SYNOPSIS your life was supposed to be simple, hang with friends, study aquatic life at work and spend your money on things you absolutely didn’t need but wanted. Unfortunately for you your neighbors are noisy, annoying, and disruptive. Oh right and theres one more tiny little detail── three of them just can’t seem to stop fighting over you.
LOG ; ❝ APT 1009 ❞ ─── sim jaeyun, park jongseong, yang jungwon & fem!rea ⭑.ᐟ fluff / slice of life / coming of age / smau + written ༯ contains ! niche occupation enhypen. ꫂ Ot7───★˙ nainais library !!
NAIS CALLING ᭪ all the accounts done below are for a work of fiction, not the actual accounts. Please do not misinterpret; rather, clip out of context. This is purely for a work of fiction and for fun. I do not claim to know any of the members nor do i claim to be them. Thank you my angel @hoonsocks for giving me the format idea.
status 𓏲 ongoing | TAGLIST ⭑ open!
PROFILES ⭑ ENHYPEN ⭑ READER & FRIENDS ⭑ PRIVATES
CHAPTERLIST
ONE › stuck in the elevator with two idiots. TWO › apology not accepted. THREE › #alwaysblameniki. FOUR › he’s kind of cute. 653 w.c FIVE › i want him SIX › congrats on coming out SEVEN › jack, jayce and justin EIGHT › maybe they’re not so bad NINE › looks like we’re dating T??? › merry christmas TEN › chat rate my rizz
SYNOPSIS ✧˖° after receiving a devastating “hey girly” text from a random girl, you break up with your boyfriend, jake, immediately. and while you try to cope with the fact that he probably wasn’t the man you thought he was, jake is left distraught and confused due to your lack of explanation. he doesn’t know how to function without you in a healthy way and does everything in his power to win win your heart back. [crack & angst.]
contents: profanity; kys/kms jokes; violent jokes; suggestive jokes; mentions of infidelity; pet names (babe & baby); lack of communication; mentions of alcohol; yn is mean at times; slight toxic relationship dynamic (nothing too crazy); pay attention to timestamps unless stated otherwise; exes to lovers;
00] tough day to be jake (unofficial prologue for more context)
01] part one: the spam of distraught memes
02] part two: my mom’s cousin’s daughter
03] part three: my name but scrambled
04] part four: bro what fucking politics???
05] part five: love is not bounded by one’s wallet
06] part six: wicked bitch of the west
07] part seven: title in progress
08] part eight: title in progress (finale)
notes; hiiii i’m back with another mini smau OMGGG!!! since i already established that jake had a gf in this universe, i knew i wanted to make a mini smau where he begs for his ex back (we love a down bad man). then i was listening to get him back by olivia & that’s how i came up w the title😝 (not that anybody asked). those who have asked to be in "the jungwon's litter box" universe taglist will automatically be tagged for this series. the taglist is OPEN & if you’d like to be added lmk in the comments!
pairing ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა brother tutor!jay x reader. jay is older than reader by 6 years. genre ; fluff , word count: 1338
CAMPUS WAS POPULATED WITH couples with their hands linked and laughter echoing between buildings, but none made your heart race. The boys your age seemed loud and restless, lost and unsure. You have always preferred people who wore their security on the outside, as if they had figured out the world.
It may have been precisely that, that had made it difficult for you to look away from Park Jongseong, your brother's tutor.
He wasnt supposed to be interesting. He came every Tuesday and Thursday with a notebook in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other, polite to everyone, indifferent to most. But something about him made you hang in the kitchen longer than needed, asking harmless questions about his major, laughing too loudly when he would answer.
He always answered nicely, but only kindly. You could never read him whether he was rather being polite or trying to keep his distance. You did catch him looking up at you as you passed by, a brief flash of a smile returning to his face before he would look away.
He was twenty-six, already interning at a firm downtown, while you were still a first-year mess out of college. Perhaps that's what you found attractive—a perception that he belonged to the kind of stability you craved.
You told yourself it was nothing but a harmless crush, something that would fade once exams and projects took over.
But, after both of you were in the living room, when he left there that lingering middle-note of his coffee that you caught a whiff of, you wondered if he caught the trace notes of you—somewhere in the lotion, shampoo, or little something you inhaled, or misplaced.
When Jay stopped tutoring your brother, you thought the crush would fade.
It in fact didn't.
You started seeing him around more—that café near campus, the library he liked to work at late. You figured it was coincidence, but somehow he ended up sitting across from you every time, sliding a cup of coffee quietly your way and saying, "You've been studying too much again."
He was still careful, still calm—but not the same. He was lingering longer with his gaze. He brushed your hand, when he handed you your drink.
Once, when you laughed and your hair fell in front of your face, he tucked it behind your ear, and told you, "You look cute when you smile like that."
You didn't know when harmless admiration turned into something else, but it did.
You started talking late into the night, either on the phone, or in person if you couldn't sleep. He would drive by after your evening lectures insisting on walking you home, "Just to make sure you're safe."
One afternoon, when you stepped out of class, a guy from your year attempted asking you out. You were halfway through saying no when Jay sidled up to you—hand naturally settling on your waist like you belonged there.
"Ready to go?" he asked, sounding relaxed but his eyes became sharper when he looked at the guy.
The student stammered out a goodbye and hurried back.
Silence pulsed between you in the car until you finally spoke, "What was that all about, Jay?"
He glanced briefly at you, and kept his eyes on the road. "Didn't like the way he looked at you."
"You didn't like the way he was staring at me?" You scoffed slightly. "He just asked for my number."
"That's the point," he replied. He paused then said, softer, "I didn't realize I'd feel this protective."
Your heart raced at that word. "Protective," you repeated, hoping to make it sound teasing.
He smiled a little, his eyes trained to the road. "Unless you would prefer that I didn't."
You thought about it for a moment and watched his profile under the passing street lights. "No," you said, "I didn't say that."
He gripped the steering wheel a little more firmly and tried not to show a small, almost invisible smile tugging at his lips.
It began to get harder to hide. Jay wasn't a kind of man to flaunt attention, but he wasn't exactly discreet either. He'd pull up in his vehicle outside of your building about the time your last lecture wrapped up, and he'd be leaning against the car door—waiting for you.
The whole thing made everyone's head turn Especially from your friends.
"Who is the guy who keeps picking you up?" Minji asked, one afternoon, squinting as Jay waved you over to the car.
"Uh, just some guy I know," you said with a shrug, though the heat rising in your face betrayed you.
You didn't mean to be bold—but as you slid into the passenger seat and saw that small smile creeping across his face, you just leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. As you settled back into your seat, you noticed Jay froze for half of a second—then his knuckles tightened on the wheel.
"You're really getting too comfortable," he said quietly. Although his voice was thick with something else—pride, fondness, you couldn't tell which.
And it didn't stop there.
You began posting pictures—just a few, and definitely nothing inappropriate. Just a hand resting on a coffee cup, the back of his head at the street fair, the corner of his jacket.
But you know your brother wasn't stupid. "Why does Jay keep bringing you home so late?" he asked one night, eyebrows elevated.
You muttered, "We were just catching up." But he didn't believe it one bit.
In any case, you and Jay kept swinging around each other, negotiating a style of quiet affection and unspoken limits. Until one night you posted a story—you with some of your guy friends at a small bar, laughing, an arm of a friend slung casually around your shoulder.
Jay saw it.
You weren't going to lie by saying you expected him to show up after leaning against his car again—jaw clenched, eyes darker than usual.
"Had fun?" he asked.
"I did," you said. "Why?"
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You're really going to make me jealous about boys your own age?"
You blinked at him wondering if you should laugh or be flustered. "You're jealous?"
"Yeah," he admitted, voice low. "I am."
You didn't say anything. You only looked at him—at the way he looked like he was trying not to over share—and then you reached out to fix the collar of his t-shirt instead of commenting.
But after a week the tenuous balance broke anyway.
You attempted to surprise him at the shop, only to find him laughing with a girl, leaning over to hear her over the music. You felt your heart sink before you could initiate it.
That night, all you did was ignore him. Barely meeting his gaze. He noticed when he drove you home. "She's my cousin's girlfriend," he suddenly said.
"What?" you frowned.
"The girl at the shop. She's my cousin's girlfriend."
"Oh." Your voice turned soft.
"You're cute when you're jealous." He smirked.
You rolled your eyes but the warmth in your chest betrayed you again.
Still, the next few days, there was something that hung between you—tension, the kind that’s too loud to ignore.
Finally after one-too-many miscommunications and uncommunicated words, you both cracked. "Sometimes I don't get you," you muttered, crossed arms. "You act all like you want me, and then the next second you seem to like pull back-"
Before you finished, Jay stepped forward, cupping your cheeks and crashing his mouth to yours. Everything melted away—the kiss wasn't gentle, it wasn't planned—it was the kind of kiss that took every single thing you had been trying to avoid and poured it all out at once.
When he finally pulled away, breathless and shaky, his forehead rested against yours. "I don't pull back because I don't want you," he whispered. "I pull back because you're the one thing I can't lose."
You blinked at him, your heart pounding.
"Then don't lose me."
His thumb brushed against your cheek, his voice low— "Guess that makes me yours now."
summary: after your devasting breakup and wordless, thorough disappearance from beomgyu's life, he's surprised to see that you've moved back to his town. when he happens to meet you again, beomgyu wants to apologize, maybe make amends for his unforgivable behavior, but he's devastated to find out that you've erased every memory of him. you don't want to remember him or the love you once held onto so desperately anymore—he knows that to be the case—so why is it so hard for him to let go?
genre: angst, romance, melodrama, second chance, asshole!beomgyu to groveling!beomgyu (who saw this one coming...), inspired by eternal sunshine of the spotless mind tho i've never seen it and only know major plot points through cultural osmosis
word count: 21k (longest fic yet so if this flops... ouuu)
notes: yet another wonderful year of me posting a regular fic during kinktober... 🚬 thank you all for waiting so patiently, it means the world to me. i hope you all enjoy this because i cried while writing it. this is a requested work from a while ago so here we go! again, i've never seen the movie so it's mostly just me basing everything off of the general concept of having the memories of an ex erased, so abandon all expectations that it might be similar. don't be mean like actually i'm so sensitive if u don't like it SCROLL! i rlly want to ask that u all pls don't make weird comparisons to other works based on the same premise by different authors like actually 🥹 and please leave feedback if you enjoyed reading this (｡-_-｡)
special thanks: i'd like to thank my bunny anon 🐰 for msging me about how to work out some plot details i couldn't quite figure out how to plan on my own. thanks to her, this is coming out sooner than it certainly would've otherwise (yeah u read that right it would've come out even LATER without her 🙂↔️). she's been consistently encouraging me to write 🥹 everyone say thank u bunny! i'd also like to thank everyone else who took the time to encourage me by commenting or sending asks because it's truly so difficult for me to feel motivated otherwise <3 love you guys
“this is an apology letter to the both of us
for how long it took for me to let things go
you know I didn’t mean to look so serious
didn’t mean to act like a filthy floor
didn’t mean to turn us both into a cutting board”
-buddy wakefield, hurling crowbirds at mockingbars
it’s jarring, to say the least, to see an estranged ex you used to love more than anything else in any unexpected context; but it's especially jarring for beomgyu as he watches you chatter away on your phone in the middle of the café he currently finds himself in. he catches your eye for just a second before you look away, and it's like he can't breathe. after your phone call, you smile as you type away on your screen. beomgyu gulps, because he knows that since you two made eye contact, it would be weird to just leave and pretend he didn't see you, though that's exactly what he wants to do. besides, no matter how much of a coward he is, he can't keep living with his unspoken feelings when he has the opportunity to express them, no matter how resolutely you might reject them. he hesitantly rises from his seat and walks over to you with unsure steps.
“hey,” he says unsteadily. you look up from your screen and give a forced smile, a far cry from the easy affection you used to give him. only him.
“uh, hey?” you reply. beomgyu worries he did the wrong thing by approaching you, especially because you seem confused that he said anything at all. you probably expected him to exit the café without a word, and the thought that you thought that he, who was once completely and utterly in love with you, would brush you off so easily brings a sharp pang to his chest.
“i… i know it’s been a while, but i… i want to, um, apologize for… everything.” he wants to lay down and die at his awkwardness, but he's wanted to say these words for so long, and no matter how much he’s compelled to swallow them down and safely tuck them away in the home they've carved out for themselves in his stomach, he knows this is the right thing to do. especially since you blocked him on everything before changing your number. especially since you left him—and the city, even—without a word. especially since he hasn't seen you in so long, and he doesn't know if he'll ever see you again after this. your eyebrows furrow, and he braces himself for impact. but no amount of contrived mental fortitude could ever prepare him for your next words.
“... do i know you from somewhere?” you ask confusedly.
beomgyu is stunned for a second before a bitter smile twists on his lips. of all of the reactions you could have had, he sincerely did not anticipate you’d outright pretend not to know him. it's a devastating blow to his self-esteem, but he supposes he deserves it. still, he needs to say what he's been keeping to himself since your sudden departure, so he awkwardly slides into the seat in front of you, but he's too afraid to make direct eye contact. he stares at his hands as he wrings them together on top of the table.
“i… i understand that you're angry, i really do. honestly, i don't blame you. i just thought you should know that i’m—i regret everything. i'm just really, really sorry, okay?” but you're silent. you're silent for so long, in fact, he's compelled to look up at you, in spite of his anxiety; but you don't look sad, or angry, or even vindicated. just confused and thoroughly weirded out.
“is this… is this some weird pickup trick?” you ask in bewilderment. “look, i, uh, i'm flattered, but i have a boyfriend.” you're very clearly lying about being flattered, and you look at him like he's nothing more than a creepy stranger.
beomgyu’s jaw drops, and before he can respond, the door of the cafe swings open and a man comes rushing in.
“i'm sorry i'm late, sweetheart,” the man pants before you rise from your seat in excitement. immediately, the man takes you into his arms and kisses the top of your head.
“it's okay,” you giggle before your eyes dart to the off-putting stranger who presumably just tried to hit on you in the most bizarre way possible. beomgyu can see the wheels turning in your head, and he can pinpoint the exact moment wherein you decide that it’s probably best to put as much distance as you can between the two of you. “i haven’t been waiting long. do you, uh, want to get out of here?”
the man is about to nod, but he finally registers beomgyu’s shellshocked presence. he curiously asks, “who’s this? an old friend?”
you awkwardly shake your head in the negative.
“no, we just met, like, two minutes ago.” and you're too excited to see your boyfriend to pay any mind to the freak who just tried to hit on you in the most unsettling way.
as you walk out of the café with whom beomgyu assumes is your new boyfriend, he’s hurt, yes, but also just confused. you weren't just pretending not to know him, you really had no fucking clue who he is. how is that even possible? was there an accident? do you have amnesia? he supposes it's possible, since your friends never gave him any updates about you, even when he'd ask, but it's still strange to him. something tells him things aren't that simple, and against his better judgment, he feels an insatiable urge to figure out what that something is.
-
beomgyu returns to the apartment you two used to share in a daze. he mechanically hangs up his keys, mindlessly kicks off his shoes, and immediately pulls out his laptop. the thing is, no matter how much he searches, there are no news reports about an accident involving your name or any tangible descriptors. there's always the chance you opted not to share your personal information, but his intuition tells him it's not that simple. he scours your friends’ social medias for any hints, but comes up frustratingly empty. he feels the ball of dread in his stomach, the one he’s pushed to the very back of it, beginning to unravel. he should forget about this, he should let it go in the same way you seem to have, so why is it so hard not to tug on the loose threads?
-
beomgyu will forget. he has to. he’s driven himself to the brink of insanity this past weekend by trying to figure out what the answers are, but he just can't seem to find them. it’s the past, it’s over, he needs to move on. and he will. at least, he'll try—even when forgetting doesn't seem to be his strong suit.
but as if the universe is punishing him for his presumptuousness, as it often does, he’s in for a shock when he arrives at work on monday morning; and there, standing awkwardly in the conference room, is you right next to his manager, sooyoung. he thinks he hears her announcing something along the lines of you being a new recruit, but he's too shocked to really digest her words, all noise replaced with ringing in his ears. what snaps him out of his daze, though, is the way you finally look at him as sooyoung calls his name.
“beomgyu, did you hear me?” she asks.
beomgyu clears his throat and stammers, “u-uh, no. i'm sorry, can you say that again?”
“would you mind taking care of our new recruit? you know, show her the ropes?” sooyoung (presumably) repeats.
beomgyu gulps before nodding, not trusting his voice at present.
“thank you, i can always count on you,” sooyoung grins cheerily before turning to you. “alright, if you need anything, just ask beomgyu. he knows everything there is to know.” beomgyu hears you thanking sooyoung, but he's too dazed to truly process anything you say.
suddenly, you're looking directly at him, and he feels like his chest is going to cave in, right where he stands. you recognize him; he can see it. how much you recognize him is something he has yet to figure out.
you eye him a bit warily as you introduce yourself, reaching out your hand for a handshake. if you remembered him—really, really remembered him, you wouldn't touch him. his suspicions are confirmed when you carefully ask, “hey, you're the guy from the café, right?”
beomgyu freezes. you don't remember. your hand is still outstretched, uncomfortably proffered in the air between the two of you. there is no doubt in his mind now: you have amnesia of some sort. he blinks before tentatively grabbing your hand and shaking it. he doesn't know much about amnesia, but if you don't remember him, then it would surely overwhelm you if he launched into an explanation of who he is (was?) to you.
“y-yeah, sorry. i mistook you for someone i used to know, i promise i’m not just some freak who was trying to hit on you,” he feebly explains. you release his hand with a slight smile, and your touch still leaves him feeling warm.
“oh, okay. i was wondering what that was all about, but that makes me feel better,” you laugh, and it makes his heart thud painfully, so beomgyu can't bring himself to do anything but flash you a wry smile in return.
“so?” you ask expectantly.
“what? o-oh, yeah. let's get started.”
get a fucking grip, beomgyu, he mentally hisses to himself.
beomgyu gives you a tour of the office, but you couldn't pay him to remember what he actually says. he's given this tour a million times, so he's essentially on autopilot for the entire affair, hopefully reciting the same old spiel he gives everyone else; but you're not anyone else, are you? eventually, he shows you to your desk, which happens to be right next to his. damn yeosang for quitting and leaving his desk wide open, but also? thank yeosang for quitting and leaving his desk wide open.
“uh, if you need anything, just ask. i'm… i'm right here,” beomgyu offers, the feigned casualness of which is still foreign on his tongue.
“okay, thanks,” you grin, and it shoots straight to his heart, yet again.
“you're… you're welcome.”
it's the most bizarre sensation in the world—sitting so close to you after so much time has passed wondering where you are, wondering what you're doing, wondering if you're thinking of him. he supposes he doesn't have to ruminate on any of those things, even the last one, since you don't even seem to know who he is. but in the face of your return, he mostly just wonders what he should do. should he just keep pretending you're a stranger to him and save you both the awkwardness and heartache? that seems like the best course of action, really. you probably wouldn't want to work here if you remembered anything about him. for the good memories, you’d likely still feel uncomfortable working with your ex; for the bad… he doesn't even want to think about how you’d feel. he shakes his head and logs into his computer, resolved to keep up the charade to spare you from the limbo he currently finds himself in.
“hey, sorry, i need a login to use this computer, but i don't have the access to set one up yet. can you help me?”
beomgyu is immediately pulled from his thoughts, so he blinks and clears his throat before saying, “uh, yeah, of course. i'm sorry, that's on me, i forgot about that. um, usually, we just use our first initial, last name, and a couple of numbers for our user id’s.”
he pretends like he doesn't already know your last name, letting you tell him yourself. but what really guts him is, the numbers you choose for your username are, “3-1-3”.
his fingers pause over the keyboard as he turns to stare at you. “what?” he asks weakly.
“3-1-3,” you repeat, a bit louder.
beomgyu gulps and types it in, then moves out of the way so you can type in your password. what are the chances that you randomly chose his birthday? he looks back at you as you type, studying your expression in vain for any semblance of recognition, but he comes up empty. beomgyu’s heart has ached incessantly since you left him, but it was mostly a dull sort of thrumming he learned to live with. right now, though, it’s aching so much, he can't feel much of anything else.
“thanks, you're the best,” you smile, just like you used to when he did anything for you. when he’d pick up your favorite dinner to surprise you when you were feeling down, when he'd massage your shoulders after a hard day, when he'd…
no. no, just leave it alone.
beomgyu spends the rest of the day feeling like he's holding his breath, too afraid to initiate conversation, but wanting more than anything to keep you talking. and you do talk, of course. you ask him questions about the job, ask him how long he's worked here, ask him where's the best place to get lunch on your break. he knows that his answers are stifled, and he knows that as well they should be, for fear of your memory returning; but that doesn't mean he doesn't like to hear your voice—it's always been his favorite sound in the world.
he feels a sense of dread as the day draws to a close. he tries to will the clock to move slower, which is something he really didn't see coming, because he’s always ready to go home these days and pass out until the next morning, but that doesn't do anything except make him even more anxious. inevitably, the day does end, and though it's irrational, there's a pit in his stomach telling him you're going to leave and never come back. it wouldn't be the first time. except, he supposes, you did come back, albeit without your memory intact. when it's finally time to leave, he walks out with you.
he awkwardly coughs and hesitantly asks, “so, uh, did you have a good first day?”
“hm? oh, yeah, i did. thank you, you helped me out a lot. see you tomorrow,” you beam as you duck into your car. you wave at him as you drive off. he clumsily waves back, almost dropping his car keys in his haste.
when you’re out of sight, the breath he's been holding for the entire day shakily exits his body. tomorrow. he'll see you tomorrow.
beomgyu drives home in such stupefaction, he doesn't even realize he’s back at his apartment complex until he’s been sitting in the parking lot for at least 45 minutes. eventually, he exits his car, trudging into his apartment with the weight of the world on his shoulders. you said you’d see him tomorrow, but maybe the entire day was simply the result of him fully losing his fucking mind. he perfunctorily eats, showers, and goes through the motions of his bedtime routine in silence—like he always has since the day you left.
“see you tomorrow.” please, please, please let that be true.
-
it is true, it seems. it’s true the day after that, and the day after that, all the way to friday. beomgyu was more or less ambivalent about going to work before, categorizing it as something that he somewhat enjoyed because it kept him busy, but resented for reasons that will haunt him for the rest of his life. but now, it's like it’s all he thinks about. he spends every waking moment when he's not there rehearsing what he’ll say to you—and how he’ll say it—when he sees you the next morning, he spends an embarrassingly excessive amount of time carefully choosing what he’ll wear, and wakes up an hour earlier than he previously did so he looks his absolute best.
he’s not entirely sure why he’s trying so hard; he’s already decided that not telling you who he is is for the better, but he just can't stop himself. at night, he mulls over the innocuous interactions you two had with each other during the day, laughing to himself about how cute you look when you’re confused about something, or how pretty you are when you're biting your lip as you focus on your computer screen… until he hits an invisible wall in which the smile is wiped clean off his face. the truth is, you’re only happy because you don't know who he is. that’s all.
and yet, it takes everything in him to keep himself from actually telling you the truth. so much so, he’s keeping himself on a tight leash with an iron grip; and though he's constantly pondering what he'll say to you, his words are often stifled and his smiles are often formed with pursed lips. it's wrong to be too friendly to you when you don't remember dating and, consequently, leaving him, but it's just as wrong to force you to remember for his own peace of mind. so, he keeps conversations polite, but doesn't delve too deeply. he thought he was doing an excellent job, all things considered, but apparently not, because you bring him a peace offering on friday morning.
“good morning, i got this for you to say thanks for helping me out so much this week,” you declare as you hold out an iced americano for him. he stares at the drink with what he hopes is a normal expression, but probably looks like pure horror as you uncertainly hold it out his favorite drink to him when you should have no idea that it's his preference.
“i, um, i know it's not super fun to train new people, and i know we kind of got off on the wrong foot because of the café thing, but i want you to know i'm really grateful for everything you’ve done. so, i don't know, i just thought i'd…” you trail off as you seem to lose your confidence in what you must have initially considered to be the perfect olive branch.
“... thank you,” beomgyu replies a bit unsteadily as he finally takes the drink from your hand, “but you didn't have to do this. i know that i've seemed a little off, but it's because, well, i'm just… a little awkward, i guess.” you don't look convinced, so he adds, “i swear, it's all my fault—you've been great this week. i mean it.”
you finally smile, and he finds himself smiling, too.
you two are plucked from the moment by sooyoung announcing she bought coffee for the entire team, which makes you and beomgyu look straight at each other and laugh at how ill-timed your gesture was. as soon as the moment passes, beomgyu tries his best to keep his mess of emotions at bay, but they threaten to overwhelm him as the day passes. things are less tense now, and he allows himself to speak to you a bit more warmly, slowly falling back into an easy rhythm he thought was forever lost long ago. he still doesn't dare to let himself get too comfortable, too chatty or playful. conversation flows more freely, but he never says too much. he needs to control himself for your sake.
when sooyoung calls for a meeting at the end of the day, it’s difficult to keep his eyes off of you for long, because the warmth in his chest is stoked by the mere sight of you sitting beside him at the conference table. what's interesting, though, is that as sooyoung drones on about the company’s recent logistics, which are ultimately meaningless to your team, you seem to be doodling something on a post-it note. beomgyu can't quite see what it is, but he's curious, all the same. after the meeting is over, you stand up and gather your things, causing the post-it to fall to the floor.
“shit,” you quietly curse as you go to pick it up, but beomgyu is faster. he tells himself he's just helping you out, and it won’t hurt to just steal a glance at the drawing before handing it over to you; but although he’s probably being incredibly rude by doing so, he can't help but stare at the crude sketch. it’s a mindless doodle, really—no special effort put into it, but the subject is what makes beomgyu’s heart momentarily stop beating. his eyes travel from the bottom of the post-it, taking in the lengthy legs supporting an acoustic guitar, held comfortably by spindly fingers as the figure sits on a vague outline of a couch. he feels like he’s going to faint as he sees a man with a mop of long hair staring down at the chords, nothing on his face visible beneath it aside from a small smile peeking out. it's him. he knows it's him, because he has a polaroid you took of this exact moment—from when you two first moved in together—stuffed into his nightstand.
you awkwardly clear your throat, so beomgyu is finally pulled out of his reverie as his gaze slowly shifts from the paper to meet yours. in the face of beomgyu’s silence, you shyly say, “yeah… i know it's wrong to draw my boyfriend on company time when i’m supposed to be paying attention, i just got distracted as sooyoung was talking, so…”
“boyfriend?” beomgyu asks tightly before he can stop himself. what could this possibly mean? he's not your boyfriend, not anymore, so why are you calling him that? did you finally remember?
“uh, you kind of saw him at the café, remember? his name is wonbin.” right. now that you mention it, beomgyu remembers him, albeit vaguely due to the fact that he was too busy having an out-of-body experience to truly examine the guy. during the emotional rollercoaster this week has proven to be, he completely forgot about your new… boyfriend. but that doesn't explain this specific image.
“oh. yeah, i remember him. does he… play the guitar?” beomgyu carefully probes. luckily, your newly established camaraderie makes you more open.
“a little bit, he just got into it recently. he mentioned that he'd been thinking about picking it up for a while, and for some reason, i really wanted him to learn, so he is. he's not very good yet, though,” you laugh good-naturedly. “why do you ask? do you play or something?” beomgyu’s mouth twitches at the question.
“yeah, i do,” he answers, hating the way a lump has formed in his throat.
“that's cool,” you smile, but then, sooyoung calls out to you to ask about how your first week has gone. you mumble out an apology to beomgyu as you scurry away.
no, this isn't right. you did not draw your boyfriend, you drew beomgyu. now that he thinks about it, wonbin vaguely has some of his features. tall, thin, with long, dark hair. he subconsciously reaches up to the back of his neck, about to tug on said hair, before realizing that it's been short for years now. that's right, he cut it when he started taking his career seriously, determined to look as professional as possible. you had playfully complained about missing it before you brushed it off and assured him his new look suited him better, but maybe you did miss it. maybe you do miss it. maybe you do miss him.
adding “3-1-3” to your username, knowing his coffee order without him ever telling you, unknowingly doodling him as your mind wandered, encouraging wonbin to pursue the guitar… you still know beomgyu, deep down, even if you don't realize it. maybe you're still looking for him, in some way. maybe your relationship with wonbin is the product of transference, and maybe… maybe if beomgyu helps you remember him, you’ll realize that he's the one you’ve been searching for.
beomgyu flinches as the thought crosses his mind. how could he even think such a thing? you rightfully chose to leave him, and you cut him out of your life so completely, there was no way you were ever planning to come back to him. what right does he have to infringe on your happiness, even if it's born from ignorance? you decisively buried your feelings for beomgyu, leaving them to die. but still… still, they live within you, just in a different way. maybe he can show you that the good parts that made you fall in love with him still exist, and the ugly parts that caused you to leave him no longer pollute him in the way they used to. he's different now, everyone says so; and as beomgyu watches you chatter and laugh with sooyoung, feeling his heart ache and heal simultaneously, one immovable desire emerges in the forefront of his mind: he'll help you remember everything he was, good and ugly, and he'll show you exactly how much better he can be now.
but why? why does he want that? with the way he's been neurotically preparing for every potential interaction you two could possibly have, dissecting the menial ones you did have, and spending every night tossing, turning, and praying to the universe that he'll see you again in the morning, the answer is obvious—no matter how much he’s tried to push it down. he not only loved you more than anything, he still loves you more than anything. present tense, with no rest in between.
after you two leave for the day, beomgyu races home. as soon as he enters his apartment, he kicks off his shoes and researches amnesia. he's not sure why you have it, but the internet’s general consensus is that he should not overwhelm you with the truth, or else he runs the risk of igniting paranoia, distrust, or aggression. the last thing he wants to do is hurt you even more than he already has, so he’ll have to tread carefully to avoid springing too much onto you. as he looks into it, he realizes the real question is: what exactly do you remember?
from then on, beomgyu lets himself speak to you more comfortably, trying to subtly discern the answer to that question. from what he can gather by slipping occasional questions into your increasingly familiar conversations, he finds that you seem to remember pretty much everything he can think of. you tell the same anecdotes from your childhood, your quirks are the same, and he recognizes the names of your family members.
one day, he asks, “you said you moved back here recently, so… so, what made you decide to leave in the first place? and did you not like the town you moved to? i’m just curious, because i’ve looked into visiting there myself on a day trip or something. i guess i just wanna know if it's worth the drive,” he smiles. it takes every ounce of his willpower to lie so nonchalantly, but somehow, he succeeds. your answer, though, is not what he expects.
“i wanted to explore my options, so i found a good job over there. it was a nice change of scenery,” you answer. the former part is categorically untrue. though your relationship was… strained in the end, beomgyu knows for a fact that you loved your former company, and he knows your reasons for leaving it were not so simple. the way you said it was so… rehearsed, too. it’s like you were reciting something from a piece of paper. your cadence returns to normal as you continue, “the city's not bad, there are some pretty cool sites to see, but i guess i just really missed home; and when i saw an opening here, something told me to take it. besides, it's a short enough distance for wonbin and i to go back and forth pretty easily, so visiting each other isn't a problem. everything just seemed to work itself out,” you chuckle.
beomgyu’s mind races as he tries to think of the right question to ask, not wanting to waste this precious opportunity to dig a little deeper. he forces a laugh and says, “yeah, it’s funny how things work out. did… did you not like your previous company?” your smile falters at the question.
“i… no, i just… i wanted to explore my options, so i found a good job over there.” you declare less confidently than before, and you're more so trying to explain your incomprehensible reasoning to yourself than to him. “but… but i loved my old company, and now that i think about it, the job i took ended up paying less. i-i don't know—i mean, i don't remember why i even wanted to leave so much.”
beomgyu knows he's stepped on a landmine with his probing. he must've gone too far too fast, and when he sees how confused you look, he almost wishes he had never said anything at all. he wants to tell you to forget about answering him, but you're already speaking before he can come up with anything else to say. your next words are nearly inaudible.
“so, why… what was the point of moving there, when i had never even considered it before? what the hell…” you trail off. you take a sharp inhale of breath as your temples suddenly begin to throb. you massage your fingers into them and shake your head. “i don't know, maybe it’s not worth thinking about,” you declare with a strained laugh.
“... yeah, you're right,” beomgyu replies with a strained smile of his own. “so, uh, did you see sooyoung’s last email?”
-
beomgyu tries his hardest not to push too hard after that, taking care to ensure his poking and prodding doesn't overwhelm you. he certainly rehearsed and replayed conversations between the two of you before, but now, it’s all he thinks about as soon as he comes home from work. weekends feel endless to him, and while he’s already been neglecting his friends ever since you left, he’s even worse now that you’re back in his life. every spare moment is spent planning how he’ll subtly ask you his next round of questions.
from what he can gather, you almost immediately moved out of town as soon as you left him. thankfully, you haven't been dating wonbin for very long, which seems to be true; but the peculiar thing is, you mentioned that you’ve never had a long-term relationship. obviously, this is very much not the case, and when you said it, it was in that strangely automatic way in which you declared that you uprooted your life simply on a whim. try as he might, beomgyu can’t quite work out the reasoning behind it. why does it sound like somebody told you what happened? he supposes it’s possible that your family and friends gave you these comically flimsy explanations to spare you from remembering him, but his intuition tells him it’s not that simple. if that were the case, why didn't you press for more answers? and why is it that your head starts to ache every time those topics come up? he tries to chalk it up to a simple side effect of amnesia, but still, he knows that something is wrong.
in the meantime, he’s enjoying being on speaking terms with you again. it's not a lot, but it’s not nothing, which is what he previously had. more than that, he's drop-to-his-knees grateful that you seem to like him. a lot. a lot, a lot. you always look for him first when something juicy happens, you two share secret smiles when somebody says something ridiculous, and he's noticed that you're considerably chattier with him in comparison to everyone else. you let him pry, and in the same way, you seem genuinely curious about his life. you ask him about his guitar, about his friends, about his family. in a way, the circumstances may be different, but things are progressing just like how they did when you two first met. well, actually first met all those years ago, not the bizarre “first meeting” you had a few months ago, and the natural progression of your… friendship since then.
beomgyu knows the looks you give him—he’s seen them before—and while he knows that he can't possibly restart your relationship without you knowing the truth about the history between the two of you, it’s exhilarating to realize that you're still drawn to him. the scenery and circumstances have changed, but the sentiment remains the same. the synergy, the way you two feel like the only people in the world sometimes, the banter that comes so naturally—they’ve been reignited as if it were destiny. and maybe it is.
one evening, your coworkers invite you and beomgyu out for karaoke. beomgyu asks if you're planning to go, and when you answer that you are, he hurriedly says he’s going, too. he’ll take any chance he can get to spend more time with you.
so, beomgyu currently finds himself in a sticky situation.
“c'mon, man. you play the guitar, and we heard you at karaoke last year at the holiday party. just sing!” eunwoo pleads.
beomgyu, of course, frantically shakes his head in denial. you feel kind of bad for him, honestly, because his face and ears are so red, he looks like he's going to explode. maybe it's the product of the alcohol, but you can't help but find the sight incredibly endearing. inexplicably, you realize that you really, really hope he sings.
“c’mon, dude, just do it!” another coworker urges, joining the chorus of people egging beomgyu on. in that moment, for some reason, beomgyu turns to you. you're not sure why he does, but with a gulp, he grabs the microphone and chooses a song.
his voice is haunting, somehow. beautiful, low, almost like his baritone is vibrating against your ribs, shaking something you almost remember in your heart. it's unequivocably lovely, so why does it makes you so sad?
“i'll make you mine
keep you apart, deep in my heart
separate from the rest, where i like you the best
and keep the things you forgot”
when he sings those lyrics, you want to cry, if you're not already. suddenly, you're overwhelmed with the desire to drink even more, as if you're trying to suffocate something stirring to life inside of you. so you do. you drink more than you should, really. you drink until your skin is buzzing and your stomach feels warm. by the time the night is pretty much over, you're drunk off your ass. there's no way you can drive home. you blearily wonder if you should call sumin to come pick you up, but you shouldn't. she's probably already asleep, and she's a terror when she wakes up. with a sigh, you squint as you try to focus your eyes on your phone, intent on ordering a ride.
“whoa, are you okay?” jia asks as she worriedly takes in your unsteady form.
“yeah, just need to order a ride home and sleep it off,” you slur.
“no need, it's not safe for a girl as drunk as you to go home alone. i'll give you a ride, where do you live?” you tell her your address, and though she doesn't say it, her smile falters at the sheer distance from her home.
“jia, just take me home instead,” eunwoo drunkenly suggests. “i live a couple blocks away from you. beomgyu said he'd give me a ride, but he lives closer to her than me.” it's a bit rude, but he has a point. you look over at beomgyu, and if you were sober, you'd see the anxiety and shred of anticipation in his gaze.
“yeah, you have a point,” jia nods. “okay, we'll switch. let's get your drunk ass home,” she laughs as she grabs eunwoo’s arm and leads him outside, leaving you and beomgyu alone.
“you don't have to take me home,” you insist, but you're so out of it, there's no way beomgyu would ever let you ride in a stranger’s car all alone.
“no, i want to take you. it's no problem,” he says softly. he leads you to his car, opening the door for you and making sure you're settled and secure, then carefully shuts the door behind you. he wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans as he rounds the car.
the ride is mostly silent, save for the soft music coming from the radio. but there’s something about the way beomgyu’s hair catches in the dim streetlights that absolutely fascinates you. you know the sight is totally new, but even though you're marveling at him, there's a part of you that finds it familiar enough to make your heart throb with a dull, sweet ache—like you saw it in a dream, almost. a beautiful dream that somehow makes you happy and sad simultaneously. a dream that you can't quite recall, but feels incomparably important, nonetheless.
you find yourself trying to memorize every detail, trying to hold onto the feeling; but just like any good dream, the specifics seem to fade away before you can quite manage to grasp them. in a strange way, though, it's like you already know everything by heart. you know how the streetlights are going to illuminate the contours of beomgyu’s face, you know how he'll tap his long fingers against the steering wheel as he waits for the light to turn, and you know how his eyes will reflect the headlights of oncoming cars. you shake your head as you try to brush away the thoughts flooding your brain. they don't make sense, anyway—no point in entertaining something so nonsensical. besides, your head is beginning to throb. oh well, must be the alcohol.
when you arrive at your apartment, beomgyu helps you out of the car, steadying you as he walks you to your door. you feel so warm when he touches you, feel so safe when you lean on him, you can't help the fluttering of your heart. you think back to the way he sang earlier, how moved you felt. how it felt like you were hearing a lullaby you can't quite remember the words to…
“your voice is beautiful,” you slur. you're too drunk to notice the way beomgyu almost misses a step at your words.
“you think so?” beomgyu asks after a gulp.
“definitely,” you grin. beomgyu can't help but smile at your words, his cheeks burning as he processes them.
“mmm, thank you,” he hums with a shy smile and flushed face.
“you're welcome,” you laugh.
when you get to your apartment door, beomgyu releases his grip on you. you don't know why, but you already miss the contact. really miss it. really, really miss it. you can't help but stare at him. he looks so pretty in the moonlight, and it's making your heart ache to be near him. you want to be closer, much closer, so you lean in and plant a soft kiss to his lips. it sends every cell in your body into overdrive, yes, but it also wraps you up in a warmth and comfort that somehow feels familiar. beomgyu, on his end, feels like he can't breathe. his heart aches, in a way, but more than that, he feels like the long-withered part of it has been revived. for a second, he freezes—but, like muscle memory, he gently places one big, warm hand on the small of your back as he tangles the other in your hair.
the door swings open to reveal your best friend, sumin, causing you and beomgyu to franticalltly break apart. she momentarily freezes when she sees that the man you were just kissing is, indeed, beomgyu; but she quickly collects herself and gently asks you, “honey, can you make it to bed by yourself?”
you giggle and nod as you make your way into the apartment, while beomgyu watches with a soft, lovestruck smile on his face. sumin’s demeanor hardens into a grimace as she stares up at him. he always thought sumin was nice, and she seemed to think the same of him, almost until the end. he can see the way her hand twitches as she likely considers slamming the door in his face. he grips the doorframe with a desperation he hasn't felt since, well, since…
“what happened to her?” he asks in a voice taut with nerves.
sumin furrows her eyebrows and asks, “what are you talking about?”
he scoffs in impatience. what an insensitive questoon. “you know exactly what i'm talking about, don't try to—”
“i mean, yeah, but why are you talking about it?”
“are you fucking serious?!” he exclaims in incredulity and frustration. “i'm talking about my own girlfriend not recognizing me and treating me like a goddamn stranger! was she hurt? why didn't anyone tell me?” ex-girlfriend, actually. but beomgyu refuses to say that.
sumin still seems thoroughly confused. “did you not bother to read the letter?”
“what letter?” he asks in exasperation, feeling more desperate by the second. how could a fucking letter even begin to explain any of this? and you’re the one who doesn't remember, so why does he feel like he’s the one who’s lost? “what the fuck is going on, and why are you being so goddamn normal about it?”
sumin’s expression twists from puzzlement to newfound understanding. “the letter should’ve told you that she erased her memories of you.”
silence. then—
“what? how did… that's not even… are you trying to be funny? this isn't funny,” he tremblingly sputters.
“it's really not that complicated. well, it kind of is. but to make a long story short, she didn't want to remember you, so she joined some trial that promised to make her forget. that's the gist of it,” sumin sighs. “you got a letter from the company—or you were supposed to—that explained what she did, and to never contact her again.”
ha. the notion that such a procedure exists is so utterly, utterly ridiculous, beomgyu almost wants to laugh; but sumin’s conviction tells him that she's being perfectly serious. you wanted to forget him so badly, you signed up for some highly-questionable trial to purge your memories of him like they were some kind of demonic entity to be exorcised. and against what beomgyu would consider to be logical, by the looks of it, it worked.
“and you… and everyone just let her do it?” beomgyu exclaims. “you all let her get brainwashed by some… some sketchy, so-called company?”
“we tried to talk her out of it, asshole,” sumin snaps. “you weren't there, you didn't see how badly she wanted it. there was nothing we could do besides try to be supportive.”
“... h-how could… why would she—”
“why would she choose to forget you? i don't know, she wouldn't tell me everything, even when i'd beg her to—but i feel like you should know the answer better than anyone. from what little i do know, i can't blame her, and neither can you,” sumin replies simply, as if this isn't the most earth-shattering news imaginable.
but, oh god, she's right. he knows why you did it, even if he wishes he didn't. he knows it intimately.
“they said it’d be best for you to stay away from her,” sumin continues without waiting for a reply. “it all seemed pretty effective, but it’s just a trial, so who knows what’ll happen? i think you owe it to her to do that much, at least.”
beomgyu gulps as a torrent of shame threatens to swallow him whole. well, it's not even just that. it's a sickening storm of not only shame, but devastation, and as much as he fucking hates to admit it, acceptance.
before he can fix his lips to reply, sumin finally slams the door in his face.
-
it hasn't been this bad in a long, long time. ever since beomgyu saw you again, he hasn't had to do this; but it feels like the newly-healing wound in his chest has been ripped open, raw and ugly, just as he thought it might finally recover. in the early days, he quickly realized that while he never could bring himself to change anything about the home you two shared, your scent might be retained in the closet holding the clothes you left behind in your haste to leave him. so, it's become a habit of his to sit in the dark of the small closet when he feels like missing you is too much to bear; because if he closes his eyes and doesn't think too much about it, it's like you're still here. as a result, he's taken to hanging most of his own clothes on a rack he thrifted, which he keeps next to his bed, to keep your scent embalmed. it's pathetic, he knows that, but he tries not to dwell on that aspect. he does it and… that's it. no further introspection is needed—well, it is, but he'd rather not mull over all the ways he failed you; and the lows he's reached in the wake of your departure is a secret he keeps carefully hidden... even from himself, in a way.
he enters the bedroom, his hand already outstretched to grab the knob to the closet before it's even in view, desperate for reprieve.
last night, he had pulled out a particularly striking button-down you bought him—one of an especially luxurious material that hugs his frame and makes him look even more dashing than usual. he hasn't been able to look at it without feeling his stomach lurch, so he'd kept it tucked away in order to give himself the small mercy of not having to be reminded of you in case it just so happened to catch his eye while innocently hanging on his rack. but last night, he'd finally pulled it out in hopes of sparking your memory; and even if that failed, he'd at least look handsome, which would hopefully make you like him more. it all seems so stupid to him now, with the way his plans were stomped out so thoroughly with sumin’s admission from tonight.
but in his excitement to draw you to him, he accidentally left the door open, allowing the air from the rest of the apartment to ventilate and taint his makeshift shrine.
“no,” he gasps, running into the closet and burying his face into the clothes. nothing. “no, no, no, no, no!” he cries out as he desperately tries and miserably fails to find your scent, deeply inhaling as he tries to find even the barest traces of you. he crushes the various fabrics against his face, slamming the hangers as he tries to hold onto what's no longer there. he's angry at himself, angry at sumin, and though he doesn't have any right to be, he’s angry at you. you brainwashed yourself just to get away from the memories he's been reduced to preserving a fucking closet to keep with him.
“fuck!” he exclaims with a vicious sob as he slams his fist against the closet wall. the shelf above shakes, and down falls a notebook he's never seen before. it's not his, which must mean it's yours. he knows, with all of his heart, he should leave it the fuck alone. after all, he may have already accepted he's a bad person, but even he has moral limits. that's what he tells himself, but who is he kidding? he has to hold onto whatever he can, because as it is, he doesn't have much of you left. with a grimace, beomgyu opens the notebook.
regret is not a foreign concept to most, and if you were to ask beomgyu if he understood it before now, he’d roll his eyes at the absurdity that he could elude it. for example, if you were to fail to speak up when a waiter got your order wrong, you might regret not correcting them once you found your food underwhelming. in a similar way, if your boss were to ask if someone would like to lead a project you were perfectly capable of handling, you might regret not speaking up when asked if someone could tackle it, and you might regret it when the recognition that could have easily been yours went to someone lesser than you, who just so happened to have the tenacity you lack.
beomgyu, of course, knows such a feeling, both in the inane sense and the visceral one he lives with every day. he thought he knew true regret when you left him, when he came home that awful night and realized that you were gone. he thought he felt it when he missed you so much, he knew he'd never be the same. he thought he knew it when he'd remember the things he said to you in his darkest times. but at this very moment, he realizes that he never really understood it at all. until now, regret has certainly been painful, but he couldn't begin to degrade what he currently feels by categorizing it as anything other than what it is: devastating. maddening. soul-crushing. the disappointment, the shame, the utter revulsion for himself on a fundamental level can't possibly be associated with such triviality. beomgyu hates himself, despises himself, wishes he had either been born as anyone else, or never born at all.
he’d known he was hurting you back then, but hurting isn’t really the word, is it? to assert he was breaking you feels more apt to say. he was breaking you, the person he’s always loved more than anyone or anything, and he didn't even know it. how selfish did he have to be to not see the signs? how could he do this? how could he claim to be a human-being capable and deserving of love when he so carelessly, so brutally drove you to feel like this? he's an animal wearing human skin, as far as he's concerned. he turns to the mirror beside the closet, staring at his reflection without any trace of vanity or appreciation, but with unadulterated disgust.
maybe he wasn't angry with you solely because of the bombshell sumin dropped on him tonight, maybe he always felt resentment bubbling up inside of him because of the way you left without a word. now that he lets himself think about it, he can no longer deny that a part of him felt he deserved the dignity of a real goodbye in lieu of the love you two shared. he had always thought, somewhere deep inside him, that you should've looked him in the eyes as you uprooted your lives entirely. and tonight, he was briefly convinced that he had at least deserved to have you fucking remember the love that creeps into his dreams at night. but now, he realizes he doesn't deserve your love, he doesn't even deserve your hatred. he can't blame you for erasing every memory of him, because why wouldn't you? you had every right to forget about the man who made you feel like an unshakable weight. and what could he possibly say to defend the indefensible? that he didn't mean it? well, he didn't, but so what? he did it, anyway. every fathomable course of action seems comically cheap in the face of what he’s done.
the ugly truth is, if beomgyu were you, he wouldn't have stayed, either. he would have ran long before you did, he would have cursed himself for being a bastard, and he certainly never would've looked back. and as much as it breaks his heart to acknowledge it, if the opportunity to purge his brain of such awful memories presented itself, he'd have done just that. and his penance is, he'll have to live with that forever.
“forever” used to seem like such a wonderful word to beomgyu. “forever” promised a lifetime of warmth, of safety, of love; but now, it's nothing more than a punishment of the acutest kind. is he meant to be alone forever? he thinks so. forever regretting what he did, forever wishing he had done everything differently, forever missing you and loving you and wondering, wondering, wondering. and so, he'll live with that regret forever. but is living the appropriate term? walking around the edges of life like a ghost you can't even remember is hardly a life at all. still, it's his to live.
he can't go back, he knows that. but jesus christ, does he want to.
-
you guess you freaked beomgyu out with your drunken flirtations and impulsive kiss. it's humiliating, obviously, but you know you should apologize. even so, beomgyu is impossible to talk to. he sits right next to you, but today, he's almost always away from his desk or talking on the phone. it's a far cry from the way you two were stuck together like glue until now, and he seems even more resistant towards talking about it than you are. in fact, he can barely look you in the eyes.
as much as you want to avoid what will inevitably be a painfully awkward conversation, you know you can't. you like beomgyu, probably more than you’ve admitted to yourself, and you don't want him to be uncomfortable. besides, you two were paired together for a new project, so it's better to get the conversation out of the way as soon as possible. when beomgyu rushes to the elevator as soon as lunch starts, you follow him with a sigh.
“beomgyu?” you call out as you trail after him.
he pauses and curses to himself just as he's about to escape into the temporary reprieve of the elevator, but turns around with a tight smile.
“yeah?” he asks.
you take a deep breath and wring your hands in sheer embarrassment. you have a hard time looking at him directly, but you give it an honest try.
“i just want to… um… apologize for my behavior from the other night. i was drunk and totally misread the situation, and i shouldn't have come onto you like that. i don't know, maybe i acted crazy because i broke up with wonbin recently, but regardless… i’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” you're not sure if you really mean the part about your breakup with wonbin influencing you to the point of hitting on beomgyu. you kind of wish it did, just so you'd have some kind of excuse, but you don't really feel any type of sensitivity towards what should've been a devastating occurrence in your life.
as for beomgyu, he wants to proclaim that you didn't make him uncomfortable. actually, he hasn't felt that comfortable in a long, long time. he also wants to thank the universe that you and wonbin are no longer together, even though your relationship status doesn't make much of a difference now that he's resolved to leave you alone.
but all he can choke out is, “don't worry about it. i was just… uh, i don't know what i was. but it's alright, there's no need for us to be weird about it.” he knows he sounds like an idiot, but what else is there to say?
your eyebrows furrow. you were being weird about it, sure, but beomgyu is being weird, weird. he looks like he's on the verge of a mental breakdown as he smiles at you. but still, you can tell he means what he says. or at least, he's trying to.
“okay, i just thought i'd clear the air. thank you for being so cool about everything. i really like being… friends with you, and i don't want to lose my best friend here because i got drunk and stupid,” you attempt to quip lightheartedly.
“you don't have to worry about losing me. i like being friends with you, too,” beomgyu smiles. but for some reason, it seems kind of sad.
-
from then on, beomgyu tries his hardest to act like there's not a constant heaviness in his chest, like there's not an almost physical weight he's gasping for breath under. he’s constantly trying to balance being your favorite coworker and giving you the space you obviously wanted in the first place. sumin was right, he owes it to you to leave you alone. he doesn't try to make you regain your memory, because it was already a selfish endeavor in the first place, but it's grotesquely selfish now that he knows losing it was intentional. he resolves to resign and relocate so he can ensure he doesn't stir up your repressed feelings, but he can't until this project is finished. if he leaves beforehand, he'll not only be fucking over the entire company, he’ll be fucking you over, by extension. again. just in a different way. fortunately, it seems that even with his previous efforts, he never made any real progress in getting you to remember him. lucky him, he guesses.
for now, he’s moving slowly, carefully. like his insides are sloshing around inside of his body, and one wrong move could send everything he is spilling out. on a particularly grueling day of working on your joint project, beomgyu brings you a drink from the vending machine as you work after hours, per your request. he hands it to you and slides into his desk chair.
“thanks, beomie,” you mumble mindlessly as you take the drink from him without even breaking your gaze from the screen.
oh. oh. he hasn't heard that name in so achingly long, it's like he's been momentarily transported to a different time. a better time. a happy time.
beomgyu gulps before stammering, “w-what did you just call me?”
your eyebrows furrow and you frown as your fingers pause their typing. you look up at him confusedly and reply, “i… i don't know. sorry, that was really weird. it just kind of came out. it just… felt right.” you trail off and shake your head before adding, “this project must be driving me crazy.” you laugh a little before refocusing your attention to your screen, resuming your rigorous typing.
ah. you didn't mean to say it, and it doesn't mean what it used to mean to you. but still. still, it means everything to him. sleepy mornings together in bed, long nights spent in each other’s arms, excited chattering about nothing in particular—each perfectly punctuated with that name you just unconsciously used. but you don't remember those memories, and you don't want to. you wanted to forget, and rightfully so. but as for him? he remembers everything.
and it hurts.
beomgyu silently stands up, pushes his chair in, and walks to the bathroom—locking the door behind him as he leans back on it for support. then, after a moment of pause, he slides down to the floor and cries.
-
sooyoung is anxious today. she got some well-deserved critcism from the higher-ups about her latest presentation to them, and she has no fucking clue what to do. she sits in her office with her head in her hands as beomgyu turns her monitor to face him, analyzing her rejected work and calmly telling her to take note of a few adjustments he recommends.
you purse your lips as you watch the interaction. you try your damndest to push down the questions you have, but they must be written all over your face, because eunwoo whispers to you, “crazy, right? beomgyu should be our manager, for sure.”
you look at eunwoo in surprise and embarrassment at being caught so throughly, but he waves, “don't sweat it, everyone thinks so, especially when they're on the newer side. he was going to be our manager, actually, and he fought like hell to get it. then, when he finally got the offer, he turned it down out of nowhere. they brought sooyoung in from another department, and the rest is history.”
“... why did he…?”
“who knows?” eunwoo shrugs as he takes a sip of his coffee.
“i think it's because he and his girlfriend broke up at the time,” another coworker, jia, adds as she joins you and eunwoo in the discreet viewing of your manager on the precipice of spiraling.
“that's purely speculation,” eunwoo explains.
“think about it,” jia insists. “he went from talking about a proposal to nothing at all, and he hasn't mentioned her since right before he got the offer. the timing lines up.”
“ehh, i guess so, but maybe he just realized it's too much responsibility. look at how stressed sooyoung is all the time, i wouldn't want to live with that kind of stress, either,” eunwoo reasons.
“that's true… he basically gave up on being the best out of nowhere,” jia nods. “he might be burnt out.”
instinctively, you want to tell them they're wrong, that beomgyu wouldn't randomly shirk that kind of responsibility. however, you're unsure why you feel so strongly about it. even though you and beomgyu have been quite close since you started working here, it'd be fair to assume that they know him better than you do; but something feels wrong, even if you can't quite put your finger on it. you just feel like it was too important to him to do such a thing, but you can't explain why.
when beomgyu exits the office, sooyoung gratefully thanks him for his help. you kind of want to say something, but before you can, a coworker named dahyun approaches him.
“you were great in there,” she smiles.
“oh. thanks,” beomgyu says noncommittally.
“i'm serious, that was really cool. uh… anyway, i wanted to ask if you’d be interested getting a few drinks after work. what do you think?”
your grip on your pen tightens. you don't know why, but you don't like seeing another woman attempting to flirt with beomgyu. you hate it, even.
“thank you, but i'm focusing on work right now,” beomgyu answers politely, then heads to the break room to get some coffee.
your deathgrip on your pen relaxes. you didn't realize you were holding it so tightly, it was digging into your fingers until now.
a few hours later, you take your lunch out of the break room fridge as you contemplate the events from earlier—from the way beomgyu allegedly rejected a management position either from a bad breakup or burnout, to your irrational reaction to a coworker simply asking him out to get some drinks. as you mull over the sheer incomprehensibility of it all in your head, you mindlessly begin to face all of the drinks frontwards, deep in thought.
jia smiles and asks, “what are you up to?”
you snap out of your daze and blink. you didn't even realize you were carefully arranging drinks that will inevitably be messed up by the bustle of your coworkers within an hour or so.
“oh, i don't… i don't know. it’s just a habit i picked up, i guess,” you mumble sheepishly.
“i never thought i'd see anyone other than beomgyu do that, but i guess there's two of you now,” she teases. you blink more rapidly as you try to process her words.
“that's funny, i started doing it because—i mean, i got it from… from…”
you’ve had this quirk since you were a kid, haven’t you? no, that's not right. you don't remember ever having such a habit. actually, it feels like you started doing it because someone else did. maybe you picked it up from a friend? but that doesn't seem to be the case, either. you got it from someone, but not a friend, not a family member, but maybe a—
“you okay?” jia tentatively interjects, derailing your train of thought. “i'm sorry, i was just teasing. i think your habit is charming.”
“y-yeah, all… all good. i’m… i was trying to remember something, is all.” your head hurts. fuck, why does this keep happening? you need to go to the doctor soon; but you can't help but feel like you're missing something that's right in front of you, something you think will change your life, something that fits perfectly in the empty puzzle that becomes increasingly more insistent to be acknowledged. you just don't know what.
-
the project is a success, much to sooyoung’s relief. beomgyu, however, can only feel conflicted about it, because its completion means that he will have to leave soon. he wants to feel happy for everyone involved, but he's not. he can't be. how could anyone expect him to when he knows he'll never see you again once he resigns? so, he's doing the one thing he does best when faced with something causing him distress: he ignores it.
beomgyu tries to join in on the general buzz of excitement around the office, but he can’t quite get there. still, he accepts sooyoung’s invitation to the restaurant down the street in order to celebrate the so-called achievement with a strained smile on his face. try as he might—and he really does try—he can't eat, can't do anything but force the occasional chuckle at jokes he doesn't have the brainpower to understand. every so often, beomgyu will look at you as you laugh with your coworkers.
you look beautiful, beomgyu thinks. he’s always thought you were beautiful, but for tonight, he can't bear to look at you for too long. he looks at your hands, at the way they clasp around your drink as you take a sip. those same hands used to massage shampoo into his scalp and scrub his back when he was too tired to bathe alone. then, he looks at your lips, the way they split into a grin at a teasing jab, and he remembers how they felt when they peppered his face with kisses to wake him up in the morning. and then, your eyes. he used to stare into them and immediately know what you were thinking, feeling, hoping—almost until the end. he briefly wonders what will happen to you after this. will you get back with wonbin? will another man's child have the same eyes you do—the ones he loves to death? will they curve when they laugh in the same exact way yours do? oh, christ…
with a murmured excuse of needing some fresh air, he walks outside of the bar and leans back against the wall, letting out a weary sigh. he closes his eyes, trying to think of literally anything else. he's got to write an official resignation, effective immediately. he's got to start job hunting, got to start relying on savings he's let pile up from back when he… when he…
“you okay?” your voice cuts through beomgyu’s spiral.
“uh, yeah,” beomgyu replies with an awkward cough as he stands up straight, stuffing his shaking hands into his pockets. you purse your lips at his unconvincing response.
“listen, i know it's none of my business, but… if you ever wanna talk, i'll listen.”
“th-thanks. it's nothing, uh, it's just me being stupid. as usual,” beomgyu attempts to laugh, but it's so strained, it sounds wretched.
“whatever it is, i'm sure it's not stupid,” you say carefully.
he doesn't know why, but he can't bite his tongue.
“i... i fucked up. really, really badly. i hurt the last person i ever wanted to hurt, and i don't think she can forgive me for it.” beomgyu shudders, releasing a breath that comes straight from the bottom of his lungs.
“beomgyu, it's okay. i'm sure you didn't do anything that bad,” you lamely try to assure him, a bit at a loss from his unexpected confession. truthfully, you're inexplicably disappointed by the fact that the rumor about beomgyu being seriously involved with another woman is now being confirmed by him. but that sounds crazy, so you don't let it show.
“it was awful,” he says hoarsely as his eyes flicker down to meet yours.
“well, have you apologized?” you ask, trying to think of a way to get that terrible look off of his face; but it just turns into a wry smile.
“i did, but i was too late. she doesn't care anymore. she doesn't—i mean, it's like she doesn't even remember what i did. she's moved on, but… but i'm still here.”
“i see,” you hum. “but people never really forget, do they? i mean, they say they do, but even if they don't care in the same way they used to, everyone is different after being loved, or hurt, or both. even if they don't know it.”
“what if she really did forget?” beomgyu answers with a grimace, his voice becoming more urgent in his search for a solution. “what if she's scrubbed every memory of me from her brain, all because she didn't want to remember me anymore?”
that sounds ridiculous, but you don't say as much. he seems really upset, so you try to reason with him with the same bewildering logic he's using. you shake your head.
“even if she forgot it in her mind, some things can never be forgotten. not really. i don't know what happened with this girl of yours, but i guarantee she's changed because of you, in one way or another. look, i know i don't know what happened, and you may have said and done some shitty things you regret, but i don't think you're a bad person. if you've already apologized, that's great. all you can do now is try to be better and show her you mean what you say.” you hope your words don't come across as insincere or cheesy, and you hope they comfort him, even if only a little.
but he doesn't look comforted at all, though he's certainly trying to. his smile is so feeble, you think a gust of wind could blow it straight off of his face. you hesitate before stretching out your arms and gently wrapping them around his waist, pulling him close. you murmur, “it's gonna be okay.”
it feels like all the nerves beomgyu previously thought were dead and decayed are suddenly exhumed from somewhere deep within him—with a fierceness that would bring him to his knees if you weren't here to hold him and keep him steady. you're always keeping him steady. that same old ache he's been trying to keep locked away for so long floods him from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, and he's tempted to let it drown him; but here you are, keeping him afloat. just like always.
with a shuddering breath, he wraps his trembling arms around you—willing himself not to shake, willing himself to be as steadfast as you are. as soon as he's holding you, it's like his heart is being held gently in your hands as you refill the emptiness he's never quite been able to occupy by himself, no matter what he’s tried. he pulls you close, closer, closer, and he wishes he could always keep you here, always keep you with him. always keep you so close, the warmth of your skin mixes with his, to where he can no longer discern something as arbiwhat's you and what's him.
“beomgyu? what are you…” you trail off in concern. you thought a hug might make him feel better, but he just seems even worse off.
beomgyu takes deep, heaving breaths as he tries to get his next words out, trying and failing to will them out of his mouth. finally, he choked out, “i've been so fucking lonely.” the tension in his throat is too much to bear, so his voice breaks as he says it.
it's not like he wants to cry—that's the opposite of what he wants to do. he wants the sensation of you wrapping your arms around him and asking him what's wrong to be as familiarly pervading as it used to be, but it's not; and for as many times as you two have held each other like this before, he can feel every second where that wasn't the case settling deep into his bones, demanding to never be left alone again. and so, beomgyu cries. it begins as a sourness behind his eyes, a stinging he desperately tries to blink back, but when he feels your hands subconsciously rubbing intentional, comforting circles against his back the way they always used to, there's nothing he can fathomably do to keep the tears at bay.
at first, his shoulders shake almost imperceptibly as he tries to abate his sobs, but when he goes to breathe, his heart and stomach clench, resulting in a gasp. when you hold him even tighter, he devolves into a sobbing, shuddering wreck—his tears dampening your hair as he hopelessly tries to fill his lungs with your scent before he can't anymore.
you attempt to pull away to look directly at him, but he holds you tighter, whimpering, “no, no, no…” as he nuzzles into your neck.
“hey,” you whisper as gently as you can. “listen to me, you're alright. whatever it is, it's going to be okay. i’m here… you're not alone.”
but that just makes him cry even harder, because none of it is true. he’s not alright, he hasn't been in so long, he can barely remember what being “alright” felt like. it's not going to be okay, because nothing is ever going to be the same again. and finally, you're not here, not in the way he needs you to be, not in the way that wants him, misses him, loves him… and because of that, he is, indeed, alone.
“beom–” you catch yourself before you slip and call him that weird nickname again, “beomgyu, you have to breathe. listen, breathe in. one, two, three, four, five. out. one, two, three, four, five…”
you must repeat those words a million times, so beomgyu eventually finds himself breathing again; even so, it all ends in what feels like a second to beomgyu. you have to pull away to look at him now, and as much as he would rather die than let that happen, he's finally aware enough to know that he can't just keep you crushed against him forever—no matter how badly he wants to do exactly that. and yet, even though he knows he has to let go, his hands still traitorously fumble for you before he forces himself to clench his fists and pull them to his sides.
“are you… alright?” you ask tentatively as you scan his pitiful frame with furrowed eyebrows.
beomgyu clears his throat before stammering, “y-yeah, it's just… it's just been a long time since you—” he stops to feebly ‘correct’ himself, “i mean, since anyone, has… has…”
you don't make him elaborate. all you tell him is, “i’m sorry, but i want you to know that i meant everything i said. i don't know what's going on with you, but i do know that you're going to be okay, and that if you ever need me, i'm here. you're not alone, i mean it.”
and you do mean it—you mean every word. at least, you think you mean it. you sincerely think it's the truth, but that's only because you don't know who he really is, who he can become when he's angry, and how his anger hurt you.
“you should probably head home and get some rest,” you suggest, but it's like the dark cloud that had just began to recede is immediately looming over beomgyu again, though he doesn't do anything but stiffly nod in acquiescence.
you don't know why, but you're compelled to offer, “i can give you a ride home, if you want.”
it's stupid, it's wrong, and it's selfish; but right now, beomgyu knows that if he were to drive home alone, he wouldn't be safe. he's still little more than a bundle of nerves, still adjusting from death, to revival, to inevitable death again. so, against his better judgment, he feebly agrees.
you have a new car, but the ambience is the same. a myriad of memories flood his mind of the two of you sitting in the front seats, singing along to the radio, talking, laughing. then, his mind shifts to the final days: sitting in tense silence, clicking your tongues when one of you made the wrong turn, arguing about nothing and everything at the same time…
beomgyu shakes his head. he can't let himself think like that anymore. instead, he looks at you as you drive. he knows this sight by heart, could recall it on command in his sleep, and he often does. the way you purse your lips when someone makes a risky turn, the way your eyes flicker from side to side as you decide if it’s safe for you to merge, the way you mindlessly hum under your breath. beomgyu knows it all.
it’s already late, but the sound of thunder coming overhead tells you both that it’ll rain soon. neither of you think much of it. you, because it wasn't supposed to rain today, and beomgyu, because he can't really think of anything other than you. but the tentative sprinkles quickly evolve into a torrential downpour, and by the time you pull into beomgyu’s apartment complex, you can barely see a thing through the rain. beomgyu knows you can't possibly drive in weather like this, so while it may be imprudent to do so, he makes an offer to you. again, he's going against his better judgment—whatever that is anymore.
“you… you can come in, if you want. it's… it's not safe to drive,” he rasps. with a grateful smile and nod, you follow him into his apartment, but you two are thoroughly soaked by the rain despite how quickly you try to shuffle inside.
to beomgyu’s relief and suppressed despair, you don't seem to recognize the apartment you two shared, regardless of the fact that you picked out half of the decorations and furniture adorning it. you look over at beomgyu and frown. you're both soaking wet, but he looks utterly miserable from what you can only describe as his emotional breakdown.
“maybe you should shower and get changed into something warm,” you gently suggest.
“w-what? no, i'm fine. you're wet, too. if you want, you can shower and i can… i can loan you a towel and some clothes. you know, as a thank you for taking me home and… everything else,” he insists.
“no, you're worse off than me. besides, i can shower at home once the storm lets up and i can drive again, ” you counter, and beomgyu can tell from your eyes that you're not going to budge on this.
“... alright, but you should change into something else in the meantime. and if you're thirsty or whatever, there's stuff in the kitchen.” with pursed lips, beomgyu leads you to the bedroom. he fumbles through his clean laundry to find something suitable, then hands it to you. you thank him before he heads to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.
after changing your clothes and placing them into an empty basket, you sit on the edge of his bed and briefly look around. nice decorations, you think. you have no interest in snooping in beomgyu’s personal belongings, but you are pretty thirsty, so you take him up on his offer to get yourself a drink. maybe you stood up too fast, maybe a part of you already knows that something is off, because you're disoriented enough to trip and hit his dresser on the way out. you let out a sharp hiss as you rub your elbow. you're just about to head to the kitchen, but you notice that the top drawer has been jostled open, somehow lighter than the others. you're about to push the drawer back into place before something catches your eye: a notebook.
your hand moves towards it, nearly subconsciously, and you pause before you're about to grasp it. what are you doing? this is an invasion of privacy, and you know it. even so, your hand hovers over the notebook uncertainly. something tells you to take it, something else tells you to shut the drawer and pretend like you never saw it, but it's so… familiar to you, and your fingers ache to feel it in your hands again. again? that undefinable pull of something that's always only just out of your reach demands that you read it. right now. you decisively pull it out of the drawer, and it's like it was meant to fit in your hand—like you know it, and know it well. your mouth is dry as you open the pages.
you don't read every entry, you don't need to, because you know your handwriting, and you know that this is yours. this is yours, and you remember.
beomgyu is always working. always. and even when he’s with you, he’s still far away. he takes calls when you’re attempting to have conversations with him, scrolls through his emails while he’s lying in bed with you, and you can't remember the last time he’s followed through on a date with you due to endless emergency meetings he insists can't be postponed.
but that's not what really gets you. if it were, maybe it wouldn't hurt so goddamn much. what really bothers you is not so easily contained. the issue lies in when you actually try talk to him—be it about your day, about your interests, about something you saw that reminded you of him—you can see the twitch of irritation in the corner of his mouth. when you want to vent and seek his assurance after a terrible shift, he just rolls his eyes and mutters something about you not even comprehending what real stress is. when you suggest doing something fun together like old times, he sighs and massages his temples with more and more excuses.
still, you are nothing if not dedicated. you tell yourself it’s all temporary, that he’s just overwhelmed, that sticking through the rough patches and being there for him to lean on is what love is all about. and even if things stay this way for now, things will eventually get back to how they used to be… with enough patience.
but they don't.
what you would previously chalk up as stress-induced micro-reactions become too blatant for even you to ignore. flickers of annoyance on his face become full-on sneers. eye rolls and dismissive mutters become outright mockeries of your supposed stress. what would you know about being overwhelmed, after all? the massaging of his temples becomes unabashedly bitter laughs at the so-called ridiculousness of your requests.
you try comforting him, of course. why wouldn't you? you ask if he’s considered asking for extensions on time-crunching projects, but he scoffs at your naivety. you earnestly assure him that he is capable of achieving anything he sets his mind to, but he writes anything you say off as insincere, surface-level platitudes. you try to bring home his favorite takeout, but he waves as he mutters something about having already eaten without so much as a glance in your direction, focusing his attention on the screen of his laptop.
you dread coming home now. beomgyu is always on the edge of snapping at you, making you feel like your very presence is some unequivocal annoyance to him. you're only human, so you can't help but snap back at times, which only makes him even angrier. without fail, beomgyu tells you he doesn't have time for this—that your pettiness is costing him his precious time. somehow, you can't help but feel like it's always your fault. you know he's spread thin as it is, so why are you being so immature? you really think so, and he tells you as much.
you find yourself trying to be quieter. if he’s working overtime on his laptop, which is fucking always, he clicks his tongue when you mindlessly hum. you find yourself trying to be smaller, not wanting to draw his ire when you accidentally get in the way with your cooking when he’s quickly trying to pour himself a glass of water before immediately diving back into work. you find yourself holding your tongue more—if he doesn't want to hear about something as inane to him as your married coworker cheating with another coworker, why would you disrupt him? and if he doesn’t even want to hear about how you feel in regards to everything he’s doing and not doing, why say anything at all?
you spend your time living like a ghost, and the worst part is, you’re actively living with another ghost. you do not know when he'll actually be here with you, but when he is, you still ache to be with him even when he’s right beside you. but along with the ache grows a sense of resentment equally as strong. how are you supposed to have a serious conversation with him when he barely gives you the time of day? and these days, you're having trouble remembering what your relationship is supposed to feel like. still, you try to be patient. you know he's stressed out of his mind, and you know this isn't who he really is… but even so, why do you have to tell him not to be an asshole? it's unfair, and you know he knows better. you're constantly torn between being supportive and lashing out, but you're terrified that if you truly lose your temper outside of a sharp and passive aggressive comment, you'll regret it. it's a tightrope, one that you don't know if you can successfully walk, but you try, nonetheless.
what finally breaks everything is, in all honesty and objectivity, not that big of a deal. you’ve finally mustered up all of your courage to ask him if he wants to watch a particular movie with you at home. prior to this, you two were supposed to go on a date to the theater to see it, but he had canceled on account of some supposedly catastrophic happenings with a major partnership at his work. so much time has passed, it’s now available to rent, but since you two had chattered about how badly you two wanted to see it ever since the first trailer had come out, you figure it'll be a good chance to bond with him. against all odds, he’s agreed to come home at a decent time so you two can hopefully enjoy it together. a small victory, but one that seems dire to you in this moment.
you have everything set up a full 45 minutes before he’s supposed to be home, but you’re so damn excited, you can't help it. snacks you know he likes are prepared, his favorite blanket is set out for you two to bury yourselves in together just like you used to, and a bottle of wine along with a couple of glasses are set to the side in case he wants to let loose for the first in forever. you grin as you take everything in, counting down the minutes until he gets here. but when 30 minutes have passed after the promised time with no sign of beomgyu, your grin begins to fade. an hour, and the grin has been completely dropped. an hour and thirty minutes, and it’s a full-on frown. two hours, and you’re angrily standing up and putting everything away with aggression that can only be born from long-suppressed resentment.
when he finally returns home, you’re practically vibrating with rage.
“where have you been?” you seethe.
“work, where else?” he snaps as he shrugs off his coat with a sigh. “what's your problem now?”
you can't believe it. you can't fucking believe it.
“what do you mean, what’s my problem? did you seriously forget? and why haven't you checked your fucking phone?” you spit, knowing you're letting your rage consume you, but still letting it take control. it’s not fair, nothing with beomgyu ever is.
“forget what? in case you haven't noticed, i’m busting my ass trying to get this promotion. i don't have the goddamn time or energy to be at your beck and call!” beomgyu retorts, making you feel ridiculous for a brief moment before your gaze hardens again.
“you were supposed to be home hours ago! do you have any idea how long it took for me to set everything up for us? i’m so sick of you acting like i’m fucking crazy for wanting to spend time with you!” you argue, your voice growing increasingly louder with every syllable.
“that’s what you're pissed about? are you hearing yourself? it’s a fucking movie, babe. i’ve had a long day, i don't want to come home and hear you attacking me for missing a movie.”
it’s so… condescending. so dismissive. this isn't who he is, or so you thought, but maybe it is. maybe you’ve just been in denial, and maybe this is your wake-up call.
“i’ve been waiting for over two hours for you to come home. i had everything planned out for us, i’ve looked forward to this all week, and you're treating me like i’m the unreasonable one. you never listen to me, you never talk to me, you never even spend time with me! you're always criticizing everything i do and say—you act like being around me is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. i—”
“with the way you're acting, maybe it is,” he cuts in fiercely. “are you so goddamn clueless, you can't see that i don't even have time to set up the stupid shit you did tonight? i'm glad you have the spare energy, babe. but i don't. quit acting like a victim all the fucking time just because i can't sit around and play house with you.”
your scowl melts away, twisting into a frown as your eyes widen and water. beomgyu, of course, notices.
“i didn't mean that. i would never mean that. i just…” he sighs, “i’m really tired, okay? i know you worked hard to make tonight special, but i’ve worked hard today, too. we can have a movie night another time, alright?”
it’s a weak compromise, if you can even call it that, but you realize that you're just as tired. with a teary scoff, you stomp to the bathroom and slam the door. you run the faucet as you let the tears fall. you're angry, you're sad, you're embarrassed. you're trying so hard to be patient, and he doesn't even care. and when you finally lost your temper, he made you feel like a fucking child. like you're crazy. like you're unreasonable. like you're nothing to him. and maybe… maybe you are.
maybe beomgyu isn't here anymore because he doesn't think being here is more important than chasing his godforsaken promotion. maybe your earnest attempt at recapturing some semblance of joy is just another unwelcome inconvenience. maybe you're an unwelcome inconvenience. maybe him not breaking up with you after months of turmoil isn't a sign of his desire to make things work, but because he's just too tired to properly do it. beomgyu doesn't like anything about you anymore—you know that. he can't even be in the same room as you without pointing out a quirk or benign action of yours he finds unbearably irritating.
you don't know.
when you emerge from the bathroom, you expect him to be waiting for you on the edge of the bed, ready to hold you and tell you how sorry he is. you're not sure why you ever thought that, because you already knew you'd see what you're seeing now: beomgyu passed out beneath the covers. your heart breaks all over again, and it takes everything in you not to scream. he's such a fucking asshole. he ripped you apart, and yet, he's sleeping like a baby. and tomorrow, he'll get up, get dressed, and go to work. like always.
you slide into bed beside him, but you stubbornly refuse to touch him. it's not like he'll notice either way, since he's pretty much unconscious while you're curled up into a ball, trying to maintain some pretense of dignity. but who are you kidding anymore? what dignity is there in a relationship, in a life, like this? so, you cry silent tears until you fall into the most fitful sleep of your life.
the next morning, beomgyu is awake long before you, as usual. you sit up in bed, tucking your knees under chin and staring at nothing in particular. he enters the bedroom, having forgotten his tie. when he sees you, he sighs.
“i’m—” he sounds like he's about to apologize, but he doesn't. “i’ll see you later, okay? we can talk about this tonight.” he goes to maybe give you a kiss, but he stops short when he sees how tense you look. you don't respond to his words, don't even nod in understanding, so he sighs again as he grabs his tie and rushes out the apartment, carelessly shutting the door behind him.
you already know what tonight will bring. beomgyu will explain that he's dealing with yet another cataclysmic event at work, and you’ll have to listen to him do it. more than likely, you’ll temporarily feel guilty enough to push your feelings down, but the resentment will linger until it erupts again. he will make no changes in his behavior, of course, and you'll be back here in no time. you want to believe he's trying his best, but you don't anymore. you can't hide behind the flimsy excuse that he doesn't know how much he's hurting you, because after last night, he certainly does. and now, he's off having a day like any other at work in the aftermath of a fight that was so devastating to you, you had to take sick time and call out from your own job. you’ve tried fixing things in what you thought was a healthy way, and it didn't help. and after your meltdown, and his consequential dismissal of it, you finally realize you were kidding yourself the entire time.
you don't feel like anything is real, honestly. you mindlessly sit on your couch as you try to process what happened, what’s been happening for a long time now. as cliché as it sounds, a movie you happen to stumble across is what it takes to finally make you understand. it’s a horror movie, but behind the horror, there’s the brutal underpinning of a long-dead relationship, kept only half-alive by the hope of the woman and the guilt of leaving—and the insecurity that he may not find anyone else—in the man. you look at the woman on screen, and you see yourself in her desperation to keep some scrap of love alive.
the scene that truly pushes you over the edge is when another character asks the woman, “do you feel held by him? does he feel like home to you?” you gasp when you hear it, and a part of you wishes you hadn’t, but an even larger part of you knows it’s what you needed to hear the most. it rings in your head incessantly for… you’re not even sure how long.
do you feel held by beomgyu? no, you feel like you’re doing all of the holding, to the point where you’ve dug your nails into his flesh in an attempt to keep you two together. if you let go, what would he do? he’d be grateful, probably. he’d sigh in relief that you did what he’s been aching to do for so long. you don't rely on him for anything other than the title of being your boyfriend, but the security, the trust, the love is something you’ve more or less accepted was dead and buried long ago.
does beomgyu feel like home to you? you can't remember the last time that he did. you don't turn to him for comfort, because the thing you need the most comfort about is him and how he makes you feel. you don't have a home with him, not anymore, since the life you two have built together seems more like a prison than a place of refuge.
as the credits roll, tears stream down your face. you can't keep living like this. what's the point of living with someone who hates you? for stability? but you feel more insecure than you ever did when you were alone. for familiarity? beomgyu is a stranger to you—you don't know him anymore. for love? you laugh at the thought. what love?
you’ve never been more sure of anything in your life. you sprint to your room and begin to stuff your suitcases, leaving behind anything that might remind you of beomgyu. when you’re finally finished, you’re panting as you look around your apartment for the last time. you wipe the sweat off your brow before you find a paper and pen and scribble down a haphazard goodbye. you know the mature thing to do would be to look him in his eyes and tell him you’re leaving, try to make him understand why. but you’re so fucking tired of trying to manhandle him into listening to you, and you can't bear to see the indifference you already know he'd harbor in his gaze, or worse, the relief. you think that might really kill you.
in the end, the note is pretty short. all it says is that you’re leaving and he should already know why, but if he doesn't, that’s not your problem anymore. the last words say, “i don’t want to see you again.”
-
all you do after your departure is wonder, wonder, wonder; that's the thing that haunts you most. you wonder if you should have said something more in your note goodbye, wonder if you should have told him you wanted to leave like the adult you're supposed to be, wonder how he would have responded had you actually had said conversation. it's suffocating, but there are worse things, too. wondering if he sighed in relief when he saw that you were gone, wondering if he bothered to keep any of the trinkets you two had collected over the years, wondering if he wishes he had done this diff—no. no. you refuse to fucking think that way. he doesn't want you in his life; how many more ways could he have spelled it out for you?
but the wondering doesn't stop. any attempt to push it down feels like trying to push a beach ball underwater: futile, exhausting, and strangely humiliating. you try to bury it, but it breaks out of its grave every time. you try to drown it, but it grabs you by the ankles and pulls you under. you try to live with it, let it exist beside you as you distract yourself with whatever you can get your desperate hands on, but it's always in the corner of your eye. and with it, comes a sickening platter of unwelcome feelings. sadness, of course, because you miss him. anxiety, because you're unsure if he misses you. anger, because he probably doesn't.
anger. you want to laugh at its belated arrival. there were times where you thought you were angry with beomgyu, and for all intents and purposes, you were; but it was a different kind of anger then. it was resentment, exasperation, the primal anger of a dog biting the hand of a careless handler. but no, this is not the same. you're angry because, even with the “blessing” of hindsight, you still can't quite understand why things happened the way they did. you're angry at beomgyu, that goes without saying, but you're also angry at yourself. you're unsure if you're angry that you didn't bite as hard as you should have, or if you're angry because you simply shouldn't have bitten at all. should you have screamed out all of your grievances, or would things have been better if you had been more patient?
time heals all wounds, or so you've been told a million times since you left. you've always thought that to be true, because the further you get from something—someone—the more insignificant it becomes in the grand scheme of things; but the very notion seems ridiculous to you now. in fact, the more time that passes, the more important it all feels. it's supposed to get easier, but it never does.
so, when you’re crying to your therapist for the millionth time about how torn up you feel about everything, she cautiously suggests you join a trial to erase the memories. it's not like there's a ton of evidence to support it, and it all sounds like pseudoscience to you, but you're desperate. surprisingly, things aren't that difficult to figure out. they say they're going to take your old memories, but it's best if you move elsewhere for a time to prevent any triggers that could ruin the illusion in the meantime. then, they replace that part of your life in your head with a vague retelling of what happened.
the process is thorough, but it's not foolproof. and that's exactly what you are: a fool.
you cry out as a sharp pain pierces through your skull, dropping the notebook to the ground and stumbling backwards until you hit the bed, collapsing on the edge of it. more and more memories flood your head relentlessly, and while some of them are lovely—the most beautiful things you've ever seen—others are filled with all of the times beomgyu made you feel like the most burdensome thing he's ever had to tolerate.
beomgyu rushes out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, his hair still dripping wet from frantically exiting mid-shower.
“are you okay?! i heard—oh,” he gasps, immediately registering the truth. there you are, the you he knows, and the you that knows him.
all you can do is look up at him with angry tears streaming down your face, scowling as you try to catch your breath.
“what the fuck is wrong with you?” you pant between heaving breaths.
“please, just listen to me,” beomgyu pleads. “i… i'm sorry. i—”
“oh? you're sorry? thank christ, it's a miracle—i thought that would never happen! beomgyu’s finally saying he's sorry,” you snarl.
“i’m sorry, i know i was a piece of shit, but i… i didn't mean it,” he says so softly, it's nearly inaudible. he thinks it can't get any worse than this, but it can. it really, really can.
“do you have any idea how you made me feel? how anxious i was every fucking day, because no matter what i did, i knew you'd find a reason to be angry with me. you didn't listen—you never just fucking listen! everything is all about—was all about—fuck!” you exclaim as you hold your head, trying to temper the ache. the memories seem to be happening right now, but also so long ago. it's all jumbled up in your head. you're feeling everything you felt back then, yes, but you're also feeling everything that's happening now. it's just too much.
“what's wrong? d-does it hurt?” beomgyu asks in distress as he sits beside you and reaches for your head.
“don't fucking touch me!” you yell as you bat his hands away. “why do you care? you have no problem fucking me up, making me feel small, making me feel like i'm fucking insane for reacting to you treating me like shit!” you shriek, then you remember the past few months, how he's become one of your best friends so quickly—how he's wormed his way into your heart again. how sweet and charming and perfect he's been. “and you… you let me talk to you again, after everything? you acted like everything was normal, like you didn't know me, for what? so you could get me to be with you, just so you could do the same shit all over again?”
“what? no, of course not. i'm sorry. i'm so, so sorry. i wish i could take it all back, i wish i would have done things right. i've been trying to show you i’m different now, and i’ll never be the way i was again. but that was before sumin told me everything, and i swear to god, i was going to leave the company and let you be. i didn't want to hurt you. i thought i was helping you remember, that you forgot on your own. i didn't get the letter they were supposed to send, so i—”
“oh my fucking god,” you interrupt. “you have an excuse for everything, beomgyu! is there any context where it's your fault?!”
this makes beomgyu pause.
“yes, i know. i know tricking you was wrong, and i'm sorry. and i know… i know everything happened because of me, because you're better off forgetting about me. i just… i thought you could fall in love with me again, and i could show you i'm not that person anymore. i wabted to show you i would never ever hurt you.”
“again, you mean? you'd never hurt me again, because you already did hurt me.”
“i know,” he sobs, tears he's been trying to control now escaping from his warm, brown eyes. you loved—love?—them so much, they used to make you ache. they still do. “i know i did, but i—”
“do you have any idea how hard i tried to be patient for you?” you interrupt. now that you remember everything, it's like your mouth has no choice but to run. “i gave everything i had to try to make us work, but you didn't even care!”
“i know you did. i didn't know it before, i understand that, but I know it now—it’s all i know. i love it, and i love you, and i’m sorry. i’m so, so fucking sorry.”
when beomgyu comes home that night after an especially arduous day of work, he feels a sense of dread at the thought of having to continue your conversation from earlier. even worse, he worked late again, so he knows you'll probably be even more upset. after all, how could he look you in the eyes as you finally expressed how hurt you are, when he's just got done doing the same shit all over again? with a deep breath, he unlocks the door.
he’s surprised to see that all of the lights are off. usually, you’ll stay up late for him, especially when there’s an argument to be had. in a way he will later come to hate himself for, he’s relieved to deduce that you’re probably fast asleep. this way, he'll have time to rest before the inevitable fight to come. he hangs up his coat and puts his keys on the hook you had suggested to install because he always loses them, and he heads to the bathroom to do his nightly routine before bed.
he mindlessly brushes his teeth, pondering what he’s going to say to you when you two finally get the chance to talk; but he notices something strange. it’s just a feeling, at first—a nagging sort of unease that he can't quite place, but as he finishes brushing his teeth and putting his toothbrush back to the usual spot where yours usually sits, he realizes that it’s gone. he’s not entirely sure what compels him to do so, but he immediately checks the cabinets for your face wash. gone.
well, there’s always the chance that you just decided to stay the night with a friend in order to cool down, but he finds it a bit strange that you didn't tell him, no matter how angry you probably are. he walks to your bedroom just to confirm his assumption, and sure enough, you’re not in bed. with another heavy sigh, he undresses and carelessly tosses his clothes into the hamper. he opens the dresser to throw on some pajamas, but the drawer’s usual weight is much lighter than he's accustomed to, almost causing it to fall out. in his haste to stop the drawer from completely coming off of its hinges, he quickly jostles it back closed. in doing so, a stray piece of paper falls down to the ground. he impatiently picks it up, flicking the light on to see what it is.
it's not what he thinks. it's not a grocery list, or a stray bill, or any of the mundane things he'd normally chalk it up to. it's not even an explanation of where you are for the night. no, it's an explanation of how you never want to see him again. honestly? explanation is doing an incredible amount of heavy-lifting, because there nothing much is explained at all. he rereads the note over and over again, trying to comprehend it, but it's no use. it's not working out, you've left, and you never want to see him again. never want to see him again.
years of love, years of change and effort and vulnerability that can only exist when you truly love and understand someone, reduced to a very obviously hastily scrawled note. he almost wants to laugh, but he can't. he really wants to cry, but he can't. he can't do anything besides neatly fold up the measly scrap of paper, tuck it into his nightstand, and mechanically lie down in bed. he stares up at the ceiling for longer than he can even register. he doesn't think he sleeps, because there's no point. in all honesty, he's afraid that if he does, he'll try to reach for you and wake up in a panic when you're not there. one would think, at this time, he would immediately do some introspection. but he can't think of anything besides the note in his nightstand.
the next morning, when his alarm goes off, he’s already up and about. he does his morning routine, gets dressed impeccably, and eats breakfast on time. but when he gets to work, and the company directors excitedly offer him the managerial position he's been working like a goddamn dog for, he says, “thank you, but no.”
he actually does laugh at that. what are the chances of getting his ever-elusive promotion right after fucking to the entire reason he wanted it in the first place? what was the point of any of this? getting up early, working late, giving everything he had and then some, only to lose you in the process? he thought he was being strategic—that he was investing in your future together. if he made enough money, nobody would look down on you for getting engaged to a man who previously cared more about music and living easy than keeping a respectable job. he'd cut his hair off, let his guitar collect dust, given up his notoriously job-hopping reputation just to become somebody worthy of you. and for what, exactly? he's still proven himself to be unworthy, just in a different way.
yes, he lost himself for a while, he can acknowledge that, but he didn't realize just how bad it was. he didn't realize it was bad enough to make you leave. he should've, he knows. he knows he became the worst version of himself, but weren't you supposed to know him better than anyone else? weren't you supposed to know it was all for you? but deep down, maybe he knows that's not the entire truth. maybe he knows that part of it was because he was terrified of what people would say if he were to ask you to spend the rest of his life with him without indisputable proof of his ability to be a reliable partner. he thinks you're the best, so he wanted to be the best, too, in his own way. but instead, he's the bastard who blew up his relationship for something as utterly meaningless as a cushy position with better pay.
beomgyu was running towards the things he wanted the most with a fierce determination—so close to having it all if he could just push a bit harder. but during his manic pursuit of “one last thing”, he never realized that he was losing the most important piece of his life: the cornerstone of his happiness. he was running towards something, and he got it, but the cost was too steep. the cost was everything. and now, he's still running, exhausted and trembling from exertion, but it's only because he's desperately trying to escape from the knowledge that his greed was the very thing that strangled your love to death.
he can't even say sorry anymore—that's how thoroughly you've purged him out of your life. you don't want to see him, probably hate his guys. he tells himself he just needs to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and that if he fakes it until he makes it, maybe he'll feel like there's a reason for his currently purposeless existence again. until then, he'll grin and bear it. does it all feel overwhelming sometimes? does he wake up every morning with an ache he has to crush down just so he can keep up this pretense of a life? yes, of course. but mostly, he tries not to think about it. since he can't fix it, all he can do is keep himself together as best as he can.
even if he does run into you now by some cosmic miracle, he isn't sure what he'd even say. he knows apologizing is the right thing to do, but really, would you even want to hear it? he's always had a hard time apologizing, so he doubts he'd be any good at it. besides, for all of his attempts at “self-improvement”, there's still a chance he'll be too cowardly to confront you after everything he's done. to be perfectly honest, he's barely holding onto his sanity as it is, and he fears that a direct interaction with you might shatter the delicate sense of normalcy (if you can even call it that) he's been able to find. maybe, if the opportunity somehow presents itself against all odds, he'll find the courage within himself to truly apologize.
he should have told you everything as soon as you raged at him. he should have explained his insecurities, his hopes, his motives instead of lashing out and making you want to leave. he knows he can't go back, and any attempts to make amends after your breakup would be futile, since he missed the right time to do it. but still. still, if he could go back to that final night, he’d cry, he’d plead, he’d get on his fucking knees and beg like a goddamn dog.
beomgyu is crying so hard, you think he might actually choke. his face is flushed, and he doesn't even attempt to brush away the tears that stream down his mottled cheeks.
“this isn't fucking fair,” you grit out between clenched teeth as hot, angry tears stream down your face. “why the fuck are you more upset than me? this isn't my fault, i'm the one who was fucked over, not you.” yes, you were, in so many ways. with your relationship, with your obliviousness to your history while he knew everything, with the way he didn't just leave you alone. you're so fucking frustrated, but more than that, you’re hurting. and even if you want to irrationally deny it, you know that makes beomgyu hurt, too.
“i-i’m not,” he chokes out weakly. “i know i was the one who hurt you, and i know that everything i blamed you for was only your reaction to what i did. so… so, i'm not more upset than you are. i would never, because i…i don't deserve to be,” he finishes with a poorly-restrained, shuddering sob that seizes his entire body.
“don't lie. i hate it when you lie. just be fucking honest,” you hiss as you take in just how distraught he looks, but the heat in your words is inundated with an overwhelming sadness. you hate that he can hear it, but you know he does.
“i'm… i'm sad because i'm making you sad, because making you sad is all i really know how to do,” he whimpers as his shoulders shake. you hate him so much right now. you resent him. you're disgusted by him. or, at the very least, you're trying to be.
“really? you're sad because you make me sad? wow, i wish you felt that way before,” you say with a strangled, embittered laugh. you hate the way it grates against your ears.
“it did make me sad, but i'm just… i was so overwhelmed, so frustrated, and i thought—i mean, i was angry, because i thought i was doing it all for us, and i was still fucking up. i w-would never… that's not an excuse, but that's why. i know you did everything you could to support me, but that just made me angrier, because i knew i was failing you, and i knew you deserved better than me. you always did. i'm—i know i was wrong, i know that, and i know that doesn't make it better. so, please, please, don't feel guilty. i deserve to feel the way i do.”
“but why?” you ask exasperatedly, the confusion from your regained memory and his incomprehensible words bubbling up in your head viciously. “if you knew you were hurting me, why did you keep doing it?”
“i w-was just trying to make us happy. i thought, you know, if i could just get us through the worst of it, it'd be worth it.”
“beomgyu, i was happy, and i didn't need all the extra shit you were so convinced we did. how do you think that makes me feel? made—makes! i don't know!” you borderline scream.
“i know, i know that now. we… i just… i thought i needed to give you everything. buy us a house, get you an engagement ring to propose, plan our wedding, and i thought i would get it if i worked harder. i knew things were bad, i knew i was being an asshole, but i… i just thought i had more time.” his words are barely coherent, but god, do you hear them. he wanted to propose, and he didn't tell you because he wanted to surprise you with the money to do anything and everything you wanted. and yet, in doing so, he made you feel worse than you ever have. it’s so unfair, you want to scream.
“... i need to get out of here,” you murmur with a sharp breath as you stand up to leave.
you know beomgyu. you've known him for years. you’ve seen beomgyu laugh so hard, he cried. you've seen him sick enough to vomit, sleeping in your bed with messy hair, carelessly singing in the shower, lazily draped across the couch with his glasses pushed up against the bridge of his nose. and, most relevantly, you've seen him at his absolute worst—hanging on by a thread and frazzled as he frustratedly tugged on his hair; so it was only natural for you to assume you've seen every part of him. but never, not in a million years, have you seen him like he is now: dropping to his knees before you as he looks up at you with tears streaming down his cheeks.
“please,” he says tremblingly. “p-please, don't go. i'm begging you. look at me, please. i'm begging, i'm begging like i should've begged you before.” he takes his shaking hands and grabs yours. you could pull away if you really wanted to, but you’re so floored, you don't. his words only grow more desperate. you’ve never seen him so afraid, like his life is on the line. and it is. “i’m sorry. i’m sorry i was so fucking cruel. i know it doesn't matter what i was trying to do, all that matters is what i did. but… but, please, just don't go. don't leave. i know i hurt you, i know i deserve to be alone, and i know you deserve better than me,” he sobs. “i'm so, so fucking sorry i treated you like you were unimportant. that's not true, nothing is more important to me than you. every single fucking day i get to be with you is the most important day of my life. i’m sorry i made you feel like there was anything i needed more than you right here with me, but look at me now—” he looks around the room he hasn't been able to rearrange since you left, “i don't have anything if i don't have you. i need you. i love you. i’m sorry. i’m so, so fucking sorry. please, i’ll do anything if you just stay this time. i’ll be a fucking angel if you promise me you won't go.”
what are you supposed to say to that? not too long ago, beomgyu was insisting he was going to let you go. but you suppose you regaining your memories has changed that, since living in ignorance is no longer an option for you. it appears that he's doing what he's wished he would've done in the first place.
“since you left me, all i’ve ever done is work, come home, and force myself to go straight to sleep, just so i can dream about you,” beomgyu babbles between tears. “before you came back, the best part of my day was when i first wake up. everything feels okay then, just for a second, until i reach for you and remember you're not there. and now that you're here, all i think about is how much i want to see you again. i miss you, i miss your smile, i miss your laugh. i miss how just being around you made me want to be a better person, and i know i failed at that, but i'm begging you to let me try again—just one more time. i'll do anything. please.”
there was a time in which you thought a piece of beomgyu’s heart belonged solely to you, but you eventually came to believe that you were wrong. and now, you're still wrong; because you don't have a piece of it, you have all of it in your hands—pulsing with a beat so frantic, it almost hurts you to hold it. you could crush it, if you wanted. that would be easy. you could leave again, you could walk out of his life and try your best to forget. you could scream at him, call him a piece of shit. you could coldly look into his eyes and tell him you don't care what happens to him after your departure. you could be kind, tell him he'll be okay eventually, even though you know he wouldn't be; because no matter how you'd leave him, the truth is, you wouldn’t be, either.
but something bothers you. beomgyu explained his feelings to you, but you've never outwardly acknowledged your next words to him.
“i was so mad at you,” you hoarsely admit, your cheeks warm with tears. “i should have told you how angry i was instead of letting it turn so… so ugly. i told myself you should've known, but i never said anything until i couldn't stand it anymore.”
“no, no, no, it’s not your fault,” he insists, gripping your hands more tightly as he looks up at you. “you were right, i knew i was hurting you. i should’ve talked to you, should've told you the truth. and i’m sorry for not listening when you finally told me how you were feeling. i think… i think i was angry that you said what i’d been afraid of hearing. and i’m so sorry. i swear to god, i will never, ever be like that again. i’ll be a fucking angel. just don't leave me, please. d-don't…”
you know beomgyu from before, and you couldn't stand that version of him. but you realize you know him now, too. you know why he was so angry all the time, and you know it wasn't just the result of a meaningless pursuit of prestige. he was awful, you both know it. he made you unbelievably anxious back then, and he knew it. but now, you know it wasn't out of contempt or out of the unspoken desire to cut you loose and prioritize his career. is it excusable? of course not, but he's not claiming that it is. and you know, from the way he's looking at you like you're his whole world, that he meant every word he said about thinking you were—and still are—the most important thing in the world to him. and you know, though you temporarily forgot it, that he's the most important thing in the world to you, too.
“i missed you,” you rasp. “even when i didn't remember, i’ve missed you so much. i was always looking for you. it can't be anyone besides you.”
beomgyu cries even more, which he didn't think was possible. he tremulously stands up, grabs you, then peppers every inch of your tear-stained face with desperate kisses.
“my girl. my sweet girl,” he murmurs shakily between kisses, his breath a welcome warmth on your cheeks. “it can't be anyone else for me, either. do you know how much i love you?”
finally, beomgyu captures your lips in an aching, but incomparably tender kiss. it's different from the drunken one you two shared—it's intentional, it's teeming with the comfort and gentleness of two people who truly accept each other. there is no doubt in your mind that beomgyu could never want anything else more than he wants you.
because the truth is, beomgyu would rather be alone than try to fill his emptiness with anyone or anything else. if you're coming, beomgyu will be waiting. to be perfectly honest, even if he knows you're not coming… he'll still wait. he'd much prefer to live off dreams of you, just like he has been, than forget you. and, now more than ever, you know you feel the same.
notes pt. 2: *gulp* not too much on me! i'm sorry if the ending/formatting is a bit weird but i tried my best! please don't be mean like i'm so serious i hope this didn't disappoint y'all. if you liked this please reblog + give feedback, it makes it all worth it!
summary. after a fall in the field, his polo career is at risk. you're the sports therapist assigned to his recovery.
pairing. jay x reader.
warnings. sports injury, physical therapy, animal accident, mentions of animal death, grief, guilt, arranged marriage, family pressure, slow burn, cheating themes, storm and thunder, pain, recovery, emotional vulnerability, angst, broken engagement, family fallout.
word count. 8.5k
the sun bore down with a merciless weight, making the field shimmer and the air ripple with heat. every blade of grass felt like a needle beneath your shoes as you trailed after the coach.
“just…be patient with him,” the coach muttered, his eyes never leaving the figure in the distance. there was a caution in his voice, brittle and uncertain, as if jay might snap from across the field. “he’s been like this ever since the fall. angry. shutting everyone out. his arm isn’t healing, not the way he wants.” the coach’s words faltered, grief flickering across his features. “losing that horse broke something in him. i don’t know if will mend.”
you nodded, knuckles whitening around the clipboard. the reports ran through your mind: torn ligaments, missed tournaments, and the final, brutal note: the horse he’d ridden for years, put down after the accident.
on paper, it was clinical. out here, under the oppressive sky, it was raw, almost unbearable. you wondered if anything you did would make a difference.
a sudden, furious shout slashed through the heavy air. jay’s voice echoed across the field, all edges and anger. he swung his mallet, wild and desperate, nothing like the clean precision you had seen in old footage, and the ball skittered off into the weeds. swearing, he yanked the reins so hard the new horse sidestepped in panic, eyes rolling. the mallet crashed to the ground, the sound flat and final.
“that’s him,” the coach sighed. “good luck.”
you approached, nerves thrumming.
jay refused to meet your eye, his jaw clenched so tightly you wondered if he’d crack a tooth. his chest rose and fell in harsh bursts. sweat carved lines down his temple, and even at this distance you could see the rigid, unnatural way he cradled his right arm, as if it was something foreign, something broken he didn’t want to claim.
he looked utterly exhausted and frustrated, a shadow of the athlete whose charming smile always made headlines and lit up social media after a win. here, stripped of the crowd and the cameras, there was nothing left of that easy confidence. only fatigue and anger and sadness.
no proof that he used to be golden. gold that people desperately seek, gold that the world took, gold that they steal.
“mr. park,” you called, forcing steadiness into your voice as you crouched to retrieve his mallet. “i’m here for an initial inspection. just to see how your arm’s holding up.”
nothing. his eyes flicked past you, toward the empty stands.
“can you lift it for me? just to shoulder height.”
he exhaled through clenched teeth, the sound harsh and brittle. after a pause that stretched uncomfortably, he jerked his arm upward, stopping halfway with a wince that twisted his face, rage and pain flickering in his eyes.
“where’s the pain? elbow? shoulder?”
no answer. just a glare at the horizon.
“fine,” you murmured, stepping into his space, feeling the heat radiate off him. “let me check. squeeze my hand as hard as you can.”
his grip nearly bruised your fingers, raw strength but wild and uneven. you wrote it down, lips pressed into a thin line, trying not to show how much it hurt.
“do you feel numbness? tingling?”
silence.
the golden boy didn’t even react, and perhaps that was the worst part.
“any sharp pain when you swing?”
another pause. “obviously,” he bit out, low.
you pretended not to notice the hostility, scribbling notes. “how bad is it, mr. park? one to ten?”
silence. no reply. just the reins creaking in his hands as the horse tossed its head.
“play nice,” coach told him, then stepped away but stayed close enough to watch.
jay occupied the far end of a battered bench by the stables, his injured arm cradled protectively against his thigh. he avoided your gaze, staring somewhere beyond the paddock. every muscle in his body was strung taut with defiance, a living barricade daring you to cross.
you set your bag at your feet and crouched, bringing yourself eye-level with him. “alright,” you began, voice gentle but firm. “today’s just about beginnings. simple movements, stretching out the tension, coaxing your muscles to remember trust.”
silence. no acknowledgment.
with care, you reached for his arm, your fingertips light against his sleeve. “i’m going to lift now,” you murmured, watching for the telltale flicker of pain. “tell me if it gets worse.”
he gave a curt nod, jaw set like stone.
you eased his arm upward, feeling the resistance in every trembling muscle. his shoulder fought the motion, a silent battle beneath your hands. “you’re gripping too hard,” you whispered. “let the tension go. this isn’t a contest.”
he let out a muted scoff, but you saw the subtle shift. his breath left him in a slow, controlled stream, surrendering bit by bit.
you kept your tone light, as if you weren’t both fighting gravity and memory. “distraction helps,” you said, conversational, “so, have you always been a morning trainer, or is this something new?”
“i’m not here to make friends,” he snapped, eyes finally locking with yours, sharp as flint.
the coach shifted behind you. “jay,” he warned, voice edged.
you lifted a hand in silent reassurance, not bothering to glance at the coach. “it’s alright,” you said. “i’m not after friendship. i want to help you move through the pain. distraction keeps your body from seizing up. trust me.”
he looked away again, lips pressed thin.
you allowed the silence to linger for a heartbeat before breaking it with your own calm, methodical voice. as you rotated his shoulder, you narrated the movement, “see how that tugs? that’s your muscle searching for old patterns. soreness is good. a dull ache means you’re healing. sharp pain is a warning. dull means progress.”
silence. silence. silence. still nothing.
“now, squeeze my hand,” you instructed, placing your palm against his. you watched the struggle ripple across his face, his grip erratic: first a burst of strength, then a sudden weakness, as if the memory of power fought with reality.
“that’s better,” you observed, offering a small, encouraging nod. “feel any pain?”
a long pause, then, “no.”
you jotted the answer in your notes, careful not to show your relief at his response. “good,” you said quietly. “that means your nerves are clear. we’ll keep building from here.”
he fell silent, but allowed you to continue, his breath rasping through each new stretch. you filled the space with your voice, refusing to let quiet become a wall. “this is just a gentle flexion. hold it for ten. don’t focus on the strain. think about the letting go. your body is relearning safety.”
when at last you lowered his arm and checked the clock, you were surprised. barely twenty minutes had trickled away.
“that’s it for today,” you announced, tucking your notes away with practiced efficiency.
jay’s head whipped around. “that’s it?” disbelief colored every syllable.
“that’s right.” you rose to your full height, not flinching from his glare. “we go slow. rush a ligament, and you’ll tear it again, maybe worse. we’ll add weight and resistance once your arm remembers how to move.”
he barked a bitter laugh, surging to his feet. “you’re wasting my time. i don’t need someone coddling me with baby exercises. i need to get back, fast.”
you held his gaze, steady and unyielding. “if you think i’m not enough, find someone else. but this is the program that will save your arm, and maybe your career.”
his jaw clenched, eyes bright with something that almost hurt to witness. “you don’t know what it’s like to lose everything in one stupid fall. i can’t.” he broke off, shaking his head, voice rough. “i don’t have time to crawl back. i need to be ready.”
you softened, but only a fraction. “let me help you do this right. i’m not fighting you, mr. park. if you push too fast, you’ll land right back at zero, or worse.”
the coach finally stepped in, his voice a hard edge. “jay, giver her a chance. you won’t get anywhere if you keep fighting the people trying to get you back on that field.”
there’s a crack in his surface, electric midnight eyes. his gaze flickered between you and the coach, frustration rolling off him in visible waves. at last, he exhaled sharply, muttered something you couldn’t catch, and spun away. his boots scraped the earth as he stalked toward the stables, leaving only silence in his wake.
you arrived ahead of time, boots crunching quietly across the grass. the coach was nowhere to be seen. but jay was there, a solitary figure outlined against the fence. his silhouette tense, his good hand white-knuckled around the reins of a restless horse.
you hesitated a moment before calling out, “you're early. did you not sleep last night, or were you just eager to get this over with?” your attempt at lightness hung awkwardly in the air.
silence, silence, silence. he released the reins, shoulders stiff, and turned toward the battered bench where you always worked together.
you set your bag down, scanning the empty field. "where's coach?" you asked, voice low.
"not here." jay dropped onto the bench with a heavy thud, stretching his legs out in front of him. "it’s just you and me today."
there was a weight to his words. a warning, not an invitation. still, you crouched beside him, sliding the strap of your bag off with practiced ease. "alright. we’ll start the same as always. basic stretches. keep building tolerance."
he said nothing, just sat hunched, brows drawn together, jaw clenched as if holding back a storm.
"lift your arm for me," you instructed, voice gentle but firm. "slow. just to shoulder height."
he obeyed, his face unmoving beneath that permanent scowl. carefully, you guided his arm, rotating it at the shoulder. his muscles resisted, tense and unyielding beneath your hands.
"you're still holding tight," you murmured, barely above a whisper. "try to let the shoulder go."
he exhaled sharply through his nose, still silent, his gaze fixed somewhere far away.
you filled the silence with words meant to comfort. "this injury won’t end your career, jay. you know that, right?"
his head snapped toward you, eyes fierce and wounded. the look in his eyes are terrible. terrifying. "don't."
"don't what?" you asked, keeping your tone even.
"don’t talk to me like you know what this is. just do your job." his voice cut through the air, sharp and brittle and harsh. "you’ll never understand what it feels like. to lose everything in one fall." he stopped, jaw trembling, eyes darting away as if the words themselves might hurt him.
you wonder if he had anymore gold to give.
you let his words hang in the air, heavy as the silence. quietly, you said, "i know one thing, though. if you want to recover, you have to believe it's possible. i can show you the program, the stretches, the exercises. but if you’ve already decided you’re broken, your body will listen."
his gaze bore into you. as if he was trying to sink your image fully. all the contours on your face, depths, highlights, sinking in, popping out, slopes, textures, tones.
his glare faltered. the fight in his eyes faded, replaced by a shadow of something you couldn’t quite name.
he didn’t answer. just turned away, lips pressed together.
you continued to move his arm, narrating each motion. "this one rebuilds your range of motion. a dull ache means you’re making progress. we'll add resistance soon, but for now, this is how your body relearns trust."
still, he said nothing, nothing, nothing. but he didn’t pull away.
when you finished, easing his arm back into his lap, the silence stretched between you like a drawn bow. for once, he didn’t snap. he only sat, eyes fixed on the ground, unusually still.
you packed up your things slowly, glancing over at him. "same time tomorrow?" you asked, voice tentative.
he doesn't answer. for a long moment, only the sound of the restless horse and the distant wind fill the space between you. you watch him for a sign. a nod. a word. anything. but he just stares at the ground, jaw set.
you shoulder your bag. "i'll be here," you say quietly. the words hang in the air, softer than a promise, as you step away.
he offered no answer. just the faintest twitch along his jaw.
but he didn’t leave. not yet.
weeks slipped by, and the rhythm of recovery changed in quiet increments. each morning, jay rolled his shoulder and flexed his fingers, the ache in his arm easing, though the silence around him lingered like a second shadow.
you guided him, gently and persistently, through stretches, resistance bands biting against muscle. then, at last, the coach relented: jay could return to the field.
from the sidelines, you watched with the coach as jay swung into the saddle, reins drawn taut between knuckles gone white. sunlight poured over the field, heavy and golden, while cicadas droned somewhere unseen.
“he’s improved,” you murmured, eyes following the way jay coaxed the horse into a careful trot. there was tension still in every line of him, but now it was harnessed. controlled, not forced.
the coach folded his arms, eyes never leaving jay’s silhouette, studying the boy that used mirror the sun. “you know… no one’s managed to get him this far before.”
you blinked, surprised, glancing over. “what do you mean?”
“he’s burned through so many therapists,” the coach said, voice low, shaking his head. “some walked away, some he drove off. jay wasn’t always this angry. he’s furious with himself, mostly. for that one moment of carelessness. for letting the fall happen. it cost him more than just his arm.” the coach’s gaze drifted to the far fence, voice thinning to a whisper. “he lost the horse he raised. when jay’s arm gave out, he couldn’t hold the reins. the horse went down, too.”
your gaze found him again. he was guiding the horse into a slow run, posture rigid, every movement precise. but you saw it; the flicker in his eyes, the pinch at his brow, the heaviness that clung to his hands whenever he closed them around the lead.
golden. but he’s sad now.
he’s quiet, sunken, and shaded.
“he blames himself,” the coach murmured, almost to himself.
there was nothing you could say to that.
then, in a blink, your heart lurched. jay’s horse faltered, a hoof skidding in the dirt. he pitched forward, nearly unseated, panic flashing across his face.
“jay—” the coach called, but jay was already reacting.
he steadied himself in an instant, one hand stroking the horse’s neck as he leaned close, words slipping out in a hoarse whisper. his face was drawn, panic flickering behind his eyes, but his voice, when it broke through, was raw and trembling “easy, easy. i’ve got you. i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.”
you stood frozen watching him stroke the horse’s mane, apologies tumbling from his lips again and again. quiet, desperate, meant for ears that could never truly answer.
beside you, the coach’s expression shifted, grief and understanding flickering across his features.
in that moment, you understood. it wasn’t just he injury that had broken jay, it was the guilt. the weight of loss he kept tucked out of sight, where no one else could reach it.
crownless prince, he saw the universe for a moment and the next, it’s gone.
later on, night draped itself around the medical facility, muffling every sound but the distant thump of bass that vibrated across the field. a reminder that life carried on elsewhere.
you slipped inside, careful not to let the door creak, footsteps soft against the floor. the lights overhead hummed as you made your way to your station, heart pounding with quiet urgency.only when your hand closed around the tool you’d left behind did you finally exhale, relief shivering through you like a gust of cold air.
“we’re not supposed to have a session right now, are we?”
you froze, breath catching as you turned.
jay stood in the doorway, a silhouette etched in the spill of light from outside. gone was the familiar training gear, but in its place, a suit clung to his lean frame, jacket undone, tie askew. his hair was carefully styled, then ruined by restless hands. the air around him shimmered faintly with whiskey and something heavier. regret, maybe, or damned at the birs of exhaustion.
you lifted the tool slightly, sheepish. “no. just forgot something.”
his gaze drifted past you, settling on the glass building that glittered cross the field. windows pulsed with light, silhouettes swirling behind them. a ballroom in motion, alive with laughter and the clink of crystal.
the sponsor gala was a world apart: investors, family friends, socialites swirling in designer gowns. servers moved like shadows between them, trays of champagne balanced high, while camera flashes burst like distant stars.
“are you staying for the party?” he asked.
you glanced down at yourself, plain t-shirt, jeans, trench coat, and let out a dry laugh. “do i look like i belong in there?”
his eyes lingered on you, unwavering, and for a moment, you felt transparent beneath his gaze.
jay, beautiful, quiet, sunken, and shaded.
somewhere in there, he’s still golden.
when he finally spoke, his voice was stripped, almost tender. “doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. you’d outshine them all.” the words landed heavier than you expected.
you blinked, unsure how to respond.
jay blinked too, dragging a hand over his face. “sorry. too much to drink.”
you cleared your throat. “i should go.”
but instead of stepping aside, he moved into the room, crossing the distance with slow, heavy steps. he sank onto the bench, elbows on his knees, head bowed. for the first time since you had known him, his anger had burned away, leaving only a raw, bone-deep weariness.
“you good?” you asked carefully.
“yeah,” he muttered. “just… tired.”
you lingered, watching him. “what’s wrong?”
he gave you a faint, defeated smile. “pretty sure listening to me complain isn’t part of your job description.”
you crossed your arms. “neither was putting up with you snapping at me all the time, and i’m still doing it.”
that pulled a soft chuckle from him, though it didn’t last long. you found yourself appreciating it so much. to hear him laugh.
silence stretched before he spoke again, voice low. “do you ever wonder what would happen if you just… stopped following the rules? if you stopped doing what was expected of you?”
you tilted your head. “are you planning to become a criminal now?”
he shook his head. “no. i mean… what if i stopped being who everyone thinks i am? the interviews, the sponsors, the family obligations. it’s all been picked for me. sometimes i wonder what would happen if i just said no.”
your voice softened, careful. “i thought you loved polo.”
“i do. i love the game.” his gaze found yours, stripped bare of pretense. “but everything behind it, the pressure, the spotlight. it’s like i’m wearing a costume i can’t take off. sometimes i wonder if any of it is really mine.”
you shifted, clutching your coat tighter. “that doesn’t mean you stop being you.”
jay met your torn stare as you observed him, trying to detect what it is currently going through your brain. then he exhaled and leaned back, scrubbing a hand over his face. “forget it. i’ve had too much to drink.”
you didn’t push further. adjusting your bag, you nodded once. “get some rest, mr. park.”
“it’s jay.” he corrected.
you shook your head. “jay, then.”
“y/n.”
you paused at the doorway.
his face was masked in shadow, but his words cut through the hush. “one day, i’ll step out of the part they wrote for me.” his eyes locked with yours, fierce and vulnerable all at once.
you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. so you left.
the tool in your bag was feather-light, but his words settled over your shoulders. an invisible weight you’d carry long after you stepped back into the night.
the stables exhaled as you slipped in after work, the lingering scent of hay and leather rising to greet you. darkness stretched long between the stalls, but you moved through them like a familiar ghost, your pockets heavy with sugar cubes.
one by one, you offered each horse a small sweet, your voice soft as you murmured to them, their velvet muzzles pressing into your palm, ears flickering in silent conversation.
when you reached jay’s horse, you lingered, letting your hand rest on the mare’s neck.
“you did a good job today,” you whispered, your breath stirring the short hairs by her ear. the horse’s eyes fluttered closed as you stroked her head, slipping her an extra treat. she pressed her weight into your palm, a deep trust in the way she leaned, and a soft smile tugged at your lips.
“do you always stop by the stables after work?”
you turned, heart quickening.
jay stood at the entrance, framed by the last golden shaft of evening sun making him look like he had a halo, a coil of hose slung over one shoulder and a battered bucket of brushes and bottles in the other. damp hair clung to his forehead, and his shirt, darkened by sweat, hugged the lean lines of his body. for once, he looked calmer, as if the day’s rough edges had been smoothed.
the horse shoved its head harder into your hand, answering for you.
his lips twitched before nodding. “guess you two are already well-acquainted.”
you let out a small laugh. “certainly know more about her than i do about you.”
his head shook, almost amused. without replying, he set the supplies down and started brushing the horse’s mane, movements methodical. his eyes never left the strands.
“i’ve been an ass,” he said suddenly, low. you could see the tired lines across his face. “most of the time.”
you tilted your head, brushing it off with a soft tone. “you’ve been angry. frustrated. you’re struggling with the outside and with yourself. that’s a lot for anyone to carry.”
he stilled.
“but,” you added softly, “you have to remember… choosing anger as a response is still a choice.”
for a moment, he just stared at the brush in his hand, as if your words weighed more than the bristles.
then he nodded, a slow, reluctant acceptance. "aside from being a sports therapist, are you also an actual therapist?" the faintest glimmer of humor flickered in his eyes, like sunlight on water now. "you always know what to say."
you shook your head, smiling faintly. “no. i’ve just been there before.”
he glanced sideways at you, brows furrowing. “what happened?”
you shrugged, picking up another brush from the bucket. “i was an equestrian. but that dream had already ended. back injury.”
this time, he looked at you, really looked, as if seeing past the person you presented to the ache beneath. the sharpness in his gaze softened, his features shifting into something close to understanding. "i'm sorry," he said, and the words sounded like they cost him something.
i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry.
you chuckled, brushing the horse’s coat. “why are you sorry? it’s not your fault.”
“i just am,” he said simply, and there was no fight in his voice this time.
you nodded quietly, accepting it. after a moment, you asked, “so, why are you cleaning her yourself when there are caretakers?”
jay’s hand slowed through the horse’s mane. “because i like doing it. makes a relationship with her that isn’t just about riding. it’s like… making a friend at work. work and outside fun are different. there are boundaries.”
“boundaries,” you repeated, amused. “so brushing is like… after-work drinks?”
that got him to huff a quiet laugh. “something like that.”
he crouched, pulling the hose closer, and motioned for you to take the small stool. you sat down, brushing dust off your pants. then suddenly, his hands closed around the edges of the stool.
you startled slightly as he dragged it back, dragging you with it, the legs scraping against the ground. he leaned close, his arm brushing your knee as he shifted the stool a safe distance away.
your breath caught. his head dipped just enough that the scent of horse and fresh sweat, earthy and clean, rose from his shirt, vivid and real. for a heartbeat, the world shrank to the small space between you, filled with unspoken questions.
“you’re in the splash zone,” he murmured, voice low but edged with amusement. his eyes flicked to yours. soft, roaring thunder. holding for just a second too long before he pulled away.
and then, just as the words left him, the horse shook herself violently, spraying water in every direction. jay twisted instinctively, shielding you with his body, leaving his back drenched instead.
you burst out laughing, clutching the stool. “i think she likes you better soaked.”
he turned, water streaming from his hair, droplets sparkling in the stable’s muted light. but there it was, a grin, wide and boyish, stripping years from his face and leaving him momentarily unguarded. "she did that on purpose," he protested, but laughter trembled in his voice.
“she’s smarter than you give her credit for,” you teased.
he shook his head, still grinning. “you’re enjoying this way too much.”
“of course,” you shot back. “i stayed dry.”
the laughter lingered, floating between you like dust motes in the sun, before fading into the silence. jay leaned against the stall, his smile softer now, shadowed by something uncertain. "are you coming next week?"
you blinked. “you don’t have an appointment next week.”
“i know.” his eyes held yours, steady and searching. “but… what if something happens to me?”
you tilted your head, trying to keep your tone teasing despite the weight in his voice. “what, like another horse decides to soak you?”
he didn’t laugh. he just kept looking at you, gaze steady and unreadable. the air in the stable shifted, no longer playful but dense, charged with anticipation and something unnamed.
“yeah,” he said finally, voice low. “something like that.”
the arena thrummed with anticipation the moment you arrived, the crowd’s chatter and the relentless flicker of camera shutters weaving a restless tapestry overhead. coach strode at your side, his gaze sharp as a hawk’s, scanning the expanse of emerald grass and freshly painted lines.
“he’s right there,” coach muttered, his voice gravelly, nodding toward a tight knot of reporters whose microphones glinted in the late sun.
jay stood at their center, immaculate in his polo whites, his smile as polished as the silver cups displayed in the clubhouse. he shone under the sunlight, glimming like a universal dream.
the journalists circled him, a swirling mass of questions ricocheting off one another, hungry for soundbites about the prince of polo’s fabled comeback. their voices merged into a single, insistent roar.
“vultures,” coach grumbled under his breath. “every last one.”
but then, amid the chaos, jay’s gaze broke free and found yours. his smile changed. less practiced, unexpectedly warm. he lifted his hand in greeting, momentarily oblivious to the reporter repeating his question, intent only on you.
your heart ached, a sharp burn spreading like a wild flame.
later on the whistle blew. the game began in a blur of pounding hooves and sunlit dust.
jay rode with the elegance of someone born to the saddle. every swing clean, every turn precise, as if the months away had only honed his hunger. yet, as the minutes wore on, you saw the strain in his jaw, the white-knuckled grip on his mallet, the subtle hitch in his right arm.
coach cursed softly, his words nearly lost in the din. “he’s pushing too hard.”
and sure enough, jay was sidelined, frustration etched deep in his features as he cantered off toward the stables, head bowed.
“you should check on him,” coach said, his tone gentler now.
you nodded, slipping away from the noise and the crowd, your footsteps echoing in the quieter corridors behind the stables. you found jay with his back to you, hands moving in slow, gentle circles over his horse’s withers, as if searching for solace in the animal’s steady breath.
“you did well,” you offered quietly.
he turned, the tension in his shoulders slackening just a fraction. beautiful, sunken, and shaded. “you think so?”
“i know it,” you replied, reaching to test the motion of his arm. “see? no overexertion. that’s real progress. any pain?”
jay shook his head, his eyes searching yours as if for reassurance he dared not voice. “i’m glad you’re here,” he said at last.
you tried to make light of it. “who else would put up with you when you need patching up?”
he shook his head, more earnest now. “no, really. i mean it. i’m just… glad to see you.”
your heart was about to detonate.
the words lingered in the quiet, thickening the air. you took a step back, needing space, but he caught you with his voice.
“wanna go for a ride?”
you hesitated. “but your game—”
he shrugged, resigned. “we both know i’m done for today. besides, she’s got energy to burn.”
you protested half-heartedly, but jay’s grin was infectious, and soon you relented. he swung up onto his horse, then reached down, hand outstretched.
you took it, letting him pull you up behind him, your hands finding purchase at his waist.
“ready?” he asked, looking back at you.
“yes,” you began, gripping the saddle. but his hand covered yours, moving it over his waist.
“it’s safer here,” he said softly, almost teasing. “you know that.”
the two of you crossed the fields, the steady rhythm of the horse’s gait soothing the ache of disappointment. the world felt smaller out here, bordered by the scent of rain and the whisper of grass.
“do you miss it?” jay asked quietly. “competing?”
“sometimes,” you admitted. “but i try not to dwell. life doesn’t stop just because one dream fades.”
he was silent for a long time. “that’s your superpower,” he said finally.
you frowned, brow furrowing. “what is?”
“making hardships feel… smaller. like they’re just passing weather. you always know how to quiet the noise in my head.”
“soon enough, you won’t need me for that.”
he made a low sound of protest. “you really believe that?”
“yeah. you’ll recover.”
“no,” he said, voice rough. “that i won’t need you.”
before you could answer, thunder cracked, slicing through the moment.
“we should head back,” you said, nerves prickling.
rain broke, sudden and cold, chasing you to the stables. by the time you arrived, both of you were drenched, laughing breathlessly as jay lifted you down, his hands steady at your waist. the horse shook herself, spraying you both, and you laughed harder, warmth blooming in your chest.
“she’s a jokester, your horse,” you said, pushing wet hair from your eyes.
“she knows exactly what she’s doing,” jay replied, grinning through the rain.
the laughter faded, replaced by a different tension. jay’s hands lingered, his face so close you could feel his breath. he reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. your hearted beated, out if control, out of control, out of control.
“i need to tell you something—”
“jay?” a new voice, crisp and clear, cut through the hush.
you turned. a woman stood beneath the stable’s eaves, dry in a perfect coat, her umbrella a shield against the weather.
she crossed to jay, kissed his cheek, and wiped away the trace of lipstick she left behind.
“you’re soaked, honey. where did you go?” her voice was smooth, practiced.
jay didn’t answer. his eyes stayed on you.
she followed his gaze, her smile polite but razor-edged. “you must be the therapist. i’m f/n, jay’s fiancée.” she slipped an arm around his waist, heedless of his sodden clothes. “i see you’re working overtime to fix him.”
it feels there’s a hole ripped in your chest.
you forced a smile, masking the sting. “we were just talking. about how he won’t need me much longer.”
“y/n—” jay’s voice broke, desperate.
but you were already walking away, heart pounding, not trusting yourself to look back. “until next time, mr. park.”
that night, you scrubbed your skin until it was raw and red.
you worked his arm through the last series of stretches. jay sat on the bench, expression unreadable, gaze somewhere over your shoulder.
“here,” you instructed, adjusting the angle of his elbow. “this is where you should feel it tense. hold for five… four…”
he obeyed silently. for once, he didn’t argue. but the silence wasn’t peaceful. it was something taut, strung between you.
the coach hovered nearby, scrolling through his phone, then suddenly glanced up. “i’ll just take this call. keep up the good work!” he walked a few paces off, phone pressed to his ear.
the moment his back was turned, jay leaned forward, his breath brushing against your temple. “are you really not going to talk to me?”
you didn’t flinch, didn’t look at him. “i am talking to you. one more set.” your voice was calm, clinical.
but when the coach’s voice drifted farther away, jay suddenly stood, looming over you. his shadow fell across your face, the rich scent of his cologne wrapping around you until you had nowhere to look but up.
the room shifts and strains with tension, so close to breaking. always close to something.
“it’s not what it looks like,” he said, low, urgent.
you arched a brow, feigning confusion. “and what exactly is it?”
“we’re engaged, yes. but i’m not in love with her.”
your laugh was short, bitter. “that’s the kind of thing men always say when they’re caught in someone else’s arms.” his brows pulled together, but before he could speak, you clipped, “you’re finished. that was your last session.”
you turned on your heel, striding toward the field.
for a moment, he was frozen, baffled. then—“what do you mean, last session?” his footsteps pounded behind you.
“you’ve completed the program, mr. park,” you reminded him briskly. “your arm’s healed. good as new.”
“you’re leaving me.” his voice wasn’t angry this time. it was raw.
“you mean i’ve done my job.”
“we’re not done, y/n.”
“there’s no we here.”
he caught your arm, gently but firmly, halting you. carefully drew you back to him, hands aching in want. what do you want? what do you want? what do you want? his body towered over yours, eyes burning down into yours. “there is. and you know it.”
you stared at him, pulse quick. “if you don’t feel ready, then hire a new therapist.”
“i don’t want a new therapist. i want you.”
“i’m booked,” you snapped, yanking your arm back.
he exhaled, frustrated. “i don’t mean it like that and you know it.”
you froze, eyes meeting his. his voice was softer now, a desperate tone.
“you’re engaged,” you whispered, pressing a hand against his chest, shoving lightly to create space before walking again.
“she was chosen for me,” he said suddenly, voice breaking through the air between you. “our families arranged it. it’s business, it benefits both sides.”
you stopped dead. “…what?”
“i don’t love her,” jay admitted, each word heavier than the last. his tone wasn’t defensive, it was pleading.
your throat tightened. “why should i believe that?”
“because it’s the truth. ask around. ask coach. please—” he caught up to you, reaching for your hand this time, not by accident, not disguised as anything else. friends. his fingers laced with yours deliberately. “please, believe me.”
you stared at him, heat rushing to your cheeks, but forced your voice steady. “even if it is true, what difference does that make? i don’t like you.”
his eyes darkened, lips twitching into the faintest, pained smile. “i don’t believe you.” he stepped closer, erasing the space between you.
“i’ve never even thought of you in that way,” you said firmly, but your voice wavered.
“liar,” he whispered, his lips so close you could feel the ghost of his breath.
“jay… this is unprofessional,” you murmured, barely audible.
his mouth curved against the edge of yours. “good thing you’re not my therapist anymore.”
and before you could move, his lips pressed to yours. hot, urgent, breaking every line you swore you wouldn’t cross.
time seemed to splinter as his lips claimed yours desperate.
the world dissolved into sensation: his breath, jagged and ragged, mingled with yours, the heat of his body pressed so close you could feel the wild thrum of his heart against your chest. out of control, out of control, out of control.
for a heartbeat, you were marble, stunned by the audacity and the heat of him, your fingers curled helplessly in the fabric of his shirt, clutching at him like a lifeline.
then sensation flooded in: the rough silk of his mouth, the electric jolt as your body moved of its own volition, betraying every denial you had rehearsed. the taste of rain and adrenaline clung to him, grounding you in the impossible moment.
his hand found your jaw, gentle and commanding, thumb tracing the line of your cheek as if memorizing it, tilting your face so the kiss deepened. so you could lose yourself, just for a breath, in the ache you swore you would never admit.
your chest tightened, a storm gathering under your skin. his hand splayed at your waist, fingers trembling almost imperceptibly, as if he was just as close to unraveling as you.
god, it was far too easy to collapse into him, to surrender to the gravity between you, as if you’d been falling for years and only just realized the ground was gone. every muscle in your body seemed crave the shape of his arms around you, the safety and the danger intertwined in his hold.
but reality crashed in. merciless and cold.
somewhere, a door slammed, a distant voice called, and the spell shattered.
with a gasp, you shoved against his chest, tearing yourself away, the force of it leaving your palms tingling. his cologne, his warmth, the echo of his lips. all of it clung to your skin, dizzying and inescapable. your breath came in shallow, ragged bursts, and for a moment all you could do was stare, stunned by what you had let happen.
“jay,” you hissed, taking a step back. “that was—no. we can’t.”
he stood there, lips parted, breathing hard, eyes searching yours. “you kissed me back.”
your cheeks burned, your hands curling into fists. “i stopped it.”
“you didn’t want to.” his voice was steady, quiet. but his gaze was fire, pinning you in place.
“don’t twist this,” you snapped. “this—whatever this is—can’t happen. you’re engaged.”
his jaw flexed. “i told you, it’s not real. it’s politics, family, business. everything but love. you’re the only one i—”
“stop.” you cut him off before he could finish, shaking your head. “you can’t just throw that at me because you’re unhappy in an arrangement.”
he took a step closer, towering again, but softer this time, as if afraid you’d run. “y/n… i meant what i said. i need you.”
you exhaled, forcing yourself to stand firm. “you need a therapist. not me. not like this.”
“you think i can’t tell the difference?” his voice cracked with frustration. “you think i would risk everything just to play games with you?”
your chest ached, but you forced the words out. “risking everything isn’t the same as loving someone, jay.”
for the first time, his confidence faltered. he looked at you like the ground beneath him had shifted, like your words had stolen his balance.
and before either of you could speak again, coach’s voice called distantly from across the field. “y/n! jay! you two done?”
you quickly bent, stuffing your things into your bag, heart pounding. “yes, coach.” your voice was steady, but your hands shook.
jay’s eyes stayed locked on you, unreadable.
as you slung the bag over your shoulder, you met his gaze. “this won’t ever happen again.”
“y/n.”
you stopped, spine stiff, before turning. jay stood there, polo uniform replaced by a crisp shirt and slacks. he looked less like an athlete and more like the heir everyone said he was. more and more out of reach.
but his eyes. they weren’t composed. they were stormy, restless, raging in sadness.
“i told you,” you said flatly. “this can’t happen again.”
“i’m not going to apologize for the kiss.” his tone was sharp, cutting through the night air. “i don’t regret it.”
you exhaled, shaking your head. “then you should be talking to your fiancée, not me.”
“i told you, she isn’t—”
“jay,” you cut him off, voice rising. “you can’t drag me into your mess because you’re unhappy with your life. i won’t be your excuse for why you can’t go through with it.”
his jaw tightened, but then he stepped closer, voice lower, rawer. “you think that’s what this is? you think i want you because i’m cornered? no. i want you because—” his throat worked, the words sticking before finally breaking free. “because when you look at me, you don’t see the title. or the money. or the mistakes. you just… see me. and no one else ever has.”
your chest clenched, but you forced yourself to look away. “that doesn’t change anything.”
“it changes everything,” he countered quickly, desperate. “it means this isn’t one-sided. you feel it too. you can’t deny it.”
you tried to keep your tone steady, professional. “what i feel doesn’t matter. what matters is that you’re engaged, and i won’t be the other woman in your story.”
jay ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “you’re not the other woman. you’re the only woman. the only one i—” he stopped, cutting himself off before the words spilled too far.
silence fell, heavy between you.
finally, you whispered, “you’re asking me to destroy myself for you.” this time your voice broke with the very last word.
“i’m asking you to believe me,” he said quietly, almost begging. “to believe that i’ll find a way out. that i’ll choose you, if you will let me.”
jay was on his knees now, unraveling that much morec and you felt that too, felt the relief and the terror and the exhaustion in that, felt the helplessness in how he clung to you.
you swallowed hard, heart thundering. for the first time, jay didn’t look like the arrogant prince or the angry athlete. he just looked… human. vulnerable.
and that terrified you more than anything.
the storm had never stopped.
rain raged outside, wind howling through the cracks in the ancient barn, each gust making the weathered wood groan and shudder as if it might splinter apart at any moment. water hammered the tin roof in relentless sheets, drowning out all but the frantic heartbeat in your chest.
you ran your hand slowly down the side of your horse’s neck, feeling the quiver of her muscles beneath your palm. her breath hot and panicked as she tossed her head, eyes rolling at each crack of thunder. you whispered meaningless reassurances, words lost to the storm, but your touch was steady, grounding both of you as lightning painted the world outside in stark, blinding white.
your phone was abandoned in your jacket pocket, the screen still buzzing with notifications. the headlines had been everywhere all day:
“prince of polo returns, better than ever.”
“park heir calls off engagement in shocking move.”
“families in turmoil as jay park chooses career, not tradition.”
you hadn’t dared read past the titles.
you knew you had to forget it. the love and the hate. the pain and the anger and the lust. all of it. it rests heavy on your shoulders, insistent and pounding, demanding to be thought about.
you have to bury it all. beat it down to a secret.
“did you see?”
the voice cut through the thunder, and your stomach dropped.
you spun so fast your vision blurred, heart leaping into your throat as you gripped the edge of the stall for support. framed in the barn doorway stood jay, his silhouette carved sharply against the storm.
droplets ran off him in streams, his shirt plastered to his skin and clinging to every line of muscle and exhaustion. his hair was soaked, black strands dripping into his eyes, and those eyes. wild, desperate, searching the gloom until they found you. they seemed to blaze with a thousand unspoken words.
for a moment, neither of you moved, the world narrowing to the space between his trembling form and your frozen one.
“jay,” you breathed.
he stepped into the barn, mud sucking at his boots, each stride heavy with the weight of sleepless nights and impossible choices. he looked older than you remembered, the sharp cut of his jaw tense, shoulders hunched as if he bore the storm itself on his back.
“did you see the headlines?” the words tumbled out, his voice raw and uneven. not with the anger he wore, not laced with pride, but trembling at the edges with something that sounded dangerously close to fear.
you swallowed, words sticking in your throat.
“i broke it off with her,” he confessed, his voice barely carrying over the sound of rain. he took another step closer, leaving a trail of water and mud behind him, the storm raging at his back like a living thing desperate to reclaim him. “the arrangement. the families. all of it. i ended it. i threw it away.” his words were almost frantic, as if saying them aloud made the consequences all the more inescapable.
you shook your head, barely finding your voice. “do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”
“yes.” his eyes burned into yours, unflinching. “i’ve done the only thing that felt right. for once.”
the horses shifted behind you, but you couldn’t move, pinned by his gaze.
“y/n…” your name left his lips like a prayer, a plea, soft enough to be lost in the thunder. “i don’t care if i win, if i lose, if they strip everything from me. let them take the trophies, the horses, the name— none of it matters anymore. i can rebuild all of it.” he paused, his breath catching in his throat, voice splintering with the force of everything he’d never let himself admit. “but i can’t—” he choked, shaking his head as if the words themselves hurt. “i can’t rebuild if i lose you.”
the confession hung between you, heavy and trembling with hope and fear.
your chest tightened, his words cutting straight through the walls you hadd built.
“you can say no. you can tell me i’m insane, reckless, selfish. you would be right,” he went on, stepping closer, closing the distance. “but don’t say i didn’t mean it. don’t say you don’t feel it too.”
silence hung thick, the storm thrashing against the barn walls, his shoulders dripping rain onto the dirt floor.
finally, you whispered, “jay… what happens if i let you in?”
his hand reached for yours, fingers trembling. not with weakness, but with the impossible weight of the choice he had made.
rain dripped from his hair, tracing the lines of his cheeks as he looked at you, his eyes shining with the last, fragile hope he dared to hold. you ached to wipe the darkness under his eyes. “then it means everything i gave up… was worth it. every sacrifice, every headline, every sleepless night.”
you stared at him, at the soaked hair clinging to his forehead, at the rawness in his face. beautiful, sunken: and shades. slowly, against every instinct that told you to run, your fingers slipped into his.
and for the first time, jay didn’t look like the untouchable prince of polo, the heir with the world at his feet.
he just looked like a man. witnessing your heartbreaker break into a thousand of pieces.
soaked and shivering, stripped of every armor. who had chosen you above everything he’d ever known. in the silence that followed, the storm became simply a distant drum, and you realized you were no longer afraid.
the sun dipped low, gilding the field in syrupy gold as you lingered at the edge, clipboard in hand, heart ticking with every beat of hooves. jay rode differently today; his swings were cleaner, his focus unbreakable. yet you noticed the tightness in his shoulder, the shadow of old pain. you opened your mouth, ready to call it, when his horse’s hoof struck a hidden divot. in a blur, beast and rider faltered, and the world seemed to tilt.
jay was airborne, a flash of motion, a gasp ripped from your lungs, as he crashed into the dirt, the thud echoing in your bones. his mallet spun uselessly into the grass, a stray relic of the fall.
“jay!” your clipboard hit the earth with a hollow clatter, forgotten as you dashed to his side and knelt in the churned dirt. panic surged through you, sharp and electric. “are you okay?”
for a heartbeat, pain carved deep lines across his face. then, with a ragged breath, he managed a crooked, familiar grin. “worried about me?”
relief crashed through you, sharp and overwhelming, leaving your throat tight. you scowled at him, brushing grit from his sleeve as your fingers checked for injury. “it’s my job, idiot.”
he tried to chuckle, though it twisted into a wince. “unprofessional… calling your client an idiot.”
“unprofessional,” you shot back, gently rotating his shoulder, “is making me think i’d have to call an ambulance because you forgot how to sit a horse.”
he winced, but managed to lift his arm a few inches. “see? still works.”
“barely,” you muttered, but the knot in your chest began to unravel.
his gaze caught yours, softer now, all the bravado stripped away. “you really were worried about me.”
you swallowed hard, rising to offer your hand. “don’t make me regret it.”
he clasped your hand, his grip warm and rough. as you hauled him up, he didn’t let go, just tugged you that much closer, close enough that you could breathe in earth, leather, and the unmistakable scent of him.
“jay,” you warned, but your voice was softer than you intended, trembling on the edge of something new.
his grin spread, slow, a little reckless, but his eyes held only honesty. “what? you’re off the clock now.”
before you could think, his mouth met yours, tentative at first, tasting the promise there. your hand fisted in his shirt, holding tight. the kiss deepened, weeks of tension unraveling in a single, breathless moment. when you finally parted, the world spun, remade.
“still unprofessional,” you murmured, lips quirking despite yourself.
“good thing you’re not just my therapist anymore,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to yours.
the field was quiet, dusk spilling across the grass. for the first time, neither of you cared who might be watching. it wasn’t about his title or your job anymore. it was just the two of you, finally, together.
ʚ♡⃛ɞ when your cousin came to you with a plot to break her cheating ex-boyfriend's heart, you couldn't tell her no. little did you know you'd be dealing with the devil.
written + smau • fluff + angst • john tucker must die inspired • college au
starring kang taehyun
featuring tomorrow x together • chaeryeong and yuna from itzy • yunjin and kazuha from le sserafim • manon from katseye • sohee from riize
started on. july 7th 2025
status. ongoing
character profiles
one: don’t hurt yourself
two: three of us
three: bribery?
four: kang taehyun must d!3
five: a new low
six: be cool
seven: sweet dreams
eight: you’re so in
nine: unbelievably cool, kind, smart
ten: because i’m so in love with you?
eleven: she got pied
twelve: everything for the plot
thirteen: like that means anything
fourteen: this is not a slasher film
fifteen: substantial sum
sixteen: kang taehyun must d!3 (for real this time)
seventeen: a really really good surprise
eighteen: expensive ass cat
nineteen: or together?
twenty: someone like u
disclaimer: all representations of characters in this story are completely fictional. this is not a reflection of the real people that they are inspired by or even how i feel about them. it is simply for storytelling purposes.
(𝓐UTREMENT) — park jay and l/n y/n used to date once upon a time. but then things happened and they broke up and lost contact with each other. a few years later, their lives intertwine once again and lies, truths, and stories unfold.
天使ℳade :: non-idol!chaebol!park jay x fem!reader
(ℒ)lust. cursing, briar's crack humor, minor mentions of supernatural + buzzfeed unsolved supernatural + terrifer + once upon a broken heart, exes 2 lovers, misunderstandings, fake dating, briar sucks at warnings so lmk any other warnings in the comments/via asks
[notice] keep in mind enha is the only group i stan from all the ones listed in the starring list. therefore, the personalities of members from other groups are most likely not accurate. so do not leave me comments/asks such as '[idol] would never do that' bcs this is a work of fiction and therefore im not required to make their personalities accurate.
ᥫ᭡⊹ ࣪ ˖ (1) notification! hey guys! >< smau time! note that i'm traveling next week and i will be busy until september due to travels and personal problems so i will need to take time to adjust to new situations i'm expecting to encounter, therefore, please bear with the lack of updates on the smau. it's my first smau so it's obv not perfect. but i did put in a lot effort into this, so it would mean the world if you would reblog and comment to show support. <3
💋 #reblog for kisses ☆゙ catalogue ˖°— 𝐕𝐎𝐋.𝐗𝐕
STARRING :: park jay, sim jake, park sunghoon from enhypen. nakamura kazuha from lesserafim. hwang intak from p1harmony. son dongpyo from mirae. myung jaehyun from boynextdoor. ning yizhuo from aespa. guest star: lee chaeyoung from stayc.
💌 the ARCHIVE || the mixtape
profilez: one two
⋆˚✿˖° # 0000. prologue: break up w/ ur girlfriend
⋆˚✿˖° # 0001. selling a kid (for) 101 (robux)
⋆˚✿˖° # 0002. shes a bad bitch #trust
⋆˚✿˖° # 0003. RARE EAGLE SIGHTING CHAT
⋆˚✿˖° # 0004. no way i js lost to this guy.
⋆˚✿˖° # 0005. hello 911? yeah this guy right here.
⋆˚✿˖° # 0006. thats not very demure, thats not very mindful [ partly written ]
⋆˚✿˖° # 0007. ive been guslibed, this was gertkiped, so i will now galboos
⋆˚✿˖° # 0008. i only accept my apolocheese in cash
⋆˚✿˖° # 0009. totally work related.
⋆˚✿˖° # 0010. mission success: we got em the first time
⋆˚✿˖° # 0011. call me super(wo)man
⋆˚✿˖° # 0012. do u have a death wish?
⋆˚✿˖° # 0013. setting trends!! 🔥💯📈
⋆˚✿˖° # 0014. its a cap innit boy
⋆˚✿˖° # 0015. god i am not ur strongest soldier
⋆˚✿˖° # 0016. farewell wicked stepbitch of the park family
⋆˚✿˖° # 0017. i-t-b-o-y
⋆˚✿˖° # 0018. they should do an ep of buzzfeed unsolved here [ partly written ]
⋆˚✿˖° # 0019. oh no wheres art the clown [ partly written ]
⋆˚✿˖° # 0020. is this... the magnificent north??? 😍 [ partly written ]
⋆˚✿˖° # 0021. mystery girl
⋆˚✿˖° # 0022. wait i need to revel in this moment
⋆˚✿˖° # 0023. break a leg type shit [ partly written ]
more released soon as the story unfolds...
2.1: PROVE I'M YOURS — You’re an Omega with rare, selective instincts, untouched by every Alpha you've ever met. That is, until you catch a scent that stops you cold and ignites a hunger you’ve never known. It leads you straight to Park Jongseong—the quiet Alpha who barely acknowledges your existence.
Now, every encounter becomes a quiet war with your own body. You try to ignore the pull, and yet, you can’t shake the fear that he might be the only Alpha your instincts will ever respond to… and the only one your heart will ever want.
content tags: a/b/o dynamics: alphaljay, omega!reader, (ft. beta ningning, beta yeonjun, omega giselle and alpha! heeseung, jake and sunghoon), burning slow burn, the tables has been turned, descriptive topics of: alpha ranks, premature pre-heat, imprinting, and ofc reader's outfits, makeup and nails. jealousy, internal conflict, mutual pinning lmao, jay is being soooo obvious but it's okay bcs reader is oblivous, heeseung is a typical alpha but let's ignore that bcs he's hot, confessions. :> no explicit warning. WC: 41.3K of reader being dramatic. previous chapter - next chapter
⋮ ⌗ act eight
IF YOU ever had the chance to go back in time, you swear you'd do everything differently. You wouldn't let yourself be driven by instinct, wouldn't let yourself spiral into that warm, confusing place your Omega kept pulling you toward. You wouldn't have chased after Jay like your heart was some unruly thing you had no control over.
If you had a chance to rewind, you would have chosen silence. You would have scrolled past his face in your memories. You would have let the scent of him fade into the background instead of curling into it. You would've ignored that first flicker of hope the moment he tolerates your presence.
But who could blame you, really? When you're wired to crave, when your instincts hum louder than your logic, when you're walking around with a heart that beats in a rhythm you can't always understand. And then someone like him comes along, and your Omega folds like paper under heat. So no, you don't entirely blame yourself. But you're tired of this.
"Why are you such an idiot?! I said I wanted avocado shake!" you snap, nearly throwing your compact mirror into your bag as you glare at Yeonjun with all the frustration currently boiling in your system.
Yeonjun flinches, yelping as you smack him on the back of the head with your notebook. "Ow?! What the hell, woman?"
"I was very specific. Avocado. Not mango. Avocado. Do I look like I want mango right now?!" You bark, grabbing the drink he handed you.
He throws his arms up in exasperation, rubbing his head. "Fuck you! I told you there wasn't any avocado left and you said, and I quote, 'Just get whatever's available.' So I did! And now suddenly it's my fault?!" He huffs. "Fuck this life! I should've just left you dehydrated!"
A few classmates turn their heads at the raised voices, eyes flicking between the two of you, but they don't linger. Most of them are used to this by now, your mood swings, your tantrums, fights with everyone that always sound like a serious scene but are somehow just another Tuesday. It's your brand. It's expected. So they go back to their conversations and assignments, writing it off as noise they've already heard before.
But today, it doesn't feel like noise to you. Today, it feels like the whole world is pressing in on your skin, dragging across your nerves, making you want to scream. You drop into your seat, the shake Yeonjun got you sitting untouched on the table. You cross your arms, lean forward, and stare down at the scratched surface of the table like it holds answers you've never been able to find.
Fuck this life, you echo silently. Because truly, what the hell is happening to you? You're restless, overstimulated, irritable. You can't sit still, can't focus, can't breathe without wanting to either cry or snap or disappear into a spa and never come back. You told yourself you still had a month before your heat, your tracking app, your body's usual rhythm always gave you that much warning. But this time, it's all different. There's a heat blooming under your skin that feels different than before. More invasive. It's not just a dull ache in your lower belly or a sensitivity in your scent. It's a slow-burning need that twists in your gut, worse with every hour. You can feel your Omega coiling tighter and tighter, your scent beginning to shift in ways you can't fully mask. The light sweetness is still there, but it's being layered over with deeper—richer, warmer scent.
Your eyes narrow and your fingers twitch on the desk. You can feel someone staring. "What the fuck are you looking at?" you snarl, turning your head sharply.
The Omega girl flinches slightly but doesn't look away. She's sitting three seats down, her hand delicately curled around a designer pen, face perfectly powdered and soft—but your eyes zero in on her dress.
Dior. Or at least, that's what the little tag on the visible collar suggests. Except you know it's fake. The stitching is off. The hem is wrong. You've seen that same knockoff on Taobao for fifty bucks and the zipper sticks when it's real Dior. And her scent was thin. Covered in layers of store-brand fragrance and desperation.
You want to claw the smug look off her face. You heard the fake compliments from the girls around her, all clapping like trained seals about her "taste," pretending they didn't know her entire look was counterfeit. And now she has the nerve to look at you like you're the mess?
She looks at you with that judgmental, sweetened kind of pity like she thinks you're unraveling. And maybe you are. But at least you're not pretending!
And suddenly, you hate everyone.
You hate the Alphas who get up to stretch and throw their dominant scents around. You hate the Betas who sit there unaffected, quietly smug in their neutrality. You hate the Omegas who sit all pretty and soft, their schedules synced with their bonded mates who actually show up when their heats begin.
You hate the idea that you're alone and everyone here gets to pretend they're not. Because no one understands what it feels like to sit in a room full of people and still feel like you're suffocating. To be burning from the inside and have no one to pull the flames off your skin. To ache and ache and ache with no relief in sight, only the slow humiliation of knowing your scent is starting to leak into a desperation.
You're tired of the ache crawling beneath your skin. Tired of waking up hot and flushed, your limbs too heavy and your thoughts running in circles. You're tired of the phantom scent of him.
THE DOCTOR clicks her pen and glances up from your chart. "You're experiencing premature heat symptoms," she says.
You blink, mouth slightly open, a sudden urge to curse out loud is rising fast in your throat. If you could blame anyone—or anything—it would always come back to him.
"Doc," your mother interjects, hands clasped tightly over her mouth, brows knit in worry. "My daughter has a regular cycle. Every six months. Is it... is it serious? Do we need to prepare for something?"
The doctor's expression doesn't shift. "Not serious, no. But it does suggest that her Omega may have identified an unbonded Alpha. The reaction is instinctual."
Your mother gasps sharply, eyes snapping to you. "An Alpha?" she asks, as if it's the most outrageous thing she's ever heard. "Is this true? You didn't tell me anyone was... involved."
Involved. You scoff internally. What involvement? There was no "involvement." There was just you, orbiting him. A star collapsing in on itself while he stood there, unmoved. If anything, you weren't involved—you were invested, alone. You scoff inwardly, lips twitching. You can't even begin to explain it. Now he's acting like he cares. Showing up at your most vulnerable moments. Scenting you calm when your distress surges. Talking to you when you've already given up trying. It's enough to make your Omega stir again, confused and hopeful—hopeful, after everything. Maybe, it's because he can smell your pre-heat. Maybe that's the only reason. The biological imperative.
"I don't..." you start, but your throat closes up, too full of shame. Your mother leans in closer, clearly waiting for an explanation you're not prepared to give. "It's nothing serious," you finally say, forcing the words out past the lump in your throat. "I'll be fine. Just—" your voice falters again, your hands curling tightly into your lap, "maybe some kind of medication?"
"I can't prescribe heat suppressants for this," she says. "This is a premature heat. Suppressing it improperly could destabilize your cycle long-term. Your hormonal levels are too elevated for standard blocks, and there's no established bond to anchor the response."
You freeze. That phrase again. No established bond. "I can give you scent-neutralizing patches," she continues, "if the pheromonal response becomes overwhelming. But the root cause isn't something a patch will fix."
Your mother wrings her hands beside you, stiff in her seat, visibly distressed. "What about stabilizers? She's never had a history of imbalance. I never had history of imbalance. I— I don't understand. Why is this happening now?"
The doctor offers her a sympathetic look. "That's common. A presenting Omega might carry stable cycles for years before someone disrupts the balance. If her Omega has responded to an unmated Alpha, especially one within close proximity for extended periods, it can trigger early hormonal activity. The body reads it as readiness. Her system is beginning to align, preparing for what it thinks is a potential bond."
"But there isn't a bond," you say quickly, a little too defensively. "There's nothing—he's not—he doesn't want that."
Your mother's eyes are wide, her expression flickering between disbelief and dawning realization.
The doctor glances up from her notes. "Ah. A one-sided bond, then," she muttered, "That doesn't matter. Your Omega has already begun responding to his scent, and from what I see in your charts, your body is attempting to sync. Whether the Alpha reciprocates or not is irrelevant to your body."
You sigh heavily, rubbing your palm over your face. Every word is a confirmation of what you've been denying for weeks now. You've been spiraling into this heat because of something he didn't even give you. He didn't even claim you, he didn't scent you regularly, he barely gave you scraps of kindness. And yet, you're still experiencing all of this, your body still chose him.
Fuck this hierarchy. Fuck every structure built to remind you that no matter how hard you try to keep control, your body will always be ruled by something beneath the skin.
The doctor moves to stand, her hands smoothing out the hem of her coat. "You just need to manage your stress," she says with gentle authority. "Keep yourself hydrated. Eat well. Rest when you can. Try not to overstimulate your system with strong scents or emotional surges. And if possible..." Her voice wavers. "Distance yourself from the Alpha."
You scoffed silently. Distance. Like that hasn't already been your first defense. Like you haven't already forced yourself to sit rows away in lectures, to swallow the instinct to check if he's behind you in crowded halls.
You keep your expression blank, nodding once. The doctor doesn't press further. She's probably seen enough cases like yours to know which ones are about to fall apart and which ones already have. She offers you a paper bag with the scent patch, a mild suppressant in a sleek white box, and a bottle of electrolyte tabs.
"Just stabilize yourself," she says gently. "Even if you can't cut the bond, you can dull the symptoms. Give yourself time. Give your Omega space to detach—if it can."
If it can. There's always that part, warning that not all imprints fade, that sometimes the body doesn't forget the Alpha it first aligned with. And worse—sometimes it waits. Sometimes it breaks down slowly, months, years, unraveling.
You step out of the clinic, blinking hard against the sunlight. Your mother is at your side again, her expression tight, but she doesn't speak. But later, in the car, she tries in her own way. "Maybe we could stop somewhere," she says. "There's that boutique near the roundabout—didn't you say they have new arrivals this week? We could look. Or just window shop. Something to distract you." Her tone is mothering in the gentlest way, her fingers tapping against the steering wheel.
You sigh and lean your head against the glass. The suggestion is kind, sweet even, but there's a part of you that recoils at the thought of dresses and handbags. But still, you nod. uThe silence settles again as it gives you space to think. What are you supposed to do? Rip him out of you like a root too deep to reach? Cut the string that ties your Omega to him? You scoff softly under your breath, eyes focusing on the moving blur of street signs and passing faces.
You almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. Exorcise him? As if Jay had ever been something so fleeting, so easily removed. He was embedded—threaded into your senses, branded into your chemistry. And for what? For nothing. For him to treat you like a nuisance one moment and then scent you like you belonged to him the next. Maybe he didn't know what he was doing. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe he just didn't care.
But you do. You care too damn much, you don't even know why.
Maybe the suppressants will help. Maybe they'll level out your imbalance, make the nights less cruel, keep your Omega from crying out for a bond that was never offered. Maybe the scent patch will shield you from inhaling him again and again. Maybe. But maybe not. Either way, you have to try. You have to claw your way back to center. Back to the version of yourself that existed before your biology hijacked your dignity.
Because if you don't—if you keep letting yourself unravel under this invisible thread, keep spiraling around every moment he chooses to show up and confuse you—you'll lose more than just your pride. You'll lose you. And haven't you already given enough?
⋮ ⌗ act nine
"WHY DO you have that?" Yeonjun's voice dripped with curiosity, but it grated on your nerves. Your eye twitched the moment his finger grazed over the edge of the cat-shaped patch stuck to the side of your neck, and you felt a familiar boiling sensation beginning to bubble beneath your skin.
You swatted his hand away with a slap, fixing him with a glare. "Don't touch it," you snapped, pushing the chair away from him, but he moved his chair closer to yours again.
Yeonjun chuckled, entirely unfazed by your tone. "Chill, I'm just asking. It's cute!"
"Fuck off," you snapped, kicking the leg of his chair so hard it screeched against the floor, jerking sideways. Ningning let out a yelp as she caught it before he toppled over.
"Geez! You've been a menace lately!" he complained, rubbing his side. "I'm seriously hurt! You're so painfully mean these days, I'm starting to think you're developing violent coping mechanisms."
You rolled your eyes, grabbing your compact mirror from your bag just to avoid eye contact.
"I can't believe we're going to be stuck together all second semester," Yeonjun added with a dramatic sigh. "I thought maybe you'd mellow out now that you and Jay are back to... whatever the hell it is you two are doing. You were all sunshine last last week when he brought your clip back, now look at you now."
You clicked your tongue and gave his chair another kick. "Don't. Even. Mention. His. Name."
Ningning tilted her head, her curiosity flaring immediately as her brows knit together. "Seriously? What happened this time? You two were like practically not—so flirting last time."
"I'm moving on," you said plainly, flipping your compact mirror open and pretending to inspect your mascara, even though you could feel both of their eyes practically drilling holes into you. A beat of stunned silence followed, then a gasp from both of them in sync. You didn't even look up—just reapplied your lip gloss.
"So you're admitting there was something going on?" Yeonjun was the first to speak, already leaning forward with a shit-eating grin on his face, eyes sparkling with the satisfaction of catching you slipping. "That's what I heard. Clear as day."
You kicked his chair again with less force but more intent, eyes still trained on your reflection. "That's not what I said."
"That's exactly what you said," he sang back. "You said, and I quote, 'I'm moving on,' which implies there was something to move on from."
You finally lowered the mirror, giving him a dry look. "If you keep talking, I'm moving on from your existence."
Ningning reached across the table to gently tug at your wrist, drawing your attention back to her. "Babe, for real. If you're trying to move on, that's totally valid. But... how about the bond?"
Your eyes met hers slowly, your jaw tight, your pulse a dull throb in your neck. You didn't even realize you were holding your breath until your chest tightened. "There's no bond," you said flatly.
For a second, there was only silence. Then, Yeonjun gasped, so exaggerated you almost threw your things at him. Ningning mirrored the reaction, hand flying to her mouth.
Your eye twitched with irritation. "God, both of you deserve an award for worst acting," you muttered, dragging your hand away from Ningning.
"You don't scent someone like that if there's nothing!" Ningning said. Yeonjun nodded quickly, supporting her claim. "Jay didn't just sit beside you and breathe. He was reacting. He reacted to you."
You looked down at your hands, your freshly done nails glittering faintly. Despite the mild spring warmth outside, your fingertips felt cold, like your body was refusing to settle, like your Omega was stuck somewhere between longing and denial. "He only reacts when I cry," you said. "He only notices when I'm falling apart. When I'm breaking in front of him. That's not bonding. That's..." You paused, the word sour in your mouth. "That's — I don't know? Pity? Basic human decency?"
Ningning didn't speak for a beat but when she did, her voice was gentler. "That's not whatever you think it is, love. That's instinct. That's Alpha behavior when they're drawn—when their instincts aren't neutral. If he wasn't reacting at all, if he was truly indifferent to your scent or your state, we'd be having a very different conversation right now."
You scoffed, dragging your nails across the table in a slow absentminded motion. "That's exactly what I'm talking about, Ning. It's all just instinct. Just... pre-coded biological nonsense. His Alpha reacts to my Omega. My Omega reacts to his Alpha. None of it means he wants me. None of it means anything real."
Ningning's brows furrowed, lips pressing into a tight line. "It could mean something real," she finally said. "Just because it starts with instinct doesn't mean it has to end there. That's how most bonds start. A flicker. A pull. And then choice. It becomes real because we choose it."
You exhaled, hollow, your thoughts curling around that last word. Heh. Choice? Jay also had a choice but he chooses to be cold, distant and guarded. Every time you offered even the smallest piece of yourself, he returned it either with silence, or scolding, or irritation.
A bitter smile tugged at your lips as you reached for your bag, standing up with an exhale. "You know what?" you said, interrupting the silence that followed your last admission. "We really have to stop letting my Omega confuse biology for something that pretends to be love."
Ningning and Yeonjun both straightened at your sudden shift in tone, watching as you began gathering your things. "I'm not being dramatic," you continued as you slung the strap of your bag over your shoulder. "This isn't about Jay anymore. This is about me. Guarding my peace, my Omega, my sanity. And finally choosing something different—because this back-and-forth has been toxic, and I'm tired."
Yeonjun gave a low whistle under his breath, impressed. Ningning looked like she wanted to cry. "So yeah," you added, already walking toward the door, "topics done."
You stopped just before the threshold, glancing over your shoulder at them. "Also... I'm skipping classes. Who's coming with me?" Yeonjun was the first to move, already pushing his chair back. Ningning didn't even hesitate—she threw her pen down and rose with a grin, looping her arm through yours as you all stepped into the hallway.
The conversation shifted easily as you walked. You didn't mention Jay again. Ningning was already excitedly chatting about the upcoming university games, and Yeonjun was making bets on who'd be crowned king this year.
SINCE THE second semester had officially begun, the atmosphere on campus had shifted. The subjects, on paper, felt heavier—more academic and more demanding. Titles like Media Law and Ethics, Digital Media Production, Advanced Communication Theory, and the continuation of Media Research Methods, loomed large across your schedule. There was Audience Analysis, which sounded painfully dry, and Media Effects, which felt like a glorified summary of everything you already knew. Then there was Strategic Communication and PR Campaigns, and honestly, the name alone was enough to make your brain start buffering.
Still, with all those options laid out in front of you, you made your choice with one thing in mind: preservation. Of your mental health. Of your joy. Of your damn peace. Advertising and Promotion was the clear winner—not because you dreamed of building brand empires or writing catchy taglines, but because the syllabus looked manageable and the assignments felt less like theoretical death traps and more like hands-on creative output. And if you were being completely honest, it just sounded easier. After everything that had drained you last semester, you deserved easy.
You told yourself this was your redemption, It helped, too, that this semester came with a fresh schedule. A clean slate. A different crowd. A new seating chart in every classroom. And best of all? Park Jongseong was nowhere to be found!
No shared lectures. No overlapping labs. Not even a fleeting encounter in the corridors. You didn't see his face, didn't hear that sharp, indifferent voice, and perhaps most importantly, you didn't catch a single whiff of that painfully addictive Alpha scent that had once made your Omega curl.
It was a cleanse. A detox! And as each day passed, you became more and more convinced: life was easier without him. You could wake up without overthinking what you were going to wear in case he showed up. You didn't have to check your reflection fifteen times. You could reapply your gloss for yourself. Your Omega wasn't purring randomly, wasn't flaring its emotions at every second breath.
And for once, the universe seemed to be aligning in your favor—like it had finally decided to cut you a break after everything it put you through. You almost felt like you should start lighting a candle every morning in gratitude or whispering a little thank-you prayer into the void, because everything was just... working.
You tapped your foot against the floor of the campus café as you scrolled through your wishlist, excitement bubbling beneath your skin. Across from you, Ningning was mid-sip of her strawberry milk when you dropped your grand announcement. "I want to shop for new clothes for the University Games," you declared, glancing up from your screen. "And I definitely need a new bag. I swear I've already used all my cute ones last year, and I refuse to repeat an outfit cycle. Don't you agree?"
Ningning groaned dramatically and slapped a hand over her ear. "Please, spare me. I can't even think about bags right now—I have a date this weekend and I need to save money. Do you know how expensive one nice outfit can get?"
You stared at her. "What the fuck? Let your date pay for that!"
She burst into laughter, sliding her phone across the table to avoid the potential guilt trip from your wounded expression. "It's a first date! I can't just show up expecting him to foot the bill like I'm some spoiled heiress."
"Why not?" you shot back with a scoff. "You are a spoiled heiress in my eyes. If he can't handle that, dump him and move on to someone with a platinum card."
Ningning groaned and slumped back in her chair, dragging her drink closer. "I was the one who asked him out..."
You blinked. For a second, your brain refused to process it. "Wait—what?" Your voice was sharp with disbelief, your mouth falling open. "You asked him?"
Ningning winced and took another sip, avoiding your glare. "I did..."
"Oh my god." You leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the table. "It's okay! First date etiquette exists for a reason! Men are literally hardwired to compete for attention and resources. It's their only evolutionary flex."
She snorted at that but didn't argue.
"I mean it! First dates are like ceremonial performances—they need to show off a little. Pick the place, foot the bill, act like they're worthy of your time. Not the other way around! You're the one who's soft and glowing and moisturized. He's the one that should be sweating!"
"It's not... I kind of... forced him," she muttered into her straw, and you nearly gasped, scandalized for all of two seconds—until the realization dawned on you, that you were exactly like that. Maybe not in the same brand of Ningning wielded so effortlessly, but the fire underneath it? The need to chase, to claim, to wrap your fingers around something the moment you decided it belonged to you—that was a language you both spoke fluently.
Because when the two of you wanted something, you didn't ask for permission. You didn't wait for it to be handed to you, or for fate to gracefully align the stars in your favor. No, you went after it. With the same fierce insistence you applied to limited-edition makeup drops, to the last size of a dress on sale.
You took what you wanted—unapologetically, recklessly, and sometimes with the kind of conviction that made people either fall in love with you or sprint in the other direction.
Her version of pursuit came with dangerously sweet smiles and paper-thin threats disguised as flirtation, the kind of behavior that somehow made men fall at her feet. Yours was subtler. Less sharp, more glazed in charm and a glimmer of need. You never threatened, never cornered. You dropped hints, left trails, spoke a little too sweetly, laughed a little too long. You tried to be soft enough to invite warmth and not too much to scare it away. Always just enough to be remembered, never quite enough to be kept.
You watched her now, bent over her phone, eyes dancing as she planned her weekend. Her certainty made you ache.
A pout tugged at your lips, God, were you really this hopeless? The envy, the slow-burning ache of watching someone love so easily, so cleanly — it all sat heavy in your chest. It wasn't the boy you were jealous of. It was her. That fearless kind of wanting. That persistent pursuit without hesitation, without shame.
Because you? You always second-guessed. You always bent to the shape of the person you were chasing, making yourself smaller, quieter, more palatable until you weren't even sure what you wanted anymore, only that you were exhausted from wanting it alone.
But maybe that was okay. You've survived longer seasons, you made it through a full year of watching people pair off while you learned how to love yourself in all the ways they couldn't. You learned to fill the quiet with laughter, to paint your own joy across days that didn't offer any.
You were still here. Beautiful. Loud. Rich in the kind of confidence that only came from rebuilding yourself every time you were chipped down. And if there's a piece missing? A puzzle edge that never quite locked into place? Then fine. You'd rather have a puzzle with an open ending than one completed with a shape that never really belonged to begin with.
⋮ ⌗ act ten
FLORASIS COSMETICS —the rival to Flower Knows in your mental beauty Olympics—has finally made its way into your vanity, and you honestly feel like pulling your hair out just trying to process the beauty of it. The sculpting palette is nothing short of a work of art: delicate carvings pressed into fine powder, patterns so intricate they could be framed and mounted instead of swiped across your cheekbones. How were you supposed to use this? How were you supposed to dig a brush into something that looked like a museum artifact without feeling like you were defiling sacred ground?
The box—an actual gift box, not one of those cheap promotional kits—was brought in like a treasure chest by your father, who had just returned from a business trip to China. You had nearly tackled him at the door, tearing into the wrapping with the urgency of someone who had been emotionally deprived of joy and beauty for weeks. Inside: the kind of packaging that made you gasp out loud. Carved brass details, silk linings, the softest cushions hugging each product like they were crown jewels. Your hands had literally trembled.
You swore a part of your soul left your body when you caught the glint of the lipstick packaging shaped like an ancient scroll. A part of you wanted to display them in a glass case. Another part is wanted to use them immediately, to feel like a regal goddess in every passing mirror.
"Guess who got new makeup and a new perfume," you chirped, voice sing-song as you twirled with your shopping bag in hand, the hem of your skirt swaying with each step. You sank down dramatically between Yeonjun and Ningning, full of the high that came from indulging in luxury and the scent of Dior still fresh on your wrists. You expected the usual noise: Ningning's squeals, Yeonjun's fake gagging, both of them leaning in to inspect your haul and playfully beg for samples.
Instead, silence. Their mouths were slightly open, expressions oddly blank, both pairs of eyes staring past you in unblinking unison. You frowned, confused. "Hey. Hello?" You waved your hand between them. "I just said I got new makeup. A Florasis palette. New Dior scent. You two always freak out about this kind of stuff."
Still nothing. You reached out and tapped Ningning's arm. Nothing. Tapped Yeonjun's shoulder a little harder and he finally turned his head, slowly. "Guess who's gonna spiral later," he muttered with zero inflection.
Your heart dropped somewhere beneath the floor. "What are you talking about?"
And then you felt the air shifted around you. A subtle but sharp curled at the edge of your senses. That scent, so unassuming, yet so devastatingly familiar, brushed past your nose with that clean, slightly cool undertone you hadn't let yourself think about in weeks.
No... You turned your head and the world tilted. Park Jongseong! In the flesh!
Sitting in the back corner of the lecture hall, headphones were in, one hand holding an open book, the other absently tapping against his leg. His hair was pushed back again, effortlessly styled like it always was when he was too busy to care but still ended up looking stupidly sooooo good. The sleeves of his sweatshirt were rolled to the elbow. His brow furrowed as he read, jaw clenched ever so slightly like he was concentrating, or irritated, or both.
Your mouth parted. "What the fuck is Jay doing here?" The words scraped out of your throat.
Yeonjun winced like he'd been bracing for the explosion. "Surprise elective merge," he said, shrugging helplessly. "Professor Han's class got absorbed into ours. Jay's on the updated roster now."
You stared at him, then turned to Ningning, who nodded in silent confirmation, eyes still bouncing nervously between you and Jay's corner of the room. "And when," you said slowly, "were you going to tell me that my personal nightmare suddenly enrolled in this class?"
"We just found out," Ningning hissed in a whisper. "They emailed the schedule update late last night. And you were too busy texting about your spa booking and new contour brush—"
"I was in a good mood!" you snapped, hugging your Dior bag to your chest. "Why does fate have the worst sense of timing?"
And as if summoned by the sound of your voice alone, Jay shifted in his seat. He didn't look up, but you knew. You knew he knew you were here. Knew he felt it too—that invisible cord still tangled between you, no matter how much you tried to sever it. Your Omega stirred violently inside you, purring like a fool. Begging for attention.
Shut it, you hissed internally. You hadn't even been wearing your scent patch today. Idiot. You were so caught up in the glow of shopping and the shimmer of new makeup that you forgot the one rule you've kept religiously since deciding to move on—never let your scent bleed out around him again.
But it was too late. Your Omega had caught the scent of him too, and you could already feel the beginning ripples of that premature hormonal shift your doctor had warned you about. The low curl in your belly. That fuzzy, heat-prickled pressure that nestled between your skin and your bones.
Panic gripped you for a second. Okay, yes, fine, he looks good. So what? He always looked good. He was always handsome in that infuriating, sharp-boned way. Hair swept back just messily, long fingers flipping pages, jaw set with focus, lips pressed together in that unreadable line. That was just his face.
It's okay, you assure yourself again. It's just one course. One elective out of your entire schedule. You'll only see him once a week, and you've survived worse. You've already gone through the slow, brutal undoing of your pride, your patience, and your Omega. There's no reason why this should be any harder than what you've already endured.
You can handle this—with respectful distance, calm indifference, and a full commitment to self-preservation. You've trained yourself for this, haven't you? You don't need him. You're over it. Your logic is stronger than your instincts. You can do this.
But then, like some twisted joke the universe decided to play at your expense, he starts showing up in places he shouldn't be. Not just in that one elective—no. Suddenly, he's everywhere. Fucking everywhere!
You see him in the library when you're trying to print something for class, sitting across the room, eyes already on you. You catch him in the campus café, ordering two tables away, hands tucked in his pockets. You find him leaving the same building at the exact time your class ends—even when you know he doesn't have a lecture there.
Okay, campus is small. Schedules overlap. It's just a coincidence! He probably has his own reasons—assignments, club meetings, group work. Maybe his favorite café happens to be the same one you like. Maybe his classes just happen to end when yours do. He's not doing anything wrong, not really. It's not like he's chasing you. Not in any obvious way.
But there's a consistency. A thread pulling tight every time you turn a corner and see him already there. A breath caught in your throat when your eyes meet for half a second longer than they should. A pressure in your chest that builds every time you feel him near—even before you actually see him. You know this feeling too well. You've walked this path before—this rabbit hole of spiraling thoughts. You've memorized every turn it takes to fall into delusion, and you swore you'd never take the plunge again.
But, you feel yourself teetering on the edge, again. Get a grip, you hiss internally, forcing yourself to blink it away, to ground your thoughts, to remind your body who's in control here.
Ugh. You hate how your body responds before your mind has time to stop it. You hate the little things: the flutter in your chest when you smell him first; the way your Omega perks up, tail-wagging and alert, just because his presence registers nearby. You hate how your carefully constructed routines begin to warp—shifting to avoid him in the halls, choosing the longer route just to not pass by the old lecture building, holding your breath whenever you step into the library. It's like you're hiding from a ghost. Only Jay is very much alive, very much real, and whether he means to or not, he's haunting you.
"THERE'S A whole meeting coming up for the University Games prep," Yeonjun groaned as he swung his bag onto the table with a dramatic sigh. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms. "I pulled a late-nighter reviewing terms for our summative. I swear my brain's leaking out my ears."
You barely looked up. Your gaze was fixed blankly on the whiteboard ahead, mind fogged, drifting somewhere far from the present moment. You hadn't even touched your notebook. Ningning had bailed on today's lecture with a casual 'Skip it, babe, not worth the stress—Jay's in that class anyway, just come over and nap.' You should've followed her advice. Should've turned on your heel the second you smelled him near the hall, should've saved yourself this tension gripping at your spine since you entered the room.
Instead, you sat frozen in your chair, arms crossed tightly as if you could physically anchor your emotions from escaping again.
Yeonjun dropped into the chair beside you, not bothering to glance around first. The next second, he let out a sharp yelp. "Ow! What the hell?! Who the fuck leaves their ID on a damn seat?" He shot upright, grabbing at his backside with one hand and snatching the culprit card off the chair with the other. His voice echoed through the half-filled classroom. Your face remained carefully blank, eyes locked on the whiteboard ahead, where nothing particularly interesting was written.
Yeonjun paused, staring at the object in his hand—a student ID card—before going uncharacteristically quiet. That caught your attention. Slowly, you turned your head to glance at him, one brow arching in question.
He startled slightly, caught in your gaze, then offered an awkward smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "I—uh... damn, maybe someone just dropped it by accident or something," he said, voice an octave higher than usual. "I'll go, um... I'll just put it on the center table. Y'know. So they see it."
You narrowed your eyes slightly, confused by the shift in his tone. But you said nothing, watching him as he stood up and briskly crossed the room, the ID clutched a little too tightly in his fingers. He set it gently down on the table at the front before returning to his seat, brushing his pants off like the ID had burned him.
You blinked once, then shrugged, pushing the interaction aside and sinking back into your thoughts. Your mind had been a cyclone of clutter since the moment you stepped into the lecture hall—ever since you'd sensed a familiar presence brushing too close, like a scent you couldn't scrub out of your skin.
You endured the next three hours of the painfully dry lecture with gritted teeth. The professor's voice blurred into a steady drone, too monotone to hold anyone's attention, especially not yours. Your fingers tapped restlessly on your notebook, and you had to stop yourself from sighing for the twentieth time in the past ten minutes. On your right, Yeonjun had long since surrendered to the lull of the lecture, head tilted slightly back, lips parted as he snored softly with absolutely no shame. The sound grated on your nerves and you didn't know if you were more annoyed at him for dozing off while you suffered or at yourself for not being able to zone out the same way.
But the truth was, you couldn't relax. Jay's presence pressed at your awareness. He wasn't even doing anything. Just sitting there—silent, poised, occasionally jotting down notes with his signature. But it was enough to unsettle you. Every time he shifted, your eyes involuntarily flicked toward him. Every time his scent subtly curled through the air, your Omega responded instantly, purring traitorously despite your best efforts to ignore it.
It wasn't even a strong scent today: neutral, faintly clean, but your Omega reacted like it was ambrosia. God, you wanted to scream. And to make matters worse, the adhesive patch on your scent gland—already half-worn from overuse—was starting to itch like hell. You resisted the urge to scratch at your neck, rolling your shoulder instead in an effort to relieve the sensation without drawing attention. It didn't help. The irritation only amplified the restless coil tightening in your belly.
It felt like your Omega was trying to claw its way out, pressing up against your skin. You clenched your jaw and forced your gaze back to the front, blinking hard, trying to refocus on the slide about ethical dilemmas in digital advertising. It might as well have been written in a foreign language.
The back of your neck was prickling now, heat crawling up your spine. You tugged the collar of your shirt slightly, willing the sensation to ease off, but it didn't. The discomfort was relentless. A low thrum of biological tension building under your skin. Maybe it was the air circulation. Or the broken AC. Or the fact that you hadn't slept properly in three nights because your body was going haywire again, dancing on the edge of another hormonal shift.
Your hands curled into fists in your lap. You almost wanted to kick Yeonjun awake, just to have someone to blame.
You needed a massage, a facial, a two-hour-long scalp treatment. You wanted to lie down in a silk robe while someone pressed hot stones along your spine and whispered that everything would be okay. Maybe a shopping spree would help. A new pair of heels, another designer bag you could photograph and flaunt. You were already planning the text to your father: Daddy, Dior dropped a new saddle bag and it's giving limited edition... please? ૮ ⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝ ྀིა⸝
Instead of going to your next class, you skipped the rest of your schedule entirely and took a cab straight to Ningning's house.
All you got was a casual, "He definitely wants you that bad," muffled slightly through her salmon roll as she sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling her phone while dipping sushi in soy sauce.
"That's it?" you snapped, yanking a pillow into your arms. "That's all you have to say?"
She shrugged. "What else do you want me to say? You came in here with that look on your face and said his name within five minutes. What am I supposed to do—not assume he's got you all twisted again?"
You scowled at Ningning, lips pursed, but it was more out of habit than true annoyance. You didn't have the energy to argue with her, because as much as you wanted to dismiss her words, to chalk them up to her usual dramatic flair—she wasn't wrong. You did feel twisted. Frayed at the edges. Emotionally constipated. Whatever poetic metaphor you wanted to use for being perpetually on edge—none of them could really capture the constant, low-burning confusion you carried every time you saw Jay.
And, he was everywhere. Again.
The more it kept happening, the harder it became to ignore. And Ningning was having the time of her life narrating your slow descent into reluctant delusion.
"Oh my God," she whisper-hissed one afternoon, grabbing your wrist as the two of you stepped out of the admin building. "He's there. At the top of the stairwell."
You didn't even have to ask who.
"And now he's walking down—like right as we appear. I swear, he was standing there for five minutes doing nothing."
You pretended not to care, focused intently on your phone screen, but your Omega was already humming, alert and all-too-excited.
The next day, Ningning didn't even wait for a proper sighting.
"Okay, what the hell?" she hissed, sliding into the booth across from you at your usual café. "You're telling me he's suddenly into iced lavender matchas and this place's god-awful acoustic playlist? No. He is not a coffee person. I've never seen that man drink anything!"
You didn't even look over your shoulder. You'd felt the shift in the air the moment you walked in. That familiar weight settling at the back of your neck. "I'm telling you, he's hovering," Ningning continued, dropping her voice as she leaned forward. "And he's only doing it because you won't look at him."
You gave her your best withering glare over your straw, "I'm ignoring him because I'm trying to move on. Not because I want to bait him into doing something."
She raised both brows and popped a macaron into her mouth. "Babe, you are not ignoring him. You're avoiding him. And you know what happens when you avoid something that wants your attention?"
"I swear to God, if you say it grows stronger—"
"It grows stronger," she said, grinning. You groaned and dropped your forehead to the table, muffling your frustration in your arms. But you couldn't stop the restless pulse of your thoughts.
You weren't that pathetic! Your life didn't revolve around a single man's presence—or worse, absence. But your chest had been feeling heavier lately. The quiet days were harder to get through. There were moments when you glanced toward a doorway or listened for footsteps that never came, and the disappointment curled in your gut. And under the layers of pride and anger and well-constructed apathy, you knew that you were doomed the moment your body started keeping track of him.
You had memorized him. His presence wasn't just something you recognized. It was something your body anticipated. And under all the pride you wore all the carefully layered apathy, all the glitter and gloss you applied—you knew. You had been doomed the moment your body started tracking him. You were absolutely, irrevocably fucked the second you realized your eyes scanned the room automatically. The second you noticed your own awareness sharpening whenever he was near, even if he didn't say a word. Even if he was just there.
It wasn't fair! He didn't even have to do anything anymore. Just existing within your vicinity was enough to stir everything you'd spent weeks trying to bury. And still, you kept your routines, sat in your usual spots, retouched your gloss every thirty minutes, let Ningning drag you around the campus café circuit, hoping distraction would erase the obsession. But it didn't. Because he kept showing up. Always!
"What the fuck is he doing at the ladies' bench?" you snapped. "That's, like, the most feminine corner on campus—soft pink umbrellas, flower-painted tables. Why is he studying there?"
Ningning didn't even flinch. "He's been there for thirty minutes. Didn't even open his laptop. Just sitting and occasionally glancing. You sure he's not waiting for you?"
You waved her off, muttering curses, heart jackhammering in your chest like you were about to be ambushed. Jay this. Jay that. You didn't even notice how often his name slipped from your mouth until you heard it echoing back at you. You didn't even realize that your every minute—your thoughts, your movements, your entire schedule—had started to orbit around him.
You were done for the day he didn't show up and everything felt off. Fuck!
⋮ ⌗ act eleven
"YOU NEED to join at least two minor games or sign up to facilitate one," the Government rep from Education was saying into the mic. "Event logistics, food coordination, support for the major teams—whatever your strengths are, we'll find a spot. We also need volunteers for infractions and violation tracking—points, fouls, that sort of thing."
You leaned forward toward Ningning, completely disengaged from the mandatory meeting. "Hey," you whispered, flicking your nails together lightly, eyes gleaming with quiet excitement. "I got it. The new Dior blush—the one with the redesigned packaging? Forty bucks. The shade's softer now, less of that neon-cool pink from before. It's more muted, moreeee wearable."
Ningning's eyes snapped wide as she turned toward you, forgetting entirely about the ongoing announcements. "Already?! I saw the previews online. I'm not gonna lie, I'm not sold on the new packaging yet. The text is kind of... oversized?"
You rolled your eyes. "Who cares about the packaging? The formula, babe. The formula is everything. I did side-by-side swatches last night. The old one's a little chalky compared to this—it's so finely milled now, almost like silk. Blends like butter. No fallout either."
"Ugh, I hate you," Ningning groaned softly, eyes sparkling with envy. "Let me try it next time we hang out. I want to feel that buttery blush on my skin."
You smirked, flipping your hair back. "Of course. And wait 'til you see the bags I bought too. Bags, plural. Like—more than one. Because—"
Your words died mid-sentence. A shadow fell behind you, and your breath hitched. Something inside you tensed, your instincts flaring up. Slowly, almost reluctantly, your head turned toward the figure standing just behind your chair.
Park Jongseong?! It was him, wearing that usual booooring clean, muted palette of grays and blacks, eyes calm and unreadable behind the rim of his glasses, expression completely devoid of emotion. His backpack was slung casually over one shoulder, his presence as quiet as it was disruptive. Since you were sitting at the leftmost seat of your row, Ningning in the center and Yeonjun on the right, both of them followed your movement, turning their heads almost in sync with yours. You could feel their collective stillness tighten as the air shifted.
"What the fuck?" you snapped, mix with panic you hated. "Can't you see that this chair's for our bags? Like, obviously? This is not your seat." Your tone wavered slightly at the end, the bite softened only by the way your Omega stirred—rattling behind your chest.
Jay stared at you, unmoving for a heartbeat. Then, as if the tension in your voice didn't register, he spoke in his usual clipped, impassive tone. "There's no seat available."
You blinked, glancing around the lecture hall—okay, fine. Most of the chairs were already taken. People had crammed in at the last second, and yes, you might've been using the extra seat as a glorified handbag throne. But still!
"That's not my problem," you muttered, but the protest had lost momentum. Your hands moved on their own, dragging your bag with a little too much force. You avoided looking at him as he took the now-cleared chair beside you, moving with the effortless quiet that annoyed you to your core.
Yeonjun looked between the two of you, eyes narrowing. Beside him, Ningning shifted in her seat, biting down on the inside of her cheek, her entire body visibly vibrating with barely-contained excitement "The plot is plotting something," she hissed under her breath. "The plot is plotting something!"
You didn't even turn your head. With the smallest twitch of muscle and the elegance of someone who'd done this more times, you reached under the table and pinched Ningning's thigh. She let out a small yelp and covered her mouth, giving you a wide-eyed glare. You crossed your legs carefully, your entire posture shifted. You turned your body just enough to face Ningning, presenting your side to Jay.
"—Most of the minor games are based on child-friendly formats," the representative was saying. "Some are casual online games like Roblox, while the major events include Mobile Legends, basketball, volleyball, cheerdancing, swimming competitions, and more."
Your attention was half there, half flickering in annoyance as you felt the brush of an arm—his arm—bump into yours. You hissed under your breath, your brow instantly furrowing as you turned to glare at Jay. He didn't even look the slightest bit fazed. His fingers casually ran through his hair like the brush of his skin against yours was completely unintentional. And the audacity? He didn't even offer a damn apology.
You scoffed softly, flipping your hair with irritation as you shifted your entire body slightly away from him, putting your focus elsewhere.
"—We're estimating a contribution of around seventy dollars per student on the team," the organizer continued, clearly reading off notes. "That may vary depending on whether the head department decides to sponsor a portion. But our projected budget is about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars total. That includes uniforms, props, transport allowances, and basic essentials for team prep."
Just as you were about to reach for your iced coffee, Jay's elbow nudged yours again. Your head whipped in his direction, a sharp glare forming in your eyes—only to catch him smoothing his hair back again, eyes lazily forward. Again?! You sighed sharply through your nose, pulled your chair a few inches to the left, and tried to pretend he wasn't there.
The speaker's voice droned on. "—Of course, a lot will fall under coordination. We'll need volunteers not only for player support but also for logistics, media coverage, and audience management. There will be performance numbers, cheer squad allocations, and disciplinary committees to monitor violations. Our biggest competitors will be CHS—they're known for their full-sponsorship systems and aggressive prep. So we need full cooperation this year—especially from the upperclassmen."
Jay's shoulder brushed against yours again.
You clenched your jaw, turning your head slowly. "What the hell is wrong with you?" you snapped under your breath, arms folding tightly across your chest. "If you're that desperate to fix your hair, there's a whole damn restroom for that. Go stare at yourself in the mirror like a normal person. Geez, what's with—"
"What the—?! You dyed your hair?!" Yeonjun's voice cut through the air before you could finish yours. His reaction drew a few curious glances from the students sitting nearby.
You turned, actually seeing Jay now. And there it was: silver. Cool-toned silver, like rain-washed chrome, with the undercut now even more prominent, sharp lines framing his already angular face. His fringe was swept back effortlessly.
What the fuck? You hated him, and his hair looked really, really good. For a split second, your eyes followed the line of his jaw to the edge of his neck, then the slope of his nose. Your Omega let out the quietest purr in the pit of your chest, like some embarrassed reaction you couldn't control, and you cursed internally, dragging your gaze away before it wandered further.
Yeonjun was still gawking like Jay had just walked onto a runway. "Dude, I swear, if you didn't already have that resting death stare, you'd be making people fall left and right!"
Jay didn't respond. He just leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen on the edge of the desk, focused on the front as if he couldn't feel your barely concealed stare burning a hole in the side of his head.
Yeonjun pulled a face at being ignored, the moment losing its momentum. His shoulders slumped as he sighed, stretching out his legs and flopping his arms. "I think people treat me this way because I'm a Beta," he grumbled.
You turned your head slowly, brow raised, finally glancing at him. "You act like being a Beta is a curse."
"It is!" he huffed. "I'm literally the most approachable, least threatening person in every room and still I get no attention. Meanwhile," he gestured vaguely toward Jay, who remained unbothered, still tapping his pen, "mister Alpha here just breathes and people trip over themselves."
"—We'll be passing around sign-up sheets for the University Games tasks," the student organizer called out through the mic. "Please choose roles according to your ability and availability. Let's all do our part to make this event successful!"
You leaned back with a groan, tilting your head toward Ningning with a sigh. "Okay, what's the least energy-draining, makeup-safe, non-haggard role I can grab without ruining my nails? Just pass me the damn paper. I'll pick something brainless and get the hell out of here."
The paper made its way toward you—after brushing across Jay's arm—and you snatched it without a glance in his direction, though your Omega stirred immediately at the proximity. Stupid instincts.
"You did not just salivate while looking at that man's face!" Ningning whisper-shrieked beside you, eyes wide. "My God, you looked like you were about to bite his hand off—or kiss it!"
You kicked her ankle under the table in retaliation, shooting her a warning glare while quickly scanning the list of roles.
"'Documentation—Violation Monitoring' and 'Charades (Minor Games)' sound tolerable enough," you muttered, clicking your pink gel pen. "I'll just snap a few pictures, wear sunglasses, and laugh at people. That's it." You scribbled your name in your usual cursive signature.
"Write mine too," Jay said suddenly, glancing sideways.
Your pen froze midair. "Excuse me?!" you barked, twisting your head to glare at him fully. "You have two functioning hands and your own alphabet system. Write it yourself!"
Jay blinked once, completely unfazed. "You already have the pen."
You stared at him in disbelief. "So what?" you hissed, waving the pen dramatically. "What, do I look like your secretary? How am I even supposed to know which games you're planning to join?"
He didn't flinch. "Same as yours."
Your mouth dropped open. "Excuse me?!" The second shriek of the day tore out of your throat, louder, shriller. "Charades? Seriously? That's your pick?" you asked, incredulous. "You—you—are going to join Charades? That game is literally about exaggerated body language and miming! You?! You?! You're going to make the team lose!"
Jay's gaze remained steady, the corner of his lip twitching slightly as he said, "You're playing it."
You scoffed, incredulous, "Yeah, because I'm good at it! I have range, I can express, I can act—I know how to sell it." You gestured to yourself. "What about you, huh? You barely blink. You probably give the same face when someone confesses their love and when someone tells you the building's on fire."
Jay didn't even flinch. He met your stare evenly, "I can guess your acting."
Your mouth fell open. "Excuse me? Excuse me?!" You shot up slightly from your seat, your voice pitching so high you were almost squeaking. "A-Are you insane?! What the hell is that supposed to mean?! That's the most arrogant thing I've heard today."
Ningning leaned forward with her face half-buried in her hoodie sleeve, trying to muffle her laughter, while Yeonjun threw his hands up. Jay, who looked completely unfazed by your rising blood pressure. He was watching you like you were being ridiculous, like you were giving him exactly what he expected—and he liked it. Smug bastard.
"Just pick another damn game," you hissed through gritted teeth, narrowing your eyes. "There's like fifty other things you can do. Go do something that fits your boring personality, like counting scorecards or gluing banners or—I don't know—standing still and breathing silently in a corner."
A polite cough echoed from behind you, one of the organizers clearly signaling that you were getting too loud, again. You slouched a little in your seat, glared forward, then muttered under your breath. "I just need to participate," you mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek.
Jay didn't hesitate. "Then participate."
You twisted your neck back toward him sharply, eyes narrowed. "In other games. Why not literally anything else? Are you doing this on purpose?!"
"No. Why would I?" he replied, far too calm. "Charades is the easiest option. I don't see a problem."
You flushed, the heat rising up your neck and blooming across your cheeks. You stared at him, at his face so infuriatingly relaxed. Your jaw tightened as you grabbed the pen again and furiously scribbled his name in capital letters, aggressively neat, right beside yours "There!" you snapped, shoving the clipboard toward him, letting it hit the desk with more force. "Happy now?"
Jay tilted his head slightly, glancing at the paper, and then—your eyes widened—his lips twitched. A small, subtle pull at the corner of his mouth. "Very," he said, and it was enough to make your already-overheated skin burn hotter.
Oh my God. So handsome. You screamed mentally, slapping yourself internally. How the hell were you supposed to survive this semester when the universe insisted on throwing him directly into your path like a walking, brooding landmine? Your patch was starting to itch again, a subtle irritation blooming along the sensitive skin of your neck. It was your Omega—restless, unsettled, silently whining beneath your skin like a spoiled child denied its favorite scent. Fucking Jay! Annoying, emotionally unavailable, completely infuriating—but absurdly handsome—Jay.
You sat rigid in your chair, back unnaturally straight, hands folded tightly on your lap to stop yourself from clawing at the patch. You scratched the side of your neck instead. Another few minutes crawled by. You tapped your foot with impatience, irritation, and the overwhelming need to move—to get away from the heat simmering under your skin and the mess buzzing inside your chest.
The moment the student organizer dismissed the meeting, you bolted up from your chair so quickly it screeched against the floor. You didn't even care, grabbing Ningning's hand. "Come on, I'm starving. I'm craving burgers—extra bacon, extra cheese—" But you never finished the sentence.
A group of tall, broad-shouldered Alphas were suddenly blocking your path. You froze mid-step, heart thumping, your Omega coiling so fast it felt like your lungs collapsed. The air grew heavier, saturated with the thick, sharp press of testosterone. You immediately tilted your head back, blinking up at their towering figures. That cocky, easy swagger of males who knew they had presence. Your breath hitched. And without meaning to, you instinctively stepped back.
Your Omega didn't like this. Not even a little. It wasn't about submission—it was recoil. Threat. These Alphas weren't your Alpha. And your instincts knew it instantly. One of them—the tallest, with soft eyes, voice directed in front of you.
"Park Jongseong, right?"
Your eyes darted back toward where Jay still sat, gaze already lifted. Since he was seated at your side, the group of Alphas—four, maybe five of them—stood directly in the path infront of him and the rest of you. There was no leaving now. You were stuck behind a wall of their alpha pheromones, your Omega instantly curling inward in discomfort, unsure whether to brace or bolt.
The one in front, obviously the leader, stepped forward, "Choi Soobin," he introduced. "Basketball team. We've been scouting players for varsity matches next month."
You narrowed your eyes, confusion flaring as your gaze flicked between him and Jay. "Word is, you're an Apex Alpha. We want someone like you to anchor our team. Someone who can carry pressure. Someone who leads."
Apex Alpha? Your breath hitched as the phrase settled in you. You blinked hard, as if your brain needed time to process what your ears had just heard. Apex Alpha? Like a Prime Alpha? You scrambled through the dusty, half-retained memories of your ABO History lectures—those classes you mostly ignored.
Prime or Apex Alphas were considered elite. A rare, dangerous subclass. Born into old, prestigious bloodlines, often exhibiting traits far more potent than the average Alpha. Their ruts were intense, their scent practically intoxicating to any Omega within range. It could trigger early heats. Induce involuntary scenting responses. Break down barriers you didn't even realize your body had built.
It made sense! The way your Omega reacted to Jay—how she curled, howled, melted even with the smallest proximity. He was the only Alpha your Omega had ever accepted. Your Omega had always been so selective. Why every other Alpha made her flinch, or fall into dead silence. Why none of their scents worked, why their attempts to soothe or bond never even registered.
You're not broken, your Omega is not cold. She just had the highest fucking standards. And Jay—Park Jongseong, Apex Alpha, Prime bloodline, emotionally unavailable bastard with hands you wanted to hold and a voice you wanted to strangle—somehow met them all. And of course, Jay's Alpha scent affect you that strong because he's an Apex.
And because you were a deeply unwell, fully spiraling, possibly scent-drunk mess, you leaned toward Ningning and hissed under your breath, "Does it mean he's like... super rich?"
Ningning blinked at you, visibly stunned, before her brows shot up and she leaned in with a deadpan stare. "Seriously? That's your first thought?" she muttered. "Out of everything that just happened—you went with money?"
Your lips parted, then shut again. You coughed. "W-What? No! I mean—yes. I mean—I just wanted to confirm, like, a detail. You know? For context."
"You're spiraling," Ningning said flatly.
"I am not," you muttered through clenched teeth, your eyes flickering back toward Jay and the group of Alphas still hovering around him. They were talking about the varsity team—mock schedules, warm-up games, practice formations, sports events.
"I don't play team sports," Jay said with that signature unbothered edge.
Soobin blinked, slightly thrown off by the flatness of Jay's rejection. But instead of pushing back, he just let out a low chuckle, clapping Jay once on the shoulder in a gesture of friendly defeat. "Alright, alright. Still—think about it," he said with a nod. "Apex or not, you'd change the game."
The other Alphas murmured in agreement, but most began to drift away, muttering about scrimmage plans and heading out. Except one lingered, still eyeing Jay, his posture a bit too stiff, his scent spiking faintly. You could feel it even from your spot—not overpowering, but enough to make your Omega stiffen in warning. You scrunch your face as you smell it, you hated the smell, it was so wrong, too aggressive, too territorial. Not Jay.
You shifted your stance instinctively, chest tightening. And then, unexpectedly, Jay's voice cut through again. "Are you done?" he asked sharply, his gaze lifting for the first time since the conversation began. "And can you back off already?" Jay added. "There's an Omega here. Are you seriously going to keep standing there leaking scent like that? You trying to distress her?"
Your stomach twisted so hard it knocked the breath from your lungs. He noticed. He hadn't looked at you, hadn't addressed you by name, but it didn't matter. Everyone in that conversation knew who he was talking about. You were the Omega. You were the one he was lowkey shielding.
The Alphas backed off immediately, caught off-guard. One muttered an apology. Another gave Jay a stiff nod and turned on his heel.
You didn't wait for another beat. The moment there was space, you gripped Ningning's wrist, tugged her forward, and shouldered your way through the path that had been previously blocked. Ningning stumbled behind you with a squeak, and her hand latched onto Yeonjun's jacket to pull him along too, forming an escape chain.
You didn't need to look back to know Jay was watching. You could feel his gaze, lingering at the nape of your neck, behind your ears, deep into your spine.
"Wow," Yeonjun exhaled as soon as the three of you stepped outside the doors, blinking against the light, his tone caught between disbelief and admiration. "So that's why every Alpha suddenly knows how to shut up. That explains everything." You turned toward him with a confused scowl, but he was already shaking his head in mock amusement, tossing a casual glance back toward the hallway. "Have you seriously not figured it out yet?" he added. "It's not just how he looks. Or how he smells. Or even how he talks. It's the way everyone stays the hell out of his way. The kind of energy that just... makes room."
It pissed you off. How dramatic. You and your Omega—both of you were overindulgent messes, mirrors of each other in every inconvenient way. Your Omega's selectiveness was spoiled, like a princess too used to silk and refusing to touch cotton. And you were no better. Just as stubborn. Just as dramatic. Craving you swore you didn't want, again and again.
You huffed out a breath, fixing the strap of your bag on your shoulder as you picked up your pace, heart hammering for reasons that had nothing to do with cardio. "Can we not talk about it?" you muttered, not bothering to look at either of them.
Yeonjun opened his mouth like he was about to tease you again, but one glance at your expression had him wisely zipping it shut. Beside you, Ningning was biting back a grin behind her hand.
AND SO the misery dragged on. Between the growing mess of university games preparation and your personal unraveling over a certain Alpha, your sanity was hanging by a shimmery thread—one you were trying to keep from snapping entirely.
Everyone around you was drowning in deadlines and rehearsals, meetings and budget finalizations. Even the ones who volunteered for simple tasks like handing out water bottles or fixing props were being pulled into everything else. You had thought assigning yourself to the easiest roles—minor facilitator, observer for group violations, and a light participation in charades—would buy you some peace. A clean getaway. But clearly, the universe had other plans.
"Cat? Tiger? WHAT?!" one of your groupmates blurted in frustration. They were standing dead center in the practice circle, waving their arms wildly in a manner that looked more like someone having a seizure than mimicking an animal.
You stood toward the back, arms folded, eyebrows scrunched together in a mix of confusion and disbelief. What the hell was the point of practicing charades? It was a game, not a professional competition. What were they trying to do? You scoffed under your breath and shifted your stance, only for your gaze to fall again on Jay.
He was seated on the sidelines, long legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed, head tilted in the most indifferent angle possible. Not even pretending to guess, just watching. You tried looking away, forcing your attention toward the front, only to feel that gnawing awareness buzz again under your skin. When you looked back, he had shifted closer, slightly. Huh?
You blinked. No, surely that was just your overcooked brain playing tricks. Still, you took a quiet step to the left, casually. You repositioned yourself slightly, putting more space between the two of you. But minutes passed, and each time you glanced at him, intending to make it the last glance, he had moved again. Inch by inch.
You moved again, subtly this time, hoping no one would notice your slow migration toward the side of the gym. Your back brushed the wall now as you pretended to examine your nails. You sighed, pretending to look interested in the group still trying to guess whether the front actor was portraying a lion or having a breakdown. You exhaled slowly, pretending to be interested, when instinct tugged at your awareness once more—and your eyes, despite your will, slid sideways. What the hell?! He's closer again, and this time, time he wasn't even pretending to be subtle about it!
He sat himself against the row of benches just a few steps from where you stood, one arm slung over the backrest. His body was angled just slightly toward you. Was he trying to drive you insane? Your Omega certainly didn't mind. She stirred in response, all soft approval and giddy treacherous purrs, already reacting to his presence, to his nearness, to the subtle flare of his scent in the air.
You could practically feel the edge of his attention brushing against your skin. You took a half step to the right, hugging the wall as if proximity to stone would somehow create distance from him. You were running out of space to move, running out of excuses to act like you didn't notice the subtle pursuit happening right before your eyes.
What did he even want from you? He was too handsome for his own good. For your good. So handsome it made your stomach flip in betrayal, made your Omega thrum low with interest even when your mind screamed no. Soooo quiet and confusing.
You pressed your palm to your forehead, hissing softly under your breath. Was this all in your head? Were you spiraling again? Letting your mind fill in blanks? Because if Jay really was trying to get closer to you—if he really had intentions—shouldn't he be doing more than just orbiting you? Shouldn't he say something? Shouldn't he be... Alpha about it? Direct. If he had something to say, why didn't he say it?
You bit the inside of your cheek, jaw tight with frustration. If he stepped up, if he really approached you with something, you might even talk to him. You'd consider it. Maybe. Depending on how sincere he was. Depending on whether he finally decided to show something other than brooding detachment—
Ugh. You scowled at the floor, fingers twitching at your sides. "Get a grip," you muttered. You'd promised not to fall again, not to spiral, not to read into things that had no definitive shape. But here you were, teetering on the edge of hope like a fool all over again.
The actor's arm shot out, finger aimed directly at you. All eyes shifted to your spot near the edge of the group, and a few uncertain voices from the team began guessing aloud. "Girl?! Omega?!"
You scoffed at the predictability of it all, one brow arched as you crossed your arms and tilted your head ever so slightly. "Seriously? That's your guess?" You sighed. "Gorgeous girl? Or beautiful? Or goddess-tier attractive? Ethereal-level?"
Others rolled their eyes. The actor at the front gave you an exasperated look and waved their hand to signal an emphatic no. Without hesitation, they redirected their finger—this time, toward the person standing a few feet to your right. Jay.
Your smirk slipped, you narrowed your eyes and shifted your weight, watching him between mischief and challenge. "Oh," you said, dragging the word out as your gaze sharpened. "Okay. If it's him..."
You didn't even hesitate. "Boring?" you said dryly. There were a few immediate snorts from around the room. Jay's brow twitched ever so slightly. You pressed on, chin lifted, eyes still on him. "Annoying? Cold? Stoic to a fault?"
Jay finally turned his head, slowly, his eyes locked onto yours, unimpressed. "Mute? Robotic?" you added, your voice rising as you threw a hand in the air. "Is that it?"
The timer buzzed sharply, the actor at the front let out a frustrated groan, throwing their hands in the air before stomping once. They pointed between you and Jay, "It was mate! The word was mate!"
Someone in the crowd groaned. "What?! That was the answer?! Dude, you should've made a kissing motion or pointed between them and made a heart or something!"
"Yeah, how the hell were we supposed to get that? You can't just stare at them all intense and expect us to read your mind!"
The actor scowled and dropped their arms in defeat. "I thought it was obvious! They were the only Alpha and Omega here."
You rolled your eyes hard, pivoting away before anyone could catch the way your expression had cracked for just a second. "First of all," you snapped as you threw your bag strap over your shoulder, "you can't just point at me and him like that. We're not mates or whatever delusion you're trying to project. That's not how it works." Your words earned a mix of laughter and awkward glances from the group. You didn't care. You were already done with this entire thing. "Second," you continued, lifting your brows with biting impatience, "are we done? Or are we still pretending this is productive?"
Someone from the group coughed awkwardly. "O-Okay, okay. Let's call it for today. We'll send out the next schedule in the group chat."
You didn't wait for anything more. With a heavy sigh and the clatter of your bag's chain strap jingling from the abrupt movement, you turned on your heel and made a beeline toward the gym's exit. But the moment you reached the threshold of the doorway, a firm hand gripped your wrist and pulled you back. Your breath hitched in your throat, eyes snapping wide as your entire body jolted in surprise. Heat bloomed in your chest, and you instantly glanced down at where your skin touched his. Jay's fingers curled around your wrist.
Your voice came out breathier. "W-What? What do you want?" You tried to pull your hand back, but his grip remained.
Jay met your gaze with that same maddeningly unreadable expression of his. Then, slowly, his lips parted. "I'm not boring," he said.
You stared at him. Really? That's what he wanted to say? That's what he grabbed you for? Your eye twitched so hard, you yanked your hand out of his grip, fingers twitching as you pushed your hair behind your ears, trying to regain control of your composure. You blink and scoffing aloud. "Okay? So what?" You adjusted your bag with a jerky movement as you rolled your eyes. "Geez," you muttered under your breath, "grabbing me just to make some random declaration? What do you expect me to say—thank you for not being boring, Jay? God."
You didn't wait for his response. Your steps carried you away. "Save that crap for someone who cares," you muttered under your breath. You didn't look back, not even once.
But if you had... You would've seen him still standing there, frozen in place long after your silhouette disappeared through the exit. Jay remained where you left him, hand slowly rising to the back of his neck as he stared at the spot you'd just vacated. His brows were drawn together. He dragged his hand up to rake through his hair, fingers lingering at his scalp, thinking if he's really... that boring?
⋮ ⌗ act twelve
THE WEATHER today was a rare kind of perfect—sun-drenched, warm without stifling heat, the air light with the of early spring. The sky stretched out in a near cloudless blue, and a cool breeze swept through the campus, threading between the buildings and fluttering the edges of banners and flags already posted for the University's most anticipated event: the University Games. With classes canceled and most students bustling through final setup or cheering on their teams, the grounds were buzzing with energy. You couldn't help but admire the aesthetics of it all.
The theme colors were bold, but you were particularly grateful that your team had landed the color red. And conveniently, it aligned beautifully with your latest indulgences. You'd recently completed your Strawberry Cupid cosmetics collection. And as if that wasn't enough, your luck had been on your side with your latest blind box pull: a Hirono figure, one with a subtle red accent that matched your theme perfectly. You had it displayed in a protective case, clipped securely to your bag like a prized charm, joining a chorus of other preppy red trinkets that clattered softly with every step you took.
Your outfit for the day had been planned to the last detail. You wore a cream-colored tube top with a tiny cherry print pressed delicately at the center of your chest. The hemline dipped into an asymmetrical cut, paired beautifully with your choice of bottoms—bright red gingham ruffled mini shorts that flounced with every step, the layered fabric catching light and movement. Your legs were bare save for a pair of cream slouch socks pulled just above your ankles, tucked neatly into glossy red ballet flats that completed the look with an effortless, doll-like finish. Your accessories tied everything together. A red-and-white handbag hung at your side, your hair was styled in soft, airy waves that kissed your collarbones, a thin red ribbon headband adding a final bow to the entire ensemble.
"Wow," Giselle breathed, her mouth falling open in admiration as her eyes swept over your outfit. Clad in her own team's yellow-themed uniform. All around, students were beginning to gather—each department assembling by their designated colors as the short parade preparation commenced.
"Bitch," Ningning hissed under her breath, shooting a warning glance toward one of the faculty marshals pacing nearby. "We cannot be caught talking right now. Do you want to rack up a violation on the first day? They're being extra strict this year."
Giselle rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh, clearly unbothered. "Please. As if any of us care about their point deductions when we're drowning in deadlines. I've been buried under banners and rehearsals for three nights straight. I haven't even had the time to stalk your life updates, let alone breathe." Her voice dropped dramatically. "God help these competitive people. I swear the yellow team is training like we're about to enter the Olympics."
You smiled despite yourself, adjusting the ribbon in your hair as you caught your reflection in a tinted window nearby. "That's because you guys think school spirit is war."
"War is easier to win than keeping up with our cheer choreographer," Giselle muttered. "Also—hello, why did no one tell me you were showing up like a walking Strawberry Shortcake ad? Is this Dior? Don't tell me you got the blush already."
You gave a lazy tilt of your head and flashed a coy, smug smile as you adjusted the strap of your red-and-white handbag. "Ningning didn't tell you? I already got it," you replied, shifting your bag just enough to reveal the glint of the compact inside. The logo shimmered briefly in the sunlight, catching Giselle's full attention.
Ningning gave a sigh and crossed her arms. "She even pulled the red-accent Hirono figurine in her blind box yesterday. It's been nonstop flexing. Honestly, I'm exhausted."
"Okay, I'd brag too," Giselle snapped, without an ounce of shame, then squinted toward your bag with renewed suspicion. "Wait—wait a damn minute. Is that the strawberry lip glaze too? Bitch... Bitch?!"
"Don't touch it!" you squealed, laughing as you pulled your bag slightly away. But it was too late. The three of you were already spiraling into squeals, flailing your hands in a flurry of uncontained excitement. But just as you were about to gloat further about your matching blush-and-glaze combo, the air around you shifted.
The entire atmosphere of the field seemed to hush, as if everyone collectively sensed the gravity of someone approaching. Heads turned slowly, chatter dulled to whispers, and your own breath hitched when you finally followed their line of sight.
He wasn't walking through the crowd so much as parting it. People instinctively moved aside, their conversations falling silent in his presence. Every eye was on Jay, yet he remained unbothered, completely immersed in his own stride. Your mouth parted in disbelief, a soft "meow" slipping past your lips without your permission.
He was dressed in a deep red velvet jacket. Black trim lined the lapels and pockets in clean, elegant lines, echoing the sharp structure of the black collared shirt beneath it. And the pins—tiny enamel pieces, all vibrant—rested perfectly over his heart. A silver chain glinted at his throat. His hair was styled back, parted to the side in a soft wave that exposed the sharp cut of his jawline and the single silver hoop he wore in his left ear.
"Since when did he learn how to style?" Ningning whispered sharply beside you, her eyes wide as she nudged you with her elbow. "And—oh my God—he's not wearing his glasses! Are you seeing this? Your Alpha is getting hotter by the day. You better watch yourself before you fall flat on your face."
You opened your mouth to respond, but you didn't get the chance. A sharp whistle blew through the field. Students immediately snapped to attention like a ripple of panic, and Giselle practically leapt back into her designated team cluster like she was afraid she'd be penalized just for existing outside of her assigned line.
You and Ningning exchanged a silent look, then grabbed each other's hands out of habit, stepping into formation with the rest of your teammates dressed in bright shades of crimson. Your heart was still beating too fast, the residual heat from earlier making your palms slightly damp. As you adjusted your position in the line, another wave of scent hit the air. You recoiled slightly, nose wrinkling.
"Gosh!" you whispered under your breath, your hand tightening around Ningning's wrist. "I can smell Dior Sauvage layered over Alpha-grade pheromones. I don't like this!"
"What the hell," Ningning whispered back quickly, eyes flicking over the crowd. "It's that guy—look, from CHS. The one with the stupidly wide shoulders. God, he's marinating in it."
You tried not to gag as the scent continued to invade your space. It wasn't that it was bad, it was just so strong. Your Omega curled, restless, clearly displeased. You grimaced, fighting the urge to scratch at the patch on your neck as it began to tingle, reacting to the collision of Alpha presence in the air. It didn't want the ones broadcasting their dominance like a badge of honor. No. It wanted the quiet one in the red velvet jacket.
"The parade hasn't even started and I can already smell the Athletics department's goddamn pheromones," you hissed under your breath, fanning yourself with your palm even though the temperature wasn't to blame. Your brows furrowed sharply, frustration tightening your expression. "Why can't the university make an official rule to contain that shit for at least an hour? One hour! That's not too much to ask!" You groaned, nose wrinkling. "There are so many Omegas here, and none of these steroid-brained Alphas are bothering to keep themselves in check.Be fucking sensitive, assholes!"
Ningning tugged discreetly at your arm, her voice low and nervous as she leaned in. "Hey, hey—volume down. You're going to start a scene. They're already looking. Do you want us to grab the scent oil in my bag? Or change your patch? We can duck out for five minutes, seriously."
You exhaled in a rush, frustration curling hot under your skin. "Leave it," you said, jaw clenched. "I just need to stretch out what little patience I have left—"
But you didn't finish your sentence. Both you and Ningning turned your heads in unison, a shared instinct prickling at the base of your neck. Your heart immediately dropped to your stomach. There was Jay, moving behind you quietlyy. You hadn't even heard his footsteps, he was too close, near enough that you could already feel the subtle diffusion of his pheromones against your skin. It wasn't overwhelming like the other Alphas', not the raw musk of competition or lust. No, Jay's scent hit different — grounding, soothing. It was a calm you didn't ask for but your Omega reacted to instantly.
But then you noticed the two Omegas standing near him, heads tilted up, practically glowing under his presence. Their expressions were soft, eyelids heavy, and one even let out the smallest purr—an involuntary sound of want, shamefully transparent in its yearning. The sight made a sour feeling twist in your gut.
And it wasn't your Omega this time. It wasn't instinct that made your stomach coil, or your spine stiffen. It wasn't scent compatibility or hormonal alignment or any of those excuses you usually clung to when you wanted to justify the way he affected you. It was deeper, uglier. It was you—your own bitter, jealous flame hissing at the audacity of other Omegas being near him.
You sucked in a sharp breath and turned away, jaw clenched. Your eyes burned from the effort not to glance back at him, not to check if he noticed them, if he noticed you. So you moved. Stepped backward without thought, crafting a clumsy escape that looked like a little accident.
You let yourself stumble. Your balance tipped just slightly, and there he was. Jay's arm was already around you, one strong, sure hand curled low on your waist, steadying you. His chest met your back, your heart thundered against your ribs, betraying every carefully built wall you'd constructed.
You didn't immediately move away. You didn't shove him off. Instead, your hand moved behind you, seeking him out out of sheer need to reclaim, to assert something of your own. Your fingers found his wrist, curled lightly around the hand still resting at your waist. Your gaze, sharp with disdain, flicked back toward the two Omegas who were still watching—watching him, watching you, watching the space between. One tilted her head, the other biting her lip with a look that made your skin crawl. You met their gazes directly, cocking your head with your tongue pressed hard to the inside of your cheek, a single brow raised in a clear challenge.
Yeah. That's right. His hand is on yours.
You didn't mean for the thought to form. It just did. Only then did you turn your head slightly, speaking low, "I'm fine."
Jay coughed lightly in response, then, wordlessly, he let go of you. His touch disappeared as quickly as it had come. You straightened your spine with grace, brushing your hair back over your shoulder in a casual, indifferent sweep, even as your fingers trembled faintly from the leftover heat of contact.
Beside you, Ningning said nothing, but her lips were pressed together, trembling with the effort it took not to unleash a barrage of teasing remarks. She caught your eye, her gaze wide, gleaming with unshed laughter and then, mercifully, seemed to reconsider. Instead of speaking, she quietly reached into her pocket and pulled out a small roller bottle of scent stabilizer oil, offering it to you without a word.
You took it gratefully, pressing the vial beneath your nose, inhaling the grounding floral notes until your heartbeat began to settle. The faculty marshal's voice cut through, commanding the line to form and settle. A whistle followed. And just like that, the parade began. You moved forward, linking arms with Ningning as your team fell into stride, feet crunching rhythmically on the pavement. You refused to look back as you know that Jay is still behind you, if anyone asked, he was just walking in the same direction. Just part of the team. Just another Alpha in red. But you knew better, you could sense it in the way his steps matched yours perfectly, in the subtle bubble of pheromones he projected—not forcefully, not possessively, but to anchor the space around you. Like he was standing guard.
Damn him for existing like that, for breathing like that, for walking around campus with that face. For showing up with silver hair and that velvet-red jacket. For looking so good you could practically taste him. Ugh. You're so hungry, you could eat Park Jongseong.
BORING. That was the only word you could use to describe the atmosphere as your group filed into the stuffy theater hall for the official kickoff of the University Games program. Each department team was set to perform—either a dance, a cheer, or some half-hearted thematic act—but none of it sparked even a flicker of your interest. You weren't here for the school spirit or the applause. You were here because attendance was required, and the penalty for skipping involved a long conversation with the student council and a deduction from your participation credits.
You shifted in your seat, elbows pressed to the armrest, chin propped against your hand as your eyes lazily traced the glitter on your nails. At least those were worth your attention—Strawberry Gel Gloss, imported and cured perfectly. The subtle shimmer caught the lighting just enough to distract you from the secondhand embarrassment unfolding on stage.
Why does this day have to be sooo long? Beside you, Ningning had long since surrendered to the tedium, slumped in her seat with her arms crossed, head tilted at a sharp angle as she let out a soft, very unladylike snore every few minutes. You didn't even bother to nudge her awake. She wasn't missing anything of value. On your other side, Yeonjun had decided the only way to endure the event was by blasting ridiculous sound effects on his phone to mock whatever act was happening on stage. You would've told him to stop, but honestly, it was the only source of entertainment keeping you from standing up and walking out.
You sighed, slumping deeper in your seat as the stage lights shifted for the next performance, another over-rehearsed dance team stepping out with manufactured smiles and glittery costumes. You could already feel your patience thinning. With a sigh, you rose from your seat, slipping your small makeup purse.
"Restroom," you muttered, half to the facilitator and half to yourself, not bothering to explain further. Before leaving, you leaned over and pinched Yeonjun's arm hard enough to make him jolt upright.
"Ow! What—?"
"Watch my stuff," you said flatly, already turning away before he could argue. As you shifted out of the row, your gaze unintentionally brushed past the row behind. Jay was sitting a few seats back. Your breath hitched, and you immediately looked away.
You huffed under your breath and headed toward the exit doors. The moment you stepped outside the auditorium, the heat of the air hit you. God, you needed a moment. You navigated the hallway, zeroing in on the nearest restroom. But when you rounded the corner, your heart sank, a long, snake-like, unreasonable line. Dozens of girls outside the restroom door, chatting, fixing hair, spraying perfume. You stared at the scene for a moment, there was no way in hell you were going to wait in that disaster.
With another exhausted huff, you turned on your heel, heading in the opposite direction without a word, already scanning the halls for an alternate restroom —only to realize with a grimace that it was in an entirely different building. Too far. And honestly? Maybe worth it. The program was dragging anyway. No one was checking attendance between segments, and as long as you returned before the final signature round, you wouldn't be marked absent.
So with zero remorse and zero intention of turning back, you pushed open the exit doors, stepping out into the warm air with relief—only to be met with a sudden blur of movement then a splash of a full, icy wave of water hit you from the left, soaking your upper body. Your entire torso and face were instantly drenched, droplets clinging to your lashes, your cherry tube top is soaked, your hair plastered flat to your cheeks in soaked strands. Your mouth fell open in pure disbelief, hands raised midair.
A group of students in green team uniform stood frozen in place for a split second before one of them, a Beta girl with wide eyes and a guilt-stricken face, stammered, "S-sorry!" Then she bolted. The rest of her group followed, scattering, shouting over their shoulders, pretending not to see the aftermath of their recklessness.
You stood motionless for a beat, trembling. Your perfectly curled hair was now dripping. "Are you freaking serious right now?!" you hissed, pushing your wet hair out of your face. You took a step forward, heels slapping violently against the concrete, eyes narrowed to slits.
"Fuck!" you shouted, unable to hold it in anymore. "I will personally observe and write every single one of your team's goddamn violations during every game this week, you fucking losers!"
Your voice echoed across the building's outer walkway. A few nearby students turned their heads, startled, but quickly looked away, pretending not to hear your meltdown. You didn't care. Your fists clenched at your sides, shaking with frustration, your chest heaving as you tried to collect yourself. Inhale. Exhale. Your teeth grit together. Your jaw ached from how hard you were biting down to keep from screaming. You stood still for a few more seconds, head tilted up toward the sky, eyes clenched shut, fists trembling in midair.
Okay. Breathe. Spiraling right now would only make things worse. Sending out distress signals through your scent? Even worse. You couldn't afford that. You glanced down at your soaked top, returning to the theater hall in this condition was not an option. You were already one wrong breath away from an emotional meltdown, and going back in front of dozens of people—including him—would only send you hurtling over the edge. You needed privacy. A place to breathe. A place to reset. Somewhere you could hide, wipe down, and at least try to salvage what was left of your dignity before figuring out what excuse to file for an early dismissal. Yes. That was the plan. Go somewhere quiet, breathe through it, pull yourself back together. You were smart. You could handle this.
With your jaw clenched and your shoulders stiff, you hurried toward the adjacent building. The water from your clothes leaving small, wet footprints in your wake. You rubbed your bare arms for warmth and clutched your purse tightly against your chest. You reached the restroom and tried the handle. Locked.
"Fuck!" you snapped, voice cracking at the edge. You kicked the door with the side of your foot. Frustration seethed through you, and you could feel your scent patch beginning to lose its grip—literally and biologically. The adhesive was already slipping at the edge of your neck, the warmth of your skin making it worse, and under it your scent glands throbbed with suppressed irritation.
You could feel your Omega starting to rise beneath your skin, agitated and uncomfortable, your body was undeniably distressed, and the scent trying to claw its way out was getting harder and harder to suppress. Your jaw was locked tight, your eyes blinking hard against the sting of overwhelmed tears that threatened to spill at the corners. The wet fabric clung mercilessly to your skin. It was sticking under your arms, your back, your chest, your skirt was wet at the hem. The discomfort was physical, but it was also emotional, like every inch of your pride had taken a direct hit.
You stormed down the corridor again, testing every door you passed, one after the other. Locked. Locked. Locked. Every knob that refused to turn made your breath shallower, your chest tighter. There wasn't even a custodian in sight, no staff or faculty nearby to beg for a key. The building was quiet, abandoned for the weekend games. You paused near the stairwell at the end of the hall, pressing the heel of your hand against your temple. You could feel yourself unraveling, the wetness of your clothes feeding your panic, and the creeping warmth of your scent threatening to spike into full Omega distress.
You were close, so achingly close, to spiraling completely. Your lungs felt too tight, your heart racing with the sort of panic that brewed just beneath the surface of logic. Your Omega instincts were beginning to fray at the edges, and the soaked, clinging fabric of your clothes was not helping. You needed somewhere to regroup before your emotions fully detonated.
That was when your eyes caught on the slightly ajar door across the hall, the gold-plated sign reading Faculty Room B. The overhead lights were dim, but the gentle hum of the air conditioning told you the room wasn't fully shut down. You hesitated only for a second before approaching, your steps slow and cautious, fingers brushing against the doorframe as you peeked inside. It was empty, or so it seemed. You knocked once—lightly. Then again, no answer, taking a careful breath, you slipped inside and shut the door behind you. The room was too cool. The air from the vents blasted steadily, goosebumps rising along your bare arms and soaked shoulders. You winced, arms wrapping around yourself as you stepped deeper into the room.
Tears pricked at your eyes again. You had looked so good today. Every detail was perfectly curated—from your cherry-print top to your soft waves tied back with the matching red ribbon. You had spent hours getting ready, all for what? To be doused like a wet rag by careless teammates hauling around gallons of water. You didn't even have a change of clothes. What were the odds something like this would happen today of all days? And your phone—God, your phone was inside your bag in the theater hall, with Yeonjun, and probably buried under other people's bags by now. You were stranded. Humiliated. Cold. And your scent patch was definitely beginning to give up on clinging to your damp skin.
You shivered under the sharp current of the AC, stepping toward the control panel near the window and jabbing at the buttons to lower the power. Nothing. Your eye twitched. It didn't respond, and the icy air just kept blowing, relentless and indifferent. Your teeth clenched, body shaking slightly—not just from the cold, but from the rising tide of every little thing that had gone wrong.
"Fuck this life!" You screamed, wanting to cry loudly. Or maybe be held... or scented.
Maybe... maybe if Jay were here, he'd do something. He always did. Whether it was scolding you or pulling you back from the edge, he always seemed to know exactly when you were about to break. Your body remembered the calm he could bring, the way his presence seemed to quiet everything, and for a moment your heart genuinely wished he'd appear right then, take one look at you, and just fix it all.
"Loud." A groggy voice, interrupted your spiraling from somewhere behind.
Your body jolted, startled, as your pulse slammed against your ribcage. A soft, strangled sound escaped your lips as your eyes frantically scanned the room again. You had been sure—absolutely sure—that you were alone. But as your gaze slid past the cluster of stacked chairs and cluttered filing cabinets, it landed on a shadow you'd missed. Tucked away behind one of the larger staff desks, nearly swallowed by a mismatched collection of boxes and forgotten bulletin boards, was a worn leather sofa. And on that couch, now stirring and stretching with a yawn that cracked his jaw open, sat a figure slowly rising from the grip of sleep.
His movements were sluggish, bleary-eyed, disoriented like someone still not entirely convinced they were awake. He rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand and dragged the other through his silver-gray hair, which stuck out at every possible angle. It was styled in a loose undercut. His yellow jersey clung to the shape of his arms and torso, crumpled. He was blinking at you. Just as confused as you were. Just... far more composed about it.
You, on the other hand, let out a pitchy, breathless squeal. Your hand flew to your chest as if to hold your heart in place. The panic bloomed across your face, cheeks heating in humiliation as your feet instinctively stepped backward, nearly stumbling over themselves. Your purse slipped down your wrist.
The man on the couch tilted his head lazily, still groggy, his voice laced with irritation. "Did you close the door?"
You blinked at him, confused. "What?"
"The lock's busted from the inside," he muttered, gesturing vaguely without lifting his head. "You won't be able to open it again. We're stuck unless someone opens it from the other side."
Your stomach dropped. Immediately, you spun on your heel and stormed back toward the door, gripping the handle and yanking it hard. Nothing. You jiggled it again, then again, a little louder each time, until your fists were pounding against the wood, your voice rising into panicked calls for help. "Hello?! Someone?! We're locked in! Hello?!" The only response was the muffled hum of distant noise down the hallway—likely the sound of cheers from the program.
The man behind you sighed, long and bone-deep, as if the sound of your distress physically exhausted him. You turned around, chest heaving. "D-Do you have your phone? Call someone! C-call your teammates! I don't want to die in here!"
He stretched his arms above his head, visibly unbothered. "Skipped basketball practice," he said lazily. "Didn't bring my phone."
You stared at him, lips parting, speechless. The weight of everything that had happened—your ruined outfit, your ruined mood, your ruined pride—pressed down on your shoulders. With a broken sob, you dropped to your knees near the doorway, the tile floor cold against your skin, and finally let it happen. The tears spilled faster. Your palms rubbed against your arms, trying to create friction, some sort of warmth. Your chest rose and fell in unsteady gasps, jaw clenched from how hard your teeth chattered. "God, I'm going to get pneumonia," you mumbled to no one, vision blurring with fresh tears.
From behind, you heard the soft creak of leather and the rustle of fabric. "You're seriously making my ears ring," the man muttered, not moved with your spiral as he rubbed the back of his head. You ignored him, curling inward slightly, clutching your cold arms to your chest. Your wet clothes clung tighter by the second, and your scent patch had completely given up. You could feel your scent struggling not to escape, your control thinning out. All you wanted was warmth, comfort. You wanted Jay. You wanted him. You were too exposed, too shattered, and all your instincts screamed for the one Alpha your Omega had ever let in. You didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed by it.
Your answer came in a sob that was nearly a wail. "I'm cold," you choked out, the words tumbling between shivers. "So cold, I can't—I'm gonna dieeeee..." You didn't know if the tears were because of the actual cold or just the absurdity of your situation. You wanted to lie down. You wanted to disappear. You wanted Jay's voice, Jay's scent, Jay's arms. "I need—" Your voice cracked, and you couldn't say the rest. You need Jay. But it sounded too real, too humiliating to say aloud.
The man groaned under his breath again. You could hear the irritation in it, like he was holding back the urge to cover his ears as though your very presence was testing the limits of his patience. He pushed himself to his feet, borderline irritated. Then, without warning, he reached for the hem of his yellow jersey and pulled it off.
"W-What are you doing?!" you shrieked, hands flying up to shield your eyes. "Pervert!"
"I'm not," he muttered with complete disinterest, like he didn't even have the energy to be offended by your accusation. Before you could register what was happening, something hit you in the face. You flailed, letting out another shriek as the fabric slid down your arms and into your lap. "Put it on," he grumbled, already flopping back down onto the sofa. "Wear it or die in the cold. Either way, it's not my problem anymore."
You blinked down at the crumpled fabric in your hands, your lip curling slightly. His scent clung to the jersey, so masculine, it wasn't exactly unpleasant, but it was overpowering in your already heightened state. You inhaled shakily and glared in his direction, even though he wasn't looking at you. "C-Can't we just turn off the damn AC?!"
"Try," he shot back flatly, eyes closed again, arm thrown over his forehead like he was trying to nap. "There's no remote. Outlet are on the wall—practically mounted near the ceiling. You planning to fly up there?"
You glanced toward the unit, your expression souring. Sure enough, the panel was ridiculously high up, nowhere near your reach even if you stood on your toes and prayed. "Are you kidding me?" you muttered through clenched teeth.
"Nope." He sounded positively indifferent. "Been stuck in this room enough times to know it's useless unless you're over six foot or suicidal."
You bit your lip, the frustration building again. You didn't want to wear some stranger's scent-marked jersey, but your body was shivering violently, and your scent glands were screaming. Fine. You were past caring. With a slow, shaky breath, you reached up and peeled off the nearly useless patch from your neck. The adhesive tugged, the last bit of restraint coming undone with it. You hissed softly at the exposure but the relief was immediate. Your Omega shifted beneath your skin, uncurling like a cat finally freed from a box. You glanced toward the Alpha still lounging on the sofa across the room. His eyes were closed, clearly uninterested in anything involving your emotional breakdown. Good.
"You're naked. Aren't you cold?" you asked, your voice wobbling slightly as you tried to shift the attention off your own spiraling nerves.
The guy barely cracked an eye open from where he was reclined on the old staffroom sofa. His bare chest rose and fell slowly, unbothered, and his voice came out uninterested. "I'm an Alpha. Our bodies regulate heat differently."
You blinked at him, stunned by the sheer nonchalance. Meanwhile, your body was about two shivers away from collapsing. "I—I'm going to change now," you declared, voice catching at the beginning, but you straightened up, planting your feet firmly. You shifted a half-step toward the wall, clutching the jersey close to your chest. "Don't look. Seriously. If you even glance in this direction, I will kick your head clean off your neck. I studied karate. I'm a Yellow belt. I know things."
He didn't even glance over. "Not interested," he said. You narrowed your eyes suspiciously and shot him one final glance, as if to make sure he wouldn't try anything. He had one arm draped lazily across his eyes, his posture loose, the epitome of bored indifference. With a huff, you turned back and exhaled through your nose, peeling the soaked tube top from your skin. The chill from the AC hit immediately, making you clench your jaw. Your tube bra was no better—cold, wet, and absolutely miserable against your skin. You reached behind and unclasped it, letting it fall silently to the floor.
Just as you were about to yank the jersey over your head, a low, drawn-out whistle cut through the silence. Your head snapped on him, cheeks warming. He was still sprawled on the worn leather sofa. His arm was still thrown over his eyes, but you could see the curve at the edge of his mouth. A smirk stretched slowly into place.
"Fucker," you hissed in mortification. In a panic, you yanked the oversized jersey back down, the fabric clinging awkwardly to your skin as you stormed toward him. Your legs carried you fast across the floor, fists clenched.
Without a second thought, you slapped your hand against his shoulder. His body jolted slightly with the impact, but he didn't so much as flinch. He merely lowered his arm enough to look at you, one eye cracking open lazily, his smirk never faltering. "Damn," he drawled, still unbothered, "you hit like a damp tissue."
You gaped, your mouth floundering for words that wouldn't come out in full shrieks. Your fingers twitched at your sides, torn between strangling him and wrapping yourself tighter in the borrowed fabric. "You—you pervert—!"
"I'm not," the man replied coolly, shifting on the worn leather couch as he propped himself up on one elbow to look at you more directly. Your breath hitched sharply as his eyes dragged over you. Not in a leering way, but it didn't matter. You weren't wearing a bra, and the oversized jersey did little to hide the shape of your body beneath it. You gasped, one arm shooting up to shield your chest, jaw hanging open in disbelief.
His gaze didn't waver. His head tilted slightly, brows furrowing in a lazy sort of intrigue. "Damn," he muttered. "Damn... you're actually really pretty. Now I'm interested."
Your mouth fell open, rage eclipsing embarrassment in an instant. "Well, I'm not interested!" you snapped, voice cracking on the edges of indignation as you shoved your foot toward the couch in a warning kick. He leaned away slightly and let out a chuckle, one hand patting the empty space on the cushion beside him.
The audacity! Your eyes widened further, lips parting in disbelief as your body instinctively retreated a step, horror blooming across your features. He didn't move closer or didn't push but that didn't lessen the surge of unease and fury twisting inside you.
"Okay," he said after a long beat, stretching. He slouched back again, fingers lacing behind his head, and let out a low sigh of satisfaction. "But damn. You've got one hell of a presence. Can't really blame a guy for being honest."
You recoiled further, glaring at him. "This is harassment," you hissed under your breath, shoulders bristling as your eyes darted to the door again. Still locked. No sounds from outside. "This is exactly what I expect from Alphas like you. You were practically drooling over a nap a minute ago, and now suddenly I'm your new fixation?"
He blinked slowly, dragging one hand down his face. "Sleep resets your system," he mumbled. "Helps the senses recalibrate. Clears your mind. Maybe even helps you notice... certain things."
"God," you muttered, throat tight. "Are Alphas all like this? So cryptic? Always acting like they're saying something profound?"
He didn't answer immediately. Just studied you, unmoved by your contempt, "And you—you walked in here soaked, upset, wrapped in my scent. You were sobbing. That kind of thing... it doesn't just disappear from a guy's head."
A slow, crawling discomfort crept up your back, one vertebra at a time, until your entire spine locked in place, unwillingly stiff. You could feel that subtle flicker, that disoriented stir of your Omega instincts, fumbling for footing it didn't have. Confusion, annoyance, a strange curl of heat. You clenched your jaw, grinding down the reaction before it could show, though your face was already betraying you—flushed cheeks, twitching eye, the whole storm of irritation you were trying not to wear. So annoying!
That guy just stood there, half-naked and completely unfazed. Did he think he was attractive? Seriously? Please. If he was expecting a compliment, he'd have to dig through hell and ego first. No. There was only one Alpha you had ever looked at and actually felt something in your chest that wasn't immediate disgust—and that was Park Jongseong. Annoying, boooring, infuriating Jay. As much as you wanted to hate him, his presence was a whole different gravitational pull. You hated how he moved, how he looked at you, how he lingered.... but none of it compared to the raw, unfair truth: Jay was hot. Unbearably, insultingly hot.
And this stranger? He was just... shirtless and in the way. How the hell were you supposed to take anything he said seriously when he looked like that?
You needed to get out. Not just from this room—but from this entire moment. Spinning sharply on your heel, you stormed toward the door, jaw set, heartbeat tapping erratically in your ears. You slammed your palm against the panel with a force. "Hello?!" your voice cracked at the edge, but shame wasn't your priority right now. "Anyone?! Can somebody hear me?! This isn't funny—open the damn door!"
"Why are you masking your scent?" His voice floated from behind.
You froze for a beat, then turned so fast your hair swung with you. "What?
"You removed your scent patch," he said. "Earlier, it was still faint—peeking through in places. Not fresh. It's messy. Like you peeled it off and hoped no one would notice. But now..." His eyes narrowed slightly as he tilted his head and inhaled, subtly. "There's an imprint underneath. Old. But it's there."
You stared at him, blood suddenly loud in your ears. "What the hell are you talking about?" you hissed, taking a sharp step toward him. "Okay—first of all, shut up. Don't throw around bond terms like you're some kind of scent analyst. You don't know me." Your arm shot out, finger aimed directly at his face. "Imprint? Are you serious? Who do you think you are? Going around sniffing people? God—I knew it! You're one of those creepy, repressed Alphas who acts quiet so no one notices the weirdo underneath."
"I didn't assume anything," he said, tone as neutral as before. "I noticed."
You stared at him, caught between fury and disbelief. "You noticed?" you echoed, voice inching toward hysterical. "You noticed? What, is that supposed to make it better? That's your defense?" You scoffed loudly, throwing your hands up. "Do you even know what imprinting means? Do you understand how insane you sound right now? That requires actual physical proximity. Closeness. Repeated exposure. A bond—not a scent accident. And guess what? I don't touch Alphas. I don't talk to Alphas unless I'm forced to by divine misfortune. No one has ever been close enough to leave any kind of mark on me, scent or otherwise."
Even as the words poured from your mouth, your mind betrayed you with flashes of memory you hadn't invited in. Jay had always been there, in this persistent, maddening way that never allowed you to forget him. The only times you'd truly let yourself near him was when you were chasing him. When your Flower Knows favorite hair clip vanished. You'd snapped at everyone in sight, too distressed to think clearly, until Jay, of all people, calmly handed it back to you. And for some reason, without thinking, you hugged him. No way, it's impossible... But still—surely you'd feel it if something had happened then, you would have noticed, wouldn't you? Snapped out of it! You forced yourself to swallow the thought. It didn't matter. None of it mattered.
"I'm not someone people imprint on," you muttered under your breath.
The guy tilted his head slightly, there was a glint of curiosity? amusement?—in his eyes that only made your skin crawl further. "Hmm," he murmured, unconvinced. "Must've been a powerful Alpha to leave that kind of imprint."
Weirdo. You didn't even bother answering. You were too tired, too over it, too seconds away from breaking the door down yourself. You turned away from him completely, knuckles already preparing for another round of pounding against the door. But just as your hand drew back to knock again, the door swung open without warning, and the motion startled you so badly that you let out a high-pitched shriek. The sudden rush of light, air, and relief hit you at once, and your eyes immediately welled with tears.
And there, standing in the doorway, was Ningning. Your beautiful, perfect best friend, looking mildly confused. Without hesitation, you threw yourself into her arms, burying your face into her shoulder as the tears finally spilled over. "Ningie," you cried into the curve of her neck, clutching her. "Oh my God, thank you—I was trapped—I thought I'd die in there—"
But Ningning didn't hug you back. Instead, she let out a loud, startled shriek that made you jerk back instinctively. Her hand flew up, pointing with trembling fingers over your shoulder. "Oh my God! N-Naked!" she shrieked, eyes wide with pure horror.
You blinked, confusion flickering through your lashes as you turned your head over her shoulder, dread already twisting in your stomach. Slowly, you pulled away from Ningning, lifting your eyes—and that's when you felt the air leave your lungs. There was one people. Because standing just behind her, half-shadowed by the frame of the open door, was Jay.
Your entire system short-circuited. Cold. Then heat. Then a full-body freeze so intense it made your fingers numb. Panic rippled through your nerves, your Omega curled deep inside your chest, cowering. You couldn't even form a thought, let alone an excuse. You looked away immediately—hard left, anywhere but at him. But your body didn't obey the instinct to flee. You stepped back from Ningning, as if pulled forward by something magnetic and quiet and impossible to reason with. Your feet moved before your mouth did. Moved toward him. "I-It's not what you t-think," you stammered, "I—It's not—I didn't—he wasn't—nothing happened—"
You were trying to speak but every word landed wrong, cracked in half before it even made it out of your throat. Your mind was spinning, you couldn't explain it, not with Jay standing there looking like that, expression too calm, and definitely too close to seeing through you.
Ningning's shriek tore through the air again, unhelpful and explosive. "Why is he naked?! What the hell is going on?!"
You opened your mouth to reply, to protest, to lie—something—but nothing came out. Instead, before you could even process what was happening, Jay stepped forward.
Silently, without speaking a word, he shrugged off the red velvet jacket he'd been wearing and draped it carefully over your shoulders. You were cold. He noticed. So he fixed it.
You stiffened, overwhelmed by the shift in warmth, the sudden weight of the fabric, the soft brush of it against your neck and arms. His scent was already embedded in it, and your Omega coiled tighter in response. Still trembling, you turned slightly, uncertain of what to do or say next—when Ningning's voice cut in again. "Wait—did he do something to you?!" she snapped, stepping between you and Jay with her fists already half-raised. "Say the word and I'll punch him. I swear to God, I'll break his Alpha jaw."
"Calm down. I didn't do anything to the Omega," the guy muttered, irritation creeping into his voice.
But you didn't lift your head. You didn't understand why your voice had abandoned you, why your throat refused to shape the words clawing just beneath the surface. You weren't scared. No one had laid a hand on you, and yet there you stood, silent, breath shallow, eyes averted like you had something to hide. What made it worse was the guilt that had begun to bloom low in your stomach. You weren't anything. So why did wearing someone else's scent feel like a betrayal? It shouldn't matter!
As if your body had given up waiting for your brain to make sense of anything, you started moving again. Just one step, then another. A soft whine slipped from your throat, then a low, shaky purr followed, rumbling beneath your breath. Mortification hit you, and you froze mid-step, eyes widening, hands clenching the jacket tighter. The shame was instant and scorching, washing over you in waves that made your skin burn and your Omega retreat in embarrassment.
You couldn't even look at Jay now.
"How are we supposed to believe that, huh? You're naked, and my friend was on the verge of a breakdown banging against the damn door! You think that doesn't look suspicious?!" Ningning's hand lashed out without warning, delivering a sharp slap to the stranger's arm. The Alpha barely flinched. He rubbed the spot on his arm with a mild frown, more annoyed.
His jaw tensed for half a second before he exhaled slowly. "She's the one who came into the room," he said. "She was soaked through. Crying. Completely spiraling and shivering. I gave her something dry to wear. That's it."
Ningning scoffed, unconvinced. Her arms folded tightly across her chest, lips pressed into a thin line as her eyes darted between you and the half-dressed Alpha standing in the doorway. "If that's your version of events," she muttered, narrowing her gaze, "then you better hope he believes it too." She jerked her chin toward Jay without looking at him.
Jay hadn't said a word yet, but his silence was louder than any outburst. Your head dipped lower beneath it, eyes fixed to the floor. The other Alpha raised an eyebrow at Ningning's challenge. "I don't care if he believes me," he said, flatly. "I'm not guilty. If you've got a problem, write a letter. Student Affairs, Disciplinary Board—whatever makes you feel better. I've got nothing to explain."
Ningning gasped, scandalized, her jaw falling open at the nerve of the man. She looked like she was about to launch into another tirade, but before she could get the words out, the Alpha stepped forward—out of the room. His movements were slow, he didn't look at Ningning, he looked at you, then Jay.
The air shifted instantly. The moment his eyes landed on Jay, something tightened. It wasn't obvious, but you felt the hallway dropped a few degrees. Two Alphas sizing each other up without a single word exchanged.
You felt your breath catch in your throat. Instinct took over again, before you could stop yourself, your body inched closer to Jay. The man paused briefly, his gaze still moving between the two of you. Then he clicked his tongue. "Lee Heeseung," he said finally, tone dry and dismissive. "That's the name."
And without waiting for a reaction, he turned and walked away down the hall, bare-chested, unbothered, and entirely unapologetic.
The events that followed unfolded in a haze, everything moving too quickly and too loudly for your brain to keep up. There were voices, hands on your shoulders, questions flying at you from every direction, but it all felt distant, like sound underwater. You remembered Ningning grabbing your arm, dragging you down the hallway with a fierce grip that was more protective than angry, her voice rising in disbelief every few seconds. But your responses—if you gave any—were delayed, quiet, or maybe non-existent. You weren't sure. You couldn't even remember the walk back to your house, only that somehow, you ended up here.
The next thing you truly registered was the soft tug of Ningning's fingers combing gently through your hair, "I still can't believe this," she huffed, brushing a little harder than necessary. "The group that soaked you should pay for damages!"
You didn't answer. You were curled under the blanket, knees drawn up, Jay's jacket folded next to you, your fingers kept brushing against the edge of the velvet, guilt lingering in your chest.
Ningning let out another sharp exhale as she grabbed a different comb from your nightstand and switched tactics. "And I'm glad Jay woke me up, by the way," she added, "He said he heard you scream, and that something about it just... felt wrong."
That finally pulled you out of your fog a little. Your brows furrowed as you turned your head toward her, eyes narrowing. "Wait—what scream?" you asked slowly. "I mean, yeah, I was panicking, but I was at least two buildings away from the theater hall. How would he even hear that?"
Ningning stopped brushing for a moment, her fingers hovering in your hair as she gave a shrug. "I don't know. That's what he said. Something about how your voice echoed. Said it sounded off? He looked kind of scary, honestly. Geez, It was the first time I ever talked to him."
You blinked slowly, processing that piece of information. She sat down beside you with a sigh, tossing the comb onto your vanity. "He even got into it with Yeonjun," she muttered. "Told him he should've noticed something was wrong, said it wasn't like you to disappear for that long. And Yeonjun looked so confused and kept saying you were just in the bathroom or getting snacks."
Your brows knit deeper together, thoughts still spiraling, but then a slow, creeping realization settled into your chest, interrupting the emotional numbness you'd been floating in. Something was missing. Not metaphorically—physically missing.
"Ningning," you said suddenly, eyes scanning your room as you tapped around the bedcovers, then moved to brush your fingers across the top of your vanity table. "Where's my bag?"
Ningning froze for a second, her posture straightening as her hands flew to her head, pressing against her temples like she was forcing the memory to rewind. "Oh my God," she muttered. "No, I—I didn't. I think... I think Yeonjun had it? I saw him near the bleachers after Jay found you, maybe he grabbed it? Wait—huh?"
You groaned softly, dragging a hand down your face. "That bag has my phone, my ID, all of my cards." You stood up abruptly, the blanket falling off your lap, and began pacing as Ningning already had her phone out, fingers tapping with speed as she called Yeonjun.
You watched her carefully as the call connected, her expression flickering from impatience to confusion, then suddenly her eyes widened, mouth dropped open.
"What?" you demanded. "What is it? What did he say?"
Ningning slowly pulled the phone away from her ear, staring at you like she wasn't sure whether to laugh, scream, or panic. "Yeonjun said... Jay has it."
You blinked once. "What?" you choked out, voice climbing. "Jay? Jay has my bag?!"
⋮ ⌗ act thirteen
YOU MOVED through the team hall with careful steps, your eyes sweeping across the space in search. The air was filled with overlapping voices, laughter, the shuffle of sneakers on linoleum floors, and the occasional cheer from one of the outdoor games echoing faintly through the open windows. You barely registered any of it. Your focus was singular: locate Jay.
You are painfully aware of the eyes around you. Well, the fitted red knit dress you wore hugged your upper body snugly while the skirt flared into a soft ivory bell lined with a feathered white hem that danced slightly with each step. You'd layered a cropped ivory sweater over it, the cable-knit texture stitched with delicate fringe, intentionally letting the bold red collar of your dress peek through for contrast.
It was the second day of the Games, and the energy had only gotten more competitive. Everyone was scrambling around, cheering for their assigned teams, decorating booths, carrying snacks, losing their voices over sports they didn't actually care about. There was too much sound, too many bodies, too much everything. And honestly, you'd rather be anywhere else—shopping, napping, locked in a cold boutique fitting room with ambient music. But no. Attendance was mandatory, and the events hadn't even kicked off yet and you were already mentally checking out. The day hadn't even started, and somehow, you felt done.
Your jaw tightened slightly as you tried to stay composed, irritation simmering just under your skin. Where the hell is Jay? You had been searching for him all morning, and still nothing. You just wanted your damn bag back. Your phone, your keys, your wallet—your life—were in there, and the fact that you couldn't even send a text or check your messages without borrowing someone else's device was driving you insane.
You spotted a girl standing near one of the refreshment tables, an Omega, familiar, from your department maybe, and you didn't hesitate, you reached out and tapped her shoulder.
"Hey," you said, trying to keep your tone casual despite the growing urgency in your chest. "You know Jay, right? Park Jongseong? I heard he's doing logistics for the games—do you know where he's stationed right now?"
The girl blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question, but then recognition lit up her face and she clapped her hands together. "Ah! Yes, I saw him earlier," she replied, nodding. "He joined the basketball team yesterday. He's been practicing since this morning—probably still at the gym."
You stared at her, not quite processing. "Basketball?" you repeated in disbelief. You rubbed your ear like it would somehow fix the sound.
She nodded again. "Yeah, the tournament's scheduled for the end of the week, so they've been doing practice rounds. He joined last minute."
You blinked slowly, mouth falling open. "He what?" you muttered under your breath, a delayed thank-you leaving your lips as you turned away.
You walked off, mind racing. Basketball practice? Jay? The same Jay who, just a few weeks ago, had flatly refused the sports committee's recruitment offer? The one who said, and you quote, "I don't play team sports." What the hell was he doing now, suddenly dribbling basketballs?! But honestly, you were too exhausted to untangle the mystery right now. You just wanted your bag. That was the priority.
With determination tightening in your jaw, you pushed through the outer doors of the gym building, your steps echoing across the polished floors as you made your way inside. The moment you entered the gymnasium, however, instant regret washed over you in a hot, overwhelming wave.
The smell hit you.
Your face twisted in disgust as your hand flew up to pinch your nose, the scent practically clawing at your sinuses. "What the fuck," you muttered under your breath, already feeling your head start to spin. The air was heavy with Alpha pheromones, sweaty, competitive, aggressive and it clung to every surface, saturated the floorboards, the padded walls, even the damn water coolers. You hadn't expected a scent this strong, overwhelming, and entirely suffocating.
You took a cautious step back, instinct screaming at you to retreat, but before you could fully process whether to hold your breath or just bolt, a panicked Beta came stumbling into view. He looked like a student manager, clipboard in hand and sweat already forming along his temple.
"H-Hey! Omega presence isn't permitted during team practice hours!" he stammered, trying to usher you out. He reached for your elbow and your brows arched as you stepped to the side and delivered a sharp slap to his arm that was about to hold you.
"Don't touch me," you snapped, eyes narrowed to communicate that you were not in the mood for being handled like a lost freshman.
The Beta immediately froze mid-motion, hand suspended awkwardly in the air as his expression crumbled into panic. His mouth opened, then closed again, clearly searching for the right words to de-escalate the situation, but you didn't bother waiting for them. You brushed past him, you didn't miss the shift in atmosphere around you. The ripple that spread through the rows of resting players, the subtle halt in bouncing basketballs, and the sudden awareness settling into the shoulders of those sitting on the benches. A few turned to whisper to each other. Others didn't even pretend not to stare.
The moment you walked deeper into the gym, a visible shift occurred among the Alphas on the court. You watched them stiffen—spines straightening, postures tightening, muscles coiled. Their heads lifted slightly, the scent in the air thickening as tension coiled around them. You kept your expression neutral, gaze forward, refusing to give them the satisfaction of acknowledging the stir your presence had caused. You kept scanning through the crowd of until your eyes locked onto him.
Jay was drenched in sweat, chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths, his shirt clinging to his torso. His jaw was clenched, brows drawn together in annoyance. His hair was damp, messier than usual, and his arms were taut where he stood, barely masked tension rolling off him in waves. His gaze met yours with a directness that made your stomach twist. And then he glared. At you.
What the hell? Why was he glaring at you like you'd committed a crime by simply walking into the gym? You narrowed your eyes in return, raising your chin, refusing to be the first to look away.
Another Alpha pointed in your direction and blurted, "Huh? There's an Omega on the court!"
Before anyone else could react, Jay was already moving. You were still walking toward him, fists clenched at your sides, ready to start a fight over your damn bag, when he met you halfway. And then, without warning, he bent low, one arm sliding behind your knees, the other bracing your back, and lifted you off the floor in one swift, solid motion. You let out a high-pitched shriek, startled beyond reason.
"Jay?! What the—?! Put me down, jerk!" You gasped, your hands flying to his neck for balance as your feet left the ground.
He didn't answer, he just carried you out of the gym. The stares followed you the entire way, but Jay didn't spare them a glance. Once you were out of the suffocating heat and scent of the gym, he stopped just outside the building. Without a word, he set you down, slowly, carefully, his hands steady as he placed you on your feet.
The moment your feet touched the floor, you spun on him with wide eyes and a breathless scoff. "What was that?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Jay exhaled hard, nostrils flaring, jaw still tight. "What are you doing here?" he hissed, scolding. "Did you not see the sign? Omegas aren't allowed in the gym during Alpha practice hours."
You gawked at him, mouth falling open, the nerve of him sending a fresh wave of indignation up to your brain. "Wow, okay. I should be the one asking you that," you snapped, hands flying to your hips. "Why the hell did you suddenly join basketball? You don't do sports, remember?!"
Jay opened his mouth, clearly ready to respond, but you were already done with the conversation. Before he could get a single syllable out, you stepped forward and pressed your finger firmly against his lips. "Whatever," you said coolly, cutting him off. "Save it. I don't care about your explanation." You lowered your hand, extended your palm between you, raising your eyebrow. "My. Bag."
Jay blinked at you, still slightly breathless from practice, eyes flicking from your outstretched hand to your face, his jaw ticking again. "You couldn't wait until later this afternoon?" he asked, irritated, though not exactly surprised by your intensity. "I said I'd give it to you."
You let out a sharp, incredulous scoff, stepping closer until there was barely a breath of space between the two of you. "Of course I couldn't wait," you snapped, "my cards are in there. My phone. My student ID. That is my entire life compressed into one overpriced designer handbag. You don't just walk off with someone's personal belongings and wait for the mood to strike before returning them. And on top of that, you didn't even bother to tell me you had it!"
Jay exhaled deeply, dragging a slow breath through his nose before closing his eyes for a second longer than necessary, as if silently counting down from ten. "It's at my apartment," he finally muttered.
Your mouth dropped open. "Apartment?" You blinked once. Then, despite yourself, you laughed out of pure disbelief, the kind of dry, edge-of-sanity laugh that meant you were dangerously close to unhinged. "Then call your butler and have him bring it here."
Jay let out a low groan, running a hand through his damp hair in frustration. "I don't have a butler."
You gave him a look so full of skepticism. Hah. A Prime Alpha without a butler? He's practically kidding! You were tired! The past few days had been one long stream of disasters stacked on top of humiliations, and now—this. Nothing beautiful had happened lately. Nothing soft or safe or remotely easy. It was just pure bad luck, and Park Jongseong somehow always showing up in the middle of it all, disrupting your balance with that expressionless handsome fucking face.
You took a step back, inhaled slowly, and crossed your arms. "Skip practice. Right now. We're going to your apartment."
Jay's eyes widened instantly, his entire body reacting, and you swear, you saw a flicker. That rare flicker of visible emotion breaking through his stoic facade. It cracked across his face in the perfect mask he always wore: a flash of hesitation, confusion, and unmistakable panic.
"W-What?" he stammered. "You can't just order me around—" he began, words tumbling out in a rush, like they were trying to catch up with the situation in front of him. His composure slipped another degree, lips parting with another excuse he couldn't seem to form fast enough. "I—I'll bring it here later—"
But your patience was long gone. You leaned forward slightly, narrowing your eyes. "I need it right now," you hissed through your teeth. You hadn't even noticed your fangs pressing into the soft flesh of your lower lip. It was your Omega reacting, agitated by the mix of his scent, your stress. Your gums throbbed faintly, a physical reminder of how close you were to losing the last thread of composure you had left.
Jay continued staring at you, and for a brief moment, it looked like he might argue again. His throat bobbed with a slow, visible gulp—like he was forcing something down. Then he sighed, his shoulders shifted slightly, as if bracing himself, and without another word, he turned and jerked his chin toward the gate in a silent cue for you to follow.
You didn't move right away, still watching him closely, trying to read whatever expression flickered beneath that calm, quiet surface. But then your legs responded and you fell into step behind him as he led the way out of the practice building and into the university's parking lot.
You were already mentally preparing for what you were about to see. Given who he was—the stoic, elegant, too-put-together-for-his-own-good Jay— you were expecting a deep black luxury sedan, maybe a matte-gray Rolls-Royce, or some obnoxiously expensive imported car with tinted windows and too much horsepower. You were already rolling your eyes in advance.
But when he came to a stop, it was in front of a... scooter. Not even a motorcycle. Not a hoverboard. A bright red electric scooter. You blinked once. Your footsteps stalled as your eyes locked onto the sleek little thing, and you stared at it in stunned silence. You tried to form a thought, but your brain refused to cooperate. It was just... so damn cute. Clean. Efficient. And somehow even worse—it had stickers. Tastefully minimal ones, but still stickers.
Jay turned slightly, glancing at you over his shoulder. He didn't speak at first, just watched you for a moment longer, his eyes narrowed in anticipation. Like he was waiting to see how you'd react. If you'd laugh. Mock him. Judge. If you'd ruin the quiet, almost personal thing that this was. But your eyes didn't leave the scooter. Jay drives this? you thought, almost dazed. This was not on your bingo card. At all.
He reached toward the handlebars and pulled off one of the helmets hanging from the side. "Here," he said simply, extending it toward you.
You took it without question, too caught in your swirling thoughts to ask why he had two helmets ready. It didn't even matter. You were still processing the sheer unexpectedness of everything. Your fingers curled around the helmet's edges, and you started to raise it toward your head, but your hands fumbled slightly, distracted, unsure if it would mess up your carefully styled hair or worse—slip and smudge your makeup.
Jay noticed, he let out another small sigh, and gently reached out, taking the helmet from your hands. You froze as he stepped in front of you, surprisingly close, and his fingers brushed lightly against your hair, cautious, as though he was being absurdly careful not to tug or displace anything. His touch was so warm that it sent a small, involuntary shiver straight down your spine.
Your heart flipped. Annoyingly. Why is this doing something to you? you screamed internally, trying to focus on anything other than the way his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration as he adjusted the helmet, ensuring the fit was snug but not uncomfortable. He avoided your skin, even as his hand lingered just at your jaw, his fingers brushing close but never quite touching as he clipped the strap beneath your chin.
Your eyes drifted to his face—his lashes low, mouth set in a faint line of focus, brows drawn in concentration. So handsome! Jay stepped back once the helmet was secure, his hands falling away, and still he said nothing but his eyes stayed on you just a second too long.
You didn't let yourself dwell on it. Instead, you adjusted your dress, and carefully perched sideways onto the seat, your knees pressed together, legs to one side, one arm curling instinctively around Jay's waist for balance. Your other hand found the back of his shirt and tightened there, knuckles brushing against the thin fabric as you braced yourself. You could already feel the heat of the sun on your skin, the warmth of his body just beneath your palm, and worse, his scent—so annoyingly clean and muted, yet distinctly him curling into your senses with every gust of wind that rushed by.
The scooter rumbled gently beneath you as Jay started driving, the silence between you is broken only by the low whir of the motor and the occasional flutter of your hair catching the wind. You tried to act composed, calm or unbothered. But then you looked down.
"Wow," you whispered, a breathless sort of awe slipping from your lips as you blinked at the road beneath you. "Wow," you said again, barely able to believe what you were seeing. Your feet—nearly touching the ground. It was surreal. Slightly terrifying. And definitely unforgettable!
"Core experience," you muttered under your breath, unable to stop the grin twitching at the corner of your mouth. You didn't mean to enjoy it, but the absurdity of the moment, the thrill of the wind whipping past your face, the way you had to grip him tighter every time he took a sharp turn—it all added up. Goddamn it, this was kind of... fun.
Eventually, the ride slowed as Jay pulled up to a modest two-story apartment building. The neighborhood was calm, framed with trimmed hedges, a few overgrown trees, and minimal foot traffic. Not flashy. Not luxurious. Just... ordinary. Jay parked the scooter and removed his own helmet first, but his eyes flicked to you immediately—hesitant again. Like he was waiting for something. A comment, or judgement, a reaction, but you were too busy turning your head, surveying the area with curiosity.
"My apartment's on the second floor," he said with a kind of caution you didn't often hear from him. He reached out toward you again, hands careful as he unclasped the helmet's strap beneath your chin. You stilled without protest, letting him remove it.
You didn't say anything. You just followed him, watching the way his shoulders tensed as you climbed the stairs behind him. He glanced back only once, and when he did, it wasn't impatience you saw.
When he finally stopped at a small dark-brown door, he hesitated a moment longer before unlocking it. He didn't open it fully, just nudged it halfway and turned toward you with a tight expression, like he was preparing for disappointment. "I know you know I'm an Apex Alpha," he began, eyes avoiding yours as he spoke. "And I know most of them live... differently. The luxury. The image. I get it. I know this isn't what you were expecting—"
"What are you talking about?" you cut in flatly, brow arching as you leaned against the doorframe, thoroughly unimpressed with his dramatics. "Jay, I don't care if you sleep on a yoga mat or a gold-plated bed. Just go inside and find my bag."
Jay blinked, momentarily stunned by your lack of reaction. His mouth parted as if he were going to say something, but no words came. Eventually, he just gave a tight nod and stepped inside, and you followed closely behind.
The moment you stepped over, his scent hit you. It wasn't just faint traces clinging to his jacket —it was everywhere. It wasn't overwhelming, not like the gym. It was so familiar in a way that made your skin prickle. It wrapped around you and you stood there, unmoving, blinking against the sudden dizziness that came not from disorientation, but from how right it felt. Your muscles, so tense just moments ago, slackened without your permission. Comfort. Safety. Stability.
Your eyes flicked around the room again, trying to anchor yourself. The interior of the apartment was... small. Minimal. Clean, definitely. The walls were bare, the furniture practical, and everything seemed organized within an inch of its life. The color palette was expected—black, gray, a few white accents—but there wasn't a single thing that hinted at personality. No photos. No posters. No art. Not even a clock!
You walked further in, eyes slowly scanning every corner. It wasn't bad. Just... boring. Predictable. The opposite of your space, which was a colorful textures, clothes, cosmetics and more cosmetics. Your gaze drifted toward the single window, where soft daylight spilled in through half-closed blinds. And that's when you saw a small cactus, sitting on the ledge. The pot was matte black, the cactus itself was mature, its shape clean and symmetrical, not too large, but clearly well-kept. It was the only sign of something living in the entire apartment besides him.
"Hah," you breathed out quietly as your fingers lightly brushed the surface of the cactus pot. Your fingertip traced a slow circle along its rim, as if expecting the little plant to respond. "Poor you," you murmured, eyes narrowed in sympathy. "No one to talk to." You paused, tilted your head thoughtfully, and imagined the cactus silently agreeing with you.
Before your fantasy plant friend could offer any more unspoken wisdom, Jay's voice broke through the silence from behind you "Here," he said, and you turned to find him holding your bag out, arm extended.
You stared at him for a beat longer then took the bag from his hands. Without offering a word of thanks, you immediately unzipped it, fingers moving through the contents. Wallet—still there, still depressingly holding only forty bucks. Your cards—campus ID, bank, library, cafe loyalty (with two sad stamps). More cards, a half-empty bottle of mouthwash, your trusty alcohol spray, an entire family of tissues and wet wipes, a slightly dented pepper spray canister
You looked back up at him, face is blank for a moment, then gave a long, exaggerated roll of your eyes, making sure he saw it. Jay's brow furrowed instantly, his face shifting into the kind of confused scowl.
"Okay," you said, voice a little too cheerful, as you slung your bag over your shoulder, "let's go back, pretend this never happened, and—if the stars are kind—let's hope we never see each other again. Ever. As in never ever again." You even wiggled your fingers a little for extra flair on the final words.
Jay didn't flinch, just nodded once, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly, the barest hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Okay," he said, almost too agreeable. Like he was humoring you.
Which was suspicious. You narrowed your eyes, but didn't linger. You were too tired for another round of whatever game he was playing. If the universe had any sense of justice, that would've been the last time you ever had to see his face.
But as it turned out, the universe was kind.
Jay, however, was not.
THE THIRD day of the University Games dawned far too early. You were dead asleep, dreaming about clawing your way into a luxury spa. It was 5:30 in the goddamn morning, and the sun wasn't even up properly, but your phone had decided to become possessed, vibrating across your nightstand.
You groaned, half-asleep, limbs tangled in your blanket, and reached for it blindly. "It's five-thirty in the morning," you hissed to no one in particular, voice croaky with sleep. "Who the hell thinks this is a good time to ruin my skin cycle?"
Your hydrating face mask had slid halfway off your cheek, clinging on for dear life, and one of your heatless curls flopped onto your forehead. You snatched the phone without checking the caller ID, already prepared to eviscerate whoever it was with the same energy you reserved for late assignments and bad service.
"What time do you usually sleep for you not to wake up at five?" came the voice on the other end—calm, composed, and unmistakably male.
Your brows furrowed. The voice clicked in your brain a beat later, and your eyes snapped open fully. You squinted blearily at the screen. It was an unknown number. Unregistered contact. Fucking Jay.
You sat up, face mask dangling off your chin now, your voice are clearly in disbelief. "First of all, who the hell wakes up at five unless they're being punished by the gods? And second—what the hell do you want?!"
There was a pause. Then: "I need my jacket."
Your mouth dropped open. Your eyes swung toward your vanity table, where said jacket was currently draped over the back of your chair. "You called me at five-thirty in the morning... for your jacket?"
"I figured you'd be up," he replied, not even bothering to sound apologetic.
"You figured wrong," you growled, flopping back onto your pillow. "You couldn't wait until literally any reasonable hour? I was going to give it back later, obviously! Are you seriously calling me over a piece of clothing right now?!"
Without even a hint of shame, he said, "You don't just walk off with someone's personal belongings and wait for the mood to strike before returning them."
Your jaw dropped. He did not. He did! He just threw your words back at you!
"6:30 a.m. I'll meet you at my apartment." The call cut off. Just like that.
You stared at your phone. Your blood pressure shot through the roof. You let out a high-pitched screech and launched your pillow across the room. "Fuck you!" you screamed at the now-black screen. "I hope you choke on your bland-ass breakfast!"
Then you stomped out of bed, and stormed toward your massive, color-organized closet. You flung the doors open so fast one of them bounced off the hinge. If he wanted petty, you could do petty. You could do petty in style. But time was slipping, and styling was suddenly a luxury you couldn't afford. You only had an hour. Sixty minutes. For a girl like you, it was hell!
So you threw something together. You pulled on an oversized white hoodie, soft fleece inside, the sleeves long enough to cover your hands, the only pop of color being the deep red drawstrings hanging. Underneath, your favorite branded white sports briefs sat high on your waist, their waistband peeking out deliberately from beneath your crisp white shorts. Your legs were wrapped in mismatched sheer knee-high socks, one plain, the other adorned with bold red stripes that matched the hoodie drawstrings. You finished it off with your white-and-black Adidas sneakers.
Makeup was on emergency mode. Concealer, winged liner, highlighter, and a quick pop of gloss. You grabbed your bag, flung the door open, and stomped out of your house with your driver. All for one jacket.
Your driver blinked awake, still groggy, rubbing his eyes behind the wheel. "It's okay!" you chirped with a wide, falsely sweet smile, slipping outside the passenger seat. "I can handle the commute from here, I just need to finish some business. Really quick. Promise. You go home and rest—you look exhausted. Sorry for waking you up so early. Love you!"
The moment the door clicked shut behind you, your face flattened into a withering glare. The smile evaporated. Your irritation returned with full force, bubbling just beneath your skin. You stomped your way up the stairwell of Jay's apartment. You could already smell his pheromones bleeding into the corridor but you were too angry to let it rattle you. Your Omega twitched at the edges, unsettled by the scent, but you forced her down. This was not the time!
You raised your fist and slammed it against the door, hard. No response. You clicked your tongue, rolled your eyes, and knocked again—this time with more pressure, the flat of your palm echoing against the wood. Still, no response. Just as you raised your hand for a third, even more aggressive strike, the lock clicked and the door creaked open.
"I have neighbors," Jay said flatly, "If you don't want me to get a noise complaint, maybe stop trying to break my door."
You opened your mouth to snap something back—but then you saw him. The words froze mid-breath. Jay stood there, barefoot, wearing a black sando that clung unforgivably well to his chest and shoulders, and a pair of light gray pajama pants that immediately sent your brain into a mental spiral. His silver hair was mussed, pieces falling over his forehead. His eyes—those cold, sharp eyes were fixed on you. You didn't know what was so special about his expression. It was always the same blank, emotionally constipated face he always wore.
And yet—God. Your gaze dipped before you could stop it. Down right to those pants. Gray. Pajama. Pants. Suddenly, Ningning's voice echoed in your head: "Gray sweatpants? Oh honey, they reveal everything. Even if it's not hard? You'll still see God."
And wow. Woooow. Oh my God. There was no logical reason why this one particular shade of pants could wreck a woman's entire thought process—but here you were, doing mental gymnastics trying not to faint from the very real, very visible outline haunting your vision.
Was it... Was it even fully soft? Why is it that big just... existing like that? Your mouth went dry. Your palms went warm. For one cursed, embarrassing second, you almost gasped in holy reverence.
Snap out of it! Your Omega nearly purred and you practically hissed at her to shut up. You shook your head. You narrowed your eyes, forcing your voice steady as you bit back everything your traitorous body wanted to say. "You open the fucking door when I knock," you seethed, each word pushed out with a tight smile and clenched jaw. "The first time."
Jay, entirely unbothered, simply widened the door and turned away, leaving it open behind him as he walked further inside.
You scoffed, half in disbelief, half in outrage, before marching in after him with a vengeance. "Here's your ugly jacket," you snapped, waving the paper bag.
"Put it on the table," he replied without looking back, voice even and careless, like you were some delivery person. You gasped audibly.
Your mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "I—Excuse me?" The sheer nerve. The audacity. This man woke you up at dawn, summoned you to his apartment, barely acknowledged your existence, and now he wanted you to just waltz in like some obedient little errand girl and drop it off? You bit down on your lip so hard you felt the sting. Somewhere in your brain, a nerve twitched. Your eye followed suit. You stepped inside, crossed the room with a stomp in every step, and slammed the paper bag onto his kitchen table. You even gave the table leg a small kick on your way back. "There," you said. "We done now? Great. I'm leaving."
But Jay, unhurried as ever, was already reaching into a cabinet and placing not one, but two plates on the table. "Let's eat," he said calmly. You blinked, eyebrow raised and brain short circuited. Huh?
"Wha—Are you fucking with me right now?" you practically screeched, staring at him. "I am not—not—eating breakfast with you. You dragged me out of bed at the break of dawn to return your stupid jacket, not for a sit-down meal. Who even does that?!" You fanned yourself with your hand, more from the emotional overheating than the temperature. You were genuinely at risk of hair loss from the stress of this man's behavior.
Jay just set down a glass, pulled a chair out from the table, and tilted his head slightly—gesturing for you to sit. No words, the smallest hint of challenge in his eyes, like he was daring you to keep being difficult.
Your mouth opened again but your gaze betrayed you. It dropped, straight to his biceps. They flexed subtly as he held the chair in place, the curve of his forearms tightening. Your lips parted in a silent curse, and you swallowed hard, trying to drag your eyes back up. But then his eyes met yours, soft brown, framed by lashes far too long for someone who clearly didn't care about skincare—and for some reason, your knees stopped listening to you. Before you even realized it, you were sitting.
What are you doing?! Get up! Fight! Bite him! Throw the chair! But there you were, lips slightly pursed, sitting at Jay's table. Stupid. You were so disappointed in yourself. Disappointed in your lineage, your entire bloodline, in every proud Omega empowerment seminar you'd ever half-attended for extra credit. Was this what your foremothers fought for? To be reduced to a flustered heap at the sight of an Alpha's biceps flexing through a tank top? You were supposed to demand your worth, blaze trails, radiate strength—not crumble at the sight of defined triceps and the vein down his forearm. Stupid. So stupid.
"Coffee?" Jay's voice broke into your silent, he opened a cabinet and reached for two mugs without even looking at you. You narrowed your eyes, your lip twitching as you rolled them.
"I want an iced vanilla latte," you replied, chin lifted.
Jay paused mid-reach and turned his head slowly toward you, one brow raising just a little. His eyes trailed over your face, taking in the unapologetic challenge in your tone. "I don't have that," he said.
"Well, that's too bad," you shot back without missing a beat, crossing your legs under the table. "Because I want it."
You watched his jaw tighten. Jay stared at you for a beat longer, like he was trying to process whether or not you were serious. You stared right back, unflinching. Heh. If he was going to play the host, then you were going to play the guest—and a very high-maintenance one at that.
To your disappointment, he didn't argue. Didn't roll his eyes, didn't even sigh dramatically. He simply turned back to the cabinet and grabbed a glass. You blinked once. That was it? No fight? No eye-roll? He was just... complying? Your eyes trailed after him as he began placing dishes on the table. Eggs. Rice. Kimchi. Toast. Even a bowl of sliced fruit. He moved without rush, setting things down.
Your brow furrowed. "What the—?" You blinked again, narrowing your eyes to the soup. "Did you—? Is that—?" You pointed at the bowl. "Is that egg soup?"
Jay didn't look up from where he was neatly arranging utensils. "Yeah."
"Like... real? Not from a packet?"
"No packet."
You stared at him, genuinely scandalized. "Are you telling me you actually cooked?"
Jay glanced up at you. "You don't think I know how to cook?"
You snorted. "I didn't think you knew how to speak until last week." He didn't answer. Just pushed the bowl of soup toward you and set down a clean spoon next to it.
You stared at the bowl, then at him, then back at the bowl. Steam curled from the golden broth, gentle and warm, carrying the faint, rich scent of sesame oil and soft herbs. A few tender scallions floated along the surface. It was too well made to be instant. You could see the care in it, and worse, you could smell the fresh, savory, and comforting in a way that made your stomach tighten. How much cholesterol does an egg even have? You mentally tried to remember that one diet chart you saved during your health-obsessed week two months ago. Was it 180? 210?
Jay, who had just reappeared at your side, setting down a tall glass filled with what suspiciously resembled a vanilla latte. Cold, and perfectly creamy, He said nothing, just quietly placed it on the table in front of you. Your mouth opened slightly in shock. He actually... made it? Before you could ask, he sat down across from you and began scooping rice onto your plate. He didn't even glance up, just calmly portioned the meal as if you hadn't threatened to never see him again less than 48 hours ago.
You stared at him, bewildered, impressed and hungry. The worst part is you could feel yourself softening. You looked down at the food, then took a spoon. You could always fight him after second bite, maybe third, or fourth.
YOU FOUND yourself staring at the cactus near the window, head tilted slightly, lips pursed in curiosity. You didn't know what it was exactly but something about the tiny creature just... intrigued you. It was undeniably cute in the most underwhelming, passive-aggressive way. You kind of admired it. You also kind of wanted to interrogate it. Did it have a name? Did Jay talk to it when no one was around? Did it have a designated birthday? You narrowed your eyes and leaned in.
Meanwhile, Jay was behind you, washing dishes at the sink with silence. The soft sound of water running and porcelain clinking was oddly domestic, unsettlingly gentle. You weren't used to this kind of quiet. Certainly not around him.
Your eyes drifted back to the cactus. You'd been staring at it for—what, twenty minutes now? It was so visually uneventful that it actually started making your brain itch. Cute, yes. But also boring. Like everything else in this apartment. You frown, did cacti bloom? You were pretty sure they did. You'd seen pictures. Tiny flowers, delicate and absurdly lovely, sometimes pink or yellow or white, sprouting from the spikes. You liked that idea. That even something that armored and still could suddenly bloom. This one deserved to bloom. It deserved something pretty. Without thinking, you reached for your bag and opened the small front pocket. Inside, tangled between your hand sanitizer and spare lip tint, was a pale pink satin lace. You unwound it from the keychain and carefully wrapped it around the base of the cactus's pot. You tied it into a small bow, a makeshift ribbon. You sat back and admired your work, head tilting again. It looked objectively better.
Behind you, Jay turned off the faucet. You glanced over your shoulder just in time to catch him drying his hands. Then, he reached for his black jacket hanging neatly by the door—your attention sharpened as he shrugged it on. You narrowed your eyes. It wasn't just any jacket. It was Prada. Jay slipped into it, the label stitched at the collar caught the light for a second. Your head tilted slightly, your suspicion growing in real time as the details started lining up in your head.
"Ready to go?" he asked. You gave him a slow look, one brow lifted, the kind that immediately made him tilt his head ever so slightly, like he was trying to guess what kind of trouble was brewing behind your eyes. He didn't press you for an answer. Smart man. You didn't say anything either. Just grabbed your bag from the table, slung it over your shoulder and headed toward the door without a word.
You stepped outside first. Behind you, Jay locked the apartment, then he followed slinging his bag over his shoulder—another Prada. You squinted again. You recognized that design. Same model he had slung across his back the first time you saw him. And then your eyes dropped slightly to his glasses. Also Prada. You were sure.
Okay, sure. Apex Alphas were known for their proximity to luxury. That wasn't news. Statistically, they were born into families that could afford private medical enhancements, exclusive early education, access to inter-Alpha networks. Even the lowest-ranking Apex could land a sponsorship just for breathing near a prestigious program. And most high-paying jobs were designed to be physically and pheromonally exclusive anyway—companies wanted Alphas. The stronger, the better. Politics loved them. Even universities made exceptions and handed out funds during Alpha enrollment campaigns.
So no, it wasn't shocking that Jay had Prada accessories. Not even a little. What was strange was the hesitation. The awkwardness from yesterday. The way he'd stood in that apartment, muttering something about not living the lifestyle people expect. He'd sounded... reserved. Like he didn't want you to think he was that type of Alpha, even though his wardrobe alone could buy you an entire designer weekender set with matching heels.
You don't actually care, rich or not. But something about the contradiction rubbed at your thoughts. As you followed him down the narrow stairwell, your gaze locked on the smooth line of his back, broad under the designer jacket, and your brain wandered—building theories. If he had money, why hide it? If he didn't, how did he have those things? And if he did have it but pretended not to care... why act so cagey?
You hopped back onto the scooter, despite how annoyed you were, your body betrayed you by leaning forward unconsciously, chin hovering almost obnoxiously close to Jay's shoulder as you squinted sideways at his profile. You weren't even trying to be subtle about it anymore. Jay didn't comment at first, he simply drove. But when the scooter rolled to a stop near the university gates and he got off to help remove your helmet, his eyes flicked toward your suspicious expression. He paused as he unclipped the strap under your chin, clearly holding back the urge to ask what was wrong with you.
"Why do you have two helmets?" you asked abruptly, lips pursed in a tight pout, eyebrow raised high.
Jay blinked, briefly thrown off by your tone. He recovered quickly, fingers moving carefully as he lifted the helmet off your head without messing up your hair. "I have a younger brother," he replied, like it was obvious.
You tilted your head, suspicious curiosity deepening. "Huh? Where is he?"
Jay turned away to grab his bag from the scooter's compartment and slung it over his shoulder, then gave a nod toward the sidewalk as a silent cue to start walking. "At my parents' house," he said evenly.
You fell into step beside him, still brimming with nosiness. "Wait, so why aren't you at your parents' house? I live with my parents! And my maids. And my driver. And two part-time gardeners. You mean to tell me you're living independently? In a tiny apartment with no butler? How are you even surviving that? You're an Apex!"
Jay didn't flinch at your curiosity. "I don't want to live with them anymore," he said calmly. "And I can't afford a bigger place."
You narrowed your eyes, slowing your steps as you absorbed that answer. "But why?"
He stayed quiet for a moment, that you thought he might ignore the question completely. Then he exhaled, eyes still ahead. "Because the price of freedom is high. And mine didn't come with a platinum card."
You blinked, caught off guard. Your gaze lifted instinctively, eyes drifting toward his face as your brain tried to process what he'd just said. There was something about the way he said it. It was like pushing further would cross a line he hadn't even officially drawn, but you could feel it all the same. You didn't know what to say back, and the topic sounds so sensitive so you adjusted your bag with a small huff, laced your fingers together behind your back, and kept walking at his side.
You walked in silence for a stretch of sidewalk. But then, because you were you—and because lingering sincerity made your brain itch—you cleared your throat and huffed a dramatic sigh. "Not that it matters," you muttered, lifting your chin slightly, your tone sliding back, "but I don't actually care. Just in case you're having some weird internal crisis about what I think of your tragic little lifestyle."
He didn't answer, so you keep going. "I mean, if you think I care—like care care—then you're delusional. I do not. Not at all. Couldn't be me." Jay glanced at you sideways, but you ignored it. "Whatever. Byeee." You tossed the word over your shoulder, adding a flip of your hair. Then you strode ahead of him with your exit walk.
Jay slowed to a stop for a second, staring at your retreating figure. His eyes followed the sway of your steps, the bounce of your styled hair, the unapologetic swing of your shoulders as you marched off. And then he scoffed under his breath. A faint smile ghosted across his lips. He shook his head to himself and followed behind you. Silently. As always.
⋮ ⌗ act fourteen
"VIOLATION OF not wearing a proper dress code from Green Team."
Your voice rang out across the court, lollipop stick clutched between two fingers, the bright candy tucked between your lips as you casually snapped a photo with your phone. "Based on the regulations clearly outlined in the student handbook—which, by the way, I doubt any of you have ever read—uniform protocol for all players participating in intramural sports requires footwear that supports ankle safety and team consistency," you began, scrolling through the notes on your phone. "That Alpha over there is wearing off-brand running shoes with no grip. Immediate violation."
Someone on the sidelines groaned loudly. You didn't even flinch "And another infraction," you continued, drawing out your words as you made a show of sniffing the air, then pointing your pen directly at the guy in question. "Excessive scent release. Intentionally broadcasting dominant Alpha pheromones in a co-ed match? Yeah, that's not just poor sportsmanship, it's a form of intimidation. This is a mixed bracket. That Omega on the opposing team is literally blinking like he's been chloroformed. Unacceptable. Eight-point deduction."
The eruption of protest was immediate. "What the hell?! You're seriously gonna call us out for that when you're walking around dressed like that?!"
You slowly turned your head, gaze lifting over the rim of your sunglasses as you pulled the lollipop from your mouth. "Dressed like what exactly?" you asked flatly. "Be specific, since you seem so comfortable evaluating appearances. Is it the cropped team jacket? The standard-issue mini skort? The approved colors? The school-endorsed athletic shoes that I'm wearing while not even playing? I'd love to hear which part offends your fragile Alpha sensibilities most."
You began scribbling on your form with flourish, making a show of it. "Also—another violation," you added sweetly without missing a beat, "for harassment of officiating staff. Verbal aggression. That's two-point removal and an official warning. Want to keep going? I've got a whole page of penalties just waiting to be assigned, sweetheart."
The boy opened his mouth again, but the teammate beside him shoved his elbow into his ribs and whispered something, clearly urging him to shut up before the deduction got bumped to a full disqualification.
You smirked as the lollipop slid back between your teeth, cherry-sweet and smug as your pen scratched confidently against your clipboard. With your phone tucked under your arm and your fingers flying over the notes app, you continued documenting every violation. There was a certain power in it—standing at the edge of the court, perfectly dressed, entirely unbothered, while others scrambled to clean up their infractions.
But then, something shifted, a change in the air pressure beside you, a subtle tension brushing your shoulder. Your brow creased automatically, muscle memory responding. You turned your head with annoyance, fully prepared to glare at whichever unfortunate Beta or misguided assistant had wandered into your bubble.
But instead of some flustered student intern, you were met with the sight of a tall figure in a fitted yellow jersey. His fingers brushed back silver hair, eyes already fixed on you with a glint you absolutely did not trust. And then—God help you—he smiled. Your mouth parted slightly, the gasp catching in your throat. Not because you were impressed. No. No, no, no. But because you knew that face. Your eye twitched hard. Memories flashed against your brain, you had barely recovered. And here he was, right in front of you. What was his name again? Heedong? Hee-something? Heeseung?
The name clicked into place right as his expression shifted into a knowing, wicked grin. He had the audacity to wink. Wink. "Didn't expect you to be this serious, Omega," he said smoothly.
Your expression flattened, flipping rapidly from disbelief to offense in less than a second. You pull out the lollipop in your mouth. "Didn't expect you to still be alive," you muttered. "But here you are. Unfortunately."
He just grinned wider, like your snark only fueled whatever delusion he was currently riding. "Alive and well," he replied, gesturing casually to himself. "And I've been missing you, actually."
What?! Before you could even respond, he had the audacity to lift a finger and point toward his neck, then at yours. "You're not wearing your patch," he observed, far too confidently. "I can see it. The imprint."
Your eyes nearly bulged out of your skull. Did this man have no shame? No internal filter? Did the concept of boundaries get erased? "Still with that imprint bullshit?" you snapped, stepping back, your hand clutching your clipboard because it was the only thing keeping you from launching it at his face. "Bruh. I don't know what kind of nose you're operating with, but there is nothing there. Nothing. If someone imprinted on me, newsflash: I would've sued them. And even if there was something—which there isn't, thank you very much—why are you acting like it's your business?"
He tilted his head, eyes dancing with far too much amusement. "It's just... irritating," he said. "You're interesting. And it pisses me off that someone had the nerve to leave a mark on you before I could."
You stared at him, horrified that this was real. That this was a conversation happening in public. In daylight. On a campus that was supposedly accredited. Your scoff came out loud. "Okay. Wow. That's definitely your Alpha talking. Must be exhausting carrying around that much ego with zero emotional intelligence. Do you all just imprint on girls like you're tagging street cats? God, no wonder the Omega Empowerment Alliance exists."
You rolled your eyes so hard it gave you a headache, turned on your heel, and stormed off with your clipboard hugged to your chest. You weren't even going to entertain whatever fantasy this man had conjured up. This was why you kept your scent blockers industrial-strength and your walls emotionally reinforced. If this Hee-something boy thought he was going to claim you just because he looked like a Pinterest thirst trap and knew how to smirk, he had another thing coming. And honestly? You were starting to understand why your Omega was so damn picky. Because Alphas? Alphas were exhausting.
"Sorry, did that make you uncomfortable?" His voice dropped as he stepped in closer. "I think I can feel the bond."
You turned to him slowly, eyes narrowing into a glare as you twirled your index finger near your temple, the universal sign for certified lunatic. "I think I can feel the delusions," you replied with absolute dryness, not bothering to hide the cringe curling at your lip.
That earned a reaction. He threw his head back with a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're too cute," he said between chuckles. Ew. You already knew you were cute. That wasn't the issue. The issue was men like him thinking they could state the obvious and act like it was some gift from the heavens.
Unfazed, he merely shrugged and leaned slightly back, still grinning. "Anyway, I just need my jersey back." Your expression dropped immediately. The flicker of disgust was replaced by unfiltered disbelief as you blinked at him, letting the silence stretch. Are All Alphas like this?! So obsessed with their own belongings?!
"I already burned it," you said with a straight face.
It was a joke, technically, but at this point, it might as well have been. The jersey in question had been thrown into your laundry basket the moment you got home, and you'd immediately instructed your maid to wash it not once, but ten separate times. When it came back clean and folded, you still weren't satisfied. The scent was gone, sure, but the idea of it wasn't. So out of nothing more than principle—and maybe a little spite—you had it tossed back into the wash, twice. It had sat on your vanity for a grand total of three hours before the mere sight of it annoyed you all over again. So you banished it once more to the laundry room, telling yourself you'd decide what to do with it later, and then promptly refused to touch it again.
You glanced sideways, watching for any sign that he might take the hint and drop it altogether, but instead his grin only stretched wider. His confidence wasn't shaken in the slightest—in fact, if anything, he seemed encouraged by your visible annoyance. "Really?" he asked. "That's a shame. I kind of need it back for our match on Friday. But hey, you know, as payment. One date in exchange for a jersey—seems fair, doesn't it?"
You blinked at him, your lips parting. With a sharp laugh, you reached out and gave his shoulder a solid slap. "I'm kidding!" you said brightly with mockery. "You really don't have a sense of humor, do you?"
He looked mildly confused for a second.
"Relax," you continued, exhaling as you folded your arms and gave him a quick once-over. "I'll give it back tomorrow. Washed. Folded. Maybe even steamed if you're lucky—but that's where my generosity ends. So, if you could kindly evaporate from my vicinity and stop hovering, that would be fantastic." You didn't give him a chance to respond, already turning slightly, your attention shifting pointedly back to your clipboard and whatever half-baked rule enforcement you had lined up next. "I'd rather not get slapped with a violation for chatting with the enemy," you added over your shoulder. "And believe me, you're not worth the deduction."
"Hmm. Okay, Miss," he said, drawing out the words. You thought that was the end of it until you suddenly felt a hand brush your wrist. Your head snapped back toward him, a glare already forming, ready to bite out something—only to freeze as you watched him pluck the lollipop from your hand. Before you could stop him, he popped it into his mouth, sucking once. His eyes held yours, mischief gleaming unapologetically, and then he had the nerve to wink again before casually stepping back.
"Watch my match on Friday," he called out, already turning toward the court. "I'll be playing against your team."
Your jaw dropped as the audacity of it fully landed. And then came a sharp, high-pitched squeal of outrage that escaped your throat. "You absolute fuck! You think this is funny?!" you yelled, stomping your foot against the polished floor. "Fine! I'll watch your stupid match, and I'm going to tally every single one of your violations! I swear to God, you won't last five minutes before I have you benched and deducted!" You didn't care that you were drawing attention. You didn't care that a few heads turned or that someone on the sidelines snorted into their sports drink. Your blood was boiling! It was fucking boiling!
He didn't even look back. Not once. Just kept walking toward the other end of the court with your lollipop in his mouth like he'd won. Fuck him!
YOUR MOOD had been steadily declining since noon, but by the time the late afternoon sun had dipped behind the university's western bleachers, it had bottomed out completely. You stormed across the event grounds with your clipboard clutched so tight your knuckles were pale, brows permanently drawn together in a scowl. The worst part? Ningning had somehow managed to skip the entire day. Not a single text, no check-in, just radio silence while you were drowning in endless committee announcements, senseless violations, and last-minute logistic changes that no one consulted you about. How was it that she could disappear and no one said a word, but you missed one event briefing, and suddenly three different facilitators were breathing down your neck.
You let out a frustrated, high-pitched squeal that startled two passing Beta volunteers. You stomped toward the corner of the field where the recycling bins were lined up, spotted a half-empty trash can that looked slightly unstable, and kicked it without hesitation. Worst, you were eliminated at the Dress to Impress game at Roblox for having a VIP access. That's not even in the rulebook!
You stomped in place, foot hitting the ground again and again like your frustration was trying to escape through your heels. Your hands waved in the air, almost flailing, your hair bouncing with the force of your movements, unaware that your phone had been vibrating steadily in your bag. The screen lit up again and again until finally, you snatched it out with a shaky hand, not even glancing at the caller ID before pressing accept.
"What?!" you screamed into the phone, breathless.
There was a pause. Then, a low voice—infuriatingly calm—slid into your ear. "...Are you okay?"
You froze for a minute before you sucked in a slow breath through your nose, clenching your jaw. "What do you want, Jay?"
"I just finished my preliminary basketball game."
You could practically feel your eye twitch. "Okay? And what do you want me to do? Throw you a parade?"
There was a short pause, followed by an annoyingly even reply: "I have your ID."
You blinked. Your head snapped down, eyes darting to your open bag, hands rustling through its contents as if to prove him wrong. Lip gloss? Check. Backup perfume atomizer? Check. Five pens, three hair ties, a scrunchie, and a receipt from last week's café run. All there. But your ID—absolutely missing. A growl of disbelief tore from your throat. "Why do you have it?"
"You left it on the table earlier," Jay said. "During breakfast. I thought you knew."
You almost screamed again. "Then why didn't you give it to me sooner?!"
"I was at my game."
You huffed so hard your nostrils flared. "Give it back to me right now, Jay. I swear—"
"...Are you sure you're okay?"
That question again. Your hand tightened around the phone, the words sticking in your throat. You opened your mouth, closed it, then sighed. "I've been screamed at by three facilitators, eliminated by a jealous team over a fake rule, and now I'm standing next to a trash can I kicked over at the Seniors Building because nothing today is going right. So no, Jay. I am not okay."
There was silence on the line for a moment before he speak up again. "I'll meet you in ten. Stay where you are."
You didn't respond. Just ended the call with a frustrated tap and let your hand fall limp into your lap.
By the time he arrived, you were fully committed to your drama. Slumped on the grass near the half-toppled trash bins, head resting heavily on your knees, hair falling over your face. You hadn't even lifted your head, but you felt him —it was like your Omega could sense him from meters away, whispering: He's here.
"Give me my ID and leave me alone," you muttered without looking at him, stretching one hand out with your palm up, fingers twitching in demand.
There was a soft rustle, then his voice again. "Want an ice cream?"
That made you lift your head, slowly and with all the grace of someone who absolutely did not want to be intrigued but was. You squinted up at him through your lashes, taking in the sight of him standing there in his red jersey and loose basketball shorts, his silver hair still slightly damp from sweat. He had a plastic bag in one hand, and from the top peeked the bright wrappers of ice pops—an almost ridiculous sight, if he didn't somehow still look annoyingly composed.
"Fuck off," you said, brows furrowed.
"Strawberry or matcha?" he asked again, ignoring your scowl entirely as he lowered himself beside you on the grass. He didn't look at you, just kept his eyes ahead, watching the sun as it dipped slowly toward the horizon. The light bathed everything in a warm glow, and the subtle hum of his pheromones drifted from his skin. Your chest tightened. Your heartbeat thumped faster, in that way that had become far too familiar when he was around.
Without another word, he unwrapped one for himself and popped it into his mouth, the crackle of plastic and the snap of the popsicle breaking the silence between you. You rolled your eyes, but your hand reached out anyway—snatching the matcha. If he insisted, then fine. You weren't going to suffer for pride when there was free sugar involved. You leaned back slightly on your elbows, legs stretched out in front of you, the cold treat resting against your lips before you took a slow bite.
You tried not to glance at him again, but your eyes drifted anyway—sideways, quickly—just to check. The sunlight kissed the side of his face, outlining the line of his jaw and making the silver in his hair glow faintly gold. Your mouth tightened. It was annoying how effortlessly good he looked, especially when you were actively trying to be pissed at him.
You chewed slowly, facing forward again. "Where's my ID?" you asked, the ice cream still pressed against your tongue. Jay didn't respond immediately. He reached into the pocket of his shorts and pulled it out—your student ID. He held it between two fingers, offering it without looking at you.
You took it, inspecting it with a suspicious eye, then tucked it safely into your bag with an annoyed huff. "Geez," you muttered under your breath, sucking the remaining flavor off the stick.
Another long silence stretched between you and Jay. The breeze rustled the leaves above, birds chirped somewhere in the trees nearby, and the only other sound was the faint crackle of your popsicle wrapper as your fingers played with the plastic. You shifted your legs, idly swinging one foot over the other. The end of the University Games was crawling into your thoughts again, with all its mess, pointless rules, annoying team members, and overly eager Alphas. You thought about that Heeseung guy, about the way he spoke to you. But what kept creeping in louder than all of that—more often, more sharply—was Jay. How he was always there. How his timing always seemed to land precisely when your world tipped sideways. And how he never said the right things, but still left you with a feeling that curled under your skin and refused to leave.
You let out a slow exhale through your nose and leaned your chin on your knees. "Jay," you said. He glanced over at you, popsicle paused halfway to his mouth. You didn't look at him. Just lifted a finger to your neck, touching lightly over the sensitive area just under your jaw. "Can you tell if there's an imprint?" you asked quietly. "You'd know, right? You're an Apex. Or whatever."
The air change with the way Jay's body subtly stilled completely. He didn't answer right away. You could feel him stiffen beside you, the shift in his posture. He swallowed. "Why are you asking me that?"
You rolled a shrug off your shoulder, pretending it didn't matter. "No reason." But your fingers betrayed you, immediately fidgeting with the laces of your shoes. Your thoughts started spiraling again before you could stop them.
If there really was an imprint—if there was even the slightest chance—then the only Alpha you could think of was Jay. No one else had been close enough. But it didn't make sense. He didn't like you. He barely spoke unless necessary, never gave any clear signal beyond those annoying stares. He treated you like a storm he chose to walk through, not someone he was drawn to. Could an imprint really form without affection?
"There's no imprint," he said.
You should've felt relieved. The weight in your chest even lightened slightly, but the way he said it—that carefully detached, struck something in you and his gaze didn't even meet yours.
"It looks like just a residual scent transfer," he added.
Your eye twitched, irritation flaring even as confusion gnawed at you. You looked down again. What the hell were you even expecting? You didn't know whether you were supposed to be relieved that it wasn't real, or offended that it didn't mean anything.
"Right," you said at last, aiming for a breezy tone, but your voice came out strained. "That's good."
"Hm." Jay's voice was quiet as he gave a single nod. The silence that followed stretched long, filled with an awkward tension neither of you seemed willing to break.
You exhaled through your nose, resisting the urge to fidget again. Your lips parted slightly in frustration, a sigh catching in your throat as your thoughts circled back to the same conclusion that had haunted you since day one: You really hated Alphas.
⋮ ⌗ act fifteen
FOURTH DAY of the University Games, today's lineup featured the charades competition—arguably the least stress event so far—but that didn't make it less exhausting. If anything, it somehow demanded more of your soul. The only true gift the universe offered you today was that Jay, due to already being rostered for a major event, was no longer eligible to join any of the minor games, including charades. Finally, some space to breathe without that man's silver hair appearing from the side of your vision and ruining your pulse rate for no reason. But the victory itself? Not worth the cortisol spike. You'd helped your team snatch a clean win during the final round of charades, and the reward for that stunning display — a plastic pin with a glittery sticker that read "You Win In My Heart <3" and a handful of candies that looked like they were fished from the clearance bin at a local grocery store. Truly, an insult disguised as appreciation.
You threw the paper bag onto the table with a grunt just as Ningning sighed beside you, aggressively fanning herself with her mini turbo fan. "Damn, can't even go out. I need lunch!"
You narrowed your eyes at her with a smirk. "Wow, look who remembered to exist today."
Ningning blinked at you, then leaned back. "Oh my God—you're so pretty, I forgot to say it earlier. That outfit is giving actual main character."
Your gaze flicked toward her, unimpressed. Still, you made a half-hearted twirl of your wrist as you sat down next to her, your movements lazy and irritated. You had put effort into today's look, not that it mattered anymore. The off-shoulder top with sculpted rose along the neckline was already beginning to stick to your skin, the wide-leg jeans heavy around your ankles despite the bold red platforms that added just the right height. The little cherry chain swinging from your belt loop was the only part of you enjoying itself.
You leaned on the table, propping your chin on your fist. "Where's the yellow team practicing their basketball today?" you asked. "I need to finish some business I should've burned yesterday." Your nails were already scratching absentmindedly at the edge of your scent patch, the thought of that guy reappearing in your path again souring your mood faster.
Ningning, who normally couldn't care less about team formations unless it meant extra snacks, finally lifted her head and gave your question a second of actual thought. "I think they're practicing at the south gym. Our team's stationed in the east, and I saw the Blue and Green teams out on the main field earlier. Since tomorrow's the last match day, everyone's on high alert."
You gave another roll of your eyes. Why was everyone so obsessed with it lately? Basketball, basketball, basketball. God, it wasn't even that impressive. Just a bunch of tall Alphas running around, grunting, dunking a ball into a net. And sure, some of them were attractive, if you were into the whole sweat-drenched ego-on-legs vibe. But you weren't. Definitely not. Absolutely not!
"It's not like I care," you muttered to yourself, before Ningning started talking again.
"A lot of people are hyping up the Yellow versus Red match," she said, tapping her phone. "I heard there are a lot of hot Alphas on the Yellow team. They've got half the Omega dorms setting alarms just to watch their warmups. God, why is my life like this? I should've called in sick today. But no—here I am, stuck on cheers and design duty. Under the sun!" She showed you her fingers, now stained with streaks of red, gold, and a murky blue that looked suspiciously like it came from the spray can she wasn't supposed to use. You gave her a glance of sympathy, but your mind had already begun drifting back to what she said earlier.
South gym. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you absently peeled a label off your bottle. You weren't stalking. You weren't going there to ogle or be curious. No, you had unfinished business with that imprint-obsessed Alpha, Heeseung—or whatever his name was.
"Don't you dare sneak out," Ningning added suddenly, squinting at you as if she'd just read your thoughts. "If you get caught by the facilitators, I am not bailing you out."
You stood up, smoothing your top. "Who said I'm sneaking out? I'm just taking an... unscheduled inspection tour."
Ningning groaned as you flounced away. "Unscheduled my ass," she mumbled. "At least put your scent patch on straight this time!"
You just had one objective, and it wasn't even personal—well, not entirely. You needed to return a jersey. Simple! Except, maybe, you also wanted to check what the Yellow team was up to, especially considering half of them were CHS students. If you knew anything about that school, it was how painfully competitive their athletes were. And it wasn't beneath you to keep an eye on potential stunts they might pull. If sabotage happened along the way, like their sneakers mysteriously vanishing or their water bottles getting switched with vinegar, then that was just... divine intervention.
And if Ningning disapproved? Well, she had zero authority. She followed you anyway, even after all her whining.
"Go already!" she hissed from behind a row of decorative banners near the entrance of the south gym. "I'll stay here and watch. I've got extra perfume to mask your scent if anything happens. Just drop the paper bag and don't do anything stupid. They can track scent trails!"
You shot her a thumbs-up over your shoulder, already tiptoeing toward the building. You eased through the back hallway, careful not to let your shoes click too loudly. The muffled thump of basketballs echoed through the open court on the other side of the wall. You slowed your steps, eyes narrowing through the slits of the divider as you peeked into the gym.
A handful of Alphas were scattered across the court, some practicing shots, others jogging drills. You recognized more than a few of them. Huening Kai was definitely there, tall and expressionless, calmly dribbling. But there were red jerseys mixed in too, which didn't make sense. Why was Red team here with Yellow? This was supposed to be a closed practice.
You sniffed the air instinctively, trying to pick up Jay's scent, only to be reminded that your scent blockers had been amped up lately thanks to your inconvenient, creeping pre-heat symptoms. You'd doubled the dosage earlier, and now the scent haze around the gym was nothing more than vague Alpha musk and expensive deodorant.
"Whatever," you muttered under your breath, gripping the paper bag tighter. "Just drop it and go."
You padded over to the locker room entrance, ignoring the subtle thrum of adrenaline in your chest, and crouched low near the first bench, you lowered the paper bag beside one of the cubbies—your handwritten sticky note sticking awkwardly to the top with just enough passive-aggression in its message:
To: Heesong. Return complete. Don't speak to me again. :)
You dusted your hands dramatically, ready to make a clean exit. But just as you turned, your eyes drifted to the row of shoes lined up neatly beside the locker room bathroom door. Bright, clean and clean sneakers. Your fingers itched. You didn't have to steal anything. You were better than that. Morals. Self-control. You had both... barely. Maybe next time... You turned away with a silent sigh of restraint, but as you took a single step toward the hallway exit, a shadow blocked your path.
"Shit—"
That Heeseung guy was standing casually in front of you, water dripping from his silver hair, trailing down the sculpted lines of his bare chest. His shorts hung low on his hips, towel thrown lazily around his shoulders, skin still glistening from a post-practice shower, his finger rose to his lips. He smiled, "You're here for me?"
Your mouth dropped open, but only one word made it out. "Yuck." You instinctively took a step back, casting a quick glance over your shoulder to check for a clear exit route. You lifted your arm and pointed stiffly toward the bench behind him where the paper bag sat. "Your jersey's over there," you said. "I've done my part. I'm leaving."
But of course, nothing was ever that simple when it came to Heeseung. He stayed exactly where he was. "Already?" he asked. "What about catching up?"
You stared at him, unimpressed, then slowly set your hand on your hip, weight shifting as your patience visibly thinned. "Can you stop being a weirdo and just let me leave?" you snapped. "God, I get it—I'm pretty. I know. Thank you, the mirror tells me every morning. But just to set the record straight, bursting your little fantasy bubble: you're not my type. Not even close." You gestured vaguely at his entire being. "I hate smug, arrogant, flirt-happy, attention-seeking Alphas who think the world revolves around their scent. Especially ones who corner people in locker rooms like it's cute. And yes, sure—you're objectively handsome, congratulations—"
His eyes lit up instantly. "You think I'm handsome?"
And just like that, your entire monologue derailed into flames. You blinked at him, stunned that that was the part he chose to latch onto. "Wow," you said slowly. "Out of everything I just said, that's what you heard?"
He smiled wider, clearly enjoying himself far too much. "Well, it was the only part that felt sincere."
"I am not sincere," you snapped back, already spinning on your heel before the conversation could spiral further into delusion. You didn't wait for a reply, your voice trailing behind as you stormed toward the exit. "I'm done. I'm leaving."
"Hmmm. Okay," he said behind you. "Let me guide you out, then. Make sure you don't get caught lurking where you shouldn't be."
"You're naked, Heeseung!" you hissed over your shoulder without stopping. "Put some clothes on! God, please!" You reached up to cover your eyes, already regretting every decision that had led you here, but then you felt his hand land lightly on your shoulder, guiding you.
"It's not a big deal. Alphas walk around like this all the time, especially after training. I'm an athlete—it's normal," he said. "Why so conservative, princess?"
"Don't call me that," you groaned, swatting his hand off your shoulder. "And I am not conservative. I just don't enjoy seeing half-naked Alphas wandering around like it's some kind of fashion statement. There is nothing attractive about this. It's not hot. It's actually—"
The second you turned the corner toward the hallway leading to the exit, another Alpha emerged from the shower room—towel slung casually over his shoulder, chest also completely bare, water still trailing down his skin. His hair was dark and wet, tousled from the steam. "The hell, man? Why's an Omega in the locker room?" the stranger asked, his voice was with a thick Australian accent that only made the moment more absurd.
Your eyes locked on him—and unfortunately, so did everything else. Your mouth fell open as you stared, completely frozen. His shoulders were impossibly broad, abs chiseled. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth, but it was too late. You were already staring.
"Jake," Heeseung's voice came from just behind you, surprisingly composed. "Lower your voice, alright? She's just here to return something. If she gets caught, she'll end up with a bigger problem than whatever that is in your hand." You weren't even going to ask what Jake was holding. You didn't want to know.
Jake tilted his head, his brow lifting just a little as he looked you over. Then he shrugged, completely unbothered. "Alright, chill. I'll guide her out then. Locker room's a maze if you're not used to it."
"Wait, what?!" you shrieked, turning fast on your heel as Jake stepped forward. "I can walk! I have feet! I am perfectly capable of exiting a door without an escort!" But your protest died just as quickly as it started, because behind Jake, another guy appeared—also freshly out of the showers, towel thrown around his neck, absolutely no shirt in sight.
You blinked. He blinked back.
Then his finger rose slowly and pointed at Heeseung's hand resting a bit too casually near your back. Then at Jake's arm, which had lifted like he was about to guide you by the elbow.
"Bro?" the new Alpha said with confusion. And that's when your soul nearly exited your body. Water was dripping down his arm—slow, gleaming trails that curved right over his flexed biceps, down to his forearm, before disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. Shorts that, in your opinion, barely counted as decent. Your eyes went wide. Wider than wide. They hurt, from the effort of trying not to look any longer. You practically slapped your own face to remind your brain to shut down immediately.
"That's Jay's Omega. Back off," came from the man who'd just stepped out of the shower. His arm shot out, brushing off Heeseung's hand from your shoulder and halting Jake just as he was about to place a palm near your lower back. You stumbled a step away, not from fear, but because the entire situation had escalated into something so absurd your brain couldn't keep up. All of them were half-naked. You were surrounded. Your mind was still catching up to the phrase that had come out of that man's mouth.
Jake scowled, his brow drawing low, clearly not satisfied with the declaration. "The hell, Sunghoon? Anyone can throw claims like that. I don't see a mark. She's unmated. Don't start acting territorial just because you think she's pretty."
"Doesn't matter. You don't need a scent bond to understand boundaries. If someone's protecting her, you respect that. Alpha or not."
Heeseung's lips curled into a scoff, eyes flashing as he stepped slightly forward, shoulders squaring. "Calm down?" he echoed, mocking. "We weren't doing anything. She's a friend. She came to say hello. Or is that suddenly a crime now?"
The tension in the room sharpened, and though you'd taken your scent blockers religiously that morning—double dosed, in fact, just to keep your pre-heat symptoms under control—it wasn't doing much now. The moment their pheromones began to bleed into the air, it became impossible to ignore. So oppressive that it was like being trapped in a room slowly filling with steam, your lungs working harder than they should, your heartbeat quickening against your will.
God, why can't Alphas just love each other and leave the rest of you — Omegas out of it? you thought, teeth gritted, irritation mounting just as fast as the scent pressure building around you. Always posturing. Always testing boundaries. It was like watching dogs circle each other with slightly more vocabulary.
"What the hell is going on?"
Your entire body went still. You turned your eyes to the fourth voice you heard and your mouth parted on instinct at the catastrophic sight in front of you. Jay had stepped out from the shower hallway, hair soaked and slicked back, droplets of water cascading down his temple, trailing past the line of his sharp jaw and down his neck. His bare chest, glistening, rose and fell slowly as he surveyed the scene—eyes narrowing first at the other three Alphas, then landing on you.
Your body reacted faster than your logic. Blood rushed everywhere, your heart thudded too loudly, and heat prickled behind your knees. You bit your bottom lip before it could tremble, gaze dropping against your will to follow the curve of water running from his collarbone to the firm lines of his torso and—Goddamn it, look away!
You were spiraling, embarrassingly fast. The argument around you continued, but everything else blurred into background noise. The voices became muffled, meaningless, as the air distorted around you. All you felt was the proximity, the weight of Jay's stare, and then—suddenly his hand was on your wrist. He didn't yank or tug, just shifted his body until he was directly between you and the others, shielding you completely from view. And just like that, Sunghoon flanked him without needing instruction, shoulder-to-shoulder like a wall had been built between you and the rest.
You could barely focus, your brain caught somewhere between oxygen deprivation and a full hormonal breakdown. Your ears were ringing, and the only thing you could clearly register was the vibration of voices.
"Why are you getting so worked up, Park Jongseong?" Heeseung's voice slithered. "We had an agreement. Don't play dirty now."
"She's still bonded to me, Lee Heeseung. You can't demand I cut it because you suddenly decided to care."
You barely registered Jay's voice or the weight of what he said. The words floated around the edges of your consciousness, slipping past you without meaning. You weren't even remotely interested in their territorial Alpha argument—not when your eyes were fixed on something far more distracting. Jay's torso, a single bead of water trailing slowly down the ridge of his abs and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts.
Your brain short-circuited, you could feel saliva pool beneath your tongue as your throat tightened, and you forced yourself to swallow the lump gathering there, though it did nothing to stop the fire spreading through your veins. Your gaze, which should have been respectful—hell, at least subtle—refused to move elsewhere. Your attention dropped lower, sliding past his hips, until it hit the line of his shorts. You froze. And then you made the mistake of looking lower. Oh God.
You clamped your mouth shut before something embarrassing could escape, pressing your lips into a thin, desperate line, trying to keep it together. The heated air, already saturated with Alpha pheromones, was thickening around you. Your knees felt increasingly useless.
Heeseung scoffed behind the haze. "Hah. You're seriously pulling that card now?" he hissed. "You haven't even claimed her properly. You don't get to hold her in place and pretend she's yours when you haven't done a damn thing to prove it."
Jay didn't flinch. His voice remained even. "I never said she was mine," he said firmly. "But I'm not about to let you toy with her either."
And just like that, you forgot how to breathe again. Because in the next moment, Jay's grip on your wrist shifted, and without waiting for a response from you or anyone else, he drew you closer, his body shielding yours completely. You stumbled forward slightly from the sudden shift in gravity, your hand splaying against his torso. And oh, God—you could feel it.
Around you, the rising heat of the room was tangible —but you didn't care. Your entire brain had condensed into a singular focus: your hand, resting flat against his stomach. You blinked once, trying to claw your way back to reality, but the moment was already slipping from your control.
"I can treat her better than you," Heeseung growled, stepping forward again.
You didn't hear the rest. The pressure behind your eyes throbbed. Your heart skipped a beat, then another, the rush of your blood too loud in your ears. Jay's scent curled into your lungs, too potent for your weakened blockers to resist any longer.
You opened your mouth to speak, to protest, to snap, but the room spun so suddenly that you didn't even get the chance. Everything swayed, tilted, fell sideways. And then you collapsed—right into Jay's chest, the last thing you saw before everything went black.
EVERY OMEGA has a choice. No matter what the world, the rules, or the Alphas may claim, the right to decide is always in their hands. No bond, no mark, no so-called instinctual claim could ever override that truth. Every connection—no matter how fierce or instinctive—demands consent. The right to say yes. The freedom to say no. And the power to break it when necessary.
The weight of those words echoed somewhere far in the back of your mind as you drifted upward through a dense fog of unconsciousness. Your limbs felt heavy, your mouth dry as paper, your head thick and muffled like it had been wrapped in cotton. Blinking slowly, the first thing your eyes focused on was the whiteness of the ceiling above you. You recognized the faint hum of a light, and—more strongly—the scent of stabilizers in the air.
Your throat burned. Your lips felt cracked, parched beyond comfort. You shifted slightly, and the only word you could muster, hoarse and pathetically faint, was: "Lipgloss..."
A shriek rang out immediately after, followed by the sharp shuffle of footsteps and the nurse's concerned face leaning into view. The student medic did a routine check, murmuring something about vitals and scent suppressant stabilizers.
Ningning wasted no time diving into a full-blown explanation. You barely reacted, eyes unfocused as you stared past her, the antiseptic white of the clinic ceiling offering nothing but emptiness. You listened without interrupting, the pieces of her words falling into place slowly, like puzzle pieces that refused to lock in.
"You passed out because of the scent overload," she was saying, pacing beside the bed with wild gestures. "Your suppressant wasn't strong enough—probably because your heat symptoms have been acting up lately—and then, add three territorial Alphas practically leaking pheromones and your poor Omega system couldn't take it."
You didn't respond. Your eyes didn't move. You were still frozen on the part she said just before that.
Imprint. An old imprint, she said. You had an imprint? You had a mark? Somewhere on your neck, hidden under patches, under layers of self-control you lived by—there was an Alpha's imprint?
But how? When? Who—? Jay?
The only possible answer that surfaced in your thoughts. He was the only Alpha whose presence your body seemed to betray you for—one you involuntarily reacted to. It was always him. So why had he said there was no imprint? Why had he looked you dead in the eye and calmly dismissed it as residual scent transfer? Why had he lied?
The more you thought about it, the more absurd it all became. Ridiculous. That was the only word for it. You'd been walking around all this time, unaware of something so fundamental happening to your own body. Your fists clenched the blanket tighter as the realization dawned harder and harder.
Why the hell does everyone else know what's going on with your body—except you?
And worse, why didn't Jay tell you? Was it to protect you? To spare you? Or was it just another one of those decisions Alphas made without bothering to consult the Omega involved?
The more you tried to make sense of it, the more it all dissolved into one massive, tangled blur. You couldn't even think straight anymore. Your thoughts were colliding with each other, folding over fragments of memory. Furious wasn't even close to describing what you were feeling now. You'd stormed out early, snapped at Ningning, and used a flimsy excuse to get out of your duties, locking yourself in your room for the rest of the day.
You sat motionless at your vanity, staring at the single flower Yeonjun had given you earlier in an awkward attempt to comfort you.
None of this made sense. You retraced every conversation you had with Jay. There was a pattern, but it led nowhere clear. This was exactly why you hated Alphas. Their unpredictability. Their possessiveness. Their habit of acting first and explaining later. Why imprint someone if you were too much of a coward to face it directly? The last question wasn't even Alpha behavior!
You let out a high-pitched shriek and hurled your pillow across the room, following it with a flurry of punches into the mattress as your frustration peaked. You hated Heeseung—his cocky smirk, his walking-pheromone problem. You hoped his feet started stinking and he suffocated in his own scent cloud.
And Jay—God, you hated Jay even more. You hated how quiet he was. How he showed up in every corner of your life without warning. How he stirred something in you even when you were trying to ignore him. And imprinting?! God! He didn't even like you!
You didn't even want to think about their stupid basketball match tomorrow. You weren't going to be there. You hoped they both ran into each other at full speed and knocked each other out cold, maybe that would finally jolt some clarity into their thick skulls.
You shrieked again, even louder this time. You stormed to your vanity to pack your bag, only for your blush compact to fall with a loud clatter.
"Fuck!" you dropped to your knees, reaching under the table, stretching your arm toward where the blush had rolled—only to spot something else.
A glimmer of blue.
Your hand paused mid-reach, then curled around the delicate object. It was your blue ribbon hair clip, dusty from being under the vanity... Wait. What?
You stood slowly, brushing off the clip with trembling fingers, staring at it in growing confusion. You were sure you hadn't seen this clip in days. Jay had handed you your "lost" hair clip after the presentation. But you clearly remembered wearing it that day—right at this table, when you were doing your makeup. You'd taken it off before changing your outfit and left it right there on the vanity. Hadn't you?
Heart thudding, you crossed the room to your storage drawers, pulling open a box where you kept your backup accessories. You grabbed the satin version of the same ribbon—another gift from Ningning—and held them side by side. The exact same model. The same sheen, same cut, same clasp. But... you'd never bought another one. Ningning had only given you one. The clip you found today was the one you lost. So then... what the hell was the one Jay returned?
Your eyes widened, the pieces beginning to click in. Did Jay replaced it?
You sank onto your chair again, clutching the clip as your brain spiraled into the implications. Jay had seen your distress. He'd watched you cry over something he knew he didn't actually have. And instead of correcting you... he found the exact same ribbon and brought it to you. Without saying a word. Just so you wouldn't be upset.
But why? Why go through that trouble? Your hand clenched around the ribbon, thoughts spun faster. Was it guilt? A sense of duty? Was this just another way Alphas acted without meaning? And yet... no. It didn't feel thoughtless, it felt intentional. So then—what was it?
Did he like you? Or not?
⋮ ⌗ act sixteen
ALPHAS are wired for protection, possession, and preservation. It's in their nature, embedded deep into their biology. Their instincts aren't always logical; they act before thinking, driven by the urge to claim—people, space, scent, habits—anything that signals a sense of "mine." And that behavior, that entitled assumption of ownership, that overwhelming need to dominate everything around them without thought or question, is exactly what you hate.
You've spent years guarding yourself against it, you've taken pride in the way your Omega instinct remained steady, discerning, unmoved by proximity. You're grateful for it, honestly. For not folding just because someone looked at you a certain way or growled in that low, stupid Alpha register they all think is so charming. You're glad you didn't get swept into someone else's hormones. That your biology didn't betray you like it so often does with others.
But now? Now, you're not sure.
Jay wasn't loud. He didn't circle you or demand attention. He didn't mark his scent around you. He just acted like it. Without ever calling it what it was, which unsettles you. You could handle the usual Alpha arrogance. You could block it, bite it back, scream it, but whatever Jay was doing...it was quiet. Is that better? Or worse?
"Huh?!" Yeonjun gasped, nearly dropping the team banner he'd been holding as you appeared beside him without warning. His eyes widened, disbelief etched across his face. "Wait—what the hell? Weren't you supposed to be on your way to Japan by now? Your dad booked the ticket himself!"
On your other side, Ningning choked mid-sip from her water bottle, sputtering and slapping her palm against her chest as she stared at you. "What the—?! Why are you here?! I thought you were halfway to the airport! And—wait—did you even take your scent suppressants? The Alpha pheromones in this place are thick enough to bottle and sell—do you want to pass out again?!"
You didn't respond to either of them. Your arms stayed firmly crossed over your chest, shoulders drawn tight as your gaze remained locked on the basketball court below. The noise of the crowd, the bounce of the ball echoing off, and the sharp, repetitive shrill of the referee's whistle all blended into a white noise that buzzed somewhere behind your thoughts.
"What's going on?" you asked, finally lowering yourself between them on the bleachers, eyes never leaving the game.
Yeonjun blinked at you, his head tilted, brows knitting in disbelief as he scanned you from head to toe. "What do you mean, what's going on? I should be the one asking you that!" he blurted.
"I just wanted to watch," you replied calmly, brushing off his reaction. "Didn't want to miss the last match. Everyone worked hard for this. Would be a shame not to show a little support."
Despite the casual tone you forced into your voice, your eyes betrayed your focus as they scanned the court, trailing across the players. Your attention moved over until it landed on Sunghoon, whose stance was locked and composed despite yellow team closing in on him. He pivoted quickly, faking left before darting right, shielding the ball with clean, practiced movements. Four defenders from the Yellow Team tried to close him off from every angle, their shoes shrieking across the court in quick, aggressive slides, but he held his own, determined to protect the ball.
Your gaze flicked to the scoreboard, squinting. The Yellow Team was leading, and the Red bench looked tense, some standing now, voices rising over the crowd in overlapping instructions. You could feel the heat of the game, and for a second, you forgot about everything outside the court.
As if pulled by something invisible but persistent, your gaze landed on a figure crouched near the key, hands braced on his knees, his breathing visibly heavy. His silver hair was damp with sweat, strands clinging to his forehead, his red jersey darker now, plastered to his chest.
Jay wasn't looking at the game. Not the ball, not the score, not the frantic coordination of his teammates. He was looking at you. Straight at you.
It took a second for you to realize the weight of that gaze—what it meant, how direct it was. You expected the usual straight mask he wore so well, the blank distance he used. But that wasn't what you saw now.
What met you across the court was something else. His expression held a vulnerability it almost hurt to witness. There was no smugness, no dominance, no flicker of Alpha pride. Just those eyes, fixed on you.
Your breath caught, your spine straightened, and yet your arms stayed folded across your chest, refusing to betray how those eyes made something inside you stutter.
"They're exhausted!" someone exclaimed, snapping you back into your body. "They're relying too much on Jay—he's got more stamina, yeah, but that's because he's an Apex. He doesn't even have a basketball history, what are they doing?!" The voice belonged to an Omega a few rows down, clearly panicking, hands flailing as she tugged on her banner. "They're going to burn him out!"
You blinked, shaking your head, breaking the gaze that held you in place. You leaned slightly forward to observe the court again, but your focus faltered as another Omega directly in front of you pointed and squealed. "I don't care about Jay's stamina, look—Soobin just lifted his jersey!"
"Oh my god, those abs!" her friend gasped, clutching her arm. "He's glistening like a God."
You rolled your eyes, dragging your gaze away from Jay to where Soobin, indeed, had momentarily lifted his jersey to wipe his face. The group of Omegas in front of you practically burst, losing their minds over the sharp cut of his waist and the stretch of his toned muscles.
You leaned back, exhaling slowly, trying to tune it all out. But your eyes still drifted sideways—back to him.
The game had resumed at a pace twice as fast as before, both teams locked in a tug-of-war of strategy and desperation. The Yellow Team clearly had more refined players with better coordination, but the Red Team had grit—rough around the edges. Each time the ball landed in his hands, the dynamic shifted.
His movement was fluid, deliberate but fast—like he didn't second-guess the weight of responsibility being thrown on him again and again. Sweat dripped from his temples down to his jaw, his expression tense with focus, but he didn't fumble nor flinch. You watched as he cut through defenders, shielding the ball like it was instinctual, eyes scanning, calculating, moving with a predator's grace.
You didn't know the rules of basketball in detail, weren't sure what counted as a violation or what the term "full court press" even meant, but somehow you found yourself rising from your seat each time the ball left Jay's hands and soared cleanly through the hoop. You didn't even realize you were clapping until Ningning nudged your side, and Yeonjun leaned over with a teasing grin.
Your cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and stubborn denial as you cleared your throat and quickly sat back down. Ningning, of course, was already watching you with narrowed eyes and a knowing smile.
"Yellow team's still ahead," she said, folding her arms with a small sigh. "Honestly, at this point, I've already accepted the loss. Everyone's looking burnt out except for Jay. He's the only one still fighting."
You didn't respond right away. Your eyes followed Jay again. You swallowed hard. Ningning, ever the nosy friend, tilted her head toward you. "You're not angry at him anymore, are you?"
You blinked. "Angry? Angry at what?"
She didn't hesitate. "For imprinting you," she said bluntly, shrugging. "Come on. You know it's him. You've always known. He's the only one who could've left an imprint strong enough for your Omega to react the way it did. We didn't want to say anything earlier because we thought you'd explode."
You were silent for a moment, then let your gaze fall to the polished tips of your shoes, your mind fogging over with thoughts that swirled without direction.
Were you angry? Maybe you had been. When it first hit you. You hated the loss of control, the uncertainty of not knowing what was happening inside your own body, the fact that someone else had crossed a boundary so quietly and so intimately.
But now? Now, you weren't sure what you felt. The anger had softened, bled into confusion, into curiosity. Into questions you weren't ready to ask out loud. Before you could formulate a proper response, Ningning continued, waving her hands. "But you know, it's okay if you're still mad. Seriously. He's so emotionally constipated sometimes it's actually impressive. But also—me and Yeonjun? We've been shipping the two of you since day one. You guys are like... peak slow burn. The entire student body is practically waiting for you two to snap and make out behind the bleachers."
Yeonjun, clearly eavesdropping, threw up two fingers in a peace sign and added, "We're your biggest fans, honestly."
You groaned audibly, dragging a hand down your face in exasperation. "Shut up. No one is making out behind the bleachers," you muttered, though your eyes remained glued to the court. The numbers on the digital scoreboard glared back at you—58 for the red team, 65 for the yellow. Time was draining fast. The gap wasn't impossible to close, but it was getting harder with each passing second.
Yeonjun leaned closer again, lowering his voice. "You know, I'm not entirely sure, but I think Heeseung challenged Jay. That's why he even agreed to play in the first place."
Your body went rigid, an electric feeling crawling along your spine as your gaze snapped back to the court. Jay was there, caught in a corner of the court, three defenders pressing around him, Heeseung leading the charge. You could see it clearly on how his fingers trembles, the barely-disguised falter in his breathing. His shoulders were squared but heavy, he was running out of energy.
"I don't know what kind of pissing match they've got going on," Yeonjun murmured next to you again, "but I'm glad I'm not an Alpha. If you ask me, this is all just ego. Pride games. Honestly, if you think there's something there—between you and him—maybe go for it. One more move, you know? What do you have to lose?"
You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly with your elbow. "Go write a blog about romance. You had a talent for it."
"Already have one," he grinned.
You didn't bother responding, attention snapping back to the court as your stomach twisted with nerves. Your breath caught when you realized Jay had the ball again. He was surrounded—boxed in by the yellow team with nowhere to pass, nowhere to pivot. And at the center of it all, Heeseung. The smug set of his jaw was clear even from this distance. You gripped the edge of your seat unconsciously, legs stiffening with tension.
And then Jay looked up, his eyes flicked to the crowd, and found you. There was no confusion in his gaze. He knew exactly where to look, as if he'd already memorized the section, the seat, the way you sat with your arms crossed. Your chest clenched when your eyes locked—his expression cracked open for the briefest moment, and you saw it. A question.
Was this his answer to the challenge? The fight Heeseung had demanded, the one he'd agreed to without a word? Was this how Alphas proved a claim?
You shook your head slowly. The tiniest, instinctive motion.
But Jay saw it, and he listened, because suddenly, he stopped. His body relaxed all at once, his hands fell open. The ball slipped from his fingers.
And in the next breath, Heeseung snatched it.
The yellow team surged, the gym exploded in noise, sneakers screeching against the floor as Heeseung drove the ball down the court. A sharp pass, a clean leap, and then the final whistle. The scoreboard blinked red. The crowd roared. Yellow team erupted into victorious cheers while the red team deflated collectively, chests heaving, hands falling to hips or knees in exhaustion.
Your gaze remained fixed on Jay. He stood still for a second, his head lowered, his silver hair shadowing his eyes as his teammates closed in around him, patting his shoulder, murmuring something you couldn't hear.
And just like that, the moment blurred after. You barely registered the victorious roar of Heeseung being lifted by his teammates, arms spread wide, triumphant grin plastered across his face. The yellow team surged around him, claiming the court. Meanwhile, Jay walked out of the scene, towel pulled up to wipe his face.
You watched the shift ripple through the red team—the way their pride adjusted into polite applause as they made their way off the court, nodding respectfully to their opponents, offering congratulations they didn't entirely. It was part of the game, but none of it settled the anxious twitch in your fingers as you fumbled with the zipper of your bag, barely aware of the way your Omega instincts had fully taken the reins.
Because no matter how much you told yourself not to care, your body had already decided for you. The urge to check on him. To find out if he was okay. To demand answers. To scream at him and maybe, to your own horror, comfort him. Curse these hormones. Curse these goddamn dynamics.
You didn't wait for your thoughts to catch up with your feet. You grabbed your bag, slinging it onto your shoulder and stood up. Ningning blinked from beside you, startled by the sudden movement. Yeonjun tilted his head but didn't ask. Your legs moved, descending the stands with determined steps, pushing past the clusters of students flooding the aisles toward the exits. But you didn't head for the exit. Your feet knew where to go—the locker rooms.
Behind you, Ningning and Yeonjun exchanged a look—hers wide-eyed and almost concerned, his filled with knowing exasperation. "I think we already know who actually won," Yeonjun said dryly, adjusting his lanyard and falling into line behind the stream of students heading out.
Meanwhile, you kept walking. You didn't know what you were going to say when you found Jay. You didn't even know if you'd be able to say anything at all.
But that didn't stop you pushing through the double doors that led toward the inner hallway of the gym, until you found him, sitting alone on the bench, elbows resting on his thighs, hands slack between his knees, head bowed. His legs were spread, his posture one of complete exhaustion.
You inhaled sharply, squared your shoulders, then crossed your arms. "God, you're such a loser," you said flatly. "If you don't know how to play or have any background in basketball, why sign up?"
His head lifted slowly at your words and you faltered. Not because you regretted what you said—but because of the expression that met you. His lips twitched upward in the faintest smile, tired, but somehow still warm.
It was the strangest, most unsettling smile you'd ever seen—and yet it was so disarmingly handsome your heart gave a reluctant jolt. You clenched your fists at your sides, straightening your posture.
"I wanted to prove I could be good at everything," he said.
You scoffed, eyes rolling as you turned your face slightly away. "Not everyone is good at everything, Jay. That's just reality. You don't have to win every time. You're academically smart, sure—but emotionally?" You clicked your tongue. "Your EQ is a disaster. You've really mastered the whole 'typical Alpha' thing."
You considered turning around and leaving, you really did. But something in the way he remained seated kept you rooted. Your fingers twitched toward your bag. You swore it wasn't your Omega instincts, it was just a decision you made.
What would you lose? Nothing you hadn't already risked.
You stepped forward, closing the distance between you and him. Your hand reached into your bag as your feet planted firmly in the space between his knees, and he blinked up at you in confusion. His lips parted slightly, as if about to speak, but no words came.
With trembling fingers, you pulled the small pin from your bag and gently leaned forward. You were close—so close you could feel the faint heat of his breath against your cheek, the scent of his fading pheromones barely clinging to the air around him. You lifted the pin to the edge of his jersey, your fingers brushing against the damp fabric as you secured it just above his number.
Jay's eyes never left your face. His hands remained planted on the bench at his sides, unmoving. A faint release of scent curled from your skin into the space between you as if to soothe, to anchor, to comfort, just like he always do.
Jay looked down. His eyes landed on the pin you'd fastened to his chest.
You Win in My Heart <3
He exhaled through his nose—slowly, deeply—and with it, a ribbon of his pheromones released into the air between you.
"Why did you accept his challenge?" you asked, straightening your posture though your knees already felt too weak to hold your pride. "I didn't expect you to be the kind who picks a fight over ego."
Jay looked at you for a long moment, the flicker of tension passing across his brow. "It's... an Alpha instinct," he answered quietly.
You cringed, face twisting, and you didn't bother to hide it. "Of course it is. You really are no different from the rest of them," you muttered.
Jay's gaze didn't shift. "He said if he won, I had to remove the imprint."
Your heart stuttered. For a second, the words didn't quite register, him admitting the imprint and when they did, you blinked at him—then scoffed. "And the imprint?" you asked, lifting your chin. "Was that just your instinct too?"
When he nodded, your chest deflated. You felt your breath falter, just a little. Like something in your chest had been punctured. You turned away almost immediately, trying to hide how it knocked the wind out of you. Your arms crossed tighter against your chest, your hand clenching the strap of your bag.
"Well, I don't care," you said, your voice carefully detached, clipped. "Remove it, or don't. As if I'll be swayed by that smug, overcompensating Alpha shit. Let him think he won."
You swallowed hard. The lump that had formed in your throat was too heavy. You didn't even know if you were mad at him or mad at yourself—for hoping, for imagining, for reading something soft behind his gaze when it had only been instinct all along.
Damn it. You liked him. And you hated that you did.
You hated how you can't read him, how tightly he reined in everything, how he never let you see more than fragments. But now you had seen enough to confirm what you feared: maybe you were the only one feeling anything real.
And just when you told yourself to let it go—to walk away for good—his voice reached you again.
"I'm not removing the imprint."
You froze mid-step, his words halting you. You turned slowly, head tilting, your brow rising in challenge. "Go touch some grass and reflect—"
"I like you." The words didn't tremble, didn't hesitate. They came out clear. And then again, softer, slower, as he began walking toward you: "I like you."
And just like that, something inside you ruptured. The world slowed, dulled to a blur around the sound of his voice. It was ridiculous how cliché it felt—the heat blooming up your neck, the imaginary fireworks bursting behind your eyelids, the sudden hitch in your breath that made it hard to speak.
You quickly looked away, cheeks burning, fingers gripping your bag. "Is it your Alpha instinct again?" you asked, almost whispering. "Another convenient chemical reaction?"
"No," he said without pause. "It's not instinct. It's me... Just me."
You bit the inside of your cheek, your jaw tightening, the war between pride and longing already clawing at your ribs. Still, you didn't turn around. You stayed rooted there with your back to him, your fists curling, a thousand unspoken thoughts swirling in your head, waiting to break.
"Talk to me," his voice reached you again, almost pleading. "Talk to me about your makeup, the palettes you like, that shopping vlog you always watch. Show me more of those ridiculous bags you keep collecting, the ones with pearls and strawberries. Keep telling me about 'Flower Knows' and why the packaging matters so much to you. Wear your Jo Malone again—the one you always wear when you sit next to me in class. I... I memorized it before I realized I even liked it."
Your lips parted, air rushing out of your lungs as your heart twisted. You stood there, shaking, held together by nothing but sheer restraint, your body screaming to turn around, your Omega humming, quietly, insistently, for the truth.
The kind of truth that didn't come from instincts. But from feelings. And Jay was giving you all of it, finally.
"I noticed every time you wore it. I could tell when it faded. I hated how easily I could pick you out in a crowd, and hated myself more for liking it."
You still hadn't turned around, but your body betrayed you in the smallest ways—fingertips twitching, knees gently swaying, the way your spine arched just slightly, as if the gravity between you and him had grown stronger.
"I lied," he continued. "About the imprint. I knew it the second it happened. I felt it snap into place the moment it formed. But I didn't say anything because I didn't want to lock you into something you hadn't chosen."
He took a breath, the kind you only take when you're standing at the edge of a ledge. "I didn't mean to imprint you. I didn't even know it could happen like that, so fast." You could hear him take another step forward. The heat of his presence crept up your back.
"I've been so afraid of doing this wrong. Of messing it up. You're... you're everything I didn't think I was allowed to want. You talk so much and half the time it's about things I don't understand, but God, I want to learn. I want to keep hearing it. Even the things you rant about when you think no one's listening—those are the things I remember the most."
Your breath caught as he stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper, right behind you. "You don't need anyone—but I want to be someone you want anyway."
"— And I lied. I didn't fight Heeseung because I thought it would win me anything. I fought him because he tried to reduce you to a prize. And because even if I never get to call you mine, I won't stand by and let someone treat you like something to win."
Your hands had gone limp at your sides, bag forgotten. The walls you'd built around yourself were disintegrating, trembling under the weight of everything he was saying.
"I like you," he said again, firmer this time, no longer a question but a vow. "Not just in the way an Alpha is wired to like an Omega. I like you. The person. With all your contradictions. I like you more than I know how to say."
Make him yours. Your Omega purred beneath. But your walls, built so carefully around years of protecting yourself, didn't come down all at once. So instead, with your throat tight and your vision swimming, you gathered what little armor you had left, swallowed hard, and bit out the only word your pride could manage.
"Fuck off," you snapped.
You turned away fast, heels clicking against the floor, spine rigid. The kind of exit you'd perfected—one that screamed indifference. Except it wasn't indifference, and Jay saw it. He saw the flicker in your steps, the slight stumble in your stride as you reached the door. Saw how your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag, saw how your scent, no matter how restrained or suppressed, trembled in the air like loose threads unraveling behind you.
He didn't call after you. Because the moment you stepped outside the locker room doors and were out of his sight, your composure cracked into a hundred glittering pieces.
A high-pitched screech echoed down the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of you jumping on the spot like you'd just won the lottery. "Fuck—fuck—fuck!" you squealed under your breath, fanning your face with both hands like you were overheating, cheeks burning as if the confession had lit your skin on fire. You slapped your own cheeks twice. Not hard, but enough to try grounding yourself in the reality you'd just walked away from.
Your lips stretched into a grin you couldn't contain, fingers twitching as you let out a little hop, whisper-screaming into the palm of your hand. "Stupid fucking Jay! Why did he have to say that like that?! Why did he have to be good at it?!"
Back in the locker room, Jay hadn't moved. He was back at seated on the bench, hunched slightly forward, the sweat on his skin cooling in the post-game silence. His fingers, however, remained in motion—slowly, gently with care brushing over the little badge now pinned to his jersey.
You Win In My Heart <3
It was corny. Incredibly so. But his lips curved anyway, the smile starting small and growing with each passing second.
Outside the locker room, your voice echoed faintly through the hallway—shrieking, laughing, with wild and breathless. His advanced senses picked up every word, every thud of your feet against the tile, every muffled curse and squeal as you tried to compose yourself and utterly failed. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting it wash over him, laughing softly.
There you were. Still difficult. Still infuriatingly unpredictable. Still saying one thing while your scent betrayed another. Still the same girl who rolled her eyes at Alpha antics but scented him in the most delicate, protective way.
Still, somehow, his.
Jay's hand lingered over the badge again, fingertips pressing. He thought about your sharp tongue, your firecracker temper, the way you folded your arms when you were about to deliver one of your trademark verbal takedowns. He thought about how stubborn you were, how emotionally guarded.
He didn't mind the walls. He didn't mind the attitude. He didn't even mind that your version of affection came wrapped in sarcasm and profanity. If anything, he preferred it that way. Because it meant that every piece you gave him was real.
Jay leaned back, letting his head fall gently against the cool metal of the locker behind him. His fingers still played with the pin, heart thudding quietly beneath it.
You weren't going to make this easy. You were going to fight him at every step, throw fits in hallways, and scream. But that didn't scare him.
a social media au quadrilogy for enhypen's hyung line.
SENDER UNKNOWN ✦ four best friends. four unknown numbers. four interesting love stories that come to life under peculiar coincidences, and even more peculiar conversations.
꒰ contains: ꒱⠀⠀non-idol!enhypen x fem!reader. social media!au. college!au. romance. fluff. comedy. specified ones to be added per chapter. ✮ featuring: idol cameos tba!
꒰ warning! ꒱⠀⠀swearing. inappropriate jokes. threats of violence. just men being boys. poor attempts at humor. usage of faceclaims as muses for reader. specified ones to be added per chapter. ignore timestamps & typos !
꒰ NOTE! ꒱ each chapter/member will probably have between 5-10 chapters of their own. taglist will be carried for every member in this series! ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡
𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨.ᐟ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 ♡
✦ 𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡 ── fun facts .ᐟ
꒰ synopsis ꒱⠀⠀jake is a chill guy trying to live a chill life but his little bubble of comfort is popped when a number he doesn't recognize starts texting him. no introductions, no explanations— just weird and obscure fun facts from a bizarrely cute stranger.
𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗝𝗔𝗞𝗘'𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 ── 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘.
✦ 𝗟𝗘𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 ── panic dial .ᐟ
꒰ synopsis ꒱⠀⠀a year ago, heeseung wrote jake’s number on a club wall in a drunken stupor. when jake retaliates by pasting his number on a random bathroom door in their university, he must deal with the chaos that comes from a schoolmate in need.
𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚'𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 ── TBA.
✦ 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡 ── anon alert .ᐟ
꒰ synopsis ꒱⠀⠀sunghoon received a text from an unfamiliar number anonymously tipping him to his girlfriend’s cheating ways. it would have been helpful— except for the fact that sunghoon is single as fuck. but that won’t stop him from playing along anyway.
𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡'𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 ── TBA.
✦ 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚 ── diary entry .ᐟ
꒰ synopsis ꒱⠀⠀in a fit of jealousy of his friends who found love through their text-mates, jay wrote his number on a paper airplane. he wasn’t expecting someone to actually see it, and he certainly wasn’t expecting the receiver to start treating his number like their personal diary.
𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗 𝗝𝗔𝗬'𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 ── TBA.
꒰ from ! 🐰 yan ꒱⠀⠀i swore to myself i'd only write jake's but i had so many ideas in the wip chamber that i decided to tweak them for this series anyway. would love to get feedback via asks / replies ! 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4
⤷ word count — 21.3k
⤷ based on this request by 🍓 anon
⤷ permanent taglist — open !
⤷ a/n — finally part two is here !! i had so much fun writing this—soft moments, stolen glances, and all. i hope you guys feel the slow pull between them as much as i did. part three’s already brewing in my head, so pace yourselves loves, we’re only getting started 🤍
✩ˎˊ˗ summary — three days. that’s all it takes for the boundaries to shift. one moment it’s just an arrangement—shared hands for the crowd, borrowed smiles for the rumors. the next, it’s late nights spent in quiet kitchens, borrowed jackets that still smell like him, and a warmth that lingers long after the rain has stopped. it’s easy to forget where the act ends and the real thing begins. but then he whispers promises against your hair, and you start to wonder if maybe this isn’t just a game anymore. or, where pretending feels a little too real, and you’re no longer sure if you want him to stop.
Jay walked just close enough that his shoulder brushed yours every now and then, his hand occasionally reaching over to pet Doobu as she purred contently in your arms.
The soft sound of her breathing mixed with your quiet laughter.
“So Heeseung went live on Instagram once,” Jay said, shaking his head in disbelief.
“And for some reason—don’t even ask—he picked up my guitar and started messing with it. He thought he was being funny.”
You looked at him with wide eyes, already grinning. “He didn’t.”
Jay nodded, lips twitching like he was trying to suppress a smile. “He did. And then people started tagging me in the comments. I saw it, tuned my guitar back properly.”
That broke you. A laugh bubbled out of your chest as you hugged Doobu closer.
“Oh my god—that’s like… in ballet terms, that’s as bad as when your pointe shoes get laced up wrong. Total violation of personal space.”
Jay raised a brow, amused. “I have no idea what that means, but… yeah. I’ll take your word for it.”
Still smiling, you tilted your head at him. “Do you want to know about ballet?”
“Actually, yeah. I’ve been wondering,” he admitted as you both turned the corner.
“Take a right here,” you said softly, shifting Doobu slightly in your arms so she wouldn’t slip.
Jay followed, his steps slow and unhurried. “So… why ballet?”
You hummed, thoughtful. “I guess… it was something I really liked. When I was younger, I found the performances so beautiful—my mom told me to try it, and I did. I ended up loving it. So… here I am.”
Jay nodded quietly, his dark eyes on you as a faint breeze ruffled his hoodie. Then he tilted his head, voice dropping into that teasing tone you were starting to recognize. “In Decelis too… You must be rich.”
You laughed, shaking your head quickly. “I’m not. I mean—I got in on a scholarship, so… yeah.”
“That just means you’re really good,” Jay said matter-of-factly, and for a moment, his tone carried no teasing—just simple, quiet admiration.
Your cheeks warmed, but you looked away, pointing at the building with large glass windows just ahead. “That’s my dorm. We’re here.”
Jay’s steps slowed as you approached the steps. He opened the door for you with a small smile. “After you.”
“Thank you.” You stepped inside, glancing at him as he lingered at the entrance. “Do you… want to come up? You don’t have to, but—”
Jay’s hand flexed slightly around the paper bags he still carried. “No, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“You wouldn’t.” You shook your head, a small grin pulling at your lips. “Come on. Let’s go.”
His eyes flicked to yours for a beat, and then he let out a quiet laugh. “Okay. Just for a bit.”
You led him to the elevator, your slippers making soft sounds against the tiled floor. He followed close behind, pressing the call button. Almost instantly, the elevator dinged and opened.
“Fifth floor, please,” you said as you stepped inside, shifting Doobu so she rested more comfortably in your arms.
Jay pressed the button, his knuckles brushing the panel lightly. The doors closed with a soft hum, the faint reflection of you both visible in the polished metal.
He looked at you briefly, lips quirking in the faintest smile as he spoke.
Jay leaned against the elevator wall as the soft hum of its ascent filled the quiet space.
His reflection in the polished metal flickered faintly as he spoke, voice low and teasing, “You know, if you ever wanna sneak off again, head to the quad. I’ll pick you up.”
You gasped dramatically, eyes going wide as you turned your head over your shoulder to look at him.
“Park Jongseong,” you said, mock scandal dripping from your tone. “That’s so low of you.”
Jay’s grin widened, the sound of his quiet laugh bouncing lightly off the elevator walls. “What? Your cat’s cute. I wouldn’t mind being her getaway driver.”
You huffed, clutching Doobu closer as she nuzzled contentedly against your hoodie. “I know she’s cute,” you admitted begrudgingly, “but she’s such a little troublemaker. I swear she does this on purpose.”
Jay’s hand reached out instinctively, fingers brushing over the top of Doobu’s head, scratching gently behind her ears.
“Can’t blame her. She’s got a curious streak… kinda like her owner.”
Before you could retort, the elevator gave a soft ding and the doors slid open to reveal the fifth floor’s warmly lit hallway.
“Come on,” you murmured, stepping out as Jay followed closely behind, his hands now tucked casually into his hoodie pockets.
He glanced around as you led the way down the hall, his eyes flicking to the neatly numbered doors as if committing them all to memory. His gaze lingered for a fraction longer when you stopped at one of the nearer units—Room 507.
You shifted Doobu in your arms, the white furball now half-asleep again as you hesitated at your door.
Heat crept up your ears when you glanced back at Jay, who was watching you with a patient, expectant look.
“Um… could you—uh—hold her for a bit? I just need to unlock the door.”
Jay nodded without hesitation, stepping closer. “Yeah. Give her to me.”
Carefully, you handed Doobu over, your fingers brushing his hoodie sleeve in the process. “Thanks,” you murmured with a small, thankful smile as he adjusted his arms to cradle her gently.
“No problem,” Jay replied softly, his voice warm as Doobu immediately settled into his hold, eyes fluttering shut again.
He looked down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “She’s so relaxed. You’d think I was her actual owner.”
You chuckled nervously, turning back to the door as you fished your keys from your hoodie pocket. The soft jingle echoed in the hallway as you found the right one, slipping it into the lock.
“Sorry for the mess,” you mumbled, cheeks heating as you twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
Jay tilted his head slightly, an amused glint in his eyes. “Somehow I doubt your ‘mess’ and my ‘mess’ are the same thing.”
You laughed softly as you pushed the door open, the warm scent of vanilla from your room spilling out faintly. “You’d be surprised,” you said, stepping in first to flick on the lights.
The room wasn’t even messy—just lived in. A soft cream throw blanket draped over your small couch, a few books stacked on the coffee table, ballet shoes peeking from under your bed, and a lingering coziness that smelled faintly of your shampoo.
Jay took one step in, Doobu curling lazily against his chest like she’d been with him all her life.
The room wasn’t even messy—just lived in. A soft cream throw blanket was draped lazily over your small couch, the cushions slightly sunken like it was your favorite reading spot.
A sleek TV sat propped up on a modest wooden stand, a small stack of DVDs and game controllers tucked neatly beside it.
Near the far corner, a vanity mirror framed in glowing bulbs sat atop a dresser cluttered with skincare bottles and a stray pair of earrings.
Fairy lights dangled loosely along the ceiling, their warm yellow glow casting soft shadows across the space. A kitchenette hugged one wall, clean and minimal, with a mug drying upside down on the counter.
A bookshelf stood proudly near your bed, filled with everything from classic literature to ballet history texts, a few dog-eared novels stacked horizontally where they no longer fit.
But it was the wall above your bed that caught Jay’s eye—an entire collage of polaroids and ribbon cutouts, little scraps of you.
Friends laughing in candid shots, blurry pictures of stage lights from performances, faded ribbons from past competitions pinned carefully like trophies. It was vibrant and soft all at once—like you.
Jay blinked, taking in the details quietly, something unreadable flickering in his dark eyes.
“Messy,” he said finally, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Sure. This looks like a Pinterest board threw up in here.”
You froze halfway through tugging off your hoodie, cheeks heating. “Shut up,” you hissed, ducking your head to hide your fluster. “It’s… cozy, okay? I like it this way.”
Jay smirked, bending slightly as Doobu let out a soft meow in his arms. “You’re really bad at taking compliments, you know that?”
Rolling your eyes, you took Doobu back into your arms, the little cat stretching her paws lazily before nuzzling into your hoodie again.
“I’m great at taking compliments,” you said, voice muffled as you buried your face briefly into Doobu’s fur. “I just… filter which ones I believe.”
Jay hummed like he wanted to say something more, but instead he leaned casually against the doorframe, hands sliding into the pockets of his cream trousers.
You cleared your throat, setting Doobu gently down on the bed. “Uh—you can… sit down, you know. Make yourself comfortable.”
Jay arched a brow, a teasing glint flickering in his eyes as he pushed off the frame slightly. “You’re telling me to sit down like I’m the guest of honor or something.”
You exhaled sharply, trying not to let your fluster show as you reached for his wrist. “I am telling you to sit. Here. Couch.”
He let you pull him with no resistance, his long fingers still half-tucked in his pockets as his amused smirk grew. “Okay, okay,” he murmured as you stopped him in front of the couch and all but shoved him down gently.
“There. Stay put.”
Jay chuckled as he sank into the cushions, legs spreading comfortably as his arm draped along the backrest.
“Bossy,” he teased lightly, tilting his head to watch you grab fresh clothes from the rack beside your vanity.
You shot him a look over your shoulder, your face already burning. “Don’t. Start.”
He only raised his hands in mock surrender, still wearing that faint grin as you disappeared into the bathroom with your clothes.
For a moment, silence settled in the room again, save for the faint tick of the clock and the low hum of the air conditioning. Jay let his eyes wander, his hands idly drumming against his thighs.
The first thing he noticed was the line of Dior lip glosses neatly arranged on your vanity. He leaned his head back slightly and hummed under his breath.
“Dior, huh? Someone’s got taste…” His gaze swept across the space again, taking in the soft pastel palette of your room, the fairy lights draped carelessly above, the plush throw pillows piled on the couch.
“Talk about contrast,” he murmured, a quiet laugh escaping him as he thought about his own room—dark walls, a clutter of guitar picks and stray lyric sheets, the faint scent of cologne lingering in the air.
Yours felt lighter, softer. Like breathing fresh air after being cooped up too long.
The sound of the bathroom door clicking open snapped him from his thoughts. He straightened slightly as you stepped out, now dressed in light-washed jeans, a black shirt peeking from under a cream hoodie.
Your hair was quickly brushed and your skin glowed faintly in the soft light, a Dior gloss—cherry pink—already in your hand as you dabbed it on without much thought.
“Sorry for making you wait,” you said sheepishly, meeting his eyes with a small smile.
Jay shook his head as he rose to his feet. “You were quick. Don’t worry about it.” His tone was softer now, almost careful.
You grinned faintly, slipping your gloss back into the vanity drawer. “Alright then. Let’s go.”
As you scooped your keys from the table, you turned to Doobu still curled up on your bed. Pointing a stern finger at her, you said, “No more outside time for you, Doobu. I mean it.”
Jay let out a quiet laugh behind you, reaching for the door as you switched off the main light and let the fairy lights cast their warm glow over the room.
The soft twinkle reflected in his eyes as he glanced back briefly, committing the sight to memory.
You locked the door with a click, turning to him. “Where to?”
You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, trying to muffle your laughter as Jay animatedly waved his hands around from across the small ramen shop table.
“No, no—listen,” he said, leaning forward with an exaggeratedly serious expression, his cap casting a faint shadow over his eyes.
“Jungwon was like—” He cleared his throat and pitched his voice higher, imitating the younger’s slightly frantic tone. “‘Come on, Jay. Come on, Jay. Don’t say anything! Stop talking, stop—stop—’”
You burst out laughing, nearly knocking your chopsticks off the table. “Oh my god, stop—you’re too good at that.”
Jay grinned, his eyes crinkling as he shrugged innocently.
“What? That’s exactly what he sounded like. I swear I thought he was going to faint when I said, ‘oh yeah, we’re working on—’” He clamped his hand over his mouth dramatically, earning another fit of laughter from you.
“You’re really one of the funniest people I’ve ever met,” you said between laughs, shaking your head in disbelief.
Jay leaned back in his chair, a smug little smile tugging at his lips. “That’s an achievement. I’ll take the trophy now.”
You rolled your eyes fondly as you reached for the menu. “Seriously, though… almost leaking your own song?”
“It wasn’t even on purpose!” he defended, throwing his hands up slightly. “I guess I was just… too excited for College Week.”
You raised a brow at him, lips twitching. “Oh? You guys have another song?”
He nodded, idly spinning his water glass between his fingers. “Yeah. This time it’s a song called Shout Out. It’s more sentimental than Karma.”
“That’s so fitting,” you teased, glancing down at the menu—only to stiffen slightly at the prices listed beside each dish.
Before you could even open your mouth, Jay’s voice cut in smoothly. “Hey. Don’t think too hard about it. Pick whatever you’re craving—I got it, yeah?”
Your brows furrowed as you looked up at him, lips parting to protest, but he raised a hand like he’d already anticipated it.
“Nope. Don’t even start,” he said firmly, a playful edge in his tone. “Consider it my apology for dragging you and Doobu out so late.”
You let out a sigh but smiled anyway. “Fine. But you’re seriously too much sometimes, Jay.”
Jay smirked, resting his chin in his palm as his eyes softened slightly on you. “Maybe. But admit it, I’m fun company.”
“Unfortunately,” you muttered with a grin as you finally pointed at your choice on the menu. “Okay. I’ll get the miso ramen. And—uh—a side of gyoza?”
“Good choice,” Jay said with an approving nod before glancing at the menu himself. “I’ll get the tonkatsu. Extra spicy. And another side of gyoza. Can’t go wrong with those.”
As the waiter came to take your orders, you found yourself glancing around the small shop. The faint hum of soft jazz played overhead, the warm light above your table casting a gentle glow on Jay’s features as he absentmindedly fiddled with his chopsticks.
When the waiter left, Jay leaned back comfortably again. “So,” he said, that same soft smile still tugging at his lips.
“Tell me more about your performances,” Jay said as he leaned forward slightly, propping his elbow on the table. “You’re going to perform during College Week too, right?”
You nodded, fiddling absently with your chopsticks. “Yeah, I mean… we perform before you guys every year. Like a… opening act?”
Jay’s lips curved into a teasing smirk. “Oh—you’re the ones with the overly lullabying music?”
You gasped dramatically, swatting lightly at the air between you. “Excuse me?” you said with a laugh.
“I guess we are. But hey, someone’s gotta make the crowd feel all dreamy before you guys come in and break their eardrums.”
He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”
You twirled your straw in your glass. “Though—I mean, I guess this year’s different. We’re finally performing a pretty huge production piece. Something more memorable.”
Jay’s gaze stayed fixed on you, one elbow propped lazily on the table, his fingers idly tapping against his water glass.
“And I guess…” you continued, lips curving into a small smile, “I have a reason to stay later this time. Since you guys will be performing after us anyway.”
That made him pause, his brows raising slightly as he tilted his head at you. “Wait—you’ve never watched any of our performances?”
You blinked at him, chewing lightly on your bottom lip before tilting your head in return. “Is that… a bad thing?” you asked, voice teasing.
Jay shook his head almost immediately, a faint laugh slipping out. “No,” he said, his grin softening into something warmer. “Just the more reason for me to do better this year. Since you’ll be watching.”
Your breath hitched slightly, and you ducked your head, hoping he wouldn’t notice the heat creeping up your cheeks. But judging from the small, knowing smile tugging at his lips, he definitely noticed.
Still, he didn’t comment—just let the moment hang there gently between you, the quiet hum of the ramen shop filling the space.
The waiter arrived then, placing two steaming bowls of ramen on the table, the rich aroma of broth and spices instantly making your stomach growl.
“Tonkatsu for you, miso for you. Enjoy,” he said politely, setting down a plate of golden-brown gyoza as well.
“Thanks,” you and Jay said in near perfect unison, glancing at each other with faint smiles after.
Jay leaned back slightly, rubbing his palms together. “Alright—let’s eat.” His eyes flicked mischievously toward the gyoza. “But fair warning—if I finish first, I’m stealing those.”
You raised a brow, feigning offense as you adjusted your chopsticks. “In your dreams, Park Jongseong. Those are mine.”
He grinned, the corners of his lips tugging higher than you’d seen all week. “Yeah? Watch me.”
The two of you dug in, the clink of chopsticks and soft laughter between bites filling your little corner of the shop.
Neither of you noticed at first—not the subtle shift of heads from tables nearby, nor the quiet gasps as a few Decelis students did a double take.
“Is that—”
“Holy shit, it is.”
“Park Jongseong. With a girl? And he’s smiling?”
Phones slipped subtly out of pockets as some of the students tried to sneak photos without being obvious.
After all, it wasn’t every day you saw the stoic-faced guitarist of Decelis’ most popular band—the one who rarely spoke unless absolutely necessary—leaning forward over a bowl of miso ramen, laughing and teasing a girl like he’d known her forever.
One table, full of arts majors, whispered animatedly:
“Is that Jeong (Y/N)? She’s in our department, right?”
“She’s in ballet. I think… I’ve seen her with Kazuha.”
“No way… he likes her?”
Meanwhile, Jay remained completely oblivious—or maybe he just didn’t care. His long fingers twirled noodles effortlessly, his posture relaxed, head slightly tilted as he listened to you animatedly talk about pointe shoes.
At a corner table, three students sat hunched over their phones, the glow of their screens reflected in wide eyes.
“Holy shit, zoom in—is that really Park Jongseong?” one whispered, pinching the screen to enlarge a blurry photo of Jay’s profile.
“It is! Look at the cap and the hoodie—he literally wore that after practice last week,” another hissed back, their tone urgent like they were breaking major news.
“Isn’t this… kind of a good source of gossip?” the first said, eyes darting nervously between Jay and the girl across from him—you.
The third leaned in closer, whispering like they were plotting a heist. “I mean… you could post it on the school’s gossip page. Everyone follows it.”
“Won’t they know it’s us?” the second asked, glancing around anxiously as though Jay might suddenly sense their scheming.
“You can send anonymous posts, dumbass,” the third snorted quietly. “Half the juicy stuff on there’s from people like us.”
They all turned their heads slightly in unison, pretending to sip on their drinks while sneaking another glance at you two.
Jay was laughing softly, head tilted back slightly, and you were smiling so wide it made them freeze for a second.
“…Do you think they’re, like… dating?” one muttered, leaning so far forward their chair creaked.
“Who wouldn’t date him? Look at him.”
Another girl, barely glancing up from her screen, muttered under her breath, “Well… I already submitted it. God, I’m just hoping I don’t get hunted down for this.”
“I—” she lowered her voice even further, leaning in like they were plotting international espionage. “I sent the photo to the gossip page. Anonymous, obviously.” She gestured vaguely to her phone, its screen dimming before anyone else could see proof.
“You’re insane,” the second whispered sharply, eyes wide as they darted between Jay’s table and their friend. “What if it blows up? You know how people get when it’s Jay.”
The third girl bit her lip, bouncing her leg nervously under the table. “This could actually start a war. Like—Decelis girls are rabid for him.”
The first scoffed but kept her voice low. “Please. He’s the one laughing and smiling with her. No one’s gonna blame us.”
The morning air was crisp as you walked beside Kazuha, her long hair tied in a neat ponytail that swayed slightly with each step.
She was already deep in thought, hands gesturing as she discussed the adjustments needed for the ensemble positions in one of the key scenes of your upcoming performance.
“So for that transition after the lift,” she said, brows furrowing, “I think we need to change the diagonal line to a V formation. It’ll fill the stage better once the curtains fully open.”
You nodded, hugging your jacket tighter around you as the cool air bit at your cheeks. “Yeah, that makes sense. The current one feels… a little too cramped for the audience’s perspective.”
Yunjin, walking on your other side with a stack of papers tucked under her arm, glanced up from the rehearsal notes she was scanning. “The performance is in, like… a week and a half, right?”
Kazuha sighed softly but nodded. “Yes. And we still have a lot to go through.”
You groaned, shifting the weight of your dance bag on your shoulder. “Don’t remind me. I can’t even rest without getting yelled at by our coach every morning. I swear she’s got some kind of sixth sense.”
That earned a soft laugh from Yunjin as she flipped to another page. “She probably does. Remember last year? She found out about Chaewon’s sprained ankle before Chaewon even told us.”
Kazuha let out a small laugh too, shaking her head. “Scary but… effective.”
You three turned into the university’s main gates, the familiar sight of towering glass windows and pristine hallways greeting you.
Your steps echoed faintly against the polished floors, but it wasn’t the sound that caught your attention.
It was the stares.
They were subtle at first—lingering glances from groups of students leaning against lockers, hushed whispers trailing in your wake.
You straightened your posture instinctively, forcing your focus on Kazuha as she continued talking about stage placements.
“So, we might have to ask the tech team to adjust the spotlights too,” she said, not noticing the way your eyes briefly flicked to a group of students murmuring to each other by the bulletin board.
“Mm… yeah,” you said quickly, nodding as if to ground yourself in the conversation.
“And maybe we should suggest they do a dry run with us next practice? Just so we’re sure the lighting cues match the music.”
“That’s actually a good idea,” Kazuha agreed, her lips quirking upward slightly as she adjusted her tote bag.
Yunjin hummed in agreement too, her eyes still scanning her notes. “I’ll bring it up to the coach later.”
You exhaled quietly, trying to shake off the feeling of eyes on your back. You forced yourself to keep pace with your friends, asking Kazuha another question.
“Do you know if the props department finalized the backdrop yet? Or are we still waiting on their approval?”
Kazuha tilted her head slightly as she thought. “They sent a draft last night. I’ll show it to you later—it’s actually pretty nice.”
“Perfect. Maybe we’ll finally stop tripping over the old backdrops this year,” Yunjin said dryly as she shifted her papers and reached for the door to your first class. She pushed it open, holding it just long enough for you and Kazuha to slip inside behind her.
You were thankful—at least you had this class together. If there was one silver lining to your packed schedule, it was that the three of you always had at least one class to survive as a unit.
But the moment your group stepped in, the atmoshphere in the room changed.
It was subtle at first, like a hush spreading through the front rows, but then a ripple of murmurs followed—soft giggles, whispers too quick to catch, a few phones held lower than usual like people didn’t want to be caught staring.
It felt like the room had somehow gone quiet and loud at the same time.
You furrowed your brows but kept walking, following Kazuha and Yunjin to your usual seats near the middle. Your steps felt heavier with every glance thrown your way—like everyone suddenly remembered you existed.
Yunjin, ever the bold one, plopped her bag down and raised a brow, glancing at one of your classmates sitting nearby. “Okay… what’s going on?”
The girl blinked at her, hesitated, then leaned in conspiratorially. “You didn’t hear?”
You’d barely set your bag down when you felt a tap on your shoulder.
Turning, you found a small group of students peeking at you from behind their seats, wide-eyed and grinning.
“(Y/N)!” one of them whispered excitedly, like they were sharing a secret. “You never told us you were dating the guitarist of Enhypen!”
You blinked. “…I’m sorry—what?”
The group tittered among themselves, holding back laughter like they’d been dying to bring this up.
“You and Jay!” another chimed in, phone clutched tight as if they were ready to pull up evidence. “You were seen eating ramen together last night—like together together.”
Your brows shot up, and you shook your head so quickly it made your hair sway. “Wait, hold on. I’m not—”
“Then how come you two were on a date last night?” someone piped up from the front row, a smug tilt to their voice.
Your head whipped toward them, your brows furrowing even deeper. “Wait—what? How did you even know about that?”
Another voice chimed in, half whispering but loud enough for everyone to hear. “(Y/N)… there were pictures.”
Kazuha’s head snapped up from where she was unzipping her ballet tote, eyes narrowing slightly.
“What pictures?” she asked calmly, though her tone held an edge sharp enough to cut glass.
Before you could even react, a phone was suddenly shoved in your face. Your breath hitched as your eyes locked on the screen.
It was grainy, taken from across the ramen shop, but clear enough. You and Jay. Sitting across from each other.
Your hand covering your mouth mid-laugh while Jay leaned forward, his knuckles resting casually under his chin as he smiled at you.
The warm lights of the shop softened everything, making the scene look far too intimate—romantic even.
You sucked in a sharp breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “What… where did you even—”
“An anonymous sender,” someone else piped up behind you, sounding far too entertained. “It got posted on the university gossip page this morning.”
Yunjin, standing beside you, let out a sharp laugh—not out of humor but disbelief—as she snatched the phone from the girl’s hand. “Are you serious right now?” she said, scrolling through the post with narrowed eyes.
“This is what Decelis students are doing with their lives? Playing paparazzi?”
Kazuha crossed her arms, her expression unreadable as her gaze swept over the room. “So let me get this straight—you’re all making up relationship rumors over one picture of them eating ramen?”
“It wasn’t just ramen!” a boy in the back said, clearly trying to hold back laughter. “There’s another picture! He even walked her back to her dorm. And—”
“Enough!” Yunjin snapped, slamming the phone down onto the nearest desk, making a few students jump. Her eyes darted back to you, voice softening slightly.
“(Y/N), don’t let this get to you. You know how fast this place eats up any ‘scandal.’”
You exhaled shakily, your face burning as you forced a small laugh. “It’s… fine. Let them think whatever they want. It’s not like it’s true anyway.”
Kazuha placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, her voice calm and steady. “You shouldn’t have to explain yourself. They’re the ones crossing the line.”
You nodded slowly, biting down the retort building in your throat. What was even the point?
Anything you said now would only feed into their gossip. Instead, you pressed your lips into a thin line and lowered your gaze, forcing the words down.
“Yeah,” you murmured faintly, though your voice lacked conviction. “You’re right.”
Kazuha’s thumb rubbed small circles against your shoulder before she pulled her hand away, slipping into her seat beside you.
Yunjin, on the other side, gave your arm a reassuring pat as you sank into your chair, the weight of every pair of eyes still prickling at your skin.
“Just breathe, okay?” Yunjin whispered under her breath, leaning slightly toward you as she began to pull her own papers from her tote.
“This will blow over. It always does.”
You offered her a small, tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes before dropping your bag onto the desk with a soft thud.
Slowly, methodically, you began pulling out your notebook, your pen case, your planner—anything to keep your hands occupied as your brain tried to ignore the hiss of whispers that still laced the air around you.
“Didn’t think she was his type…”
“She’s probably just using him to get clout.”
“Or maybe he’s the one using her.”
The murmurs continued, hushed but cruel, as though you weren’t even there.
Your fingers trembled slightly as you uncapped your pen, the tip pressing too hard against the paper as you absently doodled a small flower in the corner of your notes.
“Hey,” Kazuha said softly, turning in her seat to face you. “Ignore them. They don’t know anything.”
You let out a shaky breath, eyes still fixed on the messy little flower sketch blooming under your pen. “I’m trying.”
“I know,” she said simply, her voice a quiet anchor.
Yunjin leaned her elbow on the desk, glaring subtly at the students across the room who hadn’t stopped sneaking glances at your table.
“God, the audacity of people here. You laugh with one guy, and suddenly you’re Decelis’ hottest headline.”
“Yunjin—” you started, but she waved you off.
“No, seriously. Let’s see them try saying this crap when Jay himself walks in here. Bet they’d choke on their words,” she muttered, flipping through her papers a little too forcefully.
You forced a laugh at that, though your cheeks burned with unease. “He’s not going to walk in here. This isn’t even his class.”
But even as the words left your lips, a flicker of dread pooled in your stomach at the thought.
What if he heard the whispers and saw the looks and thought… you’d started them?
You shoved the thought down and focused on underlining the date on your planner with shaking hands.
You grumbled under your breath, fingers dragging harshly through your hair before you pressed both hands over your face, willing your nerves to settle.
Your lunch sat cold and forgotten in front of you, the kimchi barely touched except for the absentminded pokes you’d made with your chopsticks.
Eunchae, sitting across from you, watched quietly with knitted brows, her spoon clinking softly against her bowl.
“Hey…” she said hesitantly, her voice barely audible over the low hum of the cafeteria.
Before you could respond, a sharp, irritated voice cut through.
“What?”
Your head snapped up just in time to see Chaewon glaring daggers at a group of passing students. The group, caught in her icy stare, immediately looked away and scurried off like startled mice.
You blinked, startled at her sudden bite. “Chaewon…” you murmured. “You don’t have to scare everyone.”
She sighed, breaking her glare as her eyes softened on you. “You’re too nice for your own good.”
Kazuha, sitting beside her, nodded solemnly as she stabbed at her salad. “She’s right. If you don’t put them in their place, they’ll keep thinking they can talk about you like that.”
You let out a small, humorless laugh, staring back down at your tray. “I don’t want to make things worse…”
Before Kazuha could even open her mouth to argue, a shift in the room’s atmosphere made you freeze.
It was like someone had blanketed the entire cafeteria in a thick hush. Conversations faltered. Spoons hovered midair. Heads began to turn, whispers threading their way from table to table.
You frowned slightly, confused, until Yunjin tilted her chin subtly toward the entrance.
“Don’t freak out,” she murmured.
But then you saw them.
Seven boys—each effortlessly drawing attention without even trying. They strolled into the cafeteria with unbothered expressions, eyes straight ahead as if the stares and hushed gossip didn’t exist.
Your stomach flipped violently as your eyes caught on a familiar figure in a black bomber jacket and lightwash jeans.
Jay.
As the group cut through the rows of tables, Heeseung cracked a grin at something Jungwon muttered. Jake ruffled Ni-ki’s hair before Ni-ki swatted him away. Sunghoon trailed behind, hands shoved in his coat pockets.
But then Jay slowed.
Halfway through the cafeteria, he casually bid the others goodbye, gesturing toward an empty table near the windows. The others gave him nods, and he peeled off—heading straight for your table.
You could’ve sworn your soul left your body.
“Oh no,” you whispered, staring down at your untouched kimchi like it held the answers to life.
“This is it. He doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore. He’s going to say it’s better if we don’t talk.”
Yunjin moved closer to you, catching your panicked expression.
Her sharp eyes flicked to Jay as he approached with long, unhurried strides. “Hey. Breathe. It doesn’t look like he’s about to bite your head off.”
But you couldn’t move—not as he stopped right beside your table, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes soft but unreadable as he looked down at you.
“Hey,” Jay said, his voice warm. Softer than you expected. “Do you want to talk?”
Your head shot up, eyes wide in surprise as your lips parted soundlessly. “I—”
Your friends all exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from smug to encouraging.
Chaewon arched a brow at you meaningfully. Yunjin gave you a small nudge with her elbow. “Go on.”
Kazuha smiled faintly, folding her hands on the table. “We’ll keep your food safe.”
Your throat felt tight as you glanced between Jay and your friends. His gaze didn’t waver—not impatient, not demanding, just patient. Waiting.
Finally, you nodded once, small and tentative. “Y-Yeah… okay.”
He smiled, relief flashing across his features before he stepped aside slightly to give you space.
You pushed your chair back slowly, heart thundering as you stood. “Sorry,” you mumbled to your friends, though you weren’t sure what for.
“Don’t be,” Chaewon said with a teasing smirk. “Text us if we need to drag you back.”
“Or if we need to fight,” Yunjin added with a wink.
You shot them a flustered look before following Jay as he led the way out of the cafeteria, his pace unhurried. You could feel the weight of countless stares on your back as you went, whispers blooming like wildfire in your wake.
Then, out of nowhere, you felt it—a warm, reassuring hand settling lightly against the small of your back.
Your breath hitched. Your steps faltered for half a second.
Jay leaned down slightly, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of his breath by your ear as he murmured, voice low and steady, “Ignore them. They don’t deserve any of your attention.”
You stiffened for a moment, not out of discomfort but from the way your heart stuttered in your chest.
Slowly, you turned your head up to him, your voice barely above a whisper, tinted with curiosity. “Then, who does?”
Jay glanced down at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His dark eyes softened as he tilted his head ever so slightly, his thumb brushing against the edge of your blouse.
“Me,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Your cheeks flamed, heat crawling all the way to the tips of your ears.
But surprisingly, you didn’t move away. You let him guide you gently, his hand remaining in place only long enough to steer you past the stares and into quieter hallways.
The sound of your sneakers against the polished floor filled the silence as you both walked, the hum of vending machines and distant chatter fading with each step.
The tension in your chest eased little by little, though your mind refused to stop replaying the warmth of his hand on your back and the casual confidence of his words.
Finally, Jay stopped in front of a plain wooden door tucked into a quieter corner of the building. He pulled a key from his pocket, unlocking it with a faint click before glancing back at you.
“Come on,” he said, his voice softer now.
You stepped inside carefully, your eyes scanning the empty room.
The fluorescent lights flickered to life above, revealing chairs pushed neatly against the walls and two lone seats set in the middle—almost like a makeshift interview setup. A faint scent of fresh paper and disinfectant lingered in the air.
Jay followed you in, letting the door close with a muted thud behind him. “This room’s usually like this,” he said casually, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of one of the chairs.
“They use it for business proposal presentations… or council meetings when the big room’s full.”
He gestured toward one of the two chairs, his expression easygoing. “Sit. Please.”
You hesitated for a beat before moving forward and sinking into the seat, clutching your hands nervously in your lap.
Jay took the other chair across from you, leaning back slightly as he rested one ankle on his knee, fingers lacing loosely in his lap.
For a moment, the only sound between you was the faint buzz of the lights above. Then Jay exhaled softly, his eyes never leaving yours.
“How do you feel?” he asked, his tone calm and careful, like he didn’t want to startle you.
You inhaled shakily, eyes falling to your lap where your fingers were fiddling nervously with the edge of your blouse. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
Jay didn’t push. He stayed still, leaning slightly forward in his chair as if closing the gap between you would make the words come easier.
“Everything’s happening too fast,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “And it feels like my life, my choices—suddenly became everybody’s business.”
Your words cracked faintly at the end, and you swallowed hard, forcing back the tightness in your chest as you finally dared to look up at him. Your eyes were glassy, a sheen of tears catching the sterile light.
Jay’s brows furrowed slightly, his expression tender as he leaned in closer. He sighed softly.
“Is this how you usually feel?” you asked, voice small and unsure.
He gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod, reaching into his jeans pocket and pulling out a neatly folded black handkerchief. Without a word, he held it out to you.
You blinked at it before murmuring a quiet, “Thanks,” and taking it hesitantly.
“Yes,” Jay said finally, his thumb brushing against his palm as if grounding himself.
“But that doesn’t mean I let it get to me. I don’t care about their noise when they don’t even know me.”
He hesitated for a breath before his hand reached across the small gap between you, gently closing over yours where it gripped the handkerchief too tightly.
His touch was warm and calming, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as he spoke again.
“(Y/N), I know they’re spouting bullshit out there. Gossip is just… gossip. They don’t know anything about you. Or me.”
You sniffled, trying to lighten the thick air between you. “Says the famous one,” you teased weakly, your lips tugging up just slightly.
Jay let out a low chuckle, the sound deep and warm in the quiet room.
“Mmhm,” he hummed, his smile softening as he tugged the handkerchief gently from your hold.
Before you could react, he leaned in a little closer, his hand deft and surprisingly tender as he dabbed under your lashes, catching the tears that had managed to escape.
“Stop crying now,” he murmured, his voice gentle but laced with a hint of teasing. “I pulled you away to talk to you, not make you cry, you know.”
A small laugh bubbled out of you, watery and embarrassed, as you lowered your gaze. “Sorry…”
“Don’t be.” Jay shook his head slightly, his dark eyes still fixed on you as he tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket.
Then he leaned back slightly, his fingers brushing against his knee as he exhaled through his nose. “I have a proposal.”
You blinked at him, surprised. “A proposal?”
His lips quirked—not quite a smirk, but something softer, almost shy. “Yeah. How about we give them something real to talk about?”
You blinked, tilting your head slightly as your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Jay’s gaze flicked to the side for a second, his fingers tapping against his thigh nervously. “Well… only if you’re comfortable with it. And I—I don’t want to force you into anything, okay? Like, if it’s too weird or—”
You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped as you reached forward, your fingers brushing his arm lightly. “Jay, calm down.”
He stuttered to a stop, his cheeks blooming a faint shade of red as his lips parted. “Sorry… I just—I mean…” His voice dipped lower as he rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes for a moment.
“What if we fake date?”
Your brows shot up, surprise written all over your face. “Fake date?” you repeated, leaning back slightly in your seat, head tilting as you regarded him.
“How is that going to help?”
Jay sat up straighter, determination replacing some of his earlier hesitation. “It will. Think about it—if we own up to it, maybe people will stop talking. They’ll stop whispering and speculating because there won’t be anything left for them to ‘discover.’”
He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head slightly. “All they’ve talked about this morning was me and you.”
Your lips parted in shock. “You’ve heard that too?”
He shrugged, his expression wry. “They weren’t exactly subtle.” His hand shifted, propping against the armrest of his chair as he leaned his chin into his palm, eyes fixed on you with quiet expectation.
“So… are you in?”
You glanced down at your hands for a moment, thoughts swirling. Part of you knew it was risky—dangerous even—letting people believe something that wasn’t true.
But at the same time, maybe it could help. If you and Jay played into the rumor, controlled the narrative, maybe the stares and whispers would die down faster.
And—your mind whispered traitorously—if it’s with Jay, would it really be so bad?
Your eyes flicked back to him slowly, his posture so relaxed yet his eyes holding just a flicker of nervousness. You nodded once, small but certain.
Jay’s brows lifted a fraction. “Wait—that’s a yes?”
A small laugh bubbled from your chest, easing some of the tension in the room. “It’s a yes.”
“Oh god,” Jay muttered, letting out a relieved laugh as he leaned back in his chair, covering his face with his hands for a second. “Great. Because this would’ve been really embarrassing otherwise.”
You grinned, shaking your head. “Jay…” you said with a laugh, watching as he peeked at you through his fingers, still looking half-shy and half-relieved.
“What?” he said, dropping his hands and smiling sheepishly. “You don’t understand—if you’d said no, I’d have had to transfer schools or something.”
“Oh, come on,” you replied, rolling your eyes with a soft laugh. “You’d survive.”
Jay lowered his hands, the grin still tugging at his lips as he shook his head. “You do realize people see me as some emo guitarist with no heart, right?”
You tilted your head slightly, studying him as your smile lingered. “I don’t.”
He blinked at you, momentarily caught off guard by the sincerity in your tone. Then—just faintly—his lips curled into a small, quiet smile that didn’t quite reach his usual confident smirk.
It was softer. It was real.
Jay didn’t say anything else. Instead, he stood up smoothly, extending his hand toward you. “Come on.”
You blinked at his outstretched hand, then placed yours in his, letting him pull you up.
“What now?” you asked curiously, steadying yourself as he grabbed his black jacket draped over the back of his chair.
He stepped closer—close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his cologne—and carefully draped the jacket over your shoulders.
The fabric was warm and smelled faintly of cedar and clean laundry. His fingers lingered for a moment as he adjusted it, tugging the lapels gently until you were snug in the oversized material.
You blinked up at him, flustered. “Jay…?”
He met your gaze, the corner of his lips tugging upwards. “We do this naturally,” he said, voice low but steady.
Your breath hitched slightly, but you slid your arms properly through the jacket sleeves, the oversized fit practically swallowing you whole.
“There,” Jay said softly, satisfied as he took a small step back to admire his handiwork.
Then, without missing a beat, he grabbed your hand again, his long fingers curling loosely around yours. “Come on. Let’s go.”
You let out a surprised laugh as he tugged you gently toward the door. “Wait—where are we going?”
“What’s your next class?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you with an easy grin.
“Performance training. Fourth floor,” you replied, trying to ignore the way your heart was thudding at the casual way he held your hand.
“Perfect,” he said simply. Jay pulled his keys from his pocket with his free hand, locking the room behind you with a soft click.
As the two of you stepped into the quiet hallway, his thumb brushed idly against the back of your hand, sending a small spark of warmth up your arm.
“You know,” he mused lightly as you walked, “people are going to lose their minds when they see us.”
You shot him a teasing glance, hugging his jacket closer to yourself. “And you’re okay with that?”
Jay looked down at you, his smile curling mischievously now. “Let them talk. Isn’t that the point?”
You could only laugh, shaking your head at his words, the sound soft but real. “You’re unbelievable,” you murmured, letting him tug you gently toward the nearest elevator.
“Unbelievably charming?” Jay teased without missing a beat, glancing back at you with that same mischievous glint in his eyes.
“Unbelievably something,” you retorted, hugging his jacket a little tighter around your shoulders.
The elevator doors slid open with a chime, revealing an almost full car of students. The hum of conversations dulled instantly when you both stepped in, as if the air had been sucked out of the space.
You could feel the weight of their stares burning into your back, whispers beginning to bloom like wildfire again—but you and Jay? You didn’t so much as flinch.
If anything, Jay’s grip on your hand only tightened as he subtly moved his body closer to yours, his arm brushing yours in the cramped space.
“What room?” he asked you quietly, voice low enough that only you could hear over the faint hum of the elevator.
You tilted your head slightly toward him. “Room 408.”
He nodded, his thumb rubbing lazily over the back of your hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world. The small, absentminded gesture made your chest tighten for reasons you couldn’t quite place.
You caught sight of your reflection in the polished metal of the elevator walls—his black jacket still draped over your shoulders, your hands linked, his posture casual yet protective.
You wondered, briefly, if this was what it might look like if it weren’t fake.
The elevator chimed again, the doors sliding open on the fourth floor. Jay stepped out first but didn’t let go of your hand, tugging you gently along.
The whispers started again behind you as the doors closed, but you barely heard them this time.
Maybe—just maybe—this wouldn’t be so bad after all.
It was six in the evening and the studio was buzzing with muted conversations, the faint squeak of ballet shoes against polished wood, and the soft shuffle of fabric as dancers adjusted their skirts.
You nodded eagerly, brushing a stray hair from your face as your coach clapped her hands loudly.
“Alright, dancers—positions! Let’s clean the second half from the top,” she called, her voice stern yet warm. “And please—fingers! Hands are not claws. You’re not hunting prey.”
A few girls giggled softly at her remark, and you couldn’t help but smile too as you wiped the sheen of sweat forming on your forehead with the edge of your sleeve.
You were about to walk back to the center when your coach’s eyes caught yours. She raised her hand and beckoned you over.
“(Y/N), come here a second.”
You jogged toward her, the sound of your slippers padding lightly against the floor. “What’s the matter, coach?” you asked, catching your breath as you stopped in front of her.
She smiled kindly, her hands folded behind her back. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. Actually, I wanted to ask if you wouldn’t mind helping me out.”
Your brows furrowed slightly in curiosity. “Of course. What do you need?”
“Well…” She leaned in just a little, speaking low so only you could hear.
“After practice, would you and Yunjin mind getting everyone’s measurements for the final fittings? I need them sent over tonight so the costume department has time to adjust. I’d do it myself, but…” she gestured to the clipboard in her hand with a small sigh, “I’m staying back for a meeting after this.”
You nodded instantly. “Not at all, coach. I can handle it.”
“Perfect. Thank you, sweetheart. You’re a lifesaver.” She patted your shoulder briefly before straightening.
“Now get back into formation before I change my mind about calling you a sweetheart.”
You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you jogged back toward your place.
The coach clapped her hands again, her eyes sweeping over the group like a hawk. “Alright—last run for today! I want grace, I want strength, I want artistry. And no, before you ask—falling out of a pirouette does not count as artistry.”
Groans rippled through the room, but you all fell back into your spots, shoulders lifting as you prepared.
Your chest rose and fell in rhythm as you lifted your arms, letting your body melt into the choreography. The music filled your lungs, your legs burning slightly as you held your arabesque a beat longer than usual.
“Good, good,” your coach’s voice echoed over the melody.
“(Y/N), mind your port de bras—don’t let it droop. Kazuha, sharper in the turns! And everyone—remember, this isn’t just steps. Tell me the story!”
The floor creaked faintly under your weight as you moved, sweat trailing down the back of your neck, but you didn’t falter.
Not when college week was so close. Not when this performance mattered so much.
As the music came to its tender close, you exhaled deeply, chest heaving as you dropped your arms gently.
Your coach clapped once. “Better. Much better. That’s the energy I want! Take five, then we’ll cool down.”
You bent slightly, hands on your knees as you caught your breath, already running through the routine in your mind again.
From across the studio, Yunjin—clipboard in hand, hair tied in a loose bun—flashed you a thumbs up.
Around you, the room hummed with life again as the dancers dispersed—some chatting in clusters, others flopping onto the floor in dramatic exhaustion.
“Kazuha, please,” you heard Chaewon wail from somewhere to your right. “I still have energy for at least another hour!”
“You’ve been dancing for four,” Kazuha said calmly, pressing her hand to Chawon’s shoulder like she was trying to ground a hyperactive child. “Sit down before you combust.”
You stifled a laugh and made your way over to Yunjin, clutching your water bottle like a lifeline. She was scribbling something on her clipboard, her brows furrowed in deep thought.
“Hey,” you said softly, trying not to startle her. “Coach asked me to rope you into measurement duty later.”
Yunjin looked up, eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh really? She knows I’m too much of a pushover to say no.”
You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “We can do it tomorrow if that’s okay with you. I mean, we’re both dead tired—”
But Yunjin shook her head before you could even finish. “No need.” She made another quick note on her clipboard and clicked her pen shut.
You blinked at her, confused. “No need? What do you mean?”
She tucked the pen behind her ear and gave you a breezy grin.
“I’ve already got it handled. I’ll coordinate with the other members of the costume department tonight. I’ll send out a group chat to set up measurement stations tomorrow. You don’t need to fuss over it.”
“Yunjin…” You let out a heavy sigh, guilt tugging at your chest. “I was supposed to help with that. Now I feel bad.”
“Don’t,” she said simply, waving you off as she slung the clipboard under her arm.
“You’re already carrying enough. Besides, I’m not in pointe shoes for four hours straight, so I have no excuse.”
You exhaled, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over you. “Thanks, Jin. Seriously. I owe you.”
“You can repay me by buying me milk tea later,” she teased with a wink. “Large size. Extra pearls.”
You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “Deal.”
“Alright, everyone!” Coach’s voice boomed across the studio, cutting through the chatter. “Circle up for cooldown. Don’t make me say it twice—your muscles will hate you tomorrow if you skip this.”
The dancers groaned collectively but began gathering in a loose circle, some dragging their feet dramatically. You joined the group, dropping down onto the polished wood floor with a tired huff.
Next to you, Kazuha stretched her arms overhead, giving you a knowing smile. “Survived another day.”
“Barely,” you murmured, already easing into a seated forward fold as Coach clapped her hands and started the cooldown routine.
It was comforting—the soft shuffle of tired dancers, the stretch of overworked muscles, and the low murmur of voices winding down after hours of practice.
But in the blink of an eye, the calm turned into a wave of movement.
One by one, your classmates started piling out of the studio, chattering about dinner plans and upcoming assignments, shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor.
The sound of duffel bags zipping shut and water bottles being tossed into totes filled the air.
It wasn’t long before the room emptied, leaving you and Kazuha as usual—the last two standing. Or rather, sitting.
She remained cross-legged beside you, her expression relaxed as she scrolled through her phone, strands of hair sticking to her temples from sweat.
“Okay, okay. I need to use the restroom,” Kazuha finally said, pushing herself up with a small groan.
She grabbed her jacket off the floor and slung it over her shoulder. “You’ll be fine for five minutes, right?”
You glanced up at her with a tired grin. “Go. There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”
Kazuha paused near the doorway, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Do you want me to grab you anything on the way back? Food? Bubble tea?”
You narrowed your eyes at her teasing tone, already knowing where this was heading. “Don’t you dare start.”
But before you could even huff properly, she bolted out of the studio like a flash, laughing under her breath as her voice echoed down the hall. “Think about it! You might need comfort food after this!”
You let out a long sigh, shaking your head with a small laugh as you leaned back on your palms. “Typical Zuha.”
The studio fell silent again, save for the faint creak of the air conditioning and the dull thud of your heartbeat finally steadying.
You glanced around—bags piled neatly by the mirrors, ballet shoes strewn on the benches, lights faintly reflecting off the polished wood floor.
Pushing yourself off the ground with a little groan, you grabbed your phone from your tote bag and connected it to the studio speakers.
With a few taps, a familiar melody filled the room, echoing warmly in the open space. You huffed, brushing stray strands of hair out of your face.
“Might as well be productive,” you muttered to yourself, rolling your shoulders as you stepped into position.
The soft piano introduction sent a wave of calm over you, your body falling naturally into the choreography.
Your satin skirt fluttered around your legs with every turn, the delicate fabric catching in the faint light.
Your movements grew fluid—each arabesque melting into a pirouette, each plié steady and precise. It was just you and the song, the rest of the world fading beyond the mirrored walls.
As the final notes played, you eased into your ending pose. A deep exhale escaped your lips, a sheen of sweat clinging to your skin. Straightening your posture, you let the quiet settle again.
But before you could fully catch your breath, three soft knocks sounded against the studio door.
You blinked, startled, and quickly dusted yourself off, running a hand over your slightly damp hair. Without bothering to peek through the glass panel, you strode over and pulled the door open.
Jay.
Guitar case slung casually over one shoulder, a plastic bag hanging from his other hand. He was still dressed in the same black shirt and jeans from earlier, his sleeves slightly rolled up.
“Hey,” he greeted simply, voice warm in the otherwise quiet hallway. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
You blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Jay? What… are you doing here?”
He tilted his head slightly, his usual stoic expression softening into a small grin. “My last class ended early, and band practice doesn’t start for another hour,” he said casually, stepping fully into the studio. “So, I thought… might as well be early.”
You moved aside instinctively, still gripping the door as you gestured for him to enter. “Oh. Right. Makes sense.”
As he stepped past you, you caught the faint smell of cologne mixed with something earthy and clean—like he’d walked straight from the evening breeze.
“And,” Jay added with a little more playfulness this time, setting his guitar case carefully against the wall and pulling a plastic bag from his wrist, “I’m trying to be a good boyfriend anyways.”
That made you pause mid-step, your breath catching faintly as your cheeks flushed.
You glanced at him, your lips twitching between a nervous smile and something incredulous. “Boyfriend, huh?”
He caught your gaze briefly, smirking faintly but saying nothing.
Instead, he grabbed two nearby chairs, scraping them gently across the polished wood floor. He turned them to face each other before sliding them up against the wall.
“Come sit,” he said simply, gesturing for you to take one of the chairs. “You look like you could use a break before your legs decide to give out.”
You let out a soft huff of a laugh, still flustered but oddly comforted. “Fine. But only because my legs actually might.”
You crossed the room and sat on the chair he set out, purposely scooting it a little away to put some space between you.
But Jay’s brows furrowed ever so slightly as he noticed, his hand reaching out without hesitation to grab the edge of your chair.
“Hey,” he muttered, pulling you closer until the legs of your chair lightly scraped against his. “None of that distance stuff. We’re supposed to be dating, remember?”
You sputtered, warmth creeping up your neck. “I—Jay!”
“What?” he asked innocently, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him.
Before you could argue further, he reached for the plastic bag resting at his feet and pulled out a small carton of banana milk and a neatly wrapped loaf of milk bread. He held them out to you casually.
You blinked, genuinely surprised. “Wait—how’d you… how’d you know I like milk bread too?”
Jay didn’t miss a beat as he grabbed his own drink from the bag—an energy drink, the top already popped open.
“I asked Ni-ki,” he said matter-of-factly, taking a sip. “Who asked Kazuha.”
You stared at him incredulously, unable to stop the smile forming on your lips. “Kazuha already unblocked Ni-ki?”
Jay shrugged, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. “I guess so. Or maybe Ni-ki just bribed her for information. You know how he is.”
As you were still processing that, Jay gently reached over again, plucking the banana milk from your hands.
He tore the straw from its wrapper with one swift move and punched it into the carton with ease before handing it back to you.
Your fingers brushed his as you took the carton back, cheeks warming even more at the simple gesture.
“Thanks,” you murmured, trying not to let your voice give too much away.
Jay leaned back in his chair, resting one ankle casually on his knee as he watched you take a sip. “You don’t have to thank me every time, you know.”
You glanced at him from over the rim of your carton, lips quirking. “Maybe I just feel like you’re spoiling me.”
He smirked faintly, his gaze flicking away briefly as if to hide the warmth creeping into his eyes. “Good. Get used to it.”
You let out a soft breath, leaning your head back against the cool studio wall. The fatigue settling into your limbs made it feel easier to just sink into the stillness for a moment.
Jay tilted his head, watching you with those calm, unreadable eyes before giving your arm a light nudge.
“Don’t lean on the wall,” he said, voice low but teasing. “Lean on me instead.”
You shot him a sideways glance, lips pressing into a thin line like you were considering fighting him on it, but the way he was already patting his shoulder expectantly made you sigh in defeat.
“You’re so persistent,” you muttered, shifting closer until your head came to rest on his shoulder.
The scent of his cologne—subtle yet expensive—immediately filled your senses. It wasn’t overpowering, but warm and grounding, the kind of scent that could become addicting if you weren’t careful.
You forced yourself to take another sip of your banana milk, hoping the sweetness would mask the strange flutter in your chest.
“Are you like this with every girl you date?” you asked quietly, almost testing, as your thumb rubbed over the carton’s edge.
Jay hummed, his head turning slightly so the side of his face brushed against your hair. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever dated.”
You let out a short huff of disbelief. “Stop lying, Park Jongseong.”
He chuckled at your reaction, his voice low and rich as it rumbled in his chest. “I’m not lying. You really are the first.”
The confession made your throat tighten for reasons you couldn’t quite name. You turned your gaze down to the milk bread still resting in your lap, picking at the edges of the plastic wrap nervously.
“Well, you’re mine too,” you admitted softly, a small smile tugging at your lips, “even if it’s fake.”
Jay chuckled quietly at that, but it wasn’t the amused sound you were used to—it was quieter, almost bitter around the edges. “Yeah,” he murmured, leaning his head gently against yours.
The weight of it sent a little shiver down your spine, and for a second neither of you moved, the faint thrum of the studio speakers humming in the background like a heartbeat.
Without thinking, you reached for his free hand, fingers brushing against his knuckles before intertwining with his. His larger hand folded instinctively around yours, warm and steady, as you pulled it onto your lap.
Jay didn’t say anything, but you caught the faintest upward curl of his lips reflected in the mirror across the studio.
He leaned in a little closer, gaze softening as he studied your mirrored forms—your loose hair slightly frizzed from practice, his dark shirt and jeans stark against your lighter tones.
His lips twitched, almost like he was amused at the contrast, but the smile he gave himself was small, private, and a little too fond for comfort.
“Kazuha’s taking too long,” you said after a moment, trying to shake off the quiet.
“Yeah?” Jay asked lazily, his thumb tracing a light circle over the back of your hand. “Where is she, anyway?”
“Said she needed to go to the bathroom,” you replied, a faint smirk tugging at your lips. “But knowing her, she’s probably halfway back from the convenience store.”
Jay let out a soft laugh, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Just like Ni-ki. I swear those two are more alike than they’d ever admit.”
“They really are,” you said with a small laugh of your own. “Chaos magnets.”
“Mmhm,” Jay agreed, the corners of his mouth quirking upward again.
He set down his half-finished energy drink on the floor beside him, leaning forward slightly as he fished his phone from his jeans pocket.
You blinked as he opened the camera app and tilted the screen toward the two of you, positioning it just right.
“Come on, pretty,” he coaxed, voice soft but playful as his thumb hovered over the shutter button.
You bit your lip, cheeks warming again as you leaned slightly closer to him for the photo.
Jay’s arm brushed yours as the phone clicked softly, capturing the two of you in the warm, lazy glow of the studio lights.
Before you could pull back, he flipped the camera one more time, holding it at a slightly higher angle.
You turned your head just as he snapped another picture, catching your profile in the frame, your loose hair falling effortlessly over your shoulder.
Jay studied the second photo, lips quirking upward faintly like he was proud of his candid capture. “Perfect,” he murmured to himself.
“Can I see?” you asked, craning your neck a little.
He angled the phone toward you, and you caught the sight of yourself leaning slightly against him, hair a little messy but soft, his hand still intertwined with yours in your lap.
“Not bad,” you teased lightly, sipping at your banana milk.
Jay let out a small chuckle, thumb hovering over the ‘post’ button as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “Can I put this on my story?”
You froze for a heartbeat, eyes darting between him and the phone. But the image staring back at you didn’t feel awkward or fake—it felt oddly comfortable.
“Yeah,” you said softly, giving him a small nod.
His grin widened—barely, but enough for you to notice—as he quickly typed out a single little swan emoji followed before he hit ‘post.’
You blinked at the words, trying not to let your smile give too much away as you took another sip of your drink. “White swan?” you asked, amusement creeping into your tone.
Jay glanced down at you, his dark eyes glinting. “What? You don’t like it?”
You shook your head, cheeks warming as you ducked slightly. “No… it’s cute.”
The studio felt more like a playground than a rehearsal room.
You laughed so hard your stomach hurt as Jake bolted across the space, Sunghoon hot on his heels with a rolled-up sheet of paper like a sword.
“Sim Jaeyun!” Sunghoon yelled, his voice cracking slightly as he swung the paper at Jake’s retreating back.
Jake screeched dramatically, nearly tripping over a stray cable. “It was an accident, I swear!”
“Accident my ass!” Sunghoon shouted, finally whacking Jake on the shoulder with the makeshift sword. Jake yelped and flailed like a kid caught red-handed.
From his seat, Jay gave them a tired glance. “This is a music studio, not a playground,” he muttered under his breath.
Meanwhile, Heeseung, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, couldn’t hide his grin. “This is why we can’t have nice things.”
On the other side of the room, Kazuha was locked in a bickering match with Ni-ki over a knotted mess of amp wires.
“I told you to untangle these before rehearsal!” Kazuha snapped, tugging on one stubborn cable.
Ni-ki threw his hands up defensively. “Hey! Don’t blame me—Jay was the last one to use this amp!”
“Ni-ki, don’t you dare drag me into your mess,” Jay said lazily without even looking up.
Amid all this, Jay finally set his guitar aside and stood. He made his way to where you sat on the floor with your knees pulled up and your bag acting as a makeshift backrest.
Without a word, he dropped down beside you, his long legs stretching out in front of him, and then—to your surprise—he gently laid his head across your thighs with a dramatic sigh.
“They scare me sometimes,” he murmured, staring blankly up at the ceiling as if Jake and Sunghoon’s antics were some unsolvable cosmic riddle.
You bit back a laugh, reaching down instinctively to run your fingers through his dark hair.
“Shouldn’t you be used to it by now?” you teased, your fingers combing gently through the soft strands.
Jay let out another exaggerated sigh, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into your touch. “Hell no. You don’t get used to idiots. You just survive them.”
You shook your head, laughing under your breath. “Survive them? You’re dramatic.”
“I’m honest,” he shot back, cracking one eye open to look at you. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “You’re lucky you haven’t been around them for long. Me? I’ve seen things.”
You raised a brow, fingers still threading lazily through his hair. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Jake pouring an entire bottle of soda on his guitar case because he thought it was waterproof,” Jay deadpanned. “And Sunghoon trying to dry it with a blow dryer while the guitar was still inside.”
You couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled out of you at the mental image. “You’re lying.”
“I wish I was.”
You were about to tease him again when you realized—the room had gone eerily quiet.
The laughter, the yelling, even Kazuha’s dramatic scolding of Ni-ki—all of it had stopped.
Your fingers froze in Jay’s hair as you slowly looked up, only to find everyone staring.
Heeseung stood frozen mid-page flip, eyes wide. Jungwon had paused with his pencil half-raised like he’d forgotten what writing was. Kazuha and Ni-ki were no longer bickering about wires, now both gawking at you like you’d grown a second head.
Sunoo was the first to break the tense silence with his sharp voice cutting through: “Since when did you two get so close?”
Jay cracked open one eye, looking at Sunoo lazily as though this wasn’t the most incriminating position to be in—head in your lap, your fingers still tangled in his hair.
“…We’re dating.”
You could feel your soul leave your body.
“What?!” Ni-ki shouted so loud Kazuha flinched. “What the fuck—since when?!”
“Since when?!” Sunoo echoed again, clutching his chest like Jay had just personally betrayed him.
Jay sat up slightly but didn’t move far, propping his chin lazily in his hand as his smirk grew wider. “Do I need to print you all a timeline?”
Heeseung’s jaw dropped as Jungwon mumbled under his breath, “This has to be a prank. Jay doesn’t even like people.”
Kazuha’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish. “You—you’re dating—(Y/N)?”
Jay’s dark eyes slid to her as he tilted his head. “Problem?”
She sputtered. “No! I just—I didn’t—I didn’t know you knew how to date!”
“Rude,” Jay said dryly, but there was amusement tugging at his lips. He finally leaned fully away from you, though not before brushing his hand over yours casually.
You, meanwhile, wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “Jay—” you hissed under your breath, cheeks burning.
“What?” he whispered back with the faintest smirk. “We’re fake dating, right? So why not sell it?”
“You’re enjoying this too much,” you muttered, face still hot as you looked away from the group.
Jay only smirked, standing up and casually ruffling your hair as he passed. “Says you, pretty.”
You swatted at his hand, glare sharp, but it only made him chuckle lowly as he strode off—the picture of someone completely unbothered.
As your eyes lingered on his back, you felt someone sit beside you. Kazuha had dropped onto the floor next to you, her brows arched so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline.
“(Y/N),” she whispered sharply, leaning in close, her ponytail swinging. “You have three seconds—three—before I combust. Start talking.”
You pressed your lips into a tight line, waving your hands slightly. “Shh—it’s fake.”
Kazuha blinked. “…Fake?” Her voice was still hushed but dripping with disbelief.
“Yeah,” you whispered, shifting uncomfortably as you leaned your head back against the cool mirror behind you.
“We did it so… everybody would shut up. About all the gossip. About me. About him.”
Kazuha’s brows furrowed as she processed the words. Her gaze flicked between you and Jay across the room—where he was now slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder, laughing at something Jungwon said.
She moved a little closer, her tone softer now. “Well… as long as you two don’t regret it.”
You offered her a small, tired smile, fingers playing with the edge of your sleeve. “Yeah. I know. It’s not… it’s not like we’re planning for this to last forever.”
Kazuha sighed, her hand settling gently on your arm in a way that made the tightness in your chest loosen slightly.
“I just… don’t want you getting hurt, (Y/n). You’re too soft for this, and he’s—” She stopped herself with a quiet exhale. “Just be careful, okay?”
“I will,” you whispered back, looking at her with a faint smile. “And… I’m glad you care about me that way.”
Your gaze drifted back across the room—unwilling, yet magnetic.
Jay had his guitar fully strapped on now, his fingers effortlessly checking the tuning as his bandmates huddled around him.
Despite his focus on Jungwon’s animated explanation, he caught your eyes across the distance.
The faintest smile tugged at his lips. One so soft and unguarded it felt wrong for it to belong to the Park Jongseong people whispered about.
Then he turned back, nodding at something Jungwon said, his voice low but calm.
You swallowed down the weight blooming in your chest, unsure what to call it.
It had been three days since you agreed to fake date Park Jongseong.
Three days of shared meals.
Three days of him showing up at the studio earlier than necessary, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you practice with that lazy smile.
Three days of him walking you to your next class—hand in hand like it was second nature—his own classes long forgotten as he grinned at you like you were his syllabus.
And now, you were alone.
The warm air of the coffee shop clung to your oversized bomber jacket, the faint remnants of Jay’s cologne still lingering in the fabric like a quiet ghost.
Your fingers flew across your keyboard, the laptop screen glowing harshly against the dim, cozy lights of the café. Half-empty mugs littered the table—one of them yours, the other untouched, bought out of habit as if Jay were here too.
You let out a groan, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. “Ugh. Why is this so hard?” you mumbled under your breath, staring at the blinking cursor taunting you with the words ‘final paper due before college week’ at the top of your document.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the lack of Jay.
You sighed again, slumping into the wooden chair.
Dangerous. This was dangerous. Because Park Jongseong wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Like air you couldn’t stop breathing. Like the warmth in your chest when he’d casually brush the back of your hand with his thumb during a walk.
‘You’re getting attached,’ a voice in your head whispered—you knew it was true.
Your phone buzzed suddenly, sliding slightly on the table. You blinked, snatching it up as your heart did a stupid little leap at the name lighting up your screen.
jay 🐈⬛ [3:27 P.M.]: what are you doing right now, pretty?
You exhaled, typing back quickly.
you [3:27 P.M.]: drowning in a final paper. what about you?
It didn’t even take him thirty seconds to reply.
jay 🐈⬛ [3:27 P.M.]: i know, look outside.
Brows furrowing, you twisted in your seat, eyes scanning past the glass window. And there he was.
Park Jongseong, dressed casually in a black cardigan layered over a white shirt and jeans, a black messenger bag slung across his body. Black-framed glasses sat neatly on his nose, catching the warm café lights. A small grin played at his lips as he walked toward the entrance, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.
Your laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, your cheeks warming as he stepped into the cozy café light and headed straight for your booth. He moved with that same calm, unhurried stride that always made people turn their heads without him even trying.
As he reached you, Jay tipped his chin toward the empty space on the leather seat next to you, one brow raised playfully. “Is this seat taken?”
You shook your head with a grin, scooting over instinctively to give him space. “Nope. All yours.”
“Good,” he said softly, his voice laced with amusement as his gaze flicked briefly to the faint remains of your croissant on the plate.
But instead of sitting down, he rested his hand casually on the booth’s backrest and asked, “What do you want?”
“Food,” he clarified with a small smile, nodding toward the menu displayed on the table. “What do you want? You’ve been here for hours—you’ve probably run off caffeine alone.”
“I already had coffee,” you admitted, gesturing to the half-empty cup beside your laptop, “and a matcha latte. Plus…” You pointed sheepishly to the empty plate. “A croissant. Even.”
Jay’s eyes followed your gesture, then drifted back to you, unimpressed. “That’s it?”
“I’m fine,” you assured him with a sheepish smile.
But he only shook his head slowly, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval. “Do you want those red velvet cookies you like? And another cup of matcha?”
Your lips twitched into a small, embarrassed grin as you nodded, unable to argue. “Maybe… yeah.”
“Thought so.” His voice softened with a quiet fondness as he glanced down at your nearly drained cup again.
“Oh,” you said quickly, remembering, “I actually got you coffee earlier, but…” You gestured toward the untouched cup in front of you, ice long since melted. “It’s, uh, a little sad now.”
Jay looked at it, then back at you, the corner of his lips twitching upward as he interrupted, “I’ll drink it. Don’t worry.”
You raised a brow. “You sure? It’s basically room temperature coffee-flavored water at this point.”
“I’ve survived worse.” His grin deepened as he reached for the cup and took a sip anyway, not even flinching. “See? Still good.”
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head in disbelief as you muttered, “You’re unbelievable.”
Jay set his messenger bag down gently beside you, only grabbing his wallet before straightening up again.
“I’ll get your order. Stay here. And don’t touch your laptop for five minutes, okay? Your brain needs a break.”
You watched him retreat toward the counter, his black cardigan catching in the warm café lights, and you couldn’t help the way your heart squeezed a little at how effortless he made it feel—this caring, this being around you.
It didn’t even take two minutes before he was back, balancing a small plate in one hand with a red velvet cookie neatly placed in the center and an iced matcha latte in the other.
He set them down gently on the table like they were precious cargo, the ice in the matcha clinking softly as he slid the plate closer to you.
“There,” Jay said with quiet satisfaction, sliding into the booth beside you. He pulled his messenger bag into his lap, unzipping it to fish out his own laptop. “Now you have no excuse not to take a break.”
You smiled at him gratefully, fingers curling around the cold cup. “Thank you, Jay.”
He arched a brow at you as he flipped open his laptop, the corners of his lips twitching into that familiar teasing grin. “So, how’s my pretty girl doing?”
You nearly choked on your sip of matcha, setting the cup down with a soft thunk. “You—” You groaned, burying your face into your hands as your cheeks burned. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”
“Why not?” His tone was casual, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes as he rested an elbow on the table, chin propped in his palm. “It’s the truth.”
“You’re impossible,” you muttered through your hands, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at your lips.
Jay only chuckled, reaching out to gently tug your hands away from your face. “C’mere.”
You sighed in defeat and leaned against his shoulder, feeling his warmth seep into you as his arm automatically draped across your shoulders. His thumb rubbed slow, lazy circles against your upper arm.
“This paper’s going to be the end of me,” you mumbled, your voice muffled as you pressed your face lightly into the soft fabric of his cardigan.
Jay tilted his head slightly, glancing down at you with a soft huff of laughter. “No, it’s not. You’re too stubborn to let a paper win.”
You groaned again, closing your eyes as he gently shifted his hand to squeeze your shoulder reassuringly. “I’m serious, Jay. I’ve rewritten this paragraph five times. I feel like my brain’s turned to mush.”
“You’re too cute when you’re frustrated,” Jay teased, his thumb rubbing slow, lazy circles on your shoulder as you buried your face in your hands.
You groaned louder this time. “Stop trying to charm me and help me instead,” you mumbled through your palms.
He laughed under his breath, warm and soft. “Alright, alright. I’ll help you. Come on—send me the document.”
You peeked at him from between your fingers, eyes narrowing playfully. “You? Help me? Jay, you hate English too. I know you do.”
Jay smirked, leaning slightly closer as his black-framed glasses slipped just a little down his nose. “Are you forgetting I grew up in the States?”
You blinked at him, caught off guard before a laugh escaped your lips. “Oh my God… yeah. I forgot about that.” You leaned your head back against his shoulder, eyes closing briefly.
“That’s actually so unfair. You’re good at everything, aren’t you?”
Jay chuckled, his hand moving from your shoulder to tap your chin so you’d look at him. “Not everything. But helping my pretty girlfriend survive her final paper? That I can do.”
You tilted your head at him, trying not to smile too hard as you asked, “Are you really sure about helping me? I don’t want to hear you complain halfway through.”
“Do you even have to ask?” he replied smoothly, already pulling out his laptop and sliding it closer. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he murmured, “Password?”
You sighed dramatically but couldn’t hide your smile as you pushed your laptop toward him. “Fine, Mr. Fluent. But if I still fail this paper, I’m blaming you.”
Jay laughed, eyes crinkling as he adjusted his glasses. “Deal. But trust me—you won’t. Now, let’s see what’s turning your brain to mush.”
The warmth of his presence next to you, his voice laced with soft amusement, made it dangerously easy to forget this was all supposed to be fake.
Before either of you noticed, time had slipped past. The soft hum of the coffee shop dimmed as people filtered out, chairs scraping lightly against the floor.
Your eyes wandered to the window, catching the faint blur of water streaking down the glass.
“It’s raining,” you murmured, voice soft with surprise.
Jay’s fingers paused on the keyboard, his black-framed glasses reflecting the dull glow of his screen as he looked at you. Then, he turned his head toward the window, sighing. “Well, we can’t do anything about it now.”
You frowned, hugging the bomber jacket closer as your thoughts drifted. “I need to feed Doobu.”
Jay’s gaze flicked back to you, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as if he couldn’t help it. “You really are such a mom to that cat,” he teased lightly.
When your frown deepened, he chuckled and shut his laptop with a soft snap. “Good thing I’m prepared then.”
Your brows knitted as he leaned back in his chair and reached for his messenger bag. With an almost theatrical flourish, he pulled out a sleek black umbrella and gave it a little twirl in his hand.
“Really?” you asked, surprise breaking through your pout.
“Really,” he said, grin widening as he stood and offered you a hand. “Now pack up, pretty. We’re heading back before the rain gets any worse.”
You hesitated for a beat, staring at his outstretched hand and the casual way he said we’re heading back—like it was natural for him to be the one bringing you home.
With a soft huff, you started gathering your things, mumbling, “You act like I didn’t have a plan for getting back.”
Jay smirked knowingly. “Did that plan involve walking back alone in the rain with your laptop and a stack of papers?”
“…Maybe.”
He clicked his tongue, amusement glinting in his eyes.
As you zipped your bag and pushed it onto your shoulder, Jay was already standing, the black umbrella held loosely in one hand. His other hand was outstretched toward you, palm open, waiting.
You blinked at his hand for a moment before slipping your own into his, feeling the gentle but firm grip as his fingers curled around yours.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice soft, laced with a teasing undertone, dark eyes watching your face like he was memorizing it.
You gave a small nod, lips tugging upward despite the way your cheeks heated under his gaze. “Yeah. Let’s go before it gets any worse.”
The dorm lobby was alive with chatter—the low hum of voices, the occasional squeak of wet sneakers against polished floors, and the rhythmic drip of umbrellas shaking out rainwater.
You stood just inside the entrance, your bomber jacket clinging damply to your frame as Jay stepped back from the glass doors, his black cardigan wrung tightly in his hands.
He sighed, running a hand through his rain-dampened hair, water droplets falling to the floor with each movement. One foot still hovered near the door as if he’d been contemplating braving the downpour again, but he turned back to you instead.
“Here,” he murmured, slipping the soaked bomber jacket from your shoulders with a gentle tug. “No use keeping this on. You’ll catch a cold.”
You groaned softly at the clammy sensation of the fabric leaving your skin. “Ugh. I can already feel it in my bones.”
Jay chuckled under his breath, tucking the wet jacket over his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re so dramatic,” he teased, his dark eyes crinkling with amusement as he reached for your hand again. “Dry enough to head up?”
You nodded, though a small frown lingered on your lips. “I guess so.”
He caught the expression and tugged lightly at your hand, guiding you toward the elevators as laughter slipped past his lips. “Why’re you frowning like I just stole your cat?”
You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, cheeks warming as you grumbled, “Because I feel gross, and it’s all your fault for saying we’d be fine with one umbrella.”
Jay grinned, unbothered by the small cluster of students watching from the lounge area—phones in their laps, murmurs passing quickly between them like wildfire.
It was still strange for them to see Park Jongseong—Decelis’ stoic, untouchable guitarist—smiling like this, soft and easy, his hand wrapped around yours as if he had no care for the whispers.
“Alright, I’ll take the blame,” he said warmly, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze as the elevator dinged open. “But for the record, we were fine. I didn’t hear you complaining when you were stealing my body heat earlier.”
You huffed, attempting to mask your flustered smile as you stepped into the elevator. “That’s because I had no choice. You’re warm. Like… unnaturally warm.”
Jay followed you in, his grin growing wider as he leaned slightly against the elevator wall, still holding your hand as if letting go wasn’t an option. “Maybe I just run hot because of all the staring we’re getting.”
You shot him a look, realizing just how quiet the lobby had become behind you, the eyes still trailing as the elevator doors began to close.
“Let them stare,” Jay added, his tone softer now, eyes on you instead of anyone else. “They’ll get tired of it eventually.”
You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, shaking your head as you muttered, “You make it sound so easy.”
“Because it is,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You rolled your eyes fondly but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips as you leaned against him, the soft fabric of his soaked cardigan brushing your cheek.
He didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your frame, tugging you closer in a loose embrace despite being drenched himself. His warmth was faint but grounding, his palm rubbing slow circles on your shoulder in an effort to coax heat back into your chilled body.
Jay smirked faintly, eyes soft as he looked down. “Then we’ll be sick together. At least we’ll match.”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at his ridiculousness. “That’s not something to be proud of.”
The elevator dinged softly as the doors slid open to the fifth floor, cool air greeting the both of you as you stepped out.
Jay’s hand remained at your lower back, fingers resting lightly as you walked side by side down the hallway.
It didn’t escape your notice how natural it felt—how his steps matched yours, how he didn’t even have to ask which door anymore.
You shuffled the keys in your hand, fiddling with them briefly before finally finding the right one. “I swear my hands have turned numb,” you mumbled, attempting to insert the key while Jay hovered just close enough to catch it if it slipped.
“You need gloves,” he said absentmindedly, watching you with a small crease in his brows. “I’ll bring you some next time.”
“Next time?” you teased lightly, pushing the door open.
He grinned, unbothered. “Yeah. What, you think I’m letting you walk around in this weather alone again?”
Before you could respond, a familiar meow cut through your thoughts. Doobu padded toward you, tail flicking as her paws made soft thuds against the floor.
You couldn’t help the grin that bloomed on your face. “Hi, girl,” you cooed, crouching slightly to hold your hands out. “Give us a moment, yeah?”
Jay chuckled softly behind you, closing the door after you both stepped inside. He immediately began toeing off his sneakers, placing them neatly by the door. You followed suit, tugging off your damp socks and placing them near your shoes.
“Doobu looks offended you came home late,” Jay teased, eyes flicking to your cat as she stood by the doorway, watching him like a sentinel.
“She’s just being dramatic,” you said, waving Doobu off playfully. “She missed me, didn’t you, baby?”
Doobu blinked slowly at you before turning her gaze—suspicious and unyielding—back to Jay.
To your surprise, Jay crouched down, resting on the balls of his feet as he extended a hand toward her.
“Hey there, princess,” he murmured softly, his voice warm and careful, like he was approaching royalty.
You watched with wide eyes as Doobu—your notoriously selective little cat—didn’t hesitate. She leaned her fluffy head into his hand, her tail flicking lazily as she allowed him to scratch under her chin.
Jay’s grin widened, eyes softening at the white fluffball now purring beneath his fingers. “See? I told you she loves me.”
You swallowed hard, your hands rubbing your arms absently as your chest tightened—not with unease, but something else you refused to name.
Clearing your throat lightly, you asked, “Jay…?”
He hummed in acknowledgment, not even looking up as his fingers continued their careful strokes through Doobu’s fur.
You shifted your weight nervously from one foot to the other, cheeks burning as you avoided his eyes. “Do you… uh…” You paused, gripping the hem of your shirt tightly. “Do you want to stay over?”
That caught his attention. Jay’s hand stilled in Doobu’s fur as his eyes flicked up to you. He didn’t speak immediately—just watched you with a look that was almost unreadable. Your gaze darted away, heat climbing all the way to your ears.
When he finally did speak, his lips twitched into an amused smile as he let out a soft laugh.
“No need. The rain’s gonna stop eventually.” He stood, brushing his palms on his jeans, still looking at you with that knowing glint in his eyes.
You raised a brow skeptically, stepping closer to the window just as a loud clap of thunder rattled the glass. Sheets of rain poured relentlessly outside, heavy and unyielding.
“Really, Jay?” you asked, your voice deadpan as you turned back to him with a single raised brow.
Jay ran a hand through his damp hair, laughing under his breath. “Okay, okay… maybe not. But hey—we’ll see, yeah?”
You sighed, fighting the way your lips wanted to curl upward. “Right.” Gesturing toward your vanity chair, you added, “Sit down, will you? You’re dripping all over my floor.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he teased, plopping down in the chair with an exaggerated sigh as Doobu circled his feet like she’d adopted him already.
You knelt by your drawer, pulling out a folded set of your clothes and tossing them gently onto the bed for later. “Do you want to shower first or…?” You glanced back at him briefly, then looked away just as quickly.
“I’ll need to throw your clothes in the dryer if you’re planning to head out when—if—the rain stops.”
Jay leaned back in the chair, his black-framed glasses slightly fogged from the temperature change. His eyes glinted with amusement as he watched you shuffle through your drawer.
“Offering me your shower, your dryer… should I be worried you’re trying to make me stay longer?”
You shot him a glare over your shoulder, though your lips threatened to betray you with a smile. “Don’t make me take it back.”
He chuckled, stretching his arms above his head lazily. “Fine, fine. I’ll shower. Only because my clothes are sticking to me like a second skin.”
“Gross.” You wrinkled your nose teasingly, standing up with your hands on your hips.
Jay grinned as he began pulling off his damp cardigan. “You offered. Don’t act so surprised.”
You caught his smirk as you quickly turned your back to him, cheeks blazing. “Bathroom’s to the left. Towels are in the cabinet.”
“Got it.” He stood, ruffling your hair playfully as he passed you. “Thanks, pretty.”
You swatted at his hand half-heartedly, muttering, “Just go already.”
As the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut echoed in the room, you exhaled, shoulders sagging a little as if trying to shake off the heat blooming in your chest.
But of course, that didn’t help.
Trying to distract yourself, you knelt again by your drawers, fingers fumbling slightly as you rummaged for an oversized shirt and a pair of soft pajama pants—something Jay could wear while his clothes dried.
Your hands stilled for a moment as you stared at the folded fabric in your grasp.
Shaking your head, you pushed to your feet, clutching the clothes to your chest like a flimsy shield. You padded toward the bathroom door and raised a hand to knock, hesitating for half a second before rapping lightly on the wood.
“Jay?” you called softly, praying your voice didn’t betray the fluster simmering in your veins. “Are you… um, are you fully dressed, or…?”
There was a beat of silence, then the door creaked open just enough for his face to peek through.
Black hair damp and sticking slightly to his forehead, glasses fogged faintly at the edges from the bathroom’s heat—he was still fully clothed, a teasing grin tugged at his lips as his dark eyes flicked to the bundle of clothes in your arms.
“Planning to see me naked or what?” he drawled, leaning a little too casually against the doorframe.
Your mouth dropped open, heat crawling up your neck. “W-what?!”
Jay’s grin widened, clearly enjoying himself as he tilted his head. “I mean, I wouldn’t blame you, pretty. I know I look good—”
“Shut up.” You grumbled, shoving the bundle of clothes against his chest hard enough that he had to catch them. “Here. Wear these before I regret offering you my dryer privileges.”
His laugh echoed warmly as you grabbed the door handle, avoiding his gaze entirely. “Relax, I’m kidding—”
The words were cut off when you shoved the door closed in his face, his amused chuckle lingering through the wood like a ghost haunting your sanity.
You slumped forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the door, the faint sound of running water starting again on the other side.
“What am I getting myself into?” you whispered to no one in particular, clutching the edge of your hoodie as if it could steady the wild thrum of your heart.
Doobu, perched on the corner of your bed, blinked at you like she knew. Like she always knew.
Every little thing felt dangerous now.
It wasn’t part of the deal. None of this was.
You were supposed to keep this clean. Keep it simple.
But how could you, when the lines between fake and real blurred every single time he looked at you with those soft, knowing eyes?
Doobu’s tail flicked lazily against the sheets, her gaze still fixed on you.
You sighed, running a hand over your face. “Don’t look at me like that,” you whispered to her. “I know. I’m an idiot.”
Your shoulders shook as you tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh.
Jay’s reflection in the mirror only made it worse: his black-framed glasses slightly fogged from the heat of the room, fluffy, towel-dried hair falling haphazardly over his brows as he pouted behind you, hands working the blow dryer through your still-damp strands.
“Seriously, (Y/N),” he groaned, swaying slightly on his feet like it physically hurt him to say it, “pink Hello Kitty pajamas? With matching socks?”
You bit your lip hard, but the laugh still slipped out. “You look adorable, though.”
His eyes flicked up in the mirror, narrowing playfully at you. “Adorable? I’m a grown man, you know. The guitarist of a band. Not your—your sleepover buddy in Sanrio merch.”
“Mmhm.” You met his gaze in the glass, your grin widening as you teased, “You’re matching with me too, so you can’t even complain.”
Jay huffed, dramatic as ever, and reached up to push his glasses higher on his nose. Then, with a resigned sigh, he placed his chin carefully on top of your head, his fingers still gently raking through your hair.
“Be glad they’re fluffy,” he muttered. “If they weren’t, I’d have thrown a fit.”
You giggled, patting the top of his head like he was a sulky cat. “You’re surviving, big guy. Promise.”
When he was satisfied your hair wasn’t damp anymore, he switched off the blow dryer and set it aside. You stood, stretching a little as he followed you wordlessly to the bed. Both of you sank down onto the edge, the springs giving a soft creak.
Outside, thunder rolled low and lazy, followed by a flash of light that seeped through the cracks of your curtains.
Jay sighed, tipping his head sideways until it rested on your shoulder, his voice quieter now. “At this rate,” he murmured, “I think I’ll have to sleep over.”
You tilted your head slightly, catching sight of his soft profile, his lashes brushing his glasses. “That’s what I’m saying,” you replied with a small smile.
His lips curved into a grin against your shoulder. “Do I get extra points for being a respectful fake boyfriend and asking first?”
You laughed, leaning your head lightly against his. “I think you’ve already earned them, Jongseong. You dried my hair in Hello Kitty pajamas.”
He chuckled, shoulders shaking faintly. “Touché.”
Another rumble of thunder echoed outside, but in the warmth of your room, with Jay pressed comfortably against your side, it didn’t feel so heavy anymore.
Jay shifted, leaning back slightly so he could meet your eyes, his voice soft but teasing. “Do you want to eat?”
You blinked at him, eyebrows raising as you glanced at the window where rain still poured in heavy sheets. “Jay, no one’s going to deliver food in this weather.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “I didn’t say anything about delivery. I’ll cook.”
You turned to fully face him now, your expression somewhere between incredulous and amused. “You can cook?”
He stood, stretching a little as your shirt fell loose around him, then looked down at you with that confident half-smile of his. “I can. I’m pretty good at it, actually. So, what do you want?”
You paused for a moment, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them. “Anything with soup. I want something warm.”
His grin widened as he gave a mock salute. “Soup it is. Your personal chef, at your service.”
You couldn’t help but laugh as he made his way to the small kitchenette tucked into the corner of your dorm. He flicked on the light above the stove, already pushing his black-framed glasses up into his hair to keep them from fogging.
“Alright, chef Park Jongseong reporting for duty. What do we have to work with?”
You leaned back against the pillows, watching him open the fridge. “Literally everything.”
He shot you a playful look over his shoulder as he started checking the contents of your fridge and drawers. “You know, for someone who claims she doesn’t cook much, you’re stocked like a mini grocery store.”
You let out a small groan, pulling the comforter over your head like a turtle retreating into its shell. “That’s because Yunjin’s always dragging me to the supermarket with her. She acts like we’re shopping for a family of five.”
Jay laughed as he pulled out a few ingredients, setting them on the counter. “So basically, I should thank Yunjin for keeping you from starving?”
“Exactly.” You peeked out from under the blanket just in time to see him open a cabinet, finding pots and pans with a triumphant little hum.
He moved like he belonged there—like stepping into your small kitchen wasn’t foreign to him at all. In one smooth motion, Jay set the pot on the stove, grabbed vegetables from the fridge, and pulled oil and condiments from the shelves as if he’d memorized where everything was.
You didn’t even remember showing him.
It was amazing. Endearing, too, in a way that made your chest ache.
How did he manage to fit so seamlessly into your world? Into your space?
You hugged your knees tighter, eyes following the way his shirt shifted with every movement, the soft strands of his hair falling into his face until he brushed them back with a flick of his fingers.
With a small huff, you pushed the blanket off and stood up, padding softly across the room until you were behind him.
Jay was just tilting the bottle of oil over the pot when you slipped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against the warmth of his back.
He froze mid-pour, setting the oil bottle carefully down on the counter. His hands hovered for a moment before he let them fall over yours, thumbs brushing lightly against your knuckles.
“…What’s up?” he asked quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.
You mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, “Nothing.”
His head turned slightly, as if trying to catch your expression. “Doesn’t sound like nothing, pretty.”
You exhaled shakily. “Thank you… for everything.”
Jay let out a quiet chuckle, one hand leaving yours to rest over your forearm, squeezing it gently.
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just—” He stopped himself when he felt you press a little closer, like you didn’t want to let go.
Slowly, he turned in your embrace, his hands coming up to cup your face. His thumbs brushed softly under your eyes, catching the faint glassiness there.
“Hey… why do you look like you’re about to cry?” he murmured, his brows knitting together as he searched your expression.
You shook your head quickly, eyes falling shut under the intensity of his gaze. “I’m not,” you whispered, though your voice betrayed the tightness in your chest.
Jay sighed, his hands gentle as ever as he tugged you closer. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he said quietly, leaning down until his lips brushed the crown of your head.
He pressed a lingering kiss there, the warmth of it sinking straight into your bones.
For a moment, neither of you moved—just standing there in the soft kitchen light, his forehead resting against your hair as his arms curled protectively around you.
“Stay here for a bit,” he whispered, his voice almost lost in the sound of the rain outside. “Let me take care of you.”
You stayed still for another moment, his warmth and the steady thrum of his heartbeat making it so tempting to stay there forever. But with a small sigh, you loosened your hold on him.
“Go on. Finish cooking, Jay,” you said softly, stepping back.
His brows furrowed as he caught your wrist, keeping you close. “Promise me you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low but firm.
You blinked up at him, meeting those searching brown eyes behind his glasses. For a heartbeat, it felt like he was seeing through every wall you’d ever built.
But you managed a small, reassuring smile, nodding as you said, “I’m okay, Jay. Really.”
His eyes scanned your face one more time, as if memorizing every detail, before he let out a quiet breath and nodded. “Alright,” he said gently, finally releasing your hand. “But you tell me if you’re not, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you replied, your smile growing just a little softer.
He lingered for half a second before turning back to the stove, picking up where he left off with his chopping and stirring. You, on the other hand, padded back to the bed, curling up against the pillows as you grabbed the remote.
“What do you want to watch?” you called out, flipping through the streaming apps idly.
“Anything,” he replied without hesitation, his focus on carefully stirring the pot.
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You’re so easy to please.”
He glanced at you over his shoulder, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Not really. I just trust your taste, pretty.”
Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you quickly turned back to the TV, muttering, “Fine. But don’t blame me if we end up watching some cheesy rom-com.”
“Cheesy rom-com with you sounds perfect,” he teased, and you groaned, burying your face in the pillow as you tried—and failed—not to smile.
In the kitchen, Jay hummed softly under his breath, the sound blending with the gentle clatter of utensils and the comforting scent of soup starting to fill your dorm.
Every now and then, he’d glance your way, his expression softening like he couldn’t believe you were really here—like this wasn’t just some arrangement.
Time slipped quietly between you both after that. The sound of the rain outside became background noise to the soft dialogue of the movie you’d picked—a mellow rom-com that played lazily on the screen.
You had gotten so lost in the plot, your legs curled up beneath you, blanket tucked over your lap, that you didn’t notice when Jay padded softly around the room behind you.
At some point, the faint clinking of dishes came from the kitchenette, followed by the low hiss of something being poured. But your eyes stayed glued to the screen as your fingers fidgeted absently with the edge of the blanket.
It wasn’t until the bed dipped gently beside you that you tore your gaze away, startled.
Jay sat down next to you, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he placed two plates down on the small table in front of you—each holding a hollowed-out round of bread filled generously with steaming vegetable chowder.
Your brows arched in surprise as you glanced from the plates back up to him. “Wait, what’s this?”
“Vegetable chowder,” he said simply, brushing his slightly damp hair from his forehead. “In bread bowls. Thought I’d go a little fancy for you.”
Before you could answer, he got up again, moving back to the kitchenette where he grabbed two glasses of water.
He returned and set them down neatly beside the plates, as though he’d done this a hundred times before.
You blinked at him, warmth blooming in your chest as you murmured, “You didn’t have to, Jay.”
He looked at you then, his eyes soft, almost teasing. “You say that like I don’t want to.”
Your lips twitched upward into a small smile as you reached for the plate he slid toward you. “Thank you,” you said softly, wrapping your fingers around the spoon resting on the side.
Jay’s eyes followed your movements as you scooped up a bit of the steaming chowder, bringing it to your lips carefully.
You blew on it a little before tasting it, the warm, savory flavor melting on your tongue.
Your eyes widened slightly in surprise as you looked back at him. “Wait… this is actually really good.”
“Actually?” he repeated with a mock frown, though there was amusement dancing in his eyes. “That’s all I get?”
You laughed, the sound slipping out before you could even stop it, and quickly covered your mouth with the back of your hand.
“Okay, okay,” you said between little giggles. “It’s really well made. Creamy, perfectly seasoned, not too heavy—I love it.”
His grin softened into something warmer as he leaned an elbow on his knee, chin resting against his palm as he watched you take another bite. “Thank you,” he murmured.
You licked your lips, savoring another spoonful before looking up at him again, curiosity flickering across your face. “Seriously though… where did you learn to cook this good? You’re like—surprisingly domestic.”
Jay chuckled lowly, the sound rumbling pleasantly in his chest. He leaned back against the headboard, stretching one arm across the top as he thought.
“My mom, mostly. She loves to cook, so she made me help out the chefs a lot when I was younger. Said every man should know how to make at least one good meal.”
You grinned at the image of a tiny Jay peeling vegetables or stirring soup under his mom’s watchful eye. “That’s so cute. And the ‘chefs’ part?”
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well… them too. I mean, my parents hired some of the best chefs back home. I picked up a lot just by hanging around the kitchen when I didn’t feel like doing homework.”
Your eyes went wide, and you pointed your spoon at him dramatically. “Wait—you have chefs? Oh my God. You really are rich rich.”
Jay let out a laugh that had his shoulders shaking, his head tilting back slightly. “I told you,” he said with a smirk, “I’m not rich. My parents are. Big difference.”
“Uh-huh.” You rolled your eyes playfully, but there was a smile tugging at your lips as you took another bite. “Totally sounds like something a rich person would say.”
Dinner passed in a comfortable ease, the sound of rain still thrumming heavily against the window, but it felt less suffocating now—almost soothing.
You found yourself laughing too easily at Jay’s sarcastic remarks about the plot of the movie playing faintly in the background, and he seemed just as content throwing glances your way between bites.
By the time both your bowls sat empty on the small table, the two of you had migrated further up the bed.
Jay’s glasses had been discarded somewhere near the footboard, and you were now curled beside him, the both of you cocooned in the thick duvet as the movie rolled on.
“I still can’t believe he didn’t run after her in the first place,” Jay muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the screen where the male lead was pacing a dimly lit airport.
“Like, are you serious? She literally confessed, cried, and this guy just stood there like a log.”
You hummed, nodding faintly as you shifted closer to him. “I know, right? Classic. We love emotionally constipated male leads,” you mumbled, voice quieter now as you rested your head fully against his shoulder.
His arm tightened instinctively around your frame, hand brushing lightly up and down your upper arm as his focus returned to the screen.
Another scene played out—a heated fight, tears, a final desperate plea—and Jay made another comment, his voice soft and laced with mock exasperation. But when there was no reply, his brow furrowed slightly.
“(Y/N)?” he murmured, glancing down.
You didn’t answer.
Instead, he found you sound asleep against him, lips parted slightly, your lashes casting delicate shadows over your cheeks.
His expression softened in an instant. A quiet laugh left him—low, breathy, fond—as he carefully reached for the remote to lower the volume.
“Of course you’d knock out now,” he teased softly, though there was no bite to it.
Jay shifted carefully, sliding down until his head rested against the pillows. He pulled you with him, repositioning you so your cheek rested comfortably over his chest, his arms wrapping securely around you.
Your fingers, loose at first, instinctively curled into his shirt like they belonged there.
He smiled at the small gesture, his thumb brushing tenderly over your shoulder as he pressed his lips lightly to the crown of your head.
“Sleep, pretty girl,” he whispered into your hair, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Outside, the rain continued its steady rhythm against the glass, but in the warmth of your room, nestled in Jay’s arms, it felt a world away.
Light spilled into your room in faint golden streaks, slipping past the curtains and painting your walls in a quiet, sleepy glow.
The world outside was still a little dark, the rain from last night leaving droplets clinging to the window.
You moved slightly under the covers, the movement making you aware of the steady warmth pressed against your side.
Your brows furrowed for a second before the memories came flooding back—his laugh over dinner, the way his fingers brushed your hair dry, his arm pulling you closer as you both sank into the mattress.
It wasn’t a dream.
You sighed softly, instinctively shuffling closer to the heat, letting the fabric of his t-shirt brush against your cheek as you tucked your face against his chest.
He smelled faintly of your soap and something that was just… Jay. Comforting. Familiar.
If this was fake, your heart was clearly doing a terrible job at remembering it.
You tilted your head slightly, gaze catching on his sleeping face—his dark hair a little messy, strands sprawled across your pillow; his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks as he breathed steadily, lips parted just slightly.
He looked younger like this. Softer.
A smile tugged at your lips before you sighed again and started to moved away, only to freeze as his arms instinctively tightened around you, pulling you back flush against his chest.
“Jay,” you whispered under your breath, trying not to laugh as you wiggled slightly. “You’re literally—like—a human seatbelt right now.”
His hold didn’t loosen.
Groaning softly, you reached out blindly for your phone on the nightstand, your fingers barely grazing it before it almost slipped.
You let out a panicked squeak, fumbling as you caught it just in time. Relief washed over you as you lay back with a soft sigh, unlocking the screen to check the time.
6:07 AM. Just in time.
A low, sleepy groan sounded from above you, and you turned your head slightly to see Jay’s lashes flutter as he stirred. His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.
“…what time is it?” he murmured, his brows drawing together slightly.
You glanced back at your phone before looking at him again, his dark eyes only half-open but focused on you now. “Six. You can go back to sleep if you want.”
He hummed low in his chest, voice still heavy with sleep. “Mm… six? Too early.”
“I know,” you whispered, a small laugh escaping as you tried to slide away again. “But I should get up—”
Before you could finish, his arm looped fully around your waist, tugging you back so quickly that you let out a surprised yelp.
“Jay!”
“Five more minutes,” he mumbled into your hair, voice muffled and almost childlike. “You’re warm.”
You froze for a moment, your cheeks heating as you stared at the ceiling. “…You’re clingy.”
“Mmhm.”
But still, you let yourself relax back into his hold, your phone falling onto the mattress beside you.
“…You drool in your sleep,” you teased after a moment, just to distract yourself from how loud your heart was pounding.
His lips curved lazily against your hair. “Liar.”
You huffed out a laugh, fingers instinctively starting to trace light, absentminded circles over the fabric of his shirt—right along his stomach.
Jay flinched slightly at the ticklish touch but didn’t stop you, a soft chuckle rumbling low in his chest.
“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as his hand shifted to cradle the back of it gently.
You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, his dark eyes still heavy with sleep but impossibly warm as they softened on you. “Good morning,” he whispered.
A small smile tugged at your lips. “Good morning,” you whispered back.
Jay let out a deep sigh, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. “We have classes this morning, right?” he asked, his voice quiet but laced with reluctance.
“Mm,” you hummed a yes, not trusting your voice to sound normal with how close his face was to yours.
He groaned dramatically, his head falling back onto the pillow. “This is way too early. Who invented morning classes? I just wanna talk.”
You laughed, patting his chest lightly. “This is normal for me. I take forever to get ready.”
His brows raised slightly, a playful grin tugging at his lips as his hand rubbed soothing circles on your arm. “You? Taking forever to get ready? No way.”
“Shut up,” you muttered, rolling your eyes with a laugh.
Before he could say something else, the mattress dipped, and both of your heads snapped to the side just in time to see Doobu hopping up onto the bed.
Her fluffy white paws padded across the blanket until she stopped right at Jay’s stomach.
Without hesitation, she circled twice then plopped herself down, curling up like she owned the spot.
You blinked at the sight, and Jay glanced down in surprise as the small weight settled on him. “Well… good morning to you too, Doobu,” he said with a soft laugh, lifting a hand to tentatively scratch behind her ears.
You reached over to pet her as well, smiling at your cat. “Hi, Doobu. You’re really getting comfortable there, huh?”
“She’s got good taste,” Jay teased, watching as Doobu purred loudly under your combined affection.
“Or maybe she just likes warm, grumpy guitarists,” you shot back, laughing when Jay gave you a mock-offended look.
“She doesn’t even know I play guitar.”
“She knows enough.”
Jay snorted, shifting slightly as he kept petting Doobu. “Great. My competition for your affection is your cat. I can’t win this one, can I?”
You leaned your chin back on his chest, grinning at him. “Not unless you can purr like her.”
He raised a brow. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“You’re lucky I like you,” you countered with a cheeky smile.
He chuckled, his fingers brushing over your jaw for a brief moment before settling back on Doobu. “Fair enough.”
Eventually, the two of you managed to drag yourselves out of bed—though not without Jay dramatically groaning about how ‘it’s illegal to get up this early.’
You rolled your eyes and tugged him toward the kitchenette where the two of you brushed your teeth side by side at the small sink.
Your reflections stared back at you from the faint sheen of the kitchen window, where rain streaked down lazily and blurred the view of the nearby field outside.
The ground was still soaked, puddles reflecting the gray morning sky.
Jay wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his black-framed glasses slightly fogged from the temperature shift.
“We both have rehearsals today, right?” he asked, his voice still scratchy from sleep.
“Mm-hmm.” You nodded, spitting out toothpaste foam before grabbing your hand towel.
“There was a bunch of guitar cases when I peeked into the studio yesterday. Were those yours?”
Jay leaned his hip against the counter, grinning sheepishly as he folded his arms. “And the others too. We all kind of tried to ditch practice early yesterday, but I guess karma’s making us pay for it today.”
You laughed softly, handing him his folded clothes that had been hanging near the bed to dry. “Here. Better change before your precious guitars start a search party for you.”
He smirked, taking them from your hands. “Aye aye, captain. I’ll get dressed real quick.” He disappeared into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him.
While he changed, you rifled through your drawers and quickly pulled out your outfit—black jeans, a pink frilly blouse, and your favorite soft pink cardigan.
As soon as Jay emerged, now looking effortlessly put together in his black cardigan layered over his white shirt and jeans again, you darted into the bathroom to change and wash your face.
By the time you came out, he was standing by your vanity, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag.
You took his place at the seat, doing your skincare and swiping on some lip gloss as Jay picked up his phone to check something.
“You ready?” he asked after a moment, watching you toss your lip gloss back into your pouch.
“Almost. Can you refill Doobu’s bowl, please?” you said without looking up, focused on zipping your bag.
“Sure. Where’s her food?”
You pointed to the lower drawer by the fridge. “There.”
He crouched down easily, pulling it open and fishing out the bag of Doobu’s food. She must’ve heard the familiar sound because she immediately pranced over, tail held high and brushing against Jay’s shin.
“You’re so spoiled,” Jay murmured to the cat, shaking out the food into her bowl before straightening. “But I get it. You’re cute.”
“She’s training you already,” you teased, sliding your laptop into its sleeve.
He glanced at you over his shoulder, smirking as he put the bag back and shut the drawer. “Not hard. Your whole apartment’s kind of training me.”
“Training you?” you asked, amused as you slung your bag over your shoulder.
“Yeah.” He grabbed cardigan from the back of your chair and shook it out lightly before slipping it on.
“To… I don’t know. Make dinner, feed cats, be the kind of guy who carries an umbrella without forgetting it in every store.”
“Sounds like you’re saying I’m turning you domestic.”
“Sounds like you’re admitting you like having me here.”
You shot him a playful glare as you brushed past to put on your shoes. “Shut up and put your shoes on, Park.”
But you didn’t miss the soft grin tugging at his lips as he obeyed, crouching down beside you at the door.
You tried—tried so hard—not to let your eyes linger. Not to let your heart skip at the way he tied his sneakers with practiced ease, one hand braced casually on his knee.
But it was useless. Everything about him was slipping through the cracks you’d carefully built in your chest.
If this was fake, if all of this—his quiet laughter in your kitchen, his hands in your hair, his patient presence folded into your small world—was just part of the act—
Then what did it say about you that you wanted the real thing?
You shook the thought away quickly, standing as Jay followed suit. His shoulder brushed yours lightly, and for a second it felt… too normal. Too easy.
You grabbed your keys from the counter, sparing one last glance at Doobu still curled up on your bed. “Bye, Doobu. Be good while I’m gone, yeah?” you said softly.
Jay crouched slightly, pointing at her like he was scolding a child. “And stop stressing your mom out, okay?”
You laughed, fumbling with your lock as he straightened up, his own grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured as the door clicked shut.
“Ridiculously charming,” he countered with a wink that had you rolling your eyes—but not without smiling.
Outside, the air was cool and damp, the faint smell of rain lingering as Jay stretched his hand out toward you expectantly.
“Come on,” he said with a small tilt of his head, fingers wiggling slightly like he was daring you not to take them. “We’ve got all morning before classes start.”
You stared for a beat too long before slipping your hand into his. His grasp was warm, familiar.
“You’re turning soft, Jay,” you teased, the words laced with something you couldn’t quite name.
His lips quirked as he squeezed your hand, a flash of mischief lighting his eyes. “Only for you.”
And maybe—just maybe—you let yourself believe him, if only for a moment.
You’re an Omega with rare, selective instincts, untouched by every Alpha you've ever met. That is, until you catch a scent that stops you cold and ignites a hunger you’ve never known. It leads you straight to Park Jongseong—the quiet Alpha who barely acknowledges your existence.
Now, every encounter becomes a quiet war with your own body. You try to ignore the pull, and yet, you can’t shake the fear that he might be the only Alpha your instincts will ever respond to… and the only one your heart will ever want.
content tags/warnings: omegaverse (alpha!jay x omega!reader), slooowburn, emotional angst, female pursuer trope, pinning, heat&knot, marking, touch starved mc, nonchalant jay, she fell first and he fell HARDER trope. uhm humor?... pick me behavior, looots of second hand embarassment. explicit content warnings will be listed each chapter, long ass wc so brace yourself. MDNI.
note: if you are not into complicated characters with deep internal conflicts then this might be the story for you. feedback is welcome, but hate toward any characters will not be tolerated—any such behavior will be reported and blocked immediately.
1: MAKE ME YOURS ─── you want him? soo hard to get him.
2: PROVE I'M YOURS ─── and... the table has been turned.
3: ALWAYS YOURS ─── just confused alpha trying to "emotionally communicate".
synopsis . ❀ ݁ ˖ — yn finally agrees to a blind date to finally shut her bffs up about her tragic dating life. Dressed to impress but armed with zero expectations, she arrives at a café, scans the room, and sits across from a guy who checks every box: handsome yet cute, and surprisingly sarcastic in a way that keeps her on her toes. Only one problem: he’s not her date. Jake, a schools heartthrob laying low not to be caught by his fan girls, is just trying to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee when a stranger slides into the seat across from him and starts talking like they know each other. Intrigued — and a little bored — he plays along. What starts as a mistaken identity turns into a full-blown accidental date. And when yn finally realizes her mixup… she walks away mortified. But Jake? He can’t stop thinking about her. Now he’s determined to find her again — without revealing who he really is. As fate (or nosy mutual friends) brings them back together, their story becomes anything but accidental. Because sometimes, love finds you at the wrong table — at exactly the right time.
genre . ❀ ݁ ˖ — smau fluff lil angst strangers to lovers, jake loverboy arc??? love at first sight, he fell first she fell harder
SYNOPSIS ༊*·˚ Jays favorite guitar gets stolen, breaking his heart and forcing him to to buy a new guitar from the music store downtown. While on a search for a new set of strings he has a chance encounter with one of the stores employees and finds there’s more to her that meets the eye. Eventually his visits to the store become more frequent as he now spends most of his time trying to convince her to join his band. Though things only grow complicated when old flames return and drive a distance between the two of them once he finally gets closer to her heart.
LOG; ❝ AVALON ❞ ─── park jongseong & fem!rea ⭑.ᐟ fluff/ slight angst ༯ contains! university enhypen. & rockstar jay ꫂ Ot7───★˙nainais library !! @k-films
CASTING ot7 Enhypen, JAYS BAND xdinary heroes jungsu, riize wonbin, riize sohee, all hours masami , dreamcatcher siyeon , lead guitarist/vocalist reader. READERS FRIENDS xdinary heroes gaon, blackswan nvee, boynextdoor jaehyun, xdinary heroes jooyeon, txt beomgyu. READERS OLD BANDMATES all(h)ours xayden, boy next door leehan, xdinary heroes gunil, xdinary heroes ode, xdinary heroes junhan, female oc (noa). HONORABLE MENTIONS lesserafim chaewon, soloist alexa.
℘an᭪ : This is part of admins Enhypen University Special Event. This series also has slight connections to every series in said event so occasionally characters from the other members chapters may appear in this series as well.
DROPPING: ????
THE SERIES TAGLIST CAN BE FOUND HERE, PERM TAGLIST HERE
CHARACTER PROFILES › ENHA & FRIENDS | JAY & THE BAND | READER & FRIENDS | READERS EX BAND
• SYNOPSIS: A fleeting encounter with Park Jay at a high school party leaves a quiet imprint on your then broken heart. Years later, you find him again, now as an icy guitarist of the campus boy band, HYPHENIX. You never spoke again, but you remembered his eyes, his words, his presence and how he lingered at the back of your mind years after. You wanted to reach for him, but he was so far, popular, untouchable that you decided to pour your heart to him in secret, until the secret was revealed but someone else claimed it before you could.
Or in which you pour your heart into anonymous letters for the cold, distant guitarist, Jay, only to watch your best friend claim every word as her own.
• PAIRING: Park Jongseong (Jay) x afab!reader
• WORD COUNT: 21.4k (Part 1)
• CONTENT TAGS: Non idol au, university settings, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, strangers to lovers, slow burn, shy reader x popular Jay, down bad reader, betrayal, abandonment, miscommunications or lack of communications, profanities, name calling, stereotyping, best friend's boyfriend, reader is nosy and loves other people's business way too much (my twin fr), fear of rejection and unwanted attention, body image issues in the beginning, toxic relationships and friendships, low-key stalker reader, reader wears glasses, not proofread, lmk if I missed anything.
• AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic turned out to be more lengthy than I initially planned, so I am splitting it into 2 part. Lmk if you want to be tagged for part 2 when I post it. Your likes, comments and reblogs are always welcomed and appreciated. Thank you so much for showering my write ups with your love. Happy reading♡♡
The music blaring through the speakers hit you first, deep bass vibrating through the pavement long before you reached the house. It meddled with your heartbeat, getting louder with decreasing distance from the party. You sighed leaning your head on the car's window, the house looked unfamiliar, windows glowing red, blue, green against the night. You didn't know whose house this was, just that your boyfriend said everyone would be there and to let yourself loose from time to time. You fixed the glasses on your nose, and adjusted your jacket, you turned your head to look at your boyfriend.
He looked in your direction briefly when he felt your gaze on him before sighing, "don't stress too much." You gulped, feeling anxious, "I don't really know anyone there Joon," you started, eyes brimming with worry, "you'll stay by my side right?" You heard him exhale a deep breath before throwing a wink at you, "yes babe, don't worry, you look really beautiful today, I'm stressed someone will steal you away from me." You pushed him a bit, blush creeping on your neck as you turned back towards the window.
Cars were lined up the driveway, recklessly parked. You wouldn't expect anything less from high schoolers anyway. You could hear the screams and laughter from the porch, it was loud and chaotic and it made your stomach churned. "Let's go," your eyes followed your boyfriend's actions, and you proceeded to take off your seatbelt. He stood beside the door tapping his foot impatiently, you shook your head and opened your side of the door. He locked the door behind you and started making his way towards the house. You hurriedly rushed behind him, and then slowed your steps down when you reached beside him.
The air was thick inside, tangled in a weird mix of cheap perfume, alcohol and something burning, maybe it was food or the fireworks you didn't know. Your hand latched onto your boyfriend's sleeve as soon as you entered. The environment was warm, crowded, strangers pressed against each other like puzzle pieces that don't belong together. The LED lights stung your eyes. You moved through the crowd tightly pressed against your boyfriend's side. Every corner of the room was alive with conversations you weren't a part of, some shouting over the music, some laughing at their friend's antics, some posing for pictures. The walls of the house felt suffocating though it was relatively big, the energy inside too much, reminding you that you don't belong here.
The music was pounding in your ears, too loud, too bothersome. You stood beside your boyfriend, who anxiously texted his friends asking where they are. Your eyes trailed towards the dance floor, bodies swayed with the rhythm of the music, some too close, some trying not to lose their balance. It happened too fast, one moment your boyfriend was beside you, another moment he rushed towards the other side of the room completely disregarding your presence. Your eyes followed him, your steps following suit. Someone shouted over the bass, out of frustration or joy you couldn't tell.
You grabbed your boyfriend's hand, your action making him stop to look at you. Just in time someone crashed into your shoulder, their clumsy actions making you stumble as a slosh of liquid hit the floor beneath you and onto your heel-cladded feet. The sticky scent of fruit punch or some weird concoction clung in the air, few people gathered around to look at the mess before laughing and stepping over it like it didn't matter. Your feet felt sticky and your boyfriend rolled his eyes at the sight, "how about you go to the bathroom and clean yourself? I'll wait for you here." You grimaced before nodding your head at your boyfriend and making your way towards the bathroom.
You washed your feet and heels with irritation seeping deep in your bones, this is the exact reason why you don't do parties, it's messy and loud and everything you tend to avoid. After drying your feet and heels with tissue, you took a brief look at yourself in the mirror. You combed your fingers through your loose hair to make them a tad bit presentable, fixing your glasses yet again you sighed and texted your boyfriend to meet near the dance floor. You made your way out of the bathroom and towards the dance floor, scanning the room for your boyfriend as you waited for him to text you back.
"Joon?" You tapped his shoulder when you found him leaning on the wall as he chatted with someone animatedly. He turned around, visible irritation laced on his face as he excused himself and made his way in the opposite direction, you followed suit, confused about his sudden discontent towards you. "Joon, where are you going? I asked you to wait for me, didn't I?" He stopped abruptly when he was sure he was away from the eyesight of his friends. You collided with his back, "I was just catching up with my friends! Can't you at least leave me alone for a few minutes?" You shuddered at his high-pitched tone, "you know I don't like partying yet I came since you promised that you'll stay by my side."
"Gosh you're so clingy-" his voice was cut off when someone called out his name, both of you turned around towards the person, "is this your girl Joon? Won't you introduce her to us?" You eyed the girl who smiled at you after giving your boyfriend a sharp side eye. He shrugged, ushering her to join others before he turned towards you. "Take your jacket and glasses off, try to look good for me in front of my friends, I've a reputation to uphold." Your eyes widened at his words rendering you speechless. It was the first time he had uttered those words to you, was he ashamed of introducing you to his friends just as you were? You thought he loved you for you.
All of your thoughts came to a halt when he turned you around and took off your jacket despite you protesting. You weren't comfortable with showing much skin. He knew that the spaghetti strap top you were wearing underneath made you feel more conscious about yourself and your surroundings. He threw the jacket somewhere on the couch, grabbing your hand and made his way towards his friends. "Joon, you know I'm not good with people, what are you doing?" He ignored your pleas as he stopped in front of his friends. You put your head down, hoping somehow they'll focus on your boyfriend and forget that you existed.
"Your girlfriend is really pretty, Joon." One of the girls from his circle chimed, her nails lightly scratching his arms, she didn't even spare you a glance as she went on about how pretty you are, and how funny you must be. Everyone else looked a bit uncomfortable at the exchange aside from your boyfriend and her. Someone cleared their throat to break the awkward tension and your boyfriend snapped from his trance and proceeded to introduce you. Awkward and sympathetic smiles greeted you in return, their eyes meeting with each other like they knew something you didn't. The same girl asked you to have a drink, laughing obnoxiously loud as you declined as if not abusing your liver was a mundane thought to have.
Joon grabbed the drink from the waiter and held your face with one hand as he forced you to drink whatever it was in that cup, you pushed him, startled by him constantly crossing your boundaries without a single care. The whole group gasped as he stumbled backward and fell on the ground. Few of his friends took out their cameras to record the scene. You wiped the remnants of the drink dropping down from your mouth, your eyes fixed on the way your boyfriend glared at you. The girl from earlier sat by his side, words of venom spilling off from her cherry lips as she helped your boyfriend get up. And with the way your boyfriend's hand rested low on her lips and the concern etched on her face, you knew what place you held in your boyfriend's life.
You shook your head as you made your way towards the back of the house, taking off your glasses momentarily to wipe the tears that managed to fall off your eyes. The backyard was nearly empty save it from a few people who were smoking joints in the corner. You made your way towards the small staircase which led towards the gazebo and sat there, contemplating on your reactions towards your boyfriend's actions. You turned to look if he followed you but got more disappointed as you saw him wrapping his arms around the girl instead. You couldn't figure out if the shiver that went down your spine and the goosebumps on your skin was because of your boyfriend's actions or because of the weather.
You let the tears flow, your glasses fogging up as you took deep breaths to control losing your shit right at a stranger's house. This isn't how you planned the start of your weekend to go, yet here you were, drowning in your misery as your mind went back to all the things your boyfriend did previously which you ignored. You were too busy believing in his potential that you forgot to look at how he is in the present. All the lies, the excuses, the missed dates, the secrecy everything played in front of your eyes like a tape record on loop. You blame yourself for letting him play with you for so long.
You stopped crying when a blurry image came into view, you took off your glasses, wiped it with the hem of your top and put it back to get a better view. You heard a sigh from beside you, as your vision adjusted, a handkerchief. You took it in your hand and wiped your tears, unable to look at the person who handed it to you. "Young love, huh? Must be painful..." your eyes fell on the stranger who sat beside you, a half-smile adorning his face, not unkind but more like he knew how you were feeling, "but hey, heartbreak makes a good story for later, right?" You furrowed your eyebrows at his comment, "you're saying it like you're some old man trapped in a hot boy body."
"You're saying I'm hot?" Your cheeks flared up with heat as you let the weight of your words sink in your head, your eyes widened in embarrassment as he just laughed. You took in his appearance, he was laughing with his head thrown back, carefree and unfiltered like he owned the world. His cheeks flushed, either from alcohol or laughing, you weren't sure. His smile was wide, the kind of smile which made people look at him twice even without meaning to. His hair's a little messy, pushed back like he ran his hands through it one to many times. His eyes shined with a tipsy charm as they locked with yours, the kind of eyes which makes you forget your own name even when he's sober.
"I saw what happened back there, thought you'd appreciate a company," his words brought your mind back to your current situation, frown appearing on your relaxed face once again. You sighed, hugged yourself, maybe you could use some company, "I really thought he loved me," you started, head hanging low as you felt shame consume you for being so stupid, "I let him break one too many of my boundaries." He sighed as he took off his jacket and placed it on your shoulders. His scent enveloped your senses, calming your frantic heart a little, "dump him, he's not worth it and you're better than this."
You looked at him briefly, "I don't know if I have that much confidence in me, I don't have anyone else other than him." His hand made its way to your chin, lifting it up slightly, you're met with his sharp gaze, "confidence isn't loud you know, sometimes confidence is just choosing yourself over others. And I believe you're closer to choosing yourself than you think." His determined eyes and lopsided smile made your heart skip a bit. He reluctantly removed his hand from your chin, coughing awkwardly as he looked away as if his words didn't really pierced through your heart. "You think so?" You questioned meekly as you fiddled with your fingers. He looked at the sky, his Adam's apple bobbing as he gulped, "You don't need to be confident to walk away. You just need to take one step. And yeah, maybe you feel like he is all you have right now but he is not all there is. Don't build your entire world around someone who can't hold it for you."
You let his words sink in your chest, your boyfriend was the only person you had, he made sure of that. Maybe deep down you knew you deserved better than him, and maybe you just needed someone else to remind you, "you're great with words, can I at least know the name of the person I am trauma bonding with?" He chuckled at your words, "Jay's fine." You nodded, telling him your name in return. You spent the rest of the night talking with him, your mind drifting far off from your boyfriend as you laughed at him while he explained how he got fed up with his friends who were shit-faced drunk and creating a scene. He told you how parties weren't really his cup of tea but he liked entertaining his friends who loved it. As the night went on you realized he was drunk as well and probably won't even remember this small exchange with you in the morning, yet you were glad you weren't drowning alone in your misery tonight.
"Ah, I need to go. My friends have been calling me non stop and my phone was on silent mode." He was on his feet and off towards the house before you could bring yourself to stop him to ask for his number. You booked a cab to get you back to your house when you realized he didn't take his jacket back with him. You just looked at him as his figure disappeared into the crowd and ran towards the direction he went but you lost him and you wondered if you'll ever be able to meet me again. You reached home, head pounding due to all the crying and a little bit of drink which your boyfriend forced you to drink.
You quickly messaged your boyfriend to call it quits and blocked his number from every possible app you could, not even waiting for his reply. You opened your instagram, your fingers moving before your mind did. You recognized a guy from your school, Sunoo, at the party. He's a social butterfly. Maybe his profile could help you with finding Jay. You opened his profile, sighing in relief as his page was public, you went to the tagged section to see if you could find Jay and there he was. You zoomed in to take a clear look, the picture was blurry but the jacket in the picture looked familiar to the one currently draped on your chair. You clicked on it to see if his username is tagged and thankfully it did. His profile was more low-key than low-key, just some pictures of his guitars, a group picture and a name, HYPHENIX.
The university's campus is louder and lively than it needs to be. The courtyard buzzing with laughter and talks of people huddling together to make memories. People walk in with their little groups, coffee in one hand, backpacks slung over their shoulders, carefree like they've already figured out how to survive here, like they know they belong here. You pass through them like wind brushing past one's hair, your head down, hands clasped around the straps of your backpack. The hallway isn't any better, students rushing to get to their respective classes, some frantic, some lazed out. There's echo of shoes, heels, sneakers, boots, which remind you that you are walking with them, just not beside. Voices overlap, laughter resonates, lockers being slammed shut and class door's daring you to knock and enter. Everyone seems to have somewhere to be, someone to text, someone waiting for them to join and you just wheeze past them, not invisible entirely just easy to miss.
You're halfway to your class when you hear someone call out your name, turn around and smile softly at your best friend, Ava, short for Avalyn, to catch up to you. "Where are you running off to?" You take off your headphones and place it inside the case, "my morning class Ava! You got free time?" She shook her head, her keratin smooth hair swaying slightly at her movement, "I'm trying for cheer squad remember? I'm going for a practice session to get through the audition." You nodded your head in understanding, she had been trying to have a spot in the cheer squad for a while now, she's good at it you think, but you guess popularity plays a key role in getting into the team.
She continued to walk by your side as she gushed about how she's getting better at cheering, you listened to her, that's what you usually do. You bid her goodbye and enter your class. The class went on as usual, nothing out of ordinary. You took notes of the things the professor said, then quietly packed your things to leave. You were placing the headphones in your ears when your eyes landed on a figure standing a few feet away from you, your steps halted and there he was, Jay. He was leaning against a pillar, nodding his head at the person talking with him, one hand raking through his already messy hair. His other hand was holding onto the strap of his guitar case.
You watched him from the entrance of your class, occasionally sliding your finger on your phone screen to appear busy as you stole glances at him. Your eyes blinked a few times, not really believing the sight in front of you. He barely spoke, just nodded along the conversation with a blank expression on. He hadn't changed much, except he was now taller, his features more sharp, and more mature than you last remember. The sight of him made your heart skip a beat, maybe it was because you saw him after so many years or maybe because he hadn't left your mind even once since you had a talk with him at that high school party.
He reminded you of the past version of yourself which you haven't really forgotten. A small crowd gathered around him, he sighed heavily. His eyes scanned around the area, you hid yourself behind the door of your class. You peeked from your place, your breath caught. He didn't notice you, of course he didn't. He excused himself as he started walking towards the opposite direction, the crowd following close behind him and that's when it hit you, how far both of your lives had drifted. There he was, in the spotlight, surrounded by people who admired him while you stood behind the class doors, in the shadows, wondering, watching.
"Where are you?" Ava's voice rang through your headphones as you ordered your coffee from a local coffee shop. You paid the cashier and thanked him as you made your way out of the shop, "at the coffee shop, I'm going out for a bit." You could imagine her pouting on the other side of the phone, her voice whiny, "why are you going out alone? I would have loved to accompany you, don't forget you have me by your side okay?" You pursed your lips as you nodded at her words then realizing she couldn't possibly see you, "I know Ava, but I can't always depend on you right?" She opened her mouth to protest, "you can depend on me, I'm your only friend." You frowned but didn't disagree with her, it was true that she was your only friend, she has been the only one who saw you and has been by your side since the university started and you're glad that she stood beside you and helped you.
"I'll make it up to you okay?" She squealed at your remark, hanging up the phone before informing you about her nail appointment, your eyes unconsciously fell on your own hands, maybe you could get a manicure too. High school was hard after your breakup, with no one by your side but you got through it alone. Now, as you were older and wiser than your high school self, you started to enjoy your own company too. You sipped your coffee as you walked down the street, your feet leading you nowhere in particular when your eyes landed on the familiar mop of hair down the street. You stopped in your tracks, closing your eyes, you shook your head, when you opened your eyes there was no one in sight. You sighed, you're starting to hallucinate about Jay now, it wasn't good for your heart.
You continued your way down the street, ears picking up angry voices across the alleyway. You looked at your surroundings, not many people walk around nowadays. You told yourself you were just stretching your legs, but truthfully curiosity took the best of your senses and guided you across the alleyway where the voices became more clearer as you walked closer. You stood in the corner, your eyes squinting behind your glasses to take a closer look. "I want you to focus on your academics too, Jay. We don't want your silly little hobby to come in the way of your career." Your brows furrowed when your heart a high pitch feminine voice and a name so familiar you could write in your sleep.
You crane your head to get a glimpse of the scene. There stood Jay, his head hung low as he avoided the eyes of two older people, presumably his mom and dad as they lectured him in front of their car. "Your music is taking up more of your time than your academics, don't forget you're going to be the hire of our business, the sooner you realize this the better it will be for you." Your heart sank as they went on and on about Jay's choices and how disappointed they are at him. Your eyes followed his parent's car as it left, then trailed towards the boy who now was crouched down on the road. He took a few rocks from the ground and threw them across the road, his face visibly contoured with hurt and anger.
You took a step forward before deciding against it. You were eavesdropping, which you were sure wasn't welcomed with the scenario that unfolded right in front of your eyes, but watching him slump against the concrete wall, head between his hands, you wanted to comfort him, just like how he did when you were at your lowest. You wanted to help him, encourage him to not give up on his love for music just to satisfy his parents but with the image he had built around himself in the campus, it was impossible for you to just randomly show up to him to console. He would kill you with his stare before you even opened your mouth, so you decided to stay in the shadows and help him with his issues. By being a secret admirer, the book girlie inside of you was dancing in excitement.
Early morning in the campus was just how you imagined it would be, it carried a quiet kind of hush which felt too sacred to disturb. The sun had began to rise not long ago, casting long golden rays across the campus building, few of the students were scattered around the campus, you walked through the hallway which was nearly empty save for some lone students with headphones on or a book in hand, your footsteps were light but quick as you occasionally turned around to check in your surrounding. Your hands tightly clutched around your bag as you overworked your brain to map out the locker room in the building. You relaxed when you found the large 'Locker room' sign hung upon the metal rod, your eyes scanning the area nearby before entering inside.
Few of the students were busy with their own things inside the room, none of them paying attention towards you. Your eyes scanned the area, feet moving towards the locker you were determined to find, you causally scanned the names on the lockers, totally nonchalant if anyone asked you. Your steps came to a halt when you came across the 'Park Jongseong' locker. Peeking your head at the entrance to check anyone's presence one last time, you hurriedly took out the letter you had neatly packed inside an envelope and slid it inside the locker from the small gap that was present. Your hands trembled, heartbeat erratic as you stepped away and started walking towards the cafeteria, your head hung low as you zipped your bag.
You saw Jay pass by you with one of his band members, Heeseung, the vocalist as both of them animatedly chatted about something. Your eyes followed his features, he seemed to be far more relaxed as he laughed at something Heeseung said, that laugh almost reminded you of the night of the party. You wondered what they were doing in the campus early in the morning when your eyes landed on the new notice on the notice board along with various other banners which decorated the walls of the hallway. You stepped closer to have a clearer view of the notice displayed, Symphoria 25, the widely known college fest of your university.
Your eyes went back to Jay and Heeseung who were now entering the locker room, their backs turned towards you. Symphoria, you'd heard a lot about the college fest, it draws in thousands of people not just from the campus but from the city and beyond. A perfect opportunity to showcase your talent and get exposure. Maybe Jay and his band had started early morning practice to perfect their art for the fest, it was inevitable that they would participate in the fest. You checked the time on your phone, you still had a good 20 minutes before your class started so you made your way back towards the locker room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jay to see if he got your letter or not.
The hallway had started filling in with the usual chatter of students, as soon as you were about to enter the locker room you caught Jay coming out of the room and in a reckless way to avoid facing him you turned around to run in the opposite direction. But luck wasn't by your side and your leg slipped and you fell, right in front of Jay, and his friend Heeseung. "Are you okay?" You recognized Heeseung's voice as he extended his hand for you to take. A few of the students gathered to watch the commotion. Your head was hung low, and you prayed the universe to swallow you whole instead of letting you face humiliation. You held Heeseung's hand to stand up, then immediately let go and hid your face with both of your hands.
Heeseung chuckled at your antics, finding your embarrassed self quite endearing, he looked at Jay whose eyes were trained on you, a subtle frown adorning his face, lips pursed together. Jay tilted his head as he watched, you peeked from the gaps in between your fingers, head still down, your eyes caught the sight of your letter in between his fingers, the letter still sealed neatly. "Hey don't be embarrassed, things like this happen every time," you turned towards Heeseung, your hands still on your face as you nodded at his words and bolted out of the place and towards your class.
Heeseung's eyes followed you till you turned around the corner, confusion etched upon his face like a question scribbled in a language he wasn't proficient in. He turned towards Jay, who was also looking at the direction you just ran to, his expressions blank but with a hint of curiosity behind his eyes. "I guess she was too humiliated to wait and talk, I genuinely thought she did this to have our attention," Heeseung broke the silence, making Jay look towards him. Now one would paint Heeseung as a stuck up individual after what he said, but it wasn't a regular sight for any of their band members to not have girls lining up to have a conversation with them, you'd be the first to avoid them all together. He was genuinely confused with your actions.
Your footsteps echoed off the walls of the hallway in frantic rhythm. Your hair sticking on your face and bag bouncing off your side. You reached towards your classroom door, slowing down just enough to avoid getting slammed on it. You slipped inside and scanned the room for an empty seat. Your chest raised and fell as you sat on an empty seat, you took deep breaths to look composed but the flush of your cheeks and the way your hands gripped the edge of the desk betrayed you. The professor entered the class and began the lecture but your mind drifted off towards the incident that happened back in front of the locker room. You slammed your head on the desk lightly to avoid attention, grimacing about how humiliating the incident was.
"You look tired, did you not get enough sleep?" You glanced towards Ava, who was happily munching her food while her doe eyes stared at you, "Yeah, couldn't sleep." She pouted at your words, shoving your shoulder lightly, "you should take care of yourself more, you worry me so much, you don't have anyone else other than me who takes care of you." You smiled awkwardly at her statement, internally grimacing. Her words are always sweet like honey, the kind that drips with warmth and affection until you realize what comes next, like she's trying to convince you that your light only shines when she's with you.
Your eyes wandered towards the cafeteria door when students started talking in hushed whispered and gasp, there they stood Heeseung, Jay, Jake and Sunghoon, the four members of band, HYPHENIX. Ava followed your gaze, vast smile etching on her face, "aren't they just dreamy? You think Sunghoon's single?" Your head turned towards her instinctively as her voice reached your ears, "since when are you interested in them?" You don't remember her gushing about the band before, sure they were pretty popular but Ava was too obsessed with cheer to ever focus on anything else. She just shrugged, not bothering to reply, you frowned, following her line of vision where Jay was seated with his bandmates.
Your breath hitched when you spotted the familiar looking envelope in Jay's hand, the seal broken off, he had read the letter. Your eyes traced from his hands to his face, watching, observing, like you always do. Jake was talking about something while nudging Jay, Heeseung throwing his back as he laughed and Sunghoon just shook his head, amused by his friends. Jay smiled softly, his eyes still trained on the letter in his hands, playing with its edges gently. You haven't seen him smile like that ever since you saw him, his expressions always so distant and reserved, one would think twice before approaching him. You could tell you weren't the only person to witness it when you heard whispers around you.
"Wow I never knew he could smile like that!", "so the icy guitarist of HYPHENIX knows how to smile?", "is that a letter in his hand? A love letter maybe?", "didn't think of him as the romantic type."
You turned your head back towards your food when you felt Jay's gaze travel towards your table, you hid your face by keeping your palm over half of your face. "Oh my Jay's looking towards me," your eyes met Ava's as she exclaimed happily, gathering attention from a few of the students sitting nearby. More whispers started arising after her exclamation cause indeed Park Jay was looking towards your table, at who? You weren't sure. Your mind unconsciously drifted towards the time when you fell down in front of Heeseung and Jay, and you hoped he didn't remember how you looked.
"Yah Jay you keep on looking at the envelope like it will come alive and tell you who sent you this..." You were making your way towards the last class of the day when you heard Jay's name, looking up you saw the music room sign above the closed door. You walked towards the half opened window trying to listen to what they were talking about. From where you were perched up, you could see Jay's side profile, Jake standing in front of him, you could see half of Sunghoon's face and Heeseung's back, all huddled up with their respective instruments in their hands. "I really wanna know who wrote this, I mean their words hit so close, it instantly lifted his mood as soon as he read it," Heeseung followed as others nodded. Your heart skipped a beat, you stepped away from the window. They said he loved your letter, that it instantly lifted his mood. You smiled sheepishly, a new skip in your step as you made your way towards your class.
Maybe you could continue to support him like this, silently, from afar, without the fear of getting rejected. He would be aware that there's someone who silently has his back, and you wouldn't have to worry about being the center of attention. And that's what you did, you wrote letters for him, every week. Words you couldn't say out loud found a home on paper wrapped in a plain envelope. You poured your admiration, your care, and all the quiet things you felt into the letters. You slipped them into his locker, or tucked between library books you knew he'd borrow, each note was a small piece of your heart, anonymous but sincere. You watched him smile at the words, never knowing they were yours. He would sometimes write back to you, placing his letters inside the library book he last borrowed and when he would come and check the next time, he would smile at its disappearance. He would know you got his letter when you'd mention it in your next one. And somehow, that was enough.
And the campus was big but apparently not big enough to keep your little secret in between you and him. It wasn't the letters that caught everyone's attention, it was him. Jay had always been stoic, guarded, the kind of person who kept people at arm's length, never too close but lately that shifted. He smiled more, his posture relaxed, he didn't shoot anyone with his icy glare for merely talking with him. He lingered longer near his locker, reading something in his hands. His bandmates noticed the recurrence of the letters first then few of his admirers. Questions flooded in their minds, was the guitarist of HYPHENIX finally seeing someone? Who would be the lucky person to capture the heart of someone who never showed interest in dating? And If he was getting interested in someone then who's this mystery person?
And then one afternoon, someone overheard Jay talking with Sunghoon, his voice low as he murmured something along the lines of, "I received yet another letter today, they just know what to say to make my heart skip a bit." Hushed conversations between close friends, fell upon wrong ears and soon enough the campus buzzed with new gossip about this secret admirer of Jay. The talk wasn't about Jay anymore, they were more about what made Jay change, about the anonymous person who poured their heart out on the letters, about how the coldest guy on the campus might have someone who has enough warmth that melts his walls. And how maybe, just maybe, he was starting to care about those letters more.
With each letter you wrote, your feelings for him kept on getting more intense and with all the gossip surrounding you about your own letters you wondered how Jay would react if he ever found out who was behind those letters. It didn't help that Ava seemed to be getting more interested in Jay's love life than focusing on her cheerleading auditions. You had to constantly hear her gush about this mystery admirer of Jay and how an anonymous person was getting more recognition than she ever could even if she tried her best. "Popularity shouldn't be your goal, being good at what you do should be!" You remember explaining this to her when she kept on complaining about how privileged the popular people are with everything.
She wasn't wrong entirely, everything around the campus depended upon how good you were with something and ultimately how much audience you bought with it. Maybe she wasn't wrong about not getting into cheerleading yet because she wasn't famous enough to make the cut and not because she was just decent enough for the sport. Ava is attractive, has friends from every block of the campus, yet she somehow always sticks to you. She goes to parties, easily becomes the center of the room but somehow it's not enough, it's never enough. There's always someone who is prettier, more talented, more popular who steals her show and you get her. Perhaps that's the reason you let her guide and lead your university life instead of trying and failing to meet new people who would befriend you.
For the next few weeks when you walked down your campus, every corner was slowly transformed into a living stage. The air surrounding last-minute rehearsals, buzz of sound checks vibrating against your ear drums, every corner of the university was filled with excitement. Symphoria wasn't just a college fest, it was an emotion, a movement held towards rising artists and their talents. By day the fest was filled with different stalls, and artists showcasing their raw talents to sharpen it for the night show. By the time the night arrives, the main stage would come alive with performances that shake the ground. You were excited to attend the last show of the fest as it was the night HYPHENIX would perform, the most talked about and most awaited performance of the whole fest.
You made your way towards the locker room early in the morning to place the letter inside for Jay to read before his performance. This time though, you had bought a little bouquet of red roses to cheer him up a little with a note that is addressed to him in case someone else misplaced it. You couldn't open his locker enough to put the flowers inside so you decided to keep it above the locker. You walked out of the locker room before anyone could see you, leaving letters inside his locker had gotten a bit difficult with all the attention from the campus. Yet you woke up extra early to not get caught and cheer Jay up for his performance.
You made your way towards the library to finish the rest of your assignments, dropping a message to Ava about meeting you in the cafeteria during lunch. You sat down, opening your laptop to get started. The library was relatively empty, not many students were in the mood to study when there's literal fest going on around the campus. You wondered if Jay will even have time to open his locker today, you heard they had been practicing extra hard for this performance. Lunch time rolled around but Ava still didn't reply to your text, you tried calling but no answer so you ate alone. You made your way towards the locker room to check on the flowers and letters, when you reached there was none, it made you smile at the thought that he received it before his performance just how you wanted.
The evening started off with a blast, you made your way near the left side of the main stage. You look around to find Ava in the crowd and even send a few messages of your location in case she decides to find you. You frowned at her behavior, she was so excited to attend today's show, some of her favorite people were performing, not to forget her constantly ranting about being excited to watch HYPHENIX's performance. They were the last act to perform, everyone from the campus gathered around to watch you with banners in their hands. You crane your head to see if they are coming.
They walked on the stage, your eyes landed on Jay and suddenly the crowd didn't matter. They got in their position, the noise faded, the lights dimmed around everyone else but them and you stood frozen in your spot, eyes never leaving his silhouettes. Heeseung led up to the mic, the crowd erupted, waves of cheers and reckless energy filled up the air, but your eyes were locked on Jay. Jake, the drummer chimed in and suddenly the world was nothing but sound. Jay's guitar and Sunghoon's keyboard roared to life, drums thundered beneath your feet, and the music hit you like a memory you didn't know you'd been holding onto. It wasn't just some random noise pieced together, it was emotion, pouring from the stage and crashing into you like fire and rain.
You watched them, the way their fingers moved on their instruments, how Heeseung's voice danced a high note, how they closed their eyes like the song was something they felt, not just performed and in that moment, it felt personal like somehow, they were singing straight to you. The lights flashed on the stage, the chorus soared. People around you screamed and swayed, but you stood still, like you were spellbound. It was more than music. It was a moment you didn't want to end and in that moment, nothing existed but the stage, the sound, and the feeling of you falling deeper and deeper for Jay.
You felt a wave of emotion so overwhelming that tears strung in your eyes, their performance ended and they bid their goodbyes. The crowd cheered, you were sure they would be the talk of campus if not city for a whole year. Jay looked happy as he made his way backstage and before you could think your feet led you towards the back of the stage to catch a glimpse of him, it was one of the important parts of his musical career after all, you could at least muster up the courage to congratulate him. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be bad to introduce yourself into his life as someone he once met at a random high school party. You were about to enter backstage when a volunteer bumped into you, all the papers in his hands flying everywhere. You managed to apologize to him as you helped him with the papers but your eyes were somewhere else, in search of a person you couldn't get a hold of.
You made your way deeper into the back of the stage, volunteers and performers going on about their works. You located Jake and Sunghoon at the far corner of the stage, Heeseung sitting close beside as they wore brightest smiles and talked with each other about something. You tried finding Jay, your heart beating fast as you tried finding someone who would tell you about his whereabouts. "Uh-hello, do you know where Jay went? The guitarist from HYPHENIX?" The girl randomly pointed towards the exit of the backstage, you thanked her before following the direction she gave. As soon as you were out of the door, the coolness of the night air made you shiver.
Your footsteps slowed, the moonlight casted a soft glow on your face, yet it was still relatively dark. You took a step forward, then another, then you heard voices, familiar and close. Your steps halted when you caught two silhouettes standing close to each other, then your world stopped. One second they were talking, Jay and Ava, the next second his hands were on her neck, pulling her close. Ava stepped forward, her hands reaching for his shirt to stabilize herself. Your hands didn't drop your phone, but it slipped a little in your grip as your breath stilled. A sharp pain sliced in your chest, the silence of the surroundings more louder than the ringing in your ears.
It felt like someone pierced their hand in your heart and squeezed it without any care, like your soul has been ripped apart without any warning. You felt the kind of pain that didn't echo, it throbbed in your chest, deep and ugly. You blinked once, twice, then again for good measure, hoping and praying this was just an illusion, a misunderstanding but it wasn't. It was real. Jay and Ava, kissing each other like the world around them didn't exist anymore. You stood there, watching him hold her like he's afraid if she let go she'll disappear. Your eyes landed on the bouquet of red roses in Jay's hand, the one you brought for him, confusion and hurt etched upon your face, unable to comprehend anything.
Neither of them noticed your presence, they didn't see the way your hands trembled and how your lips parted slightly like your body was trying to breathe through the ache in your heart. They didn't see the way your eyes glossed over with a kind of hurt you knew would take years to heal. You took a step back, suddenly hyper aware of your surroundings, the distant sound of people leaving the campus, the humid air, the floor beneath your shoes. You turned around, mind still hazy, eyes unfocused, you stepped on an empty water bottle. Then you hear a soft call of your name, you shut your eyes closed as if it would somehow help you disappear from the unwanted moment you tried to avoid. You heard footsteps coming closer and decided you couldn't possibly excuse your way out of this uncomfortable situation so you took a deep breath and turned back around.
Your eyes landed on Jay before they could even acknowledge Ava, he tilted his head, his eyebrows furrowed as he watched you. Ava's voice broke your attention from him, she made her way towards you, her arms enveloping one of yours as she beamed at Jay. "This is my best friend Jay," He smiled in your direction, your heart skipped a bit and Ava continued while looking at you, "I told him the truth, that I wrote those letters for him, I couldn't help myself from confessing to him after today's performance, you are proud of me right? I finally got the love of my life." You never once broke your gaze away from Jay as you listened to Ava go on and on about something which you both know she didn't do. You silently listened to her take the credit for the things you did, Jay's smile was wide as he looked at Ava and just like that you couldn't bring yourself to tell the truth.
"Let me drive you both home, it's too late to go by yourself." You sucked in a breath, your head turned towards Ava who nodded enthusiastically at Jay's suggestion. "I'll manage to go by myself, I don't really live too far," Jay shook his head at your words, "It's my responsibility to take care of my girlfriend's loved ones, wouldn't dream of getting on your bad side." Ava chuckled at Jay's words as she leaned against his arms, his own hands slipping on her shoulder pulling her close. You felt like throwing up, you needed answers. Jay pulled out his phone to inform his band members that he'll be leaving first and joining them later.
Reluctantly you agreed with Jay after Ava forced you to say yes and now you were seated in the back of Jay's car as you watched him act lovey-dovey with his supposed secret admirer. Ava's home arrived first and Jay got off to kiss her goodbye, you sighed, lending your head on the window wondering how you were supposed to get through with this. Jay entered the car, you were still sitting on the backseat. He eyed you from the rearview, "I think I've seen you before." You looked at Jay when you heard his voice, contemplating on whether to tell him that he did see you before or not, "well, we go to the same campus...." You trailed off softly, not really minding if he could hear your answer or not, your mind was haywire with everything that happened today anyway.
Jay took one last look at you before shaking his head, chuckling lightly and agreeing with your words. You sent a quick text to Ava about wanting to have a talk with her about the stunt she pulled and she replied she'll tell you tomorrow. You felt the car come to a halt and you straightened up, eyes taking in the familiar surroundings of your apartment, you thanked Jay but he stopped you. He got out of the car and towards your door and opened it, "you don't have to do all this, Jay." But you smiled at his sweet gesture regardless and got out of his car. He bid you goodbye and went off as you watched his car retrieve from your apartment's parking lot.
You couldn't sleep the whole night, mind racing with all sorts of things. The sight of them kissing each other playing in front of your eyes like a mere flashback from a dream you wish you never had, cruelly brought to life. You tossed and turned in your bed, but neither the tears stopped nor did the hollow feeling creeping up your chest. You decided you can't take it anymore, your fingers tapping on Ava's number before you could think. It was late at night, her parents were probably asleep but they always had a soft spot for you. She picked up the phone on the last ring, her voice groggy.
"What are you trying to do? We both know you didn't write those letters..." you heard some shuffling from her end, "right I didn't, but who cares?" You frowned at her nonchalant answer, "the one who wrote the letter might come forward and expose you Ava, it won't end well for you, did you not hear how Jay is?" She groaned at your words, "well if the person was brave enough they wouldn't have pulled this secret admirer shit, I need Jay to get in the cheer team, this is my chance." You sighed, rubbing your forehead as it had started aching, "your relationship is based on lies Ava, it won't do you good, trust me. You're hurting someone else while trying to reach your goals-"
"Don't nag at me, I've already taken the leap so there's no going back, I like Jay and I want to be with him so let it go...just for once, for me, let it go please..." you sighed but stayed silent wondering if you were strong enough to watch Jay be with Ava when she clearly was using him just to gain popularity while pretending to be you, Ava continued when she didn't hear anything from your side, "I'm your best friend, I never asked you to do anything for me, please ignore what I did just this once, I'll treat him right I swear." You cut the call after talking to her for some more time, things got messier than they were supposed to be, and you wondered how things will unfold from now on.
Earlier attending university was something you looked forward to as the constant chattering of students, the latest gossip, the various events and classes helped you ignore how lonely you actually were. But now everywhere you go, there is at least one person talking about the perfect couple Ava and Jay. You tried your best to ignore but you couldn't as Ava started gaining popularity now that Jay won't leave her side whenever he isn't with his bandmates. And you, despite wanting to lay low and finish your degree quietly, were unwillingly dragged into the Ava-Jay love drama since you were her so-called best friend.
Being best friend of not so famous Ava was hard, but being her best friend after she got famous was harder. People randomly started approaching you to gain latest information about their relationship or how they behave out of the campus. They bombarded you with questions about Ava and what she liked and disliked, like you were some kind of assistant they could get information from. It was annoying, and downright disrespectful. You never wanted the spotlight but even if you did, you knew you wouldn't be happy by being labelled as someone's girlfriend's best friend. It was inconvenient at first, then it became blatantly dehumanizing when people started suggesting Ava to be with someone of her 'level' that you were just some charity case of a friend for her. What hurt you the most was Ava's reactions to those things, she just laughed with them, like she couldn't see how disrespectful people were towards you. So naturally you tried your best to ignore her and her 'well-wishers' all together.
"Come on, don't be like that! Jay has told me to make sure you'll be present at the celebration party of their successful performance at the college fest, you know how big of a deal it is for him and his friends," you continued typing your essay as Ava sat on the edge of your bed, begging you to attend the party. "I'll see if I can go...I'm not sure though..." she stomped her feet as she made her way towards your desk, hands sliding into yours to get your attention on her, "please? We haven't spent time together since so long," you sighed, releasing her hold from your hand, "it's because you're always so busy with your cheer, or Jay, or your new friends and not because I don't have time for you."
"It's not like that, you don't like being around people, I can't always cater to your needs right? You should be considerate towards me too, you're so mean," you close your laptop after saving your document and look at her as she begins gathering her things. "I didn't mean it like that Ava-" "I'll give you space, you don't seem to be in a good mood, think about your decision, I'll wait for you at the party and if you won't come I won't go either." You opened your mouth to say something but she was already out of the door. You put your head in your hands as you pulled at your hair, deciding sleeping would be best for now since you had class in early morning.
Attending early morning class felt like stepping into a world half-asleep. Your brain lagged behind as the professor went on and on about topics you were too tired to pay attention to. One of your hands grip on the coffee cup like your life depends on it and other drawing doodles on the margins of the notebook you had opened to take notes. Your eyes hurt and stifle a yawn, thanking the universe when the professor concludes the class. You check your schedule, there's still a 30 minute gap before your next, maybe you could get a refill of your coffee to go on about your day. You smiled to yourself when you stepped out of the class, feeling accomplished that you managed to survive the morning class as you made your way towards the cafe near your university for your daily dose of coffee.
"Hey!" You turned around halfway through the campus when you heard someone call out to you, "in a rush?" Jay waved at you as he made his way towards you, his guitar slung over one shoulder, his smile was easy-going as he finally stopped right in front of you. Sweat formed in your hands as you gulped, "you need something from me? I haven't heard from Ava since yesterday so I don't know where she is..." He laughed slightly, motioning you to continue your walk as he stepped beside you, "no, I'm not here to ask you about Ava, though I know I used to do that a lot but I'm here to talk with you about something else." You looked at him then immediately looked forward because how can you be this close to him and act sane? You adjusted your glasses on your face in nervousness.
"Then what are you here for?" He looked at you, biting his lips in thought and you tore your eyes away to not stare for too long. "For the party...." you halted your steps when you reached the cafe, Jay opened the door and held it for you. You meekly thanked him before entering the cafe, "what about it?" Jay ordered his coffee and you ordered yours, he paid for both the drinks before you could even open your bag to get your purse. "After our performance at Symphoria, we've got quite a few gigs and events to perform at, not to forget it's the day Ava finally confessed to me about writing those letters," you suck in your breath as both of you made your way out of the cafe and back into the university's campus.
He continued, "those letters have helped me a lot, I was going through a tough time but they helped me so much, and they also inspired us to deliver that performance at the fest. So the success of that performance means a lot to my bandmates, me and Ava alike, and since you're her best friend, I need you to be a part of it." He took a few strides forward and turned towards you making you stop your walk, "please? Attend it for me?" You sighed, attend it for Jay? Now you could do that, but you weren't sure if you'd be able to watch them without losing your sanity. "I'm not a party person, Jay and it doesn't help that Ava has other friends to be with, she won't always be by my side and I don't want to hold her back.."
He shook his head dismissing your words before you could elaborate further on how pathetic you'd look trying to enjoy the party alone, a party you don't even want to be at, "I'll be by your side then, all throughout the party hm? I'll make sure you won't feel lonely, I promise." He held out his pinky finger in front of you and if you were being honest he looked so silly you wished you could click a picture but you just sighed, eyes switching from his hands to his face, he looked at you expectantly, "I take pinky promises seriously," the corners of your lips twitched a little as you raised your hand to lock your pinky finger with his. He pulled you close, grinning widely, "thank you for coming, Ava and I would love to have you there," he ruffled your hair before jogging off towards the university's music room.
You faced the mirror, one last time, running your fingers through your hair, you opened your phone, Jay's and Ava's messages lying one above the other, both reminding you to not forget about the party. You fixed your glasses, a hint of irritation seeping in your features as you scanned your reflection, if you ditched your glasses for looks then you won't be able to enjoy the party in HD, but the glasses made you look like the loser you always need to read about in your books. You huffed a breath, reminding yourself about your no more stereotyping rule, your phone started buzzing. You looked at the caller ID, Ava.
"Hey!" You put your phone away from your ear to recheck the called ID, still Ava, "hello?" You questioned as you chew on your lips, "it's me Jay...Ava's phone was in my hand so I called you from her phone, I asked Sunghoon to pick you up from your apartment and I think he would reach in 10 minutes or so, I just called to inform you that.." you heartbeat quickened after hearing Jay's voice, then you registered the words that left his mouth, "Sunghoon? In 10 minutes? I could've taken a cab, he didn't have to leave the party for me, I feel bad." You could hear the music blasting in the background and you wondered if he could even hear you, "nah, I wanted to come pick you up myself since I invited you but my hands are full right now so I asked Sunghoon, and I don't want you to travel alone in the dark, it's not safe out there. See you soon, Ava and I are waiting for you."
You stood in front of your apartment building awkwardly fidgeting with your fingers as you waited for Sunghoon's car to pull up. He didn't take much time, arriving fairly on time. He got out of his seat, his height making you take a few steps back so you don't have to hurt your neck while talking to him. He gave you a smile, his eyes landing on your heel-cladded feet before they locked once again with your eyes. You subconsciously tuck your hair behind your ear, blushing up your cheeks under his intense gaze. He offered you his hand, and you held it after looking at it for two seconds too long. He led you towards the passenger's seat, opened the door and guided you inside the car. You thanked him, a giddy smile plastered on your face as you reminded yourself that this was the supposed bare minimum, but then your thoughts went back to the same high school party where your then boyfriend didn't even look at you, much less open doors for you.
Sunghoon's car reflected his personality, sleek, dark, and polished to perfection. The smell of leather seats of the car mixed with a faint scent of his cologne, and music turned low enough to barely register. You fasten your seatbelt and watch him start the car from your peripheral vision. He didn't say much, and from the time you've noticed him you realized he wasn't a man for many words but whenever he did speak, the attention would be on him. You let yourself relax on the seat and he glanced at your movements briefly. "Thank you for picking me up, you didn't have to, but thank you regardless," You saw him shake his head at your words, a small, barely visible smile dancing on his lips, "it's fine, wouldn't want a pretty girl like you to travel alone at night." You choked on the air, shocked at his words, he laughed loudly, his fang-like teeth showing just enough to make you question if he was just teasing or being serious.
"You're teasing me, didn't think of you as a type to do that," He looked at your pouty face briefly before his attention went back onto the road, "you're easier to tease somehow, but I wasn't teasing when I said you're pretty." He didn't look at you to see your reaction, but your eyes were trained on his profile. His skin was pale, smooth like porcelain under the car's light, his lips full and precise, there was a cold grace to him, and even when he said nothing, he seemed to speak in presence, posture poised, expression unreadable, a flick of his gaze enough to silence a room. He got out of the car when he reached Jay's apartment where the party was in full blast, he helped you get out of the car and led you towards the main door of Jay's house.
"This place feels familiar," you mutter under your breath, Sunghoon looks at you, his head tilted in your direction, leaning in slightly to hear you better over the gradually increasing noise of music blasting through the speakers as you walk. You shake your head at him, laughing awkwardly as you try to figure out the weird feeling in your stomach. The door bursts open even before Sunghoon's hand stretches enough to open it for you, and your breath is knocked off as Jay stands in front of you, an easy going smile etched upon his face. "I'm glad you're here..." he smiles so bright that it's almost impossible to not mirror his smile, like he's genuinely glad you're there to celebrate. "I had to be," your eyes wander off towards Sunghoon who is now standing beside Jay, leaning on the doorframe watching you two, "you left me with little choices to make."
Sunghoon lightly chuckled as those words left your mouth, shaking his lightly at your silent jab at Jay's stubborn behavior he made his way inside the house, leaving you standing alone with Jay. "Where's Ava?" You questioned when you didn't find her waiting for you beside Jay, he sighed, head turning back to look towards the ongoing party, "she must be somewhere, I still have her phone on me, but she's nowhere to be found." You frowned hearing his statement and he quickly made space for you to enter the party, "she gets like that after drinking, she wanders off and suddenly you lose track of her." Jay chuckled at your response still his eyes scanned to room for his girlfriend's presence.
"Jay?" You softly called him, he hummed in return leaning slightly towards you to hear you better. You held your breath as you looked at him, his eyes still wandering across the room to find Ava but then slowly his eyes turned towards you, your lips twitched when his eyes locked in with yours and you gulped before continuing, "go find her, you don't really have to be by my side all night." Jay chuckled at your words, straightening up, he hooked his index finger on the bracelet of your wrist, "well you don't have anything else to do so please help me find my beloved girlfriend," and he pulled you with him into the crowd.
You take in the scene, you spot some familiar faces in the crowd, laughing, drinking, talking with each other. Your heels tap against the floor and you walk exactly behind Jay as he makes room for both of you to walk. The lights flicker in bursts of neon, casting an exciting glow on the crowd. The buzz of conversations rise and fall, people too drunk or too indulgent in the mood to care about the surroundings. You catch a glimpse of Jake talking with some people, beside him Sunghoon and Heeseung are involved in deep conversation about something only they know. Your eyes fall upon where Jay's finger is hooked upon your bracelet, a sigh leaves your lips and in a moment of distraction your shoulder bumps into someone and you lose your balance slightly.
You hold onto Jay's shoulder with one hand to regain your balance and he stops in his tracks, eyes narrowing towards the person you stumbled into, "try to look where you are going next time." The person just waves his hand, mumbling apologies incoherently as he backs off towards the opposite direction. You feel Jay's hand curl around your wrist, firmly and when you lift your head up, he's already looking at you. "You walk in front of me now, you're wearing heels, if you sprain your leg it will hurt like a bitch." You laugh slightly at his tone, his hand pulling you gently towards him and he positions himself right behind you. He's still holding your wrist, his other hand giving your shoulder a slight push to get you walking.
He's so close behind, you could faintly feel his breath on your shoulder. Your eyes scan for your best friend and you turn around towards Jay when you spot her sitting in a corner with few people, drinking happily and laughing with her whole body, "she's there, I think you should get her, I'll get something to drink for myself in the kitchen." Jay's eyes follow the path your finger is pointed at, he sighed in relief, nodding in your direction and making his way towards her. You don't have the courage to watch him go towards her so you make your way inside the kitchen, your hand tracing the spot which Jay held not too long ago. You poured yourself some soft drink, not really in the mood to drink just yet.
"Are you a baby?" You flinched slightly, turning to your side only to find Sunghoon leaning against the counter not too far from you as he poured himself a drink. Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, he looks at you, slowly making his way close to you, "only babies drink soft drinks." You roll your eyes, free hand fixing your glasses. He chuckled lightly, amused at your behavior. "I'm not a baby Mr. Park," he laughed loudly, "that's exactly what a baby would say, your pouty lips and puffed up cheeks aren't helping your case pretty." You immediately straightened up, lips pursed and face blank as you gave him a deadpan look, "I'm not a baby..." He turned around towards the counter, he mixed a few drinks from the table and slided the red solo up towards you.
"You don't seem like a type to drink frequently but trust me with this one, my friends say I'm quite good with drinks." You throw him a suspicious look, hand curling around the cup, you bring it closer to your face to inspect. "What are you both ?" Your head snapped towards the voice, Jay and Ava joining you two as Sunghoon settled beside you, his drink already half empty. "I'm trying to get her to loosen up a bit, she's always so tense." Jay's eyes narrow at his friend's words, "you don't have to drink if you don't want to," You shake your head at Jay's words and you're about to reply when Ava cuts you off, "oh my god! I've tried to get her to start drinking but she always declines me," then her eyes fall upon Sunghoon, a faint smirk forming on her lips.
"I literally made this in front of her, will you try it for me pretty? Just a taste, you won't have to continue to drink it if you don't like it." Ava's smile fell as soon as Sunghoon's attention shifted from her to you, his eyes soft as he looked at you expectantly. Jay sighed from where he was standing, his hand sliding across Ava's waist as he leaned his weight slightly on her, "Sunghoon, if she's not comfortable-" Sunghoon's hand reached forward towards your hand, which was sporting the red solo cup, he gently curled his fingers around your hand and brought the cup towards his mouth, never breaking eye contact with you as he took a sip from your cup, "there, I'm alive, now your turn, just a sip pretty."
You exhaled a breath you didn't even know you were holding, fingers trembling slightly under Sunghoon's. You brought the cup near you, eyes darting around the other three before you took a tentative sip from the drink. Your eyes widened, a smirk forming on Sunghoon's face, "it'd good right?" You nodded your head with more enthusiasm than you initially wanted to show. Sunghoon laughed, releasing his hold from your hand, eyes falling upon the couple in front of him with smug confidence, "I told ya I'm good at it." Jay gave you a small smile, "you sure you like it?" You nodded your head again, taking yet another sip from the cup and gulping down the whole drink. Sunghoon whistled slowly, feeling proud of himself.
Ava looked at you, "you never drink when I offer...you're so rude and mean to me." Jay sighed pulling her closer, "some people need guidance during their first drinks baby, Sunghoon is good at that. It's not about her being mean to you." From where you stood, you could tell Ava wanted this conversation to go like it did with other people, with them agreeing to every word that spilled from her cherry lips, "want me to make you another one?" You tore your eyes away from Ava and turned towards Sunghoon, "please? This is the first time I'm actually enjoying a drink." And just like that, the night stretched ahead, you smiled to yourself, anticipation settling deep inside you for the night.
"You're tipsy, how many drinks did you have?" You were perched upon the balcony, looking over people who were playing in the pool and around it when Ava's voice cut through the silence. You hummed, standing up and leaning against the railings to have a good look at Jay's house. Your eyes trailed towards the other side of his backyard where people were roaming around, casually. "Is that a gazebo?" You muttered to yourself, leaning in more, squinting your eyes, your glasses slipping off a little. "You're going to fall down if you keep on leaning on the railings like that," you looked down towards the ground, Jay waving off his hand to signal you to back off a little.
"I won't fall," you yelled back, laughing as you fixed your glasses back. Jay shook his head, one hand on his hips while the other massaged his temple, "come down, bring Ava with you." You pouted at his words but still stepped back, holding Ava's hand in yours, you dragged her towards the pool. "Hello ladies, wanna go for a swim?" You smiled at Jake when he approached you both, you released Ava's hand when Jay stood by her side. "Don't wanna," Ava whined as Jay tried to persuade her to join. You looked away, smiling at Jake as you swayed a little, he chuckled at your dazed out state and offered his hand for you to hold. "I'm good though, I don't need your support, but since you're being so nice and offering me your help, I'll take it." Jake laughed as he guided you towards the edge of the pool.
Heeseung joined you and Jake, offering you water, "you wanna go for a swim?" You denied Heeseung's suggestion, eyes looking at the pool as you pouted, "I can't swim." Jake mimicked your expressions, but he looked like a kicked puppy more than a sulky one. You laughed, stepping forward and pinching his cheeks, "you're cute Jake." His eyes widened at your actions before turning into an icy glare when Heeseung slumped forward trying to control his laughter. Jay, Ava and Sunghoon joined you three as the boys teased Jake and occasionally your non swimmer self. You felt at ease, you were expecting to be crying in your apartment by now but you were glad it wasn't like that. None of Jay's friends left you alone, each sharing some moments with you. And by spending your time with them you realized why they are so likeable.
You were sitting on one of the chairs by the pool, Ava still beside you. The boys were already playing in the pool, your eyes drifted towards Sunghoon and Heeseung who were now seated on the opposite edge of the pool making fun of Jake who was now being chased by Jay for trying to drown him. Sunghoon's eyes locked with yours and his lips moved to say something, in your own haze you couldn't comprehend what he was trying to say so you got up, edging closer towards the pool, "what did you say?" Sunghoon laughed at your confused self and you pouted. He opened his mouth to repeat what he said when you felt a pair of hands press hard against your back.
Your heart stuttered, feet losing contact with the ground. Your confusion quickly turned into terror and the next thing you knew, your body hit the water. The water was colder than you expected, it swallowed you whole. The noises of the surrounding vanished, replied by a deafening silence. Your hands flailed, legs kicking in panic. Your lungs felt like they were going to collapse, your mouth filled with the taste of chlorine and fear. A pair of arms circled around your waist, pulling your body towards the surface. You gasped as you were finally able to breathe, your chest aching. Someone took off your glasses from your face, your hands grabbing onto the person's shoulder like you were afraid they would let go.
You felt someone else chiming in to help, pushing you on the edge as few people surrounded you. Your vision slightly blurry as you tried to ground yourself, "Ava are you crazy? Why would you push your own best friend into the pool when you clearly know she can't swim?" You were sure that it was Sunghoon who yelled at Ava for her reckless behavior, your head turned towards your left to see Jay by your side, one of his hands was cradling your head while the other removed hair from your face. You turner your head towards the right where Sunghoon was still going off on Ava, her shoulders slumped as she tried to reason out, "I thought it would be fun-"
"Fun?" Ava's eyes turned towards you, her eyes widening at Jay's sharp tone. He helped you sit up straight, Jake crouching beside you to wrap you in a towel. You shivered, because of the water or Jay's expression, you didn't know. Jay helped you get up and sit down on the chair, your legs trembling slightly. His hand slipped around your waist. "Is this your idea of fun, Ava? She could've gotten into serious trouble if I wasn't swimming near her." You looked at her, wishing to find remorse in her eyes but all you saw was humiliation and anger as she glared at you. She turned around, making her way back into the house.
"I'm so sorry about that, you aren't hurt right?" You shook your head, lips trembling slightly, "I'm fine, just a little shock that's it." Jay nodded at your words, sighing as he took in his surroundings. "You guys go enjoy the party inside, I'll take care of this." He motioned Jake, Heeseung and Sunghoon to lead the crowd back inside. "Take care of yourself, yeah?" Sunghoon requested before going back inside with everyone else. "You aren't responsible for her actions, plus she didn't mean to do it in the wrong way, she's always been like that..." Jay's eyes snapped towards you in lightning speed, "that still doesn't mean what she did was right, you could've gotten seriously hurt."
You shivered again when the wind passed by you, your head was starting to spin. "I'll bring you some dried clothes, you'll catch fever otherwise," You nodded at his words, your chest and throat aching. Jay lifted your face with his hand on your chin, your breath hitched at the proximity. He slipped on your glasses, adjusting it on your face for you. "Thank you," you mumbled, not daring to say it louder, "I can see you clearly now." Jay laughed, losing his balance on the chair, you extended your hand and he happily grabbed it to balance himself. "I'm glad you can see me now." You laughed with him, amused by everything that unfolded in today's party.
You were perched on the bench beneath the tree on the university's campus. Scrolling through your phone in search of something to distract you while you wait for your next class to start. You looked up at the tree above you, its green leaves falling upon you inconveniently. You packed your belongings back in your bag, pocketed your phone and remembered you had to borrow some books from the library for research purposes. "You seem to be so at peace after wreaking havoc in my life," you turned towards the source of voice, frowning at the way Ava walked towards you, eyes scrutinizing your presence. "What are you saying?"
"The pool wasn't even that deep, Jay and his friends were swimming in it just fine, why did you have to overreact like that, do you even know how much Jay has been lecturing me about that incident?" Ava huffed as she reached near you, crossing her arms and waiting for your reply as if you were a murderer waiting for your conviction. "They could swim just fine because they knew how to swim, if that's your logic why didn't you jump in the pool? You also don't know how to swim right?" Her expression flattered, hands going on her hips as she scoffed at your words, "you know I care about you, I didn't do it because I wanted to harm you, yet I'm the bad guy here, how would I know you'd end up like that?"
You rolled your eyes at her words, but the slight pity in your heart for her was overpowering your senses, "why would you even push me there in the first place?" She stomped her leg, pouting at you as if you denied her favorite candy, "I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, tell Jay and his friends that you forgave me okay? Bye." You opened your mouth to say something but she was already walking away from you. Finding the boys wasn't very hard considering they spent most of their free time in the music room. You took in a deep breath before you knocked on the door. You pushed open the door, peeking in to see if it was occupied, Jake was the first person your eyes landed on, beside him sat Heeseung, both of them pausing mid-discussion. Sunghoon sat a few feet away, hands on his keyboard and beside him sat Jay, his guitar on his lap.
You stood at the doorway, not exactly sure why you even decided to entertain Ava's idea but you did it, so she won't have another reason to whine at you and also because you wanted to have some reason to be near Jay, even for a while. "Don't stand there looking like a lost puppy, you planning on coming in?" Your internal monologue ended quickly as Heeseung words rang in your ears. You awkwardly shuffled inside, closing the door behind. "Um-" You started, internally criticising yourself for not thinking through before you entered. Your eyes wandered towards the boys sitting in the room, four pairs of eyes, all focused towards you.
"Come sit here pretty," blush rose upon your cheeks as Sunghoon pointed towards the empty chair beside Jay, you nodded sheepishly, and made yourself comfortable. You were about to start saying something when your eyes landed on them, everyone just went back on doing what they were doing previously like you weren't present there at all, your brows furrowed in confusion and you wondered if you should say what you wanted to say or just slip out of the room. "Guys-" And just like that, everyone's attention was back on you, "yeah?" Jake urged you to continue and you shifted in your seat to turn towards Jay.
"I just wanted to say that the pool incident wasn't that big of a deal, things like that happen when you're trying to play pranks with your friends anyway," you laughed awkwardly, "I don't want you to be upset with Ava because of that." There was a brief moment of silence after you finished what you wanted to say, the silent stretching long enough for you to start rambling again, "she's a very good friend, she has always been by my side when I had no one, she can be a bit childish at times but she's sweet at heart-" "Are you trying to tell that to us or yourself pretty?"
"You, ofcourse." You answered quickly, but fidgeting with your hands was a dead giveaway of your real feelings. Jay put his guitar at his side, sighing once before turning to look at you, "did Ava ask you to do this?" You shook your head no, one hand raising to fix your glasses in place. "I saw you talking with her-" "Oh my God, you did?" "I was lying but you busted your own lie with this one." Your shoulders slumped in defeat, "okay maybe I did come to you because she told me but I was about to do that regardless." You blinked at them, smiling and waiting for them to say something, "you wounded me, we thought you wanted to hangout with us." Your eyes widened at Jake's words, "why would I want to hang out with you guys?"
Heeseung's hand clutched his heart, slouching forward as if it physically pained him to hear that sentence leave your mouth, Jake's hands flew on his mouth, Jay had an amused grin on his face and Sunghoon just smirked, "I'm sorry we aren't cool enough for you to hangout with us pretty.." he laughed watching color drain off your face. "No, it's not like that- I mean- wait you guys- you're twisting the plot, I'm not Regina George!" You sulked slightly, crossing your arms as you watched them topple over laughing at your panicked state, "I just wanted to say that I did not think you guys would want to hang out, since you know...we aren't close, I'm just Ava's best friend."
"You could be my best friend if you want," Jake smiled, throwing an exaggerated wink in your direction, you laugh as he threw his finger hearts. "Seriously though, you're not just Ava's best friend, you're fun on your own okay? Why wouldn't we want to hang out with you, we literally let you in the music room without further interrogating you!" A genuine smile tugged at your face at Heeseung's words, which stretched into a full blown grin when the others nodded their heads in agreement. "And what Ava did was wrong, and she should have apologized to you then and there but she didn't, which was again, very wrong of her." You couldn't bring yourself to deny Sunghoon's words.
Your eyes fell upon Jay who was silent all through this portion of conversation, he sat still, eyes unfocused as he stared ahead, his brows furrowed. You could tell he was listening but had his mind somewhere else, "Jay?" Your soft voice brought him back from his thoughts, he looked into your eyes, "Let's just move past this, guys..." and no one could bring themselves to debate with you further. "It's my birthday in two weeks, we're planning a trip, I was hoping you'll join us.." You pointed your index finger towards yourself, as if anyone inviting you for their birthday was something you had only thought of in your luxury dreams list, Sunghoon gave you a deadpan look, "who else?" Yeah that gave you the answer you were looking for.
The trip to Jay's birthday arrived more quickly than you could decipher. Jake informed you that the trip was more like a staycation on Jay's vacation home, from the moment you arrived at Jay's vacation home you knew you've stepped into something exquisite. The gated driveway winds through lush green gardens until the villa reveals itself, the sleek architecture, coastal elegance and everything about it screams luxury. As Jay pushed open the grand double doors, you're greeted by high vaulted ceilings, polished marble floors, and floor-to-ceiling glass panels that blur the line between indoors and the shimmering ocean beyond, you could hear Ava gasp from where she was standing beside you, Heeseung just chuckled, nudging you to go forward.
The scent of the ocean lingered in the air, and Jay informed everyone about their sleeping arrangements. "Everyone gets their own room?" Jake chuckled at your bewildered, stepping closer to help you put the luggage in your room. You made your way through the open-living room plan towards the first floor where your room would be. You, Heeseung and Sunghoon would be sleeping on the first floor whilst Jake, Jay and Ava would be on the ground floor. When everyone was done checking out the interior, your footsteps took you towards the exterior of the house, where the real magic lied.
A pathway of natural stone leads directly to the secluded beach. The sand is soft, untouched and the water crystal clear. There was not a single soul in sight, only the rhythmic lull of waves and the occasional cry of a distant seagull. "Wow, baby! This is literal heaven," your eyes wandered towards Ava who was now clinging onto Jay's arms like he would disappear if she let go. He smiled back at her, ruffling her hair as he pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. You looked away, towards the beach where waves crashed into the shore in a gentle kiss. Your chest tightened, a small frown appearing on your face unintentionally. "You good pretty?" Sunghoon nudged your shoulders with his, his gaze trained towards the serene beauty in front of his eyes. "Yes I am-" "Let's see the beach from up front," before you could reply to Sunghoon you felt yourself getting dragged towards the beach by Ava, Jay shouting behind you to be careful. You looked back, Sunghoon giving you an amused look before retreating his steps back into the villa.
Jake called you back after sometime, deciding that since it was already late, everyone could eat the dinner and sleep away the exhaustion to properly enjoy tomorrow. Everyone wordlessly agreed, too tired to explore further. Everyone bid their goodbye. You went into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water before you went back into your room, your footsteps light. You poured yourself some water, taking a water bottle with you since you felt too lazy to get out of your room again. You slowly made your way towards the staircase leading towards the first floor when you heard light giggles. Your head turned towards the voices instinctively.
Jay had Ava backed up against the wall in between their rooms, their limbs tangled together with a quiet urgency. Jay kissed her like he was falling, fast and fearless and she kissed him back like she knew how to catch, but never intended to. Jay's hand moved from her waist to the door handle, opening it and backing Ava into her room. The door clicked shut behind them, and you still stood there, watching, like you always did. You gripped the bottle tightly, heart heavy and hollow at the same time. You made your way inside your room before your tear could manage to escape. The door clicked shut behind you with more force than you intended but you didn't care, not at this moment when the world around you felt like it was caving in.
"Someone help me with the drinks!" You yelled out to no one in particular as you watched everyone just beeline towards the beach. You put your hand above your head, eyes squinting at the sun. You internally thanked yourself for opting to wear lenses instead, beach and glasses would be a disastrous combination, "let me help you.." You turned towards Jay who slowly made his way towards you. He smiled, taking the box of drinks from your hand and signalling his head towards the lighter box instead. "I would've asked the boys to help with these, you didn't have to help with this." You shook your head, adjusting the box in your hands, "no worries, but if I collapsed right now, tell my parents I died a hero."
Jay's eyebrows rose at your remark, a slight smirk gracing upon his face, "by carrying a box of drinks? How noble. I would crave 'Gone too soon- by a box of Cola' on your tombstone." You huffed a breath, "are you sure we are not hazed? Why does this feel like a punishment?" Jay grinned clearly enjoying your suffering, "I think they went in first to avoid this exact trouble, we were set up." You just shook your head at his words, setting the boxes near each other, Jay ruffled your hair, then Ava called his name and he waved at you before running towards her.
The sun is warm against your skin as you step into the soft sand, the ocean glittering ahead. Around you the world felt lazy and dripped in golden hue but you couldn't shake away the heaviness of your heart. Jake and Sunghoon were already waist-deep in the ocean, calling out the rest of you to join them. Heeseung reclined on a lounge chair, under a fluttering umbrella. Oversized sunglasses perched upon his face as he smirked at the boys playing in the water. Your eyes travelled towards Jay and Ava, who sat a few feet away from you on a shared blanket, their silhouettes framed by the glow of the sun. Ava leaned into him, laughing at something he whispered in her ears.
You knew it was better to look away, that ignorance was the only choice you had in this situation, but you couldn't bring yourself to do that. But your eyes stayed fixed on the way his fingers gently brush a strand of her hair away from her face, and how she leaned her head on his shoulder like she belonged there and maybe she does. You watched as Jay lay down on his stomach, and Ava on her back, his eyes closed as his hand circled around her waist. You wished you could just walk up to him, sitting beside him as your fingers traced your name on his back, not to claim or to mark but to belong, even just for a fleeting moment. But you don't move, you just watch as she calls his name when he runs off towards the boys to play in the water.
"You aren't getting spared just because you are busy daydreaming in your own world, pretty." You screamed as you felt Sunghoon pick you up bridal style and run towards the beach as he spoke. "Yah, you know I can't swim." You tried kicking your legs to get him to put you down but there was no real fight in your attacks, "I know, that's why I'll be near you when you play! Trust me pretty." And with that Sunghoon jumped into the water with his still in his arms. Jake and Heeseung joined you two and helped you with splashing water on Sunghoon's face.
"You're doing good pretty, just hold onto me tight." Your hands were on Sunghoon's shoulder while he had his on your waist as he guided you deeper into the ocean. You shrieked when you couldn't feel anything beneath your feet and his hold tightened around you, his arms now circling around your waist as he pulled you close. Jay watched both of you pinch Sunghoon's ears for his clumsy actions, something twisted low in his stomach and he couldn't explain why watching you both play together made his fingers tighten around Ava's waist. "Jay, it hurts." His attention went back to his girlfriend who looked at him with a questioning gaze, he shook his head, his fingers soothing the skin on her waist as a silent apology.
"Alright, it's enough for the day, let's get back to have dinner." Your head turned towards Heeseung's voice, you walked up to him, others following close behind. "Had your fun?" He asked, one of his eyebrows arching as he spoke, you nodded your head as both of you fell into a casual conversation. "Okay how about we split the chores?" Ava groaned as Sunghoon's suggestion, clearly displeased. She leaned her weight on Jay, blinking up at him as she pouted, "I'm too tired to help..." Sunghoon scoffed unintentionally and Jake's coughed in his elbow to mask his laughter. "You just laid there on the beach and did nothing but you're tired?" Jay threw a glance at Sunghoon, clearly intending to make him shut up, then he looked at you, his eyes soft, "both of you go rest, we will call when everything's ready okay?"
Ava lit up, reaching up to kiss his cheek she ran inside the house and into her room, without a single glance towards the mess everyone was left with. You heard Jake sigh softly beside you, looking at the mess, hands on his hips. You stepped closer, bumping your hips with his, "how about Jay and Heeseung take care of cooking, Sunghoon can take care of collecting the empty drink bottles and both of us will clear the garbage?" He grinned at you, clearly pleased with your suggestion when Jay's voice cut through the air, "we will handle it, you should go and rest, you helped earlier too." You shook your head at his words, "I want to help, so please let me, and the more people are helping the sooner this will be over." You smiled as you pushed Jake towards the cleaning supplements to get started.
"Wow this took longer than we thought," you straightened your back, nodding your head at Jake's complaints. The sun had set and the moonlight casted a soft glow on the ocean. The streetlights were turned on and everything looked straight out of a movie. "We're done with dinner!" You looked at Jake who mirrored your smile, "first one to reach the kitchen is the loser!" You said as you ran towards the kitchen, Jake followed close behind as he complained about you getting a headstart. You laughed when he reached the kitchen first, giving Heeseung a jumpscare when he bumped into him. You laughed at his proud face, enjoying yourself more than you thought when Jay's voice cut in, "Ava's still sleeping, I'll bring her dinner later, let's get fresh and then we will eat."
Dinner was spent with Sunghoon and Jay's bickering while Heeseung just laughed at his friend's banter. Laughter echoed over clinking cutlery, voices overlapping and plates passing with casual affection. "I literally said the first person to reach the kitchen is the loser." Sunghoon laughed loudly at Jake's bewildered face, his eyes round and big as he looked at you, "you're so mean.." You reached out and ruffled his head, cooing at his whiny self, "your fault for not listening properly." He slumped against the chair, giving you faux glasses as other's made fun of him.
"We're sleeping early?" Jay questioned when everyone started complaining about being tired, a gentle frown etching on his face as he looked at you all. Sunghoon nodded his head, "Ava hasn't eaten since afternoon, so feed your girl, we will sleep too now, all the cleaning is finally creeping up on me." Heeseung, Jake and you religiously nodded, making Jay sigh as he prepared a plate for Ava and made his way into her room. "Let's get the cake and other things ready, I believe he will be occupied enough till we get things done," Heeseung whispered as soon as the door clicked shut behind Jay and everyone started preparing for the birthday boy's surprise.
"Okay, I believe we are ready, are we ready?" Jake whispered, box of cake in his hands, beside him stood Heeseung and Sunghoon who had party poppers in their hands. You were given the responsibility to record the moment. You focused the camera on the cake, then slowly backing away to capture all three of them in a single shot. You softly giggled looking at them, a big grin plastered on your face as you recorded them. All four of you were wearing birthday hats, and you couldn't help but coo at how cute the three boys looked. In one of your hands were two birthday hats, one of them extra large since it was meant for Jay. You looked at the timing, signalling them it was time for all of you to huddle outside Ava's room.
You knocked on the door, waiting patiently for Jay to open it. You wondered if giving Jay a surprise while Ava wasn't involved in it was a good idea or not but the plan to surprise was spontaneous, the one which you made while you were cleaning, later Sunghoon informed Heeseung about it when he found him alone. Ava never got out of her room, so you figured it wasn't anyone's fault she wasn't involved. Your heart drummed against your ribs, mind swirling with thoughts that if you catch them in their intimate moments, you couldn't bring yourself to handle that scene again. But all your thoughts flew out of your mind when the door swung open and Jay emerged from the door looking confused.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY JONGSEONG!!!" All four of you screamed, confetti flying everywhere as Jay laughed, completely amused at the little surprise his friends pulled. Sunghoon took the large hat from your hand and placed it neatly on Jay's head. Ava emerged from the room, her hair messy and she was barely awake. You passed the phone to Heeseung and placed one hat on her head. Jay cut the cake, and the rest of the night was filled with questions from Jay about the surprise and what all went down while preparing. Heeseung apologized to Ava for excluding her from the surprise as he explained how the plan was spontaneous and no one got any opportunity to approach her. She smiled at him as she waved his concern off, but when the little party was almost over you could feel her mood getting sour as she looked at you.
You got comfortable on the bed, sighing in relief as your body relaxed. You turned to your side, pulling the blanket closer, you slipped into sleep the moment you closed your eyes, body too drained to resist it. For a while everything around you stilled, the noise, the thoughts, even the time. But after few hours, something stirred, and your eyes blinked open, heart and mind racing. You're half-awake, half-dazed, your body begging you to just go back to sleep. You tried going back to sleep, but it was too late to go back to how it felt before. You got off from the bed and made your way downstairs, maybe Some fresh air would help you with the sleep.
You stepped out of the villa, the air around you lighter and cooler. You made your way towards the narrow stone path, leading you towards the quiet overlook by the cliffside, where the ocean stretches endlessly below. The sky opened with each step you took, you breathe in the air, the wind gently caressing your body. "What are you doing here this late?" You jumped slightly, heart skipping before your mind caught up but you didn't move. Jay stepped beside you, leaning against the railings of the overlook, his eyes trained on your face as you looked ahead. "Couldn't sleep," you whispered, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment.
"Something's on your mind?" You finally looked at him, his shirt was slightly crumpled, hair disheveled, his fingers twitched once before he clasped his hands together in stillness, his gaze was hard even though he looked composed from the outside, "you're angry, what happened?" The words left your mouth before your brain could catch up and your lips trembled as he locked his eyes with you. "I'm not angry," he stuttered lightly, clearing his throat and you looked away, biting your lips. "It's Ava right? Wanna talk about it?" He sighed, looking up towards the sky then back at you, contemplating whether he should talk to you about it or not.
"She got angry at me since she couldn't wish me at sharp 12..." You eyes widened at his words, disbelief gracing your face at the sheer absurdity of the situation, he looked at you, sitting down and motioning you to join him, and when you did, he continued, "I was so shock, she was in a sour mood, she wasn't even looking at me when I tried to approach her so I asked her till she told me why she was acting that way," you silently listened to him, feeling bad that he got into such situation on his birthday, "she has always been like that, there was a time when I didn't pick up her call at 12 AM sharp on my birthday cause I slept and she didn't talk to me whole day," you chuckled lightly.
"Is laughing your type of coping mechanism? Considering she's your only friend, and she didn't talk with you on your birthday, doesn't that make her a bad friend?" His questions caught you off guard and you coughed to reduce the awkward tension it rose in the air. "She'll come around, Jay." He looked at you like he was trying to search for some answers he knew you wouldn't verbally give him, "can I share something with you?" His voice was soft as he asked you that and you nodded your head, not finding the courage in you to decline his request. "You're the only person I'm sharing this with, I know you're her best friend so you should probably be the last person I'm saying this to, but from the time I've known you, I know there's no one better than you who would understand me...."
You nodded your head at him to continue, he looked around, his shoulders slumping slightly, "I feel like the Ava in front of me is so different from the girl who used to send me letters..." your stomach dropped at his words, you didn't say anything, you kept your face still but your inside twisted but still you forced a hesitant nod, "like she's very sweet, but the kind of person I imagined her to be, the kind of person I fell for is so different from the reality. We have our sweet moments but they don't feel real to me," he played with his fingers, head hung low, "whenever I try to talk to her about the letters she diverts the topic by saying what matters is the present, her letters always used to see through me, I felt seen in those letter, I didn't even have to say anything but her letters told me they understood regardless, but it isn't the same anymore, it feel so unreal."
"Jay," you sighed wondering what words would even bring peace to his heart, you wanted to tell him the truth, that it was you who wrote those letters and not Ava, but you couldn't bring yourself to confess that. "You're her best friend but I keep on complaining about her behavior to you, don't snitch on me," he pointed a finger at you, "please?" You laughed at his actions, "I won't tell her about this, I promise." He looked at you, eyes squinting as if he didn't believe in your words, "pinky promise?" You stretched your pinky finger towards him and his eyes lit up as he hooked his pinky finger with you.
Jay looked at the ocean in front of him, "relationships are more complicated than I thought they would be." You nudge your shoulders with him to cheer him up a bit, "tell me about it..." you rolled your eyes, standing up and extending your hand to him, the sun would start to rise after sometime and it would be better if you head back so you'd have enough energy to travel back home tomorrow. He held your hand to pull himself up, dusting his pants a bit. Both of you just walked back in without any conversation, the silence more comfortable in between you. "Let's grab something to drink before we go to bed," you nodded, letting yourself be a little bit more selfish for wanting to spend time with him.
The light of the refrigerator drapes a soft glow on his face, highlighting the curve of his sharp jaw, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks, his messy hair which somehow still looks perfect to you. And he looks calm, thoughtful even like your heart isn't shattering into pieces right beside him. You took a few steps back, leaning against the counter, pretending to look at something on your phone but your eyes are trained on him. On the way his brows squint slightly to decide which drink to choose, the way he quietly mumbles to himself as if he belongs to a place which is softer, quieter. And you love him. God, you love him.
You swallow the lump forming in your throat, try to tear your eyes from his frame, to have some mercy on your heart. You wish you didn't feel this way, wished you never wrote those letters and kept your love hidden deep in your heart. You wished he would just turn around and look at you like you aren't just his girlfriend's best friend but someone who was actually meant to be his. And he turns around and looks at you, flashing you a quick smile, and it shatters you because it's the kind of smile he gives to everyone, and not the one you're dying to get, the kind he has reserved only for Ava. But you smile back, you pretend like you're not falling apart under refrigerator light for a boy who has no idea what he has gotten himself into.
He makes his way towards you, now handing you a soft drink and leaning right beside you. He takes a sip, humming lightly as if he hasn't tasted the same drink countless times today. "So," he started, putting the drink on the counter and turning towards you, "did you break up with your boyfriend?" You choked on the drink at his random question before calming yourself, "what boyfriend?" You tilted your head as you waited for him to answer, he just shrugged, "the one who humiliated you in my birthday party some years ago in high school." Your jaw dropped before you could stop it, "you remember that? And it was your birthday party?"
He nodded his head, finding your reaction amusing, "I was wondering when you'd say something about it but you didn't." You opened your mouth to say something but closed it again when you couldn't find the words, "so did you break up with him?" You nodded your head at him, "yeah, just after I reached home, I broke up with him and never looked back. I realized it after so long that deep down I knew he wasn't treating me right, I just wanted someone else to remind me of that and you did." His eyebrows arched at your words, his lips twitching into a smile, "guess you owe me a big one then," You rolled your eyes, shoving his shoulder a bit, "in your dreams Jay."
He laughed at your words, now taking both of your drinks and throwing it in the bin, "I'm glad that I met you, I don't think I'd be here if I didn't meet you that day." He smiled softly at your words, turning towards you, he stepped closer, "I'm glad you're here too, I feel so relaxed right now, it's amusing really..." you tilt your head at him, "what's so amusing?" His eyes went back and forth from your face then to the ground a couple of times, wondering if he should say what he wanted to, "hm? Jay?" He sighed, clearing his throat a little bit, "this," he said, waving his hands in between you two, "what's this?" You chuckled, finding his hesitation endearing. "This thing in between us, it feels," you stepped closer, nodding your head at him to continue, "it feels what Jay?" "Real. It feels real."
"Pretty I feel like Jay's birthday this year is going to be very eventful," you and Sunghoon were sitting on the kitchen island, eating fruits, Ava insisted Jay to spend some alone time with her before you go back home so they were out, Heeseung and Jake were still sleeping. "Why's that?" You questioned as you took a bite of watermelon. "Jay said Ava was upset we didn't involve her in the surprise, which doesn't make sense cause Heeseung apologized for it and gave her genuine reason, right?" You nodded and he continued, "but I believe they got into an argument or something, Jay's been tense but he said that Ava wanted to throw a surprise for him too, all alone, and he agreed because he said it would make her happy."
You hummed in response, knowing well that Ava has a habit of bringing attention towards her in any situation, so it was inevitable that she would ask Jay to do something like that. Surprise for Jay sounded good too, they had been dating for months so she must've had something in her mind. "Let her have her moment, despite the reasons we could've texted her or something but we managed within ourselves so let her show her love towards him the way she wants." Sunghoon nodded, silently agreeing with you as he ate the apple, "I hope everything will go well, she didn't even ask any of us for help," you sighed at his words, praying everything would go well.
Now you're dressing up for the surprise Ava had planned for Jay, she called everyone to the living room when both of them returned from their little outing and informed everyone to dress up nicely after you reached back home and meet in her parent's house since they were out on a business trip, he seemed quite excited about it. You hoped it would live up to his expectations and not end in yet another argument. You sighed watching yourself in the mirror, one hand holding the glasses while the other the lenses. You put the glasses down deciding lenses would be a great option if Ava or for that matter anyone else thought about pushing you into the pool again, you'd at least be able to see your downfall clearly.
You asked Ava if she needed your help and she just shrugged, declining your offer and throwing a snarky comment at you, something along the lines of, "wouldn't want anyone else to take credit for what I am going to do for him." And you just hummed, not wanting to trigger her more by reminding her that of course she'd fear someone else taking credit given that she has done the same to date Jay. Those words sounded very rich coming from her, the hypocrisy was astonishing. You texted Sunghoon the address of Ava's parent's house and asked him to forward it to the other boys.
Your eyes fell upon the clock, and you grabbed your things, booking a cab and texting Sunghoon that you'd reach the house in 20 minutes. He texted a thumbs up emoji, informing you that they would arrive at the house around that time too. You leaned against the car seat, watching the other vehicles pass by you in a rushed blur. Your heart thumped in your chest for some reason and you took a few deep breaths to calm the nerves down. It was inevitable you'd feel anxious, it's all you had been feeling ever since Ava started dating Jay, you were mentally preparing yourself to watch them being all lovey dovey in front of you without having a breakdown yourself.
You arrive at the house, a small envelope in your hand, the evening sky painted in hues of pink and yellows. When you reached the door of the house, you could hear faint chatter from inside the room. You hesitate, glancing down at the envelope with Jay's name written on it and then back up at the faint lights flashing through the living room's curtains. You frowned, texting Ava about your arrival, you twisted the door open after you got a signal from her and stepped inside. You were still standing near the entrance of the house, the house was pitch dark, but still you could hear some murmurs, more clearer than before.
The door behind you swung open, the night air brushing your skin as you turned around to find Jay hesitantly step inside, one hand clutching his phone and the other the door. His silhouette was half-hidden in the shadow. Behind him stood Sunghoon, Heeseung and Jake, anticipation etched on their faces. Someone behind you switched on the lights and Jay blinked, first because of the lights and then towards the crowd in front of him. You heard someone gasp from behind you, "Jay is here," and a loud chorus of "SURPRISE" erupted in the previously silence-filled house. Confetti exploded through the poppers, the music volume rising up like inflation.
Ava's shoulder brushed against yours as she ran towards Jay to hug him, he hugged her back, blinking in confusion. The other three entered the house from the corner, Sunghoon throwing a worried look towards Heeseung who silently hushed him. Jake's eyes locked with yours as he passed by you, then he turned towards his other friends to whisper something. Jay smiled tightly when Ava dragged him towards the mini stage where she kept the cake for him. And his eyes found yours before Ava cupped his cheek to give him a birthday kiss. The music stopped and Ava gathered everyone's attention, "Today's my lovely boyfriend's birthday so first we will cut the cake and then we can continue with the celebration."
Loud cheer erupted at her words, you kept your gift on the corner where everyone else kept theirs and made your way towards the mini stage where others were already present. Ava cheered loudly, a bright smile adorning her face as she took off the cover from the cake, a towering, picture-perfect chocolate cake, glossy with ganache, topped with sparklers and gold-letter candles spelling his name. His smile flattered for a second before he masked it with his politeness. "Ava," he whispered quietly, eyes darting towards the people watching each of his actions in anticipation, "I'm allergic to chocolate." You could see the color drained from Ava's face as she looked around at others. "I ordered a vanilla cake, the bakery may have misplaced my order." She pouted, clinging onto his arms as other people gave her words of sympathy that it's the thought that counts.
You were sitting on the couch beside Sunghoon, in front of you sat Jay and Ava, the music blasted in your ears, but you could still decipher the conversations going around you. Jay tapped his foot repeatedly against the ground, his shoulders tensed as he took a sip from his cup. "You're repeatedly tapping your foot on the ground, if you wanna dance, you could've just said so, come on, let's dance." You could see Jay froze at her words but didn't really resist when she dragged him towards the dance floor. You watch as Ava laughs, all bright and confident, clearly proud of the party she has thrown. You could see her dress sparkle and sway with her. One of her hands was clasped around Jay's wrist and the other waved the crowd off to make some space for them.
You could see the way his shoulders sank when he reached the center of the dance floor, the way his eyes were scanning the room, over the crowd as if he was checking the exits. Ava pulled him closed, dancing around him carefree and unbothered. She turned around to face him, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him closer, she leans in for a kiss and he obliges, people cheer around them, flashing on camera making you blind. And he laughed when they pulled apart, hands on her waist as she sways. Your heart tugs a little, with sadness or jealousy you aren't really sure, cause you know Jay prefers to spend his birthday around his loved ones, intimately and not amongst the crowd. You know, because he had mentioned about it in one of his letters.
"You do realize he is not the one you're supposed to be looking at, right?" You jumped at Sunghoon's voice, "huh? What?" He shook his head as he leaned back on the couch, your eyes following his actions, "Jay," he started, taking a look at him briefly before looking at you again, "you aren't supposed to look at your best friend's boyfriend with that intensity in your eyes, what happened to the girl code?" You choked on the air, rubbing the area just above your chest to soothe your breathing. "I'm not staring at him," you glared, clearly caught off guard by his observation, "yeah and I'm Michael Jackson," you rolled your eyes, leaning against the couch, "you're reaching, I was just looking at them dance together," Sunghoon smirked leaning close to your face, "without blinking? Was their dance that admirable?"
You groaned throwing your head back, you could hear Sunghoon chuckling at your misery from beside you, "this isn't the first time I saw you staring pretty..." you turned your head slowly in his direction, he smiled lightly, eyes full of emotions or was it the effect of alcohol he was drinking? "Hm?" He sighed, resting his head at the back of the couch, mimicking you, "I saw how you look at him, at the music room, at his house during our celebration, at the villa, at the beach, the time when he served you dinner," your gaze was fixed on his face as he went on and on about all the times he had watch you fawn over your best friends boyfriend. You couldn't bring yourself to deny all his observations, not when he wasn't looking for your approval anyway, he had observed you and was just stating what he saw.
"Your eyes are so predictable, pretty," He said after he didn't get any response from you and saw you looking away. There was not a single bite in his words, he didn't accuse or blame you for being a bad friend. Your eyes met his again, you couldn't find any sharpness, or any judgement, just softness, like he understood where you were coming from without you having to say anything. Your heart swelled with something you didn't quite understand but felt overwhelmed, "are you always this annoying?" Your words were softer than you intended them to be, and he just smirked, putting his hand on your shoulder, "only when I'm onto something." You sighed but didn't resist his embrace, "you're not onto something, Jay's my best friend's boyfriend." His other hand made its way towards yours to play with your bracelet, "he is, that doesn't mean you wish things were different though." You let me play, eyes lingering on the veins of his hands for a second too long, "I didn't say that," "You didn't have to."
"Where did they go?" Your eyes followed Sunghoon's line of vision, "probably in Ava's room to make out or something," you mumbled quietly but he caught that, "you're not going to sit here and sulk," he said grabbing your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours, "no girl gets to stand beside me and feel like a loser, that shit is reserved only for boys." You wanted to say something but decided against it when you couldn't think of anything smart to say. He dragged you towards the dance floor, his hands circling around your waist, he abruptly pulled you close, your hands grabbing his shoulders in response. "Focus on me tonight, who knows, tomorrow you might forget who Jay is."
You rolled your eyes at him, hands now comfortably resting around his neck as both of your bodies swayed with the rhythm of music. The night had stretched on, the music settling to something slow and soft. One of his hands slid up to rest against your back, while the other rested snugly on your waist. His actions pulled your body closer to his, from this distance you could count all the moles that were scattered across his face, the curve of his lashes, the point of his nose, and his lips. You gulped, feeling heat rise up in your body at the proximity. You tried looking away but he held you in place with his gaze. You were sure he could hear your heartbeat from how close you were.
One of his hands lifted, his movements slow and deliberate as he looked at your face for any signs of discomfort, his knuckles grazed your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered close and you leaned into his touch. His breath hitched, taking shallow breaths his hand now cradled your cheek, fully, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. You sighed softly, leaning more into his touch as if leaning felt safer than speaking. You felt him inch closer, your nose barely grazing against his, you could smell him, the faint scent of detergent which lingered on his shirt, his shampoo, and something so achingly Sunghoon. Your breath flattered, syncing with his, for a moment both of you just breathed each other in.
His lips meet yours, softly, no urgency, no rush, like he's taking his time to learn the curve of your lips, a little hesitant, like he was giving you time to back out if you want. It was the kind of kiss that communicated his soft sighs and gasps, one that lingers at the back of your mind even after years. His thumb caressed your cheek, his actions meant less for comforting you and more for anchoring himself and for a moment everything single thought from your mind disappeared. Then his thumb suddenly froze mid-motion, he pulled away slightly, enough to look at your face. "You're crying pretty..." your eyebrows furrowed at his words and you opened your eyes, his thumb caught another tear which fell from your eyes but he didn't press further.
"I'm sorry..." you choked, unable to comprehend the reason behind your tears. You wanted to kiss him, and you did, but you couldn't figure out why the tears started to flow. The hand on your cheek, slid up to the back of your neck and he pulled close. You buried your head at the crook of his neck. "It hurts so bad, hoon." You aren't even sure where it hurts badly, Ava's lie, or watching her living the life you only imagined in your dreams, or the fact that even if Jay knew it was you, it wouldn't have bloomed into something so precious. "Shh, everything will be okay, you don't have to pretend in front of me." His fingers tangled in your hair as he drew soothing circles on your head. You nodded your head, pulling away a little from his embrace and from the corner of your eyes you saw Jay furiously walking down the stairs, his shoulders tense.
"Sunghoon," you pulled away from him and he brushed the remaining of the tears with both of his hands, "Jay." You pointed your finger towards his figure, he shoved people who came into his path, his steps hurried and faze fixed on the main door of Ava's house, "follow him," Sunghoon nudged you in Jay's direction, your face contoured into confusion, "but shouldn't Ava be going after him?" He ran his hand through his hair as he watched Jay near the door, "something tells me he needs you more than he'll need Ava at this moment." You looked at him for a second, letting his words sink deep inside you, after a while you nodded at his direction and turned around to run towards Jay.
Sunghoon watched as your hand slipped away from him, the same hand which he had intertwined with yours a few moments back. He watched it all, the way the tip of your finger slid against his one last time, like sand slipping from his palm, the way your lips trembled when you turn away, the urgency in your steps when you try your best to move through the crowd to reach Jay, and his hand tremble beside him. His other hand lifted up to trace the lingering memory of your lips pressing against it. And when he recalled the way your lips moved against his and how he tasted the salty taste of your tear before catching a sight of it, he wondered if that's what heartbreak tastes like. Like a kiss dipped in honey, ruined by the sting of salt you never meant for him to find.
𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 。 i love you because when i say i don't wanna talk you always call me
synopsis when yn starts dating her sweet, perfect boyfriend sunghoon, she doesn’t expect to fall for his annoyingly charming best friend, jay. between hallway run-ins, forbidden feelings, and a very confusing party confession, what started as bickering turns into everything they were both afraid to want. It’s messy, it’s complicated—but it might just be real.
pairing jay x fem!reader x sunghoon
genre love triangle (kinda), angst!!!, fluff here and there
word count 14.8k (who am i :3)
warnings implications of cheating (i am very against this, i do NOT induce cheating), small smut scene [unprotected sex (please don't do!!!!), piv], crying, reader is very confused about everything, happy ending <3
nessie note this was so random, sprung outta nowhere but it had been in the drafts for quite sometime now and i figure.... why not :p also i would like to apologise in advance about the smut scene. very evidently, i have no experience writing them so sorry if it's cringe or wtv.. hope y'all like the rest of it hehehe. also ness is her bff and flatmate in this just like how i am ur bff wink wink
sunghoon was yn’s complex neighbour—the kind you didn’t notice until you did, and then couldn’t stop noticing. he lived across the hall from her and ness, in an apartment shared with three other boys, jay, heeseung and jungwon. ness always had a way of describing people that stuck, and she labelled sunghoon as “a little airheaded, unconventionally smart, and just a hot loser.” and honestly, she wasn’t wrong. he was the type to walk into a room looking for his phone while it was already in his hand, but then turn around and say something so surprisingly profound that it made you do a double take. his mind worked in weird ways—ways that made no sense until they did.
yn never really thought much of him at first. he was just the boy who wore mismatched socks, left his laundry out for too long, and somehow managed to ace his physics exams despite never showing up to class. but something changed. maybe it was the way they started seeing each other more and more, casually at first—shared elevator rides, overlapping grocery runs, late-night knock-knock visits with leftover fries or missing chargers.
and then there were the hangouts.
every time the six of them—yn, ness, sunghoon, jay, heeseung and jungwon—ended up in the same room, she found herself gravitating toward him. somehow, by the end of the night, she and sunghoon would be in their own little bubble. laughing at a dumb meme only they found funny. debating whether cereal counted as soup. sharing glances across the table when someone said something ridiculous. it wasn’t intentional—it just kept happening.
sometimes he’d say things like, “i think time’s fake,” with a completely straight face, and then try to prove it with a whiteboard and a banana. sometimes he’d sit beside her, head leaning against the back of the couch, talking about parallel universes while trying not to fall asleep mid-sentence. and she’d just look at him, equal parts amused and curious, wondering how someone so ridiculous could be so weirdly endearing.
one evening, they were all piled into the guy’s living room for a movie night. jungwon had fallen asleep twenty minutes in, ness was loudly narrating her opinions from the kitchen, and jay kept skipping scenes he found boring. somewhere in the middle of all the chaos, sunghoon leaned over to whisper a dumb joke into yn’s ear. she laughed, trying to keep quiet, and he smiled like he’d been waiting for that reaction all day. she didn’t notice how close they were sitting until their shoulders brushed and he didn’t move away.
later that night, when she got back to her own apartment, she realized her cheeks still hurt from smiling too much. and that was when it hit her—maybe she’d started thinking about him a lot more than she thought.
maybe sunghoon wasn’t just the hot loser across the hall anymore.
maybe he was something else. something that made her heartbeat do stupid things.
it wasn’t long before they started dating. after knowing each other for about seven months—seven whole months of dumb jokes, inside memes, late-night texts, shared playlists, and those almost-but-not-quite lingering touches—something finally gave in. and of course, sunghoon had to ask her out in a way only he could. something ridiculous. something oddly sweet. something that left her speechless.
it all began at a party hosted by their college mutual friend jake—the hotshot. the party guy. the kind of boy who wore sunglasses indoors and had a playlist for every type of chaotic situation. it was a massive, noisy, glow-stick-ridden mess in the best way, and yn had agreed to go with the whole group. it sounded fun. a good distraction. she needed that.
because before the party, she’d admitted to ness—after one too many nights spent refreshing sunghoon’s chat—that she needed to get her mind off him. “he doesn’t see me like that,” she had mumbled into a throw pillow. “he’s probably just friendly with everyone. maybe i imagined the whole ‘thing’.”
ness, bless her soul, took it as a mission. “say less,” she’d grinned, dragging yn to her closet. “tonight, you’re getting over hot loser boy. we’re drinking. we’re flirting. we are not crying over weirdly poetic physics majors.”
and so, the night began—yn dressed a little braver than usual, eyes lined in confidence she didn’t feel yet, and a fake smile plastered on as she sipped on her first shot. ness kept her busy—introducing her to new people, pushing her into silly games, dragging her to dance floors. and it worked, for a while. she wasn’t looking at the door every few minutes. she wasn’t hoping he’d come talk to her. she wasn’t thinking about—
except she was. and he did come.
sunghoon showed up late, like always, with jungwon trailing behind and jay already a little drunk on arrival. and when his eyes found her in the crowd, they softened instantly. he smiled, like she was a favourite song he hadn’t heard in a while. but the moment he stepped forward, ness blocked his path with a look. a subtle shake of the head.
he got the hint. he kept his distance.
she hated it.
even through the chaos of the party, their eyes met sometimes. quiet moments in a loud room. he looked like he wanted to talk to her—desperately—but he didn’t. maybe he thought she didn’t want to. maybe he was trying to give her space. either way, she felt everything and nothing all at once.
later, during a game of spin the bottle, they sat in a circle, tipsy and flushed. the bottle spun, clinked against a few glasses, and landed on sunghoon… and some random girl. everyone whooped. the girl leaned forward with a smirk.
but sunghoon shook his head, laughing softly. “i’ll pass.”
“no way! c’mon!” someone whined.
he just shrugged, eyes flicking once—quickly—towards yn. “not really feeling it.”
she bit her lip, barely hiding her smile. her chest felt too tight, too light.
then it was her turn. she spun, not really thinking. it landed on jake.
“wooooo!” people shouted. “get it!”
jake raised an eyebrow, grinning. “hey, no pressure, but i am an excellent kisser.”
yn laughed, nerves buzzing through her. she always thought jake was attractive in a loud, attention-demanding kind of way—but he wasn’t really her type. still… maybe this would help. maybe kissing someone else would finally rip sunghoon from her thoughts.
she stood up, slowly moving toward jake.
and then—
“hey,” a voice said, soft, right beside her. “do you… really wanna kiss jake?”
sunghoon.
he stood between them, eyes gentle but serious, his voice low enough that only she could hear it.
she blinked at him, heart in her throat. the alcohol and the heat and the sheer stupidity of it all made her bolder than usual. “no,” she said, barely above a whisper. “i wanna kiss you.”
so she did.
right there, in front of everyone. she kissed him. his hands found her waist like they’d been waiting for this moment forever, and everything around them blurred. but the second it ended, panic bloomed.
“oh my god,” she gasped, eyes wide, suddenly all too aware. “i—” and then she bolted.
out of the party. down the street. all the way back to their apartment complex, barefoot heels in hand.
ness chased her down in a cab, shouting out the window, “you’re so fast for a drunk person, i swear to god!”
yn avoided him after that. for days.
she couldn’t handle the conversation. what if he regretted it? what if it was just a kiss to him? what if she ruined everything? every time she heard his voice across the hall, she ducked into her room. when the boys came over to borrow sugar or wifi or ask about missing laundry, she pretended to be asleep. it was childish. but she was terrified.
until one afternoon, she finally found the courage. she walked across the hall and knocked.
the door swung open.
sunghoon stood there, in nothing but an apron.
flour streaked his collarbones, smudged across his cheekbone and dusted in his hair. he looked startled for a second, then grinned sheepishly.
“hey,” he said. “i was just, um… baking.”
she stared. “are you… naked under that?”
“i mean… technically, yes. but it’s a long apron.”
“sunghoon—”
“i was making donuts,” he added quickly. “to ask you out properly. because you said you like donuts. and i wanted to make it… you know. cute.”
something in her chest finally eased. she let out a breathy laugh, stepping inside. “you don’t hate me?”
“what? no!” he blinked. “i thought you were avoiding me because you regretted it.”
she covered her face, groaning. “oh my god. we’re idiots.”
“well, yeah,” he said, stepping closer. “but you kissed me. and then you ran away. which was, like… very cinderella of you.”
“i panicked,” she mumbled. “i didn’t think you actually—”
he didn’t let her finish. he just pulled her in by the waist, arms wrapping around her, flour and all. “so,” he murmured, looking down at her. “wanna date a dumbass who bakes naked and wears a ‘fuck the cook’ apron?”
she laughed, cheeks burning. “i mean… if that dumbass is you…”
he kissed her.
flour smeared across her cheek, the smell of vanilla and sugar hanging between them, the forgotten donuts cooling on the kitchen counter. somewhere between the kiss and the laughter, his apron slipped slightly off his shoulder.
let’s just say… the donuts weren’t the only thing getting devoured that evening.
it had been three months since the kiss, the donut proposal, and the flour-dusted beginning of whatever she and sunghoon had become—and things were good. like, genuinely good. easy in the way you hope relationships will be when they start. sunghoon was still his chaotic, apron-wearing self, the kind of boyfriend who brought her weird snacks from the convenience store just because they “reminded him of her” (???), and who left her notes like “don’t forget to eat or i will cry and you’ll be responsible for emotional damage” stuck to her laptop.
they weren’t perfect—he forgot their coffee dates, she got impatient with his dreamy tangents—but they worked.
until jay happened.
jay was sunghoon’s annoying best friend. nothing more, nothing less. at least that’s how yn had always seen him—loud, cocky, with a grin that could either charm or irritate depending on the day. she had tolerated him purely because of sunghoon, her boyfriend of four months now. jay was always around—he lived across the hall with sunghoon, part of that never-ending trio of chaotic energy, plus jungwon.
she’d met jay the same day she met sunghoon, almost a year ago now. he had always been there, lurking in the background of her life like a sarcastic shadow. bickering with her from day one, making snarky remarks across the hall, stealing her charger when she wasn’t looking. it was like his full-time job was to get under her skin and she had never let him win. if he rolled his eyes at her, she rolled hers harder. if he made a joke, she made a better one. their entire relationship was based on mutual annoyance and a shared love for one-upping each other.
especially in stats class.
god, stats class.
they sat on opposite ends of the second row, both refusing to give up their assigned unofficial seats. every test, every assignment, every stupid little pop quiz was a personal challenge. “who got the highest this time?” was not a casual question—it was war.
“enjoy that 92 while it lasts,” she smirked one day, tossing her test on his desk.
jay raised an eyebrow. “enjoy being second place, yn. it suits you.”
“your ego doesn’t.”
“yeah, but my gpa does.”
she hated how smug he looked when he said that.
but she hated even more how cute he looked when he got flustered.
because jay—annoying, sharp-tongued, infuriating jay—had these moments. tiny, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments where the sarcasm dropped. when he picked up her pen without a word. when he brought her coffee once before class because “you looked like death and i figured your boyfriend’s probably too busy thinking about time travel to remember caffeine.” when she accidentally let slip she was stressed about her internship interview and he—without looking at her—slid a printed prep sheet across the desk with a grumbled “don’t screw it up. you’re my only real competition.”
moments like that threw her off. always had. because he didn’t stay sweet. he’d say something nice and then immediately ruin it by saying something like “i miss when you were failing stats. you were quieter back then.”
and she’d pretend to hate him all over again.
but lately… lately it was like he was everywhere.
she saw him more than she used to. ran into him at the cafeteria when she was sure he had a different break slot. bumped into him at the library when she swore she was alone. he was behind her in lines, next to her in labs, texting her things like “your boyfriend microwaved a spoon again. come collect your man.”
and when they bickered now, it felt… different. quicker. sharper. almost funnier. like there was a rhythm to it, a beat she couldn’t stop syncing to.
“you’re really annoying today,” she told him one afternoon, pushing past him in the hallway.
“thanks,” he replied smoothly. “it’s a skill i’ve refined over years. just for you.”
she paused, staring at him. “do you practice these lines or do they just fall out of your mouth like stupidity?”
jay smirked. “you tell me, yn. you’re the one who keeps listening.”
and the worst part?
she was listening. she always did.
she was starting to see him more. not just as the annoying boy who lived with her boyfriend, but—unfortunately—as someone she noticed in ways she didn’t want to admit. someone whose presence filled more space than it should. someone who wasn’t sunghoon, but who still made her heart skip, even if it was only out of irritation. (or so she told herself.)
it was like the universe kept shoving him into her orbit, over and over again, like it was trying to tell her something. and maybe she was too afraid to admit what that something could be.
because everything was good with sunghoon. wasn’t it?
so then why the hell was jay everywhere all of a sudden?
and why did it feel like she was starting to like it?
it was well past midnight when yn finally gave in to the itch crawling under her skin. her room felt suffocating, her thoughts louder than her playlist, and even sunghoon’s goodnight text hadn’t calmed her nerves. the silence had become too much. she needed air, and not the kind that came from an open window.
“let’s go on a drive,” she mumbled, sitting up suddenly. ness, who was half-asleep on the floor next to her with her phone pressed to her cheek, blinked up in confusion.
“now?”
“yes. like, now now. i need to get out of here. i’m going crazy.”
ness yawned and stretched, already reaching for her hoodie. “fine. but you’re buying me fries or i’m turning this car around.”
the hallway outside their flat was dim, the yellow ceiling light flickering like something out of a horror movie. yn tiptoed ahead, hoodie pulled over her head, keys in hand. just as they rounded the corner to the main door, yn halted in her tracks so suddenly that ness almost bumped into her.
“shit. jay.”
“what?” ness whispered back, blinking.
yn pushed her forward without a word, ducking behind the half-open door of the utility room next to the stairs. ness was too confused to protest, stumbling out into full view like a deer caught in headlights.
and there he was—jay. dressed in grey sweatpants and a navy oversized t-shirt, hair still damp like he’d just taken a shower, casually walking down the hallway with a garbage bag in one hand. he paused when he saw her.
“where you headed?” he asked, voice low but curious, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
ness smiled awkwardly, trying to keep things casual. “just… stepping out. needed a change of air.”
jay raised an eyebrow. “at 12:30 a.m.?”
“i like the stars,” she shrugged, internally praying he wouldn’t look too closely. “they hit better at night.”
he glanced past her, his eyes narrowing slightly like something didn’t sit right. “you alone?”
“yeah. solo vibes,” she nodded quickly.
and then—of course—yn’s phone rang. for exactly one millisecond. the notification barely echoed before she silenced it, but it was too late.
jay’s head tilted slowly. that ringtone. he knew it. he’d changed it himself once when she left her phone unattended at a group movie night last semester—“spaghetti western gun draw”—as a joke. she never changed it back.
“solo vibes, huh?” he asked again, but now he was smirking. “tell her next time to at least mute her phone before hiding.”
ness let out a sigh of defeat, facepalming. “god, you’re so annoying.”
he stepped past her slightly, not peeking around the corner but clearly amused. “how’d her stats paper go, by the way?” he asked casually. “tell her i said good job. that presentation she did last week was lowkey impressive.”
ness narrowed her eyes. “why do you even know that?”
jay shrugged. “i pay attention sometimes.”
“go throw your trash and mind your business.”
jay gave a little mock salute, backing away with a grin. “night, ness. night, yn.” he didn’t even need to look. he just knew.
once he was out of earshot, yn stepped out, groaning as she smacked her forehead lightly. “he knew.”
ness gave her a deadpan look. “yeah, no shit. this is why i said let me drive alone and you can meet me downstairs.”
“but you’re a horrible liar.”
“and you’re a horrible hider.”
they walked toward the elevator, yn pulling her hood tighter. her heart was still racing—not because of the close call, but because of the way jay had said good job. because he noticed. and remembered. and for some reason, that meant too much.
the city was quieter than usual. the streets stretched out in long, empty lines, dotted with the occasional blinking yellow signal and the hum of streetlamps. the air smelled like wet concrete and jasmine from someone’s nearby garden. yn drove with one hand on the wheel, the other fiddling with the car’s stereo until it landed on a mellow playlist—soft indie, just loud enough to fill the silence.
ness had her feet up on the dashboard, sipping from the iced coffee they picked up from the all-night drive-thru. they’d barely been on the road ten minutes when she finally said it.
“i’m just gonna say it.”
yn glanced sideways. “say what?”
“i think jay likes you.”
the words hit like a stone skipping across a calm lake, each ripple sharper than the last.
she scoffed, too fast. “what? no. no, he doesn’t.”
ness didn’t even blink. “he so does.”
“don’t be ridiculous.”
“you’re telling me it was a coincidence that he recognized your ringtone in a millisecond, complimented your stats presentation unprompted, and looked directly at the wall you were hiding behind?”
yn exhaled through her nose, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “he’s just being… jay.”
“exactly,” ness said smugly. “jay, who makes fun of everyone else equally, but never forgets your coffee order. jay, who teases you, but never crosses a line. jay, who somehow remembers your exam schedule but doesn’t know what day it is half the time.”
yn stayed silent, her eyes fixed on the road.
ness leaned closer, watching her carefully now. “you haven’t denied it convincingly even once, by the way.”
“i have.”
“nope. you’re all blushy and twitchy. you’re practically glowing like a ‘crush detected’ siren.”
“i don’t like him.”
“right.”
“i don’t,” she repeated, but her voice cracked halfway, which only made ness laugh.
and in that moment—between the streetlights flashing across her face and the quiet hum of the song playing—ness saw it. the way yn’s expression faltered. how her mouth opened slightly, like she was about to say something and then thought better of it. the way her eyes clouded, like she was trying too hard to convince herself.
“oh my god,” ness whispered. “you like him too.”
yn didn’t answer. she just bit the inside of her cheek and kept driving.
ness leaned back in her seat, letting out a dramatic sigh. “this is insane. you’re dating sunghoon.”
“i know,” yn said quietly, her fingers tightening again on the steering wheel. “i know.”
and the car went quiet again, only the music filling the air between them—soft, aching, and way too honest.
they ended up at a tucked-away little café on the far side of town, one of those late-night gems with fairy lights draped across the windows and mismatched furniture that somehow made everything feel more intimate. the barista barely batted an eye at the two girls walking in at nearly 2 a.m.—this place seemed to cater specifically to the restless and heart-heavy.
they sat near the window, nursing hot mochas and splitting a flaky almond croissant and a warm cinnamon roll between them. the silence was heavier now, not uncomfortable, but loaded. ness was staring at her, chewing slowly.
“what,” yn said, not looking up from her pastry.
“just thinking.”
“stop thinking.”
“i can’t.”
yn gave her a look, but ness just pushed her plate away and leaned on her elbows.
“okay, i’m doing this. pros and cons.”
“no.”
“too bad. we’re doing it.” she held up a finger. “pro—jay makes you smile when you don’t even want to.”
“can we not—”
“con—you’re dating sunghoon. obviously. big, fat con.”
yn groaned, resting her forehead on the table.
“pro,” ness continued, “jay actually listens to you. remembers things. supports your tiny wins like they’re world records. he’s annoying, but he’s there. he’s present.”
yn sat back up slowly, face drawn.
“con,” ness said, quieter now, “sunghoon’s your boyfriend. he treats you well. he’s sweet. stable. you’d hurt him.”
yn didn’t say anything.
“pro,” ness added, “jay… i don’t know, he challenges you. he keeps you on your toes. you light up when you talk back to him. like you enjoy the chaos.”
“that’s not a pro,” yn muttered, staring into her cup. “that’s a problem.”
ness chuckled, but it faded quickly when she saw the look on her friend’s face—eyebrows drawn, lips pressed tight, fingers tapping nervously against the ceramic cup.
“yn.”
“i don’t want this,” yn whispered, almost more to herself than ness. “i don’t want to feel anything. i want to be happy with sunghoon. i am happy. i think.”
ness didn’t press, just nodded slowly.
“but when jay looks at me…” yn’s voice broke a little. “it feels like my chest is going to split open.”
the café was quiet except for the soft jazz playing through the overhead speakers and the occasional clink of dishes being washed behind the counter. outside, the street was still and empty, the world asleep while yn’s own thoughts screamed too loud to ignore.
ness reached over, her hand covering hers gently. “you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. but you do need to stop lying to yourself.”
yn nodded, swallowing hard, unsure whether the ache in her throat was from guilt, confusion, or something far more dangerous—hope.
somewhere between the fourth existential thought and the last sip of her mocha, yn sat back in her chair and declared, “i need to get drunk.”
ness blinked. “here? now?”
“right now,” she nodded, deadly serious. “i’m done thinking. no more boys, no more feelings, no more jay, no more ‘who-do-i-even-like’—i just want to not feel anything for a few hours.”
and that’s how they ended up at the shady little 7/11 a block down, giggling through the fluorescent aisles, grabbing way more bottles of soju than necessary—green bottles clinking in a tote bag, some spicy chips thrown in for chaos. by 2:45 am, they were sitting at a quiet crossroad at the edge of town, where traffic lights blinked uselessly over an empty street and the wind carried the faint sound of a dog barking in the distance. they sat on the curb like a pair of drunk philosophers, legs sprawled out, faces flushed from laughter and alcohol.
“this is freedom,” yn mumbled, holding a half-empty bottle above her head. “this is girlhood.”
ness laughed so hard she almost dropped her own bottle. “girlhood is being heartbroken over a boy you don’t even want to like.”
“girlhood is betrayal in a crop top.”
“girlhood is lying to your sweet, perfect boyfriend while lowkey obsessing over his best friend!”
they burst into cackles, so loud it echoed down the street. yn wiped tears from her eyes, lying back on the warm asphalt, staring at the starless night.
meanwhile, back in their apartment complex, jay was pacing around his room, thumb hovering over his phone. he had texted ness over an hour ago:
jay:
u guys back?
no reply. nothing since they left. which was weird, because ness never ignored him. but he reasoned she’d probably just fallen asleep. maybe yn was venting and they were up late talking. or maybe she was crying, he suddenly thought, anxiety tugging at the edge of his chest.
he shook it off. it wasn’t his place. sunghoon was probably with her—wait, no. sunghoon had gone to bed early, he remembered. so… where the hell were they?
jay sat back on his bed, brows furrowed, phone still glowing in his hand.
across town, yn was balancing her bottle on her chest, staring at the red blinking streetlight.
“do you think the light’s judging us?” she asked seriously.
ness nodded. “definitely. red for stop being dumb bitches.”
“too late.”
they clinked bottles weakly in agreement, two tiny specks of chaos in the middle of a sleeping city, unaware of the ripple their absence was already starting to cause.
the sky was bleeding into soft shades of blue and lavender, the night slowly surrendering to dawn. the crossroad was still quiet, the only sound now the distant chirping of birds waking up and the occasional hum of a delivery bike speeding through empty lanes.
ness was curled up beside a lamppost, hoodie pulled over her head, a half-finished chip packet cradled to her chest like a comfort blanket. yn sat cross-legged on the curb, eyes burning from lack of sleep, head spinning not just from the alcohol but from the weight of the morning hitting her too fast.
“we can’t drive back,” she said blankly, her voice hoarse.
yn pulled out her phone. “sunghoon?” she mumbled, but even saying his name made her wince. “i can’t. he thinks i’m at home. in bed. safe.”
“heeseung?”
“do you want to die slower?”
ness snorted. “jungwon would bring us home but would also give us a thirty-slide presentation on our stupidity.”
yn groaned.
they stared at each other. both came to the same conclusion. “jay.”
ness sighed. “we’re horrible people.”
“yup.”
ness dialed slowly, clearing her throat as it rang. the line picked up after the third ring.
“where are you?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“jogging. near new flyover. why?” jay’s voice was low, but alert.
“cool. cool cool. so… um. can you jog a little bit further? like, to the big crossroad near that one old bakery place? it’s urgent.”
jay paused. “ness, what the hell? are you okay?”
“yeah—well. no. but not, like, hospital-level bad. just… come. please.”
“is yn with you?”
she hesitated for a beat. “yeah.”
there was a beat of silence.
“i’m coming.”
✭
fifteen minutes later, jay came jogging up the slope, his black tank top clinging to his torso, chest rising and falling as sweat glistened over his skin in the gold of sunrise. his hair was slightly tousled, and his brow furrowed in confusion as he spotted them slumped together on the sidewalk like abandoned chaos goblins.
the moment yn saw him, she physically gulped. god. his shoulders looked criminally illegal in the morning light. she shook her head sharply, almost scolding herself. you have a boyfriend. a sweet, gentle boyfriend who buys you muffins.
jay stopped a few feet away, his hands resting on his hips as he looked at her first, worry etched all over his face.
“what the hell happened?”
yn opened her mouth, but her brain had apparently clocked out for the day. ness came to the rescue.
“we got drunk.”
jay blinked. “at 3 a.m.?”
“yeah.”
“here?”
“yeah.”
he looked at them both again—chapped lips, sleepy eyes, and leftover soju bottles tucked shamefully behind them—and sighed deeply.
“jesus christ.”
“no judgment,” ness warned, holding up a finger.
jay ran a hand through his hair, looking at yn again. “are you okay?” he asked, voice softer this time.
yn blinked up at him, heart thudding a little too loudly. “yeah. just… don’t ask anything right now.”
he nodded slowly. “okay.”
and without another word, he turned, ness leading them toward car parked two blocks away. yn stood up, still dizzy, her shoulder brushing his for half a second—and that single moment lit a fuse somewhere deep inside her chest.
she had never been more aware of her guilt. or rather, more terrified of what that awareness meant.
✭
the silence in the car was heavy, almost sacred, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of gravel under jay’s tires as he drove. yn had curled up in the passenger seat, arms wrapped around her legs, forehead resting against the window. her breath fogged up the glass in small bursts, and her fingers twitched now and then like she was still trying to hold onto something—maybe dignity, maybe clarity.
ness had barely buckled her seatbelt before passing out in the back, the exhaustion finally winning over adrenaline and alcohol. jay didn’t say anything at first, his grip on the steering wheel tight, eyes flicking between the road and the reflection of yn’s profile in the side mirror. she was quiet. still.
he hated that he cared this much.
he opened his mouth to say something—anything. a joke to ease the tension. a question he wasn’t supposed to ask. but then—
her phone buzzed.
the ringtone sliced through the quiet like a blade.
jay glanced at her instinctively.
she checked the caller id.
“sunghoon,” she muttered under her breath, more to herself than anyone. she hesitated for half a second, then hit accept and brought it to her ear.
“hello?” she said, voice soft.
jay’s hands clenched unconsciously on the wheel.
sunghoon’s voice filtered in through the speaker, muffled but warm and sleepy and honest in a way that only someone in love could sound. “hi baby,” he mumbled, still half-asleep. “i just woke up and wanted to hear your voice.”
yn closed her eyes, the words hitting like a punch to her chest.
jay’s heart sank instantly. everything he was going to say, everything he wanted to ask, evaporated. the reminder was brutal. real. she had someone. someone who called her “baby” without hesitation. someone she answered for. someone who woke up and thought of her first thing in the morning.
yn forced herself to smile, voice cracking slightly as she responded, “hey… morning.”
“i had a weird dream about you,” sunghoon laughed softly. “where are you? did you sleep okay?”
she flinched but didn’t let it show. “yeah, just… went for an early drive with ness. couldn’t sleep.”
jay stared straight ahead, jaw tense, blinking hard against the rush of feelings he didn’t have the right to feel.
sunghoon continued rambling through the speaker, soft laughter and gentle affection spilling into the quiet car like it belonged there—and maybe it did. just not in the way jay wished it didn’t.
“i miss you,” sunghoon said, so sincere it hurt. “you’ll be back soon, right?”
yn’s throat was dry. “yeah,” she whispered, her eyes flicking toward jay just once.
he didn’t look at her. he didn’t have to.
she knew he’d heard every word.
and just like that, the atmosphere shifted.
he turned up the ac slightly, more for something to do than any real reason. yn hung up a minute later, tucking her phone away like it had burned her fingers. no one said anything for the rest of the ride. but everything had already been said.
silently.
painfully.
loud and clear.
✭
the morning sun had fully risen by the time they pulled into the apartment complex parking. the streets had come back to life—delivery vans rushing past, birds louder now, the sky a pale orange hue with streaks of pink dying out. but the three of them walked up the stairs like they were in a parallel world, still stuck in the silence of that drive.
ness rubbed her temples and reached into her pocket for the keys, grumbling something incoherent as she fumbled with the lock. yn stood beside her, arms crossed, eyes still puffy and jaw clenched tight. jay lingered behind them, just far enough to be out of their immediate space but close enough that his presence still pressed on her skin.
she hadn’t dared look at him since they parked.
the hallway was too quiet.
and then—
a click. a creak. the door across theirs opened.
“yn?” came a groggy voice—sunghoon.
she froze.
jay looked up at the sound too, gaze sharp despite the tired droop in his eyes.
sunghoon stepped out in his oversized hoodie and basketball shorts, hair messy, eyes still adjusting to the morning light. but the second he saw her—his expression shifted entirely.
“hey,” he beamed, stepping forward like it was the most natural thing in the world. his hand reached out, curling gently around her wrist, tugging her closer. “i missed you,” he said, voice still heavy from sleep.
before she could react—before her brain could catch up—he leaned in and kissed her softly.
jay stopped breathing. he didn’t make a sound. didn’t shift. didn’t blink. he just stood there.
watching.
just for a second. and that second burned. then he turned. without a word, without so much as a glance, he walked past them, heading into the boys’ apartment and shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.
yn didn’t even respond to the kiss properly. her lips barely moved. she was too aware—of jay’s silence, of the guilt spreading in her chest like spilled ink, of the way her skin still remembered the car ride home and how suffocating it had felt.
sunghoon leaned back, smiling sleepily at her. “didn’t think i’d get to see you this early. what were you guys doing anyway?”
yn blinked. “just… late night drive. couldn’t sleep.”
he hummed, clearly buying it. “i’m gonna go make coffee. come over if you want.”
and then he yawned, brushed a knuckle against her cheek sweetly and walked back into his flat.
yn stood there, frozen. ness finally got the door open, swinging it wide.
“come on,” she said softly, not asking anything.
but yn didn’t move. her eyes flicked to the door jay had disappeared behind, a dull ache blooming in her chest.
she knew. from now on, things were going to feel different. and it would be her fault.
things were only slightly different at first—just enough to notice if you were paying attention. and yn was always paying attention now.
the banter with jay didn’t stop. it still existed in the same petty, teasing rhythm it always had. she’d roll her eyes at him in the hallway. he’d scoff at her taste in instant noodles. they still fought over the last slice of pizza in group hangouts, still tossed playful insults across the room like they were built to clash.
but something had shifted in the space between those moments.
jay wasn’t lingering as much anymore. his jokes came a beat slower. the heat behind his teasing had dulled—not gone, just guarded. he didn’t sit beside her at movie nights anymore. he didn’t glance at her when someone said her name. he barely looked her in the eyes unless he had to. and when he did, it was like a flicker. here, then gone. just enough to make her heart drop.
meanwhile, sunghoon was falling harder. you could see it. the way he looked at her like she was made of something fragile and precious. how he’d kiss the top of her head when she wasn’t paying attention, hold her hand tighter when they crossed the street. he wrote little notes and hid them in her notebooks, remembered how she liked her coffee, told her she was beautiful every chance he got.
and it made her sick with guilt.
because she liked it. she loved being loved like that. she liked sunghoon—really liked him. he was good. he was warm. he’d never hurt her.
so why, why did her eyes follow jay in a crowded room?
why did her chest tighten when he laughed with someone else?
why did her mind constantly circle back to that moment—her knees curled on the passenger seat, his voice tight with something unspoken, the sound of sunghoon’s “hi baby” echoing like a slap in the face?
yn found herself spiraling in quiet moments. brushing her teeth. waiting for the microwave. lying awake at 2 a.m. with her phone on her chest and the ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead.
how do you bring something like this up?
“hey, so, i’m maybe catching feelings for your best friend slash flatmate slash local chaos demon and i feel like the worst person alive. do you still love me now?”
what would sunghoon say?
what would jay say?
what if she was wrong? what if this was just a passing thing? a stupid, fleeting attraction she’d regret throwing everything away for?
but what if it wasn’t?
what if it was already too late?
she couldn’t tell sunghoon.
she couldn’t.
so she smiled through it. kissed him back. texted jay about dumb things, like leftover fries and lost hoodies, hoping he’d reply the way he used to. but it all felt like watching a slow fade. jay had pulled back. not completely, but enough to feel the distance. like he knew. like he was protecting himself before it all blew up.
and the worst part? she couldn’t even blame him.
✭
the next few months passed in a blur, and jay was almost like a shadow in the corners of yn’s life—present but distant, like a dream she wasn’t sure she’d actually had. and she thought… she thought maybe this was for the best.
with jay pulling away, the noise in her head finally started to quiet down. no more glances she couldn’t explain. no more guilt bubbling in her stomach every time their eyes met. he wasn’t around enough for that anymore. the group hangouts still happened, sure, but jay kept his distance. he laughed with others, spoke when spoken to, rarely directed anything her way beyond a “move, dumbass” if she was standing in front of the fridge.
so yn leaned in. fully. completely.
sunghoon made it easy. god, he made everything so easy.
he adored her. it was obvious. in the way he lit up when she walked into the room, in the ridiculous memes he sent at 3 a.m., in how he always waited for her after class just to walk her home even if it was out of his way.
he was so stupidly in love with her, and he didn’t even try to hide it.
and for once, she let herself feel it.
she laughed more. started falling into their routines—his forehead kisses, their matching phone charms, the inside jokes about their neighbors and their shared hatred for black licorice. he made her feel safe. chosen. like she was something he’d always been looking for.
and she… she loved that. she loved being loved like that.
one night, while lying on his chest as he absentmindedly played with her hair, she caught herself staring at his face and thinking, this is what it’s supposed to feel like. this is what people meant when they said they were happy.
he kissed her forehead and whispered, “you’re my favourite person, you know that?” she smiled, pressing her cheek against his heart. “yeah,” she whispered back. “you’re mine too.” and she meant it. she did.
for the first time in months, her chest didn’t feel heavy with guilt. the name “jay” barely flickered in her head. barely. maybe this was how it was supposed to end—the jay thing. quietly. without drama. just… drifted away like smoke from a candle that was never meant to stay lit.
yn breathed easier. she was happy. or at least, she told herself that often enough that she believed it.
it was such a stupid party.
some random get-together at heeseung’s friend’s place—half the people were strangers, half were familiar faces that somehow became mutuals over months of late-night games, shared rides, and hangouts that blurred the lines of strangers.
yn hadn’t planned on drinking, really. she was just going to show face, hang around for a bit, and leave before the usual chaos started. but then someone pulled out soju. and someone else suggested never have i ever. and now she was drunk.
not blackout drunk, but definitely leaning against ness’ shoulder, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed, and heart a little too loud in her ears. the circle of people around her laughed, groaned, and teased each other as the game continued, each question getting riskier and more chaotic with every round.
“never have i ever… kissed someone i shouldn’t have.”
a mix of groans and oohs echoed around the circle. yn didn’t move at first. but her eyes—her eyes were fixed across the circle. on him.
jay. god, jay.
he was sitting in his usual slouched way, his long legs stretched out, arms crossed as he leaned back, a lazy smirk on his face like he wasn’t even fully paying attention.
but he knew. he had to know. because her eyes hadn’t left him all night.
she told herself it was fine. sunghoon wasn’t there—he’d bailed at the last minute, said he had some work to catch up on, and promised he’d make it up to her later. and the truth was… she hadn’t minded. not even a little. not like she used to.
they were past their honeymoon phase now. it was obvious. things felt… muted. he still called her baby, still held her hand, still kissed her with that slow softness that made her chest ache—but they barely saw each other anymore, despite living literally across the hall. the calls had shortened. the texts had thinned. sometimes it felt like she was holding up a version of their relationship that only she still cared to make look picture-perfect.
and yet, what unsettled her more than all of that… was the fact that she didn’t miss it the way she was supposed to.
because jay was here. and she’d spent the whole night looking at him.
watching how his mouth twitched every time someone said something stupid. watching how his hair fell slightly over his eyes. watching how he laughed with the people beside him but never once looked her way.
not once.
she lifted her shot glass slowly to her lips and drank. one more round. one more silent confession. ness’s head turned slightly to look at her, clocking the way she was staring, but didn’t say anything. it hit her then, like a blunt force to the chest.
she liked him.
not in that passing way she used to tell herself it was. not in the “he’s just hot and annoying and i hate him” way she used to cover it up with. no. she liked jay.
she liked him like you like the person who sees through every mask you wear. like you like the person you can’t ignore even when they ignore you. like she loved him, maybe.
sunghoon, sweet as he was, felt like a dream she had once. a phase. something soft and kind that came at the right time but didn’t feel like forever.
jay? jay was the real thing.
and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t fight it. she just stared at him, dazed and drunk and devastatingly sure.
✭
ness had been leaning a little too close to heeseung on the balcony, her arms resting on the railing, head tilted as she listened to him ramble about some stupid gym story that somehow involved a pigeon, a protein shake, and a broken locker key.
she rolled her eyes at him, biting back a smile—and that’s when the balcony door burst open.
yn stumbled in with all the grace of a giggly drunk person who thought they were being subtle. her eyes were wide, her smile even wider, and her steps surprisingly steady as she tiptoed—dramatically—into the balcony like she was on a mission.
then, in the world’s worst attempt at a whisper, she leaned toward ness and slurred out:
“i like jay.”
it wasn’t even a full whisper. it was more like a scream that wore a fake mustache and tried to pass off as discreet.
ness’s mouth dropped open.
not in surprise—she’d known, she’d suspected this for months—but the fact that yn had chosen this moment, this volume, this balcony to finally scream it into existence?
heeseung blinked. “WHAT.”
ness immediately smacked his arm and shut the balcony door with the urgency of a spy defusing a bomb. “shut up!” she hissed, locking it behind them and drawing the curtain like a makeshift soundproof barrier.
yn, meanwhile, flopped into one of the balcony chairs like she’d just finished confessing a murder. “god, that felt so good,” she exhaled, throwing her head back. “it’s been living in my lungs, dude. like—like—how do people keep feelings like that inside?! i feel lighter.”
ness stared at her, still blinking. “yn. you have a boyfriend.”
“i know!” yn whined, dramatically flopping her arms. “and he’s sweet and perfect and he’s sunghoon, i know. but like. i like jay. not like ‘haha he’s cute’ like—i like him like i want to kiss him. and not feel guilty about it.”
heeseung, leaning against the wall now with the smuggest grin, pointed between them. “okay but like. she’s not wrong. you and sunghoon haven’t even hung out properly in weeks.”
“you’re not helping,” ness hissed at him, then turned back to yn, grabbing her shoulders. “you’re drunk. and you’re spiraling. you’re not thinking clearly.”
“i am, actually,” yn replied with terrifying clarity, eyes wide. “i’ve never been clearer. jay is the real thing. like—like when i looked at him during the game tonight, i felt like throwing my drink in my face just to snap out of it.”
heeseung snorted. “romantic.”
ness glared at him again. “shut up, heeseung.”
yn pulled her legs up into the chair, hugging her knees like a teenage girl in love for the first time. “i don’t think it was ever just banter. like all those months we used to fight? what if it was just us flirting in denial?”
“oh my god,” ness groaned, rubbing her temples. “you sound like a budget therapist.”
heeseung, ever the chaos enabler, crossed his arms. “okay but she might be right. the dude stopped hanging out with everyone at once, he barely even talks to her now. he’s protecting himself.”
ness turned to him with wide eyes. “how do you know that?”
heeseung shrugged. “because if i was falling for someone i wasn’t supposed to fall for, i’d do the same thing.”
and for a second, the balcony fell quiet. the muffled sounds of the party inside filtered through the glass door, but none of them moved.
ness looked at yn, who looked like she was floating—giddy, scared, but sure. too sure. “yn,” she said quietly, “you can’t just blow your relationship up because you caught feelings drunk at a party.”
heeseung just raised a hand. “if this ends in flames, i’d like to be excluded from all blame. but if it works out—i told you so.”
ness sighed, looking at yn. “you need to figure this out when you’re sober. and alone.”
yn smiled to herself, not answering, just staring out into the dark sky beyond the railing, a million thoughts racing through her head.
but one thing stood still in her heart. she liked jay. and now it was out. their mission that night had been clear—keep yn away from jay. at all costs.
ness had made it very clear before they even left their apartment. she’d even held yn’s face in her hands dramatically and said, “you are not allowed within a five-foot radius of that man. you hear me? no lingering glances, no innocent conversations, no ‘oops i tripped into your lap’ energy. we are going. we are vibing. we are not confessing.”
but fast forward two hours later, and things were… precarious.
yn, comfortably drunk and emotionally unstable, had just made her big balcony confession. she’d announced her feelings like it was a televised broadcast, her words laced with passion, delusion, and four too many shots of soju.
and now that they were back inside, ness was on high alert. the second she noticed yn’s gaze shift across the room—to him—ness smacked her shoulder lightly.
“no.”
yn blinked at her, eyes dazed. “i didn’t even say anything.”
“you thought it. i saw it in your eyes.”
“i just looked!”
“exactly.”
heeseung was already snickering behind them, cradling his drink. “you’re like a mom scolding her kid for looking at candy.”
ness turned to him and deadpanned, “i am. she’s drunk, and jay is the biggest metaphorical bag of sour patch kids alive.”
yn pouted. “you guys are so dramatic.”
ness raised an eyebrow. “are we? you literally whispered—screamed—on the balcony that you want to kiss him. and then proceeded to talk about his ‘emotionally tortured eyes’ for five straight minutes.”
“that was poetry,” heeseung chimed in, taking another sip. “kinda beautiful, honestly.”
ness flicked him on the forehead. “you’re not helping.”
then she flicked yn too.
“ow! what was that for?!”
“that was for even thinking about walking over there.” ness crossed her arms. “yn, you’re drunk. you cannot trust drunk you to make good choices. and if you tell him now—here, like this—you’re going to wake up tomorrow with a hangover and a crisis.”
yn looked mildly offended. “i’m very wise when i’m drunk.”
“you also thought it was a good idea to pretend to be a tree when jungwon’s ex walked in earlier,” ness deadpanned.
“…he didn’t see me, did he?”
ness just gave her a look.
yn groaned, sliding down into the couch, her head falling back as her eyes landed on jay again—just a glimpse, across the crowd. he was laughing at something someone said, head thrown back, unaware of the war going on a few feet away.
heeseung caught her line of sight and promptly held up a pillow. “visual block. you’re in a jay-free zone now.”
ness clapped. “see? that’s the energy. that’s the plan.”
“but i like him,” yn whined, muffled under the pillow.
“i know,” ness said gently, crouching beside her. “and when you’re sober, and not halfway into a bottle of bad party soju, we’ll talk about it. and maybe then, you’ll decide if you still want to tell him.”
“but what if it’s too late then?”
ness sighed. “if it’s real, yn… it won’t be.”
and with that, operation keep yn from jay continued—full force, emotionally driven, and slightly chaotic. because as much as they all joked, none of them wanted to see her heart broken.
but then it happened faster than ness could stop. one second yn was grabbing a drink, giggling at something heeseung said—her body safely wedged between the two of them like she was in a human barricade. and then—like a ghost—he was just there.
jay.
a shadow slipping into the corner of her vision. she just turned and their eyes met.
her heart dropped, stomach clenching in a way that had nothing to do with the lukewarm vodka-orange mix she’d just sipped. because she had spent all night imagining this moment—fantasising how it would feel if he finally looked at her again like he used to. and now, here it was. real. unavoidable. and she was dazed out of her mind.
“can we talk?” he asked gently, his voice low, barely heard over the music.
ness, from across the room, instantly spotted it—danger—and started moving toward them, but it was already too late. yn’s feet were already following him, her body betraying her like muscle memory. and heeseung? he was just watching with interest, like he’d tuned in to the first episode of a drama he knew was going to ruin him.
they stepped out into the quieter hallway, the distant bass muffled behind them. and suddenly it was just the two of them, the warm low light washing over jay’s face, his expression unreadable but… soft.
too soft.
he smelled like bergamot and something darker—like rain-soaked cologne and he looked at her like she was the only real thing in the room.
yn’s knees ached.
he rubbed the back of his neck, stepping slightly closer. “i know i’ve been distant,” he started. “and i’m sorry. i should’ve just told you earlier.”
she blinked, heart thudding. “told me what?”
“that i liked you,” he said.
the words landed like a gut-punch. even if she knew—deep in her bones, in the glances, in the way he avoided her like she was a lit match—hearing it like this?
her knees nearly gave out.
“i didn’t know how to act around you anymore,” he continued, eyes flicking to hers, pleading almost. “because you’re with him. and i didn’t want to fuck it up. i didn’t want to be that guy. but i couldn’t keep pretending either.”
she tried to focus. tried. but her thoughts were swirling, her breath catching, and she could see ness and heeseung behind him through the open door—ness wide-eyed, gesturing wildly like no. do not kiss. no touching. stay in your lane. heeseung trying to wildly gesture her to just run away.
yn swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak. “jay, i… i can’t.”
he nodded, slowly, painfully. “i know.”
“but i think about kissing you,” she whispered, “’til i can’t breathe.”
his eyes closed for a second, his jaw tightening with restraint. “i do too,” he admitted, stepping closer anyway, his voice hoarse. “so fucking badly.”
it completely contradicted everything he’d just apologised for, but neither of them cared.
not when her lips were trembling, not when he was standing this close, not when the entire night had been building up to this moment like the slowest, softest car crash.
but she didn’t move. and neither did he. not because they didn’t want to. but because if they did, they’d never come back from it.
so they just stood there—wanting. breaking.
and behind them, ness finally dragged heeseung away, whispering, “if they kiss, we kill them both.”
heeseung nodded, “fair.”
yn turned to walk away first, her heart pounding, lungs burning, mind completely wrecked.
jay watched her leave like he’d just let the love of his life walk away from him.
because he did. and neither of them knew what to do next.
things between her and sunghoon didn’t get better.
not really.
they were still together—technically. he still sent her good morning texts, still gave her a kiss on the cheek when they met, still held her hand when they walked. but it wasn’t the same. not in the way it used to be. it was almost like… going through the motions. the tenderness had faded. the small, secret smiles. the unspoken inside jokes. the silly arguments about whose turn it was to pick dinner. now, it was just silence. or surface-level comfort. a familiarity that felt more like habit than love.
and somehow, that wasn’t even the worst of her worries.
because now that jay had said it—really said it—everything had changed.
it was like the second he admitted it out loud, something inside him unlocked. he started showing it, like he wasn’t afraid anymore. like confessing gave him permission to feel out loud. and he did—god, he did.
he looked at her like she belonged to him, even though she didn’t. not yet. he smiled at her like she was the best part of his day. he said things that made her laugh so hard her stomach hurt, and he’d grin like it was his favourite sound. he didn’t say “baby” out loud, but it was in the way he called her name. soft. familiar. loaded.
he didn’t kiss her. but he looked at her like he wanted to. every time he said goodnight—whether in person, over text, or just from the hallway across the apartment—his eyes said all the things he wasn’t allowed to do. not yet.
and she let him. she let him look. let him smile. let him toe that line—just like she did.
even though sunghoon was right there. sitting next to her on the couch. staring at his phone. not saying a word.
they were at the guy’s place again, everyone just lazing around after dinner. a random movie played in the background. jungwon was asleep on the floor, ness was fighting with heeseung over popcorn, and jay was leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes flicking to her in between sips of his drink.
sunghoon was right beside her. close enough that their knees brushed. but he hadn’t looked at her once in the last half hour. hadn’t tried to hold her hand. hadn’t leaned over to whisper something dumb in her ear like he used to.
and she… she hadn’t said anything either.
because the air had shifted. they could both feel it. something unspoken had settled between them, heavy and fragile. he still cared—she knew he did. but it started to feel more friendly. like they were slowly morphing into something platonic, even if neither of them had the guts to say it.
and jay hated it.
she could see it in the way his jaw clenched whenever sunghoon passed her a drink. in the way his eyes followed them when they got up together. in the way his entire posture changed when sunghoon touched her, even if briefly. he hated it—not because he was jealous, but because he wished, so badly, that it was him.
that he was the one allowed to kiss her goodnight. that he was the one who got to sit next to her and play with her fingers while she talked. that he was the one who got to mean it when he looked at her like that.
but he wasn’t. not yet.
and yn didn’t know how much longer she could pretend she didn’t want him to be.
✭
it was late.
one of those unusually cold nights, even for the season, where the silence outside the apartment windows felt heavier than usual. yn had left after sunghoon laughed heartedly in conversation with heeseung, sitting beside her but somehow not really with her. she claimed needing some air and she really did. she was heading back after the short walk, hoodie pulled up, hands tucked deep in her pockets. when she reached her building, the hallway light flickered once before steadying, and just as she turned the corner—
jay.
he was leaning against the wall outside his apartment, phone in hand, like he’d been waiting for something. or someone. the second he saw her, his posture straightened, lips parting like he hadn’t expected her but had hoped she’d show.
they stood there for a second. just looked at each other. and then he spoke. quietly.
“you okay?”
she gave a soft nod. “just needed some air.”
jay stepped forward, a little closer than he should’ve. his eyes searched her face like he was trying to read something between her lashes. “you’ve been quiet lately.”
“so have you.”
“yeah,” he said, voice barely audible now. “that night… at the party. i didn’t mean to mess things up.”
“you didn’t.”
“i did.” he paused. “you just won’t say it.”
she didn’t respond.
the hallway buzzed gently with the hum of the fluorescent bulb above them. everything else—thoughts, emotions, the painful pounding in her chest—was way too loud.
jay stepped even closer. close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. close enough that she could smell the faint trace of his cologne again. the one she was starting to associate with late nights and near-disasters.
“i can’t keep acting like i don’t feel this way,” he murmured. “every time i see you with him… i wanna lose it.”
“jay—”
“i know, i know. you’re with him. i’m not trying to mess with that. but i’m tired of pretending like i don’t want you.”
her breath hitched. he was so close now. their fingers almost brushed when her hand dropped from her pocket. his eyes flickered from her mouth back up to her eyes. slowly. carefully.
“i’m not gonna kiss you,” he whispered, like he was reminding himself more than her. “not unless you want me to.”
her heart was racing so fast she swore it echoed.
“i can’t,” she breathed. “you know i can’t.”
jay nodded, but didn’t move away. “but do you want to?”
silence. she hated that she didn’t have an answer. or maybe she did. maybe her silence was the answer.
his jaw tensed, eyes dropping for just a second before he stepped back, finally giving her the space she didn’t ask for but desperately needed.
“goodnight, yn,” he said, voice barely holding together.
she whispered it back.
he disappeared into his apartment without another word, the door clicking softly behind him.
and she stood there for a full minute, head pressed against the cool wall, hating how much she wished he hadn’t walked away.
it came out of nowhere.
a message from jay. just a casual notification on a regular tuesday night, lighting up her phone screen like it was any other day.
jay:
hey. just wanted to say i’ve been good lately. hope you are too.
i think i’m finally over it.
yn stared at it.
read it once. then again. and again. every word sinking heavier into her stomach, like wet sand pulling her under. her thumb hovered over the screen, unsure of what to type—if she should type anything. what did he mean by “it”? she knew exactly what he meant. and she hated how badly she didn’t want it to be true.
it wasn’t like she had expected him to wait. or chase her. or hang on forever. she never asked for that. but somehow, him saying it—putting it out there so cleanly, so calmly—hurt more than she expected. a lot more.
especially because he knew she wasn’t over it.
a minute later, another ping.
jay:
met someone actually. nothing serious but it’s been good. healthy.
idk. feels nice to like someone who’s not… yk.
you.
the word wasn’t written, but she read it anyway. her mouth felt dry. her heartbeat roared in her ears. it wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. it was more like mourning something that was never hers to begin with.
she typed, erased. typed again.
yn:
that’s good. i’m glad.
you deserve that.
three dots. he was typing.
then they disappeared.
then came back again.
jay:
yeah.
guess we both needed to move on huh?
did they?
because she hadn’t. not really. she was still stuck in place, heart split between what should be and what felt right. she still replayed that night in the hallway over and over again. still thought about how soft his voice had been. how warm his eyes were when he said he wanted her.
and now he was telling her he didn’t anymore.
except… except a few days later, she saw him in the lobby, laughing at something heeseung said. and when his eyes met hers across the glass doors, they didn’t look like the eyes of someone who was over it.
they looked like the eyes of someone pretending to be. and yn wasn’t sure what broke her more—that he was pretending… or that she was pretending too.
it was quiet.
the kind of quiet that didn’t feel comforting or peaceful—just… inevitable. like a slow tide pulling away from the shore, leaving nothing but wet sand and echoes behind. yn sat on the edge of the playground bench near their building, arms folded tightly over her chest. the air was warm, but her palms were cold.
she heard sunghoon’s footsteps before she saw him. they were familiar, light but a little fast, like he didn’t want to be late. he hadn’t changed much—still in that hoodie he always wore on slow weekends, hair still tousled like he hadn’t bothered to fix it before coming down.
but there was something different in his eyes when he saw her. a kind of understanding already sitting there. like he knew. he gave her a soft smile as he sat beside her.
“hey,” he said.
“hey.”
a pause. the longest one. the kind where you hear everything else—the rustle of leaves, the distant traffic, the laughter of someone’s kid echoing faintly from the other end of the street.
“it’s been a while,” he said.
she nodded. “yeah. didn’t realise how long it’s been since we actually… talked.”
sunghoon looked down, his fingers running along the seam of his jeans. “i guess we both got busy.”
“no,” she said, and her voice was steady now. “we just… stopped trying.”
he turned to look at her, face unreadable but not cold. just tired. “is this the part where you tell me you want to break up?”
her heart stung, but she nodded anyway. “yeah.”
there was no outburst. no angry words or tears. just silence again. and then he leaned back, exhaled a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.
“i kinda saw it coming.”
yn bit the inside of her cheek. “i liked you. i really did. and you were good to me. but this… whatever we had—it feels like it was something short. sweet, but short. a fling that just… slowed down.”
he looked up at the sky, nodded once. “we were fun.”
“we were,” she said softly. “and maybe we still can be. just not like this.”
“i never wanted to hold you back,” he said.
“you didn’t.”
he paused, then asked—very gently—“is it jay?”
she hesitated. not because she wanted to lie. but because her heart clenched the moment his name left sunghoon’s mouth. so she said, quietly:
“it’s not because of him. but… i won’t pretend he didn’t make me realise some things.”
sunghoon nodded again, slower this time. “he always looked at you like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.”
yn swallowed the lump in her throat. “i never wanted to hurt you.”
“i know.” he offered her a small, tired smile. “and i think i’ll still be around. just… as a friend.”
“i’d like that.”
they sat there for a while longer. two people who had once held hands and hearts, now just holding onto the soft understanding that sometimes, love didn’t last. and sometimes… that was okay.
✭
she cried herself to sleep that night.
not because of sunghoon. she felt guilty admitting it, even to herself, but her tears had little to do with him. that conversation had been quiet, mutual, almost too calm. there were no raised voices, no dramatic walkaways, no last-minute “don’t go”—just a soft, shared acceptance that whatever they had was over.
it wasn’t grief for that relationship that kept her chest heavy under the covers. it was something else entirely.
jay.
the thought of him with someone else—smiling at someone else the way he used to smile at her, even if only in passing—burned. the idea of him genuinely moving on, meaning the words he texted and not just pretending for her sake, was what made her turn over in bed and bury her face into her pillow.
she hadn’t broken up with sunghoon for jay. she didn’t do it to choose someone else. but maybe, deep down, she had still hoped. hoped that when she finally set herself free, jay would be right there. waiting. like he always had been. like he used to be.
but now…
now, he was texting her like a friend. smiling in passing. not seeking her out like before. now, he might be liking someone else.
and the worst part?
she had no right to be upset about it. that’s what broke her.
she curled up tighter, fists gripping the corner of her blanket, chest aching with words she never got to say. i didn’t choose you because i wasn’t ready. but i wanted to. i wanted you.
tears soaked into her pillow as the night dragged on. and she thought to herself, god, i just hope he hasn’t stopped wanting me too.
mia was nice. that was the best jay could come up with. she was nice.
she had pretty hair, smelled like soft florals, wore tiny gold hoops that glinted every time she tucked her hair behind her ear. she laughed at his jokes—even the dumb ones—and knew how to keep a conversation going.
but the entire time, jay sat there politely nodding, smiling in all the right places, all while subconsciously chasing shadows. he shouldn’t have done that. he wasn’t that guy. then again, he really wasn’t some guy to be on a casual blind date jungwon wore him to attend. but here he was. laughing half heartedly at something she said, asking her random questions to continue on without awkwardness.
but every time mia said something, he caught himself thinking how yn would’ve said it differently. her sarcasm sharper. her eyes more expressive. when mia said she hated mint chocolate, he nearly laughed because yn would’ve agreed—loudly, dramatically, maybe even started a fake fight over it.
and when mia reached over to take a fry off his plate without asking, he stilled. yn used to do that too. only, when she did it, he never minded.
he was fucked. so hopelessly, pathetically fucked.
still, he wasn’t going to be a dick about it. he walked her to her stop, said he had fun, even smiled when she touched his arm and said she’d like to do this again sometime. he didn’t say no. he just said, “yeah, maybe.”
then walked the rest of the way home alone, hands in his jacket, the streets dark and cold.
when he stepped into the apartment, it was quiet, save for the faint glow of the tv. sunghoon was on the couch, legs stretched out, scrolling through something on his phone. he looked up once when jay kicked off his shoes.
“how was the date?” he asked, eyes returning to the screen.
jay shrugged. “fine.”
another beat. “she seemed cool,” sunghoon added casually.
“yeah. she was.” jay didn’t elaborate. he walked over and sat next to him, their shoulders nearly brushing.
the silence stretched, awkward but familiar. jay picked at a loose thread on the hem of his sleeve.
and then—quietly, without looking away from his phone—sunghoon said, “me and yn broke up. last night.”
jay’s fingers froze. his breath caught. just for a second.
but his voice came out even, too even. “what happened?”
sunghoon let out a soft laugh. not bitter. not amused either. just… tired. “nothing dramatic. we just stopped feeling like… us. guess we were holding onto something we already outgrew.”
jay looked over at him, trying to read between the lines. sunghoon didn’t look sad. didn’t look angry. if anything, he looked relieved. but also… resigned.
jay didn’t say anything for a while. he just nodded. “i’m sorry.”
and sunghoon—knowing exactly what jay meant and not what he said—nodded back.
he wasn’t stupid. he had seen the way jay looked at her, long before jay even realised he was doing it. he had seen the shift in yn too. he wasn’t angry. just… weirdly at peace with it.
he kept his gaze on the tv. “you know, you really suck at hiding shit.”
jay finally smiled. just a little. “yeah… i know.”
they sat there for a while, two boys in the quiet, both loving the same girl at different times. and in some tangled, painful, unspoken way—both letting her go.
they hadn’t spoken in over a week.
not a word, not a glance. no messages. no stolen eye contact in the hallway. just this unspoken understanding that maybe space was safer—until space began to feel suffocating.
so when yn and jay both stepped out of their stats class, test papers in hand, and nearly collided in the doorway, it was as if the universe had finally lost patience with their bullshit.
“oh,” she blinked, taking half a step back.
he stopped too, awkwardly shifting his paper to his other hand. “hey.”
there was a beat of silence before she held up her paper and grinned. “A minus.”
jay let out a low whistle, then held up his own with a smirk. “A plus.”
she rolled her eyes dramatically, laughing under her breath. “show off.”
and just like that, like the simplest of interactions, his heart did that annoying thing—it thudded. hard. like it still hadn’t learned to stop reacting to her smile.
they fell into step together, the sunlight catching in her hair as they walked down the stone path leading to the bus stop. the early afternoon buzzed around them, people passing by, bikes whirring, conversations floating in the air—but jay only heard the quiet between their footsteps.
she broke it first. “so… your date?”
jay chuckled, shoving one hand in his pocket. “it was okay.”
she raised an eyebrow. “just okay?”
“yeah,” he shrugged. “how’d you even know about it?”
she shot him a knowing look. “mia’s been parading you around class like you’re already hers. i’m surprised she didn’t bring you a lunchbox this week.”
jay snorted, running a hand through his hair. “that explains the stares.”
a small silence passed again. not uncomfortable, but dense. like there were words crawling at the back of both their throats.
and then jay said it. softly. “i heard about you and sunghoon.”
she nodded, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. “yeah. last week.”
jay glanced at her, trying to read the corners of her expression.
“it was just a short one, i guess,” she added after a moment, her voice light, but not detached.
he nodded with her, slow, lips twitching like he was holding something back. and then—before he could stop himself—he asked it.
“was it… because of me?”
yn’s steps faltered just slightly. she didn’t look at him right away, just stared ahead, blinking. then she turned her face to him, her expression unreadable at first—somewhere between amusement and vulnerability.
a pause stretched, and then she smiled. not wide. not coy. just soft. like she was tired of pretending she didn’t have an answer. “maybe not just because of you,” she said quietly. “but… you didn’t exactly help.”
jay’s heart did that thing again.
he swallowed, gaze flicking to her lips and back up. “i’m sorry.”
she tilted her head. “for what?”
“for liking you,” he said, honest, raw. “even when i wasn’t supposed to.”
yn’s lips curved. and for a second, jay didn’t know if she was about to smile wider or walk away. but she just kept walking beside him, slower now. “you really suck at dates, by the way,” she muttered, nudging his arm.
and he laughed—really laughed—because somehow, even after everything, she was still his favorite person to be next to.
things settled into an odd kind of normal.
the same relentless bickering returned—sarcastic jabs and exaggerated eye rolls, arguments about literally everything under the sun: who was smarter, who looked better in their uniforms, whose stats paper was graded unfairly. but now there was a lightness to it. a flicker in their eyes, the way one smirked a little too long, the way the other blushed a little too fast.
they’d done this before, but it was different now. because now they knew.
jay knew exactly how she smiled when she was trying not to say something reckless. yn knew exactly how jay’s voice dropped when he was holding back too much.
they’d both been to the edge, toes curling at the boundary of something they shouldn’t cross, and now that they’d danced around it long enough, even sunghoon—of all people—was rooting for them.
he’d taken to calling their bickering flirting, usually with a mouthful of cereal and a raised brow. “just date already,” he’d said one evening, scrolling through his phone on the couch. “you’re killing the vibe with all that tension.”
they both had immediately denied it—at the same time—louder than necessary. sunghoon had just smirked. “whatever you say. just don’t drag me into your wedding speeches.”
and despite the quiet permission hanging in the air, they didn’t do anything. not right away. because bro code. and ex-girlfriend code. and the absolute mess that came with being so close yet still somehow in limbo.
but then came jake’s party. again.
a big one this time, packed and loud. the music pulsed through the walls like a heartbeat, and everything smelled like spiked soda and cheap perfume. yn had promised herself she’d take it easy. and then jay handed her a drink, his smirk making her forget every ounce of self-restraint.
she didn’t remember when they stopped drinking responsibly. somewhere between their third shared shot and her dramatic rant about the girl in the pink boots, jay was laughing beside her, tossing in jokes and reactions, his head thrown back, completely captivated by her storytelling.
they were inseparable that night.
he followed her around like he always did, teasing her every step, offering her his jacket when she stepped out for air and pulling her back into the party when her buzz began to fade. their shoulders touched constantly. her fingers curled around his wrist once when she almost tripped, and he didn’t let go for far too long.
and somehow, at some point, they ended up alone.
the hallway was dim, bathed in the leftover amber glow from the party lights. it was far enough from the crowd that everything else sounded like a muffled echo. they stood there, breathless from laughing, drinks still in hand but forgotten.
jay looked at her then, really looked. her lipstick was smudged from the cup, her eyes bright and unfocused. she leaned against the wall, head tilted, watching him the same way he was watching her.
there was silence. charged. heavy.
he stepped closer.
“so,” he said, voice soft, barely above a whisper. “we gonna keep pretending this doesn’t feel different now?”
yn blinked, eyes trailing from his lips to his collarbone and back up again. her heart thudded somewhere in her throat.
“i was gonna ask you the same thing,” she murmured, tilting her head just slightly.
his hand brushed against her hip, light and slow, testing the air between them.
“fuck it,” she whispered, barely audible.
and just like that his lips were on hers. it felt like the earth was caving in, the room was spinning—probably cause it was to them—like this was it. because it was
jay was finally kissing her like she had been pleading for months. his lips were desperate but gentle and moved so preciously like he wanted to imprint the feeling of her lips forever.
he pulled away first but only to trail down to her neck, every single peck on her skin feeling electric. his hand, which had been flat on her hip, was now crunching at her dress, nails slightly digging into her skin making her hiss.
yn could barely keep her eyes open, not when his warm tongue was licking over her collarbone. a moan slid out, strangled but low and audible to him, heat immediately rushing down his body at the sound.
“jay,” she called out breathless. he hummed into her neck, pulling away to look into her eyes, the gaze making her physically weak in the knees.
“i want you.” she said, like she meant it. and she fucking did.
that was all it took for him to get moving. he took her by the hand to the nearest room—which seemed to be jake’s bathroom—locking the door and just looking at her.
she was a little messy than when they originally entered the party, her hair undone, her dress crooked but still doing her justice. her eyes were trained to him, watching his next step.
he slowly walked closer, as if asking for permission for the millionth time and when her lips met his, he sounded out his everything into a guttural moan.
his jacket was on the floor in record time. the sleeve of her dress slipped off her shoulder as he took full advantage of the access he had been given. her hands tugged his hair as she felt his lips softly kiss down to her collarbone and over the lacy bra she had picked, hoping she would end up in this position.
his hands, that once gripped her waist, now found her thighs. she gasped at the feelings, heart thumping excitedly. he chuckled at the sound of her heart rate increasing against his mouth.
“are you excited, baby?” he asked softly, finally happy to be able to use that nickname for her.
she whimpered in response, letting out a noise that suspiciously sounded like ‘please’.
he toyed more, wanting her to say it. beg him for it. “what was that, love?”.
she tried to stand her ground, to be—or at least pretend to be—confident. “you know what i want” she said, voice surprisingly stable despite the alcohol she had consumed.
his fingers that once played with the plush skin of her thighs, moved towards her core, that had somewhat dampened with all his teasing.
“fuck yn. how are you already so wet, my love? i haven’t even done anything.” he didn’t mean for it to come out in a groan, wanting to prolong teasing her but quite frankly, none of them could really wait anymore.
in the next second, his pant was by his ankles and she was propped up against the bathroom sink. her eyes trained down his leaking dick, which he held in his palm. his eyes were only on her. “are you sure about this yn? we can always do it some other time–”
“you talk WAY too much just fuck me jay.” that did it for him, lining up with her core. her nails dug into his shoulders as she gasped softly at the feeling of his tip against her folds. she could only chanted a mantra of ‘fuck fuck fuck’ as he slowly entered her. he was suspiciously quiet but his jaw slacked open at the feeling of her around him.
“holy shit you’re so tight” he mumbled, body jerking forward as she clenched around him.
he only moved his hips when she gave him the go, hands holding her waist as he slowly moved in and out of her. a symphony of moans slipped out her mouth, his heart fluttering at the sound.
“you feel so good i’m..” she moaned out, head tilting back at the feeling. he leaned in, teeth grazing the neck of her skin, sending more heat to her stomach.
the sound of her voice only fueled him more, his pace increasing until they were both panting. he climaxed first, head against her shoulder. then he helped her through hers, drawing small circles on her bud.
“that was.. Insane” she huffed through. he nodded, kissing her sweaty forehead.
“it was good but i’m only now realising, our first time was in jake’s bathroom..” he said slowly.
yn’s eyes widened at the discovery, shaking her head in disgust as she dressed up quickly, mumbling “we better leave before we get AIDS or something”. jay just laughed.
✭
the bathroom door clicked shut behind them, soft and quiet, but their nerves buzzed like they had just fired a cannon in the middle of the party.
they walked side by side—casually, coolly, trying very hard to pretend they hadn’t just hooked up in the bathroom like reckless teenagers. they approached the group slowly: ness, heeseung, jungwon and a few others lounging on the couch, mid-conversation.
but the second the group saw them together, walking in sync and looking far too smug for two people who claimed they "weren’t a thing," everything stopped.
ness’ eyes narrowed.
heeseung tilted his head.
jungwon straight-up pointed. “you. two.”
yn’s eyes widened in mock innocence. jay rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool.
“what?” yn asked, blinking.
“no way,” ness said, jaw dropped. “don’t even try to deny it—your hair is different, jay’s shirt is wrinkled, and you’ve been gone for exactly twenty-three minutes.”
heeseung gasped dramatically, grabbing a pillow and clutching it to his chest like he was in a soap opera. “y’all really did it in the bathroom?!”
jay opened his mouth to deny it, as did yn, both ready with some pre-decided excuse—but before they could even begin, the entire group cheered. loud, chaotic clapping, whooping, heeseung nearly falling off the couch.
“no shame!” ness shouted. “i knew it was gonna happen, but not like this.”
“you two are disgusting,” heeseung added, though he was grinning ear to ear.
jay and yn looked at each other, stunned for a second—then just gave in and laughed, cheeks flushed but not entirely from embarrassment.
she shook her head. “i hate you all.”
“you love us,” ness beamed, reaching out to pull her into the couch with them. jay followed after, dropping onto the floor beside her, his knee brushing against hers.
he looked up at her, eyes shining with mischief. “so… we’re really not denying it?”
yn leaned back, smirking. “they made it impossible.”
he grinned. “good.” because maybe it wasn’t supposed to be a secret anymore.
it was a lazy sunday afternoon.
the type where the sun slanted perfectly through the kitchen window and the city buzzed quietly in the background. the apartment was a mess — leftover containers from last night’s takeout on the coffee table, a blanket half on the couch, and jay’s hoodie thrown across one of the dining chairs. a spotify playlist hummed low in the background, something soft and indie and painfully romantic, not that either of them would admit to putting it on.
yn stood in front of the open fridge, hair tied in the world’s most unstable bun, a sour look on her face. “did you seriously eat all the mango yogurt?”
jay, sprawled across the floor with his back propped up by the couch. “it was expiring soon.”
“you ate four cups, jay.”
“i was being responsible.”
“you’re an idiot.”
he smiled, slow and wide, like he loved being called that by her. “and yet you’re dating me.”
she groaned dramatically, slamming the fridge shut. “god, what a mistake.”
he laughed, actually laughed, before sitting up and patting the spot beside him. “come here, mistake-maker. you can yell at me up close.”
yn rolled her eyes, but she crossed the room anyway, dropping down beside him and stealing the throw pillow from behind his back just to spite him.
jay turned to her, watching her face like he still couldn’t believe he got to look at her this close. “you love me,” he said smugly, like he was stating a universal truth.
she snorted. “sure.”
“no, say it,” he leaned in closer, lips brushing the side of her cheek. “say you love me.”
“i like you.”
“love.”
“tolerate.”
he kissed her then — just because he could. because it had taken them a whole mess of jealousy, broken friendships, midnight drives, stupid parties, and one too many bad decisions to get here. and because even through all of it, all the bickering and banter, the push and pull, she was his.
when they broke apart, yn was smiling — soft, teasing.
“i love you,” she whispered.
jay grinned like it physically pained him not to kiss her again. “told you so.”
she shoved him lightly. “ugh, i change my mind.”
but she didn’t. she never could.
and even as they argued over what to order for lunch five minutes later (because of course they did), even as she threatened to smother him with a pillow if he didn’t stop playing with the light switch like a five-year-old, it was obvious to everyone — to ness, to heeseung, to the group chat that never slept — that this was it for them.
a love built on chaos, stubbornness, endless teasing, and the kind of loyalty that stuck around — even when it was hard.
OVERV. sohn yn is happy to accompany her longtime boyfriend, evan, to his best friend’s wedding in korea. she’s also surprised to learn however that evan, or heeseung’s, family is extremely wealthy and he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in all of south korea. thrust into an unwanted spotlight, now she must compete with snobby socialites, odd relatives, and most of all: his disapproving mother.
INSPR. plot is based on my fav romance movie ever crazy rich asians go watch
PRNG. lhs x fmr
WRNGS. cursing, miscommunication
STATUS. in the works
00. teaser
01. IN THE WORKS. . .
02. IN THE WORKS. . .
03. IN THE WORKS. . .
04. IN THE WORKS. . .
taglist is open, comment or send an ask to be added!
