laugh that transfers over to you as you twirl around in the air, gripping him tightly, like you’ll fly away if you let go.
When your feet finally touch the ground, the tips of your fingers meet behind his neck, and you admire his expression, happiness glowing in his eyes. “I love you, too,” you whisper back, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. “You deserve to be happy, Hee.”
“I already have been,” he sniffs, and a tear runs down his cheek, barely reaching his jaw before your thumb catches it. “But God, you get better every day.”
He leans down and catches your lips in a gentle kiss, tasting of that same sweet Chapstick he’s been using and familiarity; comfort, warmth, love. Everything you’ve ever wanted—everything you’ll ever need. You don’t think you’ve ever felt as free as you do with him; though it scares you, you want to start this next chapter with him, because you’re not sure that you’d trust anyone else.
47 days can do a lot to a person.
Heeseung is a plot twist you never expected.
“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he whispers into the air between you, bringing a finger up to poke the tip of your nose. He laughs gently, and you match it; Heeseung thinks it might be the best sound in the world.
“Merry Christmas, Heeseung.”
You let the silence create a blanket around you, wrapping the two of you in your own world, even if for just a moment, where all that exists is you, Heeseung, and the faint glow of the incandescent lights strung around the house—present as a reminder of the love you gained this season, even after they’re taken down and stored away in boxes until next year.
Because they’ll always represent what you are: passion, joy, excitement, love—
this fic is an absolute masterpiece. it is so well written, the characters are so relatable, the scenery is described so beautifully… i enjoyed every second i spent reading. let alone the fact i absolutely love this kind of christmassy tropes, it was such a nice read! the confession scene made my heart pump so fast i could feel it in my throat omg. i loooved the little forced proximity and how they fell in love little by little, you can literally feel how much they care about each other whenever they speak 💔
ps. the fact that he dyed his hair just because he knew y/n would like it………. yeah that’s so heeseung, this fic is canon, 100%.
thank u for being here every time i complained about having to finish this and closing the app to slack off. also THANK YOU!! i tried to make the scenery as accurate as possible because i’m from new england so i wanted to add a little slice of my life 🙂↕️
ps. yeah heeseung is a whipped try hard so him dying his hair is a surprise to absolutely nobody ever
you've never had a desire to leave home. valley point offers solace, a place where you know you fit in, or even stand out in a good way. working at your uncle's bakery is a blessing you can never appreciate enough; what more could you ask for?
enter heeseung lee, a 23-year-old free spirit whom your uncle hires from the outside. you insist that you don't need him—it's a family business. he only wants to help. you won't give him a chance.
so, what happens when you uncover the layers of heeseung lee and begin to realize that there's more to him than meets the eye, and with that, someone to love?
now showing: incandescence (color my world).
PAIRING: nonidol!heeseung x baker!reader (hallmark christmas au)
WORD COUNT: 23.1k
ꨄ︎: merry christmas, everyone! i've been working on this nonstop for a while now, and i'm just now finishing it at 11:00 pm, but i think it'll be worth the wait :) i first came up with this idea way back in august, and i've been so excited to release her to the world 🥹 incandescence!heeseung is my favorite interpretation of him that i've written, mostly because i was really able to explore him as a whole. i hope you all love this story as much as i do. i'd love to continue their story. enjoy, and happy reading. xo <3
CONTENT: fluff, “enemies” to friends to ? to lovers, eventual smut mdni, fingering, multiple orgasms, sex not too detailed, unprotected sex, creampie(?), (semi?) public sex, pet names (baby), slow burn, mentions of blood, he cleans her cut, profanity, slight situationship, heavy angst, heeseung has no mom and slight daddy issues, baking au, christmas au, new england small town hallmark fic, tooth-rotting fluff, han jisung from stray kids, other enhypen members mentioned, boston bruins mentioned, arguing
incandescent.
(adjective)
to be full of strong emotion; passionate.
describes a person who is glowing with a strong emotion or feeling, such as passion, joy, excitement, or rage.
—
47 Days Until Christmas
“A what?”
Your uncle chuckles as you practically explode behind the counter, flailing your arms around like a small child not getting their way. “I said that I hired a coworker for you,” he simply states over a sip of his hot coffee, eyes glazing over the newspaper in his free hand. “You’re going to need help this year. I’m in no shape to be handling the rushes anymore. I’m getting too old.”
“Uncle Arthur, I’m fully capable—”
“Y/N,” he interrupts, and you freeze. “You’re going to work with him,” he sets the newspaper down and looks up, “so you’d better get used to it.”
“Where’s this guy even from?”
“He’s 23, around your age,” he replies. “From South Korea. Said he moved here for a change of scenery.”
“How did he find Valley Point?” you wonder aloud, arm tired from cleaning off the counter. If it weren’t 7:00 at night on a Tuesday, maybe you wouldn’t be so easily irritable, and in hindsight, he probably should’ve picked a better time to drop the bomb. But then again, you’ve always been this stubborn, so really, it wouldn’t matter.
“Beats me,” he shrugs, folding the paper neatly and tucking it into his flannel shirt pocket. “He probably wanted somewhere small if he was looking to escape the city. That’s usually the case for those boys. But I will agree with you that it’s quite odd that someone from Korea, of all places, stumbles upon us.” He chuckles softly to himself, but you only grimace. You’re not all that amused, clearly.
“I guess.”
He stands up from the barstool and braces a hand on his back, trying to stretch it out. “Well,” he winces, “I’d better be on my way.” He yawns, and you round the counter to stand in front of him.
“Uncle Arthur, please,” you try one last time, “I’ll be fine, I promise. You know I have a system, and—I mean, come on, can’t you just get Taylor or Diane here to help me? They know how to carry their weight around here.”
“They won’t be available as much as you’ll need them,” he counters with a pointing finger. “I tried to avoid this, but honestly, it might be good for you. Remember—you don’t own this place, Y/N, I do.” You want to protest, but damnit, he’s making a valid point—why can’t he just let you be? “I may be your uncle, but I can take this position away from you if you refuse to cooperate with me.”
You sigh with defeat, shoulders slugging beside you, eyes closing tightly. “Okay,” you whisper begrudgingly. “Fine. I’ll just have to...figure it out.”
“That’s my girl,” he smiles, patting your back, and you grimace again. He laughs—the kind that’s usually sweet but only annoys you further—and heads for the door. “You’ll like him.”
“Doubt it.”
“Just trust me,” he winks. “He’s quite the looker, ya know,” he jokes, and he finds that you’re not all that amused. “Well,” he motions for you to get back to cleaning, “you should be fine closing up alone. I’ll see you in the morning.”
You roll your eyes—and admittedly stick your tongue out—as your uncle exits the shop, leaving you alone with his empty coffee cup and the nerves of working with a complete stranger for the entire holiday season.
-
“And then he said ‘you’ll like him’ as if I’d ever like some random guy impeding on the system I so perfectly built up!”
Jisung laughs on the other end of the line. “Well, Y/N, you are just about the worst person to work with,” he giggles, popping a chip into his mouth. “Uncle Arthur might have a point there.”
He scrolls through Instagram on his iPad as he lies flat on his stomach, kicking his feet in the air like a little kid. “What if he’s hot, or something?”
“Pfft,” you scoff, “yeah, right. Some random guy stumbling upon a small town and interrupting my peace? I highly doubt it.” You sigh exasperatedly as you flop back onto your mattress, cold from the extreme lack of heat reaching your room; damn the central air system in townhouses.
“Don’t count the possibility out,” he mumbles, cutting himself short. “Oh, my god,” he snorts.
“What is it?”
“Did you see what Taylor posted?”
Taylor is a few years older than you. She’s the eldest daughter of Uncle Arthur’s good friend, who helped him start up the shop and passed away just a couple of years back. To keep her busy and give her a little piece of her dad, he let her help out during the busiest rushes of the year. You always got along with her, sure, but something always felt off, so you never kept all that close with her, and well—it seems you’ve been right all along.
“No,” you furrow your brows, putting him on speaker and opening the app to check. “That bitch,” you scowl. “She’s going on vacation to the goddamn Bahamas while I’m stuck here to work the Christmas rush with some fucking stranger?” You angrily slam the phone onto the bed beside you, and you hear Jisung gasp from the loud noise. “Seriously, I knew she didn’t care!”
“Hey,” Jisung pipes up, rolling onto his back, “look on the bright side—maybe you’ll make a friend out of him.”
“I dunno, Jisung—”
“Just…don’t let it ruin the season for you, okay?” he breathes. “It’s only until January.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
-
Alright, so you might have let it ruin your week. Not the whole season, or anything, but your week has basically gone to shit, and the blame is going to fall on him. A man you literally have never met, mind you. You don’t even know his name, because your uncle always butchers it in typical elderly American fashion.
But still, you’re too set in your own way to leave well enough alone. You’ve convinced yourself that this can only go wrong, and that’s what is going to happen, no exceptions. When he doesn’t show up at 7:00 a.m. sharp like you were told he was going to, the uneasy feeling in your stomach multiplies. You like people to be punctual, and even your uncle thinks the same way, so why is it nearing quarter past seven, and this guy has yet to show his face?
You angrily pop open the register to check the money, barely sorting through the paper before a loud, swishing noise interrupts you. A cold breeze makes its way in, and you turn your attention to the front door, where a man stands at about 5 feet 11, panic set in his face, two hot drinks in his hands.
It’s him; you know it is.
“You’re late,” you grit out and re-focus your attention on the open drawer. “Not a good look for your first shift here.”
“I am so sorry,” he begins, opting not to take off his comically puffy jacket and practically running towards you. “I swear, this isn’t how it was supposed to play out. I left my place almost an hour ago, and there were no buses, so I had to walk. I stopped for coffee on the way, because I almost died out there, and I grabbed one for you as an apology, but now that I think about it, you might not even like it.”
He finally takes a breath. “Shit, uh, I’m sorry,” he places the warm cup beside you, and you reluctantly accept it with a curt thank you. “You must be Y/N. Your uncle told me about you.” He extends a hand out to you.
“Yeah,” you respond dryly, “Y/N Whitmore.” You shake his hand without looking up. “Heeseung, right? I’m sure he told you how nice and friendly I am to new blood around here.” You finally get a clear look at his face when you close the drawer, nervously laughing at what he hopes is a joke, like he’s afraid you’re going to beat him up with the cash register if he doesn’t.
Okay, so maybe Jisung was onto something. He’s a looker. Like, really nice to look at.
He’s got the type of eyes that look straight into your soul. Not intimidatingly, just—deep. Big. Like boba. His face is soft, but it’s detailed, like the upturn of his nose and its sharp, straight bridge. His lips. His teeth flash with his smile, and it’s…pretty. And you have to admit that he has a really nice head of hair. The ashy blonde color looks a bit eccentric because it’s very clearly not his natural one, but it suits him. He kind of looks like a deer, if you squint your eyes and look, like, really closely.
Alright, so he’s hot; it doesn’t change the fact that he’s late and the person you’ve been not-so-excitedly anticipating to ruin your workflow.
“So,” he claps his hands and rubs them together in a dorky fashion, “where do we start?”
You breathe air out through your nose. “Cases,” you mumble, standing up straight and turning to the display cases beside you. “We need to make and thaw out what goes in every morning.” You gesture towards the empty shelves and the dry-erase labels. “It changes every once in a while. Our regular guy, Gerry, comes in late at night after closing to clean out the kitchen and prepare for us to make the pastries that go here,” you point to the shelves on the bottom, “and we deal with the rest. I usually come a little early to help with those, but I doubt I’ll be doing much of that anymore. As for you, we’ll make the muffins, some cookies, et cetera in the mornings, put out the other premades, and boom—ready to open by 9.”
“Okay…sounds…easy enough,” he nods along.
“Yeah,” you shift your weight from one foot to the other. “Do you know how to bake, or did my uncle go into this completely blind?”
“Go in blind?” he asks like he doesn’t know what you’re saying, and you blink in confusion until you realize he doesn’t. You haven’t really left Valley Point much, and the most time you’ve spent in a city probably only totals up to about 2 days, so the concept of someone not being born and raised here—or at least not speaking the language natively—is foreign. Your right-hand man is Jisung, but he was raised here. Things like this simply aren’t common in a small and sheltered town like yours.
“It means, like,” you tilt your head in thought, debating on how to explain, “when you do something without doing research first. I was asking if he hired you without even asking if you know how to bake.”
“Oh. I see,” he nods. “Sorry if my English isn’t great. I’ve gotten better, but being born and raised in Korea makes it harder to understand some things.”
“It’s okay.” Your nails scratch at the nape of your neck, “That’s my error, really.”
“Maybe you can teach me,” he adds with a smile that fades almost as quickly as it comes when your half-cold, half-unamused expression doesn’t change. “Uh, yeah, I know a little bit,” he clears his throat and answers your earlier question with a shrug. “Most of it isn’t stuff you make here, though. I’ve been here for a bit, but I’m not that good at it. I’m willing to learn.” He leans on the counter behind him and folds his arms nonchalantly, like you’re not staring at him blankly. “Besides, your uncle hired me to help you, so I think I should try to do my part.”
“Alright, well…since I’m not sure how much knowledge you have of some of these things, we’ll just start with the basics.”
And that’s what you do. You start slowly, spending the next few hours before opening carefully showing him how to prepare each item you’ll be making for the day. You make sure he watches carefully and doesn’t touch anything to disrupt your flow. You’ve got a system that cannot be broken, and he needs to be aware of that as soon as possible, or else there will be more problems than you already anticipate.
“Heeseung, you can’t put the flour in that fast. You’re going to dry out the cookie dough,” you palm your face. “Have you never made cookies before?”
If anything, he seems to be an attentive listener. But you’re not sure he’ll be a fast learner.
“But you said to add it,” he furrows his brows, and you breathe a long sigh past your lips, which only confuses him more.
“Just—do it little by little, okay?” you try again; he’s clearly not well-versed in this, and it really isn’t his fault, so you suppose you’ve got to give him a little benefit of the doubt.
“Alright…” he breathes and focuses a little harder, making sure to follow your rules. “I’ve really never baked anything before. I don’t even have a m—”
“It’s fine, Heeseung,” you sigh. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
You’re not a bad person. In fact, you’re anything but; you’d do anything for the people you care about. Your only real crime is that you’re far too easily annoyed.
The rest of the shift goes by smoothly; much better than you thought it would. He does ask a lot of questions about pricing and the register and whatever else you can imagine someone in his position would, but you suppose you can’t get too upset by that, because at least he’s trying to figure things out.
Still, this season isn’t going to be a cake walk, and it’s all thanks to that damn uncle of yours and his itch to make things perfect.
-
It doesn’t take long for you to become irritated.
Crowds are becoming more frequent, and you don’t have the time to be worrying about training someone, and not just training him, but literally teaching him how to make the food he’s selling. You could’ve handled this by yourself. You always do. The only people who have ever helped you with this are Taylor, your semi-friend from high school, who usually only worked this time of year as an extra set of hands, and Diane, who is around Uncle Arthur’s age and in the same predicament as him.
You worked your way to the top here fair and square, and no matter who has accused you of nepotism, it’s all baseless. You’ve had this system in place for years. It’s hard to watch the outer layers of it start to chip off because of Heeseung. It’s already stressing you out, and it’s not even Thanksgiving yet.
“It’s just so hard to get used to this when all I’ve done for years is work around my being alone,” you take a sip of your latte. “Like, I don’t know how to navigate it, and it’s making things even harder.”
Jisung crosses one leg over the other from across the table. “Well, for starters, you are the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” he stresses, “and it seems like the poor guy is just trying to figure out how to a, not piss you off, and b, learn how to bake while maintaining a.”
“Jisungggg,” you sigh, letting your head fall into your hand. “You’re supposed to be on my side,” you mumble into your palm.
“I mean, he kind of has a point,” Ellie, your other close friend from school (but nowhere near as much as Jisung), chimes in with the bite of her danish still in her mouth.
“We’ve already established that I was right and that he is hot, so—”
“Jisung, please.”
“I’m serious! I know you won’t admit it out loud, but we all know you think he is.”
“It doesn’t matter how attractive or unattractive he is to me. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s the sole reason for my current and upcoming problems, and it’s gonna affect the way I work,” you argue, gesturing with your hands. “I don’t know why this year, of all years, he decides to hire someone else, who isn’t even from Valley Point, or the States, mind you.”
“Let’s just change the subject, okay?” Ellie interjects. “Jisung, you need to stop being such a drama fiend! That is not what she needs right now, okay?” She turns to you. “And Y/N, you need to stop being such an anxiety freak and accept the fact that you’re stuck with Heeseung one way or another, okay? Great. Glad we’ve got that settled. Now, can we please talk about something else before my head explodes?”
One thing you’ve always prided Ellie on is her ability to mediate a situation when it’s beginning to escalate. As much as you love Jisung to death, he’s just as hotheaded as you, and it always leads to both of you beating a dead horse almost every time you’re together. Which is great and all if you’re alone, but not when someone else is there. That’s usually where Ellie comes in, and you’ve got to be thankful for that, whether you like it or not.
“Okay, uhh…There’s some crazy stuff going on at the publishing office, if anyone cares to hear.”
Ellie palms her forehead. “Jisung, that’s literally what I was just talking—”
“Oh, shit! I gotta go,” you shoot up from your seat, frantically grabbing your things and stuffing your trash in your pocket. “I told Heeseung I’d only be gone for thirty minutes, and it’s been almost an hour. Fuck, I can’t leave him alone for that long.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair, walking towards the café’s exit. “Sorry, guys, I’ll text you later.”
When you finally arrive back at the bakery after basically flooring the gas pedal the entire way back and somehow avoiding the police, you scramble around and slam your car door shut, which you probably shouldn’t do considering it’s a 2012 and cannot handle any more damage. But you ignore that and run inside to see Heeseung behind the counter, serving people, and looking…calm?
You already knew he was pretty easygoing. Still, even with the incredible number of people inside this place, he actually seems to be holding the fort down decently well. Then again, you haven’t been monitoring him at all since you left, and he could be doing everything wrong, so you beeline for the staff closet and throw everything inside before taking a fresh apron and slipping it on.
“You’re late,” he says plainly as the final customer in line walks away. “I thought you said you’d only be thirty minutes? And oh, if I remember correctly, you love it when people are…How do you put it? Right. ‘Punctual.’”
“Don’t get me started, Heeseung,” you roll your eyes, tying the apron behind your back. “Everyone loses track of time at some point in their life. Seems you were fine here alone, anyway.”
He scoffs, “What, after you basically implied that I’d burn this place down without you? Yikes, what’s that saying…Rules for thee, but not for me?”
“Heeseung,” you grit, and he laughs, nudging your shoulder with his.
“Relax, Sunshine, I’m just messing with you. Show a little enthusiasm,” he teases. “I can handle serving people. It’s just the other stuff that I need help with. Like, baking.”
-
“Heeseung, I told you that you can’t leave the cookies in for that long.” You palm your forehead as the smoke crowds around you, wafting into both his and your faces. “They’re burnt to a crisp, and we don’t have time to make more before the morning rush starts. It’s hard enough to serve people coffee and food if they’re at a table, and we’ll never have time to do all of this over, too.”
It’s only been a few days since you met Jisung and Ellie for lunch, and even when you thought for some reason that it would, nothing has changed.
“Fuck,” he coughs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying, it’s just—it’s hard to remember all of
this.”
“You know what? Just—just stay back here and make more. I’ll deal with the people out there by myself,” you sigh, smoothing out your apron and tightening your ponytail irritably. “Clean all of this up, and don’t take them out of your sight once they’re in there. If anything happens again, I’m going to be pissed.”
“Okay. I’m sorry.”
“You know, an apology doesn’t have much meaning when things like this keep happening.”
It’s all you say before you push your way out of the kitchen and to the front, where a few people wait in line at the register, and you frown.
“So sorry for the wait. What can I get you?”
As you help the customers, Heeseung remains in the back, doing as you tasked him with and trying desperately not to fuck it up. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t irritated, too.
You haven’t given him a chance in Hell in the few weeks he’s worked here. Even Arthur has been nothing but lenient with him, often apologizing for your behavior and trying to knock some sense into you, but it isn’t working. You’re clearly not willing to budge, and he’s starting to wonder if it’s even worth the hassle.
He manages to fix his error and make a fresh batch of cookies that look good enough to sell, and he brings them out to stock the case quietly, mostly avoiding eye contact with you in the process.
He doesn’t notice anyone standing above him until a girl no younger than him speaks, startling him, and he looks up.
“Are you new here?” she asks, twirling a strand of honey blonde hair between her fingers.
“Uh, yeah.”
“I figured. I’ve never seen you before,” she smiles sweetly, eyes glancing down, but not for long enough to warrant much suspicion. “I don’t think I’d forget a face like yours, anyway,” she all but whispers, so low that only he hears.
“Yeah?” he hums, a little intrigued, and leans over the case with the empty tray still in his hand. “I think I could say the same for you.”
Heeseung has quite the confident streak, but it hasn’t come out in the time you’ve known him. How would it, with how evilly you’ve treated him since you met him? Regardless, it’s there, and it’s awfully powerful. It’s not like he doesn’t know that he’s conventionally attractive, and well, then some.
The moment doesn’t last for long, anyway.
“Heeseung!”
“Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath and looks down with his eyes screwed shut.
“Stop flirting with the customers, and go back into the kitchen,” you mutter through gritted teeth, and he swears he can see steam coming out of your ears. “Or I swear to God, you will be fired.”
He drops the innocent act and huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes and making damn sure you see it before he slams his hand on the double-hinged door and enters the kitchen.
“So sorry about that,” you switch back to your perfectly-tailored customer service voice and turn to the girl he was talking to, whose name you don’t know, but you recognize from coming in frequently. “I’ll take you over here.”
“Can I just grab a blueberry muffin, and,” she scans the menu above your head, “a medium hot with three creams and two sugars?”
“Of course,” you smile, ringing up the order. “For here, or to go?”
“To go.”
“Alright, total’s gonna be six dollars and fifty cents,” you send the order to the card reader and walk away to grab the muffin and coffee as she pays. “Here’s the blueberry,” you place the bag on the counter, “and the coffee.”
“Great,” she smiles. “Oh, and also,” she interrupts, “that new guy—he’s kinda hot, isn’t he?”
“Not really,” you shake your head, but your conscience says otherwise. “He’s disrupting my flow here. He’s more of a nuisance, honestly.”
“Well, let me tell you—I wouldn’t care,” she giggles. “You wouldn’t happen to have his number—”
“—I can take who’s next in line!” a male voice shouts, and you turn to see that Heeseung has returned, and he’s not wearing his usual expression.
“Have a good one,” you say, and then force the girl out of the bakery, turning to him. “I thought I told you to stay back there.”
He looks you dead in the eye, and for the first time, you feel a little intimidated. “You’re not sticking me back there like a damn puppet anymore.”
Taken aback by his bluntness, you widen your eyes and front a smile for the next customer, not speaking another word to him during the rush. The air is a lot thicker than it was when you met, and it doesn’t seem like it’s going to change any time soon.
It’s gonna be a long winter.
-
“Okay, I’m gonna start cleaning the front if you wanna take charge of the back.”
It has been hours since Heeseung spoke a single word to you that wasn’t entirely necessary, and it’s starting to tick you off. Usually, you’re easily irritated by his way-too-energetic personality, but right now, you’d almost pay to have that version of him back, because whatever he’s got going on now is ten times worse.
“Come on, Grumpy, show a little enthusiasm,” Heeseung nudged your shoulder as you hung your head dejectedly over the counter. It was only 7:00 at night, and the bakery was deserted. You even swore you saw a tumbleweed pass through at one point, but it was highly unlikely to happen in bumfuck, Maine. Still, you had another hour left until close, and time only seemed to tick more slowly with each passing minute.
“Heeseung, I am not in the mood right now.”
“You’re never in the mood,” he countered, drumming his fingers on the countertop. You reached out and slammed your hand on top of his, forcing the noise to stop, and when you finally lifted it, he perched his hands onto his hips. “So let me get this straight—I can’t bake anything, I can’t clean anything, can’t talk to you or make noise with my fingers, and I can’t leave your line of vision. What can I do?”
“Leave, preferably,” you mumbled.
“You know, you’re kind of miserable.”
“Good.”
Heeseung doesn’t respond, doesn’t even give a nod to tell you that he’ll clean it. In fact, he doesn’t even look at you. He just walks into the back silently, not even breathing too loudly, and begins tidying up. You wonder briefly if this mood of his will remain constant, but you don’t know Heeseung—maybe it’s only a phase, or a short grudge, and he’ll return as normal within the next few days. Or maybe he’ll quit, you pray to yourself, but you doubt that you’ll get that lucky.
The sound of the vacuum whirring thwarts your thoughts, and you turn around to start cleaning the tables. The mop’s handle is cold against your palms, like it hasn’t been touched in years, but really, it’s because it usually sits in the supply closet where the heat never reaches. The rhythm you clean in is mundane. Typically, you’d put music on your phone and let it play quietly, or even sometimes, you wouldn’t mind if Heeseung buzzed in your ear about mindless nonsense. But now, it’s quiet. And it’s odd; off-putting in a way you don’t care to make sense of, because you’d rather not admit that you kind of miss him.
Hah.
Once you finish the all-too-exciting cleanup of the front—where you discover a beautiful clump of muffin that someone dropped beneath one of the corner tables and have to dispose of it—you sigh and stretch out your back, listening as a set of car keys jingle from the back.
“You ready to lock up?” you ask Heeseung as he walks out of the kitchen, his sweatshirt unzipped and hanging loosely over his shoulders.
“Yeah,” he mumbles, fumbling around with the keys in his hand. “I’ll let you do it, since you’re so set on making this all about you.”
He brushes past you and walks out of the bakery, leaving you standing alone, the room dimly lit from only half of the lights on. You guess it’s your own fault.
You turn the remaining lights off and head out, locking the door behind you, and watch as he pulls out of the parking lot without a second thought, not even caring to spare you a passing glance. You never considered that Heeseung could’ve been as petty as you, but you’re beginning to think that might not be so impossible.
The November air is much cooler this year than last. You wish you had opted for more than a cable-knit sweater as you walk back to your car, holding your palms over your arms to give them a shred of warmth. When you finally slip inside, you shiver and turn on the ignition, letting the cold air hit your face until it becomes warm with the engine. “God, I need a new car,” you mumble to yourself when the warm air hits, omitting the same almost rancid scent as it always does at first. Finally, you relax into your seat, lying still for a moment and letting out a tired sigh before putting the car in drive and setting your sights for home.
As you drive down the road, you notice the fallen leaves on the sidewalk, turning slightly brown from the damp ground beneath them. You’ve always loved autumn. There’s a lot to love with it—the change in weather, the colors, the New England foliage, oh, and the scents and flavors—what’s not to like? When you were still with your ex, you weren’t really able to enjoy it for the two years you spent with him. He always found a way to make you feel like a little kid, and not in the nostalgic way—it was the kind of judgment that made you feel small and childish. But he was the “perfect match”, as most would say, because you’d known him for years in your childhood, and Valley Point is a small town—the kind where everybody knows everybody. There really aren’t many other fish in the sea.
When you pass your favorite late-night coffee shop, you decide to pop through the drive-thru and order a small, hot drink. You’re usually not one for lattes, since they tend to be a little too strong for your taste, but you know it’s pumpkin spice, so you assume it’ll do the trick. And really, you just want to let yourself enjoy it since there was a time when you’d be chastised for a damn drink. Fuck him, anyway.
You probably shouldn’t be drinking something that’s caffeinated at this hour, but you don’t really care; it tastes phenomenal, and it’s exactly what you needed tonight, after the long day at work and off-putting silent treatment you’d been getting.
When you finally arrive home, your quaint, burgundy-bricked townhouse stares back at you welcomingly. You’re sure it’s never looked so appealing before. You tiredly walk in and set your purse down, kicking off your shoes and throwing out the empty foam cup that once yielded the delicious, pumpkin-flavored drink (you chugged it all before you even got to your street).
Stepping into the hot shower has never felt so relaxing. Your muscles have been tense all day, and the steam clouds your senses enough to make you forget about the long day you’ve had. As the water cascades down your back, you’re finally able to let go of the stress from the day and just breathe.
The fresh strawberry scent of your shampoo serves to relax you further as you massage it into your hair, closing your eyes and smiling faintly to yourself. Maybe this silence from him isn’t such a bad thing, after all. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to work alone again, or at least work in peace.
You wrap a clean, fluffy towel around your torso when you step out of the shower, the steam rising to the ceiling and fogging up the mirror. You wipe your hand across the reflective glass and stare back at yourself. It’s a quick, routine process from there: brushing your teeth, washing your face, changing into your silk sleepwear, and towel-drying your hair until you’re happy with it.
Then, you’re finally sinking into your warm, inviting bed.
As you lie still under the sheets, sleep doesn’t find you as quickly as you had pictured it would. Instead, you feel an odd sense of discomfort, something preventing you, putting up a wall that doesn’t let it reach you. With a heavy sigh, you pick up your phone and prop the pillow up behind you, scrolling through apps, playing whatever games you still have downloaded in two-minute increments until you become tired of that. But then, in a moment of weakness, you open Instagram—perhaps, the one thing you’ve been trying to avoid subjecting yourself to.
Typing his name into the search bar and finding his account is the easy part, feels like instinct rather than curiosity or reluctance, and that’s probably what frustrates you more about the whole thing. It’s when your eyes catch sight of his account that you’re culture shocked. He has…a good handful of followers. Not that much, but enough to prove that he was pretty well-liked back at home. At least, by one group of people.
And, well, his posts.
You don’t know why you’re clicking on them and staring at them so intently. It’s not like he’s some unattainable celebrity, or something—shit, you work with the guy. You train him, and if you think about it, you’re basically one of his bosses. So what is it about him that, for some reason, lures you in the middle of the night? Whatever vulnerability you’ve got flying around in your head is clearly working its magic.
You wish that he weren’t as attractive as he is. Especially with certain hair colors, because you’ve noticed that he’s gone through at least six from what you can see, and you’ve barely scrolled. Black, red, pink, blonde, purple—and a brief moment of dark blue—like a cycle. For whatever reason, something in your stomach ticks at the cherry red he looks to have had for only a few weeks. Well, shit—this isn’t humbling.
There are at least thirty posts, all littered with praises and thirsts in the replies, as if he’s someone important, someone in the public eye enough for all these women to be so bold. And in a span of about five minutes, you’ve gone through half of them. Staring. Studying. Wondering what has gotten into you and who must have spiked your latte. To hell with that coffee shop, anyway.
Mirror photos, landscapes, back shots, high angles, and fuck, the ones taken in bed that make him look like the sexiest person in the world, just because he’s barefaced and jaded in them. Like something you’d see in one of those edits that people make on the internet.
You close the app and put the phone face down on your nightstand, because you’re a little scared of what thoughts your semi-conscious brain was just conjuring up about the guy you’re supposed to hate. Well, okay—you didn’t like him before, and you still don’t. The only difference now is that before, you weren’t imagining what it would be like to have him all over you. Or on top of you.
Or both.
You suppose that looking at those photos must have given you some sort of weird closure, because your eyelids quickly become heavy after that, and sleep overtakes you within minutes.
-
You’re sitting on the couch when Jisung bursts through the front door, letting all of the cold from outside in. You begin to regret giving him a house key.
“We need to talk,” he shouts, beelining for the empty spot beside you and flopping onto the cushions, knocking your book clean off your lap.
“A ‘hello’ would be nice,” you mumble.
“You haven’t called me in three days and six hours,” he says from below, where his head rests in your lap. “And not only does that mean something is going on, but it also means that you are missing out on very. Important. Matters.”
“Such as?”
“I’m glad you asked.” He pops up from his spot—because he’s incapable of staying in one for too long—and takes the space next to you, pulling his legs into a criss-cross as his arm rests on the back of the couch. “So, I met this guy, and—wait.”
You cock a brow.
“This is deflecting. Why haven’t you talked to me in days?”
“Perhaps because I’m busy, Ji?”
“Too busy for your best friend in the whole world?” He narrows his eyes. “I highly doubt that. You have, like, one other friend, Y/N. And she’s also my friend. Your life is also…really boring.”
“Should I take this key away? Because I do not need to catch strays in my own—”
“Okay, yeah, yeah,” he interrupts, “whatever, you’re super cool and fun and stuff. But something is up. Despite all of this, I have known you like a book since we were eleven years old, so spill.”
He gasps, “Oh, my God, is it that Heeseung guy? Did something happen?”
You don’t respond; he takes that as a cue.
“I was right. He is hot,” he grins. “You finally came to terms with the fact that you wanna slide into his bed at night, and that’s why you haven’t been talking! You’re ashamed.”
“He hasn’t spoken to me in over a week.”
Jisung blinks.
“Oh.”
He tilts his head, “Wait, then—shouldn’t you be, like…throwing a party over that? I thought he was a dick. You said you hated him.”
“Yeah, well. He is. I mean,” you sigh, “he got mad because I told him to stop flirting with one of the customers—you know that blonde girl who always comes in, red lipstick and all that?” Jisung nods. “Yeah, well, she took a liking to Mr. Dimples, and he was supposed to be helping. So I said something to him, and he’s been stone-cold ever since.”
“Maybe you should try talking to him.”
“I don’t know, Ji,” you breathe. “He clearly has his mind made up. I doubt anything I can say will change it, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to.”
“You sure you don’t have anything to do with this?”
“I—no!”
“Y’know, you talk all this talk about him, but I’ve still yet to see him.”
You roll your eyes and sigh. “Will you let me breathe if I show you?”
“Yes,” he quickly answers, eyes lighting up at the thought.
You sigh, reaching for your phone, and Jisung raises a fist in celebration. “I can still refuse, you know,” you threaten, scrolling through your apps to find the one you ashamedly searched a few nights ago, and he stops moving. “Alright,” you swallow, “here.”
Jisung takes the phone from you and looks at the screen, visibly freezing when his eyes catch sight of the man you’re doomed to work with until at least the first of next year. You watch his jaw drop open, and regret washes over you—you’re never going to hear the end of it.
“Dude,” he whispers. “You’ve been working with this, and you’re complaining?”
“Oh, I knew it.”
“Y/N, you’re stronger than me. If I were you, I’d be on that so fast—”
“Peter Han!”
“Here, just take it back,” he shoves the phone back into your hands, “I don’t want to look at it anymore…Bitch.”
“Jesus, you are so dramatic,” you laugh, turning the phone off and setting it face down back onto the coffee table. “So enough about me—you said something about a guy?”
“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “On this app. He’s, like, my type personified. And he’s kinda far away, but I think we could make it work. I mean, I wasn’t going to stay here forever, so…”
“What’s his name?”
“Minho,” he smiles proudly.
“Well, I’m happy for you, Ji,” you smile back, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “You deserve it. But, uh…” You look over at the clock, and Jisung tuts his teeth. “It’s late, and I have to get up for a nice, long day of hostile work tomorrow.”
“I’ll go before you kick me out,” he swallows, rising to his feet. “Y’know, you’re scary when you’re bossy.”
“Jisung!”
“Okay, okay!” He runs for the door. “I’ll see you soon! Update me on the hottie!”
You threaten to stand and chase after him, but he laughs and runs out the door before you can even get to your feet. You shake your head, sighing as you fold your blanket.
Your best friend is a lot of things, but most of all, he’s a handful.
And even he can’t uplift your spirits about the day you know you’ll have tomorrow.
-
“Evan! Good to see ya, buddy,” Uncle Arthur says as he walks into the bakery, walking over to Heeseung and giving him a firm pat on the back.
“Hey, Mr. Whitmore. How’s it going?” he smiles, and your uncle shakes his head, laughing.
“I told you about a thousand times that you can just call me Arthur. I’m too old and tired for formalities, anyway,” he laughs and takes a scan around the shop. “But I will ask—where is my dear niece on this fine morning?”
“Couldn’t tell you,” he shrugs. “Haven’t seen her all morning. It’s not like her,” he notes as he dries out a mug to pour himself a cup of coffee. “If it were me coming in late, I’d be scolded like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’d believe it.”
“What brings you this morning?” Heeseung asks, grabbing a second mug and holding it up. “Can I make you a coffee or something?”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” your uncle replies and waves his hand.
“No, really, it’s fine. I was making one for myself, anyway, and…considering that Y/N isn’t here yet, I don’t think I’m going to finish the whole pot alone,” he laughs and sets the mug down anyway, reaching for the steaming pot. “How do you take it, Mr. W?”
“You’re too kind, really. Two creams and two sugars,” he smiles. “And to answer your other question—I just wanted to check on business. Y/N has been bothering me through the roof, complaining about this, and that, and the other thing. That girl is more stubborn than a boulder in quicksand, I tell you.”
Heeseung chuckles at your uncle’s remark, because it can’t be any closer to the truth. He really has no idea what you’ve been putting him through, but he doesn’t want to trouble him with that—he can handle you on his own. And you’d be stupid to think that he’d leave because of it. That would be letting you win, and he’s a lot more determined than you could ever imagine.
“Oh, believe me, I know,” he says as he hands your uncle his coffee, steam rising from the mug and heating up Arthur’s face, still red from the crisp air outside.
He hums softly and takes a sip, savoring the warmth in his mouth before placing it back down, leaving a few fingers loosely threaded in the handle. “She been treating you alright?” he asks, tapping the ceramic cup with the tip of his finger. “If she isn’t, just let me know. She tends to forget that I pay the bills here and not her.”
“No, no, she’s been alright,” he waves him off, taking a small sip of his own coffee before reaching for an apron below the counter and slipping it around his waist. “She’s a handful, but I haven’t been perfect, either,” he says as his hands tie the apron in the back. “I think she’ll come around eventually. It’s nothing I can’t handle, or at least try to.”
“Good,” Arthur smiles, “that’s nice to hear. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kid.”
Just then, the front door swings open and nearly slams against the glass beside it, forcing both Heeseung and your uncle to turn towards the noise. Both men are met with the sight of you, bolting inside and to the counter, a half-empty cup of coffee in one hand and your keys in the other.
“Shit!” you spit as you finally reach the counter, ripping your jacket off and stuffing it into the small storage cubby, along with your purse. “Oh God, I am so sorry,” you breathe, walking over to the two, both still looking slightly puzzled. “My alarms didn’t go off, and I panicked, and,” you turn to Heeseung, “I was gonna get you a coffee, too, but then I remembered we usually make them in the morning, so I figured, ‘Hey, maybe I shouldn’t do that!’ and then—”
“Y/N,” your uncle interrupts, forcing your lips to screw shut as you look at him sheepishly. “Calm down. Everything is fine.”
“Sorry…Uncle Arthur,” you swallow. “Hi…by the way.” You wave, offering an awkward smile while your uncle takes the final sip of his coffee and wipes his mouth with an old napkin he stored in his pocket.
“Hi, dear,” he finally laughs and stands up from the stool, sighing as his muscles tense up from sitting for too long. “I just stopped in to check on things,” he smiles, “and it seems that Heeseung here has been doing a splendid job at holding down the fort for us.”
You try not to roll your eyes.
“I’m sure he is,” you front a matching smile, leaning down to grab an apron of your own, smoothing down your crimson sweater before wrapping it around your waist. “He’s been very attentive. I think I can whip him into shape, after all.” You nudge Heeseung’s side with a playful elbow, “Right, Heeseung?”
“Right,” he nods.
“Well, if you don’t need me for anything,” your uncle begins, happily adjusting his coat, “then I’ll be on my way. I wasn’t planning to stay for too long, and you two seem to be doing well.” He turns to you, pulling your side into a small hug and ruffling your hair with his palm, at which you protest after spending far too long styling it this morning after waking up late. “I’ll see you soon,” he says, “and if I don’t see you, Heeseung, enjoy the Thanksgiving weekend.”
“I don’t celebrate.”
“I know that,” he laughs, “but you’ll still get the days off. Enjoy them, won’t you?”
Heeseung nods, and Uncle Arthur heads for the door, lifting an arm and waving to both of you.
“Bye, Uncle Arthur!” you shout, waving back.
“See ya, Mr. W!”
When you turn to Heeseung again, your uncle far out of view, his expression morphs into something stoic—leaving behind any happiness that he just had moments ago. You open your mouth to speak, hopefully offer more of an explanation than you gave when you ran in, but he doesn’t let you get the words out. Not before his voice abruptly cuts yours off, using a tone sharp enough to cut skin.
“Don’t worry, you can drop the nice act. He’s gone now.”
“I wasn’t putting on an act,” you bite back, but he turns his back to you and walks into the kitchen, bringing the empty coffee mugs with him. You’re a lot of things, but sitting back and letting some kid from outside of your hometown walk all over you? No, that won’t slide. You follow Heeseung into the back, the double-hinged door slamming against the old tile wall beside it. He’s leaning over the sink, steam rising from the hot water and sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he washes the dirty mugs. “I was talking to you, Heeseung.”
“Oh, were you? Sorry.” He doesn’t look at you; he barely bats an eye. “Doesn’t feel nice, does it?”
“I might have been harsh, but I never ignored—”
“—save it, Y/N,” he interrupts again, tone flat and voice low. “You’re the only one who likes to hear you talk.”
If there was a single bone in your body that had considered apologizing, there is a 0% chance that it’s still intact. You scoff and exit the kitchen, opting to stay out front and prepare to open. “This is what being nice gets me,” you mumble under your breath, huffing as you clean up a small coffee spill beside the pot Heeseung brewed earlier.
The rest of the day doesn’t go by any smoother. It passes in a blur—you, stationing yourself at the register closest to the edge of the counter, only moving to package orders or refill sitting customers’ coffee, and Heeseung, limiting himself to the back, where he helps bake and cleans utensils and plates and silverware ten times over just to avoid stepping into the front. Just to avoid seeing you.
It’s not as awkward working when the Christmas seasonal hires are there—Kira, who just turned 21 and helps you at the register, and Diane, who did return to help Gerry with the baking, after all—serving as a buffer between the two of you. But they only work until mid-afternoon, leaving you alone with him during closing as usual.
It starts as a simple mistake.
You’re gathering the half-empty mugs, dirty silverware, and bare trays from the display case to carry into the kitchen to be cleaned. The neon sign on the door is switched to “Closed”; it burns lowly in the silence of the front. Only one street light works outside, the one directly across the street from the front entrance. The others had blown out a few nights ago, and the town still hasn’t sent someone to check them out.
Footsteps sound in the back, but your ears don’t register them—not soon enough. The moment your hand reaches to push in the door to the kitchen, it hurls forward, knocking into your forehead with a force that stings, sending the tray out of your hand and your feet backward until you trip on spilled coffee and hit the floor.
“Ow, fuck,” you hiss, grabbing at the top of your head with your palm, feeling for a bump or wound. Your forehead throbs with sudden pain, and your other hand grabs your ankle—the same one you tripped over and twisted as you fell. “Shit.”
“Oh, God, are you okay?” Heeseung sputters as he kneels beside you. He raises a hand and gently pulls your hand away from your face to see the cut, but you quickly swat him off. He doesn’t protest.
“Don’t touch me,” you mutter.
Heeseung doesn’t get angry. In fact, the whole act he’s been maintaining all week disappears as quickly as it came the day this whole mess started. “You’re bleeding,” he whispers, eyes wide and remorseful. You flip your hand over to see a few drops of blood resting in the middle of your palm, and a short gasp slips past your lips. “Let me fix it.”
“No, it’s fine—”
“Please?” he asks, and the soft look in his eyes makes you falter.
“Alright,” you sigh, shoulders sagging as you flatten your palms on the floor and try to stand. Heeseung’s hand rests on the small of your back, but you don’t push him away—your ankle is in too much pain to stand without his support, and you almost reach for his arm, too. “At least let me clean the,” you suck in a breath when you put pressure on your ankle, “floor.”
“No, I’ll do it,” he shakes his head and guides you to the nearest chair, lowering you onto it. “It’s my fault.” He walks over to the cabinet where you keep the First-Aid kit and fishes through it until his fingers grip the handle, pulling out the case and bringing it over to the table you’re sitting at.
“Really, I can do this myself—”
“Y/N, just shut up and let me help you.”
Your lips tighten into a flat line.
Heeseung flips open the latches on the box and takes out a small bandage, accompanied by a half-empty tube of ointment and an alcohol pad. He tears the foil wrapper open and unfolds the damp napkin, wrapping it snugly around his index finger. Then, as his eyes gauge your face, the pads of his fingers tuck a few loose strands of hair away from the small slice, and he brings the napkin to the wound, dabbing it carefully over the blood to clean it. A sharp sting shoots through your forehead, and you wince from the pain, eyes screwing shut.
“I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs, applying small bits of pressure as he dabs the liquid away.
Heeseung is gentle with you; for a moment, you forget that you haven’t gotten along since the day you met. For a fraction of a second, you think you like the softness of his touch; the way his voice drops to a whisper to ground you.
“Good,” he removes the napkin, now spotted with crimson, “hard part’s over.”
Your eyes flutter back open, still on the cusp of a squint as they focus on a small flour stain on his sweater just below his ribs. He opens the bandage and squeezes a small dollop of ointment onto the cotton in the middle, then takes it carefully between his fingers. Your eyes trail up to his face, tracking his slow movements. His eyes focus carefully on the small incision as he aligns the bandage with it, lips subconsiously parted just enough to reveal the top row of his teeth.
He’s close enough to feel the warmth of his breath graze your skin, and you swallow, eyes transfixed on him. You don’t move. You can’t. As if your body is on autopilot, just like the night you purged his entire page without a second thought.
“Okay,” he breathes as he finally steps away, smoothing his palms over his jeans, and you blink out of your trance. “How does it feel?”
“Better,” you admit gently, focusing on the flour stain again to avoid his eyes.
He nods and gathers the trash into his palm, tossing it into the trash bin a few feet away as his empty hand closes the clasps on the kit. He slides it back into its place in the cabinet and carefully steps over the spilled drinks and shards of the ceramic mugs to get to the kitchen. You hear running water, a couple of clanks of plastic and wood, and then the door swings open again, where Heeseung stands with a mop and a bucket.
But you’re too stubborn.
You push out of the chair, wincing again as you put pressure on your ankle, and limp over to the mess on the floor. The tray sits upside down, edges covered in old coffee. Shards litter the tile, along with coffee grounds and brown liquid that could stain the white floor. Heeseung kneels beside it, not quite noticing your presence until you manage to get down to your knee on the other side of the spill, hissing with the sharp pain.
“I told you I’d do this,” Heeseung says when his eyes finally catch your frame.
“You already bandaged me up.”
“And your foot is shaking.”
You try to protest, but he has no intention of budging and every intention of cleaning everything himself. The position your body is in—crouched on the floor, ankle shaking from the pressure despite barely putting any on it—says enough. And as much as you don’t want to accept his help, you falter again with his gaze, standing with a sigh that resonates in your chest.
“Why are you so stubborn?” he asks, voice soft as he picks up the glass shards. “I mean—you never take my help, and you treat me like I’m incapable. Even on the first day, you didn’t want me here.”
His gentle confrontation forces a question onto you that you always thought he wouldn’t ask, and it sets you back. If anything, you expected an argument because of his recent demeanor, for him to lash out. Instead, he insisted on cleaning you up and touched you like something fragile.
Maybe he is a breath of fresh air that you’ve just been refusing to take in.
“I don’t know,” you breathe, lifting yourself onto the edge of the counter and bracing yourself with your palms. “I guess I just…I’ve always been independent, you know? My uncle, he…taught me everything here, and then he left it all to me a few years ago.” You watch as Heeseung silently gathers the shards into a pile and disposes of them safely. He moves toward the mop and takes the handle, tapping it along the edge of the bucket before bringing it down to the tiled floor.
“Having you come here on such short notice lodged a wedge into my plans, and I guess…I thought that you’d screw everything up,” you admit, looking away when his eyes drift over to your figure, too embarrassed to make contact with them. “So I was cold, and I didn’t give you a chance.”
“You know I’m not here to do any of that, right?” Heeseung asks, and your eyes flit back to him at the gentle manner in which he speaks to you. His elbow is propped up on the tip of the mop’s handle, and he leans into it, still looking at you as if he’s trying to convince you of something you don’t believe.
“I know,” you nod.
You take a deep breath, exhaling through your nose as he resumes the circular motion with the mop over the spill until the brown soaks into the fabric at the bottom. “How did you even end up here?”
Heeseung freezes—so quickly that you almost don’t notice—and continues as if you’ve hit a nerve just by asking. And as you decide that you shouldn’t pry, he speaks anyway.
“My mom died when I was ten,” he whispers, and your heart sinks to your stomach; you feel it fall from its place in your chest.
“It’s been just me and my father since. He tried to raise me well, and he did, really. But sometimes, with my mom gone, he just…wanted things to be too perfect, or else he wouldn’t be doing right by her.” He squeezes the dirty water back into the bucket with his hands, and your nose crinkles at the thought of him being so alone, having to lose his mother at such a young and vulnerable age. Tears well in your eyes, but you will them away; this isn’t about you.
“I always liked to sing, y’know? Not that I was really any good, but some people told me I could make something of it, if I tried,” he shrugs. “My mom, she used to sing sometimes, for some small venues. She didn’t make a lot of money, neither did my dad. So, when they had me, he felt like he had to shape up, and then, she…got sick.”
He sighs, hands visibly shaking, though you try not to notice. “And when I told my dad, he…lost his composure. It was a lot of yelling back and forth, and he told me I was disgracing my mom. So I left.” He glances around the café until he lands back on you, and a frown tugs at your lips when you catch a glimpse of his gaze, eyes tired and sad so visibly—an expression he’s never worn for you before. “Somehow, I ended up here. And I met Arthur just down the street when I was looking for a place to stay, or work…or both.”
He breathes.
“So I’m sorry, for ruining your plans. I never meant to.”
You blink as he walks into the back to empty the bucket, letting his words, his expression, his life sink in, amidst the silence at the front of the store. Guilt plagues your body, starting with your heart and spreading through each limb until you’re mindlessly pushing off the counter and following him into the back, limping in the process and ignoring the shooting pain that comes with it.
When the door swings open, Heeseung turns to the noise from his spot in front of the closet to find you walking carefully towards him, bandage snug on your forehead, and hair still tucked behind your ear.
He flinches when your arms initially wrap around his waist, but his body quickly relaxes when he realizes you only want to comfort him, and his hands find your upper back, resting atop your shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “About your mom…and me…and everything. I was wrong.”
His chest vibrates as he chuckles softly, palms rising to your shoulders and pulling you back to look at him. “It’s okay,” he smiles, “you didn’t know.”
“Can we just…start over?”
He nods, arms falling to his sides.
“I’m Heeseung Lee,” he extends a hand, “and I’m the new hire here.”
“Y/N Whitmore,” you shake it gently, “your new co-worker.”
“Friends?”
“Friends,” you smile.
He lets go of your hand and brings his fingers to your hairline, thumb brushing along the Band-Aid stuck to the side of your forehead. “You should be more careful when you walk towards double-hinged doors…going forward,” he jokes, and you laugh, eyes still glancing up at him until his eyes fall back on them. “Now go home and get some rest—and ice that ankle. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, right?”
“Right.”
“Go ahead,” he motions with his head, “I’ll take care of the lights.”
“Okay,” you nod, carefully stepping toward the door and flattening your palm on the cold metal to push it open. You turn back to Heeseung, who still hasn’t moved from his place beside the closet. “Thank you, Heeseung.”
He offers a curt nod, and you gather your belongings as he closes up, smiling to yourself when you finally exit through the front door, leaving behind only the faint sound of the bell that hangs above it.
-
“Christmas lights—we need, like, ten sets of Christmas lights.”
Heeseung looks up from the notebook. “Ten? What the fuck are we supposed to do with more than two?”
“Look, I don’t know what you guys do over in Korea, but in Valley Point, Maine, if there are any existing parts of a building without decoration on it, you’re doing it wrong.”
“Jeez, alright,” he looks back down and scribbles another tick onto the checklist. “I put us down for twelve.”
You smile. “That’s the spirit!” you shout as he sits at one of the empty tables closest to the windows, and you tidy up the front counters, ridding them of old crumbs and small spills from the day’s events.
For the first time since the day he arrived, you and Heeseung have gotten along. And, if you’re being honest, you’re glad that he’s here.
You decided to put him on Christmas decoration duty over the weekend, since you’re not quite sure that you’ll have the time, and you promised him that you’d give him a fair chance. He happily accepted the challenge, and the moment that you started the closing chores, you sat Heeseung down with a pen and a piece of paper, shouting various things to add to the list of decorations that he needed to buy.
“Are you trying to turn this place into the North Pole?” he asks, his voice wavering with concern. “Where are we going to fit all of this?”
“Oh, Heeseung, you poor, innocent soul,” you murmur, tutting your teeth as you approach the table he sits at, still with a half-limp, gently patting his back. “You have no idea.”
You walk over to the cubby that stores your belongings and begin pulling them out, starting with your winter coat and slipping it onto your frame, then your purse, and finally, the small set of keys that have only one decorative keychain: a Boston Bruins logo that is frayed at the edges and faded with time, one that your father gifted you for your sixteenth birthday when you received your first car.
“Everything’s done already?” he asks, and you nod.
“All you have to worry about is that list,” you point, zipping up your black coat. “I took care of the rest already. We weren’t too busy today, anyway.”
Heeseung takes a breath and stands up, grabbing the paper and folding it to shove in his pocket for tomorrow. He flips his chair and places it onto the table for the night, along with the other two, before making his way towards the cabinet you’re still standing at.
Another thing you hadn’t particularly noticed until today is your difference in height; how the top of your head just barely breaches his shoulders. You swallow, mouth suddenly parched, though you can’t pinpoint why.
Heeseung isn’t intimidating. He’s just…intense.
“Text me tomorrow if you have any questions, okay?” you finally speak as he takes his own jacket from the cubby. “I’ll be around.”
“Okay,” he nods, and you give him another pat on the back before walking to the door, noting the cold air as it whips against your face when you finally step outside.
-
The first ring wakes you.
Your body jolts awake, and your eyes barely open enough to register your surroundings—your bedroom, lit only by the dim light streaming in through your closed curtains, and…your phone screen. It buzzes beside you, a name present but too blurry to read with your tired eyes.
Your hand flops over the device, fingers lazily curling around it and bringing it closer to your face to read. The letters, still not perfectly clear, are familiar. Too familiar.
You reluctantly press the button to answer.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sorry to bother you,” Heeseung’s soft voice rings through the speaker. You hear beeping in the distance, akin to the sound of items scanning at a register, realizing that—at what is apparently 8:00 in the morning on a Sunday—Heeseung is Christmas shopping. Already. “So you wanted me to get a light-up deer, but there are at least four different types. Did you want an inflatable one, or the ones with,” he crouches down to inspect a display, “wire?”
You groan into the microphone, and he stands back up, expression puzzled. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but…Why are you doing this at 8 o’clock in the morning?”
“I needed to have as much time as possible to get it right.”
“Okay,” you mumble. “What do you have already?”
“Well…” he murmurs, trailing off as he holds the phone in one hand and sifts through the decorations with the other. “A few boxes of lights, garland, icicles—oh, and I even found some plastic candy canes that we can hang inside. Where did I put them…oh, shibal,” as he nearly slices a finger on the edge of the plastic.
“Huh?”
“Er—nothing. I found them.” He steps away from his cart and looks back over to the various types of decorative reindeer. “So, which kind do you want? I don’t want to get the wrong one.”
When you don’t respond, he pipes up again. “Y/N?”
“…Yeah?”
“Oh…shit, I woke you, didn’t I?”
You breathe. “Yeah, kinda.”
“Sorry, sorry—I’ll figure it out,” he stammers. “You can go back to sleep.”
“It’s okay, just,” a yawn interrupts, and you turn onto your side, “send me a picture, okay?”
“Okay,” he responds, and the line goes dead, leaving you alone and awake far too early for today in bed, staring mindlessly at the window as you wait for the chime of your phone. Then, it pings.
HEESEUNG: [attachment: 1 image]
HEESEUNG: inflatable or wired?
You laugh at the stupidity of his message so early in the morning, though you’re admittedly endeared by his dedication to the job you gave him.
YOU: wired. you can pick which one, i’ll put my trust in you
From the other end of the conversation, Heeseung smiles and reacts to your reply with a thumbs up, then slides his phone back into his pocket as he bends down to pick up the box of his favorite deer. White, one front paw up with the neck craned down as if it’s drinking from something. Something about it—perhaps the elegance of its form, or maybe the sternness in its posture—reminds him of you.
He places the box carefully into the shopping cart and checks off the “light-up deer” scribble on the paper from last night.
You, on the other hand, are awake for the day, and though being woken up by such an insignificant question wasn’t exactly ideal, you do have plans to visit your parents, so it isn’t so bad.
The day passes in a blur—air so brisk that a few flakes of snow fall onto the roads, a hectic hour of cooking and cleaning up the mess that your parents’ dog created, and a constant stream of questions from Heeseung to the point that you consider blocking him.
But you suppose you can’t be too upset. He’s only trying, after all, and when you finally sink into your sheets after the long day, you can’t help but let your mind wander. The thought of him not being able to experience the season the way you always had as a child—losing a mother so young—brings a frown to your face.
Mothers are the holidays, the birthdays—any occasion that needs them. And Heeseung had that taken away from him.
YOU: next weekend, we’ll put the decorations up
YOU: promise, i’ll show you everything there is to love here
You set your phone down beside you, letting the noise of the wind outside grazing your window and the warmth that your bedsheets provide lull you to sleep as the new week arrives, and you intend on making it the best. Your phone buzzes once, twice beside you, just gently enough not to wake you.
public enemy #1: great, can’t wait
public enemy #1: see you tomorrow
-
The week flies by in a flash so fast that it feels like it doesn’t even happen.
Your uncle visits a few times to check in on things, make sure that you’re holding down the fort like you should be doing without the stress of bickering. And if you’re being honest? It’s going well—so much smoother, now that you’re finally on the same page, and you trust Heeseung enough to carry his weight. As he’s said about a hundred times already this week, “Uncle Art has nothing to worry about.”
Monday and Tuesday drag; not the way they usually do, at least, not with Heeseung around. While the incessant finger drumming and the constant yapping in your ear and the 24/7 chipper attitude used to be the very attributes of his that made you despise him so deeply, you’ve come to find them entertaining. At least when there are no customers and not much work to be done.
Come Wednesday evening—when the closing hours slowly start to become your unspoken time to bond—music is blasting throughout the store over the speakers at a volume that would get you smacked upside the head by your uncle if he ever heard it with customers around. You’re wiping down the tables and counters, emptying the trash, and even cleaning every last speck off of the display cases until they’re entirely spotless, your sudden burst of energy courtesy of Heeseung and his unexpected obsession with Justin Bieber (and another handful of artists that you can’t name on just one hand).
“Just give me a chanceeee, ‘cause you’re all I need, girl,” he sings as he pushes through the door with the broom, using the tip of the handle as a fake microphone, making your whole body cringe at the sight.
“Oh, God, I can’t look.”
He saunters over, taking your hand and lifting it into the air. “If I was your man, I’d never leave you, giiirl,” he twirls you around, and you laugh, humoring him so that he won’t keep pestering you until you do. And maybe you don’t hate it, either.
“If I was your boyfriend,” as his hand slides down to your lower back, fingertips grazing over your sweater, “I’d never let you go.”
“Heeseung, come on,” you swallow and mask it with a laugh as he removes his hand slowly, sending an involuntary shiver up your spine. “We have to finish.”
“I’d never let you go,” he purses his lips and winks, seductively disappearing back into the kitchen without even sweeping a single ounce of dirt from the floor.
The music stops, and you blink at the door as it still swings gently from his impromptu dance number. The only real thought that you can form in your head is damn, because the man can sing; what does his father even have to worry about with a face like his and the pipes of an idol?
But you shake that feeling off fast and push your way into the kitchen, flicking him on the shoulder.
“Ow!” Heeseung yelps and grabs his shoulder as he whips around. “What was that for?”
“You didn’t even sweep the floor, dickhead.”
“Oh, shit. Whoops.”
And that about sums up your week.
-
“Today is the day,” Heeseung chimes as he bursts through the front door, soft Christmas music already humming through the speakers that decorate the walls of Arthur’s. The large box in his arms is stocked full of the decorations he meticulously picked out six days ago, practically overflowing as he pushes the wooden box that contains the deer inside with his foot.
You laugh from the other side of the counter, the clock behind your head already reading 4:00 as the sun starts to set, giving you a clean slate to work with, despite already having put some of last year’s decor up. “Someone’s excited to be at work on a Saturday,” you tease as he places the giant box onto an empty table and clasps his hands together.
The store, historically, closes after breakfast on Saturdays and is only open every other week on Sundays. “You’ve got to keep them on their toes,” said your uncle when he first decided on it. “If we want to be the best in town, then we’ve got to force business into one day. They’ll come in packs!” And somehow, he was right about that.
So naturally, today is the perfect day to decorate.
“Hey, when you don’t have to do any actual work, it’s not so bad,” he counters, emptying the cardboard box’s contents onto the table and chairs. “Besides, now that you’re not such a scrooge, I don’t mind spending my quality time with you.”
“Y’know, I can always turn back into one,” you threaten. “Nothing’s stopping me.”
“I doubt that.” He walks over and holds the strand of garland in place for you to pin it, since you’re very clearly too short to reach, and he happens to want to prove a point. “Once someone has fallen for Heeseung Lee’s charms, they often find it difficult to escape. It’s really a sad thing.”
Your hand freezes in its place, and you slowly turn to the man beside you, face contorted into the ugliest grimace he’s ever seen. “That was disgusting.”
“But notice how you couldn’t find it in you to move away?” He takes the pin from your hand and tacks the garland into place on the wall himself. “That’s the phenomenon in action, baby.”
“Ew.”
Heeseung trots back over to his pile of decor that looks like the Christmas section of Target exploded onto the table, and fishes through them until he finds some signage that he purchased to put on the windows. “Hm, I think these could look good on the windows, y’know?” he asks, completely disregarding the visible cringe still left on your frame. “I mean, come on—who wouldn’t walk into a bakery with a Santa Stop Here sign? That screams friendly atmosphere.”
“Where do you learn this terminology? Seriously, like, how did you even learn to speak like this?”
“I watched a lot of American television growing up,” he says as he grabs a roll of tape and some window hooks. “Also, one of my best friends back home grew up in Australia.”
“Oh. Wow,” you blink. “That explains the weird accent you’ve got going on, then.”
“Well fuck you, too, Y/N.”
You laugh.
“His name is Jake. Nice guy, kinda dramatic, kinda—horny, but he’s a good friend.” He peels the sticker off a hook and sticks it to the window, pressing down as he checks to make sure it’s aligned properly. As he grabs the sign and hangs it behind the glass, he chuckles quietly to himself. “He actually taught me most of my English. He’d usually use it when speaking to me, so I’d pick up on it. But once I took things into my own hands, I stopped being able to understand him.” He shakes his head, “Seriously, why do people talk like that down there?”
“Well, I dunno,” you shrug. “I mean—we have some pretty weird accents here, too. Look at, like, the south. Or even Boston. I’m from New England, but I wake up and thank God every day that I don’t speak like them. So, I guess we both got lucky.”
“Yeah,” Heeseung smiles, “I guess I did.”
The hours tick by much faster than either of you anticipated they would. Before you know it, it’s already dark outside, nearly seven o’clock at night, and you’ve moved outside, still tacking lights and signs and random shit Heeseung found onto the outside walls of the building. You gave him bush duty, since last year, you tripped and fell into it, and you swore you’d never decorate one again after the cuts healed and left a few light scars on your ankles.
At one point—before you stepped into the cold—Heeseung poked fun at one of the songs that played through the speakers, and you made sure that he regretted it.
“What is this even about?” he’d asked, cocking a brow. “Africa?”
“For your information, this is one of the top ten Christmas songs, and no, I will not be accepting counterarguments,” you interrupted from across the store, pointing a finger into the air and waving it around like some kind of child having a tantrum. “It was written and produced in 1984 by some of the greatest British artists of the 1980s for charity, and it is simply one of the best songs of its time. Never mind the controversy, it’s a hit.”
“It’s kind of…sad.”
“Well, take that up with Band-Aid, not me.”
So Heeseung shut his mouth and let you enjoy the song. But it all worked out—you let him pick the next few, and you went on as if nothing had happened.
But now, as your whole face practically burns from the cold, and you can’t really feel your fingers anymore, you step back, noting that the final thing to set up is the reindeer. Heeseung retrieves the box from inside and takes it out, carefully following your instructions to plug the extension cord in and pull it out just far enough to reach where the deer will stand in the grass, now frosted over from the cold and the thin layer of snow.
“Okay,” he mumbles as he crouches down to construct the reindeer correctly. He inspects the pieces, and you hold the manual in your hands, standing above him as your eyes gloss over the page.
“So what I’m gathering here is that you take these things,” you bend over to grab the small, V-shaped metal pieces, “and stick them into the ground over the deer’s feet. That should keep it in place. I think the rest is kinda self-explanatory as for where the deer’s body parts…connect.”
Heeseung nods and makes quick work of putting the pieces together, listening carefully to which order they should be connected in until everything is in place, and all he needs to do is stick the metal into the ground to hold it up. You crouch beside him and grab two of the stands, opting to set up the hind legs, while Heeseung takes care of the front, but you quickly find that you didn’t account enough for the ground being frozen.
As you push—with all of your strength—you can only manage to get the metal halfway into the ground, sighing as your body sags, too weak, but also too determined not to get them in. You don’t register Heeseung moving until he’s behind you, hands sliding over the backs of yours with his head just beside your ear, close enough to feel the ends of his hair brushing against your neck.
“On three, yeah?”
You nod.
“One…two…three,” Heeseung pushes down with you, and the metal sinks into the dirt, steadying the deer’s foot. He breathes in your ear, a small sound rising from his throat as he exerts his strength, and you swallow, opting to ignore it—at least, to the best of your ability. “Good,” he whispers. “One more.”
He helps you put the last piece in, practicing the same position, count, exhale until he sits back on his knees, and you sigh, hands trembling from the cold and the pressure.
“Let’s go inside,” Heeseung finally says, rising to his feet and extending a hand to help you up, “it’s freezing out here.”
After packing away the storage boxes and containers, you kill the lights and lock up, finally noticing how late it’s gotten as you walk to your cars. Heeseung turns to you and you match his gaze, tilting your head slightly as you wait for him to speak, noticing the familiar expression on his face that signals a question he’s trying to determine how to ask. Then,
“You wanna get a coffee?”
The corners of your lips pull into a soft smile; he doesn’t wait for an answer before his hand is on your wrist, tugging you down the sidewalk.
He leads you to a coffee shop—the same late-night favorite you’d stopped at a few weeks ago—and steps inside, smiling bashfully as he shifts his weight between his heels and his toes. You match his smile but don’t meet his gaze, looking away when he turns to you.
You opt for a medium hot, nothing too fancy for the late hour, but enough to keep you awake until you arrive back home. Heeseung matches your order and insists on paying, despite your protests, making sure to hand you the one with the cup sleeve since only one cup came with it, and he doesn’t want your hand to burn. You grin, thank him gently, and take the coffee, letting him lead the way outside, where—gentlemanly as before—he holds the door open for you.
“Is it everything you’ve ever dreamed of?” you murmur, taking a small sip and watching the steam from your breath waft into the air above your nose.
“Yeah,” Heeseung laughs, and you nudge his shoulder, adorned with a long, beige peacoat and a maroon scarf hanging just by his shoulder blade. “It’s good, though. I like it. After the long day, at least.”
You nod, “I’ll toast to that.”
Suddenly, Heeseung’s phone rings, and he furrows a brow, pulling it out and glancing at the name. “What the…” he mumbles as he presses the button to answer.
“Yooo. Any updates on the baddie from the bak—”
The line immediately falls flat.
“What—who was that?”
“...Jake.”
“Oh,” you nod, clearing your throat as you continue the walk, taking a timid sip of your coffee. “Seems nice.”
The moon, shaded by the clouds bearing snow for tomorrow, shines high in the sky as you walk down the sidewalk, the street empty at such a late hour; Valley Point is far too small for people to travel through this late. It’s peaceful, with most of the light in your path coming from the warm streetlights and the occasional small shops with decorated exteriors for the upcoming holiday. Heeseung looks around, and for the first time in a while, he looks relaxed—wholly, not for show.
“I’m sorry,” you swallow, voice a near-whisper as your fingers clench around the coffee cup, “for…everything. I shouldn’t have judged you so quickly.”
Heeseung looks down at his feet, and the ghost of a smile graces his lips. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“I just…I’ve been sheltered from a lot, growing up here. And you felt like a threat,” you sigh. “I should’ve never assumed so much of you.” You slow your steps, fingers pressing into the cup harder, turning your head just enough to catch a glimpse of his face. “You’re a good guy, Heeseung.”
His lips stretch further. “I think I assumed something of you, too,” he admits softly as he walks, staring at a tree in the distance as a squall of snow hits the ground you walk on. His footsteps slow down until they’ve come to a halt, and you match his pace, stopping just beside him. He turns on the ball of his foot.
“I’m glad that I was wrong,” he breathes.
“I’m glad, too,” you whisper back, staying firm in your place when he steps closer—tentatively—and raises his hand to the side of your head. You don’t flinch when his thumb brushes along the half-healed cut on your forehead, eyes drifting down to yours and never leaving.
“Can I kiss you?”
You nod before your mind can catch up with your body.
Heeseung’s hand slides further back, caressing your head as he slowly leans down and slots his lips with yours. It’s soft, gentle, comforting—just like him, from the moment he first spoke to you to the night he carefully bandaged your forehead as if it were the most important task in the world, despite barely having spoken to you in days. But that’s who he is—it’s who he’s always been, even if you failed to realize it.
His tongue presses against your bottom lip for entrance—not to rush or force, but to feel more of you, more of the person he’s grown to care more for in the last few weeks than he ever thought possible. Your lips part, letting it slip through, gently graze along your teeth; he tastes of coffee and faintly of peppermint, perhaps from the mints you’ve watched him swipe from the jar beside the register countless times, despite them being for the customers. His taste is familiar and comforting all at once, something you gravitate towards on instinct, and your body melts into his as you lift your empty hand, flattening your palm gently against his chest.
It feels like you’ve known him forever.
As he pulls back—so slowly that your lips fight to part ways—his hand stays in its place, and his eyes don’t leave yours, looking into them with an intensity behind them that you’ve never seen before. At least, nothing you’ve ever noticed.
“What now?”
“I don’t know,” you breathe.
A car drives by and interrupts; Heeseung’s hand falls back to its side, and you clear your throat, turning and taking a swig of the coffee as if your life depends on it. He looks in the distance and finds the familiar parking lot with only two cars parked just by the corner, swallowing as he looks past the snow.
“Our…cars are over there.”
“Yeah.”
You walk to them without speaking, the tension far too tight to be cut with words. The footsteps suddenly become louder, your ears become aware of every small sound, and your heartbeat pounds in your head; you’re not quite sure what to do or say, if you can do or say anything.
“So,” Heeseung coughs as you stop in front of the two cars, noses red from the cold, fingertips growing more numb as the heat from the coffee dissipates, “I’ll see you…Monday?”
You nod, throat dry, still unsure of what else to say.
He leans in—hesitates—then presses his lips to the side of your head, just over the small incision.
“Goodnight…Y/N,” he whispers, traces your figure awkwardly with his eyes, and bows his head just slightly before walking away and stepping into his car.
You lift a hand and wave, still standing beside the hood of your car as he returns the gesture and pulls out of the parking lot, eyes never quite leaving your body through the rear view until you’re no longer in sight.
-
How does one go about returning to work after kissing the man they’re supposed to hate? You suppose your guess is as good as any.
But you manage, slug yourself out of bed after a long, hard day of overthinking and what ifs that almost kept you up all night, but thankfully didn’t. And even better—Heeseung doesn’t change, not in the slightest. Not visibly, at least.
Not to you, to Diane, to Kira, to Gerry, or to any of the customers (including the hot ticket from the day you yelled at Heeseung in front of essentially everyone, who still hits on him but doesn’t quite get the reaction she wants).
But on the inside, when he’s left alone with you on late nights, acting cool and collected, he’s numb; trying to determine if it was all a mistake, or if you’re just conflicted, too. When he brushes past you mid-shift, no matter if it’s in front of other people or not, he wonders if you feel the same pause in the air that he does. If you want to kiss him again, if you want him at all, even in the slightest, or if you simply reacted instead of felt when he kissed you that night.
The week doesn’t drag. It feels still. Unmoving in the sort of way that makes time feel warped, coffee taste stale, smiles feel forced and devoid of the warmth they usually withhold.
But just like any week, Friday hits, the day before the seeming end. Three weeks before Christmas, when the first rush arrives, and your co-workers grow stressed, shifts extend by hours as work piles up. Customers find themselves entitled to things they don’t deserve, their impatience influencing their demeanor until you’re being yelled at, but you can’t retort—you’re only the employee.
“You can’t work the week of Christmas?” you shout at Kira as she grabs her belongings for the end of the shift; 5:00 sharp, never a minute more, never even letting the word “overtime” grace her spoiled lips. “What’s the point? We need you; we already lost Taylor.”
“I’m sorry,” she shrugs like it’s not important. “I can’t.”
“Just—go, I’ll figure it out.”
And she leaves without a second thought, adding fuel to the fire already burning inside of you from the stress of the day, the week, everything.
Heeseung tries to console you, but you shove him off, letting the stress turn you back into the monster you once were without trying to be. He thinks he’s the problem; that he’s made you hate him again. He lets the time pass, each employee filing out the same as any day until the last hour—the one that’s become so painfully familiar—arrives. It starts with customers slowly dwindling until close, when you lock the door to clean and watch the town fall silent, dark, with the oncoming night.
It ends with him approaching your frame—hunched over the countertop with your hands on your head—solemnly, placing a hand on your shoulder gently, though it still makes you flinch, and he pulls back.
“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers, and you turn to him, eyes tired, the circles beneath them far too dark. “I ruined it, didn’t I?”
You shake your head.
“Okay,” he nods, stepping closer, bringing his hands to your waist, only ghosting over it until your expression allows him to touch you. “Then let me help,” he pulls you closer, “please.”
You don’t stop him when he kisses you.
Slower, firmer than the last. Sure of himself, lacking the hesitation his lips harbored on the cold sidewalk, where his brain couldn’t decipher hope from reality. You lean into him, sighing into his mouth as your muscles relax under his touch, hands gliding up his arms until they’re locked around his neck, pulling him down to you.
His lips curve into a smile against yours, and you almost swear that you feel his heartbeat against your chest, racing at a speed that’s far too fast to be normal. His palms knead the swell of your hips, fingers pressing firmer into the skin just as they lift you onto the counter behind you—thankfully wiped down just minutes ago. You gasp, gripping him tighter but not resisting, legs parting to let him stand between them as you brace your weight onto your palm, one hand still toying with a long, ash-blonde strand of hair.
His palm skates across your front until it stops just above the waistband of your pants, and your breath hitches as his lips kiss a path along your jaw until they’re resting at your temple, just above your ear.
His hand slides between your legs, palming you through your pants; your hips lift, chasing the feeling. The pads of his fingers rub small, soft circles against the fabric, your own fingers tugging at a few strands of his hair, and he smiles, but you don’t notice. He presses the pad of his thumb over your clit, and you almost whimper, but you refrain.
“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs into your hair, and you nod mindlessly, body craving the release of built-up stress and tension from the week.
His fingers finally dip below the waistband of both your pants and underwear until the tips brush against your clit, and your body shudders against the countertop, your palm pressing harder into the white marble. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t tease, doesn’t build you up until you’re begging for something you’re not even sure of; his fingers push into you, slowly at first, letting you adjust to every inch as he breathes out, breath grazing the shell of your ear.
He curls them when they’re fully inside, and your body tenses again, gripping him tighter, pulling him closer, even if you’re not meaning to. You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut as you bite back a noise, too scarred from your last relationship and the embarrassment of letting him see you like this so soon after meeting you.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, taking his fingers out and pushing them back in carefully, the hand on your waist keeping you in place as your hips involuntarily writhe against the cold surface beneath them. “It’s just me.”
You nod, finally allowing a strained moan to slip past your lips. “Heeseung,” you whisper, so quiet that it’s barely audible, disappearing into the air as soon as it leaves your mouth.
His fingers move a little faster, pressing just against the sweet spot inside of you, causing your hips to jolt. He notices the shift and switches his focus, pushing the tips of his fingers in again and again—never too fast, never too slow—right against the same spot until your breaths morph into whimpers, unintelligible whines that don’t quite reach his ears. Your hand tugs at his hair again, hips chasing the release, lips perpetually parted in his grasp.
“H—Hee.”
Your eyes drill shut as the orgasm suddenly washes over you, knuckles white against the marble as your head fights the urge to fall back, but it doesn’t; Heeseung’s lips keep it in place, pressing soft kisses to your temple and whispering into your ear, though the soft ring in your ears keeps you from comprehending any of it. The sound of his voice is enough to ground you.
Warm droplets drip down the sides of his fingers, coating the creases between them, but he keeps the movement up, gradually slowing it until he pulls them out, your body still beneath his, your chest rising and falling with each breath. His thumb brushes away the release from the surrounding skin before he slips his hand out of the fabric and grabs the nearest napkin to wipe it dry, not bothering to make a show of things, not now.
He readjusts the waistband of your pants, smoothing them back into place and pulling your shirt down to cover the exposed skin.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” you nod, sliding off the counter as Heeseung’s hands fall on your waist to stabilize you. “Better. Thank you.”
“Good.”
He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear and lets his fingers linger there, eyes scanning your face. “Go home,” he whispers. “Get some rest. I’ll take care of things.”
“No, I can help—”
“Y/N,” he interrupts, “go.”
You exhale, offering a soft nod as Heeseung admires your face, the way the soft glow of the Christmas lights shines against your skin. He steps back to let you gather your belongings, holds your coat up so you can slide your arms in, and follows you to the door, making sure you don’t try to do any more than you already have today.
“What is…this?”
He breathes. “Whatever you want it to be.”
You nod.
“Text me when you get home,” he winks and closes the door, locking it for good measure. He watches you enter the car, turn the ignition, and pull out of the lot.
You arrive home, haphazardly toss everything onto the stairs, rather than put it away properly. Run a hot shower and wash the evidence of whatever it was that occurred at your uncle’s shop, the one he so graciously extended a hand out to you only for you to do something so obscene with the man he hired but a month ago. Yet, despite all of that, you don’t regret it.
Finally, after trying to scrub the sin off your body, you slide into bed, tired, yet relaxed at the same time, relieved of the pressure that the week had put on you. Your head turns to the phone, stares at it like the mask of the Green Goblin, urging you to send the message, despite knowing that he’s not someone you should pursue; someone you can.
But,
YOU: i’m in bed. i’m sorry for not texting sooner
public enemy #1: good. i just locked up not long ago, on the way home now
public enemy #1: sleep well
You guess you do.
-
Relationships haven’t been your speed for years.
But what you have with Heeseung almost feels too close to one; that scares you.
You introduce him to your house for the first time—a quaint, brick townhouse just down the road from the shop, almost central to the town, if someone were to pinpoint it. It welcomes him, perhaps too naturally, lets the hours slip past a lot easier than they should, than they would with anyone else. But Heeseung doesn’t notice. He doesn’t see a problem, he doesn’t feel the pit of worry in his stomach as strongly as you do—he just sees you. And maybe that’s why it feels so difficult to keep the line between friends and more from blurring with each day that passes.
You find that Heeseung has an obsession with ramen (or ramyeon, as he forces you to spell it now), so much so that he apparently even ate strictly that for an entire year straight. So during the nights when he breaches the line between professional and personal, stepping past the threshold of your front door and into your home, your sanctuary, he teaches you all of the ways he likes it. Maybe you’ll like them, too, and you can learn to make them yourself. Maybe you won’t, and he’ll just forget about it entirely. He doesn’t do things for himself; he does them for you.
You exchange languages in your spare time, during the moments when the shift drags, and the others can hold their own. The small sections of the day when it feels like you’re the only ones there, until you are, and your body just wants to be close to him, whether you should be or not. You help him with phrases, pronunciation, teach him some ways to put sentences together, or add filler words that are never necessary, but sound more native when you use them. Heeseung, in turn, teaches you Korean—the differing sentence structure, how to read Hangul, though it seems too daunting at first, and even how to speak some of it. Basic knowledge that can only go so far, but he’s proud, anyway. He likes hearing his language in your voice.
“Hey, are you okay?” you ask into the phone one morning, lodged between your ear and your shoulder as you take the chairs off the tables with Heeseung on the other line. “It’s…” you glance at the clock, “almost ten, and you’re not here. What’s up?”
“Oh, yeah, I—” he coughs, “—I’m sick. I must have caught something from the cold.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” you apologize, masking the part of you that’s upset, even if only slightly. Even if he’s not supposed to mean anything. “I’ll find someone to cover, or I’ll just try to do both. You can sleep.”
You hang up the phone and slide it back into your pocket as you work to prepare the store for the day, sighing as you glance at the clock again, knowing that time won’t pass as fast. Somehow, over the course of the last few weeks, you’ve grown dependent on Heeseung—someone you originally wished would leave your life as quickly as he came.
public enemy #1: come over tonight?
public enemy #1: i won’t bite. promise
The first time your eyes glaze over the messages, your body shudders. He’s been in your house a thousand times, taught you to cook his favorite meals (ramyeon aside), spoken Korean, watched television, and helped you decorate, for Christ’s sake. It shouldn’t be so jarring to accept an invite to his small, old apartment only ten minutes away from yours. But it is. Everything with him is.
But you show up, anyway. Ring the doorbell exactly fifteen minutes after your closing shift ends; punctual, just as normal. Heeseung answers the door, sporting a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt that you can read but aren’t sure what it really says. He looks tired, still clearly ill, but his face lights up with his smile. You feel a pang in your chest; guilt or happiness, you’re not sure.
You sit on the sofa with him and complain about the day, how busy work had gotten on the one day staff was short, making a complete show of it. Heeseung laughs, doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.
But he’s quiet; too quiet, nothing close to the Heeseung Lee you know.
“You should lie down,” you whisper, turning to him and rubbing your hand on his shoulder. “You look exhausted.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it,” you nudge him. “Come on.”
Reluctantly, he lets you force him into his bed, and you pull the covers over until they rest just below his elbows. You prop the pillow up behind his head until he looks comfortable.
“I’ll be right back,” you tell him, and he just nods.
You decide to put his lessons to use. You rummage through the cabinets, searching for the stash of what you know is hiding somewhere until you find the cabinet stocked with various brands and flavors of Heeseung’s favorite ramyeon. You take one that looks familiar—doing the best you can to understand the Korean name—and rack your brain to remember the way he taught you to make it, back at your place, with his hands resting over yours and your back pressed to his chest.
You’re surprised that you can even remember.
But you manage to complete a bowl that looks and smells edible, as close to his finished product as possible, and you stick a pair of chopsticks inside. You grab him a glass of ice water and a napkin and walk back into his room, where he lies idly on his phone. Your mind wanders back to the night you decided he was attractive at the sight of the familiar profile layout on the screen, and you swallow, stepping further inside.
“Hee,” you whisper, and his head turns. His eyes grow three sizes, and he quickly sits up, cocking a brow as you step closer, setting the warm bowl into his hands.
“You made this for me?”
“I tried.”
“I was wondering what took so long…” He twirls a clump of noodles onto the chopsticks and brings them to his mouth, taking a bite and slurping the remainder inside. His eyes fall shut, and a warm smile stretches across his face. “Perfect,” he compliments. “I taught you well.”
You giggle, moving to the other side of the bed and propping yourself up beside him. “Eat up,” you tell him, lifting a hand to brush a messy strand of hair away from his face. “You’re sick, you should be eating.”
“You’re good to me,” he murmurs, and you offer a smile in return, watching as he slowly clears the bowl. Even drinks every last drop of the broth—you swear he’s too obsessed, but you suppose it’s cute. He reaches for the water and takes a few sips, placing the empty bowl on the nightstand and turning back to you.
He leans closer, and you try to pull back. “You’re sick,” you repeat, but he persists.
“Not contagious anymore,” as he presses his lips to yours, and you laugh against them, letting him pull you into his lap, despite the protests you just made.
His hand finds purchase on your waist, thumb rubbing the skin just beneath the hem of your shirt as the other slips to the underside of your jaw, holding you closer to him. It shouldn’t feel right—being here, with him, in the apartment he bought a matter of weeks ago, derailing every bit of self-respect you thought you’d gained after everything with your ex, knowing that this is nothing, because it has to be. Because he just showed up one day and weaseled himself into your life. Knowing that deep down, he knows that, too. But still, as his tongue melts with yours, fingers grazing your skin like worship, you just want him.
For the first time, you don’t stop yourself.
And you don’t go home that night.
You read as friends, enjoying each other’s company when you have it, admiring decorations and listening to holiday music, watching the snow fall and collect in the crevices where the exterior walls of the store meet the ground—things anyone does with someone close to them. Things you’ve done with Jisung, with Ellie, with every person that’s come your way and considered themselves your friend.
But when you find yourself craving Heeseung’s proximity, making excuses to have time with him, even if only for a moment, invite him into your house, steal kisses that no one sees, brush past him and feel comfort, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world…when you begin showing up to work together, you start to realize that none of this is friendly. Not a single ounce.
And it can’t possibly be real, either.
-
“Evan!”
He jumps at the old man’s voice, the sound far too familiar to go unnoticed. He turns on his heel to see his boss—your uncle—approaching the counter, saying hello to some of the patrons as he walks around the corner and pats him on the shoulder.
“Someone looks hard at work.”
“Yeah,” he laughs, using a rag to dry off a clean coffee mug, “it’s been pretty busy recently. I can understand why you’ve got so many people here, Art.”
“Art. That’s a new one,” your uncle ponders as the kitchen door swings open, and out flies you, a large tray of cookies in your hand to re-fill the display case with. You almost don’t notice him standing there until you place them onto the counter, and Heeseung taps your calf with the edge of his foot.
“Oh, Uncle Arthur! I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” you exclaim apologetically, walking over to wrap an arm around him. He kisses your forehead, and you smile, perched idly beside Heeseung, whose eyes have been glued to you since you walked in, regardless of the others standing nearby amidst the chaos.
“Hm,” his eyes flit between you, finger lifting and gesturing back and forth, “you two…?”
“No!” you both shout a bit too comically synchronized (and loudly), eyes wide, hands waving in front of you.
“No, no,” you tack on, giving an awkward laugh. “Never, this guy?” You turn, mocking a grimace. “He’s lucky I even came around to him.”
“Okay, okay,” your uncle mock-surrenders, “just asking, no need to get hasty.” He laughs, reaching into his pocket to grab his eyeglasses and unfolding them, slipping them onto his face. He looks up at the menu—spending so long out of his establishment that he’s forgotten some of the options—and orders a few things, on the house.
“I bet, though,” he chuckles, still glancing up at the menu, “if I checked those cameras, you two would be just as close as I’d imagine. You kids are easy to read these days.”
That’s when it registers.
Your eyes lock with Heeseung’s; wide, terrified, horrified.
“The cameras,” you whisper, pointing up and gesturing at the one just above the counter, panic etched deep into your face.
Yeah, take one look at the cameras, and he’ll be fucking scarred. That’ll be the day he finds out some guy he barely knows fingered his niece right on the goddamn counter.
“Well, what do you want me to do?”
“I don’t know,” you shake your head, “we can’t just leave it there!”
“Then, what do you suppose—”
“—hello?”
“Yes!” You clear your throat, “Yeah—Uncle…Arthur?”
“You guys okay?”
“Yeah!” simultaneously, “yeah.”
Heeseung moves to grab his order, and you step into the back, beelining for the office that typically stays empty, since your uncle rarely visits for any longer than minutes at a time. You open the computer, sift through files, applications, everything until you find the ones you’re looking for, marked with the date of each day, each hour.
The door flies open; you sigh, noticing that it’s only Heeseung.
“God, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
He closes the door behind him, “He’s gone. I extended your goodbye.”
“Thank you,” you breathe, focusing back on the files until you come across the day you’re looking for, swallowing thickly as the footage appears on the screen in a minimized window.
You click and drag the mouse along the timeline, face dusted red the moment you find what it is you’ve been looking for, and lift your finger to let it play. You breathe, clearly embarrassed by the ordeal, despite the only person seeing this besides yourself being Heeseung. Yet, that doesn’t make it better.
You’re thankful there’s no audio.
You hover the cursor over the Delete button, then follow it to the Trash folder and delete it from there, clearing any evidence from that night. Leaving it only in your memories. You lean back in the chair, closing your eyes and letting out a sigh of relief, almost forgetting that he’s even there until you feel his lips press against the side of your head.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, baby,” he whispers, and your stomach caves. “You’re perfect.”
He ruffles a hand in your hair before leaving the office, not giving you time to counter his claim.
Damn, that handsome son of a bitch.
-
Saturday—six days until Christmas.
public enemy #1: come to arthur’s. rooftop. stairs at the back
You stare at the words—confused—for a few minutes, furrow a brow, contemplate. You still end up in the driver’s seat of your car, chugging down the street at such a late hour, your feet carrying you more than anything else.
You walk up the stairs carefully, swallowing down your nerves, though you’re not quite sure why it has you so rattled. Perhaps, because he’s usually asking to come to your place or inviting you to his, rather than this. This has to mean something; you’re scared of what.
As you finally approach his figure, he senses your presence and turns around. You gasp, nearly stepping back as your hand rises, running your fingers through his hair.
Faded cherry red; the same wine color you paused at all those weeks ago on his page. Bangs hanging loose in his face. Change accurate as an instinct, like he knew.
“Heeseung…” you whisper, swallowing as your fingers linger just behind his ear, and he fronts a bashful smile.
“You like it?”
“It’s…yeah,” you laugh, “I love it.”
“Good. I thought you would.”
Your brows knit together, “How would you have…known?”
“Well,” he breathes, shifting his weight between feet, “you sort of liked a post a few weeks ago. More than that—over a month ago, I think. I don’t think you noticed.”
“You love it,” he smiles, lifting a hand to your cheek as he leans forward, slotting his lips with yours.
He tastes sweeter tonight; like cherries and sugar, maybe from old gum or a mint, or perhaps it’s neither, and it’s the Chapstick on his lips that’s flavored like this. Your lips stretch into a smile against his, too natural to be simply casual, and you sigh contentedly into his mouth, one arm wrapped loosely around his waist, while the other extends upward, palm resting over his heart. You feel it beating again beneath your fingertips; it grounds you, still.
The wind swirls around you, forcing your hair to mingle with his, but it doesn’t matter; you don’t feel the cold, the breeze, the dust of snow falling onto the rooftop beneath your feet.
You think—for a moment—that you could stay like this forever, and you’ll be happy.
“Come with me,” he mumbles against your lips, and you pull away, looking into his eyes, head tilted.
“What?”
“Come with me,” he repeats firmly, words laced with a conviction that scares you. “When I leave, next year. After this.” His hands slide down your arms, and he laces his fingers with yours, rubs the backs of them with his thumbs. “I want to do this, see the world. And I want you with me.”
Your heart drops to your stomach. Heeseung is leaving. It shouldn’t come as a surprise—that was his plan, that was always the plan, wasn’t it? So, why does it hurt so much when you’ve known it all along?
You think about all of the times you’ve told him to pursue it; the times you’d lie in bed together, and he’d sing you gently to sleep, never thinking anything of it. When you’d play music at work, and he’d hum along to the songs he liked, to the ones he learned for you. When he’d start singing Do They Know It’s Christmas? after the stink you made the first time, and you’d tell him he was good, more than good.
Because to you, he’s perfect.
But sometimes, that isn’t enough.
“Heeseung, I—I can’t.”
The life in his eyes is the first thing to go.
Then, the smile falters, his hands loosen their grip on yours, and his jaw clenches as he holds back tears, though he tries not to let it show.
“Why?”
“Because I can’t, I—” you breathe, choking over your own words as tears brim in the corners of your eyes, making no effort to hold them back. “My whole life is here, Heeseung. I can’t just—leave it.”
“But that’s just it, Y/N,” he counters, trying to hold his composure. “You’ve only ever known this. Don’t you want to see what’s out there?” He steps closer, and you let him, knowing that you shouldn’t. “You have so much to offer.”
“I’m not like you, Hee,” you shake your head, “that’s not what I want.”
“Not with me?”
Your heart lurches, but you don’t reply. The words get stuck in your throat. Heeseung takes it as an answer, despite the tears running down your face—ones he makes no effort to wipe away, to acknowledge, though he would’ve jumped to get rid of them just minutes ago.
“I thought you would’ve changed your mind by now.”
“That’s not how that works, Heeseung. I can’t just up and leave, and you know that. You know I can’t just come with you like it’s nothing.”
He scoffs, poking his tongue into his cheek as he looks down at his feet. “You sound just like him.”
“Who, your father?” you shout, offense mixing with hurt and lacing your voice. “Because I don’t want to leave my home? Because I don’t want you to go?”
“Well, maybe I don’t want to leave without you, either, because I lo—”
“—Don’t say it,” you warn.
“Why not? You don’t want the truth?”
“No. Because I can’t handle it,” you admit, bile rising in your throat, but you swallow it down. “I can’t deal with that reality, Heeseung.”
“So what, you’re just gonna stay here forever?” he asks, hurt breaking his voice, the noise wedging the knife deeper into your heart. “You’re gonna just work here forever? That’s all you ever want to be? Just come cashier?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means,” he bites back, and you look away, taking a breath.
“You can’t expect me to do that for you, Heeseung. I haven’t even known you for two fucking months!”
“Well, from the way you’ve been acting, it seemed like we were a lot more than I thought, so I’m sorry that I misinterpreted whatever this was.”
“Look, I didn’t ask for you to just show up and derail my entire fucking life, okay?”
He freezes; you step forward, guilt immediately washing over you.
“Hee,” you reach out, but he moves away, doesn’t speak.
He walks down the stairs without another word, and you chase after him, breaths increasing in weight, your heartbeat hammering in your head like an anvil that just won’t stop. He opens the car door and slips inside, and your hand catches on it before he can shut it.
“Hee, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“—save it.”
He looks up at you, eyes red and glossed over. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave. Just like you always wanted me to, alright?”
“No, Heeseung—”
He turns the ignition and slams the door, forcing your hand to lift before it gets crushed, and he takes off, not looking back at you, not thinking twice, just leaving.
Realization hits like a truck; you sink to your knees, broken, battered. The cold of the fallen snow on the ground burns on your kneecaps, but you don’t care—you think you deserve it. Tears run down your cheeks, burning hot in contrast to the freezing cold outside, and you shove your hand in your pocket, pulling out your phone. Your fingers tremble so severely that you can barely grasp the device, vision blurred from the tears spilling down your cheeks; the painful fear in your chest is too severe to bear.
You dial the number without thinking. The ringing feels like agony, grating pain against your heart until you hear the voice on the other line that stops the ache just for a fraction of a second.
“Ji,” you sob, “I fucked up.”
-
“Hey, hey, what’s the matter, baby?”
You sob into Jisung’s chest, dampening his shirt, but he doesn’t care. He holds you closer and runs his palm along your back. Your knees still hurt from the cold, but they’ve numbed, just a little.
“He’s gone,” you cry, shaking your head as if it isn’t real. “I made him leave.”
“What?”
You bury your face deeper into his chest. “He wanted me to go with him, and I told him no,” you ashamedly tell him. “I can’t lose him. I don’t wanna lose him.”
“Lose who, Y/N?”
“Heeseung.”
Jisung blinks above you; you don’t notice, you don’t even look up, but you feel the way his hold loosens just slightly. “Heeseung? I thought you—what? I thought you hated him.”
“I don’t hate him, Ji,” you whisper, “I never did.”
“You have a lot to catch me up on when you’re done crying and warm in your house.”
And you’ll tell him, because you know where you stand with Heeseung now.
Only, you might never see him again, and your body can’t accept that fact. Not one bit.
-
You expected work without him to be difficult.
You didn’t expect life without him to be.
When the others ask where Heeseung is, you shrug—a partial truth, despite knowing that you’re the reason, that you’d hurt him too much for him to stay. You’d already been keeping him at an arm’s length, tried your best to, at least, but you’d pushed him too far, and now, you’ll have to pay for it.
His presence in your life feels like a candle that you never knew was burning, until one day, you noticed it, and then, it was out. Gone like it was never there, despite the smell left behind, the reminder of its existence never quite dissipating, not enough to forget.
“I don’t know, I guess he must have quit.”
—your usual response, dry, uninterested. Because you can’t bring yourself to feel the loss; if you do, you don’t think you’ll recover. You check your phone, even when it doesn’t ping, silently hoping that his contact will pop up, say something like gotcha! and then, he’ll show up out of nowhere, sliding right back into the hole he burrowed in your heart. But days pass, the holiday draws closer, and he’s radio silent. Some nights, you drive past the apartments, try to see if a light is on inside, if his car is nearby—you never quite find what you’re looking for.
Your uncle apologizes, thinking all of it is his fault, but you don’t have the courage to tell him the truth: that you did have something with Heeseung, and you let him go as quickly as he came. The wish you wanted to come true until he suddenly became everything.
You find yourself staring at the decorations inside the store, propping your hand up on the counter, and glancing around. You want to hear his voice, him to burst out of the kitchen with some stupid thing to say, wrap his arms around you, and kiss you until you can’t breathe. You realize—standing alone in the store, just as you always wished for—that none of this place matters anymore, not without him.
You don’t know who you are without this place. Maybe that’s even scarier than leaving it.
But it’s too late—you’ve done the damage, sent the best person to happen to you away as if he meant nothing to you at all.
As the final shift before Christmas Eve finishes, you open the cabinet to grab your things—keeping them on the same half you always had with him, not daring to fill his side. The closing process feels monotonous; unplug the decorative lights, check the counters, organize the orders, turn off the ceiling lights, walk out the door, and lock it behind you. Staring at the space he always parked in as you sit in the driver’s seat of your car, nearly breaking down from the pressure and the immense silence inside, is a new part you add to the list tonight.
You drive home without music, only half-paying attention to the road. The heavy snowfall blows against your windshield but makes no noise, clouds your vision more than the fog that’s already there. But your mind wanders elsewhere, unable to stay completely focused, much like most of your time as of late. Only the shell of you remains. And nobody notices—nobody even bats an eye. Not like he would.
Never like him.
You push through the front door, and even in your own house, you can’t escape Heeseung—he plagues your thoughts and haunts the inside of your little townhouse like a spirit that won’t leave. Every corner of the house holds a memory of him. Nothing remains untouched. Everything feels like a punishment; packages of ramyeon stashed away in the back of one of your cabinets, the Boston Bruins blanket that he claimed to be his favorite still folded in the spot he usually took on your couch (after which you forced him to watch a game because he “deserved to know the best sport in the world”), and even your bed—where the ghost of him still lies, his cologne etched into the sheets that you haven’t yet changed.
A rap on the door takes you out of your thoughts, jolting your body away from the refrigerator as you try to fill a glass of water. You place the half-full glass onto the counter and smooth your hands over your pants, furrowing your brows. You don’t bother to check the peephole; you simply turn the lock on the door, hand trembling slightly from stress and nerves, then the knob, swinging it open.
Your body tenses—eyes well with tears the moment they catch sight of his face. Familiar, loving eyes looking back at you, the soft, now cherry red hair you love to run your hands through, spotted with flakes of snow as they fall onto his head, the lips you’ve kissed with every ounce of affection in your heart pressed together as he swallows.
“I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The snow falls behind him, around him, melts into his hair as he stands before you, unfazed by the cold outside as long as you’re near him; he thinks it’s been that way for a while.
“I can’t pretend like I don’t think about you every second.” He steps closer, almost crossing the threshold but not quite touching it, still not without your permission, despite every bone in his body screaming for him to. “I can’t act like I’m not in love with you. And maybe you don’t want to hear that, but you need to.”
The lights he helped string on the arch of your doorway twinkle above, illuminating his face with a soft red glow that somehow makes him prettier, if even possible. You falter at his words, legs fighting to stay steady beneath you as he says it with conviction and forces the tears to fall from your eyes.
“Hee,” you whisper weakly—all it takes for him to step forward and slide his hand behind your head, holding it in place for him to kiss you.
It’s different from the other times, a declaration and a promise all at once, desperation seeping into it like it hadn’t before. His tongue finds yours the moment your lips part to let it in, and he steps forward, forcing your bodies closer as if he’s trying to meld them together. You smile against him, hand trailing into his hair and taking the soft burgundy strands between your fingers, needing to feel him just as much. The thought of losing him—someone who made you realize everything you’d been missing out on—hurts more than any insult anyone could throw at you.
Because Heeseung is your person, and you’ll never let him slip away again.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs between kisses, refusing to part from you after not seeing you for days; your mouth chases his, kisses becoming sloppy, but neither of you seems to care, not when it feels so good, for once. You hum into his mouth, and his hands grip your body tighter, fingers pressing into your skin. Heeseung moans, and you grin wider.
“No, I’m sorry,” you finally counter, pulling back to breathe. “I was wrong. You didn’t ruin anything, Heeseung.” Your hands slide down his arms until they reach his, lacing your fingers together and gripping them firmly, lips swollen. “I want to do this with you. I don’t want to be here if you’re not,” you say, shaking your head. “This is all I’ve known…But I want to know more. With you.”
“I don’t want to force you.”
“All my life, I’ve never even entertained the notion of leaving this town.”
You close your eyes and take a breath, exhaling deeply through your nose. “But if it means being with the person I love, I’ll travel as far away from here as possible.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, kissing along your jaw, the corner of your mouth, your lips. “‘m gonna make up for everything, okay?”
You nod, and his hands slip beneath the swell of your ass, hoisting you up for your legs to wrap around his waist. He carries you up the stairs, kissing a path along the underside of your jaw as your hand fists in his hair.
Heeseung takes his time with you, laying you onto the bed, fingers dancing along the edges of your clothes and peeling each item off, one by one. His lips find every dip and curve on your body, pressing kisses to them like worship, his touch reverent as he takes the first release from you with just his mouth, the second with his fingers, prying soft moans that seep into the four walls of your bedroom as if he’s the only other person meant to set foot in it.
When his hips meet yours, he kisses you as if his life depends on it, one hand palming your kneecap and holding it in place while the other entwines its fingers with yours, holding them above your head and against the headboard. You feel him in your stomach, on your knees, above you, around you—everywhere, all at once. He takes care of you; lets you feel every last inch of his want for you, shows his love for you rather than trying to control you. He wants you comfortable and pleased and satisfied all at once.
The soft light that streams in from outside the door—mixed with the small, white-lit tree in the corner of the room—makes you feel at ease, with Heeseung hovering above you, holding onto you like a lifeline, something you never thought possible the day you met him.
Your body relaxes under his touch, and your brain takes a vacation, focusing only on Heeseung, how perfect he feels like this, how nothing could feel any better than this very moment. And you smile against his lips, sighing deeply when you reach your final peak, giving yourself to him, wholly. Let the evidence drip down your inner thigh for his thumb to carefully brush away, unsure of whether its origin is from you or him. Kiss him until your lips go numb, until you can’t breathe, until he’s sure that he’s made up for every ounce of pain, every minute he missed with you, every night he could’ve made you feel this good and hadn’t, because he left. Not bothering to consider what anyone will think, what will happen if you leave, how tomorrow will go—all you think about is him as he pulls back to look at you.
And that stupid, beautiful smile of his.
-
The Christmas Eve shift passes by in a blur. With Heeseung back, everything returns in full swing, all hands on deck for the morning until close. Handfuls of people file in and out, picking up orders, grabbing passing drinks, admiring the scenery that he and you spent far too many hours meticulously creating.
On the short break you get, you pull out your phone, scroll through it mindlessly until a text message flashes on the screen.
public enemy #1: off the phone, slacker
You look up; Heeseung stands on the other side of the door, shaking his head and tutting his teeth. You flash him a smile (and a choice finger) that makes him laugh, loudly enough that you can hear it through the door. He blows you a dramatic kiss and walks away.
YOU: asshole.
public enemy #1: you love it
YOU: focus on working instead of me. and start thinking of outfits for tomorrow
The annual Whitmore family dinner on Christmas Day, usually hosted by your parents, but now extended to you. You invited Heeseung, intending to introduce him to the others as your boyfriend, the boy you love—whatever it takes to describe what he means to you. Where he’ll finally meet your parents, where they’ll find out that you’re going to navigate life with him outside of Valley Point, despite the challenges that you’ll face, and the fear that pits in your stomach.
You know that if he’s there, you’ll be okay.
Which reminds you,
hee ♥︎: anything for you
-
“Merry Christmas!”
You smile, wrapping your arms around your uncle as he walks into your house, your aunt following closely behind. Heeseung stands beside you, nervously fumbling with his thumbs as his eyes follow their path.
“Heeseung! I heard you’ve been absent for a few days,” he teases as he pats him on the back, not quite tall enough to reach his shoulder so easily. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he nods, eyes flitting over to you as you give him the go-ahead, and his arm slowly wraps around your waist, fingers resting just over your hip. “Just…figuring things out.”
“I knew it,” he grins, and you shove him with your palm.
“Yeah, yeah. Go inside and talk to the others, okay?”
Heeseung shifts his weight between feet, unintentionally moving your body along with his. You turn to him, tilting your head to see his face as he looks forward, not particularly focused on anything.
“Hey,” you whisper, and he looks down, his nervousness etched into his features. “It’s okay. They’re gonna love you.”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs.
“Heeseung,” you scold. “My parents are going to love you. I promise.”
“Okay,” he breathes. “Yeah…yeah, okay.”
The front door flies open, nearly slamming against the wall behind it; you don’t have to look to know who it is.
“Well, if it isn’t the infamous Heeseung Lee,” Jisung says as he saunters over, hands perched on his hips like he has a personal score to settle with him. “Heard a lot about you.”
“Have…you now?” Heeseung asks, already far too nervous to be confronted about things he has clue idea of.
“Yup.” He extends a hand for Heeseung to take and waits until he does to clamp down and practically cut off his circulation with his fingers. “Jisung,” he introduces proudly.
“Oh,” Heeseung nods. “I’m, uh—yeah. Heeseung.”
You notice a familiar figure outside the window and usher Heeseung into the kitchen with Jisung where the others are gathered, telling him that your parents have arrived. He goes without question. Once he’s in the kitchen, he gets swooped up in conversation almost instantly, only half-listening as his mind wanders off, worrying about what your their first impressions of him will be, if they’ll even like him at all. He hears your gentle “Hey!” from the kitchen, but can’t tear himself away enough to look back at you, despite his attempts.
“Heeseung?” you call from the empty sitting room on the other side of the house, and his head whips around. He takes a breath and walks toward the noise, preparing to see you standing there with your parents, waiting to introduce them finally, after so much back and forth, so much uncertainty.
But when Heeseung walks into the room, it’s not what he expected at all.
“Appa?”
You stand just around the corner, biting your lip nervously as Heeseung timidly speaks to his father, just a few feet in front of him. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before—a son, just a boy with his father, who lost his mother as a kid and only wanted to succeed for them. You swallow, not quite understanding what they’re saying; you make out a few words from what he’s taught you, but it’s not nearly enough. You don’t think you should understand, anyway—it’s their personal business, not yours.
Heeseung hesitantly steps forward, and his dad meets him halfway, pulling him into a hug that looks long overdue. You turn away, not wanting to pry, to give them their time alone, though you can still hear Heeseung’s quiet sobs, and you blink back tears.
As they pull away and exchange a few more words, Mr. Lee motions you in with an arm, and you bow gently, thanking him before letting him step out to join the group of people already accumulating in your dining room, socializing as the snow continues to fall outside.
“I love you,” he smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the ground, letting out a soft laugh that transfers over to you as you twirl around in the air, gripping him tightly, like you’ll fly away if you let go.
When your feet finally touch the ground, the tips of your fingers meet behind his neck, and you admire his expression, happiness glowing in his eyes. “I love you, too,” you whisper back, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. “You deserve to be happy, Hee.”
“I already have been,” he sniffs, and a tear runs down his cheek, barely reaching his jaw before your thumb catches it. “But God, you get better every day.”
He leans down and catches your lips in a gentle kiss, tasting of that same sweet Chapstick he’s been using and familiarity; comfort, warmth, love. Everything you’ve ever wanted—everything you’ll ever need. You don’t think you’ve ever felt as free as you do with him; though it scares you, you want to start this next chapter with him, because you’re not sure that you’d trust anyone else.
47 days can do a lot to a person.
Heeseung is a plot twist you never expected.
“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he whispers into the air between you, bringing a finger up to poke the tip of your nose. He laughs gently, and you match it; Heeseung thinks it might be the best sound in the world.
“Merry Christmas, Heeseung.”
You let the silence create a blanket around you, wrapping the two of you in your own world, even if for just a moment, where all that exists is you, Heeseung, and the faint glow of the incandescent lights strung around the house—present as a reminder of the love you gained this season, even after they’re taken down and stored away in boxes until next year.
Because they’ll always represent what you are: passion, joy, excitement, love—
꒰ ﹒ pairing: heeseung x fem!reader ... ﹒ friends to lovers, fluff ... ﹒ w/c: 21k
synopsis: for three years, you and heeseung have hovered between friendship and something more—stolen glances, late-night car rides, hands brushing under tables. but when the waiting finally ends, you realize you were never just friends to begin with.
꒰ ﹒ warnings: smut, mdni! explicit sexual content, petnames, unprotected sex (dont do it!!!!) not proofread
💿 % (◠﹏◠ ✿) #nowplaying: waiting room - phoebe bridgers
Three years ago, you met Heeseung at a Halloween party. And, in a way, he never really left.
You remember the night in sharp, neon clarity, the kind that only exists in memories warped by time and too many cheap drinks. The bass of the music was rattling against the walls, distorting into something unrecognizable by the time it reached your ears. The air was thick, humid with the breath of a hundred strangers crammed into an apartment too small to hold them. It smelled like spilled alcohol, synthetic fog from a cheap smoke machine, and the faintest trace of cinnamon, probably from some idiot who thought Fireball was a good idea.
You were standing in the kitchen, gripping a plastic cup half-full of something blue and questionably sweet, when you felt it. The warmth of someone moving too close. The press of a shoulder against yours. And then—disaster.
A smear of green, across your arm, your ribs, your stomach.
You stared at it, confused. It looked like paint. Wet, sticky, and clinging to the fabric of your skeleton costume like it belonged there. You blinked once, twice, before dragging your gaze upward, locking eyes with the culprit.
“Oh, shit.”
He was green. No, really, he was covered in it, from his jawline to his collarbone, down his arms, streaked across his hands. He was, in fact, one of the Ninja Turtles.
“Are you radioactive?” you asked, because that felt like a genuine concern at this point.
Heeseung—though you didn’t know his name yet—blinked at you, then looked down at his own arm as if just realizing that, yeah, maybe painting his entire body for a costume wasn’t the best idea. “I, uh—fuck, I didn’t think—”
“Didn’t think what?” you repeated, glancing down at your once-pristine skeleton costume. “That maybe body paint takes a while to dry?”
“No, see, I thought it was dry. I waited, like, an hour before putting the costume on.” He sounded both defensive and regretful, like someone who had just now realized the full extent of their mistake.
You sighed, poking at the stain. “Well, congrats. You’ve officially made me the first skeleton in history to die of green slime exposure.”
He let out a breath of laughter, then scratched the back of his neck—a habit you’d later come to recognize as his go-to nervous tic. “On the bright side… at least now you match me?”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”
“Is it working?”
“Not even a little.”
A slow grin spread across his face, lopsided and teasing. “Damn. Guess I’ll have to try harder.”
And he did.
That was the beginning of it, you suppose. A stupid mistake, an even stupider conversation, and a boy painted green who somehow managed to wedge himself into your life like he belonged there. You didn’t know then that he’d become your best friend. That in three years, you’d be sitting next to him in a car at two in the morning, singing along to songs you didn't really know. That you’d learn the exact way he liked his coffee, the rhythm of his breath when he fell asleep next to you on your couch, the way he always looked at you like he was on the verge of saying something important but never quite did.
No, back then, all you knew was that he was an idiot. And that, somehow, against all odds—you kind of liked him anyway. But you and Heeseung became friends by accident.
It wasn’t an immediate thing, not like some cosmic force snapped its fingers and tied the two of you together. No, it was slower than that, more like a series of small collisions, a gradual intertwining of orbits. And most of it had to do with Yunjin.
You and Yunjin had been friends since the beginning of college. One of those friendships that happens fast, like flipping a switch. One day, you were just two people forced into the same group project, and the next, you were sneaking snacks into late-night study sessions, texting each other memes at 3 a.m., and laughing until your stomach hurt over things that weren’t even that funny. She was the kind of person you felt like you had known forever, even though it had only been a few years.
But somehow, despite all that time, you had never actually registered who she lived with. You knew she had a roommate—she’d mentioned him in passing a few times, usually accompanied by an exasperated sigh or an eye roll—but you had never put much thought into it. The guy could’ve been a faceless NPC for all you cared. Just a background character in the world of Yunjin’s apartment. Until one fateful Tuesday afternoon.
You had gone over to Yunjin’s place to work on a mind-numbing, soul-draining research paper, and the two of you were sitting cross-legged on her living room floor. The atmosphere was calm, quiet—at least, until the front door swung open with the force of someone dramatically entering a scene in a sitcom.
“YUNJIN,” a voice rang through the apartment, loud and excited. “I JUST BOUGHT ZELDA: BREATH OF THE WILD. I NEED TO PLAY IT IMMEDIATELY.”
You barely had time to process before the source of the chaos came bounding into the room. A guy, slightly breathless from what must have been a very passionate journey home, clutching a Nintendo Switch game case like it was the most important thing in the world.
And he was green.
Well, not literally—he wasn’t still covered in body paint—but your brain made the connection instantly. The excitement, the unfiltered enthusiasm, the slight air of someone who had been making questionable life decisions since birth.
It clicked.
“Oh my god,” you blurted. “You’re the Ninja Turtle guy.”
Heeseung froze mid-step, eyes flickering to you like he was only now realizing there was another person in the room. For a second, he just stared, lips parted in muted shock, like you had just caught him committing a crime.
Then, in a tone that was both confused and slightly mortified, he said, “Oh. Uh. Yeah. That’s me.”
You squinted at him, taking in the full picture—the messy hair, the slightly wrinkled hoodie, the expression of someone who had absolutely not been expecting to relive his Halloween mistakes today. Then, you turned to Yunjin.
“You live with the Ninja Turtle guy?”
Yunjin, who had been watching this interaction unfold with barely concealed amusement, grinned. “I guess.”
Heeseung cleared his throat, regaining some of his composure. “For the record, my name is Heeseung.”
“Really?” you said, nodding slowly. “I thought your name was Donatello”
He looked mildly offended. “Excuse me?”
“Well,” you said, gesturing vaguely, “I feel like I at least deserve to know which turtle was responsible for my suffering. I thought it was Donatello.”
Heeseung rolled his eyes but played along. “Leonardo. Sunghoon was Raphael, Beomgyu was Michelangelo, and Jake was Donatello.”
You considered this for a second, then turned back to Yunjin. “I can’t believe you live with Leonardo.”
Yunjin, deadpan, replied, “Trust me, I can’t either.”
And that was the second collision.
You didn’t know it then, but this was how it would always be with Heeseung—dramatic entrances, loud declarations, and an energy that burst into the room like an unexpected firework. You had met him twice now, and both times, he had been the human embodiment of chaos. But for some reason, that chaos felt a little less like a background character now. And after that day, Heeseung stopped being just Yunjin’s roommate.
You started seeing him everywhere. Not because you were seeking him out—not at first, anyway—but because he had a tendency to appear in your life like some kind of recurring side character in a sitcom. You’d be minding your own business in Yunjin’s apartment, and he’d burst through the door, ranting about how someone stole his favorite study spot in the library. You’d go to grab coffee before class, and there he’d be, dramatically arguing with the barista about why oat milk was a scam. He just kept showing up, like the universe had decided that, for better or worse, he was part of your story now.
And then, you found out you had a class together. It wasn’t a real class. Not in the sense that it required effort or critical thinking. It was one of those ridiculous elective courses that the university offered purely to fill up credit requirements—something slapped onto the catalog as an afterthought, designed for students who were too lazy or too exhausted to take anything serious.
You had signed up for it without even reading the description, choosing it solely because it fit into your schedule and had a reputation for being an easy A. Heeseung, apparently, had done the same.
That was how the two of you ended up in "The Philosophy of Memes and Internet Culture."
The class was exactly as stupid as it sounded. The professor was a guy in his late 40s who still said things like “epic fail” unironically. The syllabus included assignments like “analyzing the impact of Vine on modern humor” and “writing a 500-word essay on the evolution of the Rickroll.” It was the kind of class that could only exist in a university desperate to appear progressive and relevant, and you were 90% sure the school administration had no idea it was happening.
It was, in short, the best class either of you had ever taken.
You and Heeseung immediately became the worst students in the room. Not because you weren’t paying attention, but because you were paying attention too much—finding everything so absurdly hilarious that neither of you could take it seriously. Every lecture felt like a fever dream. Every assignment was an excuse to see how much nonsense you could get away with before the professor caught on.
And then, of course, came the group project. It was a simple assignment: pick a meme, trace its origins, and present its cultural impact. Most people chose something predictable—Doge, Grumpy Cat, Distracted Boyfriend.
You and Heeseung, however, chose Shrek. More specifically, you chose Shrek’s cultural legacy as an ironic meme figure.
It was supposed to be a joke. A way to entertain yourselves in a class that was already ridiculous. But the further you got into your research, the more serious it became.
Somewhere along the way, you and Heeseung stopped just pretending to care and actually started caring. You spent hours deep-diving into obscure Shrek forums, analyzing the rise of “Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life” discourse, debating whether or not the character’s internet resurgence was fueled by genuine appreciation or detached irony. You became scholars of the Shrek Renaissance.
The night before your presentation, you were in Yunjin’s apartment, sitting on the floor with your laptops open, surrounded by a mess of half-empty snack bags and unfinished slides. The clock blinked 2:37 AM, and neither of you had any business still being awake.
Heeseung was slouched against the couch, staring at his screen with the expression of a man who had seen too much. “I think I know too much about Shrek,” he said, voice hollow.
You let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing your temples. “Yeah. We flew too close to the sun on this one.” There was a beat of silence.
Then, Heeseung slowly turned his laptop around, revealing a slide titled ‘Shrek and the Post-Ironic Era of Internet Humor: A Critical Analysis.’ And for some reason, that was it. That was the moment you broke.
Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the fact that you had just spent the past three hours watching deep-fried Shrek memes with Gregorian chants in the background. Maybe it was just the sheer, stupid absurdity of the entire situation. But suddenly, you were laughing.
Not just laughing—cackling. The kind of breathless, full-body laughter that made your stomach hurt. That made you feel like you were going to die right there on Yunjin’s living room floor, lost to the void of Shrek academia.
And Heeseung—poor, equally sleep-deprived Heeseung—was right there with you. He doubled over, gasping for air, his head nearly colliding with your shoulder as he choked out, “We’re never recovering from this.”
Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You turned to him, trying to catch your breath, and found him already looking at you. His eyes were crinkled at the edges, his cheeks flushed from laughter, his whole body still shaking slightly from the aftermath. And for a moment—just a moment—you thought, this is nice.
Not just the laughing. Not just the inside jokes and the chaos.
But him.
You pushed the thought away before it could settle.
Because, at the end of the day, Heeseung was your friend. Your dumbass friend who still had green body paint under his fingernails two weeks after Halloween. Who got irrationally angry at mobile game ads. Who had just spent the last six hours dissecting Shrek memes with you like it was a matter of academic integrity.
And that was all he was.
Right?
Heeseung, on the other hand, wasn’t sure when it started. That feeling.
That weird, stupid, barely-there feeling. The one that sat quietly in the back of his mind, like a notification he refused to check. Like a waiting room. A vague, almost imperceptible awareness that he enjoyed your company a little too much—that your laugh had started to feel like background music in his life, something he didn’t know he needed until it was gone.
Not that it meant anything. Obviously.
He liked lots of people. He was a social guy. He made friends easily, enjoyed being around them, and—despite Yunjin’s many accusations—was not emotionally repressed. He just… liked the things you liked. That was normal.
It was normal that he started watching that terrible reality show you always talked about, even though he swore he hated it. It was normal that he got a random impulse to buy you a weirdly specific snack he saw at the store because “it just screamed your vibe.” It was normal that he sent you voice notes every time he saw something even remotely related to Shrek, even months after your presentation.
That was just friendship. Which was why, as a friend, he invited you to an arcade.
It was one of those places that felt like it had been stuck in time since the 90s—neon lights, sticky floors, a vague smell of burnt popcorn in the air. The kind of place that probably hadn’t passed a health inspection in years, but had an undeniable charm to it. You were too good at skee-ball.
It was honestly annoying. Heeseung had challenged you three times, and each time, you had obliterated him without breaking a sweat. It wasn’t even close. “You’re cheating,” he accused, arms crossed as he watched you land another perfect shot.
You grinned, tossing the last ball effortlessly. “You’re just mad because you suck.”
“I don’t suck,” he argued. “This game is just—rigged. The physics are all off.”
“Oh my god. Did you just say ‘the physics are off’ in a skee-ball game?”
“Yes,” he said, completely serious. “I am a man of logic and reason.”
You snorted, shaking your head. “Sure. Okay. Man of logic and reason. If you’re so smart, let’s see how well you do at Dance Dance Revolution.”
Heeseung froze. “I—uh—what?”
“Come on,” you said, already dragging him toward the machine. “Let’s see those skills.”
Here was the thing about Heeseung: he was good at a lot of things. He could play video games for hours without blinking. He could talk his way out of almost any bad situation. He could even recite the entire “All Star” lyrics from memory.
But he could not dance. At all. And that became painfully clear the second the game started.
Heeseung missed every step. Every single one. While you moved effortlessly, barely even glancing at the screen, he was flailing. His feet weren’t in sync with his brain. His arms kept jerking awkwardly, and he could hear you laughing beside him, and somehow, that made it worse.
By the time the game ended, Heeseung was defeated. He doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping dramatically. “I think I died,” he announced.
You patted his back. “You fought bravely.”
He looked up at you then, about to retort, but the words got lost somewhere in his throat. Because you were smiling at him—really smiling. Your eyes were crinkled at the edges, your face still flushed from laughing. The neon lights flickered against your skin, casting everything in shades of blue and pink, making you look—
Well. Heeseung swallowed. That weird, stupid, barely-there feeling? Yeah. It was there.
But you were just his friend.
So, when Beomgyu casually mentioned, in the most offhanded, unbothered way possible, that he thought you were cute, Heeseung should’ve just let it go. But he didn’t.
“You think she’s what?”
Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “Cute. You know, in a hot way.”
Heeseung felt something in his chest twist. It was irrational. Objectively, completely irrational. Because, yeah, you were cute. That wasn’t news to him. He had eyes. He was aware. He had just… never thought about the fact that other people might also be aware.
Heeseung almost laughed. It was a knee-jerk reaction, the kind of dry, disbelieving scoff that came when someone said something so absurd it didn’t even process at first. But then, Beomgyu kept talking.
“I was thinking of asking her out.”
And Heeseung felt it. That twist, low and tight, in the pit of his stomach.
He blinked at Beomgyu, waiting for the usual rush of banter to kick in, for the easy teasing to roll off his tongue. But for some reason, his mouth felt dry. Beomgyu liked you. Beomgyu thought you were cute. Beomgyu wanted to date you.
It wasn’t that wild of a concept. People liked you all the time. You were funny and charming in that effortlessly chaotic way, the kind of person who made friends in the span of a single conversation. It made sense that Beomgyu, out of all people, would look at you and go, Yeah, she’s my type.
And it wasn’t like Heeseung had a say in the matter. So he shrugged, leaning back against the couch, and said, “Yeah, good for you, man. Good for you”
And that should’ve been the end of it. Except. Beomgyu actually did ask you out. And the worst part? You said yes.
At first, Heeseung didn’t think much of it. He was fine. It was fine.
So what if you had gone out with Beomgyu last Friday and came back looking kind of flushed, kind of happy? So what if, the next time he saw you, you had that soft, secretive look in your eyes, the one that said you were thinking about something that made your stomach twist in the good way?
So what. You weren’t dating. You weren’t his. And he sure as hell wasn’t jealous. Except then it wasn’t just one date. Because you went out again. And again. And again. And suddenly, Beomgyu wasn’t just one of Heeseung’s friends anymore—he was the guy you were seeing. And that, for some reason, was so much worse.
The thing about Beomgyu was that he was annoying. Like, Heeseung had always known this, but now, for the first time in his life, it felt personal. “Dude,” Beomgyu groaned, stretching his arms behind his head as they sat in their usual spot in the campus lounge. “Y/N is so fun, bro. Like, actually so fun.”
Heeseung clenched his jaw. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. She’s, like… different.” Heeseung made a face. “No, I’m serious,” Beomgyu whined. “She’s not like other girls.”
I’m gonna walk into traffic, Heeseung thought.
“No, like—” Beomgyu hesitated, looking off into the distance. “She’s just cool, you know?”
And Heeseung didn’t know why that pissed him off. Maybe because he knew that already. He had always known that. He had known it before Beomgyu, before any of these dates, before whatever the hell this was.
He had known it since the night he met you. Since the moment you called him Donatello when he was, in fact, Leonardo. Since the first time you said his name with that teasing edge, like you were permanently in on some joke he didn’t even realize he was making.
So, yeah. Maybe he didn’t like hearing Beomgyu say it like he had discovered it first.
But whatever. Heeseung let it go. Because it wasn’t like this was going to last forever. And then, it didn’t.
One day, you walked into Yunjin’s apartment, kicked your shoes off in a way that sent one flying across the room, and threw yourself onto the couch with all the weight of someone carrying a great and terrible burden.
Heeseung, sitting on the floor, scrolled mindlessly through his phone, pretending he hadn’t immediately noticed you. But then, you sighed. A deep, world-weary, existentially exhausted sigh.
Yunjin looked up from where she was painting her nails. “Jesus,” she muttered. “What.”
You groaned, stuffing your face into a pillow. “I think I’m over it.”
Heeseung’s thumb froze mid-scroll. Casual. He had to be casual. So, without looking up, he mumbled, “Over what?”
Another dramatic sigh. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life itself. “Beomgyu.”
Heeseung blinked. Okay.
Yunjin, who had been the biggest advocate of this whole thing, frowned. “Wait, what do you mean? You were literally texting him heart emojis yesterday.”
“I don’t know.” You stretched out your legs like the weight of your own existence was exhausting you. “I just… don’t feel like it anymore.”
Yunjin gave you a look. “Like, what? He’s a hobby you got bored of?”
“No! It’s just—” You hesitated, pressing your lips together. “Like, I liked the idea of him. And at first, it was fun. But then, the more time we spent together, the more I realized… I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
You exhaled, shutting your eyes. “I feel like I was trying to make myself like him the way I was supposed to. But it just wasn’t working.”
And that was when Heeseung’s grip on his phone tightened. He forced himself to keep his face neutral, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “The way you were supposed to?”
You turned your head towards him. “Yeah. Like, Beomgyu is great, okay? He’s funny, and he’s cute, and he’s nice, and I should like him.” You paused, expression softening. “But every time he kissed me, I just…”
You trailed off, lost in thought. Heeseung swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure why.
Yunjin made a gagging noise. “Okay, ew. Please don’t get all sentimental about kissing Beomgyu on my couch.”
You laughed, pushing her half-heartedly with your foot. “I’m just saying—it’s not clicking. You ever get that? Like, you try to like someone, but no matter how much you do, it just doesn’t fit?”
And the way you looked at Heeseung when you asked that—like you expected him to understand—made something in his chest tighten. Because yeah. He knew exactly what that felt like. He just… couldn’t say it.
So he swallowed, rolling his shoulders back, and forced a small smirk. “Damn,” he said, voice light. “Tough loss for Beomgyu.”
You let out a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah.” Then, a pause. “Guess I’m single again.”
Something in Heeseung’s chest lurched. But he just nodded, keeping his expression neutral, easy, unfazed. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like it didn’t change everything.
A few weeks later, Heeseung showed up at your apartment. It was raining that day.
Not in a dramatic, cinematic way, but in that soft, half-hearted drizzle that made everything look just a little bit duller. The sky was gray, the streets were damp, and Heeseung had definitely stepped into at least two puddles on his way up to your place.
Which, in his opinion, was already way too much effort just to fix your stupid kitchen cabinet.
“Okay, I just wanna say,” he announced as soon as you let him in, dragging his slightly-wet socks across your floor, “I don’t know how the hell you managed to completely detach a cabinet door, but honestly? I’m kind of impressed.”
You rolled your eyes, stepping aside to let him in. “Are you gonna help me or are you gonna make fun of me?”
“Oh, I’m definitely gonna make fun of you.” He grinned, toeing off his shoes before making his way to your kitchen. “But I’ll fix it after.”
You followed behind him, crossing your arms as you watched him inspect the broken cabinet. It wasn’t like you had meant to break it. You had simply been existing in your own kitchen, minding your own business, when the handle somehow got caught on the sleeve of your hoodie—one tug too strong, and suddenly the door was in your hands instead of on its hinges.
“I literally don’t understand how this happened,” Heeseung muttered, crouching down to assess the damage.
“Okay, handyman,” you shot back. “Can you fix it or not?”
Heeseung snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, let me just—” He held out a hand. “Pass me my phone.”
You blinked. “Huh?”
“My hands are kinda full,” he said, nodding towards the cabinet door that he was currently balancing on one knee. “Look up how to fix this real quick.”
You huffed but grabbed his phone from the counter, unlocking it without thinking as you leaned against the kitchen island. You didn’t love the idea of looking up a YouTube tutorial like some kind of DIY newbie, but considering that Heeseung was already physically here fixing your problem for you, you figured you could at least meet him halfway.
So, with one hand holding his phone, you typed "how to reattach cabinet door" into the search bar—
And then, your thumb froze. Because right there, at the top of the screen, was a notification. A message. From Chaewon. Your stomach twisted.
It wasn’t like you didn’t know who Chaewon was. Of course, you did. You weren’t stupid. Chaewon was his ex.
The one he never really talked about. The one who had, at one point, been a name you’d only heard in passing, just a piece of his past that you had no real reason to care about. Except… you did.
Because now, here she was. On his screen. Texting him. And suddenly, you felt fucking ridiculous. Because why were you even reacting like this? It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend. It wasn’t like he owed you an explanation. So, then… why did it feel like this?
You forced yourself to look away from the message, pressing the YouTube link on the screen as if nothing had happened. But something had. Because when Heeseung glanced at you, waiting for your next words, you just… couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.
“Uh.” You cleared your throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your voice didn’t sound normal. “It says you need a screwdriver.”
Heeseung raised an eyebrow at your abrupt shift in tone, but he didn’t question it. “Okay,” he said slowly, getting up to grab one from his bag.
You took the moment to shove his phone back onto the counter, clenching your jaw as you crossed your arms tighter over your chest. It was fine. You were fine.
“Hey.” His voice cut through the air, slightly muffled as he rummaged through his bag. “Can you hold this while I—”
“No, it’s fine.” The words came out too fast, too stiff.
And Heeseung noticed. He glanced at you, pausing with the screwdriver halfway in his grip. “You good?”
You forced out a laugh. “Yeah. Why?”
He narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head. “You just got all weird all of a sudden.”
“I didn’t.”
“You definitely did.”
You exhaled sharply, schooling your expression into something that wasn’t betrayal or insecurity or whatever dumb thing was currently buzzing inside your head. “I’m just tired.”
It wasn’t a total lie. Heeseung didn’t look fully convinced, but he didn’t push. He just hummed under his breath, turning back to the cabinet as he started working again.
And maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was irrational. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The notification. The name. The way your stomach had twisted on instinct before you even had a chance to tell yourself it didn’t matter.
Because maybe… Maybe it did.
The next time you’re at Yunjin’s apartment, Heeseung isn’t there.
It’s not intentional, not entirely. Maybe there’s a small, petty part of you that’s relieved when Yunjin mentions he’s out, like the universe decided to grant you a break from the exhausting push and pull of whatever this thing is between you. But mostly, you’re just here because you always are.
There’s an old episode of some dating reality show playing in the background, and Yunjin barely glances at it as she paints her toenails a shade of red so deep it’s almost brown. You pick at the hem of your sleeve, casual, too casual, before finally asking, “Does Heeseung still see Chaewon?”
Yunjin snorts, like it’s the dumbest thing she’s heard all day. “God, I hope not.”
Something in your stomach untwists just slightly, but you don’t let the relief settle. You just raise an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What happened with them, anyway?”
Yunjin pauses, her brush hovering mid-air. She gives you a look. The kind that says she sees through you. The kind that makes your skin prickle with the discomfort of being known. But then she sighs, leans back against the couch, and says, “They burned out.”
You blink. “That’s it?”
Yunjin tilts her head. “You ever leave a candle burning too long?” She dips the brush back into the bottle, shaking her head. “They were good until they weren’t. And when they weren’t, it was obvious. Chaewon got tired of waiting for him to catch up.”
You frown. “Catch up?”
Yunjin shrugs. “She loved him first. And she wanted him to love her back just as fast, just as much. But Heeseung…” She sighs, blowing lightly on her nails. “Heeseung takes his time. He doesn’t fall in love all at once, he kind of… eases into it. Like the dumbass that he is.”
Your chest tightens.
Because you think about the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. About the way he always notices when you’re cold before you even say anything. And then you think about the way he doesn’t say anything. About the way he’s always on the edge of something, always almost.
Yunjin is watching you. You can feel it. And you know, you just know, she’s about to say something that’s going to ruin you.
So you get up, stretch your arms above your head like you can shake the weight of this conversation off your skin. “Right. Well. That was fun. Thanks for the gossip.”
Yunjin smirks. “You’re so fucking obvious.” You ignore her, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. But before you can shove it in your mouth, she says, “Heeseung’s not stupid, you know. He just doesn’t like to move until he’s sure.”
You pause. And because you’re you, and because this is Heeseung, and because everything about this whole thing is a goddamn waiting game— You pretend you don’t hear her.
And then it’s 2:14 a.m. when your phone buzzes.
You’re half-asleep, curled up in bed, the glow of your screen slicing through the darkness. You squint at it, groggy, before reading the message.
heeseung: you awake?
heeseung: also. do u want mcdonalds
You blink. Then again. You type out a response with fingers that still feel half-dead from sleep.
you: is that even a question
heeseung: valid. be outside in 10
And just like that, you’re stepping into your slides, and slipping out the door like this is the most normal thing in the world. Because with Heeseung, it kind of is.
The streetlights cast long, tired shadows across the pavement, and the air is that weird mix of crisp and stale that only exists at this hour, like the city itself is pausing, caught between the last breath of night and the first inhale of morning.
Heeseung’s car rolls up exactly nine minutes later, music already playing low through the speakers. When you slide into the passenger seat, he barely even looks at you before reaching into the back and tossing you his hoodie.
“You’re gonna get cold,” he says simply.
You huff, but you put it on. It smells like him—faint detergent, something vaguely woody, and the unmistakable scent of McDonald’s fries from however many late-night runs have preceded this one.
Heeseung pulls out onto the street, the familiar hum of the engine settling between you. He’s got one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel, and there’s a soft shadow of exhaustion under his eyes, but he still looks… at ease.
It’s quiet for a while. Comfortable. The kind of silence that doesn’t feel like it needs filling.
Then, as he turns onto the main road, he says, “You ever think about how weird time is?”
You glance at him. “That’s an insane way to start a conversation.”
“I’m serious,” he laughs, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “Like, right now. It’s 2:30 a.m. for us, but somewhere else, it’s a normal afternoon. Someone’s getting lunch, someone’s going to work. And here we are, about to eat McNuggets in a parking lot.”
You hum. “I feel like this is your way of convincing me that time isn’t real.”
He nods solemnly. “Nothing is real.”
“Except McNuggets.”
“Exactly.”
A beat passes, the soft rumble of the tires against the road the only sound for a moment. Then, quieter, more thoughtful, Heeseung asks, “Where do you think you’ll be in a year?”
The question catches you off guard. You tilt your head, thinking. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean, I have plans, but… life never really goes how you expect it to, does it?”
Heeseung exhales a small laugh. “No. It really doesn’t.”
You hesitate before adding, “Where do you think you’ll be?”
He takes a moment. His grip on the steering wheel tightens just slightly, like he’s holding onto the words before letting them go. “I don’t know either.” He pauses, then glances at you with something unreadable in his eyes. “I just hope I’m somewhere that still feels like home.”
You feel something shift. A small, almost imperceptible weight settling between the two of you.
And maybe it’s the hour. Maybe it’s the fact that your brain isn’t fully awake yet. Or maybe it’s just him—this version of Heeseung that only exists at 2:30 a.m., the one who speaks in half-truths and unspoken things. But you suddenly feel like you understand exactly what he means.
The McDonald’s drive-thru is basically empty when you pull in. The girl at the window looks like she hates her job, and Heeseung, being Heeseung, makes it his personal mission to get her to smile.
“Are McFlurries still a scam?” he asks solemnly.
The girl raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You mean, is the machine broken?”
“Yeah.”
“Obviously.”
Heeseung sighs. “I knew it. A tragedy, really.”
Her lips twitch—just barely—but he sees it. He shoots you a triumphant look as he pulls forward.
With the food secured, he parks in a near-empty lot. There’s something about eating fast food in a car past midnight that makes it taste ten times better—something about the way the city is so still, like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you and the glow of the dashboard lights.
For a while, you just eat in silence, the occasional rustle of a fry bag or the quiet click of a sauce container the only noise. Then Heeseung says, “If you could live in any movie, which one would it be?”
You think for a moment. “Probably something stupid and fun. Like… a rom-com where everything works out in the end.”
Heeseung snorts. “Yeah? You want to be the main character that badly?”
“Obviously.”
He grins, dipping a fry into his BBQ sauce. “You’d be the chaotic best friend, though.”
You throw a fry at him. He catches it in his mouth.
“What about you?” you ask, popping a nugget into your mouth.
Heeseung leans back against the seat, thinking. “I don’t know. Something small. Quiet. One of those movies where nothing really happens, but it still makes you feel something.”
You tilt your head. “Like a waiting room.”
Heeseung turns to you. “What?”
“A waiting room,” you say, like it’s obvious. “That’s what those movies feel like. Like something is about to happen, but you don’t know what, and maybe it’s okay if nothing does.”
He stares at you for a long moment. Then he smiles. And it’s not his usual grin, not the teasing, lopsided smirk. It’s something smaller, softer. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Like a waiting room.”
Neither of you say anything after that. The city hums in the background, neon lights bleeding into the darkness, the last remnants of fries sitting forgotten between you.
And then, a party. Not the kind you remember from three years ago, not the one where you met a boy covered in green body paint who changed your life without even meaning to. But still, a party. The music is just as loud, the air just as thick with heat and laughter, the night just as full of things waiting to happen.
You’re not sure why you came. Yunjin had begged, of course, had stood in your doorway with her most dramatic expression, wailing about how you never do anything fun anymore. But even then, you could have said no. You could have curled up in your apartment, wrapped yourself in something soft and safe, ignored the way your stomach flipped when you thought, what if Heeseung is there?
But you didn’t.
And now, you’re here, standing in the middle of someone’s too-small living room, holding a lukewarm drink, feeling like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. And then, you hear your name.
It cuts through the music, through the laughter, through the static in your brain. It pulls you toward the kitchen, toward the familiar lilt of a voice you know better than your own. And there he is. Heeseung.
Standing in front of the fridge, cracking open a beer, wearing a faded t-shirt and jeans that hang just right. His hair is a little messy, his eyes a little bright, and when he sees you, he grins—that same lopsided, teasing, dangerous smile.
"Look who finally decided to show up," he says, raising his drink in a mock toast.
You roll your eyes, taking a sip of whatever’s in your cup. "Don’t make a big deal out of it."
Heeseung hums, leaning against the counter. "Wouldn’t dream of it."
But he’s looking at you like it is a big deal. Like maybe he’s been waiting for you all night. Like maybe he always is.
Hours pass, the party moves around you—people spilling in and out of rooms, music shifting from one song to the next—but you and Heeseung stay where you are, orbiting around each other.
At some point, someone suggests a game. Cards, or maybe something more ridiculous—something designed to make people confess things they wouldn’t say otherwise. You should say no. You should step away before you find yourself caught in something you can’t get out of.
But you don’t. You sit next to Heeseung on the floor, close enough that your knees touch. The game starts, questions fly, people laugh. And then—
Jake turns to you. "Alright, Y/N. Who was your first college crush?"
You blink. "What?"
The group whoops in unison. Jungwon throws an arm around your shoulder. "Come on, don’t be shy."
Your throat goes dry. Your eyes flicker to Heeseung, just for a second, but it’s enough. His smirk twitches—just barely, just enough to be noticeable—and suddenly, you know you have to get out of this.
You clear your throat, reaching for your drink. "I think I’ve blocked it out," you lie.
A chorus of boos erupts, but the game moves on. The moment passes. But beside you, Heeseung is watching you, his fingers tapping against his knee, like he’s putting something together. You pretend not to notice.
Later, when the party has blurred into something soft and distant, when most people are drunk or half-asleep, when the night has stretched itself out into something too fragile to hold forever, Heeseung finds you on the balcony.
You’re leaning against the railing, breathing in the cool air, staring out at the city lights. "You hiding from me?"
You don’t turn around. "You think everything’s about you, don’t you?"
He laughs—soft, amused, something warm threading through the sound. "It usually is."
You roll your eyes, but then he’s beside you, resting his forearms on the railing, close enough that you can feel the heat of him even through the night air.
For a moment, neither of you speak. The music inside is muffled now, the party nothing more than background noise. The city stretches out before you, endless and alive, full of people who have no idea that this moment is happening.
And then, quietly, Heeseung asks, "You really don’t remember your first college crush?"
Your fingers tighten slightly around the railing. You exhale. "I remember."
A pause. "Yeah?"
You glance at him. He’s watching you, expression unreadable, something deep and knowing in his eyes. You swallow. "Yeah."
Heeseung tilts his head slightly, and for a second, you think—Is he going to ask? Does he already know? But he doesn’t.
He just nods, looking back at the skyline, and says, "Me too."
And somehow, that’s worse. Because you think—no, you know—that he’s not talking about some early college memory, some long-forgotten infatuation.
He’s talking about you.
And for the first time, you wonder if this thing between you—this waiting, this almost, this three years of something unspoken—has been more obvious than you thought. You wonder if maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one waiting.
One month later. The thing about time is that it moves whether you’re ready or not. It stretches, it folds, it carries you forward even when you feel like you’re standing still.
And ever since the party, things with Heeseung have been… different. Not in an obvious way. Not in the way that people would notice, not in the way that Yunjin would tease you about over breakfast. But in the small things.
In the way his eyes linger just a little too long. In the way your stomach flips when he says your name. In the way every conversation feels like it’s balancing on the edge of something you can’t name.
Because you and Heeseung have always been close, always been drawn together like something written into the universe itself. But now? Now, it feels different. Like someone turned up the volume on something you didn’t even realize was playing in the background.
And the worst part? Neither of you are talking about it.
Instead, you’re doing what you do best—pretending. Pretending that nothing is different, that things are still light and easy, that three years of something unspoken aren’t finally starting to spill over the edges.
Until one day, when you’re sitting on Yunjin’s couch, your phone rings. It’s your mother. You hesitate before answering, already bracing yourself for whatever she’s about to say.
And the moment you put your phone down, you groan, collapsing onto the couch, like the weight of the conversation is physically pressing down on you. Heeseung and Yunjin are both looking at you expectantly, their attention fully on you in a way that makes you regret opening your mouth at all. But it’s too late now, so you just exhale, pressing your fingers against your temples before muttering, "My mom called."
Yunjin snorts. "Yeah, we got that much. What did she want?"
You roll your eyes, but the annoyance in your chest is directed at yourself more than anything else. "There’s a wedding. My cousin’s. Next weekend."
Heeseung, who had been absentmindedly rolling a bottle cap between his fingers, finally glances up, eyes curious. "You going?"
"Yeah." You sigh again. "Didn’t really have a choice. If I said no, she would’ve found a way to guilt-trip me into oblivion."
Yunjin grins knowingly. "Classic mom move."
You hum in agreement, then hesitate, picking at the hem of your sleeve. "And then she made it weird," you mutter.
Heeseung raises an eyebrow, shifting slightly on the couch so he’s facing you more fully. "How weird?"
You pause for a second, then groan, throwing your head back. "She brought up the fact that I’ve never brought a boyfriend to anything."
Yunjin cackles. She actually leans forward, hands on her knees, cackling. "Oh my God," she wheezes. "That’s so embarrassing for you."
You glare. "Thank you, Yunjin, for your endless support."
But Heeseung doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease. He just tilts his head, watching you with an unreadable expression. "She said that?"
You nod, rubbing your temples. "Yeah. She was all, ‘You can bring someone, you know,’ and then just immediately went for the ‘You’ve never brought a boyfriend to anything,’ like I don’t already know that."
Yunjin wipes a fake tear from her eye, still far too entertained. "Damn. She really called you out like that."
"Okay," you deadpan, "I think we’ve established that this is humiliating for me. Can we move on?"
But Yunjin grins, her eyes practically glowing with mischief, and that’s when you know you should have never said anything at all. "Well," she says, stretching out the word, "if it bothers you that much… you could always bring Heeseung."
Silence.
You feel it immediately—the way the air shifts, the way your stomach twists, the way your breath catches for just a second too long. You don’t look at Heeseung. You can’t.
Instead, you scoff, shoving her shoulder. "Oh my God, shut up."
"I’m serious!" she laughs. "It makes sense, doesn’t it? You need a date. Heeseung’s around."
Heeseung is silent. And that—that’s what makes your chest tighten. Because Heeseung is never silent.
You finally force yourself to glance at him, just a flicker, just to see how he’s reacting to this. And when you do, you find him already looking at you—his expression unreadable, his fingers stilling where they had been absently playing with the bottle cap.
Something tightens in your throat. Because it’s one thing to laugh it off. It’s one thing to pretend this isn’t something charged, something delicate, something that feels like standing on the edge of something too big to name.
But Heeseung isn’t laughing.
When you open the door on the wedding day, Heeseung is already leaning against his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks, looking entirely too good for someone who is supposed to be doing you a favor. His hair is neat but still has that slight, careless tousle to it, his sleeves are pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms, and his black dress shirt is criminally well-fitted.
You try very hard not to notice any of that. But Heeseung is looking at you like you just stopped time.
It’s not obvious—he doesn’t say anything right away, doesn’t let his jaw drop like some kind of movie cliché—but his fingers twitch slightly where they’re resting in his pockets, and his throat bobs as he swallows. His eyes move over you in a way that isn’t just admiration but something deeper, something heavier, something that makes your chest feel too tight.
You pretend not to notice that, either. Instead, you lift an eyebrow, shifting your weight onto one foot. "You gonna open the door for me, or are you just gonna stand there?"
Heeseung blinks, snapping out of it. He clears his throat, pushing off the car, his usual smirk creeping back into place. "Right, yeah. My bad."
You roll your eyes, but your face feels warm anyway. The ride starts out easy. The hum of the road fills the space between you, the occasional comment about the directions or a song playing on the radio breaking the silence.
"You, uh," Heeseung starts, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "You sure your mom’s gonna be cool with me coming?"
You blink. "What? Yeah, of course. I already told her."
He raises an eyebrow. "You told her?"
"Yeah," you say, adjusting the hem of your dress. "I mean, I talk about you all the time, so it’s not like it’s weird or anything."
Silence. You don’t notice it at first, but when you glance over, Heeseung is staring straight ahead, gripping the wheel a little tighter than before.
And the thing is—Heeseung is not someone who gets flustered easily. He doesn’t trip over his words, doesn’t get all weird when people talk about him. But now, he’s sitting there, completely silent, like his brain just blue-screened.
Because you talk about him all the time. To your mom. His ears burn at the thought.
Because it’s one thing to be close. It’s one thing to be your best friend, to be the person you go to for late-night McDonald’s runs and life-altering conversations on balconies. But it’s another thing entirely to know that he exists in your life even when he’s not there.
That when you’re on the phone with your mom, when you’re recounting your day, when you’re talking about the people who matter—he’s there. And it’s so stupid how much that does to him.
He coughs, forcing himself to sound normal. "Oh. Cool. Yeah. That’s cool."
You snort. "I told her you’re my friend, and that’s it."
Heeseung hums, tapping his fingers on the wheel again. "Yeah. Right."
But for some reason, the word friend doesn’t sit right in his mouth.
The wedding is beautiful. Not in the over-the-top, fairytale kind of way, but in the way that feels real. The ceremony is held outdoors, the late afternoon light draping everything in gold, the air carrying the soft hum of laughter and clinking glasses. There are flowers on every table, music drifting lazily through the air, and a warmth that lingers beneath the chatter of distant relatives catching up.
And you almost forget that you’re here with Heeseung. Almost. Except—you can feel him.
You can feel him next to you at the table, the warmth of his presence settling into your skin. You can feel the way his hand brushes against yours when he reaches for something, the way his eyes flicker toward you when he hears you laugh.
And the worst part is that he looks good as hell.
It’s almost unfair, the way he carries himself. The way his sleeves are still rolled up, the way his shirt is slightly undone at the collar, the way he leans back in his chair, legs stretched out, watching everything unfold like he belongs here.
And for the first time in a long time you don’t know where you stand with him.
Because this is Heeseung. The boy who sends you Shrek memes at 2 a.m. The boy who once argued with a barista about oat milk for a full five minutes. The boy who makes you laugh until you can’t breathe.
But right now? Right now, he’s something else, too. Something that makes your stomach flip. Something that makes you forget how to breathe.
The music shifts. It’s not immediate—not some grand, dramatic moment where the world slows down—but you feel it.
The moment the first notes of the song drift through the air, you feel it in your chest. Like something tightening. Like something pulling at a thread you don’t want to unravel. Because you know this song. Of course you know this song. And so does he.
You don’t even have to look at Heeseung to know he recognizes it too. That he knows exactly what’s playing, that he knows how much you love her, that he knows you’ve played this song before—in his car, in your apartment, in the quiet spaces between friendship and something else.
You know he knows. And yet, he still turns to you, his voice a low murmur beneath the hum of conversation. “Phoebe Bridgers,” he says.
You swallow. “Yeah.” Heeseung hums, watching you carefully. His fingers drum lightly against the table, slow and steady, in time with the beat of the song. Then, after a second—
"You should dance with me."
You blink. You blink again. Your stomach twists. “What?”
Heeseung shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean anything. “You love this song.”
Which—okay. That’s true. But this is not a song you dance to. This is a song you listen to alone, in your room, in the quiet, when it’s too late and you’re too restless and you’re thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about.
This is not a wedding song. And yet, Heeseung is still looking at you like that, like this is a dare, like he’s waiting for you to say no, to call him out, to pull away before it’s too late.
And yet, his hand is outstretched, waiting, patient, warm. And yet— You take it. You don’t think, you just do it, just let yourself be pulled. And Heeseung holds you like he’s afraid to press too hard.
One hand on your waist. The other clasping yours loosely, like he’s letting you decide how close to be. Like he’s still waiting for you to laugh and push him away and say, ‘This is so stupid’.
But you don’t. You just breathe. You just exist here, in this moment, with him.
If you were a waiting room, I would never see a doctor
I would sit there with my first-aid kit and bleed
Your throat tightens. Because God, this song.
Because you know every lyric by heart, because you know what it means, because there’s something about it that always makes you feel like you’re standing in the middle of something you’ll never quite have.
And now, here you are, dancing to it with him.
Heeseung exhales softly, tilting his head toward you. “You ever think about that?”
You blink. “Think about what?”
His fingers twitch slightly against your waist. “How music reminds you of people.”
Your stomach flips. Because of course you do. Of course, you think about it. Of course, this song, this moment, this whole damn night is going to be tied to him now, forever, no matter what happens after.
You nod. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I think about it.”
Heeseung hums, like that makes sense. Like he already knew what you were going to say. Then—
"Does this song remind you of me?"
Your breath catches. The air between you thickens.
Because that shouldn’t be a question. Because he already knows the answer. Because you’re standing here with him, swaying to a song that makes your chest ache, and you know, you know he hears the lyrics just as clearly as you do.
I wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery.
You clear your throat, forcing yourself to sound normal. “Maybe.”
His lips twitch. “Maybe?”
You narrow your eyes. “Don’t push it.”
Heeseung laughs, soft, breathless. And God, you hate him.
You hate the way he makes everything feel like a game, like he’s always hovering right at the edge of something and waiting for you to push him over. You hate that it’s working.
And when broken bodies are washed ashore—who am I to ask for more?
You shiver. Because this is the part of the song that gets to you every time. Because who are you to ask for more?
Who are you to ask for something that maybe, just maybe, was never meant to be yours? But then Heeseung, of all people, says “I think this song reminds me of you, too.”
Your heart stops. You look at him, and he’s already looking at you, and suddenly this doesn’t feel like pretending anymore.
This doesn’t feel like something you can laugh off. Because Heeseung is serious.
Because his hand is still on your waist, his fingers still brushing against the fabric of your dress, his breath still warm against your cheek, and you don’t know how to go back from this. You don’t know if you want to.
Heeseung shifts slightly, his grip tightening for just a second. “You ever think about it?”
You blink. “Think about what?”
Heeseung hesitates, his eyes flickering over your face. His jaw tightens—just barely.
"Us."
Your stomach drops.
Because he says it so simply, like it’s nothing, like it’s a passing thought, like he hasn’t just destroyed your entire world in one syllable. Us. The word sits heavy in the air between you, impossible to ignore, impossible to pretend you didn’t hear.
Heeseung doesn’t move, doesn’t look away, doesn’t do anything to make this easier for you. He just keeps holding you, keeps swaying with you, keeps waiting—like he has all the time in the world.
You want to say something.
You want to throw your head back and laugh it off, tell him he’s being ridiculous, tell him to stop playing with you. You want to scoff and roll your eyes and pretend that the thought of you and Heeseung has never crossed your mind, that it hasn’t been haunting you for years, that it hasn’t been living under your skin since the first time he looked at you like you were something worth remembering.
But you can’t. Because this is Heeseung. Because he knows you too well, because he’d hear the lie in your voice, because there is nowhere left to hide when he’s looking at you like this.
So instead, you stall. You breathe in, slow and careful, and say, "What about us?"
It’s a cheap move. A pathetic attempt at deflection. And Heeseung knows it.
He exhales, the ghost of a laugh slipping past his lips, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your waist. "You know what I mean."
You glance down at your hands, the way your fingers are still laced together with his, the way your other hand rests so easily on his shoulder, like this is something you’ve done a thousand times before. And maybe you have.
Maybe you and Heeseung have always been dancing around each other like this. Maybe you’ve just never let yourself notice. The song keeps playing, keeps taunting you, keeps threading its meaning between your ribs, pulling you closer and closer to something you don’t know how to name.
I wanna make you drive all night just because I said, maybe you should come over
You let out a slow breath, forcing your voice to stay steady. "We’re friends, Heeseung."
He hums. "Yeah. We are."
But he doesn’t let go.
He doesn’t move away, doesn’t drop his hand from your waist, doesn’t step back into the safe distance you’re used to. He stays. And that’s the part that gets you.
Because if he really believed that was all this was, he wouldn’t be holding you like this. If he really believed that was all this was, he wouldn’t have asked the question in the first place.
You glance up at him again, searching, waiting for him to say something else, to give you an out, to change the subject, to laugh and let it go. But he doesn’t. He just watches you. And suddenly, you feel exposed in a way you never have before.
Like every late-night conversation, every half-smile, every almost has been leading here, to this moment, to this song, to this feeling that you don’t know how to escape. You force yourself to swallow.
"Why are you asking me this?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.
Heeseung tilts his head slightly, considering you, considering his words.
"Because I think about it, too."
Your breath catches in your throat. Your fingers tighten against his shoulder. Your heart slams against your ribs.
You feel like the whole world has shrunk down to just this. To the space between your bodies, to the way he’s looking at you, to the fact that he thinks about it, too.
Heeseung’s fingers twitch slightly against yours, but he doesn’t let go. He’s watching you with this careful intensity, like he’s waiting for something, like he’s giving you the chance to decide what happens next.
And that’s the problem.
Because you don’t know what happens next.
Because you’ve spent years existing in this strange, untouchable place with him, in this in-between, in this waiting room of a relationship that never moves forward but never lets you leave either.
And now, suddenly, here you are. Standing on the edge of something irreversible.
She'll be the best you ever had if you let her
Your heart stumbles. Because this song knows too much.
Because this song feels too much like the two of you, like something ripped from your ribs and put into lyrics, like a truth you weren’t ready to confront. And maybe—just maybe—Heeseung feels it, too.
Because he leans in. Just a little. Just enough.
Not enough to cross the line, not enough to destroy the thing you’ve built, but enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, enough that the scent of him—clean soap, something faintly woodsy, something entirely him—wraps around you.
Enough that you could close the distance if you wanted to. And God, you do.
But you don’t. Because you’re afraid. Because you don’t know what happens when you let this become real.
Because Heeseung is still looking at you like that, like he could ruin you if he wanted to, like he’s giving you the chance to ruin him first.
I know it's for the better
You exhale, too shaky, too uneven. And Heeseung notices.
His gaze flickers, barely, to your lips, to the space between you, to the way you haven’t moved away from him yet. And then his jaw clenches.
Like he’s just realized how close you are. Like he’s just realized this is about to happen if neither of you stop it. And that’s the thing, neither of you stop it.
Not immediately. Not when his fingers tighten slightly on your waist. Not when your grip on his shoulder trembles just a little. Not when the air between you stretches so thin it might snap in half.
Not until you hear, Know it’s for the better…
The song starts to fade. The moment fractures. And just like that, you both pull away.
Not much. Just an inch, a breath, a single second too late. But it’s enough.
Enough for reality to settle back in. Enough for the noise of the wedding to come rushing back, for the chatter and laughter and clinking glasses to remind you where you are, who you are, what you almost did.
And Heeseung, he knows it, too. You see it in the way his throat bobs, in the way he blinks hard, in the way he forces himself to take a step back, to drop his hand from your waist, to roll his shoulders like he can shake off whatever just happened between you.
The song ends. And neither of you say a word.
And three months later, silence.
At first, it’s subtle—just a missed text here, a conversation that doesn’t last as long as it used to, an inside joke that no longer lands the way it should. But then it becomes something else. Something colder. Something that feels less like a pause and more like a choice.
And that’s what happened to you and Heeseung.
You didn’t stop talking completely. That would have been too obvious, too final, too much like admitting that something had shifted beyond repair. You still sent the occasional meme, still ran into each other at Yunjin’s, still had conversations that skimmed the surface of what they used to be.
But it was different. The late-night McDonald’s runs stopped. The effortless teasing felt strained. The ease of being around each other—the one thing you never questioned—was suddenly gone.
Neither of you did anything about it. You let it happen. Because it was easier that way.
Because acknowledging it meant admitting that something had changed, that you had gotten too close, that something had almost happened that night at the wedding. And you weren’t ready to admit that.
You weren’t ready to ask if Heeseung had almost kissed you, or if you had almost kissed him, or if you had both just been caught in some stupid, fleeting moment that meant nothing at all. So, you didn’t.
And now, three months later, all that’s left is silence.
The rain comes down in sheets, heavy and relentless, drumming against the windows of your apartment. You sit curled up on your couch, blanket wrapped around you, phone abandoned on the coffee table. The storm had rolled in an hour ago, sudden and unforgiving, and now the whole city feels swallowed by it, the streetlights barely visible through the downpour.
Then, there’s a knock at your door. You weren’t expecting anyone. It’s too late, too stormy, too much of a nothing kind of night for visitors.
But something in you knows—before you even open the door, before you even take that first breath—that it’s him.
And it is. It’s Heeseung.
Standing in your doorway, soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead, breathing unevenly like he just ran here.
You freeze. "Heeseung?"
His eyes flicker over your face, searching, desperate, wild in a way you’ve never seen before. His clothes are damp, sticking to his frame, his hands clenched at his sides. But it’s his expression that gets you.
Like something is breaking inside of him. Like something has already broken.
“I can’t—” His voice catches, hoarse and raw, and then he shakes his head, like words are failing him, like they’re too small for what he’s trying to say.
Your heart is pounding. “Heeseung, what are you—”
"I can’t stop thinking about you."
The words crash into you like a wave, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stare.
Heeseung swallows hard, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it, like he’s trying to find a way to make you understand.
"I’ve tried," he continues, voice shaking. "I really, really tried. But you’re always there. You’re in every song I hear, in every dumb inside joke, in every single thing that happens to me. I see something stupid and my first thought is always, ‘Y/N would think that’s hilarious.’ I go to text you and then I stop because I don’t know if I’m supposed to anymore. I—"
He lets out a sharp, frustrated laugh, dragging a hand through his wet hair. “I thought if I just gave it time, it would go away. I thought I could just—move past it. But I still feel like I’m standing in that damn Halloween party with you, waiting for something to happen.”
Your throat is tight. “Heeseung—”
“I miss you,” he interrupts, pushing forward, stepping into your space like he’s afraid you’ll shut the door on him if he doesn’t. "I miss you so much it’s making me lose my goddamn mind."
Your pulse is roaring in your ears. You should say something. You should do something. But you can’t. You just stand there, staring at him, your body frozen in place. And Heeseung just keeps talking.
"I don’t know how to be your friend anymore," he admits, wrecked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to sit next to you and act like I don’t want more. I don’t know how to look at you and pretend that you’re not the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person I think about before I fall asleep. I don’t know how to listen to that fucking song without remembering the way you looked at me that night."
The air is too thick. Your vision is blurring.
Heeseung breathes out a shaky, desperate laugh, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "And the worst part?" He meets your eyes, and it destroys you. "I don’t think I want to stop thinking about you."
And that’s it.
That’s what breaks you. That’s what makes you move.
You don’t think. You don’t hesitate.
You step forward, grab the front of his stupid wet shirt, and kiss him.
The storm rages outside. And for the first time in three years, neither of you pull away.
The moment your lips crash into his, Heeseung stumbles back a step, caught off guard, but then he’s pulling you closer, like he’s been waiting for this forever.
His hands cup your face, fingers threading into your hair, holding you like you might disappear if he lets go. And you grip the front of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you standing, like if you let go, the moment might shatter around you.
Heeseung sighs into the kiss, like he’s relieved, like this is something he’s needed more than breathing itself. He tilts his head, deepening it, and you melt into him, the heat of his mouth sending shivers down your spine.
It’s surreal, familiar and foreign all at once, like stepping into a dream you’ve had before but never been able to hold onto. Because this is Heeseung. The boy who has always been by your side, the boy who has spent years making you laugh until your stomach hurts, the boy who has always been a constant in your life.
But now, he’s something else too. Now, he’s the only thing you can feel. And that’s the strangest part, how utterly consuming this is. Because your brain is struggling to keep up, still caught in the absurdity of it—Heeseung is kissing me, I’m kissing Heeseung, this is happening, this is happening.
And then he moves forward, stepping into the apartment fully, finally, his hands still tangled in your hair, still refusing to let you go. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound almost lost beneath the roar of the storm outside.
Heeseung doesn’t hesitate. His lips find yours again, his hands skimming over your waist, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, like he’s trying to make up for all the time he spent pretending he didn’t want this. And you can’t breathe. Because this isn’t like any kiss you’ve ever had before.
You’ve kissed people you liked. You’ve kissed people you thought you could love. But you have never, never felt this. This heat, this ache, this impossible, indescribable pull. Like your entire life has been leading up to this moment.
Like every other kiss you’ve had before this was just a poor imitation of what it was supposed to feel like. And that’s terrifying. Because how do you go back after this? How do you pretend this doesn’t mean something?
Heeseung exhales against your lips, his breath uneven, his fingers tightening just slightly against your waist. Like he’s thinking the same thing, like he’s struggling just as much as you are to make sense of this.
You should stop. You should pull away, take a breath, process. But you can’t.
Because he tilts his head, kisses you deeper, and suddenly, you’re walking backward without realizing it, your body moving on instinct, your hands clutching at his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping you steady. Heeseung follows, one hand sliding down to rest against the small of your back, guiding you without thinking, without hesitation.
Your legs hit the couch. You stumble slightly, your balance faltering for the first time, and Heeseung, on pure reflex, catches you. His hands tighten instantly, pulling you against him, steadying you before you can fall.
But the movement leaves zero space between you. You can feel everything, his chest rising and falling against yours, the heat radiating off of him, the way his fingers twitch slightly where they’re curled into the fabric of your shirt.
His breath brushes against your lips, his nose bumping against yours as you both hover, just for a moment, just long enough to realize how close you are, just long enough to make it worse.
Before you can stop yourself, before you can think, you kiss him again. This time, it’s slower. This time, it’s deeper. This time, it’s not about the rush, the adrenaline, the storm raging outside. This time, it’s about everything else.
About the way his hands move carefully now, like he’s trying to remember every single detail, about the way he tilts his head slightly to fit his mouth against yours like he’s done this a thousand times in his head, about the way he lets out a soft, wrecked sound when you slide your fingers up into his still-damp hair. And you’re drowning in him.
You fall back onto the couch, pulling him with you, and he follows without hesitation, bracing himself with one hand on the cushion beside you, the other still gripping your waist, his fingers trembling just slightly against your skin.
His lips leave yours only for a second, just long enough for him to breathe, just long enough for his eyes to flicker over your face, like he’s trying to memorize you at this moment.
And then, so softly you almost don’t hear it—
“Tell me you want this.”
Your breath catches. Because God, you do. You do. You always have. So you don’t say anything. You just pull him down and kiss him again.
The weight of him settles over you, his body pressed against yours, his hands everywhere and nowhere at once—on your waist, your ribs, twitching like he doesn’t know where to hold you first, like he doesn’t want to stop touching you long enough to decide.
It's overwhelming. His warmth, his scent, the soft, unsteady breaths he exhales between kisses, the way his fingers slide under the hem of your shirt just slightly, just enough to brush against bare skin. It’s careful. Hesitant. Like he’s testing something fragile.
Heeseung groans softly, his grip tightening, his lips parting against yours in a way that sends a full-body shiver down your spine. His hands move up your sides, down to your hips, fingers pressing into the fabric of your clothes like he wants to commit this exact moment to memory. You arch just slightly, chasing his warmth, and the movement makes Heeseung suck in a sharp breath, his forehead pressing briefly against yours.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.
You laugh, breathless, hands sliding up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him shudder. “That’s dramatic.”
His lips graze yours again, barely there, just enough to drive you insane. “You have no idea.”
And you could stay here forever—wrapped up in him, in his weight, in the way his lips brush over your jaw, the corner of your mouth, like he’s learning you one kiss at a time.
He shifts just slightly, pressing more of his weight into you, his thigh slipping between yours, and your breath catches. Heeseung notices immediately. You feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his grip on your waist tightens, in the way he exhales shakily against your cheek.
You don’t move. He doesn’t move. The air changes. Slows. Thickens. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore. Suddenly, it’s so much more than that. It’s every feeling you’ve been ignoring, every second of the past three years, every single moment leading up to this one catching up to you all at once.
And Heeseung feels it too. Because he pulls back, just a little, just enough to look at you properly, his expression wrecked. His fingers brush against your cheek, light, careful, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop. Like he’s scared of what happens if you don’t.
You stare up at him, breathless, your pulse pounding in your ears, and— God, he’s beautiful.
His hair is still damp from the rain, strands falling over his forehead in a way that makes him look softer. His lips are kiss-bruised, parted slightly as he catches his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.
You exhale slowly, one hand sliding down his chest, feeling the way his heart slams against his ribs, and he shudders. You know what this means. You know there’s no going back after this. So you whisper—soft, shaky, everything all at once—
"Heeseung."
And that’s all it takes.
Heeseung exhales—a shaky, uneven breath, like he’s barely holding himself together. His fingers tighten slightly where they rest on your waist, his body still hovering over yours. Then, softly, barely above a whisper—
"Say my name again."
Your stomach flips. You don’t, not at first. Because you feel lightheaded, because this is Heeseung, because what the hell is happening right now?
But Heeseung isn’t impatient. He doesn’t push. He just watches you, his gaze flickering over your face—your lips, your eyes, the way your breath catches in your throat. And then, carefully, deliberately, he grabs your wrist.
Your breath hitches as he lifts your hand, as he guides it slowly, until your palm is pressed flat against his chest. You can feel it. His heartbeat. It’s slamming against his ribs, too fast, too unsteady, completely out of control.
You stare at your hand, at where it rests over his racing pulse, at the way his skin burns beneath your touch. Heeseung swallows hard.
"You feel that?" he murmurs, his voice low, rough, wrecked.
And you do, because it’s all you can feel, because it’s like his entire body is responding to you, and you nod, your fingers twitching slightly against his shirt.
Heeseung lets out a breath like he’s relieved, like he needed you to know this, to feel this, to understand what you do to him. Then, slowly, carefully, giving you every chance to stop him, he leans down, brushing his lips against the curve of your jaw. You suck in a breath, your eyes fluttering shut as he moves lower, pressing the softest, slowest kiss to the side of your neck. Your fingers curl against his shoulders, your pulse hammering beneath your skin, and he feels it.
“Heeseung,” you breathe, and it’s embarrassing how it comes out, a little too soft, a little too needy, like you’re already losing yourself in him.
He shudders, letting out a sharp breath. “Fuck—”
Then, his teeth graze your pulse point, and you gasp, back arching instinctively into him. Your hips shift beneath his, your hands moving without thinking, fingers grasping at the hem of his hoodie, your skin itching for more of him, more warmth, more of everything.
Heeseung lets you. He lets you push the fabric up, lets you brush your fingers over the bare skin of his stomach, lets you feel the way his muscles tense under your touch. He exhales a groan, head dropping to your shoulder like you’ve just taken the breath right out of him.
He murmurs your name, voice strangled, his fingers digging into your waist as if you’ve completely unraveled him. You suck in a breath, your hands still fisting his hoodie.
“I want to hear you,” he admits, so quietly, like he almost wasn’t planning to say it out loud. “I want to—”
He cuts himself off with another soft groan as you push the hoodie all the way up, your fingers skimming over his bare chest before you finally tug it over his head. It hits the floor with a soft thud, but you barely register it.
Because Heeseung is above you, half-naked, breathing heavy, flushed, and looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that exists. You don’t know what to do with yourself. So you just stare up at him, breathless, waiting. And then, finally, you whisper—
"Heeseung, tell me what you want."
Heeseung exhales sharply, his breath warm against your skin, his fingers still pressing into your waist like he’s trying to ground himself, steady himself, like he’s trying not to lose his mind completely.
His hand slides up, fingertips grazing your ribs, slow and deliberate, and you shudder beneath him. His thumb brushes the fabric of your shirt, his touch gentle but knowing, and he meets your eyes, and God, he looks ruined.
"I want—" He starts, but then he laughs breathlessly, shaking his head like he can’t believe himself, like this is too much, like you are too much. His hands are still moving, still exploring, still teasing at the fabric of your shirt, still making your body burn in ways you’ve never felt before. "I want all of you."
Your stomach flips. Because he’s not even touching you properly, and yet it’s the way he says it, the weight of his voice, the truth in it, that makes your pulse stutter.
And then, before you can respond, before you can tease him for how wrecked he sounds, his hands move, slow and deliberate. Fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up, knuckles skimming over your stomach, over your ribs, over every single inch of skin he reveals as he goes.
Your breath stutters, your body arching up into his touch. His jaw clenches, his lips part, and then he’s leaning down, pressing his mouth to your collarbone, trailing featherlight, open-mouthed kisses along your skin as he slowly tugs your shirt over your head.
And then, finally, your shirt joins his hoodie on the floor. And suddenly, you’re both bare and breathless, staring at each other like you don’t know what to do next, even though you both know exactly what’s about to happen.
"Heeseung," you whisper, and his eyes flicker, dark, burning, like your voice alone is enough to unravel him.
"You’re not making this easy," he murmurs, his fingers skimming up your sides, his thumb brushing along your ribs, his body pressing down just slightly, just enough to feel how perfectly he fits against you.
Your breath catches. "Good."
And that ruins him. Heeseung groans, low and deep, and then he’s leaning down again, lips trailing along your jaw, down your neck, to your collarbone, soft, open-mouthed kisses, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every single second. His voice is strained, thick with something raw, something undeniable.
"You feel so good."
You whimper at his words, your nails digging into his shoulders, and Heeseung reacts immediately, his hips pressing down, his body slotting perfectly against yours, his breath catching as he feels you, all of you, right there beneath him.
"Shit," he mutters, his head dropping to your shoulder, his hands gripping your waist like he needs something to hold onto. You’re both breathless now, bodies pressed so close there’s no space left between you, every single movement sending heat crashing through your veins. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this."
Your heart stumbles. Because neither of you were supposed to say it. Neither of you were supposed to acknowledge it. But now—it’s out there. And there’s no taking it back.
And then Heeseung looks at you, really looks at you. His eyes, dark and hooded with something deeper than just desire, trace every inch of your face, your parted lips, the flush spreading down your neck, the way your chest rises and falls, rapid and uneven beneath him.
“You’re…” He swallows hard, his voice thick with something close to reverence. “God, you’re so beautiful.”
His hands move lower, squeezing your thighs before dragging up again, pushing your legs further apart beneath him. Heeseung exhales sharply, his pupils blown wide as he takes in the way you look beneath him, flushed, needy, completely and utterly his for the taking.
“Fuck.” His voice is raw, thick with barely restrained need. “You’re perfect.”
His mouth finds your collarbone, lips hot and insistent as he moves lower, tasting, worshiping. His tongue flicks over the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing lightly before he sucks, leaving a mark. His fingers dig into your skin as he rolls his hips down against yours, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. He watches, fascinated, as your body reacts to his, as your fingers clutch at his arms, as your lips part with another breathy whimper that shoots straight through his bloodstream.
“You like that?” he murmurs, dragging his lips up to your ear, his voice nothing but a low rasp. “Like feeling me this close?” You nod, but it’s not enough. Heeseung needs to hear you say it. “Tell me,” he demands, his fingers tightening just enough to make you squirm.
“Yes,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a breath.
Heeseung smirks against your skin, the sound of your desperation fueling the heat building between you. “Good.” His lips trail back down, kissing, tasting, exploring every inch of you. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”
Heeseung hovers over you, his breath warm against your skin as his hands trail lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your pants. His fingers toy with the fabric at your hips, teasing. His voice, when he speaks, is deep and laced with restraint.
“Can I take these off?”
His eyes flick up to meet yours, and the sight of him like this—his lips swollen, his gaze dark with barely contained desire, sends a shiver down your spine. Your stomach tightens, heat curling low in your belly as you whisper, “Yes.”
And the second the word leaves your lips, Heeseung exhales sharply, like he’s been holding back this whole time. His hands move with deliberate slowness, sliding under the waistband, his fingers warm and firm against your hips as he starts to pull your pants down.
His hands guide your pants lower until they slip past your thighs, pooling somewhere near your ankles, and he takes his time, his lips pressing slow, reverent kisses along the soft skin of your lower belly, just above the edge of your underwear.
He groans against your skin, his voice husky. “You have no idea how good you look right now.”
His hands splay over your thighs, his lips follow the same path, pressing kisses, biting gently, dragging his tongue across the warmth of your skin as he moves lower. You let out a shaky breath as he spreads your legs just a little more, his fingers gripping, massaging, his lips marking every inch of your inner thighs as he inches closer to where you need him most.
Heeseung hums against your skin, his breath hot, teasing. “So soft,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with admiration, with hunger. His hands squeeze your thighs, his fingers digging in just enough to make you arch slightly. “So perfect.”
His lips brush dangerously close to the edge of your underwear, his nose nuzzling against the sensitive skin just beside it, inhaling deeply like he wants to drown in you. His grip tightens. His lips part, and he looks up at you.
The sight of him between your legs, hair messy, lips swollen, his dark eyes filled with something you can’t quite name—it’s almost too much.
His voice is thick, teasing but affectionate. “You’re shaking,” he notes, his thumb brushing the inside of your thigh in slow, soothing circles.
Your breath catches. “Because of you.”
Heeseung groans softly, his hands gripping tighter, his lips trailing higher again, back to your hip, back to your stomach, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin there. “You have no idea how much I love hearing that,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.
Slowly, he starts to move up. His fingers slide up to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek, like he needs to feel every part of you, like he’s grounding himself in your presence. He exhales sharply, his forehead resting against yours for the briefest second, like he’s gathering himself, like he’s trying to hold back.
“I need to taste you,” he murmurs, his voice nothing but a raw, desperate rasp. “Please.”
Your breath stutters, your fingers gripping onto his arms, feeling the tension coiled tight beneath his skin. You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself, but the truth is, you want this just as much.
“I need to hear you say it,” he murmurs.
Your pulse is a pounding rhythm against your ribs, your whole body thrumming with heat, but somehow, you manage to find your voice.
“Yes,” you whisper. “I want it. I want you.”
Heeseung groans, his grip tightening for just a second before he’s moving again, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. His hands slide back down your body, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of you.
And then he’s sinking back down between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours, his hands parting your legs with a reverence that makes your head spin.
Heeseung grips the hem of your underwear between his fingers, his breathing ragged, his hands slightly trembling as he looks up at you. His eyes search yours, dark and full of something raw. “Can I?” His voice is hushed, reverent, like a prayer whispered into the silence.
Your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, as you nod. “Yes,” you murmur.
Heeseung exhales, almost like he’s relieved, like he was afraid you’d stop him. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he slides the fabric down your legs, his fingers grazing your skin as he does, his touch both featherlight and electric.
And then he sees you. His breath catches in his throat, his hands tightening slightly around your thighs as he takes you in. His gaze, hooded and heavy with admiration, rakes over you like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory, like he can’t quite believe you’re real.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his voice almost disbelieving.
The way he’s looking at your body, so intense, so completely captivated, sends a flush of heat racing up your spine. Your instincts kick in, your legs twitching slightly as the urge to close them overtakes you. But Heeseung doesn’t let you.
His hands move quickly, firm but gentle as he grips your thighs, keeping you open for him. “Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking perfect.”
Your breath hitches, your whole body thrumming under his touch. Heeseung leans in, lips ghosting over your inner thigh, his breath hot against your already burning skin. He looks up at you again, his eyes locking onto yours, and what he says next sends a sharp pulse of anticipation straight through your core.
“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promises, his voice low, edged with something sinful. “So good that you’ll never forget me.”
And then he dips down. The first press of his mouth against your clit is enough to steal the air from your lungs. Warm, wet, hungry—Heeseung doesn’t just touch, he devours. His tongue moves slow at first, tasting you, savoring every single reaction you give him.
You gasp, arching against him, your body already trembling from the sheer intensity of his touch. Heeseung groans against you, the sound vibrating through your core, sending shockwaves up your spine. His grip on your thighs tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he keeps you exactly where he wants you.
“You taste so fucking sweet,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your heat. “Just like I knew you would.”
Your moans come freely now, breathy, desperate, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as Heeseung works you open with his mouth. He hums against you, pleased, lost in you, whispering praise between every stroke of his tongue. “So good for me.” Kiss. “So fucking perfect.” Lick. “You’re mine.” Suck.
And when you whimper his name, broken and pleading, Heeseung only grips your thighs tighter and pulls you even closer, determined to ruin you completely.
Heeseung groans against you, the vibrations sending a shiver up your spine as he keeps his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking, licking, savoring you like he’s starving. Then, slowly, he moves one hand between your legs, his fingers tracing a teasing path through your slick folds. You shudder, your hips instinctively bucking at the sensation, and Heeseung chuckles, a low, rough sound against your skin.
“So wet for me,” he murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before glancing up at you through dark lashes. “So fucking perfect.”
And then he presses a finger inside you. The stretch is slow, deliberate, his touch both gentle and utterly devastating as he sinks into your heat. You gasp sharply, your walls fluttering around him, and Heeseung groans, low and guttural.
“Fuck,” he hisses, watching the way you take him in. His finger curls inside you, testing, feeling. “You’re so tight, baby.”
The words send another wave of heat crashing through you, your body tightening at the sheer hunger in his voice. Heeseung doesn’t stop, he eases his finger in deeper as he continues working you open, his tongue never once leaving your clit. Your back arches, your fingers tangling in his hair, and Heeseung groans again, the sound muffled as he devours you, the heat of his mouth sending you spiraling closer to the edge.
“Heeseung—” His name slips from your lips, breathless, desperate.
Heeseung growls against you, deep and possessive, and you swear you can feel the sound reverberate through your entire body. His grip tightens, his pace quickens, his finger thrusting deeper, curling, coaxing pleasure out of you with every calculated stroke.
And then he adds a second finger. Your body tenses, the stretch just enough to make you whimper, and Heeseung groans at the way you clench around him.
“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, his voice thick, raspy, dripping with admiration. “So fucking perfect for me.”
His lips wrap around your clit again, sucking hard, and your body seizes, heat curling so tight inside you that you can’t hold back any longer. Heeseung feels it, and he sucks harder, pumps his fingers deeper, his other hand pressing down on your stomach to keep you still as your moans turn into cries, your body trembling beneath him.
“Cum for me,” he murmurs against your skin. “Let me feel it.”
And you do. The pleasure slams into you all at once, stealing the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your body locks up, your thighs trembling around his head. Heeseung doesn’t stop, he keeps licking, keeps sucking, drawing every last drop of pleasure from you as you fall apart beneath him.
Your body shudders, aftershocks rippling through you, and Heeseung finally slows, his touch turning soft, reverent, as he presses one last lingering kiss to your sensitive clit before pulling back.
He looks up at you then, his lips glistening, his pupils blown wide, his breath ragged. And then he smirks, his voice low and utterly wrecked.
“Told you I’d make you feel good.”
You smile softly, but before you can even reach for him, he moves, fast, precise. A startled gasp escapes your lips as he manhandles you, lifting you effortlessly off the couch, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, his hands gripping your thighs with a possessiveness that sends a shiver through your entire body. His hold on you is strong, unwavering, his fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s afraid to let go.
You cling to him, your arms locking around his shoulders as he carries you with ease, moving through the dimly lit apartment. Your lips find his neck, tasting the warmth of his skin, inhaling his scent. The closeness, the heat between your bodies, makes you whimper softly against his throat.
And Heeseung groans. A low, deep sound that rumbles in his chest as he grips you tighter, his pace quickening like he’s growing just as desperate as you are.
Because this isn’t just anyone. This is Heeseung.
The boy who has been stitched into your life for years, who has laughed with you, argued with you, known you in ways no one else has. This is the person you love most in the world—and you’re finally having him like this for the first time. The thought makes you cling to him even harder, your lips trailing messily along his jaw, your fingers gripping at his shoulders, needing more, needing all of him.
When Heeseung reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He kneels onto the bed with you still wrapped around him, letting your back sink into the soft mattress as he gently lays you down, his body hovering over yours.
His breath is heavy, his chest rising and falling as he looks down at you, his gaze deep, searching. His Bambi-like eyes, so wide, so full of something tender, something real, hold you in place more than his body ever could.
His hands, still gripping your thighs, slowly loosen, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your skin. Like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s realizing, holy shit, this is happening.
And then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches for his belt. The soft sound of the buckle unfastening fills the space between you, followed by the quiet rustle of fabric as he pushes his pants down, revealing his bare skin, the strong lines of his toned body, every inch of him that you’ve never seen before but already crave more than anything.
You exhale sharply, your eyes dragging over him, admiring the way the soft glow of your bedroom light casts shadows over his sculpted stomach, the definition in his arms, the sharp cut of his hips. He’s breathtaking. And every second that passes, the ache inside you grows, the need twisting tighter and tighter.
You swallow hard, your voice soft but certain when you finally whisper, “I didn’t know I needed you this much until now.”
Heeseung stills. For a moment, his breath catches, his fingers twitching where they rest against your skin. The flush that spreads across his cheeks, blooming down his neck, his lips part slightly, his eyes flickering between yours, something breaking, something giving way inside him.
Then he looks down at you again. And this time, his gaze is molten. Dark, intense, filled with something raw and unfiltered as he leans down, his lips hovering just above yours.
“I think,” he whispers, his voice low, breathless, “I’ve always needed you like this.”
And then he kisses you. Deep, slow, pouring everything into it, every ounce of longing, every unsaid word, every moment spent waiting for this. His hands roam, tracing the curves of your body, feeling, memorizing.
The moment you feel him, thick and hard against your aching core, you let out a soft, needy moan against his lips. Heeseung still has his underwear on, but the heat of him, the way his hips press down, grinding slowly against you, makes your body arch instinctively, chasing the friction.
Heeseung groans into the kiss, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating against your lips. His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging gently, before he soothes the sting with a slow, lingering kiss.
Your hands wander, trailing down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the firm ridges of his toned stomach, lower, until your fingers reach the waistband of his underwear.
Your breathing is ragged, your body thrumming with anticipation as you whisper, “Please, take this off.”
Heeseung curses under his breath, his body tensing above you. He doesn’t want to tease you, doesn’t want to drag this out. He wants you just as much, he needs you just as badly. Without hesitation, he pushes his underwear down, freeing himself completely. The air between you thickens, the weight of the moment settling in as his bare body hovers over yours, his skin flushed, his muscles taut with restraint.
You lean in, hands splaying across his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath. Your fingers trace every inch of him, his collarbones, the defined lines of his stomach, the dip of his lower abdomen, moving lower. But before you can go further, Heeseung catches your wrist. His grip is firm but gentle, his breathing heavy, his eyes dark and searching as he looks at you.
“Y/N,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “I need to ask you…” He swallows hard, his thumb brushing slow circles against your wrist, like he’s grounding himself in your touch. “Are you totally sure?”
Your chest tightens at the rawness in his voice. His expression—so open, so vulnerable—makes your heart clench.
“Because once this happens,” he continues, his forehead nearly touching yours, “I’m not ever letting you go.”
And there it is. The unspoken truth, finally laid bare between you. This isn’t just a night of pleasure. This isn’t just a long-overdue release. This is everything.
Your lips part, your throat tightening with emotion, and for a second, you can only stare at him, overwhelmed by how much he means to you, how deeply you feel this. Then you whisper, with more certainty than you’ve ever had about anything in your life:
“I’ve never been so sure about something before.”
The moment the words leave your lips, something shifts in Heeseung. His entire body tenses for a beat, then he exhales shakily, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, like he’s just now letting himself believe this is real.
And then he kisses you. It’s not slow. It’s not careful. It’s hungry, possessive, filled with all the pent-up emotions neither of you ever dared to voice until now.
His hands slide up your arms, capturing your wrists, pinning them above your head as he presses you deeper into the mattress. His body presses against yours, skin to skin, warmth melting into warmth.
And then you feel it, the tip of his cock, hot and heavy, pressing against your entrance, so achingly close. Heeseung breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breath uneven. He looks down between you, his jaw clenched, his grip tightening just slightly on your wrists as if this is the moment he’s been waiting for all his life.
His voice is nothing but a hushed rasp when he says: “Tell me if it hurts.”
Heeseung lets go of your wrists, his hands sliding down your body with a deliberate slowness, like he’s savoring the feeling of your skin beneath his palms. His fingers find your hips, gripping them gently before one hand moves lower, wrapping around the base of his cock.
He watches you carefully, his gaze dark, hungry, yet filled with something soft, something almost reverent, as he presses the tip against your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet. Instead, he rolls his hips slightly, dragging himself against your slick folds, teasing, his length brushing against your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation sends a shiver through you, a breathless whimper escaping your lips as your fingers dig into his biceps, your body tensing in anticipation.
Heeseung groans, his grip tightening around himself as he watches the way your body reacts to him. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice wrecked. “You’re so wet… so fucking perfect for me.”
Your nails sink deeper into his skin as he finally begins to press inside, the stretch slow and steady, filling you inch by inch. The feeling is overwhelming, him, thick and hot, splitting you open so exquisitely that all you can do is moan softly against his shoulder, your body trembling beneath him.
Heeseung curses under his breath, his forehead dropping to the crook of your neck as he stills, letting you adjust. His hands slide up your sides, fingers grazing over your ribs, your waist, gripping you firmly like he’s afraid to let go.
“You feel so good,” he rasps, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “So fucking good, baby.”
His words send another rush of heat straight through your core, and you can’t help the way your hips shift slightly, taking him even deeper. Heeseung groans at the feeling, his lips parting against your skin.
He lifts his head, searching your face, his eyes filled with both need and restraint. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing softly over your hip. “Can I move?”
You nod quickly, breathless, your fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms, his shoulders, needing him closer. “Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”
Heeseung exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your hips as he begins to move, rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts. Your breath stutters, a moan slipping from your lips, and Heeseung loses it.
His movements quicken, his hips snapping against yours, his grip turning bruising as he holds you in place, thrusting deeper, harder. His breath is ragged, his chest heaving, and with every stroke, he sinks further into you, like he’s trying to become a part of you.
“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice rough against your skin. “You’re taking me so fucking well. So perfect for me.”
His lips find your jawline, tracing a path down your neck, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin before he sucks, leaving a mark, claiming you in every way possible. Your moans grow louder, your body arching against him, and Heeseung groans, loving the way you respond to him, the way you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
His lips travel lower, over your collarbone, down to the valley between your breasts. He kisses, licks, nips, worshiping every inch of you as he keeps thrusting into you, each movement deep and unrelenting.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice wrecked, possessive. “Only mine.”
His grip on your hips tightens as he pounds into you, his pace growing desperate, wild, his body completely losing control in you. And all the while, he praises you. “Tighter than I ever imagined.” Thrust “So fucking beautiful.” Kiss “You feel like heaven, baby.” Groan.
His words, his touch, his everything push you closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling beneath him as the pleasure coils tightly inside you, ready to snap. And Heeseung feels it. He knows you’re close. And he’s not stopping until he sends you over the edge.
Your body trembles beneath him, pleasure curling tight inside you, hot and overwhelming. Your fingers cling desperately to his skin, your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to ground yourself against the way he moves, deep, unrelenting, perfect.
“Heeseung—” Your voice is breathless, wrecked. Your nails dig into his back as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. “God, you feel so good.”
Heeseung groans at your words, his hips stuttering for just a second before he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he rasps, voice dripping with praise, with something darker, something possessive.
And that’s when you snap. The coil inside you tightens dangerously, winding so tight you know you’re seconds from breaking. But you don’t want to break, not yet.
So, with the last shred of control you have left, you grab Heeseung by the side of his neck, your fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair, holding him in place. “Let me ride you,” you plead, your voice thick with desperation. “Please.”
Heeseung growls. A deep, guttural sound that sends a shiver through your entire body. His fingers dig into your hips, his thrusts faltering for a moment as your request sinks in. Then, he moves. In one smooth motion, Heeseung shifts, rolling over and pulling you with him. The world tilts, and suddenly, you’re on top, straddling him, his cock still buried deep inside you.
A sharp, choked moan leaves your lips as you feel him fully, the angle changing, the sensation making your entire body tremble.
“Fuck,” Heeseung groans beneath you, his hands flying to your waist, holding you steady as his eyes drag over your body, your heaving chest, the flush painting your skin, the way you’re clenching around him, barely able to contain yourself.
His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his entire expression wrecked with need. “You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent.
His hands move, Heeseung slides them up your torso, fingers splaying across your ribs before catching your breasts in both hands, squeezing, worshiping. His thumbs flick over your nipples, and the sensation sends another jolt of pleasure straight through you, making you whimper.
“You’re so delicious,” he groans, his thumbs circling your hardened peaks, his hips rolling up slightly into you, making you gasp.
Your head tilts back, your hands bracing against his chest, your body arching into his touch. The heat between you is unbearable, your body already on the edge, but you refuse to let this end too soon.
You start to move, slowly at first, rolling your hips in a deliberate, teasing rhythm, feeling every inch of him stretch and fill you completely. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, pleasure pooling deep in your stomach as you watch Heeseung’s reaction.
Heeseung groans, his grip on your thighs tightening, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s trying to ground himself, trying not to lose control too soon. His head tilts back for a moment, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths as he tries to contain himself.
“Fuck,” he grits out, his jaw clenching as his eyes squeeze shut, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. His hands flex on your thighs, squeezing, like he’s trying to hold back, like the feeling of you around him is too much.
But then he opens his eyes, and the second his gaze locks onto you, dark and hooded with raw, unfiltered hunger, your whole body burns. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, sweat glistening along his collarbones as he watches you move above him, taking him so perfectly, so effortlessly.
“You’re fucking unreal,” he groans, his voice rough, biting down his lips, barely above a whisper. “Just like that, baby. You feel so fucking good.”
His words send a jolt of pleasure through you, making you clench tighter around him. Heeseung feels it, and his breath hitches, his fingers twitching against your skin.
One of his hands moves from your thigh, sliding up your body, tracing along your stomach, your ribs, before finding the back of your neck. He grips you there, firm but gentle, and pulls you down until your foreheads almost touch, your breath mingling with his.
His other hand stays on your thigh, stroking, soothing, before he snaps. A deep growl rumbles in his chest, and he picks up the pace, his hips rolling up to meet yours, his hands guiding your movements. The pleasure intensifies, your thighs burning with the effort, but Heeseung doesn’t let you slow down.
His hands slide to your hips, gripping hard, his fingers pressing into your flesh as he takes control. And then he slams into you. A sharp, broken moan escapes your lips as he thrusts up, driving deeper, harder, filling you so completely that you swear you might lose your mind.
“That’s it,” he groans, his grip unrelenting as he pounds into you, chasing the feeling of you wrapped so perfectly around him. “Take it, baby. Take all of me.”
His voice, deep, rough, dripping with praise, sends you spiraling, pleasure building, your body trembling under his relentless pace. His mouth finds your jaw, then your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your skin between ragged breaths. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of your sweat, and then his teeth graze your pulse point, his lips closing around it as he sucks.
Your fingers claw at his shoulders, your body arching against his, your moans coming faster, higher, completely overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you.
Heeseung doesn’t slow down. His thrusts stay deep, hard, relentless, his grip unyielding as he drives into you, chasing the pleasure building between you both. His hands remain at the back of your neck, keeping you close, keeping you exactly where he wants you, his breath hot against your skin.
He groans, voice wrecked, rough. “Fuck—baby, you feel so good. So fucking perfect.”
His words send another wave of pleasure crashing through you, making your thighs tighten around his hips. You’re close, you can feel yourself unraveling, your body tightening as the coil inside you threatens to snap. And Heeseung knows. He feels it.
His fingers tighten against your skin, his movements growing desperate, erratic, as his own release begins creeping up on him. His forehead presses against yours, his breath uneven, his voice nothing but a strained rasp.
“Cum for me again, baby,” he pleads, his words like fire against your skin. “Let it go.”
The command, the way his voice drips with authority and adoration, is what finally undoes you. A sharp, broken moan rips from your throat as your body tenses, pleasure surging through you like wildfire. Your walls clench around him, pulsing, milking him, and Heeseung loses it.
A deep, guttural groan escapes his lips as he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself deep, his entire body shuddering as he lets go, his release spilling into you. The pleasure crashes over both of you at once, your moans mixing together, filling the room, raw and unrestrained.
And then, stillness.
Your body, still trembling, collapses against his chest, your forehead pressing into the slick heat of his skin. Your breaths are ragged, uneven, matching his as he tries to catch his pace, his chest rising and falling beneath you.
Neither of you speak for a long moment, the silence filled only with the sounds of your slowing breaths, your racing heartbeats.
Heeseung moves his hands, still firm but now gentle, slide down to your lower back, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles against your damp skin. His touch is tender, reverent, like he’s memorizing you all over again, like he can’t believe this moment is real.
His lips brush against your hair, barely a whisper of a kiss, before he exhales shakily. And then, he murmurs—soft, breathless, like a vow.
“I’m never letting you go.”
Your chest tightens at the raw emotion in his voice. His arms wrap tighter around you, holding you impossibly close, his hands never stopping their slow caresses against your back. His lips press against the top of your head, again and again, each kiss softer than the last.
“Never,” he whispers. “Never, never, never…”
His words sink into your skin, into your bones, into you. And as you melt further into his embrace, letting the warmth of him envelop you completely, you realize: You never want him to let go.
You slowly lift your head, your breath still uneven, your body still thrumming with the remnants of pleasure.
You meet his eyes, his Bambi-like, doe eyes, wide and full of something so deep, so undeniable, it makes your chest tighten. They glimmer under the dim light of your bedroom, reflecting every unspoken word, every silent confession hanging thick in the space between you.
You let out a breathy, almost disbelieving smile, your gaze sweeping over his face, his flushed cheeks, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, the soft sheen of sweat on his skin. He looks wrecked. He looks perfect.
And he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.
Heeseung mirrors your smile, soft and hazy, his expression filled with something tender, something so Heeseung that it makes warmth flood your entire body. His hands find your face, large and warm, his knuckles grazing your cheeks in slow, delicate strokes, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.
You lean into his touch, nuzzling against his palm, and the way he exhales, soft, shaky, like he’s feeling everything too, sends a shiver down your spine.
Then, barely above a whisper, you say, “I…”
And suddenly, you stop yourself.
Because the weight of what you were about to say hits you all at once.
Your lips part slightly, your throat tightening. The words are right there, sitting heavy on your tongue, aching to spill out. But there’s fear too, fear of what this means, fear of how much this changes everything.
Heeseung notices. His fingers pause against your cheek, his brows twitching just slightly, his gaze flickering between your eyes like he’s searching, trying to read you.
But then, he smiles. Soft, knowing, patient. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his touch featherlight, his voice a quiet murmur in the space between you.
“I know,” he whispers.
Your breath catches. Because you believe him.
Heeseung has always known you better than anyone, always understood you in ways that no one else could. And right now, in this moment, with the way he’s holding you, looking at you, you realize you don’t have to say it.
Because he already knows.
Heeseung leans in, his nose brushing against yours, his lips hovering just above yours, waiting, giving you the choice. And when you press your lips to his in the softest, most deliberate kiss, you’re telling him everything you couldn’t say in words.
Heeseung sighs into the kiss, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer, pressing you against his warmth, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm.
And when you finally pull away, when you rest your forehead against his and breathe him in, you realize: You were never afraid of loving Heeseung.
You were afraid of admitting that you always have.
But now, with his arms around you, his lips brushing against your temple, his heartbeat syncing with yours, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.
Because he’s never letting you go.
And neither are you.
That’s why he stays at your house the next day. And the day after that. And for the few days that follow, until time becomes a blur and neither of you think to question it.
Because how could he leave, how could either of you go back to a world where you weren’t tangled up in each other like this?
The first morning, you wake up wrapped in Heeseung’s arms, your head tucked against his chest, his fingers absentmindedly tracing soft, lazy circles against your back. Neither of you move for a long time. Neither of you want to.
His lips press into your hair, a silent good morning, and you melt into him because it feels natural, because this is Heeseung, your best friend, the boy who has always been a constant, and yet, now, everything is different.
And it’s better. He doesn’t leave. You don’t ask him to.
Instead, you spend the morning like you have a thousand times before: lounging on the couch, talking about nothing, watching movies you’ve seen a hundred times. Except now, there’s a new rhythm, an unspoken understanding.
His fingers brush yours absentmindedly. His arm finds its way around your waist without hesitation. His lips press against your temple between conversations like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Because maybe, it is.
The second night, he kisses you in the kitchen while you’re making dinner, stealing a taste of the sauce on your lips, grinning when you roll your eyes. The third night, you fall asleep with your fingers intertwined, his breath warm against your neck, his hand resting over your heart like he’s afraid you might slip away in the night. By the fourth day, he’s using your shampoo, leaving his clothes in your drawers, stealing your socks because he swears they’re more comfortable than his own.
By the fifth, you don’t even realize he never went home. Because this is home now. Not the walls. Not the bed. But this. Him. You. Together.
One night, a week after everything changed, you find yourselves in your living room, curled up against each other, laughter spilling into the quiet air.
It feels surreal, how easy this is, how natural. And yet, when you look at him, really look at him, you realize this was never sudden at all. This wasn’t a moment. This was a lifetime in the making.
It was in the late-night phone calls when you both should’ve been asleep. It was in the way he always kept your favorite snacks in his kitchen without thinking. It was in the stolen glances, the inside jokes, the nights spent shoulder to shoulder, pretending you didn’t feel the weight of something more. It was in every single thing before this.
And now that the truth is out in the open, now that you know, you don’t ever want to live in a world where you don’t wake up next to Heeseung. And it doesn’t feel real.
Not because you don’t want it to be—but because it still catches you off guard. The quiet way Heeseung reaches for your hand without thinking. The way his presence in your space isn’t something fleeting, but something constant. Something permanent.
It’s been two weeks since everything changed, and somehow, the world didn’t shift to match it. The sun still rises the same way. Your friends still send memes in the group chat. Life moves on, but now, there’s this.
This is Heeseung pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder when he wakes up before you. This is him playing with your fingers absentmindedly when you’re watching something together. This is the way he still teases you the same, still makes fun of you the same, but now he kisses you after like he can’t help it.
Yunjin is the only one who knows.
She had her suspicions, she always had her suspicions, but it became painfully obvious the moment you showed up at her place wearing a hoodie that was at least two sizes too big, one she distinctly remembered seeing Heeseung wear last week.
Which is why, at her birthday party, there’s this lingering tension in the air. It’s subtle, the way you and Heeseung hesitate just slightly when you’re around the others, the way you don’t know if you’re supposed to act like you always have or like something’s changed.
Because something has changed. But the world doesn’t know yet.
You and Heeseung sit at the dining table, pretending everything is normal, pretending that you’re not constantly aware of the warmth of his body next to yours, the way his knee brushes yours every time he shifts.
And then, under the table, he takes your hand. It’s subtle, careful, the warmth of his palm slipping against yours, his fingers threading through yours in a way that makes your stomach flip. Heeseung doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge it, just holds your hand beneath the table, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Finally,” Sunghoon mutters, watching Heeseung with a knowing smirk.
Heeseung freezes. You both turn to see Sunghoon leaning against the chair next to him, arms crossed, eyes flickering down to where your hands are intertwined beneath the table.
“I was wondering when you were gonna stop being a coward,” Sunghoon teases, nudging Heeseung’s foot under the table. “Took you long enough, man.”
Heeseung groans, dropping his head back against the chair. “Jesus, Sunghoon.”
Sunghoon just grins, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Nah, I’m happy for you guys. But also, I knew you two had something going on.” He points a lazy finger at you. “Your whole ‘we’re just friends’ thing was so fake.”
The table erupts in laughter, and you sigh, shaking your head. But then, Heeseung squeezes your hand, and when you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. Soft. Quiet. Certain. And you realize, this feels right. Being here. Being together. Being this.
The night winds down. People leave. And you end up in Heeseung’s car, the windows slightly fogged from the cold air outside. The soft strum of Waiting Room fills the quiet, the melancholic chords settling deep into your chest.
You watch Heeseung, his hands gripping the wheel loosely, his face relaxed, bathed in the glow of the streetlights.
“Wanna go to McDonald’s?”
You blink. “What?”
Heeseung smirks, eyes flickering to you before turning back to the road. “You heard me.”
A beat of silence. You laugh. “Yeah. I do.”
You order fries and ice cream and talk about the dumbest things. about how Niki's new girlfriend is the worst, about how Jay got too drunk, about how Jake still doesn’t know how to properly pour a drink.
But somewhere between the laughter, somewhere between the way Heeseung licks salt off his fingers and tosses fries into your mouth, somewhere between the way you lean against his shoulder in the drive-thru line.
Heeseung sighs. And then—
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”
You still. Your fingers tighten slightly around your drink, your breath catching at the quiet, vulnerable way he says it. And when you turn to look at him, he’s already looking at you, soft, so soft, his gaze deep, searching.
Your chest tightens. “Heeseung…”
He smiles, a little shy, a little unsure. Then, he reaches out, sliding his fingers over yours, his thumb brushing your knuckles.
“I just—” He swallows, then exhales. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time.”
Your breath catches. And in that moment, in the soft hum of the radio, in the glow of the streetlights, in the taste of salt and ice cream and the warmth of Heeseung’s fingers against yours, you know.
“I thought maybe it would go away,” he continues, his lips quirking slightly, like he’s laughing at himself. “Like—it’s just Y/N, right? My best friend.”
You hold your breath, watching him, the streetlights casting soft shadows across his face, making his eyes look even softer, warmer.
“But then,” Heeseung shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Every time I thought I had it under control, you’d do something stupid, like wear my hoodie and refuse to give it back, or make me watch Shrek 2 for the tenth time, or grab my hand in a crowded room like it was nothing.” He swallows, his voice dropping to something even softer. “And I’d realize—I was never going to stop feeling this way.”
Your chest tightens. Because it’s always been like this, hasn’t it? The quiet kind of love. The kind that slips into the cracks of everyday moments, unnoticed until one day, it’s too big to ignore.
You feel the words sitting heavy in your throat, pressing against your ribs, and when you finally speak, your voice is barely a whisper.
“Heeseung.” He looks at you, his brows lifting slightly, like he’s bracing himself. You take a slow breath, steadying yourself, then squeeze his hand. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time, too.”
The tension in his shoulders dissolves instantly. His lips part, his eyes searching yours like he wants to make sure he really heard you right.
And then, he smiles. Not the teasing kind, not the smirk he throws at you when he’s making fun of you, but something real. Something deep. The kind of smile that says, I know. I knew before you even said it.
You shift closer, your forehead brushing against his, the warmth of his breath mixing with yours. “I don’t know why it took me so long to realize it,” you murmur. “But I do now.”
Heeseung hums, tilting his head slightly. “You sure?”
You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Good.” He squeezes your hand, his nose nudging against yours. “Because I would’ve had to spend another three years waiting for you to catch up, and I don’t think I could survive that.”
You groan, shoving his shoulder lightly, and he chuckles, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you in, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.
And just like that, it’s easy again. The way you tease each other, the way you fit against him, the way you fall back into the rhythm of your friendship except now there’s no pretending.
Now it’s all out in the open. And it’s better.
As Heeseung drives you home, the song still playing softly in the background, your mind drifts back. To three years ago. To that stupid Halloween party where you met, you in your skeleton costume, him in that ridiculous Ninja Turtle onesie.
To the late nights spent working on that Shrek project, arguing about PowerPoint transitions like it was life or death, only to laugh until your sides hurt. To the wedding where he spun you around on the dance floor, looking at you like he already knew, like he was just waiting for you to catch up. To every car ride, every inside joke, every time you almost realized what he meant to you.
Your fingers tighten around his, and Heeseung glances at you, his eyes flickering between you and the road.
“What?” he asks, a small smile tugging at his lips.
You shake your head, but you’re smiling too. “Nothing.”
Because you understand now. Because Waiting Room plays softly in the background, and the lyrics echo in your chest—know it’s for the better.
You do. You know now that keeping Heeseung in your life like this, is the best thing you’ll ever do.
And when Heeseung looks at you, his grip on your hand tightening like he knows too, you realize.
For you, it was worth waiting.
my masterlist 🧦 ☆★ // previous fic
author's note: hey guys! this is my first long fic about heeseung, the first one i've ever written, and i hope you liked it! i know 21k+ words is a lot, but i had so much fun writing it. thank you for reading! <3
➜ summary: you're certain heeseung sees you as a little sister but tonight that was going to change
pairing: heeseung x f!reader, wc: 6.2k words , genre: romcom, slice of life w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing
a/n: hi friends! not my usual long very plot filled story...but here's a short little fic as an apology for all the wait!
Heeseung was only two years older than you, but somehow those two years felt like a lifetime. Probably a whole age gap he invented in his head. Enough that the only way he ever looked at you was like you were a little child who needed to be spoon-fed.
But you didn’t want that. What you wanted was for him to look at you like a woman.
“Hee,” you whispered, tapping his shoulder to get his attention.
He was typing away on his laptop, completely absorbed in whatever assignment he was finishing. You sat behind him because, of course, all the paired seats in the library were taken, and the only space left was this cramped single desk.
He didn’t fully turn around, just leaned back in his chair, balancing it on its hind legs so you could barely see his side profile, his cheek poking out just a little, the corner rounding when he finally glanced back at you.
“Yes, cutie?”
God. That nickname.
In any other universe, maybe it would’ve been heart-fluttering. But not here. Not when all you wanted was for him to find you attractive. Appealing. Someone he couldn’t just pat on the head and send home before dinner.
You wanted him to see you as grown.
You sighed softly. “I’m stuck on question three.”
Which, unfortunately, only strengthened his entire argument that you were ‘young’ and ‘naive.’ The truth was humiliating: you were falling behind in the Year 1 accounting module every business major seemed to breeze through, and in a moment of desperation, you had shamefully begged Heeseung to tutor you.
Heeseung turned his chair fully this time, and your heart tripped over itself. He slipped his headphones down from his ears to his neck, eyes dropping to your worksheet with that annoyingly calm focus of his.
“What’s question three?” he asked, leaning closer.
You angled the paper toward him.
“Calculate the depreciation expense for Year 1 and prepare the journal entry for BeLift Enterprise,” he read, nodding slowly. He bit the end of his pencil, a habit that really shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was, before circling a few key words and launching into the explanation. His voice dropped into that calm, patient tone he only used when tutoring you, and he sketched out the steps neatly on your worksheet.
At one point, he looked up and there it was again. That soft, too-gentle look. Like you were a tiny baby bird he had to protect.
“So, do you get it?” he asked.
Your eyes widened. Oh right. You were supposed to be listening to his explanation, not stare his plump lips wondering how it’d feel on yours–
You shook your head, groaning. “Uh…”
“You weren’t listening, weren’t you?” he said, knocking your forehead with the pencil before laughing, that warm, quiet laugh he only ever seemed to give you.
You glared, rubbing your forehead, but your cheeks had already betrayed you, heating up under his teasing. You wished he’d stop treating you like all you were was cute…
Time passed, and soon the third question was done. Before you could even pack up, Heeseung had already slung your backpack over his shoulder, walking beside you down the campus pathway.
“I told you I can carry it myself,” you grumbled.
“You have like three accounting books in here. Shit’s heavy,” he said, effortlessly adjusting the strap. “Consider yourself lucky. I wish I had this—an attractive guy carrying my books for me.”
“You had Jongseong,” you giggled.
“He only carried my books that one month because the dumbass lost a bet.” Heeseung laughed, shaking his head.
You scoffed and were about to say something else when two older girls from Heeseung’s year stepped right in front of him.
“Hey, Heeseung,” one of them said, flipping her hair. Both of them looked nothing like you. Sure, they were only two years older, but somehow they felt like actual adults. A thousand miles ahead of your tiny first-year existence.
You swallowed without meaning to.
“Is this your little sister?” one of them asked, glancing at you briefly.
Heeseung shook his head. “A friend,” he replied simply.
“Cute,” they said in unison, giggling at each other before turning their attention back to him. “You going to the party tonight?”
“Jake’s?” Heeseung scratched the back of his head.
They nodded eagerly. “Heard Beomgyu’s gonna be there. We figured you’d be too.”
He glanced at you. Something unreadable flickered across his face before he turned back. “Don’t really feel like a party today.”
Your stomach twisted.
Tonight was movie night: silly pajamas, popcorn, and the movie you’d been begging him to watch for months. Just the two of you. It was supposed to feel fun.
Now it just felt like you had trapped him at home with you.
“Oh, boo you, Hee,” one of them pouted.
He laughed lightly. “I’ll catch you guys tomorrow in class.”
“Bye, handsome,” they giggled as they walked away.
The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable just… confusing. You walked along the curb, arms stretched out to balance while Heeseung held your left forearm so you wouldn’t fall off.
“You know you could’ve just gone to the party,” you said under your breath, almost tripping.
“And miss out on Mark Ruffalo as a heartthrob? No thank you,” he laughed, gripping onto your arms tighter.
“You clearly wanted to go.”
He looked over at you. “Who said I did?”
“Those two girls were pretty. Going to a party like that—wouldn’t it be fun?” You shrugged. “I don’t know. For seniors like you.”
Heeseung stopped walking.
You turned to face him, heart suddenly thumping too loud.
He sighed. “What’s this about?”
“Nothing,” you said quickly. You couldn’t tell him the truth, that seeing him with girls who seemed older, braver, more… womanly than you made your chest burn. That you were jealous. That you hated feeling small next to them.
“Just… I’d feel bad if you were missing out on a party because I forced you to watch an iconic movie. That’s all,” you added, weakly.
“Trust me,” he said, adjusting your backpack higher on his shoulder. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Booze. Girls. Dudes. Grinding. I’m better off at home under a blanket with you, watching a good movie, eating popcorn, and maybe—”
You stopped listening after that.
Your mind, traitorous as always, replayed everything, the girls, their confidence, how young you sounded saying begging Heeseung to watch a dumb movie with you, how Heeseung probably saw you as something soft and harmless. A child.
A little sister.
The thought made your stomach flip.
“What if I wanted to go to the party?” you blurted out.
Heesesung raised a brow. “You are not going to a senior party.”
You frowned. “Why not? My friends go all the time.”
“Your friends? Sure. You? No.” He said, deadpan.
“What? Why not?”
He sighed. “Because you’re not going to a senior party. Especially not one hosted by that idiot maniac Jake Sim. It gets crazy. And I know you. You’d hate it the moment you walked in.”
“I’m not a child, Hee.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You don’t have to.” You crossed your arms. “You treat me like one.”
Heeseung opened his mouth but nothing came out. His jaw worked, his eyes softened, and suddenly he looked like he was fighting himself.
“I’m not gonna stop you. I don’t have the right to,” he finally said, voice low. “But it just seems like a bad idea.”
That made your chest sting in a weird, unwelcome way.
“Fine then, glad you know that you aren’t the boss of me.” you snapped, “I’ll go get ready right now.”
You stormed off before he could say another word.
Your room looked like a tornado had passed through.
Every outfit you usually wore, comfy sweaters, oversized tees, soft colours, were thrown across your bed in a rejected pile. You stood in front of the mirror, pulling at the hem of the tight black dress you’d dug out of the back of your closet. You barely recognized yourself.
You did your makeup differently, not the usual dainty look but something a little darker, sharper, a little messy but intentionally messy. You curled your hair in a style you’d never actually tried outside your bedroom. Each step felt like trying on a costume.
You wanted to look grown.
Preferably someone Heeseung couldn’t brush off with a forehead knock and a “dumbo.”
But staring at yourself now, your chest tightened. You didn’t know if you looked mature… or if you looked like a kid trying way too hard.
Still, you forced a smile. Tonight, you were going to have fun. You were going to dance, drink something fruity and disgusting, talk to strangers, pretend you weren’t thinking about Heeseung.
You lifted your phone.
“Won?” you called out.
“What?” Jungwon muttered, mouth clearly full of something. You could practically hear cheese stretching across his molars.
“You have to go to Jake’s party with me.”
“Gross,” Jungwon groaned immediately. “A senior party? Hosted by Jake? Those go insane. I am not going to waste my night on a hellish experience.”
“Come on, please? I made this big thing about being old enough to go to the party with Heeseung—”
“Heeseung?” Jungwon choked. “God, you’re even stupider than Jay.”
“What the he–” you shouted.
“Look, I don’t wanna go to a stupid party,” he complained. “I have, like, a whole pizza here and I’m on season two of—”
“PLEASE?” you practically wailed. “I’LL DO YOUR ACCOUNTING HOMEWORK FOR A WEEK.”
Silence.
Then Jungwon exhaled the most defeated sigh you’d ever heard.
“Fine. I’ll see you there.”
–
Heeseung shouldn’t be this worried. He kept telling himself that, but it didn’t bring him any comfort. He never meant to make you feel like a child. He never meant to make you feel small. The truth was embarrassingly simple. He liked you so much that he got protective without thinking, and sometimes it came out in ways you misunderstood. He hated that he’d upset you. He hated even more that he didn’t know how to fix it without revealing too much.
His heart thudded faster as he imagined everything that could be happening at Jake’s party. Everyone knew what those parties were like. He’d been to enough of them to know that nothing good ever happened after midnight, and even less good happened once the alcohol started flowing. You didn’t belong in that kind of environment. You weren’t built for it in the way other people were. You were soft and earnest and easily flustered. The thought of you surrounded by drunk seniors made something inside him tighten with frustration and fear.
But maybe you were.
Back home, still wearing the matching pyjamas you’d bought for both of you, Heeseung felt a strange weight sink into his stomach. He was supposed to be angry. He was supposed to be sitting on the couch with you, under a blanket, watching 13 Going on 30 like you’d planned. Maybe you’d lean against him halfway through. Maybe he’d find the courage to hold your hand. It was supposed to be simple and warm and comforting.
But none of that was happening.
Because instead of walking into the living room wearing your silly heart-pattern pyjamas, you’d stormed off and posted an Instagram story with Jungwon. In the tiniest black dress he’d ever seen you wear. It wasn’t even a dress he knew you owned. And the worst part was the way you looked in it. He hated admitting it, even to himself, but you looked incredible. And it felt like you were doing it to spite him. Like you wanted to prove how grown you were. Like you were pushing him to react.
If he thought you looked good, he couldn't imagine how many men were trying to hit on you right now. The jealousy almost made him lightheaded. This wasn’t about protecting you anymore. This was pure, unfiltered anger and jealousy, and he could feel it pulsing under his skin.
He began pacing the length of his room, running a hand through his hair over and over again. Should he go to the party? Would it be too obvious if he showed up? Would everyone know exactly how he felt about you the moment he set foot inside?
His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing. Jungwon.
He answered quickly. “Won?”
“Get to the party already,” Jungwon said, sounding bored and slightly annoyed.
“What?”
“I don’t need to be there to know your dumbass is pacing back and forth wondering if you should save her. Which, by the way, you should.”
“What’s wrong? Is she okay?”
“Yes. But I’m not. God, she’s dancing the robot at a senior party.”
“The robot?” Heeseung felt a laugh escape before he could stop it.
“Yes, the robot. She’s basically male repellent right now.”
“How’s no one finding that adorable?” Heeseung asked without thinking.
“Because they’re normal? Also, I don’t get why the two of you can’t just tell each other you like one another. It’s pissing me off.”
Heeseung let out a slow sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“Well, uncomplicate it and bring her home. She’s ruining my reputation as the cool, nonchalant first year. She’s literally destroying it.”
“What’s she doing now?”
“She’s moved on to the shuffle. Please get here. People are staring. I can’t be associated with this.”
Heeseung was already grabbing his jacket and keys. “On my way.”
–
You were doing the robot in the middle of Jake’s overcrowded living room. The music was loud, the lights were dim, and half the people around you were too drunk to care that you were dancing like a malfunctioning microwave.
You were so deep into your little performance that you didn’t notice the tall guy watching you from across the room until he was suddenly right in front of you. Sunghoon, a senior you had only heard about in whispers, stood there. You were pretty sure he was friends with Heeseung but if you were being honest, you only ever talked to Jongseong since he seemed harmless.
“Hey,” he said, “you’re Heeseung’s little sister, right?”
You froze. Little sister. Was that what everyone thought you were now? His adorable background character?
“No,” you said, frowning. “We’re not related. Not even close. Why does everyone keep saying that?”
“It’s just that you’re cute, and the way he is with you kind of screams protective big brother. It’s nothing offensive.”
“Well it’s offensive to me,” you muttered, blowing your bangs out of your face dramatically. “I’m in college. Not kindergarten.”
Sunghoon chuckled. “It’s part of your charm, isn’t it?”
“Tell me something, Mister… uh…”
“Sunghoon,” he supplied.
Maybe it was your third shot of vodka, or maybe it was simply the exhaustion of pretending you were fine, but your honesty was starting to slip out. Before you knew it, you were spilling practically everything to Sunghoon, a man you had met ten minutes ago.
“Mr. Sunghoon,” you repeated, pointing at him like you were about to present a PowerPoint in front of the class. “Would you like it if the one person you wanted to see you as a woman—”
“I’m a dude,” he interrupted gently.
“Not the point,” you snapped, waving him off. “Would you like it if the person you liked saw you as a child? Imagine you had the fattest crush on some older lady, and she kept patting your head like, ‘aww, you’re a little bit young for me, Sunghoon.’”
“Well—”
“Exactly.”
“I didn’t even answer—”
“I know. I just know I’m right.” You nodded to yourself like you were closing arguments in a courtroom and had already convinced the jury. “That’s what Heeseung is to me.”
Sunghoon stared at you for a moment before letting out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s rough. So you’re saying I have no shot then?”
“What?” You blinked at him, caught completely off guard.
Sunghoon shrugged in the most casual, attractive way possible. “I’m flirting. Bantering. I’m into whatever this is.” He waved his hand vaguely at you, like you were an energy he was trying to describe.
You narrowed your eyes at him, taking your time to look him up and down. “How romantic,” you said flatly, rolling your eyes for emphasis.
He laughed under his breath. “Look, you’re cute and pretty.”
“Okay,” you said, unsure where this was going. “And then what?”
“Jesus, I didn’t realize you’d be…Would… you… like… to… go… out… with… me?” he asked, and he said it slowly. Too slowly.
You stared at him. “Did you just slow-talk me like I’m a preschooler?”
Sunghoon smiled, clearly amused by your reaction. “No. I’m slow-talking because you keep arguing with me instead of answering.”
“I argue with everyone,” you said.
“Pretty hot,” Sunghoon replied instantly.
You almost choked on your own breath. You stared at him, blinking rapidly.
“Look, Mr. Sunghoon, you seem very nice,” you said, trying to regain composure.
“But?” he prompted, already smiling.
“I’m just…”
“Really into Heeseung?” he finished for you.
You let out a long sigh and nodded. “Yes.”
Sunghoon’s expression softened. “You know, we might not be friends, but I do want to help you out.”
Your eyes narrowed. “What? Why?”
“Well, first, I’m interested in seeing what happens,” he said, casually glancing over your shoulder. His eyebrows lifted in amusement. “Second, I’m always rooting for the underdog. You know, superhero stuff. Just call me Cupid Man.”
You gasped dramatically. “That’s a stupid fucking name.”
“Cut me some slack. I thought of it in under a minute,” Sunghoon said without hesitation. Then his eyes flicked over your shoulder, amused. “Also, Heeseung just arrived, and he’s clearly looking for someone. I’m assuming that someone is you.”
“He’s here?” You jolted. “He said he wasn’t going to come.”
“Oh, I wonder why…” Sunghoon said, giving you a very pointed, very knowing look.
“It’s not because of me, is it?” you asked, starting to turn around to check, but Sunghoon’s fingers were suddenly at your chin again, gently guiding your face back toward him.
“Don’t look,” he whispered. “Pretend you’re preoccupied with me.”
“What?”
“Just pretend I said something funny.”
You blinked at him in disbelief. “Funny like… what? What am I laughing at?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Laugh like I told you the world’s funniest joke.”
You stared deadpan at him. “Sunghoon, I can’t fake laugh on command.”
Sunghoon stifled a laugh. “Fine, then just smile at me. Something that says you are having a wonderful, captivating, life-changing conversation with a very handsome man.”
“Sunghoon, you’re not that handsome,” you said, clearly lying. Sunghoon was fine. Like fiiiine. Extremely fine. You knew that, he knew that, and unfortunately Heeseung definitely knew that.
“You know what, it won’t even matter when he sees us standing this close,” Sunghoon replied, stepping forward deliberately. “You could be with a total four like Jongseong and he’d still be pissed.”
“I’ll have you know Jongseong is an eight to me.”
“What happened to the two points?”
“He spat in my food while ranting about cars once. Changed my view of him in under a minute.”
Sunghoon laughed, before his expression shifted into something more serious.
“Okay,” he murmured, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “Now put your hands on my shoulders and sway to the music.”
“I…” You hesitated, already feeling your pulse racing.
“Just do it,” he said, still watching something behind you with a knowing smirk.
“Fine,” you muttered, placing your hands on his shoulders as instructed. Sunghoon’s hands settled lightly at your waist, guiding you into a slow sway that felt far too intimate for two people who had met ten minutes ago.
“Good,” Sunghoon said. “Now, what I’m about to do is just fake, okay? Because he’s walking over and this is our only chance to make him crack.”
“What are you talking abou—”
But Sunghoon didn’t give you time.
He leaned down slowly, deliberately, and your eyes widened as his lips came closer. You could feel his breath brush your cheek, and the moment stretched like the universe was holding it up for inspection.
You weren’t sure if he was actually going to kiss you, or if he was simply committed to the bit.
Either way, the room suddenly felt warm. Before you could decide whether Sunghoon was actually going to kiss you, you heard a sharp throat clear behind you. A split second later, someone grabbed your arm and tugged you so hard that you stumbled forward and fell face first into a very familiar chest.
You looked up, already knowing who it was.
“Hee?” you whispered.
Heeseung stood over you, jaw clenched, eyes blazing in a way you had never seen before. His hand was still tight around your arm.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“I was just… dancing with my new friend.” You gestured weakly toward him. “Sunghoon.”
Heeseung turned his head slowly, like he needed a full moment to keep himself from exploding. “Jesus, Sunghoon. I told you she’s off limits.”
“Off limits? What?” You blinked, incredulous.
Sunghoon raised both hands in mock surrender. “Right, right. Sorry. Must’ve slipped my mind.”
You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. Off limits? Who did Heeseung think he was? The two of you weren’t even together. He had no right to claim you. No right to act like you belonged to him. And yet he said it so easily, like he meant it.
He turned back to you. “Where’s Jungwon?”
“I don’t know,” you said, trying to keep your voice level. “Why are you even here?”
“I asked him to keep an eye on you.”
A spark lit in your chest. “I’m not a child, Hee.” You folded your arms tightly.
He took a breath, but it came out sharp and frustrated. “Then why do you keep acting like one?”
Your anger rose instantly. “I don’t belong to you. You don’t own me.”
“I know I don’t,” he shot back. His jaw clenched. “It just makes me mad that you don’t even see—”
“See what?” you demanded. “See that you treat me like a goddamn child? Because you do. Whether you realise it or not, you do.”
He looked stunned for a moment, thrown off by the force of your words. The silence between you thickened, heavy and hot, and for a second neither of you spoke.
The hurt in your chest pulsed again, stronger. He frustrated you. He confused you. He made you feel small and then important and then invisible all at the same time. And now he was standing here in the cold night air acting like you had no right to be upset.
Your voice softened but cracked at the edges. “You talk like you get to decide who I dance with. Who I talk to. What I do. And you don’t.”
Heeseung opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He looked angry, yes, but underneath it was something else. Something you could not quite name. Something that made your heart twist painfully.
He finally said, quieter, “You have no idea why it makes me mad.”
“Then tell me,” you whispered. “Because all I see is someone who doesn’t think I can make my own choices.”
Heeseung didn’t say anything.
You just turned on your heel and stormed off, disappearing into the crowd before he could say another word.
You walked out of the house and into the cold night air, wanting as much distance as possible from the music, the lights and the embarrassment tightening in your chest. The noise behind you faded into a blur. Your heels clicked against the pavement as you moved farther and farther away from the party.
But you could still hear him.
Heeseung’s footsteps pounded against the pavement behind you. His voice carried through the cold night air as he called your name again and again. The more you ignored him, the louder he said it, until your patience snapped.
You spun around, arms crossed tightly, eyes burning. “What?”
He came to a stop right in front of you, breath rising in the cold, frustration etched across every line of his face. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m acting weird.”
“Glad to see that you’re self-fucking-aware,” you snapped.
“God, you don’t get it.”
“Then so help me, make me get it,” you said, exhaling sharply as you tried to keep your voice controlled.
Heeseung opened his mouth, then closed it again. He raked a hand through his hair, pacing a small step before facing you.
“This is making me crazy. I swear.”
He frowned. “What is?”
He hesitated just long enough to irritate you. Long enough to make the frustration in your chest spike.
Your voice finally broke through the tension. “You. You are.”
“Me? What did I even do?” His brows knitted together helplessly.
“You never get it,” you said, your voice rising despite your best effort to keep it steady. “You never listen when it comes to this.”
He stepped closer, stubborn and confused and maddeningly intense. “Listen to what?”
“And I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t bother me,” you said, your voice dropping into something smaller, something raw. “I’m tired of acting like it doesn’t get to me when it does.”
Heeseung opened his mouth, desperate to respond, but the words inside you were already tumbling out faster than you could control.
“Just tell me–”
“Why can’t you just look at me as a woman instead of a child?” You cut him off.
Silence snapped over the two of you. Heavy. Immediate.
Your eyes widened as soon as the sentence left your lips. You clapped a hand over your mouth, mortified. “Wait. I didn’t mean… I mean I did but also I didn’t but—oh my god.”
“Wait,” Heeseung said quietly, stepping closer. “Say that again.”
You shook your head furiously, mortified. “No. Forget it. I’m going home. Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that. I’m an idiot.”
He studied your face like he was seeing you for the first time tonight. “You want me to see you as a woman.”
You wanted the pavement to crack open so you could crawl inside. “Hee, please stop talking.”
He didn’t.
He closed the space between you slowly, almost cautiously, as if approaching something fragile he had been afraid to touch for too long. When he finally spoke, his voice dropped into something low and careful.
“You really think I see you as a child?”
“Well, you treat me like one,” you muttered, though your voice shook slightly.
He let out a tense breath and shook his head. “Sure, you’re cute. Sure, I find you adorable.” His eyes didn’t leave yours for a second. “But you have no idea how unraveled I feel when I see you. When I see you in that dress. When I see you in a hoodie. When I see you in my hoodie with no shorts on.”
Your breath caught. Everything in your chest went still. “What?”
He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, looking like he was seconds away from combusting. “You make me go insane. And I have to fight every part of myself not to think about you in that way because you are so much more than that. Do you get me?”
You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t breathe.
He took another step forward, and suddenly his warmth was right there, brushing against your skin. When he lowered his voice again, it felt heavier, truer, like the words were pulled directly from his ribs.
“It’s only you,” he said. “I look at you and I want to be careful. I want to be gentle. I want to protect you. Not because I think you’re small. But because you matter to me.”
Your heart thudded so loudly you were convinced he could hear it. Your fingers twitched at your sides, itching to reach for him.
He wasn’t finished.
“You matter to me in a way that scares me,” he said quietly. “That’s why I act like this. Not because I don’t see you as a woman. But because I see you as one so much it terrifies me.”
Your throat tightened. “But why do you always act like I’m someone you need to babysit.”
“That’s not it,” he said quickly. “You don’t understand. I’m terrified of hurting you, or saying too much, or crossing a line you didn’t want me to cross.”
You blinked. “Why would you think that?”
His jaw clenched. He took a soft breath.
“Because,” he said quietly, “I like you in a way that makes me stupid.”
Your stomach flipped. The world felt too still.
He studied your face, searching for any sign that he had made a mistake. “When I saw you with Sunghoon,” he continued, voice shaking slightly, “I thought I was going to lose my mind.”
Your heart fluttered painfully.
“I wasn’t angry because you were dancing,” he said. “I was angry because he had his hands on you. And I wished they were mine.”
Your breath stilled.
Heeseung swallowed hard, eyes flicking briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes.
“So no,” he said softly. “I don’t see you as a child. I don’t think I ever have.”
“Oh.”
It was small and breathy and embarrassingly weak.
“That’s all you can say?” Heeseung raised an eyebrow.
“Well what else can I say…” You looked away, cheeks burning. You suddenly couldn’t hold eye contact with him at all. Not when you knew he liked you back. Not when his words were replaying in your head like a broken record.
“You could say that you like me back,” he teased lightly, laughing under his breath.
“But you already said it for the both of us,” you replied softly.
Heeseung actually laughed at that. Before you could react, he reached out, ruffled your hair affectionately, and pulled you into his chest.
His arms wrapped around you easily. One around your back, the other cradling the back of your head like you were something precious. You leaned into him, your body melting without permission.
“You don’t get how crazy you make me feel. Do you?” he murmured into your hair.
You felt yourself shake your head.
“It’s like I’m losing my mind just thinking about you,” he said, exhaling. “You never leave my mind.”
There it was again. That quiet, overwhelmed “Oh.”
Heeseung laughed softly, brushing his cheek against the top of your head. “Never did I think I’d stump the biggest yapper I know.”
You pulled back just enough to gape at him. “You’re calling me a yapper?”
“Yes,” he said simply, grinning. “You.”
“Fine, I just won’t talk then.”
“Great,” Heeseung replied.
“What? Why would you—”
“Because then,” he said, lifting your chin gently with his fingers, “we’ll have more time to do this.”
He leaned down and kissed you.
His lips warm against yours. Your hands instinctively gripped onto the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, and he smiled against your mouth as if you’d just confirmed everything he’d ever hoped for.
His thumb brushed your jaw, his other arm tightening around your waist until you felt every steady beat of his heart against your chest.
The moment your lips parted, the world felt quiet for a little while.
Then you heard it.
Slow clapping.
Very slow clapping.
Both of you turned.
Out from the bushes emerged Jungwon and Sunghoon. They were standing shoulder to shoulder, arms raised dramatically, clapping.
“Finally,” Jungwon said, dragging out the word with full dramatic effect.
You stared at them, mortified. “Were… were you hiding in the bushes?”
“Yes,” Sunghoon answered proudly.
“We were observing,” Jungwon added.
“Strategising,” Sunghoon said, nodding.
“Plotting,” Jungwon concluded.
You pressed your hands to your face. “Oh my god.”
“Did you guys–” you and Heeseung both started at the same time before stopping to glare at each other, then turning back toward the bushes.
Jungwon and Sunghoon stood side by side like two idiots presenting a science project.
Heeseung pointed at them, eyes narrowing. “So, the whole Sunghoon flirting thing… was this shit planned?”
Sunghoon nodded immediately. “Yes.”
Jungwon smirked. “My plan entirely.”
Your jaw dropped. “Wait. So him flirting with me was a lie?”
Sunghoon shrugged, leaning casually against a tree like he owned the night. “Not really. I always thought you were cute and when Jungwon asked for help…how could I say no to flirting with–”
Heeseung immediately reached back and pulled you behind him, shielding you with his body.
“Do not finish that sentence,” he warned.
Sunghoon lifted both hands in surrender. “Relax. I’m not trying to steal her. I was doing my civic duty. Helping two idiots get together.”
“Idiots?” you repeated, offended.
“Yes,” Jungwon said bluntly. “You two made me suffer. For months. I deserve an award for this.”
“I’ll drop kick the both of you,” Heeseung said, pointing at them like a disappointed father.
Sunghoon nodded immediately. “Jungwon begged me to do this.”
Jungwon scoffed so loudly it echoed. “Begged? I invited you. You practically sprinted at the chance to piss Hee off by flirting with a girl he’s been crushing on for years.”
You froze. “Years?”
Heeseung’s jaw tensed so hard you thought it might actually crack. His ears turned a shade of red you had never seen before. “Dude, just… shut the hell up. Also, I didn’t need help.”
“Oh, you absolutely needed help,” Jungwon said. “That weird vein on your forehead was about to bust from seeing her an inch from Sunghoon. I practically saved your life.”
“You mean Lucinda?” Sunghoon added casually.
Jungwon whipped his head toward him. “You named his vein?”
Sunghoon nodded like this was perfectly normal. “It looks cute.”
You stared at both of them, arms crossed, absolutely done. “God, you two share the same brain cell.”
“Thank you,” they said in perfect unison.
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
Jungwon shrugged. “Still taking it.”
“Anyway,” you said, dragging the word out as your patience thinned, “so Sunghoon showing up and flirting with me was all your idea?”
Jungwon raised his hand proudly, like he expected applause. “Yes. I was the mastermind. And he was kind of a scapegoat. I could’ve done it myself, but flirting with you felt borderline incestuous, so I outsourced.”
Sunghoon chimed in cheerfully. “I assisted.”
“Assisted?” Heeseung repeated, his voice dropping dangerously low.
Sunghoon pointed at your face with total confidence. “I mean, look at her. Pretty girl. Tight dress. She looked hot today. You’re lucky I didn’t fall in love on the spot.”
Jungwon nudged him with his elbow. “You’re on thin ice, my dude.”
Heeseung took one slow, threatening step toward him.
Sunghoon immediately ducked behind Jungwon, hands raised like a man facing execution. “I take it back. I don’t love anyone. Except myself. Please don’t hit me.”
Jungwon sighed. “This is exhausting. Can we just focus on the main point?”
You glared at him harder. “Which is that you orchestrated all of this.”
Jungwon lifted his chin with zero shame. “Yes. And look at the results. Beautiful romance. Emotional breakthroughs. Character arcs. You’re welcome.”
You pressed your fingers to your temples. “I hate all of you.”
Heeseung wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Same.”
Jungwon gasped. “Kinda rude with all things considered.”
Sunghoon placed a hand on his chest. “Our contributions are unappreciated.”
“Leave,” Heeseung said.
They stood there.
Heeseung pointed aggressively toward the street. “Now.”
Jungwon rolled his eyes and started walking. Sunghoon followed, muttering, “I hope Lucinda pops.”
You watched them disappear around the corner, their bickering fading until everything finally went quiet. No annoying comments, no unnecessary backhanded complaints, just… silence.
Heeseung shifted beside you, clearing his throat lightly. “So… you ready to go home?”
You tilted your head, confused. “To do what?”
He laughed softly, the tension easing from his shoulders. Then he opened the front of his coat a little, revealing the soft, heart shaped pajamas you had bought for him. He was wearing them under his jacket.
Your heart squeezed.
“I was kinda hoping we’d continue our little movie night,” he said, smiling in that gentle way that made your knees weak. “If it’s okay with you.”
“It’s more than okay,” you said quietly, smiling back at him.
Heeseung lifted the tote bag he had been carrying the whole night and pulled out something familiar. Your matching pajamas. Folded neatly.
“Had a feeling you were gonna join me,” he said. “So… we can match.”
You took the pajamas from his hands, warmth blooming so fast in your chest you felt a little dizzy. “Hee, you’re such a loser.”
He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah. Thank God my girlfriend’s not.”
You stared at him. “Your girlfriend just went on a whole rampage dressing up and going to a god-awful party to make a point. Your girlfriend’s just as much of a loser as you.”
“Well, I’m just grateful you didn’t punch me when I called you my girlfriend. You are though, right?”
summary: it’s not your week and it doesn’t seem like the semester will ease up on you as time flies by, but your best friend is here to help in more ways than one.
word count: 5.6K
notes: based off of this request. thank you anon! I probably won’t open a taglist at this time but I’ll let you know if I do when I post other fics. XX
warnings: reader touches herself, porn mentions, vibrator mention, phone sex, oral (f. receiving), dirty talking, mentions of heeseung with other girls, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.
“You sure you don’t want to go out with us?”
Your co-workers stare at you while you try to push down any simmer irritation. They’re not to blame, but pestering you to go out to a bar and get drunk when all you want to do is go home, is making you even more irritated. They mean no harm and look at you with sorry eyes.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” you tell them. Luckily for you, they nod and accept your decline. “Thanks for the invite though.”
“Well if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
In typical twenty-something-year-old fashion, certain days feel longer than most. Today is no exception. It’s hard to navigate the woes of landing on your feet when you’re wrapped up in midterm projects and trying to have a social life without throwing yourself off balance. When the semester started, you were nothing other than a happy-go-lucky, fourth-year university student who was excited to finish college and take the first step towards “real life.” Unfortunately for you, your days would get tough before you’d see it to the finish line.
The ride back to your apartment isn’t long by any means but the traffic from your job at a convenience store was met with rush hour. The bus took much longer than usual but you always anticipate that when you’re scheduled until 5pm. Everybody’s going home at the same time and even public transportation falls victim to the hustle and bustle of corporate life.
On your way home, you can’t help but linger on the inconveniences of the recent past. Midterms have snuck up on you like they do every year and no amount of studying into the night could ever prepare you for the stress that comes with obsessing over good grades for five separate classes. It kills you that no two tests weigh the same and preparing for projects feels like you’re signing a death sentence. You’ve barely seen your friends aside from in passing and haven’t had any time to take care of yourself and have fun.
It feels as though you’ve lost all motivation because school and work has sucked the energy right out of you. Even your best friend, Lee Heeseung, has started to soften up around you because he can tell how stressed you are. If anything, the amount of unread texts from him and your absence in his physical life is a telltale sign that school is kicking your ass, but he knows you always bounce back. You know you will too, but right now it feels like it’ll take too long to get there.
The first thing you do is take all of your clothes off and settle them in the dirty hamper and take a shower, cleaning off the grime from a long day outside of your bedroom. Your hair is clean and your skin feels silk to the touch when you step out and dry yourself. It takes a great deal of effort to follow through on your skincare routine and tidy up your room so that it doesn’t feel like an overwhelming mess the more you look at it. Today sucked. There’s no doubt about that.
Eventually, the clock turns into a late hour after you’ve had dinner and a sweet treat to make up for the awfully long and boring day you had. The week drains on you and you’re looking forward to the weekend because that means you don’t have to work. After settling in bed with the television on, you try your best to let your worries escape you and focus on what’s in front of you.
Whether the show is too boring or you’re too worked up, you don’t know. The TV is long forgotten as you aimlessly scroll through your phone and start pushing your thighs together and clench around absolutely nothing when you log into a Twitter account you don’t post on. It must be out of habit to act like this when you see the familiar username because it’s where you keep your porn stash for when you need to get off. There’s everything you could ever want–short videos, photos, and links to other websites that always gets you off. The long day has made you think about how you need at least a single win in order for this week to not completely suck. Bringing yourself to orgasm might be the way to do it.
You spread your legs underneath the covers and take a finger to tease up your slit that’s covered by your panties and hold your phone in your free hand, using your thumb to scroll past the plethora of videos that turn you on. It’s all about finding the right one, and seeing big dicks and wet pussies makes you worked up. You start to forget about the week and consider that a good start.
Moving your finger against your covered pussy always makes you wet. You imagine it’s someone else teasing you the way you like it and pretend you don’t need to move a muscle to get off. Swiping the tips of your fingers back and forth makes you soak through the pathetic fabric anyway, and the excitement of your arousal makes you gush right onto your panties.
You scroll through them one by one and pull your panties to the side to feel just how wet you’ve become and moan quietly as the feeling of your slicked up walls. Pushing a finger inside, the welcomed sensation is exactly what you needed after a hard week. You add two, then three, and pump them in and out of you with your legs bent towards your chest. It should be an easy orgasm.
Except, it isn’t. Three of your own fingers isn’t enough.
At this rate, you don’t know how long you’ve been rutting your hips but what you do know is that you can’t seem to get yourself off with just your fingers. Pulling them out makes you wince at the loss and you force yourself off of your bed to find your trusty vibrator that has always served you when you need to get off quickly. You dig for it in the depths of your drawers but, to your dismay, the device is uncharged. You’re far too worked up to wait for it to become usable. You crawl into your bed again and angrily look through your phone at the porn in your bookmarks and try to get yourself back to that state of euphoria when you started touching yourself, but knowing too much is bothering you is preventing you from letting go.
Your room echoes as you groan in frustration when your eyes land on a photo on your desk. It’s a picture of you and Heeseung that Jay took when the three of you hung out together after you first moved into this apartment. The two of them helped move boxes and furniture, and you rewarded them with a free meal from the noodle shop across the street. Heeseung sits next to you with his thighs pressed against yours because of the small table but neither of you really cared.
That’s the thing, though. Heeseung isn’t shy about physical touch with you or anyone else. He’s the kind of guy girls feel comfortable around with just a few words spoken and you’ve always envied the way Heeseung can talk his way through anything. People love him, girls want to fuck him, and guys want to be like him. There’s a part of you that wishes you could exude the same aura that your best friend does but, unlike him, you cower at any chance of interaction and can’t seem to get anyone to be interested in you the way you’re interested in them. Heeseung has heard your fair share of love debacles whereas it seems like romance is presented to him with the snap of a finger.
It isn’t that you haven’t had experiences with sex and dating, but they haven’t been worthwhile. So far, nobody has been memorable enough to keep in your backpocket for days like this, when you need a hot and erotic memory to come in an instant. It feels impossible to find guys who know what they’re doing when a woman is presented in front of them. Guys are so lucky because it takes next to nothing to get them hard and get them off.
And like, your best friend has had his fair share of hookup stories that leave you wetter than a goddamn fountain. He’s not shy about skimping the details because he’s seen you cry snot since kindergarten and you’ve seen him eat shit on bicycles since elementary school. Sex isn’t off the table. You just don’t have anything to contribute and he doesn’t judge you for it. You aren’t really keen on telling him about all of the bad experiences you’ve had when he talks about how mind blowing sex for him is. Part of you is envious that your best friend has never had one bad day of sex in his life. Allegedly.
Still, this frustration bubbles up and there’s nothing you can do to quell the way you feel. Perhaps it’s a mix of general life stress and the events leading up to this very moment. The entire day felt like a test to your patience as minor inconveniences piled up on top of one another before your breaking point. You thought your vibrator sitting uncharged was your last straw but it seems like your mind isn’t clear enough to focus on getting off. You recall a few unread text messages from Heeseung and open your shared text thread with him and watch all of the funny TikTok videos and tweets he sends you. You’re missing him right now.
Heeseung answers after one ring.
“Back from the dead, I see. What’s up?”
You huff. “Nothing.” You hear him laughing from the other line. The faint sound of his keyboard clicking echoes in your ears.
“Can’t be nothing. You always call me when you need to tell me something.”
“Not true.”
“Y/N, you and I both know you prefer to talk on the phone when you have something important you need to say so neither of us ends up sending long voice memos.” Okay, he’s got you there. “So begs the question: What’s up?”
“Well I called you because I’m bored. Happy?”
Heeseung laughs again. You’re sure he can hear your disdain. “It’s a good thing I know how to deal with your attitude, huh? Since you’re bored, I’ll have you know you’re calling me while I’m playing with the guys.”
“What, no girl to hook up with?”
“Not tonight, princess.”
“How sad.”
“If you must know why, I had a pretty long day at work but I’m fine now. Jake’s ass keeps dying so that’s pretty funny.” You don’t say anything, not right away. Not when you realize you called him in a haste and that you’re naked except for a tank stop and dainty white socks. The realization makes your cheeks heat up as you think about it, even though Heeseung can’t see what you’re wearing. “You good? You’re unusually quiet, especially when you give me attitude.” That makes you roll your eyes.
“You know, it’s unfair that all you have to do to get off is brush your hand against your dick.”
“Where’s this coming from? You don’t really talk about sex. Is everything alright?”
“It’s unfair!” He hears you groan in frustration. You’re somewhat annoyed he’s still typing away on his gaming keyboard.
“Y/N…Are you okay? What’s gotten into you?”
That question alone seems to ease your mind a little as your irritation bubbles over the surface. You couldn’t stop yourself from talking even if you tried. You tell Heeseung everything, good and bad, and he won’t relent until he knows you’re okay. But even this is treading into new territory. It isn’t that you haven’t noticed just how attractive your best friend has gotten since you met him for the first time as kids, but it’s the first time you’ve ever acknowledged it while talking to him.
“I can’t get myself off.”
Your voice is barely above a whisper. You don’t hear the sound of his keyboard anymore.
“What?”
“Heeseung…”
“No, say it again.”
Suddenly, you’re starting to regret calling him to complain about something like this. You feel like you might as well be diving into the depths of your secrets.
“I can’t get myself off.” He hears you whisper it into the phone.
“Did I hear you correct? You can’t get yourself off?” Heeseung curses under his breath and his hands have stopped typing on his keyboard completely. Frustration pushes tears to the rim of your eyes.
“I can’t.” Your voice wavers like you’re about to choke a sob. “I just want to cum, Heeseung.”
You don’t see it, but he disconnects his video game connection without consulting his friends. He sits back in his seat and brings the phone off speaker mode and pushes it to his ear. “Y/N…Have you been touching yourself?”
“Yes. I don’t know why but I’m in this mental block and I can’t focus on anything. Nothing is helping.”
He chokes. “What do you mean?”
“My vibrator is dead and I’ve been using three fingers but it’s not helping!”
Heeseung sits quietly on the other line. “Are you touching yourself now?”
“No,” you sigh. “I’ve been at it for an hour and I can’t finish.”
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You must be so wet.”
“Not anymore.” You say it through your teeth, too upset that your high has ebbed away.
“You should start touching yourself again.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Touch yourself and make your pussy all wet.” It’s concerning how much you like hearing your best friend talk to you like this. But you do, putting your phone on speaker and putting it on the mattress beneath you with your hand caressing your pussy. You don’t know if it’s you, Heeseung, or the notion that you’re crossing a bridge, but your spine starts to tingle. Your touch is as light as a feather.
“Are you doing it?”
“Yeah,” you admit.
“How does it feel?”
“Really good…”
“How good?”
“Feels like someone else is touching me,” you tell Heeseung. “If I close my eyes, I can pretend it’s someone else.”
“It’s not enough, is it?”
“No, Hee. I just…I’m so frustrated.”
“Yeah, baby?” He’ll address that nickname later. “Why are you frustrated?”
“School and work are stressing me out and nobody in my group projects lifts a finger. I feel so alone in this.”
“But you aren’t alone. You have me, remember?” You get wetter the more he talks. It feels wrong to be turned on by Heeseung’s voice but you can't help it. He’s talking to you like he hears the way your voice quivers and how badly you need somebody to take away all of your pain, and perhaps you feel comforted because you know Heesueng will do just that and always had. Your fingers rub your wetness around your bare mound the more you think about it, pushing aside any guilt or awkwardness you initially felt.
“When have I ever not been there for you? Never, baby. Including this.”
“This?”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Helping you cum.”
“Hee, don’t say that.”
“Why? It’s true. Best friends help each other cum.”
“How are you gonna help me do that?”
It’s silent on the other line for a long pause and your heart starts to sink when you think you might’ve crossed a line. Is he uncomfortable? Does he want to hang up and forget about this? Will he ever look at you the same way after tonight?
“Keep touching yourself. I’m coming over.”
Your eyes widen. “N-Now?”
“Yes, now. I live five minutes from you. I’ll be over soon.”
The thought of Heeseung coming over makes you impossibly wet. It’s been so long since you’ve let anybody touch you the way you’d like after failed hook ups that left you unsatisfied. Your bedroom suddenly feels warmer and your arousal keeps your fingers slick the more you rub against your pussy. It makes your toes clench and you’re starting to get excited again.
“Please hurry, Hee. My fingers are starting to get sore.”
“I’ll be there in two. Don’t hang up.”
“F-Fuck,” you whimper silently. Heeseung’s phone picks up your moan and you hear him let out a low groan when he turns his engine on.
“You have the sexiest moans. I wanna hear them while you get yourself off, okay? Can you do that for me?”
You rub your pussy faster. “Yes, Hee. Fuck, I’m so wet. This feels so good.”
“Be a good baby and play with your clit a little for me, hm? Get her all nice and prepped.”
You do as he says, moving the pads of your fingers in circular motions around your engorged nub when he tells you. Your eyes close shut when that jolt of pleasure makes your body jerk and arch off of the bed and that loud sound emitting from the back of your throat makes Heeseung hum in approval.
“Juuust like that. Fuck, you sounds even better than I imagined. You’re a vocal one, huh?”
“Only when it feels really good.”
“Yeah? Do you feel really good?”
You lick your lips. “It would feel better if you were here.” Heeseung laughs.
“I’m here and I’ve got your spare key. Keep fucking yourself for me.”
The call ends there. You hear the door opening and part of you considers using your blanket to cover yourself up because in all of the years you’ve been friends with Heeseung, he has never seen you this indecent. It feels a bit humiliating to know your best friend will find you with your fingers rubbing against yourself while your hips chase that delicious pleasure but ultimately, you can’t find it in yourself to care too deeply about that.
Heeseung’s footsteps alert you to his presence and you’re pleasantly surprised to see him standing in the threshold of your bedroom after he’s opened your doorknob. His black hair covers his eyes as he catches his breath, and it looks like he ran up the two floors just to get to your apartment quicker than an elevator could take him. He’s hesitant when he walks inside until his eyes lock with yours. Your next moan comes from deep within your chest and Heeseung wastes absolutely no time.
He lands on his knees and pulls your body towards the edge of the bed. Your scent invades his olfactory senses as he looks down below you, pushing your feeble hand away to admire the mess you’ve made of yourself. It should feel embarrassing to have your best friend look at you like this, but it doesn’t. Your heart beats faster the more Heeseung’s eyes scan your wet pussy and before you know it, his mouth latches onto you.
The feeling of someone’s tongue shoved deep within you is a feeling you haven’t experienced in a long time. Heeseung kneads your thighs with his hands as he keeps you in place and the pace he sets makes your body feel like it might as well be up in space.
You hear stories all the time about Heeseung hooking up with other girls whether it be from himself or others. Girls love to pretend to be your friend to get close to him and love to talk about these kinds of things with you because they assume you’re getting in on the action too, only to leave the conversation perplexed when you tell them you and Heeseung have never gotten involved like that. But now, with every bit of information about how he slurps pussy like he needs it to live, you’re starting to wonder why you never asked him to do this before tonight.
“Tasty,” he mutters after a beat of silence. Your hand comes to grip his hair for stability when he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks on it while rubbing his tongue against your pleasure point. “How come you never told me you taste so good?”
“You never asked.”
He laughs against your pussy. “Still got some attitude, huh?”
“What are you gonna do about it?” He looks up at you like he’s weighing a challenge.
“If you were any other girl, I’d pull out every time you’re about to cum. I’d have you begging for that shit. If you were somebody else, I’d stuff your mouth with my cock until you learn how to obey.” He licks up your pussy once more before adding two of his fingers inside, moaning at your smooth and wet walls as he pumps them inside of you. “But you’re my best friend and you’ve had a hard week. I’m gonna make you cum.”
If a thousand suns exploding feels like Heeseung’s tongue and fingers working in tandem with each other, then this is a feeling you never want to forget. They work separately but it feels like he’s pushing you closer and closer to the finish line the more he pays attention to your clit and g-spot at the same time, pressing on that little button the more you whine and aimlessly beg for him to let you cum. You can barely register your own voice moaning because the pressure is too much against your ears. Heeseung’s fingers plunge in and out of you at a pace that is somewhere between gentle and brutal, giving you enough force to take your mind off of the stress from the week to focus on your pussy being pleasured.
You screw your eyes shut when you can feel that coil unraveling. Heeseung seems to notice that too because of the string of moans you let out when he pushes his fingers against your sweet spot. His mouth licks and licks as his hand pushes your wetness right against his tongue and it doesn’t take very long for him to taste your cum.
Heeseung’s head disappears between your legs and he’s barely able to move his hand because of how tight your thighs are against his ears. He’s always loved your thighs and legs, and loves them even more now that he knows what it feels like when you suffocate him as he licks up your delicious cum. You ease up on him when he pries them away to free his hand from the uncomfortable position and uses both hands to keep your legs apart as he licks up the remnants of your cum and helps you ride out your orgasm until your chest falls against the mattress.
He wipes the back of his hands before giving your slit a gentle kiss. “You’re so sexy when you cum.”
“I can’t believe I let you do that.”
“Why?”
You watch him crawl up your body between your spread legs. “Because…”
“Because?”
“You’re my best friend and we’ve seen each other through everything. Don’t you think this is a little, I don’t know, weird?”
“No.” Heeseung shakes his head and dips below to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Not weird. In fact, I’d argue we should do this more often.”
You frown. “I don’t intend to be somebody you keep on a roster, Lee. You can keep that shit to yourself, but thank you for helping me cum.” Heeseung laughs against your mouth until you feel his lips ghost right over yours.
“There won’t be other girls involved if we fuck, Y/N. I’m not heartless like that. Everybody else knows I’m in it for sex and nothing else, but it’s like you said. You’re my best friend. I won’t make you feel like you’re just somebody I can hit up.”
“So this would be like…friends with benefits?”
“We can work out the semantics later.” He lets his lips touch yours and when you don’t object, Heeseung opens your mouth with his own and you taste the saltiness of your cum on his lips. You clench around nothing when you hear your mouths smacking together in the quiet of your bedroom.
It feels…good. It doesn’t feel out of place, even though this is the first time you’ve kissed Heeseung. You haven’t thought about it much either, but somehow his lips fit perfectly in yours and his soft hands holding your body in his adds to your arousal. You feel safe with him at this moment and it’s the first time you’ve ever had sex with somebody who hasn’t made you feel like an afterthought. Your mind feels a bit foggy but you know you like this feeling and don’t want him to stop. Still, you have your worries.
“This won’t be weird, will it?”
“No, baby. In fact, all you had to do was ask me to drop the other girls and I would’ve.” You roll your eyes.
“Sounds like you’re in love with me, or something.”
Heeseung pulls away and smiles down at you. “Yeah. Or something.” You ignore the way your heart flutters and realize his bulge is poking your bare pussy.
“You’re hard.”
“So you’ve noticed.”
You pinch his bicep. “You get hard eating pussy?”
“Well yeah because it’s pussy, but it’s also you.” You start to talk but Heeseung silences you with a kiss. “Are you satisfied now that I’ve made you cum?”
His vulgar words make you shy underneath his gaze all of a sudden. It’s a new feeling and you’re not quite sure how to navigate it, especially with the way he’s staring down at you with a raised eyebrow. Heeseung is still your best friend who gives you shit for everything. You suppose you’re grateful that he’s not changing who he is just because he knows what you look like naked.
“You know what? Actually, I don’t think I’m satisfied.”
Heeseung grins wickedly and pulls his body off of your chest to take his shirt off, his chiseled muscles on display for you to look at. He grabs your hand and places it on his abdomen. “Oh yeah? What else can I do for you, princess?”
You take your fingernails on his skin and feel his abs move beneath you. “I think I need you inside me too.”
“Were my mouth and fingers not enough?” You shake your head. Heeseung tuts as he gets off of the bed to step out of his pants and boxers, revealing a long and thick cock you’ve only ever heard about. It’s dripping with precum and you can’t stop your pussy from clenching or your mouth from drooling.
You watch him get back on the bed one knee at a time before he’s hovering over you again, pulling your body to the position he wants as your legs spread before him. He looks down at his cock and tugs on it twice before letting his tip rest against your clit.
“Need some of my cock?”
“Yes, yes!”
“Who knew my best friend has such a tight pussy. Makes me wonder why I even bothered with other girls in the first place.” You seem to like hearing that. He brings his fingers to push the head of his cock inside of you before sinking halfway in, allowing you to adjust to his size as you squeeze him. “Oh yeah, honey. This pussy’s gonna make me cum hard, I already know that.”
Heeseung holds your legs open and pushes his hips into you slowly. The drag feels so good with how warm he’s made you and you can feel him throbbing with every pass. You hold onto your breasts for stability, which seems to turn him on even more because he’s pushing your legs towards your chest and pushing into you with all of his might.
You’re able to see him from where you lie. His eyebrows concentrate as he squeezes his eyes shut and sweat lines his forehead the more he thrusts inside of you. He sits up on his knees to angle his dick inside of you better and moans when you let out a strangled groan. The clench is so tight and amazing, and Heeseung can’t fathom why he’s never fucked you before tonight.
“Sexy pussy,” he grunts, looking down at your abused hole as he thrusts into it. He brings his thumb to your clit and you yelp when he starts to rub it. “So wet and fuckable.”
“Fuck me,” you manage to choke.
And truthfully, you like Heeseung plowing into you at the pace he’s set. He’s not too fast but not too slow and you can feel him hit your cervix every single time. It’s no wonder girls were always lining up to have sex with him. Heeseung knows what he’s doing with his dick and you’re finding that out now.
“You want me to fuck you?”
You nod pathetically. “Please fuck me.”
“How hard?” You bite your lip and shake your head at the humiliation of begging for him but Heeseung tuts and smacks your clit with his hand. “I said, how hard?”
“So hard that I feel you in my stomach!”
“Atta girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Heeseung slips out of you and pulls you up on your hands and knees, beckoning your back in a deep arch. He plants both of his feet on the mattress and bends until he’s sinking his cock back down inside of your pussy, letting your mixed wetness coat him again.
He thrusts himself as his mouth hangs open. Heeseung grips your waist with both hands and squeezes you hard to balance himself as he throws his head back at the phenomenal sensation of your walls pulling him in every time he tries to pull out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel his balls against you and clutch into your bedsheets.
“Your balls are slapping against my pussy and it feels really good,” you manage to get out without stuttering. Heeseung feels you clench around him again and emphasizes his thrusts until the sound of his balls makes your ears vibrate.
“Feels good when it hits your clit, doesn’t it?”
“So good, fuck!”
Heeseung speeds his thrusts and relishes in your string of moans the more his tip nudges your g-spot. “Can you cum, baby? Cum around my cock like I know you want to. You’ve earned it after this week. Cum for me. Won’t you let me feel that?”
“Yeahhh. Oh your cum is so good. Doing so well, making your pussy creamy all over me like that. Cum for me.”
And it feels so good that you follow his command. The orgasm Heeseung’s cock brings you feels like a physical manifestation of letting go of your worries and enjoying the present moment. Despite your legs and pussy aching, this feels an awful lot like freedom because your own mind isn’t caged by the inability to get yourself off.
You don’t think, you can’t think. You’ve reached a point of nirvana that’s made your mind completely blank with the exception of your orgasm and the feeling of your best friend fucking right inside of you. His cock, so hard and warm, somehow feels so perfect lodged inside of you.
Heeseung cock twitches and you feel it the more he pounds into you. He looks down and moans at the sight of his cock becoming white with your cum with every pointed thrust and doesn’t remember the last time he truly enjoyed himself to the point of being able to forget about everything except the person he’s with. Sex with other girls is incredible but there comes a point where he realizes that they’re using him just as much as he’s using them. But you, his best friend since he can remember, give him some kind of peace that he’s never felt before. This is more than just a quick fuck, even if neither of you address it.
“Your pussy’s gonna make me cum,” he moans through a choked grunt. “You feel so good baby, fuck.”
Heeseung pulls out of your hole just enough to rest his tip against you. His warm cum floods against your folds and your body jerks at the way he twitches against you, but his hands keep hold of your hips to place you exactly where he wants you. He looks down to watch his cum spill from his slit and paint your pussy like the artwork that it is.
When he’s finished cumming, Heeseung leans back against his knees to spread you apart by gripping your asscheeks. “Would you look at that?”
“Stop looking…”
He chuckles. “Why, baby? Your pussy’s so pretty with my cum on it.”
You look back at him. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.” He nods at you before pulling away to scour your room until he finds a box of tissues on your nightstand and grabs a few to clean you up to the best of his ability before cleaning himself up too.
Overcome with a wave of tiredness, your body feels much more relaxed once you’ve slipped underneath the covers as Heeseung throws away the dirty tissues. He turns around when he hears the blankets ruffling and resists the urge to coo at you when you’ve tucked it underneath your chin.
“Looks like you needed one good fuck to relax, hm?”
You blush. “Shut up.”
“No can do, Y/N.”
“I…”
Heeseung leans down towards you and tilts his head. “You what?”
You avert his gaze. “I liked it when you called me baby.”
“Yeah?” He pushes some of your hair back as you yawn. “I can do that.”
“Are you gonna go home?”
“Not if you let me stay the night.” You don't have it in you to talk back to him after all he’s done for you. Instead, you open the covers as Heeseung puts his boxers back on and watch him smile before climbing in next to you. “Come here.” He tucks your body on his chest and you’re too tired to argue with him.
Theories say art students are tortured. It's how you create the best pieces. You’ve just shattered free from your cheating ex, seeking the kind of hurt that makes you crave distraction more than clarity. Sunghoon is just that — quiet, wickedly beautiful, and infamous for keeping things casual. What begins as a secret arrangement between late nights exploring your ever growing need for each other only grows dangerously tender. but when it all collapses, you try to walk away, almost too late before Sunghoon realizes he’s already carved you into his bones.
﹟﹐ art student sunghoon & art student reader
based off ; "nevertheless" ✶﹒ estimating // eight parts ; fully written
casting call *◞ chaewon (le sserafim), beomgyu (txt), yeonjun (txt), moka (illit), jay, jungwon, karina (aespa). contains ◞ ៸៸ angst, manipulation, sunghoon is a player, eventual smut (lots of it), friendships, cheating, physical fights, toxic relationships, fake romances between real life idols, reader is a bit naive, miscommunication, alot can be solved if maybe they just talked. + more as the chapters go on.
prologue // chapter one // chapter two // chapter three // chapter four // chapter five // chapter six // chapter seven // chapter eight ⋆ ⸝⸝
Clarity came slowly, like a cold tide rolling up your spine, settling into the hollow places you’d tried so hard to ignore. And with it, a realization began to bloom. It was quiet at first, then it became sharp enough to sting. Sunghoon didn’t care. Not at all. Not even a sliver of him had ever tilted in your direction with anything real.
Rain hammered your skin, needling through your clothes until the chill reached the marrow. Your stomach twisted, sour and tight, but still you gathered what remained of yourself, trying to stand stronger than the trembling ache he’d already seen.
You’d shown him your softest underbelly, let him toy with you like a predator amused by its prey. You’d believed in the carrot he dangled so carelessly. He gave you some shimmering hint of something steady, something true. And he had taken that hope and crushed it, left it scattered at your feet.
Even then, he didn’t care. They had warned you about Park Sunghoon. They had told you he was a storm that left nothing standing, but you’d walked straight into the gale like a fool. Now, he stared at you with a strange, strained expression, something that might’ve resembled regret if you trusted he possessed any to begin with. He took a step toward you, reaching as if to reclaim your hand, to tug you back into the same game he’d been playing all along.
But you were finished. With him. With all of it. You jerked your hand away as his whispered plea brushing against the rain-soaked air, your name sounding more like a habit than a heartbreak. You didn’t care. Not anymore. Your clothes clung to your body, heavy and dripping, but even soaked through, you felt nothing but the steady burn of your resolve.
“I hate you,” you spat, each word precise and sharp, cutting through the space between you.
“Please,” he breathed, cracked, too late.
You turned, heart thudding a fierce, relentless rhythm, and walked inside. The door slammed behind you, an echo no harsher than the beating in your chest, sealing him out for good.
Theories say art students are tortured. It's how you create the best pieces. You’ve just shattered free from your cheating ex, seeking the kind of hurt that makes you crave distraction more than clarity. Sunghoon is just that — quiet, wickedly beautiful, and infamous for keeping things casual. What begins as a secret arrangement between late nights exploring your ever growing need for each other only grows dangerously tender. but when it all collapses, you try to walk away, almost too late before Sunghoon realizes he’s already carved you into his bones.
﹟﹐ art student sunghoon & art student reader
based off ; "nevertheless" ✶﹒ estimating // eight parts ; fully written
casting call *◞ chaewon (le sserafim), beomgyu (txt), yeonjun (txt), moka (illit), jay, jungwon, karina (aespa). contains ◞ ៸៸ angst, manipulation, sunghoon is a player, eventual smut (lots of it), friendships, cheating, physical fights, toxic relationships, fake romances between real life idols, reader is a bit naive, miscommunication, alot can be solved if maybe they just talked. + more as the chapters go on.
prologue // chapter one // chapter two // chapter three // chapter four // chapter five // chapter six // chapter seven // chapter eight ⋆ ⸝⸝
Clarity came slowly, like a cold tide rolling up your spine, settling into the hollow places you’d tried so hard to ignore. And with it, a realization began to bloom. It was quiet at first, then it became sharp enough to sting. Sunghoon didn’t care. Not at all. Not even a sliver of him had ever tilted in your direction with anything real.
Rain hammered your skin, needling through your clothes until the chill reached the marrow. Your stomach twisted, sour and tight, but still you gathered what remained of yourself, trying to stand stronger than the trembling ache he’d already seen.
You’d shown him your softest underbelly, let him toy with you like a predator amused by its prey. You’d believed in the carrot he dangled so carelessly. He gave you some shimmering hint of something steady, something true. And he had taken that hope and crushed it, left it scattered at your feet.
Even then, he didn’t care. They had warned you about Park Sunghoon. They had told you he was a storm that left nothing standing, but you’d walked straight into the gale like a fool. Now, he stared at you with a strange, strained expression, something that might’ve resembled regret if you trusted he possessed any to begin with. He took a step toward you, reaching as if to reclaim your hand, to tug you back into the same game he’d been playing all along.
But you were finished. With him. With all of it. You jerked your hand away as his whispered plea brushing against the rain-soaked air, your name sounding more like a habit than a heartbreak. You didn’t care. Not anymore. Your clothes clung to your body, heavy and dripping, but even soaked through, you felt nothing but the steady burn of your resolve.
“I hate you,” you spat, each word precise and sharp, cutting through the space between you.
“Please,” he breathed, cracked, too late.
You turned, heart thudding a fierce, relentless rhythm, and walked inside. The door slammed behind you, an echo no harsher than the beating in your chest, sealing him out for good.
⭑.ᐟ an office romance featuring marketing girly Y/N and producer Heeseung
Who would’ve thought that stumbling into room 3B-47 crying your eyes out would lead to the best thing that ever happened to you in that cursed HYBE building.
⋆｡◛ ⊹ ⤳ requested ･:*:･｡☆
ᝰ genre. fluff!!!! just pure fluff .ᐟ₊ ⊹
ᝰ warning. stress at work, drinking, sexual harassment at work? .ᐟ₊ ⊹
ᝰ word count. 19.6k .ᐟ₊ ⊹
The door to your office was closed, which was unusual.
Your smile faltered a bit as you carefully nudged the door open with your elbow. The pastel cake box in your hands wobbled slightly as you moved inside.
Today was the first day of the campaign for Enhypen’s newest comeback, and you had decided to bake a cake to celebrate your team's hard work finally paying off, knowing full well that you were already planning the next comeback.
Working at HYBE meant you were always working. It felt like the company moved in dog years, every week sprinting at the speed of a month.
Idols had it worse. Practicing, performing, filming, traveling, interacting with fans, and repeating it all again with barely a break. You didn’t understand how they did it. At least you went home. You could sleep. Cook. Watch trashy dramas and feel your brain melt in peace.
With Enhypen having comeback after comeback after comeback, the team behind them was also working all the time. Designing concepts, thinking about inclusions and albums, getting all of that produced, and campaigns published.
But today, you finally had the first publication of their concept trailer, which in your opinion should be celebrated.
The air in the office was already stuffy. It was almost silent. The fluorescents buzzed faintly overhead, but otherwise… nothing. No chatter, no gossiping.
Just the frantic click-click-click of keyboard abuse and one person swearing under their breath near the copy machine.
Your smile died right there on the threshold.
As you marched past your favourite colleague and the intern, no one turned around, not the usual “good morning”, no "oh, you brought cake."
You carefully set down your box and opened the lid slightly to check if the meringue cream and the sprinkles survived your subway trip to the office. The sugary scent of the cream spilled out into the quiet.
The second you turned back around to announce to the office that you brought cake and everyone could take a piece, your phone vibrated.
[8:04 AM] Manager-nim
Y/N, are you in the office?
If yes, room RB_12. Asap.
You barely had time to pull your sleeves down and smooth your dress before you were hustling down the hallway, your heels thudding softly on the carpet. The door to RB_12 was cracked open, and even from the corridor, you could hear your manager’s voice. He sounded furious.
Your manager was usually a very chill person. He was very pleasant to work with, so hearing him raise his voice was quite rare. And if he did, something went really wrong.
“We can’t just change everything now, because they decided to plagiarize us?!”
You slipped inside quietly. Your manager stood at the head of the table, tense and indeed furious. Seated across from him was Mr. Kim from Legal.
“I’m not saying change everything,” Mr. Kim replied with a dismissive flick of his wrist. “Just enough so it doesn’t look too similar. That can't be too hard, Mr. Park.”
Mr. Kim was short and stout with greasy hair and round glasses that constantly slid down his nose. You had had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Kim one time too often, and every time, you left feeling like you needed to shower. He was known for saying the most disgusting things to any woman around, constantly sexualizing them whenever he opened his mouth.
You did really liked your job, so you never said anything back.
“We didn’t copy anything. They published the video on Friday. We were already done on Friday!” your manager almost shouted.
“Mr. Park, that is a problem you will have to work on. Management wants us to push the release two weeks, so adjust the timeline accordingly. Think of a valid reason why we have to push the release back, and see if you change enough to make it different.” The lawyer stood up, straightened his suit, and looked at you.
The moment his eyes did find you, they flicked up from your calves to your chest with a slowness that made your skin crawl.
His face shifted into what he probably thought was a charming smile. “Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice syrupy sweet. “Always such a pleasure. That dress looks incredible on you. Quite the distraction for a Monday morning.”
You suppressed a shudder and forced a tight, practiced smile. “Thank you, Mr. Kim.”
He made his way towards the door, and you stepped out of the way, praying he wouldn’t find a reason to touch you. His arm brushed too close to your waist as he passed.
“Have a nice day, Mr. Park. Miss Y/L/N,” he called lightly, pausing by the door to flash you one last look, far too amused with himself. “Let’s do lunch sometime. I have suggestions for next quarter’s visuals.”
You nodded once and closed the door behind him, the second you could.
Your manager sat down heavily, scrubbing both hands over his face.
“They want us to change it,” he muttered.
You blinked, trying to shift your focus. “Change what?”
“The comeback.” His voice was flat now, tired. “Starboiz published their MV on Friday. Same font direction. Same color palette. Even similar choreography shots. Legal’s worried someone will say we copied. So they decided to delay the release, and we are supposed to redesign everything.”
You felt your stomach sink. “The entire promo rollout?”
“The entire thing,” he confirmed, eyes dark with exhaustion. “I’m going to talk to upper management about next steps. In the meantime, I need you to map out what we’ll have to shift. New deadlines. Meetings to reschedule. Reassignments. We’ll need a rough plan of the new look before the end of the week, and it should be done within the next two weeks.”
You made your way into your office again. Walking much slower this time, while you were drafting the first emails for meeting invites.
The office was still silent, and the air felt tense. The box of cake sat forgotten near the window, untouched. The meringue had started to collapse in the warmth. You watched it for a second, its shape sinking, before you steeled yourself and opened your laptop.
You cleared your throat. “Can I get everyone’s attention?”
You thought for a second how to tell everyone that they would have to essentially redo months of work within two weeks, and decided not to sugarcoat it.
“As you all probably noticed, Legal came down this morning,” you started, your voice low but steady. “There are… concerns about the similarities between our rollout and Starboiz’s new video. It wasn’t a direct accusation, but…”
You stopped for a second, taking a deep breath.
“…we’re pulling the current campaign. Management wants a full revision. The comeback date will be pushed, but not by much, only around two weeks. We need to rework the visual concept, reprint all materials, and update the promotional assets. Everything we had ready… it won’t go live.”
Someone cursed under their breath.
You continued. “I know this sucks. I know you put in so much work, and it was good. It is good. This isn’t because we failed. It’s politics and timing and bad luck.”
“Do we have to redo the teaser edits?” someone asked, voice brittle.
“Yes.”
“And the inclusion set designs?”
“Still being discussed,” you answered, “but yes, most likely.”
After answering every question that came up and running over a short task plan, you settled back down into your chair with a huff.
Jungwoo walked past you on the way to refill his mug and muttered low, “We kinda figured. Legal showed up first thing this morning and killed the entire vibe.”
You nodded slowly. “You think the manager already knew?”
“Probably. I did think there were many similarities when I watched the video on Friday as well, so he probably knew, yeah.” Jungwoo gave a sad smile. “Thanks for bringing cake. It looks very yummy.”
You smiled back weakly. “Thanks.”
You pulled up Starboiz’s new music video and watched it frame by frame. You listed every overlap. Font choice. Filter tone. Light leaks in the first chorus. A goddamn pink balloon in the dance break that looked exactly like one of your teaser shots.
You dissected it like a surgeon, fingers flying across the keyboard, notes, deadlines, names of designers, editors, and choreo consultants. You cross-referenced what needed to change with who had bandwidth to do it, calculating the most damage-limiting way to blow it all up.
And as the minutes ticked by, the weight in your chest only grew.
You weren’t upset for yourself, not really. You were used to cleaning up. Used to picking up when people higher up made decisions and dropped the pieces on your desk like puzzle shards.
You were upset for your team. You were upset for Jiwon, the new hire, whose first comeback had become a minefield. You were upset for the idols, who would smile and say “it’s okay” even though it meant another reshoot, another delay, another storm of hate.
Almost ten hours later, you were still in that stupid dress.
It clung to your skin in all the wrong places, too tight at the waist, too breezy at the shoulders. You felt cold. Hungry. Tired in your bones.
The clock on your screen reads 21:56.
You shut the lid of your laptop with a resigned sigh. Your back ached, and your thighs prickled with pins and needles from sitting too long. Most of the team had left already, voices trailing off one by one as they said soft goodbyes.
The building was never dark, not even in the middle of the night, but it was dead silent in the hallway.
You padded down toward the elevators, your heels clicking dully against the tile. You hit the elevator button with the side of your fist. And then you heard it.
“Miss Y/L/N.”
The voice slithered in before the man did.
You looked up and felt your stomach tighten like a fist.
Mr. Kim.
You forced a polite, brittle smile. “Evening, Mr. Kim.”
“Working late?” he asked, stepping into the elevator with you.
“Yes,” you replied in a clipped but still polite tone, hoping he'd get the message.
“You should be careful about how late you stay here,” he said, voice low and oily, taking a step closer to you. “It’s not safe for women to be alone in the dark. Someone might take advantage.”
You stared at the elevator doors. Just two more floors.
But he was apparently not done yet.
“Though I suppose,” he chuckled, eyes dragging down your body like grease, “if you dress like that, you probably don’t mind the attention.”
It was said with a grin, as if it were charming. You said nothing in response.
The doors opened on the fifth floor, and another person stepped in. You nodded a quick “Good evening, Sir,” and stepped out of the elevator.
He winked, “Good night, Miss Y/L/N.”
The second the doors closed behind you, you squeezed your eyes close to prevent your tears from falling. Your legs started moving on autopilot toward the far wing, past the B-studios and the practice rooms.
You were praying that room 3B-47, one of the vocal booths, was not being used right now. The air conditioning was broken, and it always ran too warm in the room, so the trainees and producers usually weren’t using this room during the summer months. You knew because you’d used it before to escape your office when everything got too loud.
You reached the room with trembling fingers. You just needed five minutes. Five minutes in the quiet. Five minutes to fall apart and then pull yourself back together.
You pushed the door open and stepped inside, ready to finally breathe, and froze.
A guy was sitting at the desk in front of the mixing board, headphones around his neck and a can of soda next to him. He turned when he heard the door and froze, just as startled as you were.
“Oh,” he said softly.
You blinked at him, and despite not being alone, you felt the first few tears spill out of the edges of your eyes, and your lip wobbled.
For one long, mortifying second, you just stood there, half-in, half-out of the room, tears streaking down your cheeks, chest tightening in sheer panic.
“…Hi,” you croaked, your voice barely working. And then, because what else could you possibly do?, you laughed. A broken, awkward little sound that came out more like a hiccup. “Sorry. This room is usually empty.”
His eyes were wide with concern. “It usually is.”
You wiped your face quickly with the sleeve of your jacket, trying to salvage whatever dignity you had left. “I didn’t mean to – I can just – I’ll leave.”
You started to backpedal, face burning now on top of everything else.
But he stood up, alarmed. “No – wait, are you okay?”
You gave another watery laugh, shaking your head. “Not really,” you admitted. Then immediately cringed. Why did you say that? To a stranger??
He stepped around the desk but didn’t come too close. His voice was gentle. “You, uh… do you want a tissue or something?”
You blinked again, and this time a fresh tear slipped out. You nodded helplessly.
He turned back to his backpack, rummaged, and pulled out a slightly crumpled pack of tissues. “Here.”
You took one, murmuring a hoarse, “Thanks.”
You wiped your eyes and cheeks, sniffling. “This must be so weird.”
He cracked a small smile. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t usually get cried at by strangers in my break room.”
You huffed a soft, wet laugh. “Break room?”
“Kind of. I use this place during lunch sometimes. One of the speakers buzzes, so no one really books it anymore.”
You nodded, still dabbing at your eyes. “Oh. I didn’t know that. I thought no one came in here because of the AC.”
He watched you carefully, like he wasn’t sure if he should say more or just let you sit.
“I’m Heeseung,” he said finally, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
Despite yourself, you smiled.
“I’m Y/N,” you said. “I swear I don’t usually cry on strangers.”
Heeseung smiled gently. “It’s okay. I’ve had worse introductions.”
You laughed again, or tried to, but your throat was still tight, and the sound came out small.
There was a beat of silence. You dabbed at your face with the tissue, eyes darting to the dusty corner of the booth, embarrassed all over again when you noticed the black streaks of mascara on it.
“Today was supposed to be a good day,” you said, and sniffled a bit.
Heeseung blinked. “Yeah?”
You nodded, staring down at the balled-up tissue in your hands. “I baked a cake this morning. With homemade meringue cream, sprinkles, sponge layers, the whole thing. I thought we’d finally get a little breather. One project done, celebrate a bit, move on to the next.”
You laughed, but it cracked partway out of your chest.
“And then legal comes in and suddenly everything we’ve worked on for the past three months is ruined. A different group released something similar, and now it looks like we copied them, which we didn’t, but my manager got chewed out, and now we have to redo all of it. Like, start from scratch. In a week.” You looked up, eyes tired. “Have you ever tried to rearrange three months of work for a seven-member idol group and their entire comeback rollout in a week?”
Heeseung looked stunned. “No. God, no.”
You exhaled shakily. “Yeah. Everyone’s stressed, my team’s exhausted, I’m exhausted, and then Mr. Kim from legal–” Your face twisted at the name, voice going sharper. “–tells me my dress is ‘lovely’ while staring directly at my boobs in the elevator. And I couldn’t even yell at him because of power imbalance and corporate hierarchy and all that fun stuff.”
Heeseung’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening.
“And now I’m crying in a broken practice booth in front of someone I’ve never met.”, you sniffled again. “I promise I’m not usually like this.”
There was a small pause. Heeseung took a small step closer.
“You don’t need to apologize,” he said quietly. “Seriously.”
You blinked up at him.
“Sounds like you deserve to punch someone, who isn`t me, in the face.” He gave you a soft, lopsided smile.
You let out a breath, something between a laugh and a sob, and dropped your shoulders.
Heeseung looked toward the little stool near the desk. “Want to sit for a bit? I mean, unless you want to go home. I won’t judge.”
You hesitated, then nodded slowly. You really didn’t feel like walking through the whole building while crying like a baby. “Yeah… I’ll sit.”
You sat down with a quiet sigh, letting your shoulders sag, the tissue still clenched loosely in your hand. The booth was warm, slightly stuffy from the broken AC.
Heeseung leaned against the edge of the desk. He was quiet for a moment, studying you like he wasn’t sure if he should ask something. You beat him to it.
“What about you?” you asked, voice still hoarse from crying. “What’re you doing here at ten p.m.? Do you always let people cry in your booth?”
His mouth tugged into a surprised smile. “Maybe. I guess that depends.”
You raised an eyebrow. “On?”
“If you’re someone who’ll report me for sneaking in to work on personal projects.”
You blinked. “Wait. You’re not even supposed to be here?”
He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “No, no. I work here. I’m not trespassing, I promise.”
You narrowed your eyes playfully. “Doing what? Are you… like, a trainee?”
He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”
You waved a hand vaguely in his direction. “I mean. You're good-looking enough. You do look like you had a few HYBE-funded plastic surgeries.”
He choked on a laugh, genuinely startled. “HYBE funded plastic surgeries?”
You shrugged, cheeks warming despite yourself. “Dude, your nose is so pretty. Maybe I’m also just going crazy. I’ve been crying for twenty minutes. Just take the compliment.”
He grinned, tilting his head. “I used to be a trainee, actually. Years ago. But no, I’m a vocal instructor now. Well, technically… assistant instructor. I help run some of the trainee vocal sessions, and I do warm-ups with some of the newer groups before recordings and help with the recordings. ”
You blinked. “Oh. So you work with the idols?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’m trying to get into producing, though. That’s why I am in here, just trying out some stuff. This is one of the only rooms where no one bugs you.”
You tilted your head. “Doesn’t it bother you? The AC being broken?”
“Honestly?” He glanced around. “Not really. If I am really locked in, i don’t even notice how warm it gets. I haven’t been in here during the summer, tho.”
You leaned back against the wall, nodding slowly. “Yeah. I think I get that.”
Another moment of quiet settled between you. This time, it didn’t feel uncomfortable.
“I really didn’t want to cry in a toilet again.”, you said after a while.
He chuckled. “I’m honored to be chosen over one of the toilets here.”
You smiled faintly in response.
It was almost nine thirty p.m. when you slipped into the booth again a day later.
Your bag was heavy, overstuffed with a tumbler for water and one for coffee, sticky tabs, two notebooks, a Tupperware box with the rest of your lunch, and a laptop that had maybe one percent battery left. Your shoulders ached from stress, and your phone was still buzzing.
The small studio was dimly lit, with only one lamp in the corner casting a warm pool of light. The faint scent of instant ramen hung in the air, and Heeseung sat by the mixing desk, hunched forward slightly, headphones covering his ears.
He didn’t notice you at first. He was lost in whatever he was working on, eyes on the screen, a pen tapping slowly against his thigh in rhythm with something you couldn’t hear.
You paused, the door quietly clicking shut behind you.
“Hey,” you said softly, barely louder than a whisper.
He startled slightly, looked up, and then relaxed when he saw you.
His lips curved into a small smile. “Hey. Back again?”
You nodded, already pulling your things out of your bag. “Yeah. Sorry. I just… I needed somewhere that is not my office to finish up some things.”
He pulled one side of his headphones off his ear. “You okay?”
You didn’t answer right away. You set your laptop down, pulled out your folder, and exhaled like it physically hurt.
“I have to redo everything,” you murmured. “And I don’t even know where to start. I mean. I do. We already did a lot today and yesterday, but I still feel kinda lost. It’s so much work.”
He just nodded slowly and gestured to the table beside him.
“Sit. Do your thing. I’ll be quiet.”
You offered him a tired, grateful smile and slid into the chair, spreading out your chaos across the desk.
For a while, you both worked in parallel silence. Heeseung occasionally nodded his head to the beat in his headphones and, once in a while, scribbled down something in a well-loved notebook. You muttered under your breath, highlighted something in angry pink, and crossed it out again.
At some point, he slid a half-eaten protein bar toward you.
You stared at it, then glanced at him.
“Do I look that miserable?”
He grinned, eyes still on his screen. “Just hungry. Miserable was yesterday.”
You let out a laugh that surprised even you.
And then, quietly, you returned to your mess of unfinished tasks, and he returned to his music.
The silence stretched comfortably for a while. You had managed to sort the campaign into vaguely manageable buckets, and your brain was finally slowing down enough to process other things.
Like the quiet hum of bass through Heeseung’s headphones.
Or how he tapped out beats on the desk.
Or the soft smile he had when something on his screen clicked into place.
You glanced over, curious.
“What are you working on?” you asked, voice soft. “Is it… for work, or just something you’re playing with?”
He looked up and pushed his headphones down around his neck. “A bit of both, I guess. It’s something I’ve been producing for a while. A side project.”
You tilted your head, still watching him. “Do you produce for the company? Not just teach vocals?”
He blinked, seemingly a little surprised at the question. “Yeah. I mean, officially, I’m with the vocal team, mostly coaching and arranging. But I co-produce tracks when I can. Some of the groups I work with let me sneak stuff in.”
You smiled, intrigued now. “Anything I might know?”
He gave a small, sheepish laugh. “I mean… probably.”
“Oh?” You leaned forward slightly. “Like what?”
He hesitated, then reached for his phone and scrolled through something. After a moment, he turned the screen toward you. A familiar Spotify page, listing tracks from Enhypen’s last two albums.
Your eyebrows shot up. “Wait. You helped produce these?”
He nodded. “Yeah. ‘Bite Me,’ ‘One in a Million,’ and a couple of B-sides. Some vocal arrangements, too.”
You stared at him, genuinely stunned. “I was so obnoxiously annoying about ‘Bite me’ last year.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a bit bashful. “Well. That’s a compliment, right?”
You nodded, still reeling. “You’re telling me I’ve been slowly dying under three separate campaign deadlines for Enhypen… and the guy whom I met in a random recording booth while crying my eyes out wrote my favorite songs?”
He grinned, looking down. “I didn’t know you were on their team.”
“I didn’t know you were a genius,” you shot back, smiling now.
He laughed, warm and genuine, and your stomach flipped slightly.
You looked back down at your notes, flustered. “Okay, well. No pressure. I’m just rebuilding your next concept rollout from scratch.”
Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “Then I guess I should start sneaking you some coffee, because what you gave us for the new changes is hard to do in such a short time frame.”
You barked out a laugh. “Tell me about it, Heeseung, tell me about it.”
The subway platform smelled faintly of coffee and the sweet smell of the forsythias that were blooming all over Seoul at the moment.
You stood half-asleep in Line 2, wrapped in a cardigan you’d pulled off the back of your chair in a daze. Five hours of sleep, a slice of leftover toast, and a double-shot latte from Megacoffee were all that kept you vertical.
The doors slid open with a soft chime, and you stepped out, the early morning crowd moving with a surprising speed, making you adjust your footsteps to keep up with the crowd.
While you were waiting to check out your t-money cards, you spotted a familiar figure. Heeseung was wearing a hoodie half-zipped and had a big bag slung over his left shoulder. He looked as exhausted as you felt. Considering you left at almost 11 pm and he said he would stay a bit longer, and it was 7:06 am right now, you weren’t surprised.
“Heeseung!” you said when you were close enough to where he was standing in the crowd.
He blinked once when he saw you, like it took a moment for his brain to register what his eyes were seeing.
You gave a little wave. “Morning.”
He huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh, falling into step beside you as you both headed toward the exit of the subway station. “Good morning, Y/N.”
“You look like you slept worse than I,” you said, offering him a sideways glance.
He rubbed his face. “I have a meeting slot at seven thirty. Am. Seven thirty a.m.”
You grimaced. “That’s illegal. Call HR.”
He snorted. “Trust me, I’ve thought about it.”
You shuffled across the final crosswalk toward the HYBE building, warm summer wind tussling the yellow flowers slightly.
“It’s so stupid pretty today,” you mumbled.
Heeseung nodded. “It does look really pretty.”
You chuckled. “I love this season. In between summer and spring.”
“I like the quiet in the morning,” he said. “Before the heat kicks in. Or the fans start screaming in front of the building.”
And right on cue, as you turned the corner toward the entrance, you both slowed, spotting the small cluster of fans already hovering by the doors, phones out, whispering, some filming.
You shared a glance, silently commiserating.
“Looks like someone interesting walked by,” Heeseung muttered.
You gave them a wide berth, eyes down. “I’ll never understand how they do this every day.”
“Neither do some of the idols,” he said under his breath.
Once inside the cool glass doors, you both paused in the lobby.
Heeseung gave you a small nod. “Good luck with your soul-crushing deadlines.”
You smiled tiredly. “You too. Have fun with your 7 a.m. meeting.”
That made him chuckle as he stepped into the elevator, lifting a hand in lazy farewell.
You stood there a moment longer, watching the doors close before you moved to your part of the building.
You and Jungwon were staring at your screens for about two hours now, picking and matching fonts together, when he groaned and let his head fall back against his chair.
“No offense,” he said, pointing at the monitor like it had personally wronged him, “but if I see one more handwritten brush font today, I’m going to start biting people.”
You hummed sympathetically. “We just need something clean. And no serifs. Nothing like the old one but kind of like the old one.”
He huffed. “Great, so… Helvetica?”
You snorted, adjusting the saturation levels on a font. The new concept was sleek, a little icy, almost sterile. It was going to be gorgeous. Sometimes, having to do something completely from scratch again results in perfection. But it also meant your eyeballs were bleeding from staring at high-gloss gradients for six hours straight.
Your screen pinged with a message.
[15:16] Lee Heeseung
Hi Y/N, could you please come to Room 3C (production suite) when available? We had a couple of questions about the new concept visuals.
You blinked.
Then turned to Jungwon. “Did we miss a sync-up with A&R?”
Jungwon frowned, reading over your shoulder. “I thought the notes weren’t even finalized yet.”
You shrugged and started typing back.
[15:18] Y/N L/N
Hi Heeseung, thank you for reaching out.
Is this a time-sensitive matter, or would it be possible to align closer to noon? Currently finalizing teaser assets.
His reply came back thirty seconds later.
[Meeting Request: 15:30 – Production Room 3C]
Title: Concept Sync — ENHYPEN / Visuals / Sound Direction
From: Heeseung, Lee
You blinked at it.
Then looked at Jungwon, who was sipping from his oversized iced Americano.
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s… weirdly formal.”
“Right?” you said, clicking Accept with a sigh.
Jungwon squinted at the meeting invite, then at you. “Who’s Heeseung again?”
You blinked. “He works in A&R. He’s one of the vocal producers on the current cycle. Well, technically, he’s helping with the changes to the title track. They’re rerecording with some of the members today? Wait, let me pull up his profile picture.”
“Oh,” Jungwon said, sitting back, looking at the picture. “That guy. I think I’ve seen him around the elevators. He is quite tall, right?”
You nodded and turned back to your screen. “Yeah. Anyway, A&R and the members were already briefed on the concept changes?”
“Maybe they hate the new font,” he offered dryly.
You let out a quiet laugh, but the thought itched in the back of your mind. Heeseung didn’t seem like the type to waste time. And a meeting this formal? For a few design clarifications, while he works in sound design?
You checked the time.
15:24.
You stood up, smoothing down your skirt.
“Text me if you hear screaming,” you muttered, grabbing your laptop and notebook.
Jungwon gave a dramatic salute. “Godspeed.”
You gave him a weak smile, headed toward the elevators.
The production hallway was dimmer than the main office floors. You’ve never really been here. This part of the building wasn’t really for administrative employees, so you had to search for the room for a couple of minutes.
When you finally found the room, you paused in front of it, double-checking the invite on your phone:
[Meeting Request: 15:30 – Production Room 3C]
Title: Concept Sync — ENHYPEN / Visuals / Sound Direction
From: Heeseung, Lee
You inhaled slowly, knocked, and slowly opened the door.
And then… your brain short-circuited.
There, in front of you, standing right there in the recording booth, were Jay and Jake. Jay and Jake from ENHYPEN.
Jake, who was standing behind the glass panel wearing headphones, noticed you the fastes, grinning at you. “Hi! You must be Y/N?”
“Uh,” you said, eyes flicking between him and Jay, who was sitting on a sofa behind Heeseung, outside the recording booth. “I–Hi.”
Your voice cracked.
Cool. Really cool. You didn’t even know if Jake could hear you.
Jay smiled and stood up, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
You took it numbly. “I… know. I mean– Yes. Same. I mean… you.”
Heeseung was sitting in a chair behind the producer’s desk, a few meters behind them, smiling smugly.
“Oh,” he said, as if this were no big deal. “Y/N, you’re here. Come in.”
You didn’t move. You couldn’t move. What was happening?
Heeseung gestured lazily. “Uh– this is Jake. Jay.”
You may have stopped breathing. You may have also forgotten how to stand.
“What… what is happening?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper as you stepped just inside.
Jay chuckled. “We wanted a bit of outside perspective on the new version. Heeseung said you would be able to give lots of insights into the new concept after the changes.”
You turned your whole head toward Heeseung, expression somewhere between murderous disbelief and you absolute lunatic.
He had the gall to smile at you. Teeth and all.
“She’s a genius with designs,” he explained to the guys, tapping at his tablet. “So she should definitely know if the vibe fits. You should have seen her post-it wall, she noted down everything so meticulously, dude.”
You opened your mouth to protest and defend your Post-it wall in the booth.
“That’s fantastic! We are almost done, Jake and I are going to record a few extra lines, and maybe you could listen to the track to give some feedback?” Jay said, smiling softly. You were talking to Jay Park. What was happening?
“I–um–I can try?”, you said, tilting your head a bit, and Jay just laughed in response, nodded, and entered the booth.
Which meant it was just you and Heeseung now.
You turned on him, whispering fiercely: “Heeseung. What. The. Hell.”
He raised a brow, unfazed. “What?”
“What do you mean what?! What am I doing here? What are they doing here?!”
“I told you we needed input.”
“You said concept adjustments. Concept. Like… design. You didn’t say ENHYPEN would be here in the flesh.”
Heeseung looked far too pleased with himself. “I thought you might like to meet them.”
Your mouth dropped open. “You–Are you–You did not just casually drop me into a room with two-fifths of ENHYPEN like it’s the most normal thing.”
He lifted his tablet innocently. “I mean. Is it a normal thing for me? I am still friends with them.”
You groaned into your hands. “Heeseung. I’m in a wrinkled shirt. I’ve had, like, one coffee. My hair is greasy, and I smudged my eyeliner.”
“You look pretty,” he said quietly.
You blinked at him. “What?”
He shrugged. “You look fine. You were normal. You also were calmer than I thought you would be. I thought you would freak out more.”
You hesitated. “I didn’t freak out–”
He gave you a look.
“…Okay, I freaked out a little.”
He grinned. “But only a little.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
You crossed your arms. “This is unfair.”
Heeseung walked to the soundboard, gesturing for you to follow. “It’s not. You like their music, right? Having a fan’s insight could help us tremendously.”
You exhaled slowly, willing your heart to stop galloping in your chest as you made your way to the chair beside him.
“Fine,” you muttered, cheeks still hot. “But if I say something dumb and they think I am cringe, you’re responsible.”
Heeseung laughed, handing you the headphones. “They won’t. I promise.”
You watched as Heeseung leaned forward, elbow propped on the soundboard, tapping out the beat with two fingers before adjusting the mic that was on the table.
“Okay,” he said into the mic, his voice calm but precise, “Jay, keep your tone tight here. Don’t overproject. I want more air, less bite. Jake, I know the ad-libs aren’t final, but throw some texture into the bridge. Go off-beat if you want, I’ll clean it up in post.”
Jay nodded, while Jake just gave a lazy thumbs-up. The music started, and both idols started singing.
You turned slowly to look at Heeseung, who was listening intently, eyes flicking from the control board to the monitor to the waveform display. Your brow furrowed deeper with every note.
“Wait,” you whispered, afraid it might interrupt them, “how do they know how to do that? He just–you just gave them, like, five words of instruction and they just…did it?”
Heeseung chuckled beside you, low and soft, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “It’s instinct and training,” he said. “We work off reference tracks and sometimes demo vocals from overseas. Jay and Jake have good ears; they know how to adjust for tone and mood without needing a full breakdown. It’s kind of like… designing, I guess?”
You blinked. “How?”
“Well,” he said, settling back in his chair, “you don’t always tell your team, ‘make the logo 12% smaller and 4.5 degrees to the left,’ right? Sometimes you just say, ‘This doesn’t feel right.’ And they get it. Same thing here at one point, you just hear what you want to do.”
You sat back slowly, watching Jake and Jay take a sip of their waters and readjusting in the small booth. “Okay, that’s actually… cool as hell.”
Heeseung shot you a glance, smug but warm. “Glad you’re impressed.”
“Don’t get cocky,” you muttered, but the grin tugging at your mouth betrayed you.
The session continued, and slowly, your confusion melted into fascination.
Honestly, it was kind of mesmerizing. Heeseung sat beside you and gave comments, directing his friends and adjusting when necessary. He really must love producing. Somehow, seeing him here instead of in front of the mic with Jake and Jay felt wrong. You have been thinking a lot about how he told you he was a trainee. Him not debuting was weird. He was pretty and talented, and you were sure he had a lot of potential.
You didn’t realize how much time had passed until Heeseung leaned toward the mic again and said, “Let’s take five.”
The booth door opened, and the two boys stepped out, both grinning and slightly sweaty.
“You good, Y/N?” Jake asked as he passed, tossing you a water bottle he’d grabbed from the mini-fridge.
“I–yeah,” you managed, catching it. “No, I’m good. You guys are just… really talented.”
Jay gave you a warm laugh as he walked past. “Thank you so much.”
Jesus Christ, Park Jongseong was breathing the same air as you.
Heeseung stood up, stretching lightly. “Be right back, gotta tweak something in the vocal room.”
You nodded, watching as he disappeared down the hall. Being left alone with two of your favorite idols. Jesus.
Your recording booth was a lot smaller, dimly lit, and far quieter than the one you were in earlier today. After about an hour of watching the boys recording one of the B-sides, you had to leave to join a meeting. You were still in disbelief that you had met Jake and Jay today. They were so …nice, and normal. They joked around with you and asked questions about you whenever they were not singing, seemingly being interested in your measly life. Their lives were so exciting, while yours was almost boring, so you didn’t really understand why they wanted to get to know you better.
You leaned back in your chair. It had been almost a full week since the other group released their video, and the mountain of work your team had to redo was still looming. You had managed to finish about a third of it, but the rest was still open, waiting for the reshoots. And no matter how many times you tried to sit down and focus, it felt like you were just drowning in endless revisions and emails.
Frustration was simmering in your chest, and you needed a break.
You closed your laptop with a soft snap and leaned back, crossing your arms.
Heeseung, absorbed in his music, kept adjusting the sound levels on his tablet, occasionally glancing at the screen in front of him with a furrowed brow. The speakers in the booth weren’t great, but they did the job, playing the track he was working on with a slightly muffled quality.
"Can you explain what you’re working on?" you asked, your voice tinged with exhaustion. Heeseung glanced at you, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small smile. “Sure.” He pulled up a few sliders on his tablet and gestured for you to sit closer to the desk. “I’ve been tweaking some harmonies here and there. You wanna try playing around a bit?”
You moved closer, peering over his shoulder at the glowing screen. He let you try adjusting a few settings on the software, the knobs and dials responding to your fingers in a way that felt oddly satisfying. The sound in the booth changed, layering and shifting as you worked through the track.
After a few minutes of fiddling, you paused, a thought popping into your head. The voice that came through the speakers sounded familiar.
“Wait...” You blinked, your fingers hovering over the tablet. “Is that you?”
Heeseung, who had been watching you experiment with the sound, gave a slight nod, his smirk widening. “Yeah, that’s me. I’ve been adding in some of my vocals to fill the track out.”
You stared at him for a moment, blinking rapidly, unsure if you had heard him correctly. “You... You’re singing in the song?”
Heeseung shrugged, his grin never faltering. “I mean, someone had to do it. The producers and the idols are all tied up with other things, so I thought I’d help out.”
You looked at him, wide-eyed. “That’s... amazing. I mean, I didn't expect you to... you know, sing. Like in the songs. I knew you could, like you know, you were a trainee. But-.”
Heeseung raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your reaction. “I’m full of surprises.”
You laughed, but it came out a little breathless, more from the shock than anything else. "I— Wow. You really know how to keep things interesting, don’t you?"
His grin widened. “It’s all part of the job.”
You shook your head with a small chuckle.
You sat in silence for a few beats, listening to the faint loop of the track playing through the speakers. Then, quietly, you glanced over at him again.
“You told me you were a trainee, right?”
Heeseung didn’t look up at first, just nodded once, his eyes still on the screen. “Yeah.”
You hesitated, then asked, softer this time, “Why didn’t you debut?”
That made him pause. His fingers stilled on the tablet. For a moment, he looked like he might brush it off with one of his usual casual shrugs, but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back a little in his chair, letting out a slow breath.
“I trained for almost three years,” he said finally. “Made it pretty far in the process. Thought I was gonna be part of the debut team. We were already learning choreo, recording demos... I was so close.”
You watched him carefully, the change in his tone impossible to miss. It wasn’t bitterness exactly, more like quiet disappointment.
“But they cut me before the final lineup,” he continued. “Said it was a tight call, but that I didn’t quite fit the concept. One day I was in the practice room with the guys, next day I was… out.”
Your chest tightened. “That’s–” You stopped, unsure what words would even help. “I’m sorry. That really sucks.”
He nodded slightly, but didn’t look at you. “I mean, it’s just how it goes. That’s the industry, right? You always know it might happen. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell when it does.”
You didn’t say anything, letting him have the silence.
After a moment, he glanced at you and added, quieter, “I didn’t want to just hang around, waiting for a maybe. So I left. Enrolled in uni. Got into A&R later. I still wanted to be around the music. Just… not in front of the camera.”
You swallowed, the lump in your throat catching you off guard. “For what it’s worth, you’re good at what you do.”
He gave a small smile. “Thanks. Took me a while to believe that again.”
You sat back again, letting the track loop one more time.
“You really can sing,” you said, your voice quieter now. “Like… really.”
Heeseung gave you a lopsided smile, like he appreciated it but didn’t quite know how to take the compliment. “Thanks.”
You tilted your head, watching him fiddle with the EQ levels. “Who did you train with? Back then?”
He glanced over, like the question surprised him. “Uh… I started around the same time as the TXT guys, actually. We were all in the same batch for a while.”
“Seriously?” Your eyes widened.
He nodded. “Yeah. I am still close with Beomguy. We tend to play lol together if he does get the time to do so.“ He chuckled a little, a mix of fondness and something more wistful. “Later, I trained with Jay and Sunghoon too, for a bit. But I didn’t go to I-LAND with them.”
You frowned slightly. “Why not?”
Heeseung paused, then shrugged lightly. “I’d just gotten into Yonsei. I figured if I wasn’t debuting with that team, I should at least do something with all the time I’d spent studying on the side. It felt like a sign or whatever.”
You nodded, trying to picture a younger version of him, in practice rooms, on stages, performing.. “Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if you did go?”
He hesitated. “Sometimes. Yeah. But I also don’t know if I’d still love music the way I do now if I’d pushed through it back then.” His eyes flicked to yours. “Don’t get me wrong. I respect the hell out of the idols who make it. But… I think I wanted music more than I wanted the spotlight.”
You didn’t know how to respond, so you just reached out for his hand and gave it a small squeeze. Being so close but still so far away from achieving your dreams while your friends did must be horrible. Your heart was breaking for Heeseung.
He didn’t look up when he asked, “So how’d you end up in marketing?”
You blinked, surprised by the question. “Marketing?”
He glanced at you, then back at the screen. “Yeah. HYBE. This whole world.”
You leaned back in your chair, letting your gaze drift across the scattered post-its and empty coffee cups. “Honestly?” You paused, debating how much to share. “I wanted to be a baker.”
Heeseung’s fingers stilled over the controls. “A baker?”
“Mm-hmm.” You smiled a little. “Like, own-a-little-café-and-make-pretty-cakes kind of baker. I used to bake all the time. Still do, sometimes, birthdays, project launches, stress-induced insomnia...”
“That explains the cake last week.”
You nodded. “Guilty.”
“So… what happened?”
“My parents weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea,” you said, your smile flattening a bit. “Not a real job, too unstable, that whole thing. Don’t get me wrong. I still love it. But I also liked graphic design. I spent way too much time messing around in Photoshop in high school, and that seemed like a more reasonable job. Something in graphic design.”
Heeseung hummed softly.
“Soongsil had a program that combined marketing and design,” you continued. “I applied on a whim. Somehow got in. And now I’m here. At HYBE. Running on five hours of sleep and three iced Americanos a day.”
He chuckled. “Living the dream.”
“Right?” you muttered, smiling despite yourself. “I still haven’t even met half the artists I used to lose my mind over in high school.”
He shot you a look. “You met me.”
You snorted. “I did. But you’re technically not famous. No offense.”
“Wow.”
You laughed, nudging his shoulder. “You know what I mean.”
Heeseung grinned, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Would you want to?”
You blinked. “Want to what?”
“Meet more of them. The guys. Or, I don’t know, come with us sometime. When we go out to eat or something.”
Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”
He gave a half-shrug. “Obviously, you’d have to sign NDAs, and it wouldn’t be anything wild. But… Jay and Jake said you were cool to hang with.”
You just stared at him.
He raised a brow. “What?”
“You’re joking.”
He shook his head, completely serious. “Not really. I can ask.”
You blinked once. Twice. “I mean. Yeah. Yes? I’d love that? But are you sure?”
“Absolutely.“
Monday, you were the first one in the booth.
The room was still dim and cold when you flicked on the overhead lights. You set your bag down with a soft thud, pulled your laptop from its sleeve, and stared at the wall you’d unofficially claimed for the past week.
Post-its in every color, screenshots printed out and pinned up, concept sketches taped beside side-by-side comparisons of the old and new rollout plans. The teaser stills were up now, too, and one corner held an evolving palette reference that had been mercilessly fine-tuned since Saturday.
Honestly, it looked like the inside of your brain.
Jungwon had helped you most of the weekend, poring over typefaces and tweaking spacing pixel by pixel while eating almost half of the batch of croissants you made for the team as a cheer-up on his own. Neither of you had gotten much sleep, but you were proud of what had come together.
Now it was Monday, and the final design sprint was on.
You pulled out your laptop and your notebook and then and then, with a flick of hesitation, took a small Tupperware box containing two croissants, a strawberry, and one witch pistachio creme and placed it right in front of the screens on the mixing table.
You sat back on the sofa and stared at your screen, continuing to adjust the promo banner’s line weight.
You heard the door open ten minutes later.
Heeseung walked in, yawning audibly, one hand ruffling through his hair as he padded across the room. He didn’t notice you at first and made a beeline for his chair, eyes fixed on the floor.
Then he stopped short.
You watched him inspect the box.
“…What the hell?”
You set down your stylus, trying not to smile. “Good evening, Mr. Lee.”
He jumped slightly, then squinted at you. “Did you bring this for me?”
You blinked innocently. “Bring what?”
He picked up the box. “This says my name on it. In your very neat handwriting.”
You shrugged, going back to your laptop. “Figured you deserved something sweet. You’ve been working nonstop too.”
He looked at you back at the croissant and back at you, then opened the lid, picked out the strawberry one, and took a bite. He moaned. Actually moaned.
You glanced over, cheeks growing warm. “Is it okay?”
“You made this?” he said through a mouthful. “Like. You made this?”
“Mhm.”
He took another bite and threw his head back, making another pleased sound.
“Okay,” he said after swallowing, “I want ten more.”
You laughed. “You’ll have to get in line. Jungwon already stole four yesterday. He ate almost all the matcha ones, I almost had to fight him to save you one.”
Heeseung set the box down with care. “Y/N. I would quit my job and follow you to a bakery handing out these things all day long if that means I could eat one once a day.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You would work the counter?”
He leaned against the edge of the table, grinning. “Only if I get paid in croissants.”
You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming. “You’re insufferable.”
“I’m a visionary,” he said, still chewing. “And this visionary says we’re keeping you busy and stressed if you bake like this on no sleep.”
You smirked and turned back to your screen. “Then get me coffee and I won’t sleep today.”
He saluted dramatically. “On it.”
By 8 PM, the booth had gone quiet again, not from lack of activity, but from pure, unfiltered exhaustion.
The once-crisp brainstorm wall now looked ragged around the edges, corners curling from the humidity. Your Tupperware sat empty beside a growing sea of coffee cups, and your cursor blinked mockingly on the fifth draft of a teaser caption. You didn’t even register that Heeseung had stopped working until you felt a gentle tug on your hair as he walked past the sofa to peer into your laptop.
“Okay,” he said, voice low but firm. “That’s enough. Hands off.”
You blinked, disoriented. “Wait, just let me–”
“Nope.” He was already reaching across to shut your laptop lid. “You’re two eye twitches away from collapsing. I’m not risking a death on my watch.”
You groaned, slumping back in your chair. “I still have so much to–”
“You’ll be useless if you drop dead tonight. Sleep is part of productivity, Y/N.”
“Is that a direct quote from Bang PD?”
“Me,” he said smugly, gathering his things. “Bang PD wishes he were this wise.”
You finally caved and packed up your bag, groaning softly as you stretched. Your limbs felt like jelly. “God. I might fall asleep standing.”
“Then let’s get you on a subway before that happens.”
The subway hummed beneath your feet, rocking gently as the car pulled into your station. You and Heeseung stood side by side, swaying slightly.
“This is my stop,” you mumbled, turning towards the door.
“Oh really?” he blinked. “You live here?”
“Yeah. Near that 24-hour tteokbokki place,” you said, turning to him. “Why?”
He smiled, a bit stunned. “I’m like five minutes from there.”
“What?”, you asked, your eyebrows scrunching together.
“We've probably missed each other by seconds.”, he said and walked towards the door, waiting for you to follow, before continuing. “I go to that tteokbokki place at least twice a week.”
“Oh really?” you shook your head, smiling.
“I swear they make a lot of profit thanks to me.”
“So where is your apartment?”, you asked, tapping your T-money card against the sensor to open the gate for you to walk out.
“Across from that tiny laundromat with the blue sign just down the street,” he said, as the two of you made your way upstairs and outside the subway station.
You were greeted by pouring rain. “Oh. That’s really close to me, then.”
You used one of your hands as a makeshift umbrella, pressing your workbag closer to you.
“Do you not have an umbrella?” Heeseung asked, unfolding his and stepping closer so you were hurdled under his together.
“No. I forgot mine at home this morning”, you mumble, adjusting your bag again so it was protected from the rain.
“I’ll walk you home then”, Heeseung said and nodded.
You blinked. “You don’t have to–”
“I want to,” he said, simply.
You both fell into step, feet dragging just slightly on the quiet sidewalk. You walked in comfortable silence for a block or two, the street dim and hushed.
And then, just before your building came into view, you slowed slightly and turned toward him.
“Well,” you said, offering a small smile, “this is me.”
Heeseung nodded, rocking back on his heels. “Right.”
You opened your mouth to say goodbye when he suddenly spoke again, fast.
“Wait–uh, have you eaten?”
You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
He shifted, suddenly looking a little unsure of himself. “Dinner,” he clarified, gaze dropping for a second before flicking back to yours. “I mean. Did you eat anything yet?”
You hesitated, then shook your head. “Not really. Why?”
He exhaled like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going. “It’s just–” He paused, then gave a crooked, slightly sheepish smile. “I make really good ramen. Like… really good ramen. And I figured since you fed me the best croissant I’ve ever had in my life, maybe I could return the favor?”
You stared at him for a second, thrown off.
“You… want to make me ramen?”
“I mean, you don’t have to say yes,” he said quickly, suddenly sounding adorably embarrassed. “But I promise they are going to be the best instant ramen you have ever eaten.”
You laughed before you could stop yourself, the sound light and disbelieving. “Are you actually trying to seduce me with ramen?”
Heeseung’s ears turned pink. “Only a little?”
You bit back your grin. “Okay.”
He blinked. “Okay?”
You nodded. “Let’s see if your ramen lives up to the hype, Lee.”
He grinned, eyes lighting up like a kid getting away with something. “You won’t regret this.”
You unlocked the door with one hand and pushed it open with the other, stepping inside and kicking off your shoes with a sigh.
He crouched to undo his own laces, then straightened, glancing around the small space. “You weren’t kidding. We really do live close.”
“Five-minute radius,” you said, dropping your bag onto your sofa. “Honestly, I’ve never run into you before. Weird.”
He stepped further in, still looking around. “Nice place.”
You let out a small, awkward laugh. “It’s a bit of a mess. I didn’t think I’d get any guests today.”
He turned toward you, one brow raised. “This is a mess?”
You looked around—jacket half-draped over a chair, two mugs in the sink, and a few design books scattered on the desk.
“Kind of,” you said, self-conscious.
“No,” Heeseung said gently. “You should see my apartment. Yours looks like an Airbnb listing.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but stopped when you realized he wasn’t teasing. His voice was soft, eyes still lingering on the wall of pictures next to the sofa with something like curiosity.
“Right,” you said, clearing your throat. “Okay. So, um, what do you need to make the ramen happen?”
Heeseung stepped into the kitchen with you, looking around like he was sizing up a mission. “Pot. Strainer. A spoon and a dream.”
You laughed quietly and opened a cabinet. “Okay, I can manage that.”
While you pulled out everything he needed, Heeseung started unpacking the convenience store bag: two packets of noodles, tofu, scallions, two eggs, and a packet of cheese he insisted on buying.
He glanced at you. “Would you like to play some music?”
You grabbed your phone and shrugged. “Sure. What do you wanna hear?”
“Dealer’s choice.”
You picked one of your most listened R&B playlists. The speakers on your counter buzzed faintly as the music kicked in, and Heeseung was already filling the pot with water, sleeves rolled up, head bowed in focus.
You found yourself watching him for a beat too long.
Then you turned to the drawer, pulled out two sets of chopsticks, and set the small two-seater table without thinking, putting everything down meticulously.
“Sorry for the lack of options with drinks,” you said eventually, twisting the cap off a bottle of water. “I didn’t really plan for dinner company.”
Heeseung looked up from where he was slicing green onions with the dullest knife you owned. “You’re kidding? This is better than most of my actual dinner plans.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Which are what, exactly?”
“Usually just me and a microwaved rice bowl.”
You laughed again, softer this time. “Tragic.”
He shot you a grin. “Hence the ramen upgrade.”
The kitchen filled with the scent of boiling broth and spice. It was quiet, save for the clatter of utensils and the low hum of the playlist. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him stir the noodles in smooth, practiced motions.
“This feels weird,” you said, after a moment.
He glanced at you, brows raised. “Weird?”
“Not in a bad way,” you clarified. “Just… we barely know each other. And now you’re making ramen in my kitchen.”
Heeseung looked down at the pot, then back at you. His expression shifted, something between amusement and bashfulness.
“Yeah,” he said. “I guess it is kind of weird.”
A beat passed.
“But not, like… bad weird,” he added.
You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Not bad.”
You were halfway through reviewing the teaser layouts when a message pinged your phone.
[10:12 AM] Manager-nim
Y/N, please come to Meeting Room 5A. Someone’s waiting for you.
Curious and a little nervous, you made your way upstairs, dodging a couple of rushed interns in the hallway. The second you stepped into 5A, your eyes widened.
Sitting calmly at the head of the small table was Enhypen’s manager.
“Y/N-ssi,” he greeted, standing and offering a small bow. “Thanks for coming. Please, have a seat.”
Your brain scrambled. Why the hell was Enhypen’s manager here? Had something gone wrong with the concept rollout? Was there another delay?
But instead of pulling up the campaign materials, he slid a neat stack of documents across the table. A thick set of papers clipped together. On top, in bold print:
CONFIDENTIALITY & CONDUCT AGREEMENT (NDA)
You blinked. “I–sorry, what is this?”
The manager smiled faintly. “Jay mentioned he’d invited you to join the team for dinner next week.”
You stared. “Jay?”
Why would Jay invite you for dinner?
“The boys are very serious about privacy,” he said, flipping the first page over. “So we have to be as well.”
For the next fifteen minutes, you were walked through every clause of the NDA, contact policies, social media limitations, media interaction clauses, and personal conduct guidelines. You nodded numbly, half in shock, half in awe, as you signed your name at the bottom.
The second you were released, you didn’t even make it back to your desk. You opened your messages and texted Heeseung instead:
[10:52 AM] You:
Where are you.
[10:52 AM] Heeseung:
Vocal Room 3. Just wrapped a lesson.
When you pushed open the door to Vocal Room 3, Heeseung was setting down a water bottle. “Wow, that was fast.”
“Dude–” you blurted, slapping the door shut behind you. “Are you actually insane?”
He blinked. “...No?”
“You told me I’d have to sign an NDA. You didn’t tell me it was real! I thought you were joking?!”
“I wasn’t.” He grinned, thoroughly enjoying your fluster. “Do you not wanna come?”
You launched yourself at him before you could stop yourself, arms looping around his neck. “Are you kidding?! Of course I want to come! I can’t believe– thank you, seriously–”
You hadn’t even fully realized you were hugging him until you felt that split-second freeze in his posture. His hands hovered in midair like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“Oh–,” he muttered under his breath.
You pulled back immediately. “Oh my god–sorry–”
“No, no,” he said quickly, shaking off whatever momentary glitch he just had. His arms settled loosely around your waist. “I just didn’t think you’d be this excited about an NDA.”
“You literally handed me a legally binding document that says Enhypen wants to hang out with me.”
He snorted. “Technically, it just says they won’t sue you if you talk about anything that might happen or will be said.”
You smacked his arm lightly.
He grinned. “We’re going for Italian on Thursday.”
You blinked. “Thursday? Crap–I have the rollout presentation Friday morning.”
Heeseung tilted his head. “Okay… so come over instead.”
“…What?”
“I’ll host. My place. We’ll do pizza or pasta or whatever. Super chill. I’ll tell the guys.”
You stared at him. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “Absolutely.”
Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip a little. You tried to pretend your ears weren’t burning as you nodded slowly.
“…Okay,” you said, voice a bit higher than intended. “I’ll bring dessert.”
“You’d better,” he shrugged. “If not, you’re getting uninvited.”
You laughed under your breath as you followed him out into the hallway, heart thudding somewhere between this is so surreal and how is he so nonchalant about this.
He laughed softly, arms coming up to steady you as you practically bounced on your heels. “Okay, okay, calm down. It’s just dinner.”
“It’s not just dinner,” you huffed into his shoulder. “It’s Enhypen dinner. I didn’t even think you liked me that much–”
“I don’t,” he teased. “I just want more croissants.”
You shoved his shoulder lightly but didn’t let go. You were still grinning way too hard to care.
The morning crowd on the subway was… less than forgiving.
You regretted everything the moment you stepped onto the packed train, clutching your bag and a coffee cup against your chest like a shield. Heeseung had met you at your usual stop with a lazy smile and two iced Americanos, one of which you almost spilled when the train lurched forward.
“Oh my God,” you muttered, half-tripping.
“Hold that,” Heeseung said, pressing his cup into your hand and wrapping one hand around your waist, steadying you. The other shot up to catch the overhead handle just in time. You froze.
Not a single muscle moved.
His arm stayed firmly around you, low and warm and annoyingly natural.
“I was doing fine,” you protested, after a few seconds.
“Yeah,” Heeseung said, glancing down at you with a raised brow, “you look thriving.”
You shot him a look, but the next jolt of the train had you wobbling forward again.
And suddenly your entire spine was pressed against Heeseung’s chest, shoulder to ribs.
You were perilously aware of everything: how warm he was, how steady his breathing felt against your back, how he smelled faintly like cologne and coffee. And most of all, how he didn’t move.
If anything, he just adjusted his grip slightly.
You wanted to say something. Instead, you just blinked at your own reflection in the window and tried not to melt.
“Relax,” Heeseung murmured near your ear, low enough for only you to hear. “I’ve got you.”
You made a tiny, strangled noise, trying not to squeeze the two cups in your hand, while panicking.
And then, mercifully, the next stop came.
By the time you spilled out of the subway car onto the platform, your legs were jelly and your face was on fire.
“You okay?” he asked, amused when you handed him his cup.
“Totally,” you wheezed. “Normal. Very normal train ride. Love commuting. Big fan.”
“Good,” he said, sipping his coffee, grinning at you.
The train finally began to slow near your stop, the pressure of the crowd shifting as people prepared to shuffle out. Heeseung’s arm loosened from around you, and you stepped forward as space allowed, finally able to breathe without your heart doing parkour in your chest.
At the platform, the two of you walked in step toward the station exit, letting the rhythm of the morning crowd carry you along.
Outside, the morning air was already stuffy. You reached the entrance of the building.
You turned to Heeseung. He was already watching you with that unreadable expression of his, coffee cradled in one hand.
“See you later,” you said, a little quieter than usual.
He nodded, mouth tilting up just a bit. “Yeah. Later.”
By 6:40 p.m. on Thursday, you were this close to crying.
Your desk was a mess of draft decks, color-correction notes, and flagged emails you hadn’t yet answered. Your hands were cold from stress, your jaw ached from clenching, and your chest felt tight.
You were just about finished for the evening when you noticed him standing in the doorway of your booth. His shoes clicked against the polished floor, his movements far too deliberate, too slow, as he made his way toward you.
“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his voice so sickly sweet you could almost taste the insincerity. “Looking absolutely stunning tonight.”
You blinked, trying to refocus on your screen.
“Is that a new dress?” He leaned closer, his smile stretching too wide for comfort. “You know, I do enjoy when someone can dress for the occasion... So much more appealing to the eyes.”
You barely suppressed a grimace, resisting the urge to curl your lip. You'd chosen the dress that morning because it was a simple yet professional choice. You didn’t think much of it until Mr. Kim made it clear that it had caught his attention in a way that had nothing to do with your work.
His eyes lingered, scanning you too intently for your liking, and the comment that followed only made your stomach churn.
“Quite the distraction, though,” he added smoothly. “Makes it hard for a man like me to focus, Miss Y/L/N.”
You hated how his gaze felt like it was crawling over you, how it lingered a little too long on the way your dress fit and the way you sat at your desk.
He lowered his voice slightly, the words coated with layers of suggestion. “You know, I could always help you with getting your mind off work... if you needed a break from all this stress.”
Your jaw clenched. A small part of you wanted to retort, tell him exactly what you thought of his “help,” but you knew better. You didn’t want to make a scene. You smiled tightly instead, forcing the words out with as much professionalism as you could muster.
“Thank you, Mr. Kim. But I have everything under control.”
He leaned back, satisfied with your answer, or rather, the fact that you hadn’t rejected his offer outright. You tried to shove the creeping feeling of disgust down. He made a final comment before leaving, "Don't work too hard, Miss Y/L/N. After all, we wouldn’t want you to get too tired in that lovely dress."
You almost threw your stylus at him.
Now you sat slumped in your chair, elbows on your desk.
You wanted to cancel. You really, really wanted to.
But you couldn’t.
Because Heeseung invited you. Because he was excited. Because you were excited. Because you made tiramisu. Because this was your chance to meet some of the Enhypen members as actual people, not headline acts.
A knock on the outer glass startled you.
Heeseung.
He walked in smiling, but his expression shifted the second he saw you. You didn’t even have time to straighten up before he crossed the room.
“Hey…” His voice was gentle. “What happened?”
You opened your mouth to answer and ended up just blinking fast.
“Oh. Okay, come here.”
He wrapped his arms around you before you could say anything else. One hand rubbed gently between your shoulder blades.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”
You sniffed, trying not to fall apart completely. “Sorry. I’m just– I don’t know, I’m just really tired and that asshole came by and–”
“I hate that guy,” Heeseung muttered, pulling back just enough to look at you properly.
His hands came up to frame your face, gentle thumbs brushing at your temples, moving a few strands of hair away with soft care. “You’re doing amazing, okay? Don’t let him make you think differently.”
Your breath shuddered out. “I just… I don’t wanna show up all weird and stressed and ruin the vibe.”
“You’re not going to ruin anything,” he said quietly. “You’re bringing tiramisu. You’ve already won everyone’s heart. Especially Sunghoons. I know he is your bias, so it’s a win, right?”
That got the smallest laugh out of you. He himself asked you if you could make tiramisu.
He smiled. “Let me carry your stuff, okay? We’ll head to mine, eat too much, and if you want to dip early, I’ll make something up. Deal?”
You nodded slowly. “Deal.”
“And,” he added, lowering his hands but still watching you carefully, “if he ever comes near your booth again, let me know. I’m not management, but I know how to be annoying.”
You laughed again, for real this time. “You? Annoying? Never.”
The subway car was packed.
Not just crowded, shoulder-to-shoulder, strangers-breathing-down-your-neck kind of packed. You squeezed in just behind Heeseung as the doors hissed shut, the jolt of movement almost sending you stumbling. He caught your elbow instinctively, his hand steadying you for just a second before he let go.
“Seat,” he said quietly, nodding toward the only one available, just a few feet to your right.
You hesitated. “You should take it.”
Heeseung looked at you like you’d suggested jumping onto the tracks. “You’re wearing a dress and heels.”
You blinked. “What does that–”
“Just sit.”
You didn’t argue again. You just slid into the seat, your bag clutched tight in your lap.
He stood directly to your right, one hand braced on the bar above, the other tucked into the pocket of his jacket. The car lurched forward.
Your knees bumped his leg when the train turned.
He didn’t move.
You shifted, trying to give him space, but there wasn’t any. He was close enough that you could smell the laundry detergent on his hoodie.
Another stop. More people pushed in. He adjusted his stance slightly, his shin brushing against your ankle now, the line of his thigh against yours.
His eyes flicked down.
Then up again.
Then away.
Neither of you spoke.
You didn’t have to. The contact was small, but your whole body was aware of it.
You stared at the blinking subway map above the door.
One stop. Then two. Almost home.
You tried not to think too hard about how nice it felt, this quiet little moment of being taken care of in the most casual, quiet, unspoken way.
By the time you reached your building, it started raining and you and Heeseung were huddled under his umbrella again. You buzzed yourself in, holding the door with your foot until Heeseung followed.
Once inside, you took off your shoes, motioning toward the living room. “Give me two minutes. Gotta grab the tiramisu and maybe… change?”
Heeseung tilted his head. “Yeah….actually, if you want to, that might be… good?”
You blinked. “Good?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Just figured you might wanna get out of your work stuff, to be…more comfortable. It’s super casual, I mean.”
You nodded slowly. “Got it. Two seconds.”
You disappeared down the hallway, your heart doing something slightly irrational as you pulled open your wardrobe.
Comfortable. Casual. Not… too casual.
You settled on high-waisted jeans and a soft black tank with scalloped straps. Simple. You undid your hair too, shaking it out with your fingers until it settled loosely over your shoulders. You checked the mirror, lips twitching.
And then, without overthinking it, you padded barefoot back into the living room.
“Okay,” you said, leaning against the doorframe. “This okay?”
Heeseung looked up from where he’d been sitting on your sofa, flipping through one of the design magazines you bunkered under the table, and froze.
His eyes scanned you quickly and then darted immediately to the floor like the entire act of looking had caught him off guard.
“Uh–yeah,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yeah. That’s–uh. That’s perfect.”
You tilted your head. “You sure?”
“Totally,” he said, too fast. “I mean–it’s not, like–you’re perfect. I mean–not like perfect-perfect, just–you look great. I mean good. Yes.”
You smiled slowly, watching the tips of his ears turn pink. “Thanks, Heeseung.”
He coughed once, avoiding your eyes. “Let’s… let’s go before I eat the tiramisu myself.”
You grabbed your bag again, heart fluttering just enough to make your grin feel dangerous. “Lead the way.”
Heeseung’s apartment was bigger than yours.
He dropped his keys in the bowl near the door, turning to offer you a small smile. “They said they’d be here around seven-thirty, so we’ve got a few minutes.”
You nodded, clutching the tiramisu like it was a shield. Your heart thudded faster now, not in fear exactly, but in nerves. The idea of sitting down and casually having dinner with ENHYPEN suddenly felt very… real.
Heeseung watched you for a moment, eyes soft. “You okay?”
“Just… mentally preparing,” you said, exhaling. “It’s fine. Totally fine. Just casually meeting five people who were on my Spotify Wrapped last year.”
He grinned. “If it helps, Sunghoon still burns toast.”
You laughed under your breath and were about to respond when the shrill sound of Heeseungs doorbell interrupted you.
Heeseung raised a brow. “They are early.”
You instinctively stepped half behind him as he opened the door.
“Hyung, I swear to god. I am so freaking hungry if we dont order food immedietely I’ll die,” Jake’s voice rang out as he stepped inside, followed by Sunoo, who immediately toed off his shoes.
“We literally just came back ourselves,” Heeseung replied, letting them all in. “We haven’t ordered anything yet.”
“Man, thats dissapointing,” Jake said, already peeking toward the kitchen where you were standing, next to the tiramisu.
“Hi,” you replied, suddenly aware of how warm your face felt.
Behind him came Niki and Sunghoon, who both had wet hair. All of them were bare faced.
“We’re minus one,” Sunghoon said as he dropped onto the couch. “Jay’s not coming.”
Heeseung blinked. “What?”
Sunghoon shrugged. “His girlfriend started her period today and he went over to her place.”
“That’s… actually sweet,” you blurted.
Heeseung gave a small laugh and motioned toward you. “Everyone, this is Y/N. She works in creative.”
You gave a small wave, not quite trusting your voice again yet.
Sunoo smiled at you, “Nice to meet you Y/N.”
You slightly cleared your throat. “Yeah. Nice to meet you, too.”
Jake stepped into the kitchen. “Wait. Is that the tiramisu?”
“Mhm,” Heeseung said walking over and, setting it in the fridge.
“Dude I thought you ordered some,” Sunghoon said sitting down on Heeseungs sofa.
“Yeah. Well, not exactly order, I asked Y/N if she wanted to make some,” Heeseung shrugged. “It’s Sunghoon’s favorite.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You asked for it.”
Heeseung’s expression didn’t even flicker. “Yeah. For Sunghoon.”
You turned to him, deadpan. “Dude. What the fuck. I wanted to make cookies for you cause you said u said they looked yummy and now i made tiramisu for an international super star?”
Sunoo laughed immediately. “Wait, you’re the croissant girl?”
You blinked. “The crossiant girl?”
“But Heeseung didn’t shut up about the croissants for days.”, Jake said plopping down next to Sunghoon.
You looked at Heeseung, arms crossed. “You told them about the crossints?”
Heeseung, who was now pretending to scroll through the pizza delivery app, said nothing.
“I think that’s sweet,” Sunghoon said, leaning back on the armrest. “Even if it’s a little embarrassing.”
“For him or me?” you asked.
“Yes,” Sunghoon replied with a faint smile.
You shook your head, still suppressing a grin. “Okay. You guys want pizza or not?”
“Absolutely,” Niki said. “Half bulgogi, half pepperoni. No pineapple.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jake muttered.
“Do not start a war in my apartment,” Heeseung warned.
While they argued about toppings, you helped Heeseung finish the order.
Sunoo plopped down next to Sunghoon and patted the seat beside him. “Come on. We don’t bite.”
You hesitated, then sat, keeping your posture neutral, your legs tucked neatly under you.
“Okay,” Jake said, lounging across the arm of the couch. “So what made you want to work at HYBE?”
You blinked at the directness, then laughed nervously. “Wow. Uhm I'm there more or less on accident?”
You glanced at Heeseung, who offered a small nod of encouragement from the kitchen.
“I… actually wanted to be a baker,” you said. “I studied design because my parents wanted me to have something ‘practical’ to fall back on. Turns out I liked it enough to keep doing it. And then one internship led to another, and somehow I ended up designing teaser graphics for idol groups.”
“Do you still bake often, or was it a one time thing for hyung?” Niki asked.
“Mostly for stress,” you admitted. “Or when someone makes a really annoying request for tiramisu.” You shot a glance at Heeseung, who just smiled and opened a cabinet.
“Hey,” he said, mock-offended. “That was a great decision.”
The next morning was already chaos.
You had a stack of revised mood boards tucked under your arm, three poster mock-ups clipped to your tote, and a USB drive clenched between your teeth while you tried not to spill your lukewarm coffee. The team had pulled off near-miracles, reworking concepts, rebuilding a cohesive storyline, and salvaging designs under impossible pressure. And now it was time to present.
Your nerves were frayed and your blouse was wrinkled and of course, of course, the elevator was packed when you stepped inside.
Just as the doors started to close, a hand slipped between them.
Heeseung, headphones around his neck and hair still slightly damp like he’d showered five minutes ago made his way into the packed elevator. He offered you a sleepy smile, eyes darting to the mess in your hands.
“Are you ready?” he asked, leaning slightly against the side of the elevator.
“I am not sure,” you muttered, clutching your things. “Everything breaks if one person blinks wrong.”
“Sounds relaxing,” he said, with a small smirk.
You gave him a half-hearted eye roll, but you were grateful for the few seconds of levity. His presence was oddly grounding. Then the elevator dinged.
And in stepped Mr. Kim.
The air changed immediately.
You froze as the man’s eyes raked across the small elevator car, lingering far too long when they landed on you. Your stomach twisted.
“Miss Y/L/N,” he said, his tone smug. “Always working so hard.”
You tried to smile without actually smiling, eyes darting to Heeseung, who glanced between you and Mr. Kim.
You gave him a look.
And without missing a beat, Heeseung shifted closer to you, casually, but firmly placing himself between you and Mr. Kim. His hand came up to gently rest on your back, warm through the fabric of your shirt.
Your breath caught.
As the elevator slowed to your floor, Heeseung looked down at you and gave a quiet, encouraging murmur.
“You got this, babe.”
Your brain short-circuited.
You barely registered the surprised look on Mr. Kim’s face as he blinked at Heeseung, then back at you, as you stepped off the elevator.
“Oh?” he said, clearly trying to mask his annoyance. “You and Mr. Lee are… close?”
Heeseung didn’t even blink. He just smiled.
“Yes. We’ve been going out for a while now.”
Mr. Kim’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he gave a small nod, like the internal math he was doing didn’t quite add up but he’d decided it wasn’t worth the effort to challenge it, at least not now.
The rest of the meeting passed in strange, almost blessed peace. Mr. Kim didn’t interrupt you once. Didn’t cut off your points, didn’t make snide remarks. He just… sat there. Quiet.
The applause at the end of your presentation felt like a drug. Even Legal had nodded in approval, which was practically a standing ovation. When your manager turned to you with a small, rare smile and said, “Great work. We’re green lit to post. Let’s get this live by Monday,” your knees almost buckled.
You had survived.
You should have felt on top of the world.
Except…
Heeseung had been red on Teams since 10:14 a.m.
You checked. Rechecked. Closed and reopened the app. Still red.
[12:47 PM] y/n:
We did it.
Greenlight.
No reply.
[2:05 PM] y/n:
I brought the fancy draft mockups for you to roast but you’re ghosting me instead, rude
Still red.
You tried to be mature about it. He was busy. Probably.
Except it stung a little. Okay, a lot. Especially when your manager swung by at 4:30 with a tired grin and a generous offer.
“You’ve earned a break. Go home, everyone. Rest. Sleep. Don’t even look at your inbox until Monday morning.”
And like that, the office emptied.
You took the train back in silence. When you got home, you peeled off your work clothes, cleansed your face, and climbed into your pink kitty pajamas. You slapped on your favorite aloe sheet mask and sank into your couch like a deflated balloon.
You glanced at your phone once more, just in case.
Still red.
At 9:17 p.m., just when you were deciding whether you wanted to start a new drama or rewatch a old one your phone vibrated.
[9:17 PM] Heeseung: Are you still in the building?
You blinked, stared, then scrambled to type back.
[9:18 PM] y/n: Nope. Left hours ago. Home now.
Three little dots appeared immediately.
[9:18 PM] Heeseung:
...Can I come over?
Actually.
I’ll be at your place in 5 min.
You froze and stared at your reflection in the black screen of your TV.
You barely had time to rip off your sheet mask and throw on a hoodie before the doorbell rang.
When you opened the door, Heeseung stood there in sweatpants and a hoodie, holding a bottle of red wine and a guilty expression.
“Hi,” he said, a little breathless. “I forgot how fast I walk when I’m anxious.”
You blinked. “You’re anxious?”
“...Yes.”
He stood there for another second, then stepped inside when you moved back. He hovered awkwardly near the entrance, hands in his pockets now, looking around like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I meant to come by after the elevator. I really did. But the studio called me into something last minute and then I had to stay in the editing room and–”
You blinked, confused for a second. “Wait. You were coming to find me?”
He nodded, sheepish. “Yeah. I wanted to come after you texted me you got greenlit. To congratulate…and to see how you were doing, if he did something again.”
Oh. You thought back to the elevator, Mr. Kim’s eyes on you, his words oily and smug, and then Heeseung’s hand on your back. The quiet “you got this, babe” still echoed in your head like a song lyric you didn’t know how to stop humming.
“I was fine,” you murmured.
He gave you a look.
You sighed. “Okay. I was… about to punch him but holding it together. Professionally of course.”
“I was so mad,” he admitted, voice lower now. “At him. I just—” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I should’ve texted.”
“You were red on Teams all day.”
“I was sitting on the floor with a laptop trying to fix three vocal tracks while my phone was dead in my bag,” he said, smiling weakly. “It was not my most functional day.”
You stared at him, this boy who offered you a tissue when you crashed into his, now your, booth when you were crying, who casually invited you to meet your idols, who fought off your sleazy coworker with just four words and a hand on your back, and felt something soft start to uncurl in your chest.
“Want wine?” you asked, voice gentler now.
He looked up like you’d just told him the world was ending and he had five minutes to enjoy it.
“Yes. So much.”
Fifteen minutes later, you were curled up on your couch in your oversized tshirt and mismatched socks, and Heeseung was beside you, barefoot now, as he poured you both generous glasses of red wine.
Your cat-themed pajama pants were definitely not glamorous, but he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, his expression had softened the second you shuffled back into the room with your hair damp from a quick rinse and your face washed clean of mask residue.
“You really are glowing when you’re out of that office,” he said, handing you a glass.
You wrinkled your nose. “I think that’s just the very expensive and excessive amount of skincare on my face right now.”
He smiled into his glass as you both sipped.
You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the low flicker of your floor lamp the only light in the room. The Netflix menu looped quietly on your TV, still waiting for a decision you didn’t feel like making.
Heeseung broke the silence first.
“I kept thinking about it.”
You turned your head to him. “About what?”
“The way he looked at you.” His jaw tightened.
You said nothing. Just reached for your wine again.
Heeseung glanced sideways, then spoke again, softer. “You don’t have to talk about it. I just… wanted you to know I saw it. And it wasn’t okay.”
You nodded slowly. “It happens. More than it should. To more girls than just me.”
He looked at you, brows drawn slightly. “Still not okay.”
“I know,” you whispered.
Another beat passed.
“I didn’t expect you to say it like that,” you said finally.
Heeseung blinked. “Say what?”
“‘Babe.’”
“Oh,” he said, the tips of his ears instantly going red. “Yeah. That was… I didn’t plan that.”
You smiled into your wine glass. “It worked.”
He looked over, surprised. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “He didn’t say a single word to me during the meeting.”
“I’ll call you that again if it keeps him quiet.”
“Don’t push your luck, Romeo.”
That made him laugh, the sound low and honest, and you smiled against your glass again.
Eventually, you picked a movie and settled deeper into the couch cushions. You sat closer now, your thighs brushing once or twice, his knee occasionally bumping yours when he shifted.
By the time the movie was halfway through, the first bottle of wine was nearly gone.
You hadn’t meant to drink that much. Neither had he.
But you kept topping off each other’s glasses in lazy silence, the bottle tipping between you like a slow conversation neither of you wanted to end. The couch had become a sort of middle ground, with two pillows behind your backs and one blanket draped loosely over both your legs. You weren’t sure when that had happened either.
The film flickered quietly in the background, something about a bakery in Paris and a romance that neither of you were really following. Heeseung made a dramatic noise when the lead actress confessed her feelings to the wrong guy, slumping his head against your shoulder.
“Justice for the hot violinist,” he mumbled into your hoodie.
You burst out laughing, setting your glass down before you spilled.
“You’re so annoying,” you said between giggles.
“Am not,” he replied, lifting his head just enough to smirk at you.
You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away.
Heeseung grabbed the second bottle from where it had been sitting patiently by the TV and held it up like a question.
You raised your brows. “You really want more?”
“Yes.” He grinned. “Absolutely.”
You got the cork halfway out before it popped with a little pop that made you both jump and then start laughing all over again. Heeseung nearly dropped his glass trying to pour, his other hand bracing against your thigh for balance, and you swatted at him gently.
“God, you’re clumsy,” you muttered, amused.
“Blame the grapes,” he said, eyes dancing.
You sipped your wine and sank deeper into the couch, your legs half-tangled with his now, your knees bumping, your feet tucked under the blanket. The buzz in your head was warm and a little dizzying.
“Do you do this a lot?” you asked after a while, your voice soft and hazy. “Stay late at the office? Show up at coworkers’ apartments with wine?”
Heeseung shook his head slowly, resting his head back against the couch. “No. Not really.”
You turned to look at him.
He was already watching you.
“It’s just you,” he added, voice lower now. “It’s always just you.”
You felt your heart stutter in your chest.
Then, to cover it up you reached for your glass. “That sounds dangerously close to flirting, Mr. Lee.”
He grinned, slow and crooked. “Dangerously?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And if I said I meant it?”
You looked at him over the rim of your glass. “Then I’d probably say… don’t stop.”
Both of you were silent for a second, watching each other until Heeseung turned his head towards the TV again.
By the time the second movie started your feet were in his lap, his hand resting lightly against your calf. You were curled up sideways, your cheek brushing his shoulder. At some point, his fingers started tracing slow, absent-minded shapes against your knee.
You felt them even through the blanket.
“You’re warm,” he mumbled, voice muffled into your hair.
You made a soft sound. “You’re heavy.”
“Lies.”
“Truth.“
Your wine glass was empty and forgotten on the coffee table, your head tilted slightly toward Heeseung as the credits rolled over yet another cheesy, completely ignorable romantic subplot. The soft buzz in your limbs made you slower, warmer, and more tangled up in the present than you usually allowed yourself to be.
He hadn’t made a joke in a while.
Which, honestly, was weird.
You shifted slightly, cheek brushing the edge of his shirt where your head had been half-leaning for the last–what, twenty? thirty?–minutes. His shoulder was warm and steady beneath you, but quiet.
Too quiet.
You turned your head slowly.
He was out cold.
His head had slumped just slightly to the side, lips parted the tiniest bit, one hand still loosely holding the stem of his wine glass, though it had dipped into his lap. His other hand was still half-tucked under the blanket near your leg.
You blinked.
“You traitor,” you whispered, grinning.
He didn’t move.
You leaned closer, squinting at his face in the low light. His cheeks were flushed, not just wine-warm, but rosy now, all the way to the tips of his ears.
You couldn’t help it.
You let out the softest, breathiest laugh and murmured, “You’re so red, oh my god.”
You carefully reached out and plucked the glass from his hand before he could spill anything, setting it on the coffee table. Then you curled back into the couch, closer this time, and let your head rest against the curve of his shoulder.
“You laughed through an entire subplot about a pastry chef and her ghost boyfriend,” you whispered into the quiet. “And this is what knocks you out?”
Still nothing.
But his breathing stayed slow and even.
You looked at him again, your smile softening.
He looked peaceful. Not polished or poised or the version of him you usually saw pacing around the studio, just… Heeseung. Slightly flushed, his shirt wrinkeled, wine-drowsy, and entirely asleep in your living room.
And somehow, that made your chest ache in the nicest possible way.
“Guess I’m not the only lightweight,” you whispered, barely audible.
You shifted carefully, moving one arm, then another, easing yourself up from the sofa to go sleep in your bed.
You didn’t even get the chance to move mor ethan a few centimeters when Heeseungs hand tightened at your waist followed by a quiet, groggy voice.
“…What?”
You froze mid-sit-up and looked down.
Heeseung’s eyes were barely open, squinting in the low light, his lashes heavy against his cheeks and his mouth slack with sleep. But he was awake. Or halfway there.
You smiled, soft. “Go back to sleep.”
He blinked slowly. “Where are you going?”
“My beed,” you whispered, brushing your fingers against his wrist, trying to gently pry his hand off your hoodie. “I was just gonna–”
“No,” he mumbled, arm tightening just slightly, his voice all thick and low and whiny. “Stay.”
You blinked. “What?”
He made a small, disgruntled sound and shifted, trying to pull you back down the way someone hugs a pillow in their sleep.
“Stay,” he repeated, quieter this time, like he knew he was already asking for too much.
You were about to argue. Say something rational. Like you’d be more comfortable in your bed or he might need space or this is unprofessional, right? But then he made that soft noise again and his fingers caught the hem of your shirt.
And your chest did that dumb, twisty ache again.
So you sighed and gave in.
“Okay,” you murmured, lowering yourself back down. “Fine. Whatever.”
You felt him relax instantly, his arm slipping easily around your waist again, pulling you against his chest with a quiet breath of relief.
His forehead bumped gently against your temple as you both settled back into the blanket.
“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered.
He let out a small, satisfied mmph, already melting back into the couch. And just before sleep pulled you under too, you thought you felt him murmur something else, a quiet, hazy little thank you, into the space where your shoulder met his chest.
Heeseung didn’t stir. Just exhaled softly, mouth twitching.
You watched him for a second.
The way his hair was a mess, flattened on one side. The way his mouth hung open just a little. The way his shirt had slid up to reveal a sliver of his waist where your hand had been curled all night.
You shook your head and padded into the bathroom before your brain could linger on that detail too long.
You washed your face, brushed your teeth, and pulled your hair into a low bun. By the time you stepped back into the kitchen, the soft blue light of morning had begun to filter through the curtains.
You opened the freezer, reached in, and smiled. You still had a tray of frozen croissants.
You’d rolled and shaped them last week and froze them, just in case you needed some for an emergency. This counted as an emergency.
“Perfect,” you murmured.
You set the oven to preheat, arranged four pastries on a tray, and grabbed a knife to slice up some strawberries and green grapes you’d had tucked in the fridge. As the fruit hit the plate, a soft creak sounded behind you.
You turned, just in time to see a very groggy Heeseung shuffle into the kitchen.
His hair was sticking up in three directions, and he looked like he wasn’t really awake yet.
He blinked at you. “Why are you vertical?”
You grinned, holding up a strawberry slice. “Because I have a healthy sleeping rhythm and can’t sleep longer than 8 am.”
He made a soft, confused noise and collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs, his head dropping forward onto the table with a dramatic thud.
You laughed quietly, setting the fruit down in front of him. “Sleep well?”
He mumbled something into the wood that might have been yes or kill me, you weren’t sure.
You turned back to the oven just as it pinged. The smell of the croissants was already filling the apartment.
Behind you, Heeseung groaned. “Are you baking?”
You glanced over your shoulder. “You’re the one who told me you’d work the counter at my imaginary bakery if I paid you in croissants.”
He squinted up at you, one eye barely open. “You’re baking. At 8 am on a Saturday morning.”
You slid the tray into the oven with a smile. “I am. Just for you.”
You sat on the small bench by the wall, a mug of coffee wrapped in both hands, your bare legs curled up beneath you. Your shorts were riding up slightly, and your oversized t-shirt hung comfortably off one shoulder, rumpled from sleep.
Heeseung sat next to you, his long legs stretched lazily under the table. One of them bumped against yours.
His knee slid alongside your thigh, skin against skin. Neither of you moved.
You felt it in your stomach, low and sudden.
Heeseung, half-slouched in the chair, blinked once. Then again. His gaze dropped briefly to where your knees touched, then back up to your face.
You pretended not to notice.
He didn’t pull away.
Instead, he let out a quiet hum and slumped his cheek into his hand, eyes only half-open.
“I’m trying to remember if I said anything stupid last night.”
You sipped your coffee, lips twitching. “Define stupid.”
“Like… did I call you ‘babe’ again?”
You smiled into your cup. “No.”
He exhaled, relieved.
“Just whined like a child until I stayed on the couch.”
His head snapped up. “What?!”
You grinned. “You literally said, ‘Don’t go yet, just stay.’ And then clung to me like a koala.”
Heeseung covered his face with both hands. “Oh my god.”
“I did stay,” you added, smug. “So technically it worked.”
“Please erase that entire interaction from your brain.”
You let your thigh lean just slightly more into his. “Nope. Gonna treasure it forever.”
He peeked through his fingers, groaning. “Why are you like this?”
“Because you slept with your mouth open and drooled a little on my shoulder.”
He gasped. “That’s a lie.”
You shrugged innocently. “You’ll never know.”
He squinted at you, then glanced down at your coffee. “Is that the good blend?”
You nodded. “Vanilla roast.”
He reached for your mug without asking and took a sip, then sighed dramatically. “I forgive you.”
“For what?”
“Mocking my emotional vulnerability.”
You laughed softly, the sound curling between you like steam.
When the oven pinged, neither of you moved for a moment. Your legs were still touching.
His knee was still pressed lightly against your bare skin, and your arm was now brushing his where it rested on the bench.
It was nothing. And also very much something.
Then Heeseung stood up slowly, stretching with a yawn that revealed the tiniest sliver of skin under his t-shirt. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked over his shoulder at you.
“You’re burning our breakfast.”
Breakfast didn’t last long, but neither of you moved afterward.
You stayed exactly where you were: side by side on the bench, your knees brushing, your thighs pressed together, your bare leg warm against his. The soft cotton of his t-shirt clung to his side, and you could feel the rise and fall of his breath every time he shifted.
Heeseung sat with one elbow on the table, chin in his hand, half-turned toward you. He hadn’t stopped smiling since the second cup of coffee, his hair still tousled, eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep.
You leaned back against the wall beside him, foot nudging his under the table.
“This is weird,” you said.
He blinked. “Weird how?”
You tilted your head. “I don’t know. I feel like I should be freaking out. You slept over. We’re… close.”
He looked down at where your legs were still touching. “Yeah.”
“But I’m not freaking out,” you added.
He smiled slowly. “Me neither.”
You were both quiet for a moment.
Then he said, voice barely above a whisper, “It’s nice.”
You nodded, looking down at your empty plate. “Yeah.”
His hand moved slightly under the table. His pinky nudged yours.
You didn’t pull away.
Instead, you moved your hand and intertwined your fingers with his long ones.
And when you turned your head to glance at him again, he was already looking at you, something soft and unspoken flickering behind his eyes.
“I could stay like this all day,” he murmured.
You smiled. “Then stay.”
Heeseung didn’t answer right away.
But he didn’t move either.
And neither did you.
The booth was quiet except for the occasional soft click of Heeseung’s mouse.
It was already late, past golden hour, and the air outside had cooled from its blistering midday heat into something softer. Muggier, still sticky, but breathable.
You sat on the couch with your legs tucked under you. A bottle of cold green tea sat between your knees.
You’d finished your last rollout file before dinner.
Technically, you could’ve gone home.
But instead, you waited.
You liked waiting.
Because it meant walking home with Heeseung. That had become your favorite part of the day over the last weeks.
He pulled off his dress shirt and was only wearing the white tank top he always wore underneath. His hair curled a little at the edges when he got too warm, and he kept pushing it back with one hand, blinking hard at the screen.
You checked the time.
“Almost done?” you asked, voice low, lazy.
He didn’t look up. “You don’t have to wait.”
“I know.”
His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile.
He continued working for a few more seconds, and then he sat back in his chair and let out a dramatic exhale. “Okay. I think I’m done for today.”
You grinned. “Took you long enough.”
He finally turned to look at you.
And then didn’t look away.
His gaze dropped to your bare legs curled on the couch, to the faint line of sweat at your collarbone, to the gentle flush on your cheeks. He blinked once. Twice. His mouth parted like he wanted to say something, but forgot what.
You just raised an eyebrow. “Ready to go?”
He stood, grabbing his dress shirt, putting it on again, and held the door open for you with that same crooked, tired smile he always had at the end of a long day.
The hallway was empty, the whole building humming quietly. Your footsteps echoed softly as you made your way toward the elevator.
Outside, the streetlights were just flickering on. A warm wind blew past, thick with summer and stillness.
Heeseung walked beside you, your shoulders occasionally brushing, your hands swinging just close enough to touch.
The hum of the AC buzzed low through the apartment, doing its best against the weight of the summer heat a few days later. The heat seemed to get worse every day, clinging to your skin and making it impossible to breathe.
Your AC had sputtered and died two nights ago, and since then, you’d been semi-permanently relocated to Heeseung’s place.
Today, after work, you kicked off your socks and curled up on his couch, legs bare, feet tucked under a throw pillow. The oversized t-shirt you wore hung down past your hips. You stole it from him after he spilled tomato juice on your at-home T-shirt the day before. It still faintly smelled like his cologne. Your shorts were barely visible beneath the hem.
Heeseung stood in the small kitchen, barefoot in a black tank top and old sweatshirts, elbows braced against the counter while he adjusted something in the blender. You’d watched him add frozen banana, ice, peanut butter, a protein scoop, and almond milk. His brow furrowed in concentration as he pushed the button.
You flipped a page in the book resting across your thighs. And then didn’t read a single word of it.
You were too busy ogling Heeseung in a very professional, not inappropriate way, colleagues? Friends?
His muscles were taut from leaning over the counter, jaw set, skin glowing slightly from the walk home, strands of now red hair curling over his forehead from the heat. The edge of his tank had dipped low, revealing the clean cut of his shoulder and the line of his collarbone. His arms flexed slightly as he twisted the lid back on.
You licked your lips and quickly looked back at your book.
He wiped his hands on a towel, completely unaware of the crisis you were currently having ten feet away. Or maybe not, unaware he’d caught you staring once already when he was adjusting the fan, and you swore he smirked.
You turned to another page you hadn’t read.
“Still good over there?” he asked, his voice teasing, lazy.
“Barely,” you called back. “I'm still melting. I don't even wanna imagine how warm my apartment is right now.”
He grabbed two glasses from the shelf. “I expect your eternal loyalty and gratitude for granting you shelter from the heat .”
You gave a dramatic sigh. “You get two compliments and one baked good per week. That’s the cap.”
“I already get that,” he called back.
You smiled to yourself. “Then I’ll consider bringing you lunch to work sometimes.”
He froze just long enough for you to see it out of the corner of your eye.
Then he laughed, soft and breathless. “Noted.”
You peeked up again as he walked over, two glasses in hand. He handed you one, fingers brushing yours, and settled onto the floor, leaning back onto the couch.
You stared down at him, still flushed from the heat, or maybe not only the heat.
“Comfortable?” you asked, sipping your smoothie.
“Very.” He tilted his head back lazily until it rested against your knee. “Book good?”
You stared at the unread page. “Incredible.”
He looked up at you, one eyebrow raised. “You haven’t flipped it in five minutes.”
You pressed the book gently to his forehead. “Shut up.”
He grinned, eyes crinkling.
The two of you went silent again, and after a while, your hair slipped into his hair, playing with the dry strands and grazing your nails along his scalp while you actually started reading your book again.
Heeseung let out a long, contented breath. “I like having you here.”
You paused.
Then said, just as softly, “I like being here.”
Half an hour later, the smoothie was half-melted in your glass. Your book sat open in your lap, though you had to re-read the same paragraph three times thanks to the way Heeseung’s arm kept brushing against your side.
He was still on the floor, and at one point, you joined him there, the sofa’s velvet texture feeling too warm against your skin. Your whole body was leaning against his, your head resting softly on his shoulder, and your legs draped loosely to the side.
From Heeseung’s laptop, which was propped up on his thighs, came the steady pulse of a new track, layered synth, subtle guitar… and a voice.
You blinked, looking up. “Wait. Is that Jay?”
“Mhm.” Heeseung didn’t turn around, just scrolled through something on his screen. “He dropped by to do a scratch vocal for one of the demos. I haven’t layered the harmony yet, but his tone worked weirdly well.”
You stared at the screen.
Jay’s voice.
On his song.
In this apartment.
While you were wearing Heeseung’s shirt and drinking smoothies with your legs tangled against his, and a half-read book in your lap.
You let out a quiet laugh and muttered, “My life is so weird.”
Heeseung looked over his shoulder. “Good weird?”
You met his eyes.
And immediately regretted it.
Because he was already looking at you the way he always did when you caught him off guard, soft, curious, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing but knew he didn’t want to stop. His face was close now, your head still on his shoulder, your fingers curled loosely in the fabric of your shirt right above where your thigh still pressed against his.
“Very good, weird,” you said quietly.
Heeseung’s gaze dropped to your mouth. Just for a second.
Your heart thudded. But he just moved his head back towards the laptop.
The soft sounds of Jay’s vocals looped again from Heeseung’s laptop.
You could see it in his profile, that sharp little line between his brows. The tension in his jaw.
He was thinking again.
Which meant he wasn’t going to do it.
You waited another second. Two. Gave him a chance.
He didn’t take it.
So you did.
You closed the book gently and set it aside, leaned over just enough to catch his attention, and when he looked up, eyes wide and questioning, you kissed him.
Pressing your lips to his. You didn't even really think about it; it just felt right.
He froze for half a second, just enough for you to second-guess it.
But then his hand slid to your thigh, fingers tightening. His other reached for your waist, softly grazing against the fabric of the shirt.
You pulled back first, just barely, your nose brushing his.
He stared at you. His eyes were glazed, and his mouth parted slightly.
You smiled and breathlessly muttered. “You took too long.”
He blinked. “You–” His voice cracked. “I was trying to be respectful.”
“You were being a coward.”
“I was waiting for a sign!”
“Heeseung, I gave you so many signs.”
“I’m not a mind reader!”
You laughed into his neck, warm and breathless and giddy.
His arms slipped around your waist properly now, hugging you close, face buried in your collarbone.
He mumbled something into your skin.
You stilled. “What?”
He stiffened. “Nothing.”
You leaned back just enough to look at him. “What did you say, Heeseung?”
Heeseung stared, wide-eyed. Then blinked once. “Hypothetically. I really want to kiss you again.”
You grinned, pulling him back in by the collar of his tank top. “Hypothetically, I think you should shut up and kiss me again.”
So he did.
His lips moved slowly and steadily against yours, and you moved your head slightly to the side, deepening the kiss for a second before he pulled away first this time, breathing heavier than before, his forehead resting against yours.
You could feel how warm his skin was.
His voice was barely above a whisper. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
You smiled. “Yeah. I noticed.”
He gave a soft, helpless laugh and bumped his nose gently against yours. “So… now what?”
You looked at him, all flushed cheeks and messy hair and wide brown eyes, and knew you never wanted someone else to see him like this ever again.
“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “But I like this.”
“Yeah?” he asked, eyes searching yours.
You nodded. “Yeah. I like you.”
He let out a breath like he’d been holding it for days.
Then, with that lazy, crooked half-smile you were quickly learning was dangerous, he said, “Can I kiss you again?”
You raised a brow. “You’re asking now?”
“I’m being respectful.”
You leaned in. “Then yes.”
Your hand slid into his hair, thumb brushing the curve of his cheek when his lips were on yours again.
His lips were on yours again before the word even left your mouth. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, palm splayed wide over the soft fabric of your shorts, fingers flexing slightly.
You shifted into his lap without thinking, tilting your head, knees brushing his thighs.
He made a sound in the back of his throat, and it made you smile against his mouth.
“Stop laughing,” he murmured.
“You make weird noises.”
He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder. “You’re impossible, Y/N.”
You laughed, soft and breathless, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Sorry, not sorry.”
He kissed your collarbone next, just a warm brush of lips against skin. Then another, lower this time. Your breath caught.
He pulled back instantly. “Okay?”
You nodded, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. Just… yeah.”
His hands found your waist again, more certain now, thumbs brushing bare skin where your shirt had ridden up. Your thighs tightened around his lap just slightly. He inhaled sharply.
“Y/N,” he said, like it was a question and an answer and a prayer all at once.
You kissed him again.
This time, you were the one deepening it. Your fingers curled in the collar of his tank top, pulling him in closer, angling your hips until your bodies fit together just a little too well.
You could feel the shift in him, the way his hands stilled, the way his breath hitched when your thighs pressed around his.
But he didn’t push.
He didn’t even pull you closer.
He just let you kiss him, his lips soft and slow, like he’d waited long enough that he didn’t want to ruin it by rushing.
Eventually, you both stilled, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, lips kiss-dumb and smiling.
“You good?” he asked softly, his thumb tracing lazy circles at your waist.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Really good.”
“I swear,” he muttered, breathless, a little dazed, “I had this whole thing planned out.”
You tilted your head. “What thing?”
He gave a weak huff of a laugh and shook his head, cheeks flushed. “To tell you. To ask you out. I didn’t think I’d just..get kissed out of nowhere and completely forget how to speak like a normal person.”
You smiled, fingers brushing his wrist. “Heeseung.”
“I’m serious,” he said, laughing softly, reaching up to caress your face. “I had it all laid out. I wrote you a song.”
Your brows lifted. “A song?”
He hesitated. Then nodded and reached for his laptop that was lying forgotten next to the two of you and tapped at the keyboard with one hand, the other never leaving your waist.
“I wrote it like a month ago,” he said quietly. “Kind of… when I realized.”
You rested your head on his chest, watching him type.
“When you realized what?” you asked.
He didn’t look at you. But you saw the corner of his mouth pull up just a little.
“That I really like you too, Y/N.”
And then he hit play.
The track started low, just a few notes of piano, slow and thoughtful.
It was… beautiful.
You didn’t even realize you’d moved until your hand slid down to his chest, your palm resting flat just over where his heart was pounding.
Heeseung moved his head back slightly to look at you.
You leaned in, brushed your lips against the edge of his jaw, and whispered, “I’m really glad I kissed you first.”
He laughed, just once, softly and short, and pressed his forehead against yours.
“I was so scared I’d mess it up,” he said into your lips. “I wanted it to be right.”
You held him close, one hand carding gently through his hair. “You didn’t mess anything up.”
He tilted his head, eyes bright. “You think?”
“I think,” you said softly, “this might be the best song anyone’s ever written for me.”
He smiled and whispered, “That’s good. Because I’m not writing another one about anyone else.”
You closed the distance between the two of you again, pressing your lips softly against his.
Thank you so much for reading!
Lots of Love,
Patty
all feedback and reblogs are welcome ⭑.ᐟ
⤷ my masterlist ⭑.ᐟ
ᝰ an. ₊ ⊹ dear anon, I am so sorry I needed 3 months to write this and I hope you enjoyed reading, regardless of the wait! I also hate tumblr. I just spend one and a half hour formatting this. Also in case someone wants to request anything! Please do! Just know I'll probably do it inbetween my other projects and might need...like 3 months lmao
