[apoemaday]

Telling My Father

by James Crews

I found him on the porch that morning, sipping cold coffee, watching a crow dip down from the power line into the pile of black bags stuffed in the dumpster where he pecked and snagged a can tab, then carried it off, clamped in his beak like the key to a room only he knew about. My father turned to me then, taking in the reek of my smoke, traces of last night’s eyeliner I decided not to wipe off this time. Out late was all he said. And then smiled, rubbing the small of my back through the robe for a while, before heading inside, letting the storm door click shut behind him. Later, when I stepped into the kitchen, I saw it waiting there on the table—a glass of orange juice he had poured for me and left sweating in a patch of sunlight so bright I couldn’t touch it at first.

[apoemaday]

Just Walking Around

by John Ashbery

What names do I have for you? Certainly there is no name for you In the sense that the stars have names That somehow fit them. Just walking around,

An object of curiosity to some, But you are too preoccupied By the secret smudge in the back of your soul To say much, and wander around,

Smiling to yourself and others. It gets kind of lonely But at the same time off-putting, Counterproductive, as you realize once again

That the longest way is the most efficient way, The one that looped among islands, and You always seemed to be traveling in a circle. And now that the end is near

The segments of the trip swing open like an orange. There is light in there, and mystery and food. Come see it. Come not for me but it. But if I am still there, grant that we may see each other.

[cb97percent]

「𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚜」

❝𝚆𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛.❞

➥ Chris(topher) x Reader (f) x Chris(tian) — 3.9k

➥ Twinsted, Double Trouble, Deranged Sexy

➥ Contains: "Gaslight, Gatekeep, Bangboss" a.k.a mindfuck galore, hotline bling action feat. Chris and his foul mouth, Avatar Sex™

➥ Reader discretion advised: See the masterlist for the full disclaimer about this project, general warnings, and request guidelines. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk.

⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Threesome with twins, manipulation, yandere undertones

➥ You’ve never believed in evil twins until you met your boyfriend’s brother, and you’re about to learn that there is no such thing as a “good twin” in the first place.

“H–He’s gonna stay at our place?”

The logistics are a bit confusing to an outsider. The parents named their sons Chris-topher and Chris-tian, but no one ever calls them by their full names—they are both known as Chris in their respective circles, which seldom coincide anyway. And during the rare times they have to be in the same room, people discern the twins by shortening Christian into Chan. 

Because the older brother has asserted his dominance by being born one minute earlier, and claimed the exclusive rights to Chris.

“Yeah, but only for a few days until his apartment is repainted. It’ll be like I never left,” Chris launches his dimples at you. “I just didn’t want him to waste money on a hotel room, and he can keep you company until I return from my trip. Would that be okay?”

Goodie, WOULD IT?

It’s one of those “I swear it’s true, but I can’t prove it” things, which drives you fucking crazy. The younger one’s vibes are a bit… off, so to speak. He doesn’t smile; he just smirks. He doesn’t look; he eats you alive with his smoldering eyes, and it’s uncanny how it feels like he’s running his tongue all over your body when he just stares at you from across the room. 

And he stares at you a lot.

“Of course, baby. If that’s gonna put your mind at ease…” you reciprocate his sunset smile as if your chest isn’t actively tightening.

You don’t understand how these two men were wombmates raised by the very same family. It’s not like one was adopted, or the other was sent to a boarding school during his formative years. Same upbringing, same schools, same classrooms even, yet the blonde one is giving full Joe Goldberg whereas Christopher is literally the perfect guy you know. Kindest soul. An absolute gentleman. Rare species of a generous lover who makes you scream into the night.

Which is why you keep asking yourself, “What is life?” every time you cross paths with Chan at the Bang house on major holidays. 

To his credit, he’s not doing anything to warrant a formal complaint. At least not in front of people, so you spend half the time suspecting if things are happening for real or just in your head. It’s the way he looks at you that no one seems to notice. It’s the way he only ever talks to you when coincidentally no one is around you—running into you in the hallways, waiting to use the restroom after you, appearing in the kitchen when you’re picking up another bottle of wine to bring to the table.

And when he does…

“If I catch you looking at my lips one more time, I’m getting under that table and eating the shit out of your pussy. I’m warning you.”

Yet he whispers that lunacy so softly that your entire sense of reality distorts. He says it like he’s reciting a love poem about his soul-crushing longing for you, even punctuating it with a barely-there kiss on your ear. You hang onto that bottle of wine for dear life so as not to crash it into a million pieces and alert the household. They should stay blissfully unaware of the blasphemy taking place in the kitchen where the pleasant meal they are having was made with a lot of love.

And your mind has the hardest fucking time registering just how wrong this is because he looks exactly like the man you want to spend the rest of your life with!

Unfortunately for you, the confusion doesn’t stop at the Thanksgiving ambushes. He knows you like working during late a.m. hours, but he also knows damn well Chris might be sleeping right next to you.

Yet the texts he sends in the dead of the night…

Tian halfway through this gram of coke i remembered just how fucking beautiful you are and that im insanely in love with you

Of course you’ve thought about it. You’ve thought about talking to your boyfriend about his brother’s extremely inappropriate behavior that gives you extremely inappropriate butterflies, but seconds after your checkmarks go blue, the texts always disappear. No ‘Message deleted’ or anything; it’s like he’s never sent them in the first place. You’ve even tried screenshotting a few times as soon as you opened a text, just to prove to yourself that you’re not fucking hallucinating things, but all you’d get would be a black screen. 

HOW DOES HE EVEN DO THAT? 

What are you even going to say to Chris without solid evidence in your hands? Whatever you claim, Chan will just deny it, and you will look like the pick-me girl who thinks everyone in the room has the hots for her. 

Yet here you are, about to live under the same roof with the very man that makes you question everything you’ve ever known to be true.

At your boyfriend’s request!

“Welcome, Chr— I mean, Chan.”

“There’s only one of us here. You can call me Chris,” he faintly smirks as he enters through your front door. “That’s what everybody calls me anyway.”

“I think it would confuse me,” you politely smile at him, “so I’d rather stick to Chan if it’s okay.”

“You wouldn’t be confused if you just sat on my face,” he scoffs under his breath.

“What?”

“What?”

You’ve heard it. You’ve fucking heard it! Five seconds he’s been here, and it has already started. You might just have to walk around with a microphone to catch the shit he blurts out on tape, but you’re not even sure if the mic will actually record it. Fuck, he might just be a vampire of sorts, and maybe that’s why he cannot be captured on media in any shape or form!

You should definitely ask him to stand in front of a mirror just in case.

“What you said just now…” you point your finger at him with furrowed brows.

“I didn’t say anything,” he purses his lips, looking at you with slight concern as if to silently ask if you’re okay, then proceeds to carry his bag to the guest room. “Thank you for having me.”

And thus begins the unbearable heaviness of breathing the same air as Chan because it feels like you’re inhaling mercury.

You simply don’t know how to act around him. He looks so eerily identical to his brother that if he covers his hair under a beanie, you just cannot tell them apart. It really feels like you’re having dinner with Chris, and it makes you feel weirdly guilty. You should be able to discern your own boyfriend without leaning on a hair color. You share a bed with this man. You share a life with this man!

“Is there something on my face?” 

No, but you wish there were, and you wish it were something prominent. A freckle. A tattoo. Something. Maybe then you wouldn’t intensely stare at him while playing a spot-the-difference game all by yourself. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head as you chew on your last bite and reach for his empty plate. “If you’re finished with that…”

“I’ll help clear the table.”

All you do is stand next to each other while doing the dishes, and you just cannot figure out why you get this intense urge to touch yourself. Is it because he wears the same cologne as Chris? Is it because he wears the same chains as Chris? Is it because he dresses like his entire wardrobe is sponsored by Chrome Hearts?

Just… WHAT THE HELL IS IT?!

Thank fuck the phone rings before you could even think about doing something thoroughly and utterly stupid.

“Hey, baby! Just checking in,” Chris chirps on the phone. “How’s everything?”

“GREAT!” you uncontrollably scream into the receiver. “We just had dinner. How was the client meeting?” 

“Also great. Not to jinx it, but we’re sooo sealing the deal,” Chris brags, so much satisfaction dripping from his voice that you can practically see him grinning.

“Oh, we’re celebrating the shit out of it when you get back!” you congratulate him enthusiastically. “When are you coming home?” 

“In two days,” Chris responds, his voice suddenly coated with a different kind of contentment. “Did someone miss me?”

He wears that cheeky overcoat on his voice, but it still flares something in your loins. You head to your bedroom with fast steps and close the door, taking your clothes off lightning fast.

“I miss you a lot,” you put the call on speakerphone for full hand-ependence. “Like… miss you miss you.” 

“I miss you, too, angel,” he sighs longingly, his voice deliciously deeper. “God, I’d kill for a few licks from your pussy right now.”

THIS right there is fucking PROOF!

It doesn’t have anything to do with Chan. It never did in the first place because it’s just an optical illusion. If the man you’re in love with, the man whose children you want to have is projected right before your eyes, of course you’re going to react some type of way!

“And I’d kill to have you between my legs,” you sprawl on the bed more comfortably and start teasing your body. “God, it’s like you’ve been gone forever, baby. I need you bad.”

“Mm, how wet are you right now?”

“I’m soaking,” you breathily answer. “You’d slide right in.” 

“Oh fuck yeah, I would. Dip your fingers in there,” he starts listing his demands three. “Get your nipples wet for me, baby. Play with them.”

You close your eyes and do as he says, your fingers prodding your entrance to collect your slick. You slowly coat your nipples, lightly pinching them, imagining it’s Chris’ gentle bites.

“Are you touching yourself, too?” you ask.

“Uh huh…” 

“How hard are you, baby?” 

“Belly bulge-worthy. If I bent you over right now, no fucking way you’d be able to walk straight tomorrow,” he confesses through his heavy breathing. “But it doesn’t feel half as good as your pussy. God, how I wish you were on my lap right now.”

His voice carries a jillion kilowatts, but it’s so soothing. It really feels like he’s with you, whispering his unhinged desires into your ear in this bed that belongs to the two of you.

“What would you do to me?” 

“First, we make out. A lot,” he presses play on his imaginary sextape. “I kiss you deep, and you fucking drip all over me.”

“Mm, keep going,” you play with your breasts just like he wants. “Fuck, you should see this right now. My nipples are so hard, they are begging to be sucked on.” 

“Imagine me holding you. I kiss your neck first,” he speaks with a sultry smile tucked into his words. “The wet kind, just the way you like.”

And imagine, you do. You imagine his lips on your skin, covering you with his wetness. You imagine him being buried deep inside you. You imagine him making little love confessions in between his filthy words, making you giggle midfuck.

“Down to your collarbones… Then your tits… Kissing all over them first,” he lets out a big exhale. “Getting you so horny for me, you shudder when I take your nipples between my lips.”

“Fuck, Chris…”

It’s like you manifest him right next to you through sheer willpower. He paints you such vivid mental pictures that you actually shudder. You actually feel licked. It feels wet.

It feels… wet.

When you open your eyes, the blond demon stares at you like your government-assigned incubus, sucking on your nipples. You inadvertently gasp when you realize that wasn’t a figment of your imagination, and he immediately gestures shush, then keeps licking as if everything’s alright with the universe. And now you’re fucking losing it because it’s…

It’s technically Chris!

“This isn’t enough, baby,” he groans on the other end. “God, I need to fuck your face. I need to put your pussy in my mouth.”

Chan lets go of your breasts and slithers down, kissing his way down to your crotch. You hold your breath as you watch him wrap his arms around your thighs, and when he hits that first lick…

…you WHINE.

“Feels good, yeah? Getting your pretty cunt licked,” Chris speaks like he’s clenching his teeth. “Feel me slurping on that clit… Licking into your oozing hole… Let me fuck that tight little hole with my tongue…”

And that’s exactly what happens.

Chris declares his wishes, and they come true one by one. Chan slurps on your clit as quietly as possible, but you can still hear the wet sounds. He dips his tongue into your entrance, licking you like your arousal is his sole supply of water, then flattens his tongue and buries his face deeper into you. You cannot believe what you’re seeing. This just can’t be real. Nope, you fell asleep in front of the TV, and your confusions as of late are manifesting in your dreams as a porn clip under the “Cheating” category.

“Fuck I need you to ride my face,” Chris’ breathing turns labored on the phone. “Ride my face, baby. Use me. Get what you need from your man.”

Chan stops his relentless licking, extremely proud of how he covered half his face in your slick. He removes his shirt and climbs up right next to you, guiding you to get on your knees and straddle his face. It’s as if you have no willpower whatsoever. You blindly follow your lust, living Chris’ fantasies in live action despite the questionable means.

“Wish I could keep kissing you everywhere,” he sighs. “Hold you in my arms while drowning in your slick, but keep kissing you. Kiss your thighs. Kiss your chest. Kiss your neck…”

“Kiss my neck, Chris…” you moan, holding onto the headboard for dear life.

A shockwave passes through your body when the disconnection tone is followed by an actual kiss on your neck. When you turn around, Chris doesn’t give you a chance to question reality and takes your lips within his, kissing you deep, deep, deep…

But something feels… out of the ordinary. 

“You… kiss different,” you hazily speak when he pulls back.

“I do?” he smiles, pulling you off of Chan and closer to himself. “How so?”

“You never bite when you kiss,” you point out.

“Or,” Chan sneaks behind you, “that’s how he always kisses.”

He holds your chin and turns your face to himself, kissing you the deepest you’ve ever been kissed, and you’re entirely aghast. THIS is the pair of lips you are used to, but when you open your eyes, there is a severe mismatch between what you see and what you feel.

“Ch–Chris?” you hesitantly ask.

“You finally noticed,” he smiles.

“Wha—? Ho—? Y–Your hair…”

“Does it look good on me?” 

You turn and look at the dark-haired man. He looks like Chris, but feels entirely different. It’s as if your actual boyfriend is possessed by a certain demon because you can clearly see a drop of something sinister in those eyes.

“But… you were so convincing on the phone!” you protest.

“When are you going to get this?” Chan gently caresses your cheek. “We are one and the same.”

“Don’t think, baby,” Chris wraps his arms around your waist, quietly speaking into your ear. “Just let this happen.”

Chan moves closer and kisses you, but this time he doesn’t bite. He moves softer than the clouds, wetter than the ocean, and deeper than an abyss, exactly the way Chris normally moves. The intensity amplifies when your man starts composing an obscene love poem about his soul-crushing longing for you on your neck with his lips. Your entire sense of reality distorts. 

You can’t tell who is who or what anything is anymore.

“Tell me you love me, too,” Chan pleads, uncharacteristically sad eyes begging you. “For years I’ve been burning for you. Let me hear it just once.”

“Tell him, baby,” Chris encourages you, running his fingers through your hair. “He has suffered long enough.”

Suffered?

This has to be a dream, right? You look into Chan’s eyes, and one second traces of sinister are glowing neon crimson in there, and they are replaced with indescribable longing in the next. Then you look at your man, and his endlessly comforting eyes have the tiniest blotch of danger in them, something you’ve never ever seen before. When the confusion becomes too much, you say fuck it to everything. You don’t think.

You just let it happen.

“I love you, Chan,” you grant him his wish.

For the first time ever, he doesn’t smirk. He smiles at you so brightly that your chest sizzles. He dives in for another kiss as Chris lays you down, spreading your legs wide.

“Ready for your first taste?” he asks Chan, flashing the signature smirk bespoke to the younger one. He spreads your pussy for him, biting his lips hard at the sight. “Look at this. Sooo fucking wet, you could use it as sustenance for a week.”

Chan thickly gulps, his breathing suddenly stuttering. He slowly moves between your legs as if he’s scared, looking up at you with huge eyes like a puppy as if to ask ‘Can I please?’ The drastic change in demeanor gives you whiplash. It’s like they can swap their personalities on cue. And maybe the insanity has rubbed off on you along the way. 

Or maybe it was sexually transmitted all along, who knows?

“Have at it, fucking psycho,” you snicker.

He makes your chest sizzle again with that bright smile and traps your clit between his plush lips, happily munching away. Chris kisses all over your body, astral projecting just listening to your delightful sounds of pleasure. It makes him hungrier. It makes him greedier. He suddenly feels this intense urge to diminish you into a pile of whimpering mess, then snort the shit out of you to experience the highest high of his life.

“Go lower,” Chris urges Chan. “I want a taste, too.”

As Chan moves down to your entrance, Chris takes over clit duties, lovingly kissing and licking you. He puts one of your hands on Chan’s head and holds the other within his, tightly intertwining his fingers with yours like he wants to anchor you to himself. You look down, and it’s like you’re seeing double. The same voice that sounds like an echo. The same face that looks like a carbon copy. The same texture of skin under your fingertips. The heavy breathing. The relentless hunger. The wet sounds growing louder and louder and louder. 

The fire slowly smoldering within you is suddenly fueled by two tongues gliding on your most sensitive spots, turning it into a river of molten lava that demolishes everything standing in its path. 

“Oh, fuck, I’m— God, yes. Yes, just like that. Like that, oh my god I’m cumming!!!”

The finish line is located so high that it feels like a free fall from Everest. Your climax hits like a thousand car crashes, casualties everywhere like a doomsday cosplay, and you watch yourself get out of your own body. If there were a licensed medical practitioner around, they would pronounce you dead for at least about thirty seconds. 

The wetness reluctantly retreats when you start thrashing with overstimulation. You have ruined your sheets, and the two men seem to notice, judging by the extremely proud looks on their faces. Chan gets on his knees and gives his cock a few pumps, then carefully presses against your soaked entrance. 

“Fuck, I don’t think I’m gonna last,” he stupidly grins to himself, his eyes closed. 

You kinda hope that he doesn’t. It would give you some taunt material for everything he’s put you through over the years. As he slowly sinks in with deep breaths, Chris keeps softly kissing your clit, relishing the way you squirm.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby,” he kisses your wrist. “It’s going to feel really good in just a second.”

Your swollen walls swallow Chan whole, and his entire resolve goes out the window. He rams himself into you as hard as he can, incredulous how it can feel like you’re sucking his cock when he’s buried deep inside you. He knows he’s going to blow in maybe ten seconds if he keeps moving that fast, but he can’t help it. He can’t fucking help how incredible it feels inside you. He can’t help sinking his fingers deep into your flesh, moaning your name over and over again, surrendering his soul to you one clench at a time. 

But what’s interesting is that something about the way he fucks feels… 

…familiar. 

“Look at me.” 

He opens his eyes and looks at you when you grab onto his wrists, slowing way down to calm himself.

“This isn’t the first time we’re fucking, is it?” you ask with a lopsided grin. 

The brothers share a look that leaves no room for doubt that they are clearly busted. You expect a stern denial, but it never comes. 

If anything, you hear a direct confession instead. 

“N–No, but… fuck… but l–look how you’re stretching around my cock… See how it’s a perfect fit?” Chan pants. “We were made for each other.”

“We were made for each other. All of us,” Chris repeats, climbing right next to you, and lovingly looks into your eyes. “We love you, baby. Always have.”

“And always will,” Chan adds. 

Chris pulls you into a kiss as Chan runs faster to the finish line. You suddenly feel this huge wave of emotion wash over you. You don’t know what it is, but it sure as fuck isn’t just lust, and when Chan spills inside you with an “I love you” that rips from the depths of his throat, it cements what you’ve been suspecting all along but could never admit even to yourself.

Tonight, you find out you are indeed in love with two men.

“Tired, baby?” Chris plays with your hair, a fond smile on his face, while Chan catches his breath on your chest. 

“Overwhelmed,” you answer with your eyes closed, indeed tired but infinitely satisfied. “It’s… a lot to take in.” 

“It’s okay,” he kisses your forehead. “We always have tomorrow.”

“I just need a few minutes of shuteye,” you kiss his hand. “Then I’m sucking your soul out of you.” 

You let him bury his face in the crook of your neck and keep caressing Chan’s hair on your chest. A very pleasant fatigue envelops you as you listen to the soft breathing melting into heartbeats slowing down. You think about what Chan said to you earlier. You’ve always thought you know the man closest to you, mind and heart alike, but maybe you haven’t known him at all. Strangely enough, it doesn’t unsettle you. There are two bodies tangled up with you in this bed, but even though the suffixes may be different, they are one and the same.

They are just…

Chris.

❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to become a Chandwich with them.

「© 2026, cb97percent · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

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[hamsa0811]

HOLY SHIT!!!!!!! THIS IS THE WILDEST SHIT THAT I'VE EVER READ!!!!!!!!! YOU CRAZY WOMAN*affectionately*. i need more of this please 👉🏻👈🏻😌.

[straywrds]

who knows what goes on in a frog's mind? | super bored chapter two

pairing: Hyunjin x (afab) reader | wordcount: 20k | genre: non-idol au, college au, smut | warnings: mutual pining with fwb ; hyunjin is still a weed dealer ; recreational drug use ; mild non-graphic violence (not hj x reader) ; time jump at the end. Explicit sexual content and smut. (18+) view all compiled warnings here.

“They’re good socks,” Hyunjin pointed out. “I remembered that your toes get really cold.”

That week was filled with assignments and midterms and trying to survive this mess. You almost got into a heated argument with your Interactive Design professor on top of it all, which only made you more determined to pass his class with flying colors.

Thursday was less busy than the other days—you only had one class in the morning and had decided you’d stay around and work in the computer lab for a change, hoping the Interactive Design professor would catch sight of you there. You didn’t know what difference it might make but you were too petty to care anyway. You just wanted him to know that you definitely didn’t deserve to fail his class.

The sun was almost completely down when you realized your eyes were too tired to keep working. You logged off the computer and checked your phone as you decided on your next move—you could head home directly, or try and see if Felix was available. You usually went out for drinks on Thursday nights with Felix and Ji, but with the midterms…

Instead of opening the group chat with these two, your eyes wandered down to a conversation that hadn’t moved since Sunday. Still, you opened it. A picture of Chives greeted you at the bottom of the short conversation, still in its aquarium, looking as happy as a frog could be.

After the party, the park… After Hyunjin and the night you spent with him, you had texted him briefly to respond to his initial messages and to say thank you for walking you home, to which he had simply replied, “No problem at all” and this picture of Chives.

He still haunted your mind. His angel hair, his tongue, his giggles, his strong weed. His weight on top of you. His cock inside of you. But you hadn’t had the courage to text him any further—you had given the picture a little heart, but that was it.

With a sigh, you shoved your things in your messenger bag and headed outside of the computer lab. The hallway was almost empty as you made your way toward the elevator. You smiled politely at the student already in it.

“Which floor?” she asked you, her hand hovering over the panel. 

You should study for Friday’s exam. You should rest, maybe have a couple of beers with your roommates. You stared at the student, still waiting for your answer. You were going to the first floor, where the main entrance was located. From there, you only had to walk for a minute before finding a bus that would take you to your neighborhood—

“Nevermind, changed my mind, sorry.” You exited the elevator with a frustrated sigh, not hesitating once before taking the hallway to the east wing, where only one flight of steps separated you from the art studios. 

The familiar cool breeze greeted you when you passed the door. You really could never figure out where it came from, and the professors didn’t seem to know either. Walking in this hallway reminded you of good memories. Mrs. Yoo’s gentle smile and how she always pushed her students to challenge themselves so they became better. You missed her. Maybe you ought to take one of her painting courses next semester, just for fun. 

You found Hyunjin in the farthest art studio, the one with the corner windows. When it was daytime, plenty of sunlight illuminated the room. But tonight, it was large ceiling lights that provided the lighting.

He didn’t see you get in. He wasn’t alone in the studio—a few other people were busy adding finishing touches to their paintings, which you guessed must be their midterm assignment for a class. You could tell from the distressed look on their faces and the deep dark circles under their eyes. They barely acknowledged you as you made your way towards Hyunjin. 

His painting was much less complete than other paintings you could see in the room. You did a double take at it when you realized what it depicted—nighttime, trees, soft grass, a pond, the yellow lighting of lamp posts…

No frog around, but you recognized the view from the other day, at the park, when Hyunjin and you were laying on the grass. The lighting was so soft that you couldn’t take your eyes off it. The way he blended it with the dark sky, the trees… 

Why did the other night feel more than just a hookup? You weren’t sure you knew why exactly, but you figured that part of the answer resided in that painting.

Hyunjin jumped on his seat when he finally noticed you after a while of you just standing there staring at the painting in silence. He took his earbuds out and pretended he was busy wiping the paintbrush he was holding to avoid looking at you—but his ears had turned pink.

“Oh, hey!” He watched you from the corner of his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I just thought…” Already, that was a lie. You hadn’t thought at all—you probably should have texted him instead of showing up here like this. But you hadn’t thought about it. Your brain was haunted by the feeling of a lip ring against your skin, the faint smell of cigarettes and weed, and Hyunjin’s pretty moans as he came with you. In you. “I was…” You sighed. You were about to tell him another lie—that you were just walking this way and thought you’d come by. “I just wanted to say hi and see what you were working on these days.” 

You looked behind him where the painting rested on its easel. Beautiful was the only word that came to mind. He had a unique style, the kind of painting that the more you looked at it the more you noticed about it. The shading, the light… And it wasn’t even completed.

“Oh. It’s my midterm… for Mrs. Yoo’s class.”

Without any hesitation, you inquired, “Is that the park?”

“Yeah.” 

You stared into his big brown eyes. He took a step closer to you, his tongue running on his bottom lip. He seemed to have regained some of the composure you had previously seen in him.

“It’s stunning.” You stood side by side with him while you both looked at the canvas. Hyunjin’s arm pressed against yours in the confined space between the work tables and, for fuck's sake, you noticed it. This tiny bit of contact. “I just… Wonder why you wanted to paint that.” You couldn’t help the nervous giggle that followed your sentence, which made you look like a dumbass. Fuck.

He shook his head. “I like painting things I find beautiful, or that remind me of good times… And I had a nice evening with you.”

“I had a nice evening with you too.” Now you were certain your ears were pink.

“Every time I walk by the park, or when I sit there… I think of you now, you know?”

The heat on your cheeks spread all over your face. It seemed like even your brain was blushing. You cleared your throat, trying to come up with an answer that a normal person would give. The truth was that you thought about Hyunjin almost all the time. The truth was that you masturbated to the thought of him every night, chasing the feelings he gave you.

“So you like it? The painting?” He faced you then, not waiting for you to elaborate on his previous statement, his eyes in yours, head cocked to the side and his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie. Too handsome to look real, but too noticeable to you to deny that he was. His breath smelled sweet, like candy, like a handmade raspberry lollipop. You couldn’t deny that you hadn’t just dreamed him—that he was real, that you had fucked him, and that you wanted to fuck him again if at all possible. 

“I love it.” You smiled. It was impossible not to smile around him—there was something calming about his aura, the way he held himself. His tongue returned to his lip to fiddle with the ring. “I’m just… surprised, you know? That you’d want to paint that night. And that you painted something so beautiful in so little time.”

Hyunjin cracked a wide smile at you, pulling you in for a hug. That surprised you a million times more than a painting ever could, but you gave in to the hug, to him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His hoodie smelled like him. You still couldn’t name all of the things that made his scent his, but today they hit your nostrils a little more. Maybe because you were sober. Maybe because you had been thinking about Hyunjin all week, him, his mouth, his voice, his smooth tongue…

“Thank you.” He squeezed you harder under the observing eyes of the other students and you ignored them. You couldn’t care anymore. “It’s really inspiring. The trees, the light. It reminds me of you. Makes me want to paint more and better.” 

You had heard a few pick-up lines in your days but none like this. And it did not even feel like a pick-up line but you couldn’t ignore the way Hyunjin gently grazed your neck and cheek with his lips as he pulled away from you. 

Or the fact that he was painting, for his midterm, the scenery from when he was rubbing his crotch on you in a park. 

“Actually, I’m almost done with this coat,” Hyunjin explained, returning to his work. “I’ll drive you home after if you want?” He smiled, grabbing his paint and brush again. “We can stop by my place if you’d like to say hi to Chives.”

“How’s he doing?” you asked, pulling a nearby chair to sit down, leaving your bag with Hyunjin’s dilapidated black backpack. “Everything ok for the little guy?”

“Ah, Chives’ alright—” Hyunjin paused halfway through the sentence, his face inches away from the canvas as he seemed to be putting the finishing touches on an evergreen tree. On the painting, it looked lifelike and reminded you of a blanket, you just couldn’t say why exactly. “—but, uh, I looked it up and I think, based on size, that it’s actually a girl frog…” 

You laughed, but so did he. It felt good to be with him again. You didn’t think you could miss him, but you did. You did miss him.

With agile movements, Hyunjin continued adding texture to the tree using a flat brush. He flicked his wrist without a care in the world, as if he could do no wrong. And he did no wrong anyway. You couldn’t stop watching him, the slight scrunch on his face, how often he returned to wet his lips, swiping them with his tongue. Not unlike a brush on a canvas. The kind of sight that would haunt you. The kind of sight that would not help you forget the way it felt when he kissed you. 

More thoughts that would spring back to your mind when you reached for your vibrator at night…

You made yourself look at the paintbrush gliding on the canvas instead. “I did get the girlfrogboss vibe from Chives from the beginning,” you said, wondering if it was too weird if you just stared at him without saying a word. “I’d love to go see her, if that’s alright. And Chris the dog, too! Do they get along?” 

Hyunjin’s shoulders shook with a laugh and he nodded. “I mean, sometimes Chris will just… sit by the aquarium… and watch her. And you know what? Call me crazy, but I think Chives stares back sometimes, almost like she’s interested.” 

Not once could you have imagined that at some point in your life you would end up in this cold ass art studio with Jisung’s weed dealer—WHO HAD FUCKED YOU HARD!— having a very normal conversation about a frog named Chives while he was busy painting the time he made out with you passionately. But here you were doing exactly that, taking deep breaths, not to calm down but to inhale as much of Hyunjin's scent as you could. 

“I believe you.” You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. 

Hyunjin turned to you for an instant, smirking and shaking his head almost dismissively before focusing on his painting again. “You’re really too nice, you know that? You don’t need to indulge my every thought.” 

“I’m not indulging anything!” If he hadn’t been painting, you would have punched him in the shoulder for that. “It’s true! For all we know, they might be having an impossible romance thing going on!” 

“You’re crazier than me, I swear.” A side glance, again. A smile, again. “It’s fun talking with you.” 

You sighed a little. “I think it’s fun talking with you too, Hyunjin.” He was now blending his colors. Why was he so good at blending? He made it look effortless. “Are you really gonna keep her? Chives, I mean.”

“Nah, I think I found the perfect spot to release her. Better than the park. I was thinking of doing that this weekend.” He stopped talking for a while but you could sense that he had more to say, only he was absorbed by his work, his long fingers holding the brush and gliding it expertly on the canvas. “Are you busy? You should be there, I feel like. It would be fitting.”

“Fitting?”

“Yeah, I mean—what if Chives desperately wants you to be there to say goodbye? Who knows what goes on in a frog’s mind?” 

You didn’t even try to stop your laugh. How weird was that guy—he always had something strange to say, but it made him likable as hell. You had never met anyone like this before. You felt good around him. You had expected some sort of awkwardness between the two of you after the other night, but there was none of that. 

Hyunjin appeared to be done painting so he spun his stool to face you, pushing himself close to your chair. To you. 

“I’ll try to be there,” you replied. Hyunjin was playing with his lip ring again and you couldn’t look away from his tongue. Pink, wet, smooth. “To wish Chives good luck.” 

“Do you want to pick up dinner on the way to my place?” Hyunjin asked, his eyes returning a little too often to your mouth for it to be even a little subtle. “Anything you want.”

“Anything?” Hyunjin reached for you, placing his hand just above your knee. You shivered hard enough for him to notice and a bashful smile painted itself on his lips. 

“Are you cold? You’re always cold, aren’t you? You should wear warmer clothes—it’s almost November.” He unzipped his black hoodie but you stopped him before he could take it off, not without a glimpse of a black t-shirt adorned with the logo of a band you knew and liked. Jisung introduced you to them some time ago.

“Please, don’t.” You zipped him back up yourself and he took your hands in his to warm them up. His skin was warm and his big hands easily held yours in between. He touched you gently, running his fingers on your wrists and making it very hard for you to keep thinking straight. “I still have your hoodie at my place, by the way… I’ll give it to you tonight. I washed it!” To be honest, you had washed it last night only and had been sleeping with it in your bed before that because it smelled like him.

“Don’t stress over this, I got plenty of those.” He said with a shrug, bringing your hands close to his mouth to give them a little kiss, effectively making you wet. “So do you want to come over for dinner or not?” 

As if you could say no. 

It took a little while for Hyunjin to store his painting and supplies but it gave you some time to head to the nearest bathroom to splash water on your face. A lot of it. You tried to tame your hair a little, making it somewhat presentable after the hot flash brought by Hyunjin’s gentle caresses. Either this guy was the smoothest motherfucker around or the most oblivious fool… Or maybe he was both of those things at once, somehow.

He was waiting for you outside near the door of the side entrance. He crushed the cigarette he was smoking and threw it away when you appeared, leading you toward the parking lot. 

“How’s midterm season for you, Tipsy?” Hyunjin questioned as you let the cold breeze cool you off. Tipsy. Why did you like it so much when he called you like that? “A lot of projects, I assume?”

“You’re right.” The sun was down by now, and the area was quieter. You paused, walking in silence with Hyunjin for a little while. It felt nice—you liked his presence, his energy. “But I manage. I think. I hope.”

“I’m sure you’re fine,” he assured. “I’m right over there.” 

You followed him around the parked cars, not expecting the one he stopped at—an old, borderline vintage, bright red sedan. It showed signs of old age but seemed in good condition. At least it was clean. 

“It’s my dad’s car,” Hyunjin explained, unlocking your door before his and opening it for you. The inside of the car was clean, too. It smelled like the little mochi-shaped car freshener that hung from the mirror. Sweet. “The house was his, too.”

Was. You sat on the passenger seat quietly, waiting for him to walk around the vehicle and take place behind the wheel. He had driven out of the parking lot before he spoke again.

“He’s not dead by the way,” he said, negotiating a left turn. He seemed to be a good, careful driver. “And I guess the house is technically still his. He works abroad. I miss him, but it’s fine.” 

You weren’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry, Hyunjin.” 

“Don’t be.” You looked over at him and noticed he was still smiling faintly. “We weren’t on the best terms anyway. He had to raise me alone from when I was like, six… I think the last time I’ve seen him was three Christmases ago. I have some good memories of him. And I have this car. Don’t you love this thing?” He gave a few appreciative pats on the dashboard. 

You couldn’t help but giggle, watching the city lights through the window. “Of course. Some kids come to class in cars that are, what, eight, ten years old? They don’t know what they’re missing out on. So bougie of them, if you ask me.”

Hyunjin laughed so hard that he almost missed his red light. “Damn straight!” He sat back in his seat, calming his laughter with deep breaths, keeping his eyes on the traffic lights. “You make me laugh a lot, you know?” 

You tried cooling off your cheeks with your fingers. Hyunjin led the conversation the rest of the way but not in a self-centered way—when you questioned him about his midterms, he simply got carried away as he tried to explain a paper he was writing for his 19th Century Landscape Painting course. 

He parked his car behind a trendy pizza place as he was trying to explain the level of detail that was possible with oil on canvas, and how painters of the 19th century used color to express light and purity in their work. 

“Oh—” he said, cutting himself off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I didn’t even ask. Is pizza okay?”

“Pizza is always okay.” You realized you were starving but your phone rang as you were just about to push open the car door. You pulled it out of your bag and noticed several missed texts on your screen before taking the call.

“Hey Jisung,” you offered an apologetic smile to Hyunjin. “Everything alright?”

“Everything alright? Been trying to reach you for forty-five minutes! Felix texted, too, and then I called Chae who said you weren’t home…”

You sighed. “So where are you?”

“The same place we are at every Thursday night!” Jisung insisted. “We thought you got kidnapped or something!”

“I didn’t get kidnapped!” You groaned in frustration, but you couldn’t help but to feel relieved that in the unlikely case that something bad would happen to you, someone would eventually worry about you. “I won’t make it tonight, sorry. Are you with Felix?”

“Yes, Felix’s here but—is it because of that professor again? Do you have extra work?”

You made eye contact with Hyunjin as you were coming up with your response—he had a playful expression on his face. He signaled you silently to hand the phone over to him, and you did exactly that, unable to resist the glimmer in his eyes. 

“No, actually, I did kidnap her,” he said into the phone, keeping his voice relaxed and casual. “The ransom will be high for a pretty girl like her.” There was a pause, during which you assumed Jisung was being very confused on the other side of the line. You buried your face in your shirt to muffle the sound of your giggles but mostly tried to control and conceal the flush on your cheeks at the same time. Hyunjin had called you pretty. To Jisung. “Do I sound like I’m fucking kidding? A ransom, and you better be quick because I’m about to treat her to fancy pizza and a movie, my guy, and—” Another silence, and Hyunjin’s smile turned into a grin. “God, I was wondering if you’d ever recognize me, Hanji boy. Yeah, it’s me. She’s with me, don’t worry. Now I’m starving so she’ll talk to you later okay? Bye, have fun!” 

Hyunjin hung up the call before handing you your phone. “He’s a good friend for you, don’t let him go,” he advised. “But I’m hungry for real. Ready, Tipsy?” 

As you walked the short distance between the car and the restaurant, it almost seemed to you like Hyunjin was about to take your hand in his. In the end he didn’t, but something inside of you wished he had. 

“HEY! HEY!” 

At first you didn’t realize that the person yelling somewhere behind you was talking to Hyunjin. He stopped dead in his tracks, looking over his shoulder—but this area of the parking lot wasn’t particularly well-lit and it was hard to see. Still, you made out two silhouettes who had just come out of a car that had seemingly been following Hyunjin’s.

“Not now,” Hyunjin replied. “Later. I’ll come by to your place, I’ll—” 

“No, actually, now’s a really good time, Hwang.” The man came forward, barely letting you see his face—he had a face mask on and was wearing a beanie, just like his partner. “You promised.” 

As the two men approached, Hyunjin extended a protective arm around you and gently put himself in between them and you. You, however, reached inside your bag and wrapped your fingers around the can of pepper spray that you had sworn to your mother you would never need.

“I promised I’d try to get you the pills, Soong,” he said. “I also said it might take a while—that’s not my usual stuff and you know it. You know I didn’t promise you shit.” 

You weren’t stupid—you understood that whatever was going on had to do with Hyunjin’s illicit activities. You hadn’t realized it had been such an important part of his life, though. Jisung had mentioned Hyunjin knew a guy who knew a guy, resulting in him selling some weed to pay for his education. Jisung had also said that Hyunjin grew some weed as well, but that this one was exclusively for his own use… unless he really liked you. Jisung had been blessed enough to be one of those well-liked individuals… And you were pretty sure you made the list, too. 

But pills? That, you didn’t expect from the boy who had carefully carried a frog in the pocket of his hoodie to give it a bath. The boy who took care of you and fucked you like a porn star, but made sure to leave lollipops on your bedside table after he left.

“But you still said you would,” the other guy insisted, now dangerously close to you and Hyunjin. His partner was right behind him, keeping an eye on you. “So what’s it gonna be, Hwang?” 

“Not here,” Hyunjin whispered, pleading. “Let me take her home, I’ll—” 

The punch happened so fast that you didn’t even see it coming—Hyunjin, stunned, fell back against you after the man hit him in the face. You gasped, too shocked to react except for helping Hyunjin to keep his balance as the man was closing his fist and raising it again, getting ready to strike. 

“Go—” Hyunjin managed, pushing you away. “Just fucking go!” 

“Don’t let her leave,” the man Hyunjin had called Soong told his partner. “Get her for me, even. I bet she’s gonna tell us where her little boyfriend keeps his pills…” 

“I DON’T HAVE THEM, LET HER—” But Hyunjin did not finish his threat—you pulled the can of pepper spray out of your bag, disengaged the lock on it with one push of your thumb, and sprayed the two men directly in the face after extending your arm over Hyunjin’s shoulder.

Soong and his partner screamed in pain. They covered their faces with their hands while Hyunjin grabbed your arm and dragged you away from the scene. 

Hyunjin warned them as you were both walking away from the scene. 

“Don’t follow me ever again. I said that when I’d have the pills, I’d let you know.” He picked up a pace, but the two men were on their knees and whining loudly. “Come on, Tipsy,” he added but he didn’t even turn to you. “We have to go now.” 

The altercation had happened behind the restaurant and you didn’t think anybody had seen anything, but you didn’t hesitate before joining Hyunjin as he offered you his hand, dragging you away. Already, your mind was running as fast as your heart was beating, suddenly hit by a huge adrenaline rush. What if they did follow you, what if they went after you, what if—

“What if they call the cops?”

“Don’t worry, he’s not gonna call the police or anything. He’s a much bigger criminal than I’ll ever be,” Hyunjin assured, practically pushing you inside the sedan to close the door behind you. “Are you okay?” he added once he was sitting too and had started the car.

“I guess, yeah, I’m fine—” You were trying to process everything but it was too much at once. You took a long, deep breath, trying to appease your heartbeat. “You’re bleeding.” 

Hyunjin touched his upper cheek where the skin was cut. It would leave a bruise, too. “Don’t worry about me, it’s fine. Thank you, Tipsy. You did us a solid back there. I’m just… I’m sorry you had to see this.” He paused briefly. “I’ll drive you home immediately.”

But you didn’t like the idea of leaving Hyunjin alone, not after he was hit in the face like that. And, maybe you also didn’t like the idea of being alone in your apartment—Chae would be out with Minho and Ji was still at the bar with Felix. Still, you remained quiet as Hyunjin drove away, using the sleeve of his hoodie to soak up some of the blood on his cheek. 

“I thought you were a weed dealer,” you eventually said, your voice smaller than you had expected. “Just that, you know?”

He took a left turn to go through the quiet neighborhoods instead of staying in the busy streets. “I am just that. I’m barely that.” Hyunjin sighed, “I sell weed to a few people I know. But these dudes, they… they heard about my supplier, and they figured they could get their hands on some pills to resell them. They wanted to get them through me, but my guy isn’t going to trust me with a bunch of opiates just for the fuck of it, you know? These things take time…” 

“But why would you want to help them get those pills?” you insisted, not seeing at all why Hyunjin had chosen to be associated with these kinds of people.

He sighed. A long, tired sigh. “They said they’d… my neighbor… the lady I told you about.” Another sigh. “They say they’d…” Instead of saying it, he pointed his fingers as if to make a finger gun, and shot at nothing to show his point. “And then me, too. Just threats, probably—but I couldn’t risk it.”

And just like that, Fairytale was back. The one ready to put himself in danger to keep his neighbor safe. 

“Don’t take me home,” you suddenly told Hyunjin as you heard his turn signal. “I’ll go with you.”

“No, you—”

“If you drop me at my place, I’ll wait until you’ve turned around the corner and go after you, on foot.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m going with you.” As if it added any weight to your statement, you added, “You said I could see Chives anyway.” 

And so you went with him. And, for some reason, your heart calmed down and your breathing returned to something almost normal, too.

He parked his car in the garage—it was mostly empty except for a lawnmower, a few tools, and an artificial Christmas tree in the corner.

“I’ll go get Chris from the neighbor,” he told you as he unlocked the door leading to the inside of the house and you needed a few seconds to remember that his dog was named Chris and he wasn’t talking about a person. The bleeding on his face was better, but the wound would need to be cleaned up. “Make yourself at home, Tipsy. I’ll be back in a minute.” Hyunjin avoided your stare as he left through the garage door. 

His house wasn’t that big, but it was cozy and clean. There were two easels in the large living room, but only one of them had a canvas on it. The painting seemed finished—a color study, by the looks of it. Greens and yellows fading into an interesting shade of pink. Hyunjin’s blending was impressive, but you noticed the bathroom door open and went in there to wash your hands and rinse out your face quickly. The bathroom was clean. Surprisingly clean. But then—maybe you really shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. 

You heard the barks of a large dog and immediately went out of the bathroom to go meet Hyunjin’s loyal friend. Instead, you met a fluffy cloud.

A huge samoyed ran at you and jumped in an attempt to lick your whole entire face or kiss you on the mouth. You tried to pet his huge head to calm him down but it was an absolute fail—you just ended up kneeling down to be at the right height to be subjected to Chris The Samoyed’s very wet greetings. The dog’s fur was clean and pure white. He smelled good—when Chris allowed you to bury your face in his neck, you discovered that this was the smell that completed Hyunjin’s mysterious scent. You assumed that they were using some kind of dog perfume on him, but it was subtle—you recognized chamomile mixed with the smell of a well-groomed dog.

“You’re such a nice dog,” you told Chris, taking his head in your hands to kiss his cool, black nose. In return, he licked your entire face. “You’re so soft my beautiful baby, my little precious thing—”

“He sure as hell isn’t little,” Hyunjin’s voice said somewhere around you, and you suddenly remembered that you were in his house. You looked away from Chris’ big black eyes and found his owner standing by the couch. He was holding a pile of plastic containers. “But apparently he likes you a lot.” 

“Should he not?” you asked, pushing yourself back up. Your clothes were covered in white fur but you couldn’t care. You sank your fingers in Chris’ soft coat again, scratching his head as he smelled your clothes and your bag, which still hung from your shoulder. “Doesn’t he like strangers?”

“He’s never bitten anyone if that’s what you’re asking.” Hyunjin shrugged, closing the distance between you two. “But let’s just say that with him around, I’m not worried. If something’s not right, he even gives alerts when he’s next door.”

Hyunjin left the containers he was holding on a small coffee table nearby and left you for an instant while he was pouring some kibble into Chris’ bowl—your loving scratches and pets no longer meant a thing to the fluffy cloud and he abandoned you to go have his dinner. 

“You’re still bleeding a little,” you pointed out to Hyunjin as he grabbed the containers again and went into the kitchen. You followed him. “Are you sure they’re gonna leave you alone?”

“I mean, they’ll probably tease me to death because a pretty girl defended my honor.” Hyunjin offered you a bashful smile, unzipping his hoodie and leaving it on a stool. The kitchen was just as clean as the bathroom, furnished in a style that must have been trendy about twenty-five years ago. “I don’t care, though. If you hadn’t been there, it would have been so much worse.” He pointed at his face. 

“I’ll know I should get you some pepper spray for Christmas, then.” You knew the situation wasn’t funny, but your instincts drove you to go for the joke anyway. And, apparently, they’d been right—Hyunjin laughed and shook his head.

“Sure thing, Tipsy—make sure to wrap it in a cute ribbon, too, yeah?” He faced the other way while he was washing his hands. “Seriously though, are you okay?” He looked at you over his shoulder.

“You’re the one whose face is going to be purple tomorrow,” you pointed out. “I’m okay, Hyunjin. I mean…” As if on cue, a car drove by the house and your eyes immediately darted towards the window—but the car didn't stop, didn’t even slow down, it just kept going.

Hyunjin sighed as he dried his hand on a towel that had a dog embroidered on it. It looked handmade. “My neighbor always makes extra food for me. Do you want to have dinner here instead of the restaurant? We each could shower, then eat this food while we watch the movie? Smoke some weed too, maybe?” 

You remembered the way Hyunjin’s weed had relaxed you almost instantly last week… And you also remembered how it felt when his body was close to yours. His lips, his wet mouth…

And you were currently in his house. 

Why were you thinking about the vibrator he had claimed to own that was similar to yours? Why were you wondering how it would feel to make out with him if you were fully high, not sobering up?

Why were you wondering about how the night would end? Shouldn’t you be a little more traumatized by the events from the restaurant parking lot?

You made the effort to sound as casual as you could. “Sure,” you replied. “You should go clean that up first, though.” You motioned at his face. 

Hyunjin agreed with you but he refused to let you reheat any of the food. Instead, he showed you around the house quickly and assured you he had clothes you could borrow before disappearing in the hallway. Not long after, you heard water running and assumed he must be using the shower in the master bedroom. 

Chives’ aquarium was in that bedroom, so you waited until the shower had been going for a while to go there—it felt weird even though Hyunjin had promised it was fine. Followed by Chris, you made your way to Hyunjin’s bedroom.

It was bigger than you had imagined—the walls were white but covered with posters and art of all kinds. You recognized some of Hyunjin’s own art from the style only as well as pieces from other artists too. Movie posters, music posters, photographs. A bright orange skateboard rested on a chair also covered in black clothes. Hyunjin had painted lemons and tangerines and grapefruits on it—you noticed his style immediately. Right by the chair, a dark purple electric bass stood against the wall. 

Hyunjin’s smell was stronger here and it was enough to make you dizzy. Or maybe it was from being so hungry, or from the adrenaline levels slowly coming down… But there was so much to see in the room—his bookshelves, the art he painted, his clothes, sketchbooks—that you almost forgot Chives.

But she was there, in her aquarium on Hyunjin’s dresser. You came closer to her and Chris sat right next to you to watch the frog too, exactly as Hyunjin had described. 

She looked well, just resting on a rock. Doing frog things. You watched her for a while, sometimes turning to Chris to give him pets and some attention, but you kept staring at Hyunjin’s room. You just wanted to lie in his bed and inhale as much of his scent as you could. You said goodbye to Chives and decided to leave the room because you were a little too physically close to Hyunjin and even through walls, it was distracting to think about him naked. 

The kitchen was better. You took a look at the food—all of it seemed delicious—and decided to text Jisung to assure him that you were alright. He responded immediately.

Jisung: are u still with ur 🐸 boyfriend ? ?? 

You: He’s not my boyfriend but yeah I’m with Hyunjin

Jisung: remember: no glove no love !!!

You closed the texting app with a grunt and left your phone in your purse. You liked Jisung, he was a good guy, but you just weren’t in the mood for his jokes, not tonight. 

Still, he got you thinking. You hadn’t even reflected on that. Of course Hyunjin wasn’t your boyfriend. Realistically wasn’t even your friend. He was your roommate’s weed dealer. He had saved a frog and you had helped him do so. His dick had been inside you. You wanted it inside you again if at all possible. He was a good guy. A really good guy, for real. Sweet, kind-hearted… Talented, handsome, really good in bed… You wouldn’t mind ever being anything more than just a casual hookup. 

And then you remembered Paris. He had applied for a student exchange. For next-fucking-semester. That was so damn soon. And there was no way he wouldn’t get it, right? Why were you deep down hoping he wouldn’t get it? He was obviously a skilled painter. Of course you wanted him to go to Paris. You wanted all of Hyunjin’s dreams to come true.

You scanned the room, just searching for something to look at that might distract you from this tiny little panic inside of you. You hadn’t even considered the fact that he might very well leave in just a few weeks. 

Did you have a crush on him? So soon? And what did that entail exactly?

Your gaze found a frame near one of the windows. It contained several pictures on it. You could hear Hyunjin’s voice in his bedroom as he was talking to Chris. Drawers were being opened and closed—he was probably changing.

The pictures showed his family. One, you assumed, would be his paternal grandparents with him and his dad. Another was just him on what had to be his first ever bicycle. Hyunjin was recognizable even though he was a small child. 

The other two pictures caught your attention in particular: one of him and his two parents and another of him with his mother. The background was familiar—it had been taken on a beach with a beautiful sea behind Hyunjin’s mother, who was holding him. He couldn’t have been more than three years old, but his small arms were wrapped around her neck. She was beautiful. She wore a colorful sundress and there was a large smile on her face.

You looked at the other picture. Hyunjin definitely took after his mother. His father was handsome but too serious for his own good, it seemed like. It took away from his looks. Still, they seemed happy, the three of them. 

“I’ll admit I was a pretty cute baby, don’t you think?” Hyunjin’s voice made you jump and you quickly turned away from the photo as if he had caught you doing something you weren’t supposed to do. “Don’t worry,” he added. “I don’t have many pictures of my mom, so I left these ones there. It’s alright to look at them.”

His hair was damp and a few water droplets rolled down his jaw. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt with gray sweatpants, and you couldn’t control the slight tingle between your legs at the sight of him in those casual clothes. The t-shirt allowed you to see his beautiful tattoos, too. They adorned his honey-colored skin better than any jewelry. 

You hesitated. “You told me about your dad, but you didn’t…” You couldn’t figure out how to finish the sentence, so you just didn’t. 

Hyunjin nodded. A cloud of darkness covered his gaze momentarily, then his eyes, but he nodded. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I barely remember her. She… She passed. When I was like six years old. She had an undiagnosed heart condition. It was very sudden. She was into painting, actually. She’s the reason I gave it a shot sometime later.”

You noticed one of his tattoos in particular. The ocean in a black frame. It had reminded you of a photograph the first time you saw it, and you understood why now. You stared at it, then back at the picture of his mother holding him on the beach. It was that exact photo, only without the two of them on it.

“That’s your tattoo, then?” you asked softly, motioning towards the picture in question. 

He nodded. “Yeah. My parents won a trip to Jeju that year. We went. I don’t remember much, but I remember I was so happy and my mouth tasted like tangerines when my dad took this picture. I guess… I wanted to have her with me somehow. So I got the tattoo.”

“Oh, Hyunjin…” You took a step towards him while Chris was joining the both of you in the living room, making himself comfortable on the couch. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he assured, shaking his head with a nervous laugh. “I should apologize, I don’t know why I said that to you, unprompted and all.”

You looked around the room once again. It was a big house for just one college student and his part-time dog. “With your dad living abroad… You’re just alone here, there?” 

Hyunjin shrugged. “Yeah. My dad was never the same after he lost my mom. He must have loved her very much. I think that’s why we never really got along. I think he’s happier when he’s away from me and away from this town.” 

What an incredibly sad thing to say. You didn’t hesitate this time—you pulled Hyunjin into a hug and he hugged you back, gently wrapping his arms around you. He rested his face against yours, his breath tickling your cheek and your ear. “I said don’t worry, Tipsy,” he murmured. “It’s all behind me now.” 

“Okay, Fairytale.” You kissed his cheek and he kissed yours back, sending a small jolt of electricity through your body. “You’re really brave, you know.”

He shrugged again as he pulled away from you. “Is it brave if you have no choice except to just keep going?”

You didn’t really have an answer to that and you didn’t need one anyway. “I mean it. Don’t worry. I’m alright. I’m used to being alone,” he added, kissing your head again for good measure. Every time his lips touched you, they left a lingering sensation of warmth behind. It was soothing. “Wanna shower? I found some clothes for you.”

You followed him into his room—and Chris followed you, too—as he showed you a pair of sweatpants not unlike the ones he was wearing, with a blue t-shirt, and some socks. “They’re good socks,” he pointed out. “I remembered that your toes get really cold.” 

A strange, fuzzy warmth spread inside of your chest. You pressed your hand just over your heart as if it would calm your fluttering heart. “Thanks, Fairytale,” you managed, making yourself sound playful. 

“Sorry I don’t really have like… girl soap and stuff,” Hyunjin went on, showing you the shower. 

“That’s alright. You smell good, so I don’t mind at all.” The weight of your words hit you only after you had said them. You gulped thickly, cheeks burning with embarrassment, and made sure you avoided Hyunjin’s eyes, pretending to be looking through the clothes he left for you. “I mean, it’s a good smell.”

“Thanks, I choose carefully.” Hyunjin walked away, just a few steps. “I’ll get dinner ready. Take your time, Tipsy. At least you’re not tipsy right now, you’re less likely to fall to your death in my shower.” 

“Shut up, Hyunjin.” But he was already gone with that endearing laughter of his, leaving you in the bathroom.

You closed the door and looked at yourself in the mirror. Bright eyes, flushed cheeks, a smile on your lips. You didn’t like that you felt this way with Hyunjin. Everything was so easy. You didn't like that you liked to be around him so much. You kept waiting for it to be ruined. 

Paris. You remembered. This newfound happiness would be ruined, indeed. 

The shower was good and you enjoyed a little too much the lush scent of Hyunjin’s luxury products, making sure you lathered every inch of your body with them. The act itself felt a little erotic, like you were lathering him over your body somehow, and even though it tied a knot between your legs, it felt good to wash off the day. It relaxed you a little, too. You wanted to believe Hyunjin when he said those two guys from the parking lot were harmless, but it was the first time you were involved in something like this…

You rinsed the foam off your body and left the shower. The towel that Hyunjin had left for you was soft, and you felt cozy by the time you joined him in the kitchen. His clothes were comfortable. And they smelled like him. And you smelled like him.

Yeah. You liked that a little too much.

Hyunjin was busy putting food on plates in the kitchen. However, you noticed something was missing.

“Where’s Chris?” you asked, looking around. 

“Oh.” Hyunjin turned to you, and you couldn’t pretend you didn’t notice the appraising look he gave you. “He gets a little crazy around food. I wanted us to relax, you know? I can go get him after dinner if you want…”

“Oh, it’s fine, no problem.” You joined him by the counter to take a look at the food as he went back to his task. “Wow, that looks delicious!” The foods were full of rice with roasted veggies and marinated beef with several sauces and sides. 

“Yeah, my neighbor likes to cook. She keeps telling me I’m too skinny.” Hyunjin giggled, but it was for himself only. “Don’t worry for the dog either. She spoils him.”

“She seems like a nice lady,” you pointed out, accepting one plate of food from Hyunjin. “I guess… you guys are lucky to have each other.”

Hyunjin only offered a noncommittal shake of his head as a response and you figured it was best to let the conversation end there. You followed him into the living room and the both of you ate in silence for a few moments as he scrolled through movies on different apps. 

The food was out of this world. The couch was comfortable. You were sitting with your back against the armrest and your feet almost touched Hyunjin who was sitting with his long legs crossed, stuffing his face with rice. 

You liked that. It made you happy how casual and laid-back everything was. And yet it scared you. When Hyunjin left for a minute and returned with soju, you eagerly drank two shots, and he did the same. 

The plates were halfway empty by the time you settled for a movie—American Pie. “I used to watch this with my childhood best friend,” Hyunjin explained. “We’d hide in his basement to watch it. That was before me and dad moved here.”

So you watched American Pie and you laughed and you smoked weed with Hyunjin. You helped him clear the plates and the food. He was wiping down the counter and you were finishing a glass of soda when he turned to you. “I wanted to ask you… If like… I mean if you want you can spend the night… And I totally get it if you don’t want to. Like if you hate me or—”

You almost choked on that last sip of soda, trying to replay the past hour in your mind to see how you may have indicated to Hyunjin that you hated him when in fact, you regretted not wearing that emergency pair of panties you had in your bag because he was making you wet just by talking to you and being around you. “What?” You left the empty glass on the counter. “Why would I hate you, Fairytale?”

Hyunjin shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at the floor. “Cause of the pills and stuff.” 

Your heart swelled and there was no controlling it. You felt the tingle from the weed in your body—you were relaxed and yet hyperaware. Of the everlasting scent of the body wash on your skin. Of the way Hyunjin’s body looked in those sweatpants. Of your own accelerated heartbeat. Of his tongue running over his lips and playing with his lip ring. “Hyunjin, don’t be silly.” You put yourself in front of him and pushed on his chin to make him look at you. His cheek had already started to bruise a little around the band-aid he had applied over the cut. With a frown, you thumbed the skin gently where it was dark. “I don’t hate you because of these two assholes.”

Hyunjin pressed his hand over the one you had on his face. His skin was warm. It felt good to touch him again. “I know that people call me frog boy behind my back,” he added, his voice barely a whisper. “And now, if anyone ever hears about what happened in the parking lot…”

“Hyunjin.” You sighed, your eyes on his. His pupils were dilated. He was handsome. You left his cheek to run your fingers through his short ashy blond hair and it made chills run down your spine. You were high and it felt amazing. “I don’t care what people say. You shouldn’t let people call you frog boy.”

“I know they don’t mean it in a bad way.” Hyunjin’s big, dark eyes fell on your lips. “I don’t care anyway. It’s just… you. I don’t want you to feel embarrassed to hang out with me.”

“I don’t feel embarrassed.” Hyunjin put his big hands on your waist, pulling you closer. Your heart jumped, but you felt it between your legs. “I’ll spend the night if you want me over.” 

“I really, really want you…” Hyunjin started, his head tilted to the side and moving dangerously close to yours. “Can I kiss you, Tipsy?”

You were 0.01 seconds into nodding that he was already kissing you, his plush lips pressed against yours, his ring digging into your skin delightfully. Fuck, you had missed that. His tongue insisting its way into your mouth to explore it, his lips taking yours like you were his anchor. You kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. You let out a soft moan when you felt the counter behind your lower back.

“Let’s get into bed to finish the movie, yeah?” Hyunjin whispered against your mouth, a smile on his pretty lips. 

You giggled like a schoolgirl when he took your hand and guided you to his room. He let you get in bed while he was dimming the lights and grabbing a couple of additional pillows from a chair. You watched him, his long limbs, his tattoos, his piercings. You were past questioning everything but you did wonder why you felt so comfortable around him.

You sat cozily in his bed, your back resting on pillows, his blanket over your lower body. He joined you soon with a joint that he was lighting up. The two of you smoked in silence for a while, until Hyunjin’s hand found your thigh under the blanket. That simple touch made you shiver, even through the fabric of the sweatpants. 

You kissed his cheek as he took a drag of that joint, so you moved your mouth onto his before he exhaled, kissing the smoke out of him. Hyunjin let you breathe it out and smoked again, this time gently blowing the smoke between your lips and kissing you to seal it in. The weed tasted bitter but Hyunjin’s mouth was wet, warm and it made you dizzy. Or maybe that was the smoking and lack of oxygen—Hyunjin kissed you so deeply that you could barely keep track of the twirling of his smooth tongue. You were high but higher on him. His warmth. His big hands all over you. His weed breath coursing through your veins, like a fizzy drink.

The sound it made when he kissed you. You had never been kissed like this, so softly, so passionately. When you pulled away for air, you leaned against him and he wrapped an arm around your shoulders as he was restarting the movie on this TV. 

“Are you comfortable?” he asked you, his voice low. “Do you want another pillow?”

“I’m fine.” You found your way into the crook of his neck, resting your cheek on his chest. “Best pillow in town.” 

“I’d have to disagree,” Hyunjin pointed out. He was looking away as he was putting out the joint in a fancy ashtray. If you had been high before, you were lightheaded by now, but calm. “Best pillow in town is right… here.” As he brought back his arm towards you, he slid his hand over your breasts, applying just enough pressure to feel them under his palm. 

You closed your eyes, pressing yourself closer to him, biting your lower lip. His hand focused on one breast, then the other, alternating between the two to massage them, often teasing your hardening nipples. You clung to him, passing a leg over his, needing to feel all of him against you. 

“Best pillow,” Hyunjin repeated under his breath, kissing the top of your head. “You do have nice tits, Tipsy.” 

The movie was long forgotten already. Your hand traveled to his abdomen where you played with the hem of his shirt for a few seconds before sliding your fingers under it to caress his lower stomach. Hyunjin’s entire body spasmed hard under your touch, responding with a gentle slap on your sensitive nipple. 

You looked up only to find that he was staring at you. Your gazes met, but Hyunjin’s was unreadable. His dark eyes scanned you, your face, your body against his. You took your time to feel him, to remember him. You would want to remember this in case he left. The feeling of his body against yours, the way his parted lips looked, with the tip of his tongue threatening to show. His flushed cheeks, his collarbone, showing where his shirt was pulled a little under your weight. His lip ring, his tattoos. Him. The smell of him, floral, deep, complex. He smelled like cigarettes, like weed, like his-not-his dog. 

You let your other hand trail on his inked arm, tracing the outline of the rose, admiring it under the changing lighting of the TV. It made it seem as if the flower was moving on his skin. Or were you just that high? “Hey, look at me,” Hyunjin whispered, and he smiled when you did so. “You’re very pretty. Thank you for not judging me.”

You blushed hard but you were past caring. Instead of caressing his stomach, your fingers played with the elastic of Hyunjin’s waistband and he very noticeably jerked his hips a little at that. “You’re very pretty,” you repeated in the same tone. “But why would I judge you?” 

A slight shrug. “Most people do. I’m just the weirdo weed dealer.”

“No. You’re so much more than that.” You propped yourself up on your elbow to look at him face to face—but you were still gently tugging on his pants. “You’re Fairytale. You save drunk girls from drunk girl problems. You save frogs from frog problems! You help your elderly neighbor, you paint, you—” You paused there, finding an unexpected lump in your throat. “You paint so well you’re probably going to Paris… So who’s the weirdo here? You, or them?”

An endeared smile painted itself on Hyunjin’s lips. You touched him there too, feeling his ring under your thumb. He took that hand in his and kissed it gently. “You don’t have to say all of this, Tipsy. It’s fine.” Another kiss. “I don’t even know if I’m going to Paris.” 

You let go of his pants as your one remaining brain cell got to work. “But we’re pretty late into the semester. Wouldn’t they have given you a response by now, even a negative one?”

Hyunjin looked away, pretending to be watching the movie, keeping your hand in his. He rested it on his chest—you felt his pulse under your skin, strong, healthy. Fast. “They did give me a response, I just haven’t opened the email.”

It took you several seconds to process that. “You mean you got the email that would tell you whether or not you’re accepted into the exchange to Paris? And you haven’t opened it?”

Hyunjin turned to you again, looking at you with big, puppy-like eyes. “I figured… While I didn’t read it, I was neither accepted or denied, you know?”

“I get it. It’s like Schrodinger’s cat,” you said, nodding. 

His expression turned to something deeply serious then. Solemn, even. “Schrodinger’s Paris,” Hyunjin added, causing the two of you to laugh hysterically. By the end of it, you were lying down again, arms around your stomach as you laughed and laughed and laughed. 

It took a few moments for the two of you to calm down, but soon enough, Hyunjin had pulled you into his embrace again. You traced circles on his chest, your head resting comfortably on him. “I just… I guess for a while, I didn’t really want to go. Like, I did,” Hyunjin admitted, “but also not.”

“Why not? Wouldn’t that be a great opportunity for you?” you questioned as the movie credits rolled but neither of you had paid much attention to it anyway. “Like, for your future dream job in a museum?”

“Oh, it would be the absolute best opportunity,” Hyunjin admitted. “Ideally, through this exchange I could even graduate in Paris, then find an internship or a job there while I study… That’s one hell of a resume. But…”

You heard Hyunjin gulp and then he did not finish his sentence. You gave him some time, pressing a few kisses on his jaw and playing with his hair to soothe him. You didn’t like to see him so troubled—you couldn’t help but feel like you wanted to shield him from the horrors of reality. At all times.

“But what?” you whispered. And then it dawned on you, and you pushed yourself back up to face him. “Oh, Hyunjin…” You caressed his face and he leaned into your palm, but didn’t avert his eyes this time. “It’s your neighbor, isn’t it? You don’t want to leave her alone?”

He nodded slowly and took a deep breath. “Yeah. I feel responsible for her… even though I’m technically not. But I am.”

“Disney prince shit.” You leaned over to kiss his cheek, but he took your lips instead, kissing you softly. His mouth tasted a little bitter from the weed and vaguely sweet from the apple he had shared with you after dinner. When he pulled away, he was smiling—faintly, but still. 

“Yesterday, when I went over there to get Chris,” Hyunjin explained, “she told me that one of her relatives was moving back in the country with her husband and their daughter. They’re moving into a house, a house big enough for four. They offered her to stay with them.”

“Hyunjin! That’s so great! Isn’t that a sign?” You traced his full lips with your fingers, just because you liked the velvety feeling of them. And you also liked the intimacy of the moment—nothing felt awkward, even though you knew him so little. 

“I guess it is,” he shrugged. “Like, it’s the best possible outcome for her… She’ll be with her family… Chris will be with them, they’ll have this huge backyard apparently, and the daughter loves animals.”

“You said that sentence as if there was gonna be a but at the end,” you pointed out.

“But… what if I’m not getting into the exchange?” Hyunjin said, his voice a little strained. 

You breathed deeply. “Paris exists anyway even without that exchange. What stops you from applying to a school over there on your own if that's what you want?” As if on cue, you noticed the screen of Hyunjin’s phone lighting up. He had left it just by the ashtray. It was a notification from a silly game. “Please unlock your phone right now. I’m reading that goddamn email.” 

Hyunjin didn’t move, not initially—he stayed like this, his body sinking into his mattress and the pillows behind him, as beautiful as an angel, as dangerous as one, too. He blinked once, then again, and when you thought he was reaching for his phone, he kissed you instead. Deeply. Passionately. He kissed you with his mouth open, his hands already dancing over your body and stopping in all of his favorite places—your waist, your tits, your ass, your lower back. 

You kissed him back, letting him bite your lip, letting him hoist you on top of him, your knees on either side of his thighs. He was half hard and his body was warm, like embers. Your pants were damp in the crotch area and your heart was beating fast.

“Okay, we’ll read the email,” he breathed against your mouth, “and then I’ll make love to you.” 

Make love. Not fucking. Making love. You felt a tug at your heart and yet warmth was pooling between your legs, moving involuntarily and seeking friction against Hyunjin’s hardening cock. He kissed you for a little longer, his tongue playing with yours, his hands sliding down your back, your waist, into your pants.

“Hey.” You poked his nose and he stopped moving just before his hands reached your ass. “We said we would read the email.”

“Ah, I’m so silly. I forgot.” But Hyunjin’s smile was mischievous. He reached for his phone, unlocked it, and opened his email app before handing it over to you. “Can you read it? I’ll just guess by the expression on your face.” 

You took the phone from him, sitting comfortably with your pussy pressed flush against his cock. He played with the drawstrings of your pants while you scrolled down his emails. You couldn’t believe a guy trusted you with his phone like this. You had dated your ex for several months and you weren’t even allowed to look in his direction when he was using his phone—he would always hide the screen from you. And here you were tonight. Going through Hyunjin’s phone as if it was the most normal thing in the world. There were a lot of emails for food delivery and art supplies orders as well as dog-related shopping.

You didn’t want to snoop around but an email caught your attention before you located the one sent by the Student Exchange committee. You wondered if you were noticeably blushing, because Hyunjin was staring at you intently. You cleared your throat, smiling. “A fleshlight, Fairytale?” you questioned, biting your lip. “How’s that going for you?”

He blushed a little and let out a repressed giggle. “It’s not bad.” He paused, hesitating. “You’re much better.” 

You clenched around nothing, the ache between your legs becoming worse every second. Better read that goddamn email before you soaked through Hyunjin’s pants as well as yours—but you couldn’t not notice how he was just slightly rubbing himself against you. 

“Found the email,” you managed. It was indeed unopened. You clicked but stared at Hyunjin before reading it. “Are you ready?” 

“My heart is beating so fucking fast oh my god…” He buried his face in his hands with a sigh but left a crack between his fingers to see you. “Just… let’s get this over with…”

You gave him a comforting squeeze on his forearm and focused on the phone again. “Dear Mr. Hwang. We have received your application for the student exchange in Paris… blah blah blah… We were impressed with both your innate and acquired skills as well as your knowledge… blah blah blah… Professor Yoo’s letter of recommendation…”

“Wait, Mrs. Yoo wrote a letter of recommendation for me?” Hyunjin interrupted you, his face suddenly appearing from behind his hands.

“Apparently, Fairytale.” You took his hand in yours as you kept going. “Where was I… Ah, yes…” You scanned the email to find the paragraph, but the words you read remained stuck in your throat. It is with great pleasure that we are offering you to pursue the next semester at the Académie des Beaux-Arts de Paris. 

You were not surprised at all. Hyunjin was art, it was in every atom of his body. In his eyes, the whole world was a canvas where art was simply waiting to be witnessed. His heart was good and life hadn’t been so kind to him. So it was his turn to be happy and to have his dream come true. Right?

“Oh my god, I fucking knew it…” Hyunjin muttered, his eyes fixated on you. “I knew I wouldn’t get it but I—”

You took a deep breath and tried to put a smile on your face. You weren’t disappointed that Hyunjin was going to Paris to study. You had only hoped, maybe, that one day you would be more than a hookup. But surely it wouldn’t have worked between the two of you, not long term. 

“Don’t be stupid Hyunjin, of course you’re going.” Your voice sounded surprisingly steady but there was still a lump in your throat. You put the phone under his nose so that he could read. You watched as his big beautiful eyes scanned the screen and as he processed the words.

“I got it,” he said. “I GOT IT?” 

“You got it, Fairytale.” You were smiling now, feeling an inexplicable joy inside of your chest. “You’re going to Paris.” 

Hyunjin discarded his phone as if it had been an empty bottle of water, letting it fall on the floor beside the bed. He pulled you close, hugging you tight, kissing you all over. Your cheeks, your nose, your hair, your shoulder. He wrapped his legs around you and kept you against him to continue his attack of kisses. You couldn’t not laugh with him. There were tears in his eyes, making them shine in the dim lighting. Happiness looked good on him. 

The playful pecks turned into something else when Hyunjin pressed his lips against yours and his hands found your lower back to lower you against his crotch. He hummed when you responded by rolling your hips onto him—he was hard, and feeling him like that made you dizzy. The pressure between your legs was distracting, but not as much as Hyunjin’s wet mouth devouring yours. 

“Can I make love to you?” Hyunjin asked, his voice soft and low. “Even if I leave?”

You took his face in your hands and kissed him some more. “Yes. Yes please, Fairytale.” 

“Tipsy.” He bit his lip, staring at you with his eyes hooded and burning with lust. You had never felt desired like that before. Before meeting him. “So beautiful.” He tugged at your shirt. “Can I take this off you?” 

You nodded and helped him pass the shirt over your head—Hyunjin wasted no time cupping your tits in his large hands, extracting a sigh from you. He was warm and it felt good. You closed your eyes to print that memory in your mind, too. 

“I’ve thought about your tits a lot this week,” Hyunjin whispered, palming you good and making your breasts bounce. 

You had thought about Hyunjin a lot, too. It didn’t matter how tired you were from your assignments—when you got into your bed at night, it felt empty since that night with him, but masturbating for an hour seemed to make this go away. Still, you smiled, thrilled by that confession. “Have you?” you said, sitting comfortably on his thighs, holding the hem of his shirt in your hands. “When have you thought about my tits, Fairytale?”

Hyunjin’s face turned pink but he propped himself up to allow you to take his shirt off, leaving you speechless at the sight of his body. You touched him all over, his broad shoulders, his strong arms, his toned abdomen. The ink on his skin. You leaned over to kiss his collarbone and his nipples.

Hyunjin hissed when you twirled your tongue around one but cupped his bulge at the same time. He was very hard but shot a glance at his bedside table. You followed his gaze. “You thought of me when you were using your fleshlight?” you questioned, another rush of heat pooling in your gut. 

He nodded and you watched with delight as his adam’s apple bobbed with a thick gulp. “Yeah.” He gave your left breast the gentlest slap, but it was enough to make you clench and crave him even more. “God, I’m so fucking hard—”

But the rest of Hyunjin’s sentence died somewhere in his throat. He looked somewhere behind you, but just one second, before putting his hands on your waist and pulling you off him. 

“What—”

“Just a minute.” He laid you comfortably next to him and pushed himself out of the bed. You used his blanket to cover your chest, suddenly a little shy. Had he changed his mind? Or…

But Hyunjin crossed the room and stood in front of Chives’ aquarium, looking around it as if he was searching for something. In the end, he took a large box of paint tubes and stacked a few textbooks on top of it, hiding the aquarium from view entirely.

“I can’t do this in front of Chives,” Hyunjin explained as he made his way back towards the bed.

You stared at him for maybe an hour. Or a week. “Hyunjin, you’re so fucking high. It’s a frog.”

“It’s Chives!”

“As if she didn’t see you milk your own cock all week with a fleshlight!” you pointed out, no longer able to repress the laughter choking you. 

Hyunjin put a hand over his mouth, still standing right next to the bed in just his sweatpants. You couldn’t take your eyes off the very visible outline of his erection. “Oh my god. Oh no. You’re right, Tipsy… I fucking traumatized this poor frog—” 

“Come here, Fairytale.” You reached out for the waistband of his pants, tugging at it. “Take these off. Chives had her time. My turn to see it now.”

This seemed to make Hyunjin remember what he was doing. He quickly got rid of his pants and underwear, finally freeing his cock. It was flushed dark, straining. As pretty as you remembered. You caressed Hyunjin’s thighs, letting your hand travel to his length to give it a few squeezes. 

Hyunjin wasted no time—he pulled the blankets off your body before kneeling on the bed, towering over you. He’s just so handsome, you told yourself, hoping you’d always remember that, too. How easily beautiful he was. The way his tongue lingered on his lip ring. His hands on your thighs to open up your legs.

“What’s that, Tipsy?” Hyunjin guided a hand between your legs to feel the damp fabric of the pants you were wearing. “Did you stain my pants?” 

The fabric was wet and cool as Hyunjin rubbed you through it in slow, lazy circles, almost as if he was using it to clean you up. You rolled your hips to meet his movement, already impatient and needy. But Hyunjin went on for a little longer. When he was satisfied, he simply took the pants off you but took his time to study the wetness you had left on them. Then, he gave the stain a few licks and his face melted with pleasure as his cock visibly throbbed. 

“Oh my fucking god…” Hyunjin crumpled the pants into a ball and threw it across the room where it landed near the TV. “Let me lick you up, Tipsy.” 

Hyunjin pushed your legs open a little further, exposing your pussy to him. He inhaled sharply, pressing a few digits on your soaked folds to smear your juices all over yourself. “I need to taste you…”

But Hyunjin didn’t lower himself between your legs just yet—he placed you in the exact center of the bed before taking a pillow and sliding it under your lower back. Only then did he return to your lips for a kiss, but you moaned when his cock brushed against your pussy. “Please,” you begged. You were still lightheaded from the weed but also from all the blood rushing between your legs. You needed him. 

Hyunjin kissed your neck, then your breasts, leaving a trail of spit behind him. God, nothing felt better than his pretty, wet mouth on your skin. 

Well. You thought that until you felt his breath tickle your pussy. Until he kissed your inner thighs while he was carefully spreading you open after releasing a large amount of spit on his fingers. Then nothing. 

You opened your eyes, which seemed to be what Hyunjin was waiting for. 

“Look at me, Tipsy. Can you do that?” 

“Y—y—es.” Could he feel you throb? 

“Let go completely. I’d love it if you came all over my face and into my mouth.” He smiled faintly, kissed your thigh again and looked between your legs. “Your pussy is so pretty. So so pretty…”

The lower half of his face disappeared and you immediately felt him leave light kisses on your folds—still, your hips jerked as if you had been shocked. “Eyes on me,” Hyunjin said, his voice low. “I want to see you when you cum.” 

Hyunjin angled his head a little to the left before sliding his tongue on your folds in one big wet slurp. You let out a gasp which turned into a moan when his tongue became more insistent, licking you again and again with wet noises. Licks and twirls and kisses and gentle caresses. You watched as Hyunjin buried his face deeper and deeper between your thighs, bobbing his head to accentuate the way he was making out with your cunt. 

You sighed when he went back up for air, his mouth and chin coated with your arousal. “You taste so fucking good.” He licked his lips clean and swallowed every drop. “So sweet. Really sweet.” 

When Hyunjin returned to your pussy, he gave you a few modest kitten licks before turning his attention to your clit—but it seemed it wasn’t enough for him. He laid flat on his stomach and rested your thighs on his shoulders. You felt so vulnerable like this, completely exposed to him. At his mercy. But your whole body was alive and covered in chills—yet, it felt like you were burning from the inside out. 

Hyunjin twirled his smooth tongue on your clit, teasing your entrance with a couple fingers. “Yes,” you panted. “Yes, yes!” 

He looked up to meet your gaze. “You really like having your tight little cunt stuffed, don’t you?” The weed seemed to have made it more confident and you couldn’t pretend you didn’t like it. “Don’t worry. I’ll fuck you later. I really want to taste you some more.”

Hyunjin pressed his lips onto you, quickly latching onto your clit. You could see that he was rubbing himself on the mattress—he was probably just as impatient as you were. It was hypnotizing to watch him work on your pussy while succumbing to the friction on his cock. You imagined it squeezed between him and the mattress, leaking precum onto the sheet. 

You clenched at that and Hyunjin let out a pleased hum as he kept taking your sensitive bud between his plush lip to kiss it and slurp on it. It was sloppy—he was wet even on his cheeks. You couldn’t believe the sounds it made, but then you could also feel your own slick drip down your folds all the way to your ass. 

Hyunjin gave your clit a gentle suck and you immediately arched your back into him, overtaken by the stimulation provided by his skilled mouth. He buried his fingers into your hole, massaging your walls but it was no good—all that you could do was clench and clench as he alternated between sucking on your clit and twirling his tongue all over it. 

His motions were neither rushed or slow, but they were accurate. Hyunjin ate you out in the same way you had seen him paint earlier—every stroke of the paintbrush had a purpose and every flick of his tongue had intent behind it, too. It didn’t take much time before the room was filled with your voice. Every time you moaned, Hyunjin moaned too, deep, throaty moans that vibrated against your sensitive cunt.

He was trying to make you cum and you wouldn’t resist him, but you also couldn’t keep your promise of keeping your eyes on him. Your head kept sinking into the soft pillow beneath you and your eyes rolled at the back of your head. You were basking in a state of total euphoria. Every single molecule of your body was on fire. 

Hyunjin pushed his fingers deeper into you, curling them up to tease that spot. Fuck. He pressed his fingers there but returned to explore you all around, too. “Hmm… I just love the texture of your pretty pussy…” He said into your cunt, his words tickling your clit. His breathing was labored but even that sound was erotic to you. “Here… Feel that?” He was massaging you in different spots. “So smooth, so nice…” 

His fingers returned to your most sensitive spot and he teased you there, rubbing that cushiony skin. You cried out, gripping the sheet with one hand and Hyunjin’s hair with the other. “Here?” he said, feigning surprise. “You like it?” 

He fucked you with his fingers before returning to lap at you, collecting your slick on his tongue. You pulled on his hair and the high-pitched moan he let out almost caused you to cum right then and there, unannounced—you clenched so hard that for a few seconds, he could barely move his fingers inside of you. 

You fucked his face from below. Gently. Just rolling your hips. His fingertips were on your g-spot and his knuckles stretched you open as he closed his lips around your clit again. You did try to look at him then, but his eyes were glazed over and hooded. Unfocused. He was lost in you and you in him. 

When the pressure rose again within your core, your whole body spasmed—your legs closed together, trapping Hyunjin there, but he did not stop finger-fucking you and he did not stop slurping and sucking on your clit as if his life depended on it. 

“I’m—I’m—I’m close,” you managed in between moans. Only your shoulders and actually resting on the bed—the rest of you was arching into Hyunjin’s mouth, tense, ready. 

Hyunjin kept his relentless pace, but when you slammed your hips against him a little harder, he moaned again, and you came. Your orgasm crashed over you like waves so powerful that you blacked out—by the end of it, you were fully laying on the bed again with the pillow underneath you, and Hyunjin’s head was still bobbing between your legs. 

He pulled his fingers out first, but only to lower his mouth onto your entrance. He drank you, every drop of you, lapping and slurping with pleased grunts. You finally let go of his hair and your whole body went limp. 

Hyunjin cleaned you up with more licks and his warmth disappeared from between your legs. You felt his breath against your face. It smelled like your pussy. He kissed you and it tasted like your pussy too. You kissed him back, chasing your own taste. 

“Need a minute?” Hyunjin asked softly. “You look… a little fucked out, Tipsy.” 

You managed to open your eyes. You weren’t sleepy, but you couldn’t remember ever feeling so relaxed before in your life. God, he was beautiful. His chin was still wet from you and his pretty lips were swollen from how hard he had slurped on you. What a sinful sight. 

You did feel fucked out but you also were excessively curious about something. As Hyunjin lay next to you, you immediately took his cock in your hand just to feel him, and you were delighted when you ran your thumb over his slit only to find him leaking. 

You smeared his precum onto his length. “Can I see the fleshlight, Fairytale?” you asked, your face into his neck. His cock was so warm, so stiff. When you let your hand venture a little farther, you found his balls tight, probably aching. He whimpered when you squeezed them gently. “Can I see what you do with it?” 

“Anything for you.” Hyunjin kissed your forehead and pulled away from you. You managed to open your eyes, despite the high from the endorphins making it hard. You caught a glimpse of his drawer—the fleshlight, lube, and the vibrator he had told you about.

The fleshlight was a simple, clear silicone tube with ridges on the inside. You sat on the bed with Hyunjin and watched carefully as he coated the toy’s interior with a generous amount of lube. When he put the bottle back though, he stopped there.

You noticed the dark color of his cheeks despite the low lighting and took the toy from his hand. It was light and supple—some lube leaked out of it when you tested it. “Let me,” you said, and Hyunjin nodded. 

“Isn’t it weird?” he asked you, finally looking at you with his dark eyes. 

“No.” You giggled. “Not to me.”

Hyunjin guided your hand towards his straining cock and helped you push it inside the entrance of the toy. You immediately felt it hug his girth and by the looks of it, Hyunjin liked it a lot. He leaned his back into the headboard, his eyes fixated on your hand and his cock disappearing into the toy.

“Fuck,” he moaned when you squeezed him. 

You pumped him a few times and Hyunjin responded by meeting you with sharp thrusts of his hips, opening his legs more and more. It was his turn to be vulnerable, and the sound of his little sighs and whimpers was making you wet again. 

You could feel him through the toy too. How hard he was, and big. You’d love to keep going and watch him cum just like that, but your insatiable hunger had other plans. 

You squeezed Hyunjin harder—in fact, you weren’t sure if the moans that escaped his lips were from pain or pleasure, but with the way he kept bucking his hips you figured he liked it quite a lot. He looked desperate, like he was close already. “Close, Fairytale?” Another squeeze as you took up a pace too, pumping him hard. Hyunjin was sweating. “Where do you wanna cum, though? In the toy or inside of me?”

Hyunjin went motionless in a matter of milliseconds. He looked at you. “W—what? Are you sure?”

“I’m sure if you are.” The condom had been alright last time, but you really wanted him, all of him. 

Hyunjin gently pushed your hand away and then pulled out from the toy too, making a mess of lube and precum on the bed. Still, he just let the toy roll away and you heard it thump on the floor as Hyunjin pulled you in for a kiss. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he said against your mouth. “Need your cunt so bad right now…” 

Hyunjin kissed you until he had you under him again. The weight of his body on yours was delightful, warm—you felt safe, you felt like he needed you as much as you needed him. He guided his cock between your legs, aligning himself with your entrance… but ultimately rubbed his tip against your clit. The simple thought of having his precum dripping on your pussy made you clench.

Hyunjin pushed himself into you then, struggling at first. “Fucking hell…” He growled under his breath. “Relax, gorgeous. Can you do that for me?”

You touched him, his disheveled hair, his rose piercing. His lip ring. The ink on his skin. You tried to level your breathing and your heartbeat and pulled Hyunjin in for a kiss, really feeling the texture of his mouth, how wet it was. How soft his lips were, smooth like silk, like a brush coated with paint and sliding effortlessly across a canvas. 

He would do so well in Paris and you would treasure the memories you had of him. This, you knew for sure.

You cried out when Hyunjin thrust once, then twice, and buried his straining cock inside of you. He didn’t let you moan out your bliss as he took your lips again, not waiting another second before rolling his hips, fucking you deep and good. 

“That’s it, Tipsy, fuck yeah…” Hyunjin slammed hard into you a few times, his movements made easier with every thrust as he stretched you. You had to hold onto the headboard behind you, already soaking his cock with your slick. He filled you so well and you couldn’t think of a better feeling than that. “You’re so pretty. So tight. Kiss me, gorgeous.”

You kissed him. You were so damn high and he was maybe higher than you and maybe that’s why he was fucking you slowly, so steadily, sinking into you again and again, watching your tits bounce every time he did so.

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop.” You spoke somewhere in the crook of his neck, clinging to Hyunjin, your nails digging into his skin—he was the only thing that mattered right now. Just that. His cock pounding into you hard enough to bruise you and how it occupied every inch of your throbbing cunt. The squeaking of the mattress, the air circulating through the ventilation, Hyunjin’s uneven breathing and his moans. Who moaned like this? Like your pussy was heaven and he was seeing god every time he bottomed out? 

Hyunjin’s usual angelic traits were morphing into something else as he focused on the heat between your legs. He looked serious, brows stitched together, his lips parted open, face and body covered with a film of sweat.

You had never been fucked like this before—with so much effort. So much intent. Like Hyunjin was trying to paint a portrait with each roll of his hips, massaging your walls with this pretty cock of his. 

“Wanna cum again, Tipsy?” he said into your ear, his voice cracking. “I can’t fucking hold it you’re too tight, too good—”

The ache you felt in your core agreed with him. You kissed him. A slow, languid kiss, a kiss that tasted like weed and like pussy. “Fill me up, Fairytale,” you breathed, moving your hips from below to meet his thrusts. You could swear he was reaching your goddamn cervix. 

Hyunjin released a good amount of spit on your already soaked cunt and pressed his fingers onto you to rub precise circles onto your clit. You whimpered at the contact, overwhelmed. Happy. His other hand was on your waist as he guided you onto him and himself into you. You were close again and you could feel him throb, too. 

“Let’s cum together, cum with me, you’re so fucking pretty.” Hyunjin spread your legs open, looking down to observe, causing him to hiss. “Oh fuck… holy shit… look at that… so fucking creamy... Is that for me? All that cream?” He accentuated his last work with a sharp thrust of his hips, making you see stars.

He returned to your face to kiss you as his fucking became erratic and as the pressure inside of you became unbearable, as if flames were licking you from the inside out. “Now, please—” you begged, moaning. You couldn’t stop moaning and neither could he, but it sounded beautiful. 

You tensed up as you came—for a few seconds, you came so hard that it hurt you, but it hurt you good because you were doing it on Hyunjin’s cock. The pretty moans and whimpers he let out were lewd. Sinful. You let your release take over you, reveling in it. 

Hyunjin pulsed inside of you, burying his cock into your fluttering walls. You felt it. His orgasm. You felt it as much as yours—he throbbed, his body jerking, too, emptying himself inside of you. A lot, it seemed. It felt wet. It felt good. You could feel it pool within you as you clenched, milking every drop out of him—his sticky cum was already spilling out of you as he rolled his hips into you, riding his aftershocks. 

And he stayed inside you, even moments after both of your highs had ended. Both of you were sweaty, sticky messes on a stained mattress, but you smiled when he smiled at you and stole a few kisses from you. You hummed when he pulled out with a wet sound that you hoped you wouldn’t forget either. 

Hyunjin reached out to grab a handful of tissues to clean you up a little awkwardly. “I made a mess, sorry, I—” he managed, but you took the tissues from him to finish the job. He was right. 

“Don’t worry, it’s okay.” That was a hell lot of cum, but you enjoyed the sensation of what was still inside you.

You lay down next to Hyunjin on your side, facing each other. He was still a little winded out but so were you. He gave your kiss a gentle kiss. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes.” You nodded, suddenly a little shy for some reason. “I feel very good.”

“I feel very good too.” But his eyes were almost closed. Still, he smiled, warming up your heart, and pulled you against him. “Do you want a lollipop?”

You thought you misheard. “What?” 

Hyunjin’s eyes were closed but the smile hadn’t left his lips. They were still swollen from the kissing and the sex. In the end, he hadn’t lied to you—it did feel like making love more than fucking, no matter how intense. It felt like you had been given something instead of just you giving it freely, to the wrong people.

“A lollipop, Tipsy. Do you want one? They’re in a jar over there.” 

You twisted your neck to look behind you, finally locating, on a shelf, a glass jar halfway full of Hyunjin’s favorite lollipops. You let out a soft laugh. “Nah, Fairytale. Do you want one?” 

But Hyunjin only gave you a noncommittal hum as a response, so you dropped it. He fell asleep like that, holding you. You closed your eyes, your pulse slowing down, your brain working hard. To remember everything. You did fall asleep soon after, but you hoped you wouldn’t forget that either. How it felt to fall asleep in the arms of someone like Hyunjin. 

This time around, you woke up before him. The TV was still on but was displaying its screensaver—random landscapes—and everything was quiet. Your pussy felt sore, along with your lower back, and you were parched.

Hyunjin was sleeping on his back, breathing slowly and deeply. He was holding your hand, and you considered dying from dehydration instead of leaving this warm bed. He seemed so peaceful. Had he been nervous about Paris? Did he really believe he wasn’t worthy of going?

He moved in his sleep when you removed your hand from his gentle grasp, but he let out a content sigh when you pressed a kiss on his bare shoulder. His skin was smooth and warm and it felt good against your lips.

You found the t-shirt you had been wearing earlier—it was on the floor, but you put it on and left the bedroom. After using the guest restroom so as not to wake Hyunjin, you went to the kitchen to get some apple juice. You also grabbed a couple of sour candies from a bag and drank in the dark kitchen, leaning against the counter. 

You had never really done that. Sleep twice with a boy you weren’t actually seeing. You had never had a friend with benefits because you had always been afraid to catch feelings. And by the way your chest was heavy, you knew you had been right to fear that. Hyunjin was the worst possible person for whom you could catch any sort of feelings right now—even friendly ones. The semester was almost over and then he would leave. Sure, the exchange was temporary, but realistically he would remain abroad for a while after finding a job… or a girlfriend.

You lifted your eyes from your empty glass of apple juice and looked at the door of Hyunjin’s bedroom. You wanted nothing more than to return in there to lay by his side and wrap yourself all around him to smell him and feel him so close. But you were already too attached. And you couldn’t let him get attached any more than he was—if he was at all. He deserved to leave for Paris with a smile on his face and with no regrets. His life had been difficult enough as it was. You hoped he would be happy there, maybe get a few more tattoos and see his dreams come true.

So you made your way back to his room but went immediately to the master bathroom where you had left your clothes and put them back on as silently as possible. When you headed out, you couldn’t help but return to the bed just to look at Hyunjin some more. He had an arm where your body had been just moments ago and it made you crave him more than ever.

But you did walk away. You grabbed a lollipop from the jar and gathered your things in the living room, noticing a notepad on a bookshelf.

Headed back home because Chae texted me, but thanks for dinner! I had a good time. Tipsy xxx

You knew Chae wouldn’t mind that you lied about that—you’d do the same for her. So you left, carefully locking the door behind you, and walked home. But your heart was heavy, heavier than it should have been.

Hyunjin did not text you the next day, or the day after. You tried keeping yourself busy—hell, you were busy with all those midterms but it was hard to focus on them. You kept checking your phone. When Chae suggested that you should text him, you almost threw your sandwich at her. No, you couldn’t do that. 

But you did pretend you really, really wanted iced tea and that you’d go to the convenience store. Jisung asked you to get his favorite candy and Chae proposed to go with you if you didn’t want to be alone—but you did want to be alone. Or not. You were just gonna go to the convenience store and cross the street and find Hyunjin in the park and go talk to him. 

Except he wasn’t at the park at his usual table. 

The next day was Sunday. You spent the entire day in your room, working in front of your laptop. You had put on a sitcom you’d seen countless times before just for background noise, which is why you didn’t react when you heard the doorbell—for a few seconds, you thought it came from the show. But then you heard the sound of the door, and voices… 

Jisung spoke first. “Frog boy! My guy! What’s up? I don’t think you’re here for me…” 

Your heart leapt in your chest and you pushed yourself out of your chair to go towards your door, hesitating. Hyunjin was here? You checked your phone to see if you had missed a text message but there was nothing. 

“No,” Hyunjin told Jisung. “But I do have something for you. Free of charge, of course.”

There was a pause in the conversation. “Are you fucking kidding me? All of this for me?” 

“For you and Tipsy—I mean, y/n,” Hyunjin added, and this time you couldn’t pretend like you weren’t dying to see him, so you joined the two of them in the living room. 

Hyunjin was standing right by the door with Jisung who was holding a large bag that was seemingly full of weed. When you appeared, Hyunjin’s already faint smile disappeared, but Jisung grinned at you.

“Look what your boyfriend brought us! What’s the occasion man?”

“She’s not… I’m not…” Hyunjin started, avoiding your eyes, his cheeks flushed. “We’re just friends.” He took a deep breath and shrugged. “I’m leaving after the semester and I wanna get rid of all that shit. I can’t risk getting caught.”

“You’re leaving?” Jisung questioned, looking at Hyunjin, then at you, then at Hyunjin. “What?”

“He got into a great art school in Paris,” you explained, forcing a smile on your face. 

Jisung almost pushed Hyunjin into the wall with shock and spent maybe a whole hour congratulating him before he managed to read the room. He cleared his throat. “I’ll go store this safely,” he said, showing the bag full of weed. “Thanks for thinking of us, man.”

“No problem.” Hyunjin waited until he heard the door of Jisung’s bedroom close behind him then he turned to you. “Hey, Tipsy.” 

You took one cautious step towards him. “Hey Fairytale.”

He smiled a little and it made you smile, too, despite the storm of tormented feelings that was brewing inside of you. It really sucked that you were so happy for him and yet still somehow wished that he would stay. 

“So, huh…” Hyunjin started. “Actually, I have Chives with me, she’s… She’s in the car. I was wondering if you still wanted to be there to release her. I’m headed over there right now.”

“Oh!” You looked at the window where you saw Hyunjin’s car parked right in front of your building. You weren’t very good at saying goodbye, but you did want to say goodbye to Chives. And to Hyunjin. “Yeah, I wanna go,” you said and hated how small your voice sounded. “Just give me a minute.” 

“Take your time.” 

You just went to the bathroom where you quickly brushed your teeth and rinsed your face after spending an entire day being a gremlin in your bedroom and eating a little too much candy. You returned to the living room to grab your coat from the closet as well as jump into a pair of shoes.

Chives was back into a plastic container. You held her while Hyunjin drove the car. There was no music and it took several minutes before he spoke to you again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text,” he said quietly. “I should have texted you.”

The fog that had been clogging your thoughts and your brain lifted instantly—so instantly you felt stupid. “Oh, don’t be sorry, I should… I should have texted you, really.” Yeah, now that you were saying it out loud, Chae had been right all along. 

“No.” Hyunjin stopped the car at the traffic light because it turned red and looked at you. His eyes were sad. “Did I do something to hurt you? Did I… Did I hurt you when we… Or after? Or—”

“No, no Hyunjin,” you cut him off. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t hurt me. I should have texted you, but I didn’t want to… To get in the way. Of your things.”

A dark veil passed over Hyunjin’s eyes as the light turned green again and he took a left turn. “We’re almost there,” was all he said. 

You didn’t speak until he had parked and stopped the car a few minutes later. The night sky was clear and you could see the half-moon shining bright. The air was a little cool and you wished you were wearing warmer clothes. The place was a community center but there was a large wooden area all around.

“There’s a meadow and a pond,” Hyunjin explained. “I’m sure Chives will love it.”

So you walked with him. There was a narrow but paved path though there was almost no lighting, so you used your phone to light the way. Hyunjin was holding Chives’ container with one hand, and after a while, he took yours to hold it. And it felt right.

He finally spoke after a long while. “You’re not getting in the way of anything. I… If I wasn’t going to Paris, I’d take you on a date. More than one date. I kinda wish I wasn’t going at all.”

You had never really felt this before—a perfect mix of sadness and elation at the same time. In equal amounts. 

You squeezed Hyunjin’s warm hand. “It’s Paris. On a scholarship. You have to go.” He pulled you closer a little. “But I would have gone on those dates with you, Fairytale.”

“When I come back,” he started, “I’ll take you on a date. A friend-date, especially if you’re seeing someone. But you know what I mean.”

You had made it to the meadow with the pond. There was a streetlight here, although dim, but it was sufficient enough that you could put your phone back into your pocket. There was also a bench and a lot of grass and trees. It was the perfect spot for Chives. 

“You mean that?” You turned to Hyunjin, facing him. The rose on his ear was shining under the amber light. “Then, yes. I’ll take that raincheck on a date.” You didn’t think it would ever happen, but the thought comforted you. “Although I’m not sure your super hot french girlfriend will appreciate.”

Hyunjin went to say something but then his expression turned from serious to playful and there was a glimmer in his eyes. “For all I know, Bang Chan himself will propose to you while I’m gone. I might even miss the wedding.”

You simply couldn’t hold your laughter. Hyunjin laughed with you and took your hand again to guide you towards the pond. “I’ll make sure to have photos sent to you,” you responded in the same mischievous tone. 

Hyunjin left the container by the pond, right next to a large bush of hydrangeas—the very same type of flower where he had found Chives begin with. You sat together on a bench just close by.

He pulled you against him and you buried your face into his neck, inhaling his enthralling scent. Maybe you’d go to the store tomorrow to find his exact body wash… 

“Well, even if you’re married to Chan,” Hyunjin declared, “I’m still taking you on that date. I don’t care.” He kissed your forehead. 

“And I’ll go even if we have to take your super hot french girlfriend with us.” This time, Hyunjin kissed your mouth, and you kissed him back.

A slow kiss. His breath was warm and minty and you realized you had missed this, this particular way he had to kiss you. As if he meant it. 

“Deal.” Hyunjin traced the outline of your face with his finger before pushing your hair behind your ear. “I wanted you to know something else too. I… When my mom passed, her family put money in an account for me, for my studies. But I didn’t really need it because I had the house and a scholarship and… Well, I took a little amount of that money and talked to my supplier and… I got those pills for these two guys. They won’t bother me anymore, and they won’t be a threat to you either.”

“Oh… But Hyunjin—”

“That’s why I got rid of all the weed too. Well, almost… I hid some for me but… I can’t take any risks. I don’t want to mess this up.” Hyunjin slid his thumb on your lower lip, his eyes fixated on your mouth. “Even if staying wouldn’t be all bad either.”

You were about to kiss him when you noticed movement behind him. “Hyunjin, look!” 

Chives had hopped out of her container and was making her way toward the tall grass around the pond. Hyunjin gasped and held you in his arms as you both watched the cute little frog hop away to freedom.

“Is that what proud parents feel when their child leaves for college?” Hyunjin asked you, his voice a little strangled. 

“I think so. You really helped that frog, Fairytale.” There was a lump in your throat too, but both of you pretended like this wasn’t an exceptionally emotional moment. 

Hyunjin squeezed you tighter when Chives disappeared for good and you stayed together in silence for a little while, listening to the breeze and the lazy flapping of the water. “Thanks for being here tonight,” Hyunjin said into your ear. He kissed your jaw. “You’re cold, though. Let’s get you back into the car.” 

You retrieved the empty container and returned to the car. On the way back, Hyunjin told you about his father. He had called him to give him the news that he was going to Paris. “He was really proud of me. We talked for a long time… Longer than we have in years. Paris is not so far from where he works, I think… I think he’ll come see me. I’d like that.” 

“Oh, I’m really happy for you. Really.” And you were. This time, it was a little harder to swallow back the tears. “I’m sure he really wants to see you too, you know?” How could he not? How could someone not be lethally fond of this boy?

Hyunjin unlocked the car doors and you sat in the passenger seat. He started the car but didn’t drive away. The road was deserted just like the entire area. 

“I wanted to tell you something else.” Everything was going a little too fast, but you figured that was the price to pay for being stubborn and refusing to text or see him before. 

Hyunjin turned towards you from his seat behind the wheel. He took your hands in his and rubbed them as if to warm them up. But your heart was beating fast in your chest. “I think you’re really cool. And I know I’m not leaving until the end of the semester but… You’ll be busy and I’ll be busy too, and I just… I want you to know that I won’t forget you. Even if we don’t text all the time and all. I’ll never forget my Tipsy.” 

A tear rolled down your cheek but it was okay—Hyunjin’s eyes were wet too and his bottom lip was trembling. You had never been really good at saying goodbye, but you forced a smile on your lips. 

“And I’ll never forget my Fairytale.” 

He drove you home and kissed you goodbye from the car, then again at your door. And again. And again. Until Jisung texted you, worrying about where you were. Still, Hyunjin kissed you for a long time after that, and then he left, but he didn’t say goodbye and neither did you.

He had been right about one thing though—both of you were exceptionally busy the rest of the semester. He texted you sometimes and you texted him, too. You ran into him more than you did before because he often needed paperwork done in other buildings because of the exchange. It was through those interactions that you learned his father would take care of selling the house. It was snowing the day you ran into him at the convenience store with Jisung—who needed more sour candy—and Hyunjin told you that his neighbor had officially moved away to be with her family, leaving with Chris, too. 

That was two days before Hyunjin’s flight. You did not return to your apartment with Jisung that night. You went to Hyunjin’s place where you each showered and slipped into comfortable clothes. The house was mostly empty of furniture but full of boxes. The easels were gone, too. 

Hyunjin kissed you a lot that night and made love to you, again and again, until the sun appeared on the horizon. Slow, meaningful thrusts into you, both of you moaning together and cumming together. And there was a lot of beauty in that. He made you laugh, he made you cry. He cried too. You fell asleep in his arms, and this time, you stayed. You showered again and made food while he was packing more of his things. You helped him even though you had to get ready to spend the winter break at your parents’ place. But you stayed with him. 

When the time came to say goodbye for real, neither of you wanted to, so you simply didn’t. 

“I’ll see you later, Tipsy,” Hyunjin said, his big beautiful eyes looking into yours. 

You touched the ring on his lip. It was cool under your skin, but he smiled, and you smiled. “I’ll see you later, Fairytale.”

It was not the best winter break of your life. You were exhausted from the semester and from the sleepless nights where you couldn’t get Hyunjin out of your stupid fucking head. But you spent time with your family and cried everything you had to cry. Your cousin got you drunk on Christmas and it helped a little. That day, you got a text from Hyunjin, with a picture of the Eiffel Tower. “Joyeux Noël,” as all he wrote. 

The next semester started before you even knew it. On the third day, a special person was waiting for you after one of your classes, someone you certainly did not expect.

Mrs. Yoo was there, she said, at Hyunjin’s demands. She had two paintings for you—one was Hyunjin’s midterm assignment which you had already seen. The one depicting the park on that first night. 

The second painting was a portrait. Of you. Sleeping in his bed, wearing the shirt you had been wearing that last night you spent with him before he left. You were beautiful. The painting was beautiful, with the sunlight filtering through the blinds and reflecting on the crumpled sheets and your hair. Your peaceful expression. A bunch of blue hydrangeas in a white vase. The empty aquarium and the glass jar full of lollipops. He got excellent grades, Mrs. Yoo told you that day. What an artist. Hyunjin was very fond of you, I believe. 

You thought about him a lot that semester. But he didn’t come back after one semester. In fact, it was about him you thought when you went to pick up your diploma. 

You got over it, sure. But you never forgot him. 

When you moved into your apartment after graduating, you had both paintings framed and you hung them in your room. Even if you and Hyunjin didn’t text that much anymore, you never forgot your Fairytale. And something in your heart told you that he did not forget his Tipsy either. 

~ TWO YEARS AND A HALF YEARS LATER ~

“So have you thought about your plus one or not?” 

You looked up from the project you were working on—a sign for a new restaurant—and stared at Jisung who stood in the door frame of your office. 

You blinked. “No, Jisung, I have not.” You sighed and leaned into your chair. “You know what? Just give that seat to someone else who’s not a lonesome loser like me.” 

Jisung tilted his head, frowning. He was about to respond to you when Chan joined him. “Guys. There’s a bit of an emergency going on. Please don’t hate me.”

“Why would we hate you?” Jisung questioned with a laugh. “Did you drink all of the good coffee again?”

Chan offered his friend a sorry smile. “No… I… You know the guy we had a few classes with… Hongjoong. He went into PR,” Chan explained while you were simply a witness of their conversation which was definitely preventing you from working in peace.

But that wasn’t new. After all, you knew what you were getting into when, soon after graduating, Chan, Jisung, and Changbin started their own marketing firm and Chan offered you a job in it. He said he wanted to offer the very best services and that he wanted everything to be produced in-house by people he trusted. You’re the best graphic designer I know, he had told you. 

However, he had adamantly refused to tell you exactly how many graphic designers he knew.

But still, whatever—you had a job. You worked with your friends and for a while, you had lived with them, too. But now Jisung had gotten himself a serious girlfriend to whom he had proposed a few months ago. Since Changbin had immediately moved in with his girlfriend after graduating, it was just you and Chan in the apartment. Which sometimes could be a little awkward considering… everything, but it was still alright. The commute was decent and the rent not so bad even if you had lost a roommate. You liked the neighborhood. And you liked your job, too. 

Well. Except when these guys decided to use your office as a debate room. “Am I involved in this conversation?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yes. Yes, very much.” Chan bit his lip. “So you do remember Hongjoong, right?” While Jisung nodded eagerly, you had to think a little longer, but you definitely had heard that name before, probably ran into him at a party if he was with Jisung or Changbin. “Yeah, so he works for the Museum of Contemporary Art downtown and they have this big charity contest thing coming up at the end of the year and the marketing firm they had contacted actually dropped the contract last minute. They need a new one! I told HJ to bring his team over and that we’d take the contract!” 

Jisung stared at Chan as if he had just slapped him in the face. “DUDE, THAT’S A HUGE CONTRACT! I’M GETTING MARRIED IN A MONTH! YOU’RE MY BEST MAN!”

“Sounds to me like he’s your worst man right now,” you pointed out. The joke had to be made anyway, but Chan still shot a cold glance at you. 

“Don’t look at her like that, she’s fucking right!” Jisung let out an exasperated sigh and leaned against the wall. 

“Look, you get married with Sun-young all the same, nothing changes,” Chan explained. “All I’m asking from you is to be here today for this meeting and maybe answer the phone once in a while if one of the interns has a question. I take full responsibility for the extra work.”

Jisung took a deep breath. “Okay. Fine. But only once in a while.” Jisung even smiled. “So, I was just here to ask y/n about her plus one for the wedding and she says she doesn’t have one. Do you?”

Chan seemed surprised by how easy it had been to calm Jisung down, but then, he was in an exceptional mood today. The guy was delighted with the idea of getting married to the love of his life. He was just… very stressed about it and it helped him to make every single person he knew also stressed about his marriage. No big deal. Hell, it almost made you thankful to be the most single person on earth. 

“I don’t have a plus one,” Chan began, “uh—”

“Alright! Maybe I can put the two of you in the same room then…” Jisung seemed lost in his thoughts and you exchanged a silent stare with Chan. 

You used to have this big crush on him when you were in college. Not so long ago. Forever ago. He was the coolest guy of his year and everyone liked him. Of course, you were invisible—you were the nerdy graphic design student who was also friends with a friend of his. Fast forward to some time later and you’re working with him. You’re living with him. Maybe this past December’s office Christmas party was… intense, and maybe you drank a little too much. But then, you never liked holidays because they only reminded you of how truly lonely you were.

Maybe Chan fucked you on his desk that night. Sure, from an outsider’s perspective, it sounded super cool. To finally get dicked down by your college crush or whatever. But he was your boss. Your roommate. And your friend, too. It had made things a little awkward, especially at first. 

Especially because neither of you had the intention of taking things any further. Chan was not looking for any sort of long-term thing because he was obsessed with work. And you repelled long-term things because you were cursed. 

That also made things easier. It made things clear at the very least.

But you did not want to share a room or a bed with Chan for Jisung’s wedding. “Channie!” you exclaimed, using all of the skills you may have developed in the drama class that you took at the tender age of nine years old. “I thought you did have a date for the wedding! Did she cancel?”

Chan picked up on it immediately. “Oh, I just thought maybe Ji needed the seat for someone else,” he said and turned to his friend. “I do have a date. She’s a friend of my sister’s friend.” 

Jisung nodded and sighed before pulling out his phone, apparently to take some notes. “Alright, that’s fine, it’s not like I’m paying anyway.”

“Lucky bastard.” You crumpled a sheet of paper into a ball and threw it at Jisung’s head. Everything from the wedding would be paid by the father of the bride.

Chan’s phone also rang and he announced that HJ was going to be there soon. “Let’s go to the conference room.” 

You helped him brew some more coffee to offer your guests while Jisung and Changbin were discussing the wedding’s seating chart, which was Jisung’s topic of the day. 

“Is it a really big contract, Chan?” you asked while sorting through the different flavors of creamers. 

“Really really big,” Chan replied, keeping his voice low. “I didn’t want to tell Ji that right now but… it could make us known. If you know what I mean. Sure, we’re doing really good and I’m proud of all of you guys but… this isn’t a restaurant, or a bar, or a summer theater that needs posters… It’s a legit ass museum! For a huge charity event!”

“That’s really cool.” You smiled and gave Chan’s cheek a few gentle pats. “Remember all this time ago when you told me you wanted your own marketing firm and all that crap?” 

Chan nodded and smiled a big beautiful grin at you, flashing his dimples. “Fuck yeah I remember. Isn’t that the night Jisung met Sun-young too?”

“Yeah, it is.” All of a sudden, your smile became too heavy for your lips and it fell apart. You looked away to hide your change of mood. “Anyway, what I mean is you’re doing pretty well, Bang Chan.” 

“I wouldn’t be able to do that without you. All of you.” Chan squeezed your shoulder and you waited until you heard him leave the room to go greet the clients to take a few deep breaths. 

That was not so long ago but it was forever ago. A night with a bonfire and s’mores. And blue hydrangeas. And—

You resisted the urge to pull out your phone to check a dead text conversation and an even deader collection of social media profiles. Instead, you sat at the table and listened to the conversations until Chan returned with the clients.

They were just three of them, which was not as intimidating as when you were meeting with a large group. HJ, who did look familiar now that you were seeing him, a woman, and another guy. An intern apparently, but who was friendly and sweet. Of course, they sat him next to you. They being solely Jisung who took your dating life very seriously. 

“Sorry, we’re missing someone, he’s running late,” HJ explained. He had a sweet, comforting smile. He seemed like an intelligent dude. “I just texted him. We can start without him I guess… I don’t want to be any more of a burden than we already are. I cannot thank you enough for meeting us on such short notice.” 

“Not a burden at all, please,” Chan insisted. “Are you sure you wanna start without your art director? We have coffee, we’re in no hurry at all.”

“Sure, we’re in no hurry at all,” Jisung added with an exaggerated shrug. “What else could we possibly be doing today anyway?” 

You suppressed a smile at Jisung’s jokingly sarcastic tone, deciding to join the bit. “Damn, Jisung. You’re so fucking right. Nothing in the world matters more right now than your wedding’s seating chart. Maybe we should close the whole business until further notice.” 

Jisung laughed with you but Chan put a hand over his mouth and apologized to the clients. “I’m so sorry. They’re unserious sometimes but really talented.” 

“No problem, I like the vibe. We’re friends here after all.” HJ shook his head with a smile. “Actually, I think this is a perfect match. You’ll super get along with the art director of the museum. He’s also really talented but he’s…”

“He’s weird,” the woman, whose name was So-yeon said, not waiting until HJ had finished his sentence. “He just texted me to say that there was a stray kitten by his building and that he had to take care of that. He’s almost here.” She put the phone back on the table of the conference room. “I hope no one’s allergic to cats because he’s bringing the kitten here. He sent me a picture of it. It’s in his jacket.”

“Oh, can I see?” Wooyoung, the intern, asked eagerly and he smiled endearingly when So-yeon showed him the picture in question. You caught a glimpse of it, too—a tiny little tabby kitten head poking out of the front pocket of a black hoodie. A hoodie. On a bright, sunny day in May? 

“Yeah, he’s unique, sure, but he’s a great guy,” Wooyoung concluded. “When I said I forgot to buy my mom a gift for her birthday, he took some time in the afternoon to do a custom painting just for her so that I’d have something to give her!” 

“Yeah, yeah, he’s everyone’s favorite prince,” So-yeon said with a sigh, but she was smiling. “Can we begin the meeting before this place turns into a petting zoo?” 

to be continued.

author's note: Hi everyone! Once again, thank you so much for being so patient with me and for showing me so much kindness. I truly appreciate this, and you. The response on chapter one left me speechless and I truly hope this second chapter is not too disappointing. There will be a chapter 3! Thank you for all the love, the support, for everything. 🐸💕 Thank you for welcoming the frog boi into your hearts. I am honored. Stay safe!

permanent + series taglist ♡ (if you want to be removed from the taglist feel comfortable sending me a message!) @cb97percent @changbinluvr @neosracha @hwan-g @streetlight-s @leedunno @aimeexx @hyunskizz @lotus-dly @thestarseeker @skzho @suhomylife @abiaswreck @chanlovesme @binstitsweat @hyunjinswifeee @straydhampir @fwess @septicrebel @chanssmiles @midsoulz @imwithurmother @babyracha @honeyedtalisman @jaembby @felixcharmerera @laylasbunbunny @chimmycupcake

[hamsa0811]

after a long exhausting week of work, this chapter felt like exactly what I needed.

I love how they hug each other often. Must be really nice.... Wish i knew what that felt like. My life is basically void of hugs tho. I love the comfortable intimacy between them too. Such a beautiful thing to be comforted so affectionately with hugs and kisses.

He is really 'fairytale'. I refuse to believe that someone like him exists in this world. and the way he laughs so easily at everything she says is just so hyunjin coded.

“Best pillow,” Hyunjin repeated under his breath, kissing the top of your head. “You do have nice tits, Tipsy.” 

I can't handle this. Just kill me and be done with it..... Also him being a tits man too, again very hyunjin coded.

And i know i’ve said this before, but i really admire the way you write emotions. you understand human feelings so well and put them into words so naturally. i just felt like i had to say it again.

[cb97percent]

「𝚙𝚏𝚏𝚝, 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛」 · 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗

❝𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝟹𝟹 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚒 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚞❞

➥ Hyunjin x Reader (f) — 3.8k

➥ Hot Loser w/ a Big Dick, HornCom, Fluffy Sexy

➥ Contains: Astronomically horny inexperienced Hyunjin who is the human embodiment of the 🥺 emoji, 306.7 on the Dewey Decimal System, unbelievable amounts of cluelessness, cuteness aggression that makes you wanna fuck him harder

⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Corruption fetishism

➥ You have legitimately thought the hot dude on the hookup app was faking cluelessness to troll you, but running into him at the library indeed confirms he's just... clueless. Naturally, new side quest unlocked: Corrupt his ass.

*a/n: i ♡ pathetic fictional men. going on a subby!skz bender, I'll see u on the other side.

“No. Nuh uh. Nope. HELL NAH. Nope.”

You’re about to rip your hair out from how boring your night is progressing, but you don’t feel like going out either. Who has the energy to frickin commute just to ogle hot guys downtown in 3 degrees Celsius? You can still ogle them from the comfort of your own bed, while pantless for that matter, in case something strikes your fancy juuust right.

Thus the swipe galore on the app reserved to entertain you on nights like this.

You have no intention of inviting someone over or meeting them out. All you seek is a bit of an ego boost over your hottest body shots, a bit of sexting to get the juices literally flowing, and the second you finish, adios motherfucker. The first few matches are predictably a bust. No one even has the courtesy of building up to it anymore, straight up cannonballing into “Nudes?” 

But amidst the ocean of dick pics and gymbro thirst traps, an eccentric profile stands out like a sore thumb with a dumpling picture as the avatar.

googlehwangouts (26) just trying my luck

“Pfft, loser,” you snort to yourself. 

You click on the profile to check him out, and the only thing missing is the literal word “DESPERATION” slapped in there somewhere. Either this guy is a legit virgin, or someone out there is trolling people in the name of a “social experiment”. HOWEVER…

Loser or not, the dude’s personal gallery also stands out, but it’s a different kind of standout. A really striking one, which is a bit sus. 

You swipe right and send him a message.

me no way these pics are yours poser googlehwangouts ?? hello to you too why would i put someone else on my profile me google catfishing hwangouts googlehwangouts wait are you saying people might use my pics? youre not gonna do that are you??? thats very mean

“OH MY GOD, IS THIS GUY FOR REAL?” you yell to yourself in your bedroom, appalled at the answers you’re receiving. That’s too corny to be fake, but also way too clueless to be real.

me ofc not tell u what if you snap a pic of yourself rn i’ll believe it’s you googlehwangouts [img_0320.jpeg]

NAH.

This has to be a troll. Now you’re even more conflicted because Hangouts guy matches the pictures perfectly, and he is FUCKING GORGEOUS even in Netflix-and-Chill couture. Reclining on his bed, one arm tucked under his nape, he looks insanely tempting, and you’re supposed to believe no one’s bouncing on it all day every day, like…?

THIS man is trying his luck?

googlehwangouts your turn

There is a decision to be made here now. 

You’re really not in the mood to entertain a troll, but on the off chance that he’s legit, this is a golden opportunity. A super cute, hot as fuck, desperate-for-action guy might be waiting for you on the other side, ready to get his brain fried. Despite your better judgement, your curiosity wins the race against logic by the narrowest of margins, and you find yourself snapping a picture of your pussy, making sure the lighting captures enough gloss. Then you hit Send and eagerly await his reaction.

And lo and behold…

googlehwangouts hahahahaireallywannafuckyouhahahaha

You’re dying laughing because in your head, he is ACTUALLY kicking his feet in his bed and hahahaing right now. You can’t believe the direction your night is taking, but you have to see this in person.

me wanna meet up?

Well, at least you had all the intention to until technology suddenly decided to go, “Bitch, sit your ass down.”

Error: Can’t connect.

Oh no.

You try sending the message again and again, but it won’t go through. You click on his profile, but it doesn’t open. You quit the app and log back in as a Hail Mary, and at long fucking last—

The chat is completely gone.

OH NO.

“The guy’s name... What was the guy’s name?!” you frantically ask yourself as if the app has a search feature, on the verge of angry tears. “Well, thank you internet for ruining yet another fucking Saturday!!!”

Overall, 12/10 night, huh? 

On the frustration scale, that is.

Struggling noises are coming out of you as you walk into the library with a shelf’s worth of books, questioning how come a digital version for every book in existence is still not yet available. The stack in your arms is so high that you can’t even see two centimeters ahead, and you try your best to map your route from memory.

“Alright, Gerda. Here are your overdue books back, so please stop spamming my inbox,” you slam the miniature Pisa tower on the counter. “How much do I owe?”

“$22.50.”

NAH.

No, it’s not the egregious amount of late fees you have to pay; it’s who you’re going to pay it to that parts your lips open, and you briefly consider the possibility of thesis-prep-induced psychosis. The same big glasses, the same chain necklace, the same full lips are right there before you, and the name tag says Hwang Hyunjin.

It’s fucking Hangouts guy!

Are you drooling? You’re probably drooling. 

“Is there something on my face?” he asks, not sarcastically at all.

YEAH THE LACK OF MY PUSSY??? is almost what you blurt out, but thankfully, your “functional society member” autopilot activates just at the right time to save you from a lifetime of embarrassment. 

“HUH? No, not at all,” you shake your head and reach for your wallet. 

As he processes the payment, you start examining him, maybe a bit too intensely, getting slightly mad at his out-of-this-world looks. Who the absolute FUCK looks like this? WHY is he “just trying his luck” in horny corners of the internet? Sure, he has a much more wholesome aura to him compared to the raging frat bros dominating the campus, but if he asks right now, you’ll still probably be down to suck his dick, like, is he not aware of how gorgeous he is?  

When he gives you your receipt, your hands touch for the briefest moment, and you kinda get your answer. 

He instantly turns beet red. 

Fact tally—this guy is ridiculously hot, extremely shy, desperate enough to lurk on hookup apps for some action, but with a fucking dumpling picture instead of his million-dollar face, which makes him look like a badly made fake profile…

JACK—FUCKING—POT!

“Just so you know, the app glitched the other night. I didn’t quit the conversation,” you knowingly tell him in a hushed tone. “Do you still really wanna fuck me, Hwangouts?” 

Oh, it’s confirmation galore when his face changes like he’s witnessing a brutal car crash. There is absolutely no room for doubt that you were talking to him the other night, and he’s so fucking cute that you have to exert massive effort to suppress the cuteness aggression noises that’s otherwise going to come out of you. 

The pornhub in your mind is hyperactive, already putting him in all kinds of scenarios, all ending with you blowing his mind. He definitely has star student potential for pussy eating tutoring, so eager, so ready to please. Oh, he’d be so cute cumming all over his fist. Does he blush after he cums, too? Is he the clingy-after-sex kind? Because you’d so kiss those cheeks and let him climb you like a koala bear and just hhhhnnngghhhh…

“Hyunjin, can you come to the back for a second?!” Gerda calls out to him, effectively shattering your horny delusions.

“This isn’t over,” you whisper to him with a crooked smile, and while leaving his chair, Hyunjin almost topples over himself, unable to peel his eyes off of you like he’s in a trance.

When you leave the circulation desk that day, your Hyunsession officially kicks off. 

Sure, you could just directly ask him out, and if his general demeanor is any indication, he’ll say yes in a heartbeat, but where’s the fun in that? Changing a touch-starved man’s life is not something to be rushed; you fully intend to savor every single moment of this experience. 

No more overdue books for you. You’re at the library every day.

You set up camp there under the guise of doing thesis work, whereas all you do is watch Hwangouts do smart shit like it’s your bespoke red flag porn. The last you checked, you didn’t have a nerd fetish or anything, but this dumpling has definitely given you one, and you don’t really understand what it exactly is. Yes, he’s really cute, but that’s not the part that gives you Victorian levels of hysteria. It’s when he tutors people, says big words, and does quick math that a tear runs down your thighs for some reason.

Part of your daily routine is checking out different books regardless of how relevant they are to your research, as well as Hyunjin from head to toe. You always make sure your hands touch when you take the books from him, and watching him turn into a ripe tomato every time without fail pushes you closer and closer to losing your shit entirely. But you don’t talk. You never initiate a conversation. 

It’s called edging, okay?

You just smile at him during your brief interactions, watching him swallow thickly as if you’re reciting the steamiest smut into his ear, and if he could look you in the eye, he would know. There are things he definitely notices, though, but only because they aren’t anywhere near your face. 

The cute bras you wear, for example. 

He thinks he’s being subtle peeking at your cleavage every time you lean into the desk, but he’s so not subtle, always shifting in his place to seemingly fix something under that counter, or suddenly sweating when he meets your eyes like he’s busted stealing. Well, because he is. 

He steals so many glances that it’s at kleptomaniac levels at this point. 

The thing is, when you drop stuff in his line of sight, or when you let slip tiny moans while heaving deep sighs, it’s all deliberate. You do it on purpose, fully aware of what kind of an effect it will have on him. Whereas Hyunjin is doing something, and you’re almost positive he doesn’t even make the connection in his head.

Motherfucker has no idea what that lollipop he constantly has in his mouth is doing to you, and one fateful night, you naturally fucking snap.

“Hi.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a good five seconds as he determines if he’s hallucinating the sound of your voice. When you softly chuckle at his aghast expression, he concludes that he has died and that his assigned angel is on welcome duty.

Wild assumption that he would end up in heaven when he constantly motorboats the cute bra girl in his head, but you get the idea.

“H–Hi,” he responds almost with no sound.

“There is a book I want on the 13th floor, but I can’t reach it,” you put your elbows on the desk and lean in. “Can you help me?”

He can’t fucking help it, okay?! They are right there in his face, perfectly framed for that matter, and as an incorrigible art whore, he’s conditioned to appreciate fine work.

“Sure,” he stands up to his feet, making sure he ties his flannel shirt around his waist first. 

He follows you to the elevator, and the ride upstairs is so suffocatingly silent that you can almost hear yourself squeal. Obviously, there is a reason you’ve picked this floor. One, it’s emptier than what his balls will be like quite soon, and two, there is a shelf here that is of great strategic importance. 

HQ306.7.

“There,” you point at the top shelf.

Hyunjin pulls the book for you, and of course checks what you are so interested in so close to midnight in the Sexual Relations section. He furiously blushes when he sees the title reads Kama Sutra: The Complete Collection. 

“Here,” he hands you the book while looking at his shoes. “It’s a great read.”

You have to bite inside your cheeks not to burst out laughing. Of course he has read it, fucking munchkin, why are you even surprised?

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask out of nowhere, paying zero mind to making a smooth segue, and Hyunjin damn near catches on fire. 

“W–WHY? Why— I’m— Ask— My— Why?”

HE’S SO CUTE WHAT THE FUCK?!

“I was just curious if you had someone to practice this with,” you nonchalantly shrug, expertly contradicting your violent inner meltdown. “It’s kinda insane to me that your dick still hasn’t eroded from getting so much head.”

It’s a fascinating phenomenon. You just stare at his cock, and it gets hard. Well, hard might not be the correct word because those jeans are about to go bye-bye.  

And the way his eyes go out of focus, he’s clearly imagining it!

“I… don’t,” he finally answers in a small voice.

If he keeps being this sweet, you’re gonna sink your teeth into him. You’re gonna lick him to depletion like the lollipops he loves so much. You’re gonna gobble him up in one bite. He needs to cut it out immediately!

“So you’re telling me,” you take one step towards him, voice one octave lower, and ghost your hand over his crotch, “there’s no one to suck this every night?”

His eyes widen like you’ve just committed an unspeakable abomination, and that much is enough answer for you. You take one more step, getting close enough to him to feel the seizure-worthy fever he exudes, and his eyes close on their own.

“N–No,” he responds in an exhale. 

“How long can you last if I sit on it?”

“I… can’t…”

“Or would you cum as soon as I touch you?”

“Please…”

“Or maybe you’re so pathetic,” you gently push him against the shelf, your hand sneaking around his throat, “that I can make you cum just with my words.”

“You’re s–so mean. Fuck…”

“Then why are you this hard for me?” you whisper against his lips. “It turns you on, doesn’t it?”

He can’t talk. He barely remembers how to breathe when you unzip him. Those few seconds feel like hours to both of you, but it’s so satisfying in some sick, twisted way. You’re a bit confused when you wrap your fingers around him, but when you take his cock out, you’re full-on dumbfounded.

Because what in the fucking Chernobyl?!

“You’re huge!” your jaw inadvertently drops.

“R–Really?” he looks at you in confusion.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” you protest, all exasperated. “Have you not seen any porn at all?”

“I mostly watch pussy closeups,” he replies, genuinely not understanding why you’re reacting like this.

“Pussy closeups,” you repeat, chuckling to yourself. “That’s just so you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means your lips are so sexy, I think I’m gonna die if I don’t feel them on my pussy,” you swipe your thumb on his bottom lip and drag it down.

It comes as a very pleasant surprise when Hyunjin takes your finger in his mouth and sucks on it. You take his hand and put it under your skirt. He shivers for the briefest moment, but then he suddenly… 

…turns into something.

He quickly pulls you in and switches places with you, trapping you between the shelf and himself. You wait for him to kiss you, but it never comes. You watch him kneel before you instead. He drags your panties down, looking up at you with gigantic eyes, and you fervently nod in response to encourage him. He lets out a comically heavy exhale, in disbelief that he’s actually facing a very real pussy like he’s hypnotized. 

“Kiss it,” you order him quietly.

He holds onto your hips for support, then buries his face in your cunt. You told him to kiss to mean a tender peck, but when he starts making out with your clit unprompted, you make a mental note to call the psych ward to make a reservation. 

Turns out, video training is real, and all those pussy closeups are coming in very handy right now.

“Oh my—god, Hyunjin…” you throw your head back, getting weaker and weaker in the knees.

You hold his head in place and start riding his face, and he just surrenders to you to let you use him however you want. He’s so obedient, so dangerously obedient that possessiveness suddenly rears its ugly head within you. You’ve claimed him. He’s yours now. If anyone wants a Hyunjin, they need to fucking go find their own because this smart cookie is you-parking-only from now on.

You spread your lips more, and he immediately latches onto your clit, happily humming as he sucks on it. You’re about to go crazy, completely melting in his mouth. Your eyes flutter close on their own with how lost you are in ecstasy, but out of nowhere, he squeezes your hips like he’s trying to say, “Look at me. Pay attention to me.”

He wants you to watch him. 

Of course. Of course you’ll look at him. You’ll look at his impossibly gorgeous face. You’ll look into those soft brown eyes. You’ll look right at the spot his tongue connects to your core and licks your sanity out of you.

You’ll look right into his soul when he makes you cum. 

“Good?” he asks through a loud slurp. “Am I doing good?”

“You’re doing fucking incredible,” you sigh, running your fingers through his silky locks.

His happy eating doesn’t last long. The fervent licks come to an abrupt halt, and he looks like he’s in mild pain.

“What’s wrong?” you furrow your brows with concern.

“If I keep doing it… I’m gonna cum,” he confesses.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Just… a few seconds,” he rests his head on your thighs. “Until I calm down.”

But you don’t let him calm down. You tap his shoulders instead and pull him up. You caress his face. You kiss his lips. But when you touch his cock, he jolts like he’s been electrocuted.

“You don't understand,” he squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m really gonna—”

“Cum, I know,” you reassuringly smile at him. “If you promise to clean up your mess, you can do it inside me.”

You turn around and arch your ass for him, and that something he has turned into reaches its final form. You can swear you’ve heard a little growl come out of him. All he does is press his tip against your sodden entrance, but he’s already breathing heavily behind you. He takes forever to fully sink into you, extremely vigilant not to do any sudden moves, because otherwise…

All that carefulness, yet you still feel like you’re being split open.

His thrusts are so languid, but the sound of his skin against yours is insane. Your moans in his ears are insane. The sheer feeling of being inside you is insane.

Hyunjin’s going clinically insane, and he won’t be able to hold back anymore, no matter how much he resolves to.

He swiftly turns you around and pushes you against the shelf, wrapping one leg around his waist. He immediately aligns himself with you again, but this time he slides in with so much force that you see white.

“S–So full… God, don’t stop,” you claw his shoulders. “Fuck me dumb.”

“Ngh, kiss…” he whines.

He can’t even last until he receives his very wet kiss from you. Just two swirls of your tongue around his, and he completely falls apart. His soul leaves his body as he keeps moaning into your mouth, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. His frantic thrusts eventually come to a halt, and he looks utterly beat, yet he’s so cute that you wanna just cuddle him right there on the floor.

But as if he’s shot himself with an overdose of adrenaline, he suddenly perks up and drops to his knees, picking up where he’s left off like a starved animal. He holds onto your hips again and sticks his tongue out, making you rub your pussy on the slippery surface.

Definitely a move copped from the closeups.

“Oh, fuck… Fuck, yes, like that. Like that, oh my god HYUNJIN!!!”

Oh, he looks so proud as he watches you dismantle into your atoms; that’s the most sinister smile you’ve ever seen a man flash. You burst into a laughter fit with how hard you’ve cum, and he can’t help but laugh along with you. He looks beautiful when he smiles. Once both your feet touch the ground, however, he’s being a gentleman for no reason at all, putting your pants back up and fixing your hair, something you’re not used to at all. You suddenly get this urge to kiss him. You kiss him long and deep. You kiss him until you sweep him off his feet again.

You taste fucking fantastic on his tongue.

“Can I get your number?” you request, voice super fucked out.

“M–MINE?” 

“I mean…” you look around, “I don’t see anyone else here.”

Poor baby, that must be the most violent post-nut clarity he’s experiencing, and it makes you giggle just to think about it. He saves his number on your phone, and as soon as you get it back, you snap a picture of your still-throbbing pussy and send it to him. 

“There. That can be my contact picture,” you put the phone away. “What time are you getting out?”

“Midnight,” he answers, averting his eyes from you as if he wasn’t the one decimating you just ten seconds ago.

“Wanna come over?” you play with his collar.

“For… For what?” he asks, but you can’t hold back the excess endearment anymore and burst into hearty laughter.

“So I can sit on your face when I suck your dick,” you smirk at him.

“Can I… do things to it again?” he keeps intently examining the floor, still unable to hold your gaze. “With my mouth and stuff…”

“Yes, you can,” you gently bite his lips and pull him into a deep kiss. 

You wait for him outside as he gets a little scolding from Gerda right before closing. It hasn’t even been thirty three seconds, yet as soon as you leave the library, you get a text from Hyunjin.

HUNGouts sorry i came in 33 seconds i love u 

“Pfft, loser,” you snort to yourself with gigantic hearts shooting out of your eyes.

❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to make Hyunjin whine for a kiss.

Inspo below. Cute, right?

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[hamsa0811]

I. Am. Not. Okay.

This is going to make me combust. To discover that I’m attracted to pathetic men (and by men I mean just Hyunjin) like this… I’m endeared, horny, losing my shit, and fundamentally I'm a changed woman now.

[straywrds]

wanna see something cool? | super bored chapter one

pairing: Hyunjin x (afab) reader | wordcount: 19.6k | genre: non-idol au, college au, smut | warnings: Hyunjin is a weed dealer ; drug use (recreational) ; partying/drinking ; mutual pining with fwb ; light angst ; fluff. Explicit sexual content and smut. (18+) ; view all compiled warnings here.

“Hey Tipsy,” he said, barely loud enough for you to hear over the video game ruckus and the music upstairs. “You okay? I saw you fall.”  “I’m alright,” you replied after taking a deep breath. “I sat down for too long.” You frowned, processing the current events. “Did you just call me Tipsy?”

“I think we need more chips, does anyone want anything else?” 

You managed to pull yourself out of the armchair that had been your home for the past hour or so and grabbed a few empty beer bottles while you were at it. On the speaker, a particularly catchy song began playing, eliciting many cries of joy from your friends. You gently pat Minho’s hair, who had less of a reaction than the others—he was very focused on his Super Mario level on the TV. 

“Can you grab me a bag of Cheetos?” Felix asked, offering you a forced yet adorable, grin. “Let me give you some cash,” he added, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. 

“Oh, if they have that brand of ramyeon I like, get it for me, please?” Chae added, turning to you after downing the rest of her beer to hand you the empty bottle. “Felix will pay for me.” 

“I was gonna anyway but you’re making me reconsider!” Felix took an exaggerated shocked expression but still handed you the money. “Pay for the chips with that, too.” He smiled a true smile then, and you walked away with the money and empty bottles. 

As you reached the kitchen, your friend and roommate came out of his room with an empty glass in hand. He grabbed a bottle of vodka on the shelf and brought it to the counter. 

You closed in the distance between you and Jisung. “You’re sure you don’t want to join us?” You spoke at a low volume, certain that the music would drown the sound of your voice. “Chae is cool about it.”

While you were very much human and enjoyed hearing gossip once in a while, you didn’t like when drama struck your friend group. Last week, Jisung asked your friend out on a date and she declined, saying she wasn’t really interested in dating. Except Jisung had seen her hang out with Minho outside of lectures, which of course had hurt his pride. And running into them coming out of a movie together had been even worse, of course… 

You knew Chae wasn’t looking into dating and you knew that whatever was going on between Minho and her wasn’t dating. You knew they were fucking each other brains out once in a while, casually. You weren’t sure how much Jisung knew about it all, though. And now you were literally in between your two roommates—friends—with that one, as Jisung was offended by the whole ordeal. He did want to date, he had told you, but would have been open to something more casual if that’s what Chae was after. 

‘But she just doesn’t want to complicate things, so it’s easier to stay friends’ was the truth, but it hadn’t been the right thing to say to Jisung. Needless to say, the atmosphere in the apartment was a bit tense. 

“Good for her if she’s cool about it,” Jisung replied while adding cranberry juice to his vodka. “I’m not in the mood for music and—” he stretched his neck to catch a glimpse of the living room, “Super Mario. Besides, I have this assignment to hand over in two days and I’m only halfway done.”

“We can turn off the music if you need quiet,” you offered Jisung, a Marketing major—and a promising one at that. “It’s fine, it’s getting late anyway.”

“Don’t worry, I have my headphones,” he pointed out. They were hanging around his neck. “You guys have fun.”

“I’m headed outside for snacks.” This was a weak yet honest attempt at a friendly interaction with Jisung of any kind. “Do you want anything?”

Jisung stared at you for a few moments after returning the cranberry juice to the fridge. 

“Actually, yeah, I’m craving something sweet.” For the first time in a few days, you saw the ghost of a smile on Jisung’s lips. “Could you get me some gummy bears?”

“Sure, the sour ones, right?”

“Yeah. And, actually…” Jisung hesitated, still standing near the fridge. He took a large sip of his drink. “If you’re out, would you mind getting me some weed? If you don’t want to, it’s alright, but my dealer would be there at that time so…”

You knew about Jisung’s fantastic weed because he had shared it with you a few times and it was indeed worth buying from some weirdo who liked to hang out at a park on a Friday night. You had never conducted the transaction yourself—you usually crossed the road to get drinks at the convenience store while Jisung chatted with his dealer.

You weren’t particularly looking forward to it, but you figured it might cheer Jisung up if you came back with his sour gummy bears and his favorite weed. When you accepted, his smile grew a little—a sign, to you, that he would get over it soon enough. 

“Tell him to give you double my usual order, but make sure you mention my name,” Jisung told you, handing you some more cash. “There’s a party tomorrow at Chan’s place.”

“Chan?” you took the money but stood in Jisung’s door frame. There was a slight commotion in the living room—by the sound of it, Minho had not done well on his video game level and was currently throwing a tantrum. “You’re going?”

“Yes, why else do you think I need more weed?” Jisung sighed but gave you a knowing look. “Bet you’d love to be there, wouldn’t you?”

You gulped but made yourself shrug, actually walking away from the conversation to grab your jacket from a hook in the hallway and jump into your brown pleather boots. Jisung followed you, leaning against the wall. 

“I mean, Chan’s parties have quite the reputation,” you replied, securing the money in your bag. But really, you just thought Bang Chan was hot as hell. He sometimes visited Jisung here, and it was always a delight—on top of looking this good, he was genuinely a good guy.

“He said I could bring a few people if I wanted. You’re in, I suppose? Seungmin wanted in, too.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, sounds fun.” You didn’t think your carefree intonation fooled Jisung but you didn’t really care. “You want me to ask if Chae wants to come, too?”

He shook his head as you made your way towards the door to head outside. “She’ll be there, she’s going with Minho. I heard her speak on the phone earlier.” He paused, just for a few seconds. “It’s fine, whatever. See you soon, thanks for the errands.” 

Jisung returned to his bedroom, so you made your way outside, thinking it all over. You couldn’t argue with Chae about that—if she wasn’t into Ji, then she just wasn’t into him. Maybe you could ask her to keep her infatuation with Minho a little on the DL for a couple of weeks, though…

But maybe you just shouldn’t feel responsible for everyone’s happiness for once. Easier said than done, you thought, walking in the night. You liked Fridays—unlike Jisung, you usually avoided your papers and assignments on Fridays and you felt free, even if it was just for a few hours. 

The convenience store was just two streets down from your building and usually attracted all sorts of people. It was close to campus so a lot of students ended up there, as it had better stuff than the campus stores and wasn’t too far. There were also a few office buildings in the area so it wasn’t at all uncommon to see people in business attire stop there to grab a drink and a quick meal after their workday. 

You looked across the street—the park’s lamp posts filled the area with a soft yellowish light well enough that you saw Jisung’s dealer sitting at a picnic table. Still, you decided to start with the snacks and entered the convenience store.

They had Felix’s hot Cheetos and Chae’s sesame-flavored noodles, however, they did not have the sour gummy bears. You sighed, figuring you should text Ji to see if he wanted something else. When you went to pull your phone out of your pocket, you realized you had left it on the coffee table in the living room, probably distracted by the conversation with Jisung. Ultimately, you grabbed the regular gummy bears of an expensive brand and returned outside after a quick trip to the self-checkout. 

You crossed the street on your way to the park. A few of the tables were occupied by people you could only assume were other students, younger than you by the looks of it. A group of them played music and were playing cards, and another seemed to be doing schoolwork on their laptops, with snacks and drinks. Others were just scattered around, chatting, enjoying their Friday night the same way you did. 

You took a deep breath and approached Jisung’s dealer carefully. The grass was soft beneath your feet, making your footsteps quiet—he did not hear you or didn’t care, because he kept scrolling on his phone even after you reached his table. You immediately noticed that his fingers were stained blue— paint, maybe? The cobalt shade was beautiful and reminded you of your favorite pair of fuzzy socks.

The hood of his black hoodie was pulled over his head so you couldn’t even see the guy’s face. You cleared your throat once, then twice—getting yourself side-eyed by the students doing homework a few tables down in the process. However, he seemed to notice you then, because the dealer finally looked up and pulled one earbud out of the hood. 

You almost took a step back—you had bought weed on a few occasions in your life but had never seen a dealer that looked like this. His face still somewhat covered, he watched you with big, unsettlingly calm eyes, waiting. You decided to make the first move just so that you could be done with everything here sooner and be home quickly. 

“Hey,” you said, making sure to use your pleasant voice. “Jisung sent me.” 

The guy pulled his hood down and gazed at you with an indifferent look on his face. Not in a rude way, though. You, on the other hand, had never seen him from this close and had to make an effort not to stare or be weird—he had a handsome face from what you could see, with pleasant traits and short, ashy blond hair. His large eyes were dark, sharp, and captivating, the same color as the iced coffee on the table. He had a small mole under the left one and an eyebrow piercing—he also had a lip ring and more jewelry adorned his ears. His helix piercing in particular caught your attention as it was a beautiful shiny red rose. Delicate yet striking—it suited him well. 

His plush, pink lips were closed around a lollipop but they turned into a brief but gentle smile. He pulled the candy from his mouth, licking his lips to gather the taste of it, lingering a few milliseconds longer over his lip ring.

He grabbed his iced coffee, his long fingers—also decorated with rings of various styles— wrapping around the sweating plastic of the container and bringing it to his lips in place of the lollipop to take a long sip. It may not have been winter yet, but it was most definitely the month of October, so his choice of an iced drink surprised you.

“How’s Hanji doing?” the guy asked you after what might as well have been two hours of long, embarrassing silence. “Been a while since I saw him. I hope nothing bad happened to him.” He had a soft, pleasant voice and a distinct pronunciation. Not an accent—he just spoke at a cadence you hadn’t heard before, as if he tasted each word carefully before they gracefully spilled out of his cushiony lips. They moved delightfully with each of his syllables, possibly to compensate for his jaw’s fewer movements.

“He’s fine, just busy with assignments,” you replied, unable to look away when the guy put his coffee back on the table to return the lollipop in his mouth. Under the light, you caught a glimpse of a red, candy-stained smooth tongue. “He asked me to talk to you if that’s alright.”

“Sure that’s alright, I know what it’s like. Assignments and shit.” The guy pushed himself up and signaled you with a wave of his head to come with him. You didn’t like the idea of following a stranger in a dark corner but there was something quite inoffensive about the guy, so you walked with him just outside the park, next to a clothing store that was closed at this hour. 

“Same as usual?” the dealer questioned, reaching under his oversized hoodie and into the pocket of his baggy jeans. He was tall, taller than you would have thought. You couldn't help but notice that his clothing style suited him.

“No, actually, he said he’ll have twice the usual.” 

The guy nodded knowingly and handed you a small plastic bag that you slipped into your purse after paying him. “He must be going to Chan’s party,” he guessed with a shrug. “Tell him hi for me, will you?” After putting the cash away, the dealer rolled his lollipop into his mouth, eyeing you while he awaited your response.

“Sure!” You placed your hands in the pockets of your jacket while coming up with a not-too-awkward way of leaving. “I should get going, they’ll be waiting for me at home.” 

“Of course.” He slid the lollipop to the corner of his pretty mouth and smiled at you with a polite dip of his head. He did not have the attitude you’d expect from a weed dealer. But then, what did you know about weed dealers anyway? “See you around!” 

You nodded and almost turned around but stopped yourself at the last second, your eyes returning to his hands as he picked up his phone again, to his long, slender fingers. 

“What’s that?” you questioned, wondering if you would have been so bold if it weren’t for the few beers you had earlier. “On your hands?”

The dealer seemed surprised by your question but not offended at all. You heard the lollipop clink against his teeth as he once more pushed it to the side to answer you, looking down at his own hands before doing so.

“The blue?” he chuckled faintly. “It’s just ink, don’t worry. We did ink painting today.” 

He waved at you and walked away slowly, leaving you with more questions than answers. 

“Is that a good outfit?” 

You turned around, giving Chae a view of the front while you looked at the back. You had decided to wear denim shorts over black sheer tights. You liked those because they had black roses embroidered on them. The rest of the outfit was quite plain but comfortable—a black t-shirt with your favorite band’s logo on it (and you knew Chan also liked them) with a long, gray wool cardigan. 

“If I were Chan, I’d want to hit it for sure!” Chae commented, reaching around the back to slap your ass playfully. “We’re late now, come on, Minho’s waiting for us!”

You rolled your eyes but laughed with your friend, deciding to apply an additional layer of lipstick before heading out. Minho was indeed waiting for the both of you down the street—Chan’s place was not far, just past the convenience store. He looked good tonight in his jeans and red varsity jacket. You could see why Chae had this crush on him, but you weren’t sure you could handle dating someone like him. 

You let the two chat about their respective day while you walked at the back, checking your phone. According to Insta, the party was already ongoing and going strong. Jisung was tagged in several photos and videos showing him standing on a coffee table, singing a ballad rather convincingly with a crowd around him. That was the thing about Jisung—he was a serious guy until he wasn’t anymore, but would have no problem returning to his assignment sometime tomorrow when his hangover would be better, if he even had one at all.

You heard the music before you entered the house. Chan lived with a few friends in a house off campus and you were convinced it was why he had the reputation of hosting the best parties—the house was nice with a large backyard and even a pool, and the neighbors had never complained about the noise.

The house was full and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Chae and Minho disappeared to get to the backyard—it was too cold to get into the pool but you suspected they’d find a quiet corner and make out a little before joining the rest of you for drinks and games. Because Chris always hosted some kind of games at his parties, too. 

You found Jisung in the living room but he was no longer on the coffee table—he was sitting near the window with Seungmin, one of Chan’s roommates. The music was loud but it was good, and you waved at them instead.

“Hey, you alone?” Jisung asked, frowning a little and handing you an empty red plastic cup. “I thought you were coming with Chae and Minho?” 

“They’re here,” you said evasively. “Somewhere around.” 

Jisung nodded and got up to grab a bottle of liquor and a can of soda to pour a quick rum and coke into your cup. You thanked him by raising your glass at him and took a few sips while looking around. There was an intense game of poker being played at the kitchen table. Judging by the discouraged faces of everyone else at the table, Changbin was winning by a landslide. He had a wide grin on his face and so did the pretty girl sitting on his lap. Jeongin seemed ready to throw hands. 

“I might want to try a game of poker, wanna come with?” Seungmin asked you and Jisung, finishing his drink in one go. 

“Ain’t no way I’m playing against that guy,” Jisung retorted, shaking his head and raising his glass towards the table, where Changbin was accepting everyone’s money with a demented laugh. “Suit yourself, but I’d rather keep my money and my pride.” He turned to you. “Wanna go outside and smoke a little?” 

You nodded hesitantly knowing very well that Minho and Chae were outside. You just hoped they had the decency to lick each other’s uvulas somewhere they couldn’t be seen and followed Jisung out in the backyard. 

It was Chan that welcomed you there—he was busy building a small fire in the fire pit, surrounded by bags of marshmallows as well as cookies and some chocolate. And many, many bottles of liquor, laid in an orderly fashion on a camping table. 

There were a few guests here too but you didn’t see Minho or Chae so you confidently went to sit by the fire and watched Chan at work while Jisung took care of rolling the joint. He was wearing jeans with a black leather belt and a long-sleeved dark shirt.

“How’s class?” he asked you, adding wood to the fire pit. “Did that professor grant you the grade adjustment on your paper?” 

“She refused to give him a good time,” Jisung burst out laughing, “so she still got a C.” 

You grabbed one of the bags of marshmallows and threw it directly at your friend’s face who couldn’t even defend himself because his hands were busy—he knew he deserved it, though. Chan was chuckling with his forearm over his face, almost burning his leg in the process. 

“Maybe you should suck your professor’s dick, graduate faster and stop bothering me for once,” you retorted, hoping the fall breeze would be enough to cool down your pink cheeks. You were mostly used to Chan’s presence by now, but he was a very good-looking guy and you didn’t need Jisung to make stupid jokes like this around him. 

“That’s a very good one,” Chan said with a nod. “She's got a good point.” He turned to you. “You want a s’more? I’ll make you one myself!” 

Behind Chan, you saw Jisung do a rather convincing imitation of Chan asking you the question—he even added your response, transforming into a fake version of you by crossing his legs the same way as you and flipping hair he didn’t have, acting exaggeratingly shy. You glared at him but offered Chan the best smile you could muster despite the silent rage inhabiting you. 

“Sure, why not?” you replied. Deep down, you knew this would be too sweet for you and a dangerous mix with your strong rum and coke. But he offered—you weren’t going to say no, were you?

You smoked a little while Chan was prepping your snack. Jisung was called back inside to apparently settle a debate going on at the poker table, so you just drank your rum and coke. Chan was chatting with some of the guests sitting around a table not too far. 

To your left, something caught your eye—you twisted your neck only to see someone crouched near a large hydrangea bush at the other end of the yard. Upon further inspection, you noticed the person was wearing baggy jeans and a black hoodie with the hood on. The stick of a lollipop was poking out from the hood. You recognized the sneakers you had seen on Jisung’s weed dealer last night, and nodded to yourself—that guy was definitely weird enough to be seen crouching near a bush at a college party. 

He was holding a small notepad and seemed to be sketching something. You smoked a bit more while observing him but soon enough, Chan came to sit next to you and handed you a paper plate with a perfectly made s’more on it. 

“Bon appétit!" Chan clinked his s’more with yours instead of your drinks and you dug in, taking a small bite. Chan, on the other hand, went to town on it. 

“Who’s that?” you asked, pointing at the hydrangea bush, taking another bite. “He sold me this weed.” And, to be fair, it was really good weed, too. 

“Yeah, that’s Hyunjin. He sells weed,” Chan replied with a throaty, genuine laugh. “Don’t mind him, he’s absolutely harmless.” 

You put back the s’more into the paper plate and finished your weed in silence. Chan smelled nice and so did the fire—it was a pleasant evening, especially combined with the background music and the general mood of the night. You looked around, finally spotting Minho and Chae. They weren’t making out—they were watching something on Minho’s phone and laughing about it. You wondered how Chae managed that. To just be comfortable with a guy she liked. Because you had barely spoken a few words to Chan tonight and could hardly hold his gaze.

“He’s an art major,” Chan went on in a lower voice, noticing that your head was turned towards the weed dealer again. “So of course he’s weird.”

“Hey!” you gave him a playful shove. “I’m an art major too!” 

“Graphic design isn’t the same kind of art and it's not the same kind of weird,” Chan specified, shaking his head. “I don’t really know him. One day I was just buying weed and he told me his dream was to have some kind of important job at a museum. Can’t remember what exactly, though. My point is, I don’t know why I know this about him! You know?” 

You hummed in approval, not indifferent but not surprised either—you remembered your conversation with him, how his hands were stained blue from ink painting. It made sense that he was an art major, but you were surprised you hadn’t noticed him before. “Good for him,” you decided to say. Again, how the fuck did Chae manage to hold a conversation with a cute guy? “What’s your dream, Chan? Do you have one?”

Yeah—unfortunately for you, you were definitely not the flirty kind of person. Unfortunately as in, while others managed to get laid, you had invested a good amount of money on a decent vibrator to soothe your needs and pretended it was enough. 

And really, it was for the most part. Except you really, really wouldn’t mind having Bang Chan himself rearranging your insides, even just for one night. 

“If I have a dream?” Chan laughed again but there was no mocking in his reaction. He ate a few more bites of his s’more before answering, though. “When I started college, my dream was to finish school and someday own my own marketing firm, you know? But now… Marketing major… sure. But I realized that my job was my dream, and it was a bit depressing.”

“Oh, I understand that.” You nodded and pushed yourself up to refill your cup. “Sorry for the existential question, I just—” but you didn’t know what else to say, so you just left it there.

“Don’t worry about it,” Chan replied in your back while you were mixing yourself the most random drink ever—its only purpose was to make you drunk as fast as possible without tasting like hand sanitizer. “Do you have one? A dream?”

You shrugged. “Kinda same as you. Would be great to be my own boss, but I hope I dream about other stuff someday.” 

“Yeah, yeah I feel you, mate.” He lifted his own drink when you came back towards him and you clinked yours with it. “Hey, tell you what—if you can’t be your own boss, me, Changbin and Ji will hire you at our marketing firm!” 

You laughed with him, finding yourself a little more peaceful. You spent some more time with Chan, eventually joined by Chae and Minho who wanted to sit by the fire too. Still, it was a very pleasant time until yells and chaos could be heard from the house.

“I better check up on that,” Chan sighed. “Bet it’s someone getting in a fight with Changbin because he won at poker again.”

“He cheats,” Minho scoffed with a shrug. “I’d never sit at a poker table with him.”

“He doesn’t cheat, that’s the worst part.” Chan got up and finished his drink in one swig. “He’s just a lucky little shit. Alright, I’ll see you around guys.” 

The noises coming from inside were indeed worrying. You were only hoping it wasn’t Jisung who started trouble—Changbin could easily knock him out should he want to. And the fact that they were best friends wouldn’t stop Changbin—they’d just laugh about it after and Jisung would find a way to get his (harmless) revenge. 

“You’re not eating this?” Chae asked, pointing at your abandoned s’more. “Can I have half?”

“You guys keep it all if you want.” You grabbed the plate and stood to bring it over to them. “I’m not hun—”

You had been sitting for a little too long, drinking the liquor and drinking Chan’s words—you took one step and stumbled down. The final result was impressive considering how small of a stagger it had been. You somehow managed to smear some marshmallow and chocolate on your cardigan, get a minor burn on one arm and make Minho spill his own drink over the leg of his jeans when he prevented you from fully face-planting into the fire. 

At least it ended with you sitting on the ground laughing it off with your friends. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you managed, wiping tears from the corner of your eyes. “Oh my god Minho, your jeans…”

“You're the worst drunk!” But Minho was smiling and laughing too. He helped you up and even smoothed the fabric of your cardigan. “Are you gonna be alright?”

He looked at your arm, showing it to Chae after. “I’m fine,” you said. Really, you were—it stung a little, but it wasn’t like you had a third-degree burn here. 

“You should clean it up,” Chae advised. “I’ll go with you.” 

“I’m fine,” you insisted, walking around to prove Chae wrong. You were lightheaded but figured it was from the lack of actual food you had eaten this afternoon. And a few bites from a s’more had apparently not been enough to provide sustenance. “I’ll go clean up in the bathroom and see if Chris has some actual food, not just sweets.” 

“There was food earlier but I doubt there’s anything left by now,” Minho said after he took his seat back. “Want us to go get you something?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” You could tell from Chae’s face that she’d rather be back home getting her back blown by Minho—your place was closer than his—than going to a store to get you a little snack because you were drunk. “Actually, I think I’ll go check out the poker table… Or Felix is probably in the basement playing video games with Jeongin, they will have snacks.” Realistically, they probably had Cheetos, brownies, and drinks sweet enough to kill a diabetic. But it would do.

You waved your friends goodbye and returned towards the house. It went beyond releasing Chae from your presence—the sooner she and Minho got their business done, the sooner it would be over for the night. And Jisung could return home without hearing a choir of moans and get upset all over again.

Whatever incident had taken place earlier seemed to have died down although the music was blaring and there were still loud voices echoing from the table. You heard Jisung’s especially but couldn’t really make out the words as he was speaking quite rapidly. You headed for the hallway to the bathroom but found the door locked and a girl standing near it. But since you knew there was another bathroom in the basement, you went downstairs instead. 

Felix and Jeongin were indeed playing video games but they weren’t alone—they had attracted quite a large crowd who came to watch their live match and by the sound of it, some bets had been made. You chuckled as you went past the couches and TV. Chan’s parties definitely had that reputation of being all over the place, as he didn’t shy away from welcoming all sorts of people into his house. He was a popular frat guy, but he had friends from all backgrounds.

The basement bathroom was in a small hallway near a door that led outside. From here, the music was quieter, yet comforting—something about the bass echoing through the floor helped calm the general jittery feeling you always got at parties. You didn’t love parties. You were just here in the hopes of catching a conversation with Chan. And now you were just thankful he hadn’t been there to witness you face-planting near the fire pit. 

The bathroom door was closed and there was another person already waiting next to it. You recognized him immediately. Black jeans, sneakers, hands buried in the front pocket of his black hoodie—but no lollipop this time—Hyunjin lifted his gaze from the floor when he heard you approach. 

“Hey Tipsy,” he said, barely loud enough for you to hear over the video game ruckus and the music upstairs. “You okay? I saw you fall.” 

Warmth spread on your cheeks and you considered turning around and walking away not just from this basement—but from this party and house entirely. Who else had seen you?

Had Chan maybe seen you from a window?

“I’m alright,” you replied after taking a deep breath. “I sat down for too long.” You frowned, processing the current events. “Did you just call me Tipsy?” You thought this was a little bold of him to nickname you like this the second time he ever spoke to you. But there was something endearing about it too and you couldn't help but smile.

“T—” Hyunjin’s eyes grew wide and his shoulders shook with a nervous giggle that was a little too adorable. It instantly melted the tiny offense you had taken at the nickname. “I mean, you are tipsy, I didn’t—I don’t mean—I did—I just—”

You sighed, shaking your head. For some reason, Hyunjin’s pleasant traits made it hard to resent him. “Don’t worry, I was joking.” You licked your lips. They tasted a little bit like marshmallows. “I am tipsy, after all. And I fell on my ass in front of everybody.”

“It happens.” Hyunjin gave you a few consoling nods. In doing so, his hood moved a little, revealing a bit more of his ash blond hair. You also got a peek at his cool rose piercing. “One time, I dreamt I was walking on top of a stone wall. I managed to keep my balance the whole time, almost… On one side, there was the sea. On the other side of the wall, there was nothing… Emptiness. I lost my balance just as I had almost made it across… whatever this was. I fell into the void and I woke up on my floor. With my dog barking at me. For some reason, my eyebrow was bleeding. That's how I got the scar.” 

 You noticed that while one of his eyebrows had a piercing on it, the other had a slight split in it, with a faint scar. All healed, but there. 

“That’s wild,” you replied, not sure what else to say, trying to understand the correlation between your drunken fall and his crazy ass dream. That guy was weird. But by god was he attractive. 

Checking out his scar gave you a great excuse to actually check him out—you could tell he had broad shoulders under that big hoodie, and he looked way too angelic for a weed dealer. And yet—he stared back at you with his big dark eyes, his mouth still red from his last lollipop, a soft expression on his face. He smelled vaguely like the outdoors, like cigarettes, like weed… and like flowers. You inhaled another time just to verify that you weren’t going crazy—but no, you weren’t. Not only did this guy have a rose on his helix piercing, but he also smelled like roses, too. 

So fucking weird, you told yourself, trying hard not to stare as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, playing with his lip ring. 

“Y/N, right? Hanji speaks about you sometimes,” he chatted. He seemed comfortable, easy-going, but maybe a little shy. His voice was sweet, pleasant, almost melodic. “I’m Hyunjin.” 

“Or so I heard,” you replied in your most friendly voice but the truth is you were kind of drunk and he did have a really cute tongue and he seemed to struggle to keep his mouth closed. It distracted you. “Nice meeting you, Hyunjin. I hope Ji is saying nice things about me,” you added with a laugh.

Hyunjin giggled—and again, you were stunned by how weird yet endearing he was. You had never seen such an aura on a person before. “Of course, only good things,” he assured. “He likes being your roommate, seems like.” 

You put an end to this particular topic of conversation with a noncommittal shake of your head. There was nothing else to be said anyway—you and Jisung had known each other for a while as he had been a friend of your brother’s, and it only made sense to be roommates when you had both been admitted to the same university. 

“You’re an art major?” you asked instead, glancing towards the bathroom door where finally noises were being heard. A voice inside shouted, ‘SORRY, I FELL ASLEEP BY THE SINK, GIVE ME A SECOND’, making you and Hyunjin sigh with an amused smile. “It’s weird I’ve never really seen you around.”

“I’ve seen you around, though.” Hyunjin’s voice did not show any resentment but you suddenly felt guilty. And, to be fully honest, the burn on your arm was starting to hurt more, adding to your discomfort. “But I get it. There are a lot of regular dudes just like me in the Visual Arts building.”

A lot of black hoodies, maybe—however, Hyunjin was anything but a regular dude, this you could tell the moment you met him yesterday. 

“I just don’t hang out on campus a lot,” you admitted, leaning against the wall—the drink’s effect on you was evolving more and more as minutes passed. “I don’t know why… but I need a specific kind of quiet to study, you know? Even the library drives me nuts.”

“I understand.” Hyunjin’s smile softened as he mirrored your laid-back position against the wall. “I mostly hang out in the studio, so that’s why.” 

You knew where the visual arts rooms and studios were located but you did not spend a lot of time there—nothing against that crowd but you didn’t have any classes over there anymore, and the area was always cold for some reason. 

“I’d do the same,” you assured, glancing at the bathroom door, ultimately deciding to give it a knock. Your arm was stinging more and more and you couldn’t help the sharp inhale through your teeth when a particularly intense throb of pain shot through your arm. Maybe you should head back upstairs, that bathroom was probably free by now… or you could risk the kitchen sink, despite the living room and kitchen resembling a battlefield… 

Hyunjin’s eyes went from your face to the arm you were holding then back to your face. His smile had disappeared and he bit his lip softly. “Wanna see something cool?” he asked, his smile returning, eyes wide open. 

Without waiting for your response, Hyunjin pulled out his hands from the front pocket of his hoodie. He was holding something in the right one and brought the left one near it to cup whatever it was into both. You twisted your neck in order to see better and finally caught a glimpse of it through his fingers.

A frog. Hyunjin was holding an actual live frog and was handing it out for you to see up close. The bathroom door opened at the same time and the frog was quickly concealed again while the guy occupying the bathroom apologized—he had a rough night of drinking and thought he was going to throw up… until he fell asleep on the bathroom floor. 

You nodded him away and Hyunjin immediately pulled out the frog again when he was gone.

“What the actual fuck are you doing with a frog in your pocket, Hyunjin?” 

His red tongue fiddled with his lip ring again but just for a few seconds before it retreated behind a bashful smile. “Just. Look, it has something sticky on its leg,” Hyunjin explained, pointing at the frog’s little leg. There was indeed something dark sticking to its green, spotted skin. “I was gonna give it a quick bath and take it to the pond in the park. Wanna come with?” 

You stared at Hyunjin completely dumbfounded—so surprised you almost couldn’t feel the sting on your arm anymore. “But that doesn’t answer my question! How—where? Did you find it in the yard?”

“Oh, yeah.” Hyunjin seemed to ease up and went into the bathroom as casually as if he were holding anything other than a live animal. “I was doing a few sketches… I really like hydrangeas at this time of the year. It was there, by the bush. I couldn’t leave it there, could I? There are trees and a pond at the park, and I’ve seen tree frogs there before so it’ll even have friends.”

The bathroom was rather small but surprisingly clean considering this party had been going on for a few hours. There was a small plastic container on the counter with clean towels in it and Hyunjin carefully emptied it to put the frog in it. It croaked softly and Hyunjin hummed back a few soothing words—all that you could do was stare and wonder how the hell you had ended up here. In Bang Chan’s downstairs bathroom with Jisung’s weed dealer who apparently liked to save frogs and give them baths. 

“You go first,” Hyunjin offered, stepping away from the sink. “Want me to take a look at that burn?”

“It’s fine,” you assured, letting the water run for a few moments. You decided to take one of the smaller towels to dampen it with the cold water and apply a compress onto the burn—it wasn’t bad, just a bit red. It could have been so much worse, and the cool compress helped a lot.

You still took the time to try and clean up some of the dirt on your clothes. Meanwhile, Hyunjin sat on the edge of the bathtub with his frog, speaking to it every time it made a sound. 

“I bet Chan has aloe vera somewhere,” Hyunjin said once you had left the sink. He opened the mirror cabinet as if he was in his own home and scouted its contents. “Hm. Maybe upstairs. He doesn’t have much here.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Just condoms and toothpaste.” 

Why the fuck were you still in this bathroom with a stranger who sold weed on campus, had weird dreams and told you about them, and carried a whole ass frog in the front pocket of his hoodie? Were you actually considering taking a little walk with him to release this amphibian back into its natural habitat?

I guess so, you admitted to yourself, standing next to the sink while Hyunjin ran lukewarm water on the frog's leg to clean it up. It was surprisingly calm considering the situation—either it was in shock or Hyunjin was some kind of real-life Disney princess. And, truth be told, you heavily leaned towards the second hypothesis. 

“Would you mind helping me, please?” he asked politely once the frog was clean. “Could you take a towel and run lukewarm water on it, too? So it can be all damp and nice for Chives.”

“Chives?” Still, you obliged—you made sure the towel was humid enough and put it neatly folded at the bottom of the plastic container. “Chives?”

“It’s kind of chive green, isn’t it?” Hyunjin shrugged, delicately putting Chives back into its temporary enclosure. It was looking a lot better than it did before. “Chives said it liked the name, so please withhold comments, miss Y/N.” 

“Did not mean to offend our dear Chives,” you said with an exaggerated bow—which was a mistake because you were definitely too tipsy to be leaning forward like this. You struggled to stand straight again but managed to do so by holding the counter. “Please accept my most sincere apologies.” 

The frog actually croaked at that very moment, sending both you and Hyunjin into a state of unrestrained hilarity. You wiped tears from the corner of your eyes and Hyunjin struggled to wash his hands as he was laughing uncontrollably—he spilled a good amount of hand soap on the counter, only making the both of you laugh even more.

He had a contagious laugh, which didn’t help—his eyes were small, reduced to two crescents full of joy, his cheeks pink from laughter. Nobody should look this good when laughing like that with an open mouth and making weird faces, but of course, he did. The Disney princess. The fucking weed dealer—it made you want to pick up a serious smoking habit.

“Okay, let’s go before we make this place worse,” Hyunjin said, wiping his hands with one of the towels left on the counter. “Unless you wanna stay here with your friends? It’s totally fine.” 

“No, I’ll go.” There was no hesitation and you tried convincing yourself it had everything to do with the destination being the park near the convenience store—therefore, snacks—and nothing to do with how handsome Hyunjin looked, especially without the hood over his head, or how pleasant he was to talk with. How smooth his voice was, how pretty his mouth— 

“Awesome! After you, miss.” He grabbed the container with Chives in it and waited for you to move. 

You gulped, realizing how at ease you felt. Would you be having the same thoughts if you were still by the fire and Hyunjin by the hydrangeas? The sole reason for you wanting to be here in the first place was to maybe have a shot with Chan—which you knew you wouldn’t get, but still—so why were you hoping you’d get to taste Hyunjin’s lollipop on his lips before the end of the night? 

The video game match was still occurring, but Felix seemed to have died already. He noticed you and waved at you, inviting you to join him—there was some space left on the couch. You waved back but refused his offer, gesturing toward Hyunjin and the container he was holding.

“Where you going?” Felix asked, his brow furrowing a little. 

“Hyunjin found a frog so we’ll take it back to the park.” You were fully aware of how insane you sounded the moment you spoke those words out loud. 

Felix’s face said it all. It looked like he wasn’t sure whether he should cry or laugh or be worried.

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” Felix concluded and returned to his game, letting you and Hyunjin go. 

Things had calmed down upstairs a little—there was still a game of cards being played at the table but neither Changbin or Jisung were there. You spotted Chan in the living room, sitting with a group of friends from his classes. There was a girl beside him. She was beautiful and wore classy clothes. And Chan had his arm around her waist as the whole group drank and seemed to be having a lively conversation. 

You knew you didn’t stand a chance with him—you knew that to him, you’d always just be Jisung’s friend and roommate. But still. 

Still. 

You felt a hand squeeze your shoulder gently behind you and turned a little only to see Hyunjin look at you with concern on his face. You wondered how much of the situation he had noticed. 

“Let’s go,” he said softly. You didn’t hear him over the music but you could read it on his lips. You nodded and followed him outside.

The air was much cooler than it had been earlier, or maybe you were just sitting by a fire. Neither you or Hyunjin could walk too fast because of Chives, yet you couldn’t wait until you made it at least to the convenience store—you’d take your sweet time selecting a few snacks while warming up. Maybe you could get a hot chocolate or something…

“I didn’t realize it was this cool out,” Hyunjin said as the two of you walked side by side, the noise from the party slowly dying off as you kept going. “Hold on—I live right over there.” 

He was showing you a house down the street. A very normal house, too. You wondered what kind of roommates he had. Were they all as weird as he was—or worse, maybe? For sure, he had a girlfriend, right? At least that. Or else why was he living in a house? 

After all, Chan’s house was located in a pretty good neighborhood, and you definitely wouldn’t have guessed Hyunjin lived around here, too. But maybe that was a life lesson—you ought to be a little less judgemental in the future.

“I’ll get you something warmer than your cardigan,” he went on, handing you Chives in its little container while he disappeared into the house. 

You were struggling to even comprehend tonight as a whole but, truth be told, you welcomed this friendly new presence in your life. Hyunjin was a nice guy. Strange for sure. But… the way he had been staring at you after noticing you had seen Chan with the girl… The compassion in his eyes. How he thought that showing you this frog would make you forget temporarily the burn on your arm. The very fact that he had wanted to save the frog in the first place.

And now Hyunjin was coming back out from his house holding an extra black hoodie for you. He handed it out to you as he took Chives back. It was a zip-up so you easily wrapped yourself in it—it smelled like Hyunjin. The faint scent of cigarettes and weed. And laundry detergent. And flowers. 

“Thanks.” You retreated your hands into the big sleeves of the oversized hoodie. Empathy was a rare thing these days—you ought to appreciate it when it passed by. Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure it’s okay? I mean, if you have… someone. Maybe they wouldn’t like you just handing me your hoodie.”

Hyunjin stared at you for a few seconds. “I’m single.” You couldn’t shake the feeling that he has read through you, that he knew you were simply trying to find out whether he was with someone or not. Still, he offered you a gentle smile. “I don’t really have time to date, you know? With uni and everything.”

You nodded. “Of course. Same, really.” 

Hyunjin’s smile grew a little, and he opened his arm to invite you to keep going, so you walked by his side, thinking it all over. Hyunjin did not make sense to you. As if he was made up. Sweet, funny. The whole frog shenanigans. Weed dealer. Cool. But sexy as hell—the guy could be a model. And yet he was apparently single and chose to spend his evening with you and a frog. He did not make sense at all, but you couldn’t deny the warmth you felt in your chest as you grew accustomed to his presence by your side. 

The park was surprisingly quiet for a weekend night but you suspected that most regulars were hanging out at Chan’s. You followed Hyunjin in between the tables, ignored by the few people who were there, burying your face in the dizzying scent of this hoodie.

“I think we’ll leave Chives by the pond,” Hyunjin said after a few moments of silence only interrupted by the sounds of your footsteps and an occasional soft-spoken sentence to the frog. You nodded in approval although he couldn’t see it, but he went on with the conversation anyway. “How’s uni going for you?” 

“Going fine,” you answered truthfully. You did enjoy your field and had been fortunate enough to have earned your degree on a scholarship. “I mean, I do like it. Graphic design.” It was true—you had wanted to pursue a career in that field since your early teenage years. “What about you, Hyunjin?” 

The two of you came to a stop near the little pond. You could actually hear other frogs in the distance, as well as a soft breeze rustling around the dead leaves. Hyunjin got on his knees and set the container with Chives in it on the ground, gently tilting it so the frog could be released.

“I love art,” he just said. Then he leaned forwards to speak to Chives again, inviting the animal to join his friends around the pond. “I applied for an exchange next semester. I want to study in Paris, learn new techniques. Even if I’m learning a lot already... My favorite class is the painting class. Our professor, Mrs. Yoo, is really nice. I think she gave your drawing class last semester. I saw your drawing on the wall, I remember the way you drew clouds. It impressed me.” 

Naturally, as a graphic design major you had taken a few art classes—drawing had been one of them. You had fond memories of your time in Mrs. Yoo’s art studio despite the cold hallways. You recalled the particular drawing in question—soft pastels—and the clouds. 

“Oh,” you managed, your thoughts speeding in your brain. Paris, pastels. Everything in between. You felt a slight sting in your heart at the idea of possibly losing a friend you hadn’t even made already. “You remember that?” You couldn’t help a nervous laugh to escape your lips. “I mean, thanks. It was just a cloud study, nothing—”

“No, it was really pretty.” Hyunjin, thankfully, wasn’t looking at you. He kept his attention on little Chives who did not seem to want to leave the comfort of his container. “The way you blended the pinks in the clouds was realistic. I have a picture of it on my phone.” 

You leaned against a nearby tree. You weren’t quite tired, just still slightly affected by alcohol and by the eeriness of the night. “Wow, really?” You shook your head. “That’s a huge honor, actually.” How on earth could he remember that? How on earth could he relate this drawing to you? Sure, you had signed it, but you had not spoken a word to this guy before last night…

Hyunjin chuckled and lifted his gaze toward you. “I like to keep memories of the things I find beautiful. Just to look at them, or just in case I want to draw or paint them someday.”

“I understand that. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with sudden inspiration for something… I keep a notebook by my bed. I’ll wake up the next morning with a very, deeply ugly draft of something completely random… And almost no recollection of the actual idea I had. It’s frustrating.”

Hyunjin laughed louder at that but not condescendingly—you laughed with him, rubbing away some of the pain still shooting through your arm although it was much better now. You didn’t know why you had the urge to entertain conversation with him and to do so in such detail about your personal life, but it felt good. To just talk. There was something comfortable about him that you couldn’t explain. And you liked having an excuse to look at his face.

“I wish I had more time to create outside class, though. Do you ever get that too?” Hyunjin asked, pulling himself up and leaning against the tree next to yours in the hopes that Chives would want to walk away if he kept his distance. “Or maybe I was just really dumb to go for a double major…”

“Dumb? That’s probably not the right word… How about a little foolish but optimistic?” you offered, smiling. God, his hoodie smelled really good and was really soft against your skin. You wrapped your arms around your body, basking in the warm comfort of it. “Double major, really?” 

“Yeah, really. Thanks, though, you almost didn’t look surprised there.” You bit your lip in shame and went to apologize, but Hyunjin raised his hand to stop you before you could. He was smiling, although you could barely see him. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m literally a weed dealer and I did carry a frog in my pocket at Bang Chan’s party. You’re allowed to be a little caught off guard.” He pulled something out of the pocket of his jeans. “Actually, mind if I smoke a little? I’ll even share.” 

You gave him a nod and watched as he secured the joint in between his pretty lips. “What’s the other major?”

“Art history. I want to work in a museum someday, you know?” The flame from the lighter illuminated his face—his gaze was focused on his task as he lit up the joint, and you gulped, still amazed by his looks. The rose on his ear shone in the yellow light for a few seconds before the lighter returned to the pocket of his jeans. “I couldn’t decide between the two. So I went with both. Thankfully, a few classes overlap… It’s just where I feel best. Surrounded by art.” 

You understood that, or at least you thought you did. There was a certain sense of belonging that you felt when you were working on a design. Something unmatched. 

“You obviously have a passion for it.” You accepted the joint from him, suddenly very aware that it had been on his lips just a second ago—but you smoked a little, hoping it would calm the flutters that disturbed your heart every time Hyunjin looked at you. “I think it’ll happen. Bet you'll even go to Paris.” 

A wide grin decorated Hyunjin’s face then. “Thanks for saying that. You’re a really nice person, you know.” He took the joint back from you and ran his tongue on his lips before smoking too, playing with the smoke in his mouth before exhaling. “I don’t know why Chan didn’t come looking for you and went with that girl instead. Maybe he’s intimidated by you.”

You stared at Hyunjin in silence, properly stunned. Sure, you had a few drinks and were now smoking a little weed, but you were still of sound mind. Then why couldn’t you process what he had just said?

“Intimidated?” You probably looked like an idiot because Hyunjin squinted just a little before passing the joint back. 

“Yeah, I mean…” Hyunjin shrugged, looking at Chives instead. “A cool, laid-back graphic design major who’s successful, has a large and reliable circle of friends, a nice fashion style—”

“But he’s Bang Chan.” You shook your head. “Bang Chan. The cool guy. I doubt he even remembers my existence by now. I don’t think he’s intimidated by me. It’s fine, Hyunjin. I appreciate the pep talk, but I saw the girl he was with. And it’s not like I care, anyway. I don’t. I went outside with Jisung because he didn’t want to play poker, not to hang out with Chan specifically.” You were aware of how painfully obvious it was that you were trying to convince yourself of these things much more than you were trying to convince Hyunjin.

Even in the relative darkness, you saw him raise his pierced eyebrow, smiling playfully. “You don’t care, really? Ha. Forgive me, then.” He shrugged. “What was so special about that girl he went to find anyway? You seem to think she was worth ditching you for.” His tongue returned to the ring on his lip.

His fingers brushed yours when he handed you the joint. 

“She’s really hot, intelligent, funny, popular,” you sighed and rolled your eyes, but smoked before going on. You could already feel the weed entering your bloodstream very slowly and producing its calming effects. “I’d fuck her, given the chance. Wouldn’t you?”

Hyunjin shrugged. “I guess? Maybe. I don't know. You’re prettier.” No hesitation. You almost joined Chives on the ground.

You ought to say something, but what? It was probably not what he said, maybe you misheard. No, you definitely misheard. Hyunjin wasn’t just cute, he was handsome—a mysterious kind of handsome. His smile, it felt, could light up this whole park. Maybe that other girl wasn’t his type, but you definitely—

“Much prettier,” he added, taking the joint from between your fingers as you were too stunned to move. “You have beautiful eyes, nice legs, a pretty smile, and are lovely to chat with. You didn’t even seem fazed when I showed you I had an actual frog in my hoodie.” 

You looked down to stare at your legs. The fall by the fire earlier had damaged your tights around the knees. 

“Was that too much? Sorry.” Hyunjin giggled and gave you a reassuring pat on the forearm. “Pretend I said nothing. I noticed your legs because of the roses on your tights. I like roses.” With his free hand, he tapped his helix piercing. “I even have a rose tattoo.” 

You couldn’t tell what had come closer to sending you to the ground—the fact that Hyunjin called you pretty or that he had a tattoo. You watched quietly as he pulled the sleeve of his hoodie to reveal his forearm—and it was a nice forearm, too—and more than one tattoo. The most prominent one was the rose, and you leaned forwards as Hyunjin used his phone to produce light. 

It was a beautiful watercolor tattoo. The rose was red and well executed. It looked like a real watercolor painting, with sharp thorns and smooth, satiny petals. You went to reach for him and brush the flower with your fingertips but stopped yourself at the last second.

“It’s fine, go ahead.” Hyunjin chuckled. “I get it. It looks smooth.”

His skin was warm and nice to the touch. You shivered as you traced the flower with your fingertip just a little before pulling your hand away to get a better look at the other tattoos. A paintbrush, a sun and moon surrounded by a laurel wreath, an umbrella… one that caught your attention was a square with a fine black frame and an ocean scenery inside. It looked lifelike. 

“Did you design these?” you asked, looking at Hyunjin’s face again. He had finished the joint and was now licking his lips as if he had just eaten a slice of cake. “They’re really cool.”

“I did, actually. Thanks!” His smile was shy then, and he avoided looking into your eyes by lighting up another joint. “It’s also great to be friends with a tattoo artist, I guess.”

You decided to change the subject as he was obviously uncomfortable. Maybe the tattoos held significance to him and he didn’t like to talk about them too much. You smoked in silence for a while before you left him by the trees and went to check up on Chives. Not only was the frog still in its container, it had even retreated deeper inside of it—it seemed to be asleep now. Peacefully asleep at that.

You sighed and got on your knees near the container. The grass was cold but it didn’t bother you. Curious, Hyunjin joined you by the pond and sighed with you when he saw what you were looking at, descending on his knees as well. 

“God, what are we going to do?” you asked, turning to Hyunjin. 

“I’d feel bad to just…” Hyunjin acted out as if he was picking up the container and shaking it to force Chives out of it. “... you know?”

“No, we can’t do that.” You retrieved a twig from nearby and tried using it to make Chives move around with very little success. Frustrated, you threw away the twig as hard as you could, losing your balance in the process. 

You cried out surprised by the sudden movement and found yourself—for the second time that night—stumbling over. Except this time, courtesy of the alcohol and weed, you felt absolutely no embarrassment and were laughing before you even touched the ground. The fact that you were crouching largely helped too.

“Holy sh—” Hyunjin instinctively grabbed your arm, still failing to prevent the fall and getting entangled in it instead. In a matter of seconds, the both of you were laying down on the grass side by side, laughing your asses off. 

Your head spun a little whenever you moved, but you were filled with a strange sensation of freedom. Your assignments felt so far away, and so did the argument with your mother last week over the phone, as well as the sting from seeing Chan with this hot girl at the party. You didn’t even care that your Interactive Design professor hated you and that he would surely fail you on purpose. You didn’t care about anything. Your laughter slowed down, but Hyunjin didn’t let go of your arm. 

You turned to look at him. One of the park lamps had died out and it was a little darker, but you could see the light reflected on his lip ring. In his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” he asked you, his voice low, propping himself on one elbow to take a proper look at you. “Did you hit your head?”

“I’m fine.” Weed makes your heartbeat faster, right? Yes. You just weren’t used to smoking this amount of it in so little time, and it was why your chest felt tight, why you could hear your pulse from within your ears—it had nothing to do with Hyunjin moving his face dangerously close to yours. 

Right?

And yet he was so close you could feel his warm breath on your face, his hand trailing up your arm until it reached the crook of your neck. He pushed your hair out of your face and played with it gently, his eyes burning into yours. Warm, smooth skin, warm, sweet breath. 

You opened your mouth to say something, to say anything, but you just couldn’t find what to say exactly. All the while, your hands found their way to him, your fists closing onto his hoodie. You pulled him closer. Just a little closer. More than enough. 

Hyunjin’s gaze shifted to your parted lips. He returned to your eyes and you saw a question in them, you saw cobalt blue ink and stars and doubt and all the beauty in them, accumulated from what they had witnessed. 

He seemed to find the answer to his question in your eyes because he descended onto you, not even pausing before his lips crashed against yours.

His mouth was hot, the ring on his bottom lip cool against your skin. Hyunjin parted his plush lips to anchor them to yours, his tongue already teasing you. You felt a shift inside of you, something small or something big, you couldn’t tell. But you breathed a quiet moan into Hyunjin’s mouth when he deepened the kiss, making out with you gently, softly, the metal of his ring sinking into your lips. You let go of his hoodie to wrap your arms around him, feeling his firm body beneath the thick layer of fabric covering him, making your head spin harder than any strain of weed could. 

Hyunjin pressed himself against your side, his knee climbing over yours. Your eyelids fluttered when his hand found your thigh to caress the outside of it as lazily as he was kissing you. 

He broke the kiss to adjust his position and pull you all the way against him, your face finding its way into his neck. He smelled good, god, he smelled like nature and like paint thinner and weed and cigarettes and fabric softener and roses and something else you couldn’t figure out. You left a few kisses on his jaw as Hyunjin pulled your shirt up just enough to press his palms on your lower back. You shivered at the contact.

“Hyunjin…” you breathed into his neck and he carefully put around your face to pull you in for another kiss.

You kissed him back, pressing your tongue against his lip ring for a moment while he hooked his leg around your thighs. When your tongue made it past his lips and your hands made it under his shirt, you felt his body tense up but he kissed you hard. Hungrily. He kissed you in a way that made you dizzy, as if your mouth was ice cream that needed to be devoured before it melted, his tongue swirling around yours, often returning to tease your lips. He pushed himself up, his knees on either side of your thighs, moaning when your nails dug into the skin of his waist. 

“Fuck—” He pressed himself against you, the weight of his body on yours driving you crazy. His lips came back to brush against yours, ghosting them, going past your mouth to descend into your neck. 

He pulled on the zipper of the hoodie he had supplied you with and you actually welcomed the fresh breeze against your already prickling skin. Hyunjin kissed your neck, licking you there the same way he had played with your tongue moments ago. You let out another moan, louder this time, a little too loud for the very public setting you were currently in. He inhaled sharply, hips grinding against you and you meeting his movements. 

Every move he made had a purpose, every move was both urgent and lazy, every move made your legs open up for him, just for him. The pretty boy sucking hard on your neck. He would bruise you if he kept going. You hoped he would keep going. You hoped he would never stop. You hoped you would never not hear the sound of his mouth on your skin, his spit-coated lips working on you diligently. 

You pulled your hands out of his hoodie to wrap your arms around him once more. You needed to feel him, more of him, all of him. Your fingers made it to his hair and you ran them through it—you got chills from how soft it was, delicate, fine, hair like an angel would have. Fuck, I’m high, you told yourself. But you raked your nails through his hair again and again, scratching his head, eliciting more delightful sounds from Hyunjin. 

He emerged back up to kiss you, his lips wet, warm, sweet. He dragged his tongue on your bottom lip, his forehead pressed against yours, breathing his air into you. It was good, he felt so good. The weirdo. The stoner. The guy nobody knew but everybody knew. The guy whose warm hands were under your shirt, trailing up, and up—

Hyunjin moaned in earnest when he found your hard nipples, caressing them through the lace of your bra, hips bucking harder against you. His jeans might have been baggy but you felt him through them anyway, immediately rubbing against his growing erection like an animal in heat. 

And then Hyunjin pulled away unexpectedly, standing upright, half-sitting on your thighs, looking down at you. Disheveled hair, lips wet and swollen, chest heaving from all the kissing. You wanted him, but he seemed to have other plans. 

He removed himself from you to return to the grass, laying down next to you. Still, he pulled you against him and kissed you again, slowly. 

“I should take you home,” he whispered in your hair before kissing you there too. “It’s not right. It doesn’t feel right to do this out here in the cold, you know? You deserve better than that.” 

You closed your eyes, touch-starved already, your body screaming for Hyunjin’s weight back on it. He kissed your lips again. 

It’s not that cold, you wanted to say but instead, you let out a sigh.

Hyunjin chuckled and helped you up until you were both sitting upright. He had to keep an arm wrapped firmly around your waist to prevent you from slumping over. You knew that your legs weren’t this wobbly solely from the long-forgotten rum and coke or even the weed—it had everything to do with the feeling of Hyunjin’s velvety lips on yours.

“How am I even gonna get you home?” Hyunjin sighed. 

“I’ll be fine, but we can’t leave Chives here,” you replied, letting Hyunjin hold you. You liked that he held you.

“Absolutely we can, Tipsy. It’s at home here, I’d bet it’ll just leave the container when we’re gone.” 

“Oh. Right.” It’s as if in between a little dry humping and making out with Hyunjin you had forgotten that Chives was a wild frog. You laughed with him. “Okay, maybe you’re right. We should go home.” 

You were surprised at your own balance when you took a few steps. Hyunjin’s arm snaked around your waist again and you walked together. He didn’t ask for directions—he just turned left towards your street. Maybe he knew where Jisung lived… 

“How many roommates do you have?” you asked after a while of unbearable silence. “The house looked pretty big from the outside.” 

If you didn’t make conversation, you’d be thinking about Hyunjin’s lips again—it was why you weren’t even looking at him too. It was distracting enough to feel his fingers digging into your waist, even through several layers of fabric. The strong smell of him on his hoodie didn’t help either.

He didn’t respond for a while. A few seconds maybe, but it took long enough that you were thinking about how his hard-on had felt against your crotch, sending warmth between your legs again. 

“I live alone,” Hyunjin responded finally. “Me, and my dog. Well, he’s not exactly my dog but he is, he’s… Don’t tell anyone this, yeah? That I live alone I mean. I don’t need people knowing that.” 

You came to a halt at the intersection, waiting for the pedestrian signal to come on. There was minimal traffic at this hour of the night, but you suspected Hyunjin didn’t want to risk having you falling down yet again in the middle of the road. 

“Nobody knows anything about you, Hyunjin. I didn’t even know your name until like an hour ago,” you pointed out. 

Hyunjin faced you then, the green of the traffic lights all over his face, in his eyes. He sighed and caressed your cheek tenderly. “Most people don’t care to know my name anyway,” he said with a shrug. He didn’t seem upset, he was simply stating a fact. “But you did. So now you know.” 

You saw in his big, a little hazed but still beautiful eyes the color of the traffic light switching to yellow and then red. Hyunjin still waited for the actual pedestrian signal to light up before leading the both of you on the street. 

“How come you only kind of have a dog?” you questioned, still needing a good distraction to help you forget that some of Hyunjin’s saliva was drying on your neck. You’d need a much bigger distraction to forget your not-so-drying panties.

“Oh…” Hyunjin chuckled and shook his head. “My neighbors had this dog… A couple, lovely people. They lived with the husband’s mom. Anyway, they unfortunately passed away in a car crash a year ago. It was really hard on her—the mother—to lose her son and daughter-in-law… They had this dog, and she was too overwhelmed to take care of him by herself, so…”

“So you took him in,” you said to end his sentence when he failed to do so. He nodded, offering you a shy smile. “So you really are a real-life Disney princess, huh? Dogs, frogs… drunk girls… is there anything you won’t save? What’s next?” 

Hyunjin stared at you with a puzzled expression on his face but he burst into laughter and pulled you closer to kiss your cheek. “Disney princess?” 

“You’re pretty enough to be one anyway,” you heard yourself reply without a single ounce of hesitation. He laughed again, this cute laugh of his, the one that made his eyes curve into crescents. “It’s fine, Hyunjin, I can walk the rest of the way myself.” You pointed at the next building over—yours—to prove your point.

“Nope, sorry.” He tightened his grip around you. “You said it yourself. A true Disney princess wouldn’t let a poor girl alone on the sidewalk on a Saturday night.”

“But you did leave a frog alone in the park.” You slapped the back of his head gently. 

He kissed your cheek again in return and your heart leaped in your chest. It was like he was trying to give you a heart attack. “I’ll take the long way back through the park to check on Chives,” Hyunjin assured. “I’m sure it’s long gone by now.” 

You stopped in front of the building where a relatively deep puddle of water always accumulated down the steps. “We have to jump over it,” you explained. 

Hyunjin tried to see if maybe it would be best to jump on the brick fence surrounding the path to the front door, but it was quite high. “Considering how your legs seem unable to function normally tonight, I would advise against you jumping over this puddle to land on a step.” He went ahead of you, easily clearing the puddle with his long ass legs. He took both of your hands in his “Careful, Tipsy.” 

That nickname. Why did it make your heart flutter? Was it the simple fact that a handsome boy had deemed you worthy of a nickname, even a humorous one? “What’s your dog’s name?” you asked, preparing to take the leap. You didn’t normally struggle this much. Sure, whatever Hyunjin had smoked with you was potent as hell, but he kept you in a constant flustered state. “Your-not-but-kinda-yours-dog?” 

“Chris. Alright, come on up now, it’s getting windy and you’re in tights.” 

And your panties were wet because of him, which was a little uncomfortable in the cold. “Chris?” 

“Short for Christopher. Look, I didn’t name him, okay?” 

Everything about Hyunjin was weird. Everything about Hyunjin was interesting. He gave you an encouraging smile as you did your best to avoid the puddle—

—and ended up with your two whole feet in it, splashing water all around when you landed. 

Hyunjin sighed as you climbed to join him on the step. The water was cold around your ankles, dripping into your boots. “Fuck.” 

“You’re a terrible drunk, Tipsy.” Hyunjin said sternly with a stiff nod. “At least you’re a cute drunk.”

You blushed at that, hoping that he wouldn’t notice. Hyunjin helped you up the rest of the steps and waited patiently while you were typing the code to the front door of your building. “Thanks,” you said once the door was open. 

“Sorry, I won’t be at peace until I know you’re safe in bed. Think I let you smoke a little too much.” He pushed you gently towards the door. “You need sugar and you need to lie down.” He fumbled in his pockets and produced two red lollipops from them, handing you one after unwrapping it himself. 

You watched him slide his between his lips, eventually grabbing the other lollipop and doing the same. You let out an appreciative groan as you headed up the staircase leading to your door. 

You licked your lips to taste as much of the flavor as you could. Sweet but tart at the same time. “They’re not regular lollipops.” They didn’t taste like the fake, overly-sweet flavor you usually associated with red candy.

“I mean…” Hyunjin chuckled. “I get them from a little candy shop that’s next to…” He sighed as if he wasn’t even sure he should be saying this. “My neighbor—the one with the dog that’s kind of mine now—can’t always pick up her prescription medicine herself, so sometimes I go for her. There’s a candy shop next door to that pharmacy. They make those. They’re raspberry flavored.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You nodded to yourself and entered the code to get into your apartment once you had reached the door, leaving a trail of mud behind. “Disney shit. Saves frogs, dogs, drunk girls and does errands for elderly neighbors. Eats exclusively handmade candy.” 

The living room was empty. When you went to take your soaked boots off, Hyunjin motioned you to stay put and got on his knees to unlace them for you and pull them off your feet. You tried to hide your rosy cheeks behind your hair, but you couldn’t take your eyes off his long fingers as they worked on the laces and zippers of the boots. You couldn’t not shiver at the contact of his hands on your feet. 

“Who’s the princess now, Cinderella?” he stared at you from down there with a smile on his beautiful lips. 

“We are far from a glass slipper here…” You sighed at the sight of your favorite boots covered in mud. 

Hyunjin stood up and played with the lollipop in his mouth. “I feel bad. I’ll get you new boots,” he offered. 

“Why? It’s not your fault.” You shrugged. “I’m a terrible drunk, you said it yourself.” 

He nodded and took your hand again when you led him into the apartment. You heard Chae’s TV at a low volume through her door when you passed it, guessing immediately that her and Minho’s bodily fluid exchange was over—they enjoyed watching movies together, too. Either Jisung was deeply asleep or not home at all as the door to his room was closed and everything seemed dark in there. 

You turned on the lamp on your bedside table and sat on the edge of your bed after Hyunjin told you he was going to the bathroom. You took your damp socks off and threw them somewhat in the direction of your laundry hamper. The lollipop was mostly melted by now, leaving its sweet aftertaste in your mouth. You got rid of the stick as Hyunjin reentered your room holding a towel. 

“Your feet are wet,” he said, crouching to wipe them up. Disney prince shit. “You’ll sleep better with dry feet.” 

“You really don’t have to—” You blushed harder when he wrapped his long fingers around your ankle. You watched him dry your feet, his tongue swirling around the rest of his lollipop. He discarded the stick in the bin just like you had. 

“Almost done.” He squeezed your leg gently before letting it go. “You need socks to warm you up, your toes are ice cold.” 

Your thought immediately went to your favorite pair of fuzzy socks, the blue ones. The ones that were the same color as Hyunjin’s paint on his fingers last night. “First drawer.” You showed him your dresser. “There’s blue fuzzy socks, they’ll keep me warm.” 

He left you by the bed to fumble around in your drawer. You watched him open it as realization hit you like a truck to the face at the same time.

How drunk do you have to be to forget that? “WAIT—” 

You usually stored your faithful bullet vibrator in your bedside table after cleaning it—but not this morning. Being in a hurry a little you just threw it in the first drawer before going with Chae for coffee. 

Hyunjin turned to you, his cheeks a little darker than they had been a few seconds ago but with a reassuring smile. 

“Don’t worry.” He returned to the dresser, pushing its contents around, perfectly at ease as if he were in his own home. As if he hadn’t just found your favorite sex toy in your socks drawer. “No shame. Actually I have almost the same model… I think mine is a little older. And it’s blue.” 

You lay down on your bed, dizzy. You expected to wake up anytime soon because there was no way Hyunjin The Weed Dealer, the same guy who had a frog in his pocket less than two hours ago, had just dumped on you the info about which bullet vibrator he personally owned—and what color it was. 

You heard the drawer being closed back… footsteps… your eyelids were too heavy to keep them open for more than a second at a time, but you saw Hyunjin towering over you next to your bed, then he put socks on your bare feet. You immediately recognized the soft fabric of your cobalt blue fuzzy socks. 

The sudden warmth of your apartment had made you sleepy. Hyunjin gently lifted your legs onto your mattress and made sure you were lying comfortably, on your side, with a blanket over you. Real-life Disney prince. He gave your forehead a kiss, but you grabbed his shirt when he pulled away. 

“Sleep here?” you managed, fighting to keep your eyes open. You felt relaxed, like you were floating on a cloud. “I mean, if you want…”

Hyunjin sighed, a soft smile on his face. “You sure?” 

You scooted over to make space for him on your bed and he nodded. “Yes okay, alright. It’s probably best I keep an eye on you.” 

You watched him take off his hoodie, revealing a black t-shirt with a colorful abstract design on it. He also removed his socks for good measure and announced he was going to pour you and himself glasses of water for the night—which he did—before lying down next to you. 

He was so close to you, so beautiful. His eyes found yours and he blinked slowly, almost like a cat, cupping your cheek gently to pull you in for a chaste kiss. “Goodnight, Tipsy.”

“Goodnight, Fairytale.” Hyunjin chuckled at the nickname, and you fell comfortably asleep by his side soon after. 

It was still dark when you woke up. You felt warm, unnaturally warm, and it took a few seconds to remember everything. 

You were in your bed but you weren’t alone. You were buried under the covers, your back pressed flush to Hyunjin’s chest, his arm keeping you against him. You could feel his steady breathing in your hair. You could also feel his cock against your lower back. 

You inhaled sharply, utterly stunned. You closed your eyes again but it was too late—a rush of heat spread all over your body, ending its course in your core. The smell of him was strong and intoxicating. Hyunjin let out a soft moan when he squirmed gently in his sleep, pressing himself closer to you, causing you to become wet immediately. 

You gulped thickly—your mouth was dry and all of your brain cells were focused on the delightful pressure of Hyunjin’s concealed erection against you, his body around yours, his weight in your bed. You couldn’t tell if it was from your sudden arousal or drinking a little more than usual this evening, but you absolutely needed to use the bathroom. 

Unfortunately for you, you were mostly sober by now, causing you to overthink. If you got up, Hyunjin would wake up. Would he be embarrassed about his boner? You certainly didn’t need to let him know that you had felt it. Or that it had made you wet. If anything, maybe leaving the room for a minute would allow him to relax.

You tried telling yourself it was all a normal reaction of his body, nothing specifically about you. As if Hyunjin hadn’t hungrily made out with you earlier at the park. As if there had been no dry humping, no nothing. God, you’re really stupid sometimes, you told yourself.

As delicately as you could, you pulled your way out of Hyunjin’s warm embrace. You really wished you didn’t need to get up, that you could just stay there—you couldn’t remember feeling this comfortable, this cozy, in a long, long time. 

Hyunjin groaned as you got up and walked away, making sure to grab one of the two glasses of water on your way out. You didn’t even acknowledge him as you left, deciding to go with your plan of staying silent about the… issue.

By the looks of it, Jisung’s room was still empty. You made your way to the bathroom, emptying the glass of water in one large gulp, soothing your parched mouth. The light blinded you a little and the mirror confirmed that your trip in here was a good idea, especially with Hyunjin in your bed—you looked like absolute shit. 

You checked on your arm too—the burn was obviously still there, but you barely felt it and it didn’t look infected or anything. In a way, you were almost grateful for it. If it weren’t for your fall by the fire, you wouldn’t have needed to use the bathroom at the same time as Hyunjin. Still, you applied a cool compress on it while trying to tame your hair.

Nothing could have prepared you for how wet your panties were, though. You gazed at them, the sweet scent of your arousal hitting your nostrils. With a sigh, you decided to clean up quickly—you washed your face and your teeth and tried your best to clean yourself up, wondering if being this wet for a weed dealer was any kind of normal. Wondering if it mattered. Hyunjin was kind, thoughtful and funny. He was weird but he was sexy, and he had given you your best kiss so far in life. 

You couldn’t possibly put these panties back on. You discarded them in your laundry bag, grabbing a simple pair of shorts instead, also choosing to change into a tank top and drop the socks, despite not really wanting to take Hyunjin’s hoodie off, so you brought it back with you in the room, leaving it near the one he had been wearing all evening.

Thankfully, some of his scent had lingered on your skin, your hair. 

You immediately noticed that Hyunjin had shifted position—and that some water had disappeared from his glass. When you returned to your spot on the bed, still warm from earlier, he rolled over to face you.

“Everything alright?” he whispered, sliding his face closer to yours. 

You couldn’t help but smile. Even in the mostly dark room, you could see his large eyes, could make out the ring on his plush lip. Everything about him was mysterious, beautiful, endearing. Alluring. “I’m alright. Are you?”

“I am.” He tilted his head, looking at you from head to toe. “It’s kind of warm, isn’t it?” He chuckled, caressing your bare arm, causing you to shiver a little too violently. You hoped he didn’t notice that.

“I can find shorts for you too,” you assured. You were pretty sure Jisung wouldn’t mind you raiding his closet while he was out. “I’ll be right back.” 

But you didn’t move and neither did Hyunjin. You just kept staring at each other in silence, eyes on each other’s mouths. 

“Can I be honest with you?” Hyunjin asked under his breath, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt and playing with it. 

You took a deep breath, feeling the urge of touching him too. You pressed your hand on his side. His firm body was as warm as a furnace under your palm, even with the absence of covers. “Of course, Hyunjin.” 

“I’m really glad I stayed the night.” His hand made it under your shirt but stayed respectfully on your waist. Still, you wished you wore panties under your shorts—you’d stain them if he kept touching you, even just like that. 

You moved closer to him, no longer denying to yourself that you were seeking to feel his erection against you once again. You pressed a thigh in between his, running a hand through his short, disheveled hair. “I’m really glad you stayed too.” You bit your lip. Your heart was beating fast and you could feel blood coursing between your legs. Could also feel the fabric of your shorts becoming wetter by the second. You pushed your thigh upwards, just a little, just enough—until you felt him, still hard, through his jeans.

Hyunjin’s fingers dug into your waist and his eyelids fluttered a little. His exhale ended in a sigh as he pulled you as close as he could. “Can I kiss you again, Tipsy?”

You didn’t even respond—you just kissed him. He took your mouth, his ring digging into your lips, his tongue twirling around yours. His mouth tasted vaguely sweet from the remnants of many lollipops and a little bitter from the weed. You moaned when he bucked his hips, rubbing himself on your thigh. 

You kissed him harder, deeper, running your hands all over his body to feel him. His strong arms, his sharp jawline, his soft cheeks. Hyunjin grunted when you slid your hands under his shirt to feel his abdomen, then gave some attention to his nipples. 

“We—we don’t have to,” he stammered. But he was still fucking himself onto you and your cunt was throbbing. 

“But I want to,” you replied, pulling away from him to look into his eyes. “Do you?”

Hyunjin’s face twisted in pain or pleasure. “Fuck—I want you so bad.” 

He kissed you again and you lay your hands flat on his chest, teasing his nipples with your thumbs. Just brushing them gently, applying different kinds of pressure depending on the little sounds he produced when you did so, and how hard his hips jerked, too. 

But as Hyunjin was burying his hands into your shorts to knead your ass, you left his chest to undo the button of his jeans, then slid his zipper down. He hissed against your mouth, letting out sounds that could rival those of a wild animal. “I’m so hard,” he whined. “Fuck…” 

“Let’s take care of that.” You kissed his cheek and managed to pull his jeans down, although it was a little difficult because he was, indeed, so hard. 

You palmed his bulge over his boxers and he buried his face into your neck, kissing you there, biting you there, too. You suppressed a moan, remembering that, after all, you weren’t alone in the apartment. His cock felt good under your touch, even through the fabric. Firm, stiff. Warm. Hyunjin rolled his hips slowly, meeting your movement with gentle thrusts, his mouth devouring your neck. “Your skin is so soft,” he whispered, his tongue gliding on your collarbone. 

“So is yours,” you commented, smiling as you kissed him. 

He helped you, wiggling himself out of his jeans—soon enough, they were being kicked off the bed and Hyunjin pulled you on top of him, rolling on his back. You settled your knees nicely on either side of him, pressing your core to the swell in his boxers, never breaking the kiss. “Can I take this off you?” he asked, pulling at your tank top. 

You nodded your approval, your lips separating only to let the fabric pass over your head. Hyunjin let out a growl when he caught a glimpse of your bare tits, immediately cupping them in his big hands, playing with them, making them bounce, teasing your nipples. He was entirely too clothed to your liking, so you asked silent permission to rid him of his t-shirt—and he actually took him off himself.

You couldn’t even admire the view for more than a few seconds before Hyunjin pulled you close to his chest, your tits squeezed against him. He kissed your neck, one hand in your hair, the other disappearing into your shorts. When his fingers reached your folds, he bit back a moan, finding you just as wet as you had been before your pointless clean-up in the bathroom. 

“Fuck, I need you so bad…” He brushed his fingers on your pussy, coating them with your slick. “I won’t last, I need you.”

You ignored his pleas, largely distracted by the friction of him on your cunt which disappeared when you retreated further down his legs to pull his boxers down, finally.

And that was the closest you ever came to a hands-free orgasm. His cock sprung free, hard, flushed dark. Leaking. It was pretty, adorned with a few veins—the size of it sent a throb up your clit and a rush of warmth all over your body. You hummed in appreciation, wasting no time to release some spit onto his length, eager to feel him skin to skin. 

His nice, smooth cock felt like silk and velvet at once under your hand. You spread your saliva onto his tip, giving him a few strokes, watching as his face came undone. Feeling him throb under your touches. “I won’t last,” he whined again. “Let me see your pussy too.” 

While you were one to enjoy taking your time, that was just not the mood for tonight. You let go of his cock and he took control again as he lay you next to him, working on taking your shorts off you. 

He couldn’t resist tugging at his cock as he spread your legs open using his knee, taking in the sight of your pussy. “Oh my god, Tipsy…” He immediately reached for you, his fingers finding your wetness again. “So smooth… so wet.” 

You clenched around nothing when he pressed three digits flush against your core—and his fingers were long enough that he covered a lot of the area—but he had to cover your mouth with his free hand when he pushed two of them inside of you, muffling your whimpers. “Hyunjin—” 

But he took his time, stretching your hole, getting to know the feeling of your intimacy. You caressed his thighs, his lower abdomen, teased his cock, while Hyunjin slowly finger fucked you. He leaned over, taking your nipple between his pretty lips and swirled his tongue around it, eliciting more gasps and strangled noises out of you. 

He buried his fingers deeper inside you, massaging your walls, curling them in a search for your most sensitive spot. “Need to stretch you,” he said against your mouth. “Need you to be able to take all of me.” 

You melted when Hyunjin used his thumb to tease your clit, finding it rather easily. He used your own slick to ease his movements as he rubbed slow circles around it, causing you to bite into your own fist. For fuck’s sake—how deep could his fingers reach? It seemed as if he was taking all of the space inside of you. 

Your arousal was smeared all over his hand—you could feel it, see it, and Hyunjin kept up his pace, sinking his fingers inside of you and twirling them around to tease you. When you bucked your hips to fuck his hand from below, Hyunjin hissed, biting his pierced lip. 

“Hyunjin,” you breathed, grasping at his cock. 

He kissed you slowly again but not for long—you moaned when he pulled his fingers out of your hole, straightening himself on the bed. He looked a little too good there in the dimly lit room, with his toned body and his hand coated with your cream. He gave his fingers a few kitten lips, taking in the taste of you, before licking himself clean in earnest. “You taste sweet, Tipsy.” His cock twitched. “Some day, I’ll eat your pussy for hours and hours if you let me.”

You quivered at his declaration, a puddle of your slick forming underneath you. How could he have such an effect on you? 

How could he not? 

Hyunjin got up from the bed, his erection bobbing to the rhythm of his movements. You couldn’t look away. You couldn’t wait until he fucked you with his big, smooth cock.

He reached for his pants, which he had left on your dresser. “I stole a condom from Bang’s bathroom.” With that, he laughed.

You laughed too, unable to resist touching yourself as he retrieved the condom from his pocket. You played with your tits and teased your cunt a little under Hyunjin’s attentive stare. 

“You’re so pretty, Tipsy.” He wrapped his hand around his cock, watching you. “I’d watch you do that all day.”

You spread your legs open for him, exposing yourself, teasing your entrance with your fingers. He made you feel beautiful. Desired. “But I want you, Hyunjin. Need you here.”

“Show me where, baby. Tell me where you want me.” He leaned against your dresser, stroking himself slowly. “Tell me how you want me fuck your tight cunt.”

“Here.” You easily slid a finger, then two into your hole, curling them immediately to reach your g-spot. “Please.”

With no hesitation, Hyunjin pulled your drawer open to retrieve the vibrator he had seen earlier before joining you on the bed again. “Let’s have a little bit of fun, yeah?”

Hyunjin carefully removed your hand from your pussy, but licked your fingers clean. Then he positioned your legs to his liking and asked you to close your eyes. 

You felt the familiar shape of the toy on your folds as Hyunjin carefully coated it with your slick. He pulled it away then, causing you to whine your complaints. 

But then, he pressed his big hand on your inner thigh, pushing your legs wide open, and the small vibrator returned to your clit. 

And then Hyunjin activated the toy. 

You cried out, throwing your head backwards, your back arching into the toy involuntarily. The vibrations echoed through your body, creating waves of pleasure that took you away, away from it all. It was just you, the toy on your clit, and Hyunjin’s gentle voice as he was experimenting with different ways to tease you with the vibrator.

“Is this better?” He loosened his grip on the toy a little, letting you rub yourself against it to your heart’s content while he touched you all over, your thighs, your waist, your tits. “You feel good, Tipsy?”

“Yes, yes,” you panted, losing yourself in the steady pace at which you were fucking yourself onto the toy. It was so good, despite it being the same fucking toy you used pretty much every day. And yet the stimulation it provided was nothing compared to the feeling of Hyunjin’s fingertips holding said toy against your folds, or the sweet pain it elicited when he twisted your nipple or gently bit into your knee as he watched you.

You managed to keep your eyes open long enough to catch a glimpse of Hyunjin wrapping his hand around his cock, jerking himself off at the same speed as you were rolling your hips. You clenched at that—this unexpectedly beautiful man leaking precum on your thigh while he touched himself to the sight of your cunt, hissing whenever you moaned or throbbed, or if you touched him. 

You found his thigh, digging your nails into his skin. “Won’t you fuck me?” Your head was spinning—you were quickly climbing to reach your high, feeling the pressure of it in your core.

Hyunjin changed the angle of the toy, sensing your imminent orgasm and preventing it. You squirmed on the bed, holding back moans of desperation, but Hyunjin didn’t help at all by momentarily letting go of it entirely to reach for the wrapped condom he had left nearby instead. If you had been able to hold half a coherent thought, you would have understood that your dry spell had made you touch-starved, causing you to be a little more needy than usual. As in, at this moment, as you watched Hyunjin slowly apply the condom on his pretty cock, it felt as if you would die if he didn’t put it in you right this second. 

And he still didn’t fucking put it in you. 

He slid the toy gently to tease your hole but not pushing it in—just tracing circles around it, applying pressure. “You smell good, Tipsy.” You could smell yourself, could smell him, the sweet scent of his sweat, his breath. It made you dizzy.

“Just fuck me,” you insisted, still trying to get your hands on him, but him not really letting you. 

He smirked at you—a soft smirk, not wicked, not teasing. Hyunjin was simply pleased with himself. The smirk grew wider when he went to tease your nipples with the toy, coating your tits with your juices. “Nice tits, Tipsy.” He nudged your legs open again with one gentle push of his knee. “My balls hurt,” he added, aligning himself with your entrance. “I'm gonna fuck you so deep…”

You locked eyes with Hyunjin, mouth gaping, as he coated his tip on your wet cunt, rubbing your clit several times with it, causing your entire body to be engulfed in heat. Hyunjin—the weirdo, the stoner, the fairytale—apparently had a very unique way of fucking that was both very slow and not at all. Precise would be the right word. He did everything he was supposed to do to bring you closer, to make waves of pleasure roll within you, as if he had known your body forever. As if he wasn’t a semi-stranger with good weed and a nice cock. But maybe it was the color of his soul behind his large dark brown eyes that captivated you the most. The tattoos on his arm, the feeling of his lips on yours. Maybe it was all of those things that made you crave him like that. Or maybe he was just a fun guy who was good in bed. Did it really matter? 

Hyunjin pushed himself inside you, his breath hitching as your warmth engulfed him. You let out a moan when he sank down further, stretching you open, his cock taking up all of the space inside you. He gave a few thrusts, easing himself into your tight hole, and the sound of it almost made you cum. The wet noises of his cock in your cunt, his repressed growls… 

He lowered himself onto you with a sharp thrust of his hips. You cried out when Hyunjin bottomed out, but he kissed the moans out of you, busying your mouth. His lip ring dug into the supple skin of your lip but you loved it. You loved everything he made you feel, the perfect stretch of his cock, his hand in your hair as he slammed into you relentlessly. 

You couldn’t focus on more than one thing at a time. The vibrator, still functioning, forgotten on your stomach. Hyunjin pulling on your hair, exposing your neck to him—his teeth sinking into your skin there, biting down on you to muffle his uncontrollable moaning and grunting. Hurried lovemaking. 

“Cum with me,” he begged. “Your pussy… so good…” 

You kissed the side of his head and gazed at his perfect face when he pulled away a little. You touched him, feeling his toned body, his back, his ass. His arms. 

Hyunjin’s knees went limp when you carefully brought his arm to your mouth to kiss the rose tattoo. “Are you close, Fairytale?” You kissed the ink again, a wet kiss with your mouth open, coating it with your spit. 

Hyunjin slowed down his thrusts, tilting his head to the side as he watched you cover his tattoos with kisses, but always returning to the rose to make out with it the same you would if it were his lips. Or his cock. Twirling your tongue on the petals, gently sucking in the flesh there. 

He throbbed inside you and you were so on edge, so sensitive, that you felt it. And again. But this time, his eyes rolled a little at the back of his head, and he pulled his arm away from your mouth but only to dive in for another passionate kiss. “You’re fucking ruining me, Tipsy,” he breathed against your mouth. He bucked his hips, burying himself to the hilt inside you.

Hyunjin didn’t stop fucking you when he retrieved the vibrator again to press it on your clit. If anything, he only fucked you harder, deeper. So fucking deep, his long, smooth cock reaching the exact spot that made you melt. That made you go crazy. 

You put your hand over his, guiding the toy where you wanted it to be—on your clit, yes, but also low enough that Hyunjin’s cock brushed against it every time he pounded into you. 

You were about to cum, and by Hyunjin’s fucked out look, so was he. His fucking became frantic, erratic, his face hovering over yours to steal kisses or mumble praises about your cunt into your ear. So tight, so warm, you take me so well, do you feel how deep you're taking me?

Hyunjin. You called out his name in a strangled voice, falling into a warm ocean, heart racing in your chest. The pressure between your legs was so strong that it almost hurt you. Hyunjin. You said his name again when he lifted one of your legs up, resting it against his chest, fucking you even deeper. 

Hyunjin. You moaned his name when your pussy clenched around him. “I’m so close—” you started but couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“C—Clen—Clenching—so—tight—” Hyunjin managed, his face flushed, a few lazy drops of sweat rolling down the side of his face. “Milk me, Tipsy. Milk my cock, milk me, milk me—” 

Hyunjin. You breathed his name when you came, the knots in your stomach coming undone, finally. You blacked out entirely as the whole world dissipated around you, leaving only your orgasm and Hyunjin’s pulsing cock that he was desperately driving into you. 

His orgasm was beautiful though, pretty moans and low grunts as he bucked his hips with every shot of cum that filled the condom. And it felt good to cum around his cock, your fluttering walls hugging it, hips spasming with his. Nobody should look this good when they came, but he did. And he came for a long time, same as you, until he collapsed on top of you, drained. 

The room fell silent when the buzzing of the vibrator disappeared. Except for your panting and Hyunjin’s, you couldn’t hear anything. You stayed like that for a while, Hyunjin’s fingers playing with your hair and you tracing shapes on the skin of his back. 

He kissed your jaw, your face, your lips. You kissed him back, moaning when he finally pulled out, his softening cock leaving a trace of your slick on your thigh. 

You respectfully looked away as he disposed of the condom and then Hyunjin helped clean you up with tissues. He kissed you often, but not always your mouth. Your wrist sometimes, or your waist, or your chin. 

You were sleepy again by the time he lay down next to you again in your filthy bed. But it strangely felt good to lie in a puddle of your own cum, especially with Hyunjin’s weight beside yours.

He rolled on his side until he faced you and smiled when he noticed your sleepy state. He had quite literally fucked you hard enough to induce a coma. He brushed his thumb over your eyelid, kissing your nose gently. “You okay, Tipsy?”

“So good.” You closed your eyes, nuzzling into him, forehead pressed on his chest. “You okay, Fairytale?”

Hyunjin kissed the top of your head. “So good. You sleep now, okay?” 

You fell asleep to the sound of his breathing as it gently slowed down. He was so warm and he felt so good against you. You felt sore between the legs and you liked it.

When you woke up, Hyunjin wasn’t there anymore.

In fact, you woke up so abruptly that you thought you had dreamed it all. If it hadn’t been for the messy state you were in and the soft ache between your legs, you would have thought you had somehow dreamed the whole encounter. 

Your phone vibrated again and you searched for it on the floor, among the clothes that had been discarded here and there. It was still dark outside but not as much, and your phone informed you that it was almost 5 in the morning. 

You didn’t even look at the notification at first. You stared at the empty space in your bed where Hyunjin should have been. You looked around the room, easily noticing that his clothes were gone. He was gone.

There were three red lollipops on your bedside table, and a full glass of water. The hoodie he had lent you was neatly folded on your chair.

You drank some water but it was hard to swallow it, as if there was a lump in your throat. You checked your phone in the end, seeing it was a series of texts. 

Unknown Sender: Hanji gave me your number. Hope it’s ok. It’s Hyunjin btw

Unknown Sender: I’m sorry I left. I wasn’t sure if you’d want me there when you woke up. I went by the park on my way home and Chives was still there

Unknown Sender: I brought it with me. Still had the old aquarium from when I was a kid and my dad bought me a goldfish

Unknown Sender: I had a nice night with you. Hope I’ll see you again soon, Tipsy

And, attached to the last message, was a picture of Chives in an aquarium. The frog rested peacefully on a rock that Hyunjin had undoubtedly taken from the pond at the park.

You hadn’t dreamed him—you still felt the ghost of his cock in your pussy, he had left lollipops by your bed, and now he had texted you. And yet it didn’t feel real, for some reason. Even if it didn’t matter. Even if it was just for fun, because both of you were a little lonely and moderately horny. 

You lay back on your bed, resting your face on the pillow where Hyunjin’s had been some time ago. It still smelled like him. Like paint thinner, like cigarettes, like outside air, like roses, like weed. Like you. 

When you woke up for real—just past noon—you actually felt slightly dazed. Not enough to throw up, but just enough to let you know that it had been a rough night, especially for someone who isn’t used to partying. Or who had never been fucked his hard once in her life. 

Your phone battery was dead so you plugged it in before putting the hoodie on and grabbing the first pair of sweatpants you found in your dresser to go get more water—you were parched. You’d rehydrate a little and head to the shower to wash last night off you. Your hand ghosted your neck, your lips, your pussy, recalling Hyunjin, recalling the look in his eyes when he had pressed his hard cock against you…

Outside of your room, you heard quiet voices and slowed down, not particularly fond of the idea of anyone seeing you in the state you were in… You pulled the hood over your head, Hyunjin’s hoodie protecting you from unwanted attention, and entered the kitchen. It was empty—the voices came from the dining room.

“Y/N, is that you finally?” Jisung asked and you heard his footsteps coming towards the kitchen. “Hey, you—oh my god…” 

Your hand still on the fridge door handle, you turned to look at your friend, making sure to keep your movements slow as you were a little lightheaded. 

“She literally is wearing his hoodie,” Jisung said to whoever was in the dining room. 

You let go of the fridge to cross your arms over your chest and glare at him. “The fuck, Ji?” 

Chae and Minho appeared behind Jisung, shocked expressions on their faces. So Chae and Jisung were talking to each other again? With Minho present in the room especially?

Why did this morning feel more like a dream than last night did? 

“You actually brought back the frog boy here last night,” Minho stated without shame, and you blushed at the realization that he and Chae had most likely heard a lot more than they—or you—needed to…

Frog boy. You closed your eyes to take a deep breath, doing your best to appease your racing heart. Walk of shame but make it a million times worse as your own friends try to roast you for bringing a guy home for once. 

“Frog boy?” You couldn’t help but be offended despite the humiliating situation you were in. “Also, let’s not pretend like the two of you,” you pointed at Chae and Minho, “didn’t do some unholy stuff last night and many other nights before! And you were out doing god-knows-what, Ji!” 

“No need to get all defensive,” Minho replied, raising his hands in vindication. “Meant no disrespect. But a dude walking around with a frog at a party is just not something you see every day, y’know?” 

“How do you know about Chives anyway? Did Felix tell you?” Your brain could still only barely process last night, but you knew that Felix knew about the frog—if the damn frog was such a big deal to them.

Jisung chortled. “The frog has a name. I repeat, the frog has a name. Chives?” But he had pulled his phone out and showed you a picture that had been shared on social media. You recognized Chan’s basement. The focus of the photo was actually the video game gang, but you could clearly see Hyunjin behind them, carefully holding Chives. 

“I’m sure he’s a good guy,” Minho added. “But why the frog?”

“Leave her alone!” Chae punched Minho in the shoulder and shoved Jisung away from you.

You were a little too hungover and definitely too shocked to fully appreciate the fact that Jisung could stand being in the same room as Chae again—and interact with Minho and her—but you noticed it regardless. 

“Don’t answer him!” Chae crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on, guys, give her some space, she just woke up. Who cares if she slept with frog boy?” 

The boys left with quiet laughter, but you were relieved to hear the conversation shift to something else entirely as they walked away. Chae turned to you. “Are you ok?”

You nodded. “Except for these two dickheads, I’m fine.” You finally poured yourself a glass of cold water and drank a little. “Don’t call him that, okay? His name is Hyunjin, and he’s really nice actually.”

Chae’s smile was telling, but she gave you a minute as she looked into the fridge. “Let me fix you some breakfast while you shower,” she offered. “I was going to make some soup anyway.”

“Thank you.” You emptied your glass of water, wrapping yourself tighter into the hoodie. 

“So, is it gonna be a thing? Hyunjin and you?” Chae asked, her voice low, making sure to be heard by you only.

You shook your head. “Nah. He applied for an exchange next semester. He wants to go to Paris. Doesn’t seem like the kinda guy that commits to a girl anyway, does he?” 

Chae shrugged. “I didn’t know he wanted to leave. That’s too bad. He really does sell the best fucking weed.” She got to work, peeling a carrot. “But I guess he also doesn’t seem like anything, you know. I can’t get a read on him at all. He doesn’t look like a real weed dealer… He’s weird, but not in a bad way. Didn’t seem like the kind of guy that carried a frog to a party.”

“He was saving it. The frog. He tried to save the frog.” 

Chae stared at you for a long time. “Oh.” 

You walked away, headed for the bathroom. “And the frog’s fine, by the way. He brought it home with him.” 

You showered and then started some laundry, leaving out the hoodie on purpose. You’d give it back, of course, but you’d rather it kept some of Hyunjin’s smell for the rest of the weekend. 

──to be continued!

Author's note: World, meet frog boy. Frog boy, meet world. Guys, when I tell you that this idea happened the very day following the Maxident release... And when I tell you I've been sitting on this for months now, not releasing it... will you forgive me? I wanted to make this a simple one-shot, you see, but I failed and it became a series. I went through lots of ups and downs and a lot of it was rewritten in the weeks following the preview.

In any case, I'd like to thank you my readers for your patience and your kindness! To those who choose to read and interact with my stories, thank you. Please know you are a huge source of motivation for me and I appreciate it.

── no frog was harmed in the writing of this fic! 🐸

Series + permanent taglist ♡ @septicrebel @cb97percent @changbinluvr @neosracha @hwan-g @streetlight-s @tanyas97 @hyun-bun @americanokisses @aimeexx @upallnight-s @hyunskizz @lotus-dly @thestarseeker @skzho @suhomylife

[hamsa0811]

The scene at the park is just really beautiful. I can’t help but always come back to it. It has this soft, familiar and intimate feeling to it. It felt like even though they were just getting to know each other, their souls were already connecting. From the easy and comfortable conversations to the laughter to *ahem* everything else. it’s just so beautiful. Truly one of the best things I have ever read.

(And yes, I had to write about it separately. Seriously, the amount of times I’ve had to come back to this story and this chapter specifically just to read that part is concerning.)

[straywrds]

wanna see something cool? | super bored chapter one

pairing: Hyunjin x (afab) reader | wordcount: 19.6k | genre: non-idol au, college au, smut | warnings: Hyunjin is a weed dealer ; drug use (recreational) ; partying/drinking ; mutual pining with fwb ; light angst ; fluff. Explicit sexual content and smut. (18+) ; view all compiled warnings here.

“Hey Tipsy,” he said, barely loud enough for you to hear over the video game ruckus and the music upstairs. “You okay? I saw you fall.”  “I’m alright,” you replied after taking a deep breath. “I sat down for too long.” You frowned, processing the current events. “Did you just call me Tipsy?”

“I think we need more chips, does anyone want anything else?” 

You managed to pull yourself out of the armchair that had been your home for the past hour or so and grabbed a few empty beer bottles while you were at it. On the speaker, a particularly catchy song began playing, eliciting many cries of joy from your friends. You gently pat Minho’s hair, who had less of a reaction than the others—he was very focused on his Super Mario level on the TV. 

“Can you grab me a bag of Cheetos?” Felix asked, offering you a forced yet adorable, grin. “Let me give you some cash,” he added, pulling his wallet from his back pocket. 

“Oh, if they have that brand of ramyeon I like, get it for me, please?” Chae added, turning to you after downing the rest of her beer to hand you the empty bottle. “Felix will pay for me.” 

“I was gonna anyway but you’re making me reconsider!” Felix took an exaggerated shocked expression but still handed you the money. “Pay for the chips with that, too.” He smiled a true smile then, and you walked away with the money and empty bottles. 

As you reached the kitchen, your friend and roommate came out of his room with an empty glass in hand. He grabbed a bottle of vodka on the shelf and brought it to the counter. 

You closed in the distance between you and Jisung. “You’re sure you don’t want to join us?” You spoke at a low volume, certain that the music would drown the sound of your voice. “Chae is cool about it.”

While you were very much human and enjoyed hearing gossip once in a while, you didn’t like when drama struck your friend group. Last week, Jisung asked your friend out on a date and she declined, saying she wasn’t really interested in dating. Except Jisung had seen her hang out with Minho outside of lectures, which of course had hurt his pride. And running into them coming out of a movie together had been even worse, of course… 

You knew Chae wasn’t looking into dating and you knew that whatever was going on between Minho and her wasn’t dating. You knew they were fucking each other brains out once in a while, casually. You weren’t sure how much Jisung knew about it all, though. And now you were literally in between your two roommates—friends—with that one, as Jisung was offended by the whole ordeal. He did want to date, he had told you, but would have been open to something more casual if that’s what Chae was after. 

‘But she just doesn’t want to complicate things, so it’s easier to stay friends’ was the truth, but it hadn’t been the right thing to say to Jisung. Needless to say, the atmosphere in the apartment was a bit tense. 

“Good for her if she’s cool about it,” Jisung replied while adding cranberry juice to his vodka. “I’m not in the mood for music and—” he stretched his neck to catch a glimpse of the living room, “Super Mario. Besides, I have this assignment to hand over in two days and I’m only halfway done.”

“We can turn off the music if you need quiet,” you offered Jisung, a Marketing major—and a promising one at that. “It’s fine, it’s getting late anyway.”

“Don’t worry, I have my headphones,” he pointed out. They were hanging around his neck. “You guys have fun.”

“I’m headed outside for snacks.” This was a weak yet honest attempt at a friendly interaction with Jisung of any kind. “Do you want anything?”

Jisung stared at you for a few moments after returning the cranberry juice to the fridge. 

“Actually, yeah, I’m craving something sweet.” For the first time in a few days, you saw the ghost of a smile on Jisung’s lips. “Could you get me some gummy bears?”

“Sure, the sour ones, right?”

“Yeah. And, actually…” Jisung hesitated, still standing near the fridge. He took a large sip of his drink. “If you’re out, would you mind getting me some weed? If you don’t want to, it’s alright, but my dealer would be there at that time so…”

You knew about Jisung’s fantastic weed because he had shared it with you a few times and it was indeed worth buying from some weirdo who liked to hang out at a park on a Friday night. You had never conducted the transaction yourself—you usually crossed the road to get drinks at the convenience store while Jisung chatted with his dealer.

You weren’t particularly looking forward to it, but you figured it might cheer Jisung up if you came back with his sour gummy bears and his favorite weed. When you accepted, his smile grew a little—a sign, to you, that he would get over it soon enough. 

“Tell him to give you double my usual order, but make sure you mention my name,” Jisung told you, handing you some more cash. “There’s a party tomorrow at Chan’s place.”

“Chan?” you took the money but stood in Jisung’s door frame. There was a slight commotion in the living room—by the sound of it, Minho had not done well on his video game level and was currently throwing a tantrum. “You’re going?”

“Yes, why else do you think I need more weed?” Jisung sighed but gave you a knowing look. “Bet you’d love to be there, wouldn’t you?”

You gulped but made yourself shrug, actually walking away from the conversation to grab your jacket from a hook in the hallway and jump into your brown pleather boots. Jisung followed you, leaning against the wall. 

“I mean, Chan’s parties have quite the reputation,” you replied, securing the money in your bag. But really, you just thought Bang Chan was hot as hell. He sometimes visited Jisung here, and it was always a delight—on top of looking this good, he was genuinely a good guy.

“He said I could bring a few people if I wanted. You’re in, I suppose? Seungmin wanted in, too.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, sounds fun.” You didn’t think your carefree intonation fooled Jisung but you didn’t really care. “You want me to ask if Chae wants to come, too?”

He shook his head as you made your way towards the door to head outside. “She’ll be there, she’s going with Minho. I heard her speak on the phone earlier.” He paused, just for a few seconds. “It’s fine, whatever. See you soon, thanks for the errands.” 

Jisung returned to his bedroom, so you made your way outside, thinking it all over. You couldn’t argue with Chae about that—if she wasn’t into Ji, then she just wasn’t into him. Maybe you could ask her to keep her infatuation with Minho a little on the DL for a couple of weeks, though…

But maybe you just shouldn’t feel responsible for everyone’s happiness for once. Easier said than done, you thought, walking in the night. You liked Fridays—unlike Jisung, you usually avoided your papers and assignments on Fridays and you felt free, even if it was just for a few hours. 

The convenience store was just two streets down from your building and usually attracted all sorts of people. It was close to campus so a lot of students ended up there, as it had better stuff than the campus stores and wasn’t too far. There were also a few office buildings in the area so it wasn’t at all uncommon to see people in business attire stop there to grab a drink and a quick meal after their workday. 

You looked across the street—the park’s lamp posts filled the area with a soft yellowish light well enough that you saw Jisung’s dealer sitting at a picnic table. Still, you decided to start with the snacks and entered the convenience store.

They had Felix’s hot Cheetos and Chae’s sesame-flavored noodles, however, they did not have the sour gummy bears. You sighed, figuring you should text Ji to see if he wanted something else. When you went to pull your phone out of your pocket, you realized you had left it on the coffee table in the living room, probably distracted by the conversation with Jisung. Ultimately, you grabbed the regular gummy bears of an expensive brand and returned outside after a quick trip to the self-checkout. 

You crossed the street on your way to the park. A few of the tables were occupied by people you could only assume were other students, younger than you by the looks of it. A group of them played music and were playing cards, and another seemed to be doing schoolwork on their laptops, with snacks and drinks. Others were just scattered around, chatting, enjoying their Friday night the same way you did. 

You took a deep breath and approached Jisung’s dealer carefully. The grass was soft beneath your feet, making your footsteps quiet—he did not hear you or didn’t care, because he kept scrolling on his phone even after you reached his table. You immediately noticed that his fingers were stained blue— paint, maybe? The cobalt shade was beautiful and reminded you of your favorite pair of fuzzy socks.

The hood of his black hoodie was pulled over his head so you couldn’t even see the guy’s face. You cleared your throat once, then twice—getting yourself side-eyed by the students doing homework a few tables down in the process. However, he seemed to notice you then, because the dealer finally looked up and pulled one earbud out of the hood. 

You almost took a step back—you had bought weed on a few occasions in your life but had never seen a dealer that looked like this. His face still somewhat covered, he watched you with big, unsettlingly calm eyes, waiting. You decided to make the first move just so that you could be done with everything here sooner and be home quickly. 

“Hey,” you said, making sure to use your pleasant voice. “Jisung sent me.” 

The guy pulled his hood down and gazed at you with an indifferent look on his face. Not in a rude way, though. You, on the other hand, had never seen him from this close and had to make an effort not to stare or be weird—he had a handsome face from what you could see, with pleasant traits and short, ashy blond hair. His large eyes were dark, sharp, and captivating, the same color as the iced coffee on the table. He had a small mole under the left one and an eyebrow piercing—he also had a lip ring and more jewelry adorned his ears. His helix piercing in particular caught your attention as it was a beautiful shiny red rose. Delicate yet striking—it suited him well. 

His plush, pink lips were closed around a lollipop but they turned into a brief but gentle smile. He pulled the candy from his mouth, licking his lips to gather the taste of it, lingering a few milliseconds longer over his lip ring.

He grabbed his iced coffee, his long fingers—also decorated with rings of various styles— wrapping around the sweating plastic of the container and bringing it to his lips in place of the lollipop to take a long sip. It may not have been winter yet, but it was most definitely the month of October, so his choice of an iced drink surprised you.

“How’s Hanji doing?” the guy asked you after what might as well have been two hours of long, embarrassing silence. “Been a while since I saw him. I hope nothing bad happened to him.” He had a soft, pleasant voice and a distinct pronunciation. Not an accent—he just spoke at a cadence you hadn’t heard before, as if he tasted each word carefully before they gracefully spilled out of his cushiony lips. They moved delightfully with each of his syllables, possibly to compensate for his jaw’s fewer movements.

“He’s fine, just busy with assignments,” you replied, unable to look away when the guy put his coffee back on the table to return the lollipop in his mouth. Under the light, you caught a glimpse of a red, candy-stained smooth tongue. “He asked me to talk to you if that’s alright.”

“Sure that’s alright, I know what it’s like. Assignments and shit.” The guy pushed himself up and signaled you with a wave of his head to come with him. You didn’t like the idea of following a stranger in a dark corner but there was something quite inoffensive about the guy, so you walked with him just outside the park, next to a clothing store that was closed at this hour. 

“Same as usual?” the dealer questioned, reaching under his oversized hoodie and into the pocket of his baggy jeans. He was tall, taller than you would have thought. You couldn't help but notice that his clothing style suited him.

“No, actually, he said he’ll have twice the usual.” 

The guy nodded knowingly and handed you a small plastic bag that you slipped into your purse after paying him. “He must be going to Chan’s party,” he guessed with a shrug. “Tell him hi for me, will you?” After putting the cash away, the dealer rolled his lollipop into his mouth, eyeing you while he awaited your response.

“Sure!” You placed your hands in the pockets of your jacket while coming up with a not-too-awkward way of leaving. “I should get going, they’ll be waiting for me at home.” 

“Of course.” He slid the lollipop to the corner of his pretty mouth and smiled at you with a polite dip of his head. He did not have the attitude you’d expect from a weed dealer. But then, what did you know about weed dealers anyway? “See you around!” 

You nodded and almost turned around but stopped yourself at the last second, your eyes returning to his hands as he picked up his phone again, to his long, slender fingers. 

“What’s that?” you questioned, wondering if you would have been so bold if it weren’t for the few beers you had earlier. “On your hands?”

The dealer seemed surprised by your question but not offended at all. You heard the lollipop clink against his teeth as he once more pushed it to the side to answer you, looking down at his own hands before doing so.

“The blue?” he chuckled faintly. “It’s just ink, don’t worry. We did ink painting today.” 

He waved at you and walked away slowly, leaving you with more questions than answers. 

“Is that a good outfit?” 

You turned around, giving Chae a view of the front while you looked at the back. You had decided to wear denim shorts over black sheer tights. You liked those because they had black roses embroidered on them. The rest of the outfit was quite plain but comfortable—a black t-shirt with your favorite band’s logo on it (and you knew Chan also liked them) with a long, gray wool cardigan. 

“If I were Chan, I’d want to hit it for sure!” Chae commented, reaching around the back to slap your ass playfully. “We’re late now, come on, Minho’s waiting for us!”

You rolled your eyes but laughed with your friend, deciding to apply an additional layer of lipstick before heading out. Minho was indeed waiting for the both of you down the street—Chan’s place was not far, just past the convenience store. He looked good tonight in his jeans and red varsity jacket. You could see why Chae had this crush on him, but you weren’t sure you could handle dating someone like him. 

You let the two chat about their respective day while you walked at the back, checking your phone. According to Insta, the party was already ongoing and going strong. Jisung was tagged in several photos and videos showing him standing on a coffee table, singing a ballad rather convincingly with a crowd around him. That was the thing about Jisung—he was a serious guy until he wasn’t anymore, but would have no problem returning to his assignment sometime tomorrow when his hangover would be better, if he even had one at all.

You heard the music before you entered the house. Chan lived with a few friends in a house off campus and you were convinced it was why he had the reputation of hosting the best parties—the house was nice with a large backyard and even a pool, and the neighbors had never complained about the noise.

The house was full and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Chae and Minho disappeared to get to the backyard—it was too cold to get into the pool but you suspected they’d find a quiet corner and make out a little before joining the rest of you for drinks and games. Because Chris always hosted some kind of games at his parties, too. 

You found Jisung in the living room but he was no longer on the coffee table—he was sitting near the window with Seungmin, one of Chan’s roommates. The music was loud but it was good, and you waved at them instead.

“Hey, you alone?” Jisung asked, frowning a little and handing you an empty red plastic cup. “I thought you were coming with Chae and Minho?” 

“They’re here,” you said evasively. “Somewhere around.” 

Jisung nodded and got up to grab a bottle of liquor and a can of soda to pour a quick rum and coke into your cup. You thanked him by raising your glass at him and took a few sips while looking around. There was an intense game of poker being played at the kitchen table. Judging by the discouraged faces of everyone else at the table, Changbin was winning by a landslide. He had a wide grin on his face and so did the pretty girl sitting on his lap. Jeongin seemed ready to throw hands. 

“I might want to try a game of poker, wanna come with?” Seungmin asked you and Jisung, finishing his drink in one go. 

“Ain’t no way I’m playing against that guy,” Jisung retorted, shaking his head and raising his glass towards the table, where Changbin was accepting everyone’s money with a demented laugh. “Suit yourself, but I’d rather keep my money and my pride.” He turned to you. “Wanna go outside and smoke a little?” 

You nodded hesitantly knowing very well that Minho and Chae were outside. You just hoped they had the decency to lick each other’s uvulas somewhere they couldn’t be seen and followed Jisung out in the backyard. 

It was Chan that welcomed you there—he was busy building a small fire in the fire pit, surrounded by bags of marshmallows as well as cookies and some chocolate. And many, many bottles of liquor, laid in an orderly fashion on a camping table. 

There were a few guests here too but you didn’t see Minho or Chae so you confidently went to sit by the fire and watched Chan at work while Jisung took care of rolling the joint. He was wearing jeans with a black leather belt and a long-sleeved dark shirt.

“How’s class?” he asked you, adding wood to the fire pit. “Did that professor grant you the grade adjustment on your paper?” 

“She refused to give him a good time,” Jisung burst out laughing, “so she still got a C.” 

You grabbed one of the bags of marshmallows and threw it directly at your friend’s face who couldn’t even defend himself because his hands were busy—he knew he deserved it, though. Chan was chuckling with his forearm over his face, almost burning his leg in the process. 

“Maybe you should suck your professor’s dick, graduate faster and stop bothering me for once,” you retorted, hoping the fall breeze would be enough to cool down your pink cheeks. You were mostly used to Chan’s presence by now, but he was a very good-looking guy and you didn’t need Jisung to make stupid jokes like this around him. 

“That’s a very good one,” Chan said with a nod. “She's got a good point.” He turned to you. “You want a s’more? I’ll make you one myself!” 

Behind Chan, you saw Jisung do a rather convincing imitation of Chan asking you the question—he even added your response, transforming into a fake version of you by crossing his legs the same way as you and flipping hair he didn’t have, acting exaggeratingly shy. You glared at him but offered Chan the best smile you could muster despite the silent rage inhabiting you. 

“Sure, why not?” you replied. Deep down, you knew this would be too sweet for you and a dangerous mix with your strong rum and coke. But he offered—you weren’t going to say no, were you?

You smoked a little while Chan was prepping your snack. Jisung was called back inside to apparently settle a debate going on at the poker table, so you just drank your rum and coke. Chan was chatting with some of the guests sitting around a table not too far. 

To your left, something caught your eye—you twisted your neck only to see someone crouched near a large hydrangea bush at the other end of the yard. Upon further inspection, you noticed the person was wearing baggy jeans and a black hoodie with the hood on. The stick of a lollipop was poking out from the hood. You recognized the sneakers you had seen on Jisung’s weed dealer last night, and nodded to yourself—that guy was definitely weird enough to be seen crouching near a bush at a college party. 

He was holding a small notepad and seemed to be sketching something. You smoked a bit more while observing him but soon enough, Chan came to sit next to you and handed you a paper plate with a perfectly made s’more on it. 

“Bon appétit!" Chan clinked his s’more with yours instead of your drinks and you dug in, taking a small bite. Chan, on the other hand, went to town on it. 

“Who’s that?” you asked, pointing at the hydrangea bush, taking another bite. “He sold me this weed.” And, to be fair, it was really good weed, too. 

“Yeah, that’s Hyunjin. He sells weed,” Chan replied with a throaty, genuine laugh. “Don’t mind him, he’s absolutely harmless.” 

You put back the s’more into the paper plate and finished your weed in silence. Chan smelled nice and so did the fire—it was a pleasant evening, especially combined with the background music and the general mood of the night. You looked around, finally spotting Minho and Chae. They weren’t making out—they were watching something on Minho’s phone and laughing about it. You wondered how Chae managed that. To just be comfortable with a guy she liked. Because you had barely spoken a few words to Chan tonight and could hardly hold his gaze.

“He’s an art major,” Chan went on in a lower voice, noticing that your head was turned towards the weed dealer again. “So of course he’s weird.”

“Hey!” you gave him a playful shove. “I’m an art major too!” 

“Graphic design isn’t the same kind of art and it's not the same kind of weird,” Chan specified, shaking his head. “I don’t really know him. One day I was just buying weed and he told me his dream was to have some kind of important job at a museum. Can’t remember what exactly, though. My point is, I don’t know why I know this about him! You know?” 

You hummed in approval, not indifferent but not surprised either—you remembered your conversation with him, how his hands were stained blue from ink painting. It made sense that he was an art major, but you were surprised you hadn’t noticed him before. “Good for him,” you decided to say. Again, how the fuck did Chae manage to hold a conversation with a cute guy? “What’s your dream, Chan? Do you have one?”

Yeah—unfortunately for you, you were definitely not the flirty kind of person. Unfortunately as in, while others managed to get laid, you had invested a good amount of money on a decent vibrator to soothe your needs and pretended it was enough. 

And really, it was for the most part. Except you really, really wouldn’t mind having Bang Chan himself rearranging your insides, even just for one night. 

“If I have a dream?” Chan laughed again but there was no mocking in his reaction. He ate a few more bites of his s’more before answering, though. “When I started college, my dream was to finish school and someday own my own marketing firm, you know? But now… Marketing major… sure. But I realized that my job was my dream, and it was a bit depressing.”

“Oh, I understand that.” You nodded and pushed yourself up to refill your cup. “Sorry for the existential question, I just—” but you didn’t know what else to say, so you just left it there.

“Don’t worry about it,” Chan replied in your back while you were mixing yourself the most random drink ever—its only purpose was to make you drunk as fast as possible without tasting like hand sanitizer. “Do you have one? A dream?”

You shrugged. “Kinda same as you. Would be great to be my own boss, but I hope I dream about other stuff someday.” 

“Yeah, yeah I feel you, mate.” He lifted his own drink when you came back towards him and you clinked yours with it. “Hey, tell you what—if you can’t be your own boss, me, Changbin and Ji will hire you at our marketing firm!” 

You laughed with him, finding yourself a little more peaceful. You spent some more time with Chan, eventually joined by Chae and Minho who wanted to sit by the fire too. Still, it was a very pleasant time until yells and chaos could be heard from the house.

“I better check up on that,” Chan sighed. “Bet it’s someone getting in a fight with Changbin because he won at poker again.”

“He cheats,” Minho scoffed with a shrug. “I’d never sit at a poker table with him.”

“He doesn’t cheat, that’s the worst part.” Chan got up and finished his drink in one swig. “He’s just a lucky little shit. Alright, I’ll see you around guys.” 

The noises coming from inside were indeed worrying. You were only hoping it wasn’t Jisung who started trouble—Changbin could easily knock him out should he want to. And the fact that they were best friends wouldn’t stop Changbin—they’d just laugh about it after and Jisung would find a way to get his (harmless) revenge. 

“You’re not eating this?” Chae asked, pointing at your abandoned s’more. “Can I have half?”

“You guys keep it all if you want.” You grabbed the plate and stood to bring it over to them. “I’m not hun—”

You had been sitting for a little too long, drinking the liquor and drinking Chan’s words—you took one step and stumbled down. The final result was impressive considering how small of a stagger it had been. You somehow managed to smear some marshmallow and chocolate on your cardigan, get a minor burn on one arm and make Minho spill his own drink over the leg of his jeans when he prevented you from fully face-planting into the fire. 

At least it ended with you sitting on the ground laughing it off with your friends. 

“I’m so fucking sorry,” you managed, wiping tears from the corner of your eyes. “Oh my god Minho, your jeans…”

“You're the worst drunk!” But Minho was smiling and laughing too. He helped you up and even smoothed the fabric of your cardigan. “Are you gonna be alright?”

He looked at your arm, showing it to Chae after. “I’m fine,” you said. Really, you were—it stung a little, but it wasn’t like you had a third-degree burn here. 

“You should clean it up,” Chae advised. “I’ll go with you.” 

“I’m fine,” you insisted, walking around to prove Chae wrong. You were lightheaded but figured it was from the lack of actual food you had eaten this afternoon. And a few bites from a s’more had apparently not been enough to provide sustenance. “I’ll go clean up in the bathroom and see if Chris has some actual food, not just sweets.” 

“There was food earlier but I doubt there’s anything left by now,” Minho said after he took his seat back. “Want us to go get you something?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” You could tell from Chae’s face that she’d rather be back home getting her back blown by Minho—your place was closer than his—than going to a store to get you a little snack because you were drunk. “Actually, I think I’ll go check out the poker table… Or Felix is probably in the basement playing video games with Jeongin, they will have snacks.” Realistically, they probably had Cheetos, brownies, and drinks sweet enough to kill a diabetic. But it would do.

You waved your friends goodbye and returned towards the house. It went beyond releasing Chae from your presence—the sooner she and Minho got their business done, the sooner it would be over for the night. And Jisung could return home without hearing a choir of moans and get upset all over again.

Whatever incident had taken place earlier seemed to have died down although the music was blaring and there were still loud voices echoing from the table. You heard Jisung’s especially but couldn’t really make out the words as he was speaking quite rapidly. You headed for the hallway to the bathroom but found the door locked and a girl standing near it. But since you knew there was another bathroom in the basement, you went downstairs instead. 

Felix and Jeongin were indeed playing video games but they weren’t alone—they had attracted quite a large crowd who came to watch their live match and by the sound of it, some bets had been made. You chuckled as you went past the couches and TV. Chan’s parties definitely had that reputation of being all over the place, as he didn’t shy away from welcoming all sorts of people into his house. He was a popular frat guy, but he had friends from all backgrounds.

The basement bathroom was in a small hallway near a door that led outside. From here, the music was quieter, yet comforting—something about the bass echoing through the floor helped calm the general jittery feeling you always got at parties. You didn’t love parties. You were just here in the hopes of catching a conversation with Chan. And now you were just thankful he hadn’t been there to witness you face-planting near the fire pit. 

The bathroom door was closed and there was another person already waiting next to it. You recognized him immediately. Black jeans, sneakers, hands buried in the front pocket of his black hoodie—but no lollipop this time—Hyunjin lifted his gaze from the floor when he heard you approach. 

“Hey Tipsy,” he said, barely loud enough for you to hear over the video game ruckus and the music upstairs. “You okay? I saw you fall.” 

Warmth spread on your cheeks and you considered turning around and walking away not just from this basement—but from this party and house entirely. Who else had seen you?

Had Chan maybe seen you from a window?

“I’m alright,” you replied after taking a deep breath. “I sat down for too long.” You frowned, processing the current events. “Did you just call me Tipsy?” You thought this was a little bold of him to nickname you like this the second time he ever spoke to you. But there was something endearing about it too and you couldn't help but smile.

“T—” Hyunjin’s eyes grew wide and his shoulders shook with a nervous giggle that was a little too adorable. It instantly melted the tiny offense you had taken at the nickname. “I mean, you are tipsy, I didn’t—I don’t mean—I did—I just—”

You sighed, shaking your head. For some reason, Hyunjin’s pleasant traits made it hard to resent him. “Don’t worry, I was joking.” You licked your lips. They tasted a little bit like marshmallows. “I am tipsy, after all. And I fell on my ass in front of everybody.”

“It happens.” Hyunjin gave you a few consoling nods. In doing so, his hood moved a little, revealing a bit more of his ash blond hair. You also got a peek at his cool rose piercing. “One time, I dreamt I was walking on top of a stone wall. I managed to keep my balance the whole time, almost… On one side, there was the sea. On the other side of the wall, there was nothing… Emptiness. I lost my balance just as I had almost made it across… whatever this was. I fell into the void and I woke up on my floor. With my dog barking at me. For some reason, my eyebrow was bleeding. That's how I got the scar.” 

 You noticed that while one of his eyebrows had a piercing on it, the other had a slight split in it, with a faint scar. All healed, but there. 

“That’s wild,” you replied, not sure what else to say, trying to understand the correlation between your drunken fall and his crazy ass dream. That guy was weird. But by god was he attractive. 

Checking out his scar gave you a great excuse to actually check him out—you could tell he had broad shoulders under that big hoodie, and he looked way too angelic for a weed dealer. And yet—he stared back at you with his big dark eyes, his mouth still red from his last lollipop, a soft expression on his face. He smelled vaguely like the outdoors, like cigarettes, like weed… and like flowers. You inhaled another time just to verify that you weren’t going crazy—but no, you weren’t. Not only did this guy have a rose on his helix piercing, but he also smelled like roses, too. 

So fucking weird, you told yourself, trying hard not to stare as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, playing with his lip ring. 

“Y/N, right? Hanji speaks about you sometimes,” he chatted. He seemed comfortable, easy-going, but maybe a little shy. His voice was sweet, pleasant, almost melodic. “I’m Hyunjin.” 

“Or so I heard,” you replied in your most friendly voice but the truth is you were kind of drunk and he did have a really cute tongue and he seemed to struggle to keep his mouth closed. It distracted you. “Nice meeting you, Hyunjin. I hope Ji is saying nice things about me,” you added with a laugh.

Hyunjin giggled—and again, you were stunned by how weird yet endearing he was. You had never seen such an aura on a person before. “Of course, only good things,” he assured. “He likes being your roommate, seems like.” 

You put an end to this particular topic of conversation with a noncommittal shake of your head. There was nothing else to be said anyway—you and Jisung had known each other for a while as he had been a friend of your brother’s, and it only made sense to be roommates when you had both been admitted to the same university. 

“You’re an art major?” you asked instead, glancing towards the bathroom door where finally noises were being heard. A voice inside shouted, ‘SORRY, I FELL ASLEEP BY THE SINK, GIVE ME A SECOND’, making you and Hyunjin sigh with an amused smile. “It’s weird I’ve never really seen you around.”

“I’ve seen you around, though.” Hyunjin’s voice did not show any resentment but you suddenly felt guilty. And, to be fully honest, the burn on your arm was starting to hurt more, adding to your discomfort. “But I get it. There are a lot of regular dudes just like me in the Visual Arts building.”

A lot of black hoodies, maybe—however, Hyunjin was anything but a regular dude, this you could tell the moment you met him yesterday. 

“I just don’t hang out on campus a lot,” you admitted, leaning against the wall—the drink’s effect on you was evolving more and more as minutes passed. “I don’t know why… but I need a specific kind of quiet to study, you know? Even the library drives me nuts.”

“I understand.” Hyunjin’s smile softened as he mirrored your laid-back position against the wall. “I mostly hang out in the studio, so that’s why.” 

You knew where the visual arts rooms and studios were located but you did not spend a lot of time there—nothing against that crowd but you didn’t have any classes over there anymore, and the area was always cold for some reason. 

“I’d do the same,” you assured, glancing at the bathroom door, ultimately deciding to give it a knock. Your arm was stinging more and more and you couldn’t help the sharp inhale through your teeth when a particularly intense throb of pain shot through your arm. Maybe you should head back upstairs, that bathroom was probably free by now… or you could risk the kitchen sink, despite the living room and kitchen resembling a battlefield… 

Hyunjin’s eyes went from your face to the arm you were holding then back to your face. His smile had disappeared and he bit his lip softly. “Wanna see something cool?” he asked, his smile returning, eyes wide open. 

Without waiting for your response, Hyunjin pulled out his hands from the front pocket of his hoodie. He was holding something in the right one and brought the left one near it to cup whatever it was into both. You twisted your neck in order to see better and finally caught a glimpse of it through his fingers.

A frog. Hyunjin was holding an actual live frog and was handing it out for you to see up close. The bathroom door opened at the same time and the frog was quickly concealed again while the guy occupying the bathroom apologized—he had a rough night of drinking and thought he was going to throw up… until he fell asleep on the bathroom floor. 

You nodded him away and Hyunjin immediately pulled out the frog again when he was gone.

“What the actual fuck are you doing with a frog in your pocket, Hyunjin?” 

His red tongue fiddled with his lip ring again but just for a few seconds before it retreated behind a bashful smile. “Just. Look, it has something sticky on its leg,” Hyunjin explained, pointing at the frog’s little leg. There was indeed something dark sticking to its green, spotted skin. “I was gonna give it a quick bath and take it to the pond in the park. Wanna come with?” 

You stared at Hyunjin completely dumbfounded—so surprised you almost couldn’t feel the sting on your arm anymore. “But that doesn’t answer my question! How—where? Did you find it in the yard?”

“Oh, yeah.” Hyunjin seemed to ease up and went into the bathroom as casually as if he were holding anything other than a live animal. “I was doing a few sketches… I really like hydrangeas at this time of the year. It was there, by the bush. I couldn’t leave it there, could I? There are trees and a pond at the park, and I’ve seen tree frogs there before so it’ll even have friends.”

The bathroom was rather small but surprisingly clean considering this party had been going on for a few hours. There was a small plastic container on the counter with clean towels in it and Hyunjin carefully emptied it to put the frog in it. It croaked softly and Hyunjin hummed back a few soothing words—all that you could do was stare and wonder how the hell you had ended up here. In Bang Chan’s downstairs bathroom with Jisung’s weed dealer who apparently liked to save frogs and give them baths. 

“You go first,” Hyunjin offered, stepping away from the sink. “Want me to take a look at that burn?”

“It’s fine,” you assured, letting the water run for a few moments. You decided to take one of the smaller towels to dampen it with the cold water and apply a compress onto the burn—it wasn’t bad, just a bit red. It could have been so much worse, and the cool compress helped a lot.

You still took the time to try and clean up some of the dirt on your clothes. Meanwhile, Hyunjin sat on the edge of the bathtub with his frog, speaking to it every time it made a sound. 

“I bet Chan has aloe vera somewhere,” Hyunjin said once you had left the sink. He opened the mirror cabinet as if he was in his own home and scouted its contents. “Hm. Maybe upstairs. He doesn’t have much here.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Just condoms and toothpaste.” 

Why the fuck were you still in this bathroom with a stranger who sold weed on campus, had weird dreams and told you about them, and carried a whole ass frog in the front pocket of his hoodie? Were you actually considering taking a little walk with him to release this amphibian back into its natural habitat?

I guess so, you admitted to yourself, standing next to the sink while Hyunjin ran lukewarm water on the frog's leg to clean it up. It was surprisingly calm considering the situation—either it was in shock or Hyunjin was some kind of real-life Disney princess. And, truth be told, you heavily leaned towards the second hypothesis. 

“Would you mind helping me, please?” he asked politely once the frog was clean. “Could you take a towel and run lukewarm water on it, too? So it can be all damp and nice for Chives.”

“Chives?” Still, you obliged—you made sure the towel was humid enough and put it neatly folded at the bottom of the plastic container. “Chives?”

“It’s kind of chive green, isn’t it?” Hyunjin shrugged, delicately putting Chives back into its temporary enclosure. It was looking a lot better than it did before. “Chives said it liked the name, so please withhold comments, miss Y/N.” 

“Did not mean to offend our dear Chives,” you said with an exaggerated bow—which was a mistake because you were definitely too tipsy to be leaning forward like this. You struggled to stand straight again but managed to do so by holding the counter. “Please accept my most sincere apologies.” 

The frog actually croaked at that very moment, sending both you and Hyunjin into a state of unrestrained hilarity. You wiped tears from the corner of your eyes and Hyunjin struggled to wash his hands as he was laughing uncontrollably—he spilled a good amount of hand soap on the counter, only making the both of you laugh even more.

He had a contagious laugh, which didn’t help—his eyes were small, reduced to two crescents full of joy, his cheeks pink from laughter. Nobody should look this good when laughing like that with an open mouth and making weird faces, but of course, he did. The Disney princess. The fucking weed dealer—it made you want to pick up a serious smoking habit.

“Okay, let’s go before we make this place worse,” Hyunjin said, wiping his hands with one of the towels left on the counter. “Unless you wanna stay here with your friends? It’s totally fine.” 

“No, I’ll go.” There was no hesitation and you tried convincing yourself it had everything to do with the destination being the park near the convenience store—therefore, snacks—and nothing to do with how handsome Hyunjin looked, especially without the hood over his head, or how pleasant he was to talk with. How smooth his voice was, how pretty his mouth— 

“Awesome! After you, miss.” He grabbed the container with Chives in it and waited for you to move. 

You gulped, realizing how at ease you felt. Would you be having the same thoughts if you were still by the fire and Hyunjin by the hydrangeas? The sole reason for you wanting to be here in the first place was to maybe have a shot with Chan—which you knew you wouldn’t get, but still—so why were you hoping you’d get to taste Hyunjin’s lollipop on his lips before the end of the night? 

The video game match was still occurring, but Felix seemed to have died already. He noticed you and waved at you, inviting you to join him—there was some space left on the couch. You waved back but refused his offer, gesturing toward Hyunjin and the container he was holding.

“Where you going?” Felix asked, his brow furrowing a little. 

“Hyunjin found a frog so we’ll take it back to the park.” You were fully aware of how insane you sounded the moment you spoke those words out loud. 

Felix’s face said it all. It looked like he wasn’t sure whether he should cry or laugh or be worried.

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” Felix concluded and returned to his game, letting you and Hyunjin go. 

Things had calmed down upstairs a little—there was still a game of cards being played at the table but neither Changbin or Jisung were there. You spotted Chan in the living room, sitting with a group of friends from his classes. There was a girl beside him. She was beautiful and wore classy clothes. And Chan had his arm around her waist as the whole group drank and seemed to be having a lively conversation. 

You knew you didn’t stand a chance with him—you knew that to him, you’d always just be Jisung’s friend and roommate. But still. 

Still. 

You felt a hand squeeze your shoulder gently behind you and turned a little only to see Hyunjin look at you with concern on his face. You wondered how much of the situation he had noticed. 

“Let’s go,” he said softly. You didn’t hear him over the music but you could read it on his lips. You nodded and followed him outside.

The air was much cooler than it had been earlier, or maybe you were just sitting by a fire. Neither you or Hyunjin could walk too fast because of Chives, yet you couldn’t wait until you made it at least to the convenience store—you’d take your sweet time selecting a few snacks while warming up. Maybe you could get a hot chocolate or something…

“I didn’t realize it was this cool out,” Hyunjin said as the two of you walked side by side, the noise from the party slowly dying off as you kept going. “Hold on—I live right over there.” 

He was showing you a house down the street. A very normal house, too. You wondered what kind of roommates he had. Were they all as weird as he was—or worse, maybe? For sure, he had a girlfriend, right? At least that. Or else why was he living in a house? 

After all, Chan’s house was located in a pretty good neighborhood, and you definitely wouldn’t have guessed Hyunjin lived around here, too. But maybe that was a life lesson—you ought to be a little less judgemental in the future.

“I’ll get you something warmer than your cardigan,” he went on, handing you Chives in its little container while he disappeared into the house. 

You were struggling to even comprehend tonight as a whole but, truth be told, you welcomed this friendly new presence in your life. Hyunjin was a nice guy. Strange for sure. But… the way he had been staring at you after noticing you had seen Chan with the girl… The compassion in his eyes. How he thought that showing you this frog would make you forget temporarily the burn on your arm. The very fact that he had wanted to save the frog in the first place.

And now Hyunjin was coming back out from his house holding an extra black hoodie for you. He handed it out to you as he took Chives back. It was a zip-up so you easily wrapped yourself in it—it smelled like Hyunjin. The faint scent of cigarettes and weed. And laundry detergent. And flowers. 

“Thanks.” You retreated your hands into the big sleeves of the oversized hoodie. Empathy was a rare thing these days—you ought to appreciate it when it passed by. Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure it’s okay? I mean, if you have… someone. Maybe they wouldn’t like you just handing me your hoodie.”

Hyunjin stared at you for a few seconds. “I’m single.” You couldn’t shake the feeling that he has read through you, that he knew you were simply trying to find out whether he was with someone or not. Still, he offered you a gentle smile. “I don’t really have time to date, you know? With uni and everything.”

You nodded. “Of course. Same, really.” 

Hyunjin’s smile grew a little, and he opened his arm to invite you to keep going, so you walked by his side, thinking it all over. Hyunjin did not make sense to you. As if he was made up. Sweet, funny. The whole frog shenanigans. Weed dealer. Cool. But sexy as hell—the guy could be a model. And yet he was apparently single and chose to spend his evening with you and a frog. He did not make sense at all, but you couldn’t deny the warmth you felt in your chest as you grew accustomed to his presence by your side. 

The park was surprisingly quiet for a weekend night but you suspected that most regulars were hanging out at Chan’s. You followed Hyunjin in between the tables, ignored by the few people who were there, burying your face in the dizzying scent of this hoodie.

“I think we’ll leave Chives by the pond,” Hyunjin said after a few moments of silence only interrupted by the sounds of your footsteps and an occasional soft-spoken sentence to the frog. You nodded in approval although he couldn’t see it, but he went on with the conversation anyway. “How’s uni going for you?” 

“Going fine,” you answered truthfully. You did enjoy your field and had been fortunate enough to have earned your degree on a scholarship. “I mean, I do like it. Graphic design.” It was true—you had wanted to pursue a career in that field since your early teenage years. “What about you, Hyunjin?” 

The two of you came to a stop near the little pond. You could actually hear other frogs in the distance, as well as a soft breeze rustling around the dead leaves. Hyunjin got on his knees and set the container with Chives in it on the ground, gently tilting it so the frog could be released.

“I love art,” he just said. Then he leaned forwards to speak to Chives again, inviting the animal to join his friends around the pond. “I applied for an exchange next semester. I want to study in Paris, learn new techniques. Even if I’m learning a lot already... My favorite class is the painting class. Our professor, Mrs. Yoo, is really nice. I think she gave your drawing class last semester. I saw your drawing on the wall, I remember the way you drew clouds. It impressed me.” 

Naturally, as a graphic design major you had taken a few art classes—drawing had been one of them. You had fond memories of your time in Mrs. Yoo’s art studio despite the cold hallways. You recalled the particular drawing in question—soft pastels—and the clouds. 

“Oh,” you managed, your thoughts speeding in your brain. Paris, pastels. Everything in between. You felt a slight sting in your heart at the idea of possibly losing a friend you hadn’t even made already. “You remember that?” You couldn’t help a nervous laugh to escape your lips. “I mean, thanks. It was just a cloud study, nothing—”

“No, it was really pretty.” Hyunjin, thankfully, wasn’t looking at you. He kept his attention on little Chives who did not seem to want to leave the comfort of his container. “The way you blended the pinks in the clouds was realistic. I have a picture of it on my phone.” 

You leaned against a nearby tree. You weren’t quite tired, just still slightly affected by alcohol and by the eeriness of the night. “Wow, really?” You shook your head. “That’s a huge honor, actually.” How on earth could he remember that? How on earth could he relate this drawing to you? Sure, you had signed it, but you had not spoken a word to this guy before last night…

Hyunjin chuckled and lifted his gaze toward you. “I like to keep memories of the things I find beautiful. Just to look at them, or just in case I want to draw or paint them someday.”

“I understand that. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with sudden inspiration for something… I keep a notebook by my bed. I’ll wake up the next morning with a very, deeply ugly draft of something completely random… And almost no recollection of the actual idea I had. It’s frustrating.”

Hyunjin laughed louder at that but not condescendingly—you laughed with him, rubbing away some of the pain still shooting through your arm although it was much better now. You didn’t know why you had the urge to entertain conversation with him and to do so in such detail about your personal life, but it felt good. To just talk. There was something comfortable about him that you couldn’t explain. And you liked having an excuse to look at his face.

“I wish I had more time to create outside class, though. Do you ever get that too?” Hyunjin asked, pulling himself up and leaning against the tree next to yours in the hopes that Chives would want to walk away if he kept his distance. “Or maybe I was just really dumb to go for a double major…”

“Dumb? That’s probably not the right word… How about a little foolish but optimistic?” you offered, smiling. God, his hoodie smelled really good and was really soft against your skin. You wrapped your arms around your body, basking in the warm comfort of it. “Double major, really?” 

“Yeah, really. Thanks, though, you almost didn’t look surprised there.” You bit your lip in shame and went to apologize, but Hyunjin raised his hand to stop you before you could. He was smiling, although you could barely see him. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m literally a weed dealer and I did carry a frog in my pocket at Bang Chan’s party. You’re allowed to be a little caught off guard.” He pulled something out of the pocket of his jeans. “Actually, mind if I smoke a little? I’ll even share.” 

You gave him a nod and watched as he secured the joint in between his pretty lips. “What’s the other major?”

“Art history. I want to work in a museum someday, you know?” The flame from the lighter illuminated his face—his gaze was focused on his task as he lit up the joint, and you gulped, still amazed by his looks. The rose on his ear shone in the yellow light for a few seconds before the lighter returned to the pocket of his jeans. “I couldn’t decide between the two. So I went with both. Thankfully, a few classes overlap… It’s just where I feel best. Surrounded by art.” 

You understood that, or at least you thought you did. There was a certain sense of belonging that you felt when you were working on a design. Something unmatched. 

“You obviously have a passion for it.” You accepted the joint from him, suddenly very aware that it had been on his lips just a second ago—but you smoked a little, hoping it would calm the flutters that disturbed your heart every time Hyunjin looked at you. “I think it’ll happen. Bet you'll even go to Paris.” 

A wide grin decorated Hyunjin’s face then. “Thanks for saying that. You’re a really nice person, you know.” He took the joint back from you and ran his tongue on his lips before smoking too, playing with the smoke in his mouth before exhaling. “I don’t know why Chan didn’t come looking for you and went with that girl instead. Maybe he’s intimidated by you.”

You stared at Hyunjin in silence, properly stunned. Sure, you had a few drinks and were now smoking a little weed, but you were still of sound mind. Then why couldn’t you process what he had just said?

“Intimidated?” You probably looked like an idiot because Hyunjin squinted just a little before passing the joint back. 

“Yeah, I mean…” Hyunjin shrugged, looking at Chives instead. “A cool, laid-back graphic design major who’s successful, has a large and reliable circle of friends, a nice fashion style—”

“But he’s Bang Chan.” You shook your head. “Bang Chan. The cool guy. I doubt he even remembers my existence by now. I don’t think he’s intimidated by me. It’s fine, Hyunjin. I appreciate the pep talk, but I saw the girl he was with. And it’s not like I care, anyway. I don’t. I went outside with Jisung because he didn’t want to play poker, not to hang out with Chan specifically.” You were aware of how painfully obvious it was that you were trying to convince yourself of these things much more than you were trying to convince Hyunjin.

Even in the relative darkness, you saw him raise his pierced eyebrow, smiling playfully. “You don’t care, really? Ha. Forgive me, then.” He shrugged. “What was so special about that girl he went to find anyway? You seem to think she was worth ditching you for.” His tongue returned to the ring on his lip.

His fingers brushed yours when he handed you the joint. 

“She’s really hot, intelligent, funny, popular,” you sighed and rolled your eyes, but smoked before going on. You could already feel the weed entering your bloodstream very slowly and producing its calming effects. “I’d fuck her, given the chance. Wouldn’t you?”

Hyunjin shrugged. “I guess? Maybe. I don't know. You’re prettier.” No hesitation. You almost joined Chives on the ground.

You ought to say something, but what? It was probably not what he said, maybe you misheard. No, you definitely misheard. Hyunjin wasn’t just cute, he was handsome—a mysterious kind of handsome. His smile, it felt, could light up this whole park. Maybe that other girl wasn’t his type, but you definitely—

“Much prettier,” he added, taking the joint from between your fingers as you were too stunned to move. “You have beautiful eyes, nice legs, a pretty smile, and are lovely to chat with. You didn’t even seem fazed when I showed you I had an actual frog in my hoodie.” 

You looked down to stare at your legs. The fall by the fire earlier had damaged your tights around the knees. 

“Was that too much? Sorry.” Hyunjin giggled and gave you a reassuring pat on the forearm. “Pretend I said nothing. I noticed your legs because of the roses on your tights. I like roses.” With his free hand, he tapped his helix piercing. “I even have a rose tattoo.” 

You couldn’t tell what had come closer to sending you to the ground—the fact that Hyunjin called you pretty or that he had a tattoo. You watched quietly as he pulled the sleeve of his hoodie to reveal his forearm—and it was a nice forearm, too—and more than one tattoo. The most prominent one was the rose, and you leaned forwards as Hyunjin used his phone to produce light. 

It was a beautiful watercolor tattoo. The rose was red and well executed. It looked like a real watercolor painting, with sharp thorns and smooth, satiny petals. You went to reach for him and brush the flower with your fingertips but stopped yourself at the last second.

“It’s fine, go ahead.” Hyunjin chuckled. “I get it. It looks smooth.”

His skin was warm and nice to the touch. You shivered as you traced the flower with your fingertip just a little before pulling your hand away to get a better look at the other tattoos. A paintbrush, a sun and moon surrounded by a laurel wreath, an umbrella… one that caught your attention was a square with a fine black frame and an ocean scenery inside. It looked lifelike. 

“Did you design these?” you asked, looking at Hyunjin’s face again. He had finished the joint and was now licking his lips as if he had just eaten a slice of cake. “They’re really cool.”

“I did, actually. Thanks!” His smile was shy then, and he avoided looking into your eyes by lighting up another joint. “It’s also great to be friends with a tattoo artist, I guess.”

You decided to change the subject as he was obviously uncomfortable. Maybe the tattoos held significance to him and he didn’t like to talk about them too much. You smoked in silence for a while before you left him by the trees and went to check up on Chives. Not only was the frog still in its container, it had even retreated deeper inside of it—it seemed to be asleep now. Peacefully asleep at that.

You sighed and got on your knees near the container. The grass was cold but it didn’t bother you. Curious, Hyunjin joined you by the pond and sighed with you when he saw what you were looking at, descending on his knees as well. 

“God, what are we going to do?” you asked, turning to Hyunjin. 

“I’d feel bad to just…” Hyunjin acted out as if he was picking up the container and shaking it to force Chives out of it. “... you know?”

“No, we can’t do that.” You retrieved a twig from nearby and tried using it to make Chives move around with very little success. Frustrated, you threw away the twig as hard as you could, losing your balance in the process. 

You cried out surprised by the sudden movement and found yourself—for the second time that night—stumbling over. Except this time, courtesy of the alcohol and weed, you felt absolutely no embarrassment and were laughing before you even touched the ground. The fact that you were crouching largely helped too.

“Holy sh—” Hyunjin instinctively grabbed your arm, still failing to prevent the fall and getting entangled in it instead. In a matter of seconds, the both of you were laying down on the grass side by side, laughing your asses off. 

Your head spun a little whenever you moved, but you were filled with a strange sensation of freedom. Your assignments felt so far away, and so did the argument with your mother last week over the phone, as well as the sting from seeing Chan with this hot girl at the party. You didn’t even care that your Interactive Design professor hated you and that he would surely fail you on purpose. You didn’t care about anything. Your laughter slowed down, but Hyunjin didn’t let go of your arm. 

You turned to look at him. One of the park lamps had died out and it was a little darker, but you could see the light reflected on his lip ring. In his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” he asked you, his voice low, propping himself on one elbow to take a proper look at you. “Did you hit your head?”

“I’m fine.” Weed makes your heartbeat faster, right? Yes. You just weren’t used to smoking this amount of it in so little time, and it was why your chest felt tight, why you could hear your pulse from within your ears—it had nothing to do with Hyunjin moving his face dangerously close to yours. 

Right?

And yet he was so close you could feel his warm breath on your face, his hand trailing up your arm until it reached the crook of your neck. He pushed your hair out of your face and played with it gently, his eyes burning into yours. Warm, smooth skin, warm, sweet breath. 

You opened your mouth to say something, to say anything, but you just couldn’t find what to say exactly. All the while, your hands found their way to him, your fists closing onto his hoodie. You pulled him closer. Just a little closer. More than enough. 

Hyunjin’s gaze shifted to your parted lips. He returned to your eyes and you saw a question in them, you saw cobalt blue ink and stars and doubt and all the beauty in them, accumulated from what they had witnessed. 

He seemed to find the answer to his question in your eyes because he descended onto you, not even pausing before his lips crashed against yours.

His mouth was hot, the ring on his bottom lip cool against your skin. Hyunjin parted his plush lips to anchor them to yours, his tongue already teasing you. You felt a shift inside of you, something small or something big, you couldn’t tell. But you breathed a quiet moan into Hyunjin’s mouth when he deepened the kiss, making out with you gently, softly, the metal of his ring sinking into your lips. You let go of his hoodie to wrap your arms around him, feeling his firm body beneath the thick layer of fabric covering him, making your head spin harder than any strain of weed could. 

Hyunjin pressed himself against your side, his knee climbing over yours. Your eyelids fluttered when his hand found your thigh to caress the outside of it as lazily as he was kissing you. 

He broke the kiss to adjust his position and pull you all the way against him, your face finding its way into his neck. He smelled good, god, he smelled like nature and like paint thinner and weed and cigarettes and fabric softener and roses and something else you couldn’t figure out. You left a few kisses on his jaw as Hyunjin pulled your shirt up just enough to press his palms on your lower back. You shivered at the contact.

“Hyunjin…” you breathed into his neck and he carefully put around your face to pull you in for another kiss.

You kissed him back, pressing your tongue against his lip ring for a moment while he hooked his leg around your thighs. When your tongue made it past his lips and your hands made it under his shirt, you felt his body tense up but he kissed you hard. Hungrily. He kissed you in a way that made you dizzy, as if your mouth was ice cream that needed to be devoured before it melted, his tongue swirling around yours, often returning to tease your lips. He pushed himself up, his knees on either side of your thighs, moaning when your nails dug into the skin of his waist. 

“Fuck—” He pressed himself against you, the weight of his body on yours driving you crazy. His lips came back to brush against yours, ghosting them, going past your mouth to descend into your neck. 

He pulled on the zipper of the hoodie he had supplied you with and you actually welcomed the fresh breeze against your already prickling skin. Hyunjin kissed your neck, licking you there the same way he had played with your tongue moments ago. You let out another moan, louder this time, a little too loud for the very public setting you were currently in. He inhaled sharply, hips grinding against you and you meeting his movements. 

Every move he made had a purpose, every move was both urgent and lazy, every move made your legs open up for him, just for him. The pretty boy sucking hard on your neck. He would bruise you if he kept going. You hoped he would keep going. You hoped he would never stop. You hoped you would never not hear the sound of his mouth on your skin, his spit-coated lips working on you diligently. 

You pulled your hands out of his hoodie to wrap your arms around him once more. You needed to feel him, more of him, all of him. Your fingers made it to his hair and you ran them through it—you got chills from how soft it was, delicate, fine, hair like an angel would have. Fuck, I’m high, you told yourself. But you raked your nails through his hair again and again, scratching his head, eliciting more delightful sounds from Hyunjin. 

He emerged back up to kiss you, his lips wet, warm, sweet. He dragged his tongue on your bottom lip, his forehead pressed against yours, breathing his air into you. It was good, he felt so good. The weirdo. The stoner. The guy nobody knew but everybody knew. The guy whose warm hands were under your shirt, trailing up, and up—

Hyunjin moaned in earnest when he found your hard nipples, caressing them through the lace of your bra, hips bucking harder against you. His jeans might have been baggy but you felt him through them anyway, immediately rubbing against his growing erection like an animal in heat. 

And then Hyunjin pulled away unexpectedly, standing upright, half-sitting on your thighs, looking down at you. Disheveled hair, lips wet and swollen, chest heaving from all the kissing. You wanted him, but he seemed to have other plans. 

He removed himself from you to return to the grass, laying down next to you. Still, he pulled you against him and kissed you again, slowly. 

“I should take you home,” he whispered in your hair before kissing you there too. “It’s not right. It doesn’t feel right to do this out here in the cold, you know? You deserve better than that.” 

You closed your eyes, touch-starved already, your body screaming for Hyunjin’s weight back on it. He kissed your lips again. 

It’s not that cold, you wanted to say but instead, you let out a sigh.

Hyunjin chuckled and helped you up until you were both sitting upright. He had to keep an arm wrapped firmly around your waist to prevent you from slumping over. You knew that your legs weren’t this wobbly solely from the long-forgotten rum and coke or even the weed—it had everything to do with the feeling of Hyunjin’s velvety lips on yours.

“How am I even gonna get you home?” Hyunjin sighed. 

“I’ll be fine, but we can’t leave Chives here,” you replied, letting Hyunjin hold you. You liked that he held you.

“Absolutely we can, Tipsy. It’s at home here, I’d bet it’ll just leave the container when we’re gone.” 

“Oh. Right.” It’s as if in between a little dry humping and making out with Hyunjin you had forgotten that Chives was a wild frog. You laughed with him. “Okay, maybe you’re right. We should go home.” 

You were surprised at your own balance when you took a few steps. Hyunjin’s arm snaked around your waist again and you walked together. He didn’t ask for directions—he just turned left towards your street. Maybe he knew where Jisung lived… 

“How many roommates do you have?” you asked after a while of unbearable silence. “The house looked pretty big from the outside.” 

If you didn’t make conversation, you’d be thinking about Hyunjin’s lips again—it was why you weren’t even looking at him too. It was distracting enough to feel his fingers digging into your waist, even through several layers of fabric. The strong smell of him on his hoodie didn’t help either.

He didn’t respond for a while. A few seconds maybe, but it took long enough that you were thinking about how his hard-on had felt against your crotch, sending warmth between your legs again. 

“I live alone,” Hyunjin responded finally. “Me, and my dog. Well, he’s not exactly my dog but he is, he’s… Don’t tell anyone this, yeah? That I live alone I mean. I don’t need people knowing that.” 

You came to a halt at the intersection, waiting for the pedestrian signal to come on. There was minimal traffic at this hour of the night, but you suspected Hyunjin didn’t want to risk having you falling down yet again in the middle of the road. 

“Nobody knows anything about you, Hyunjin. I didn’t even know your name until like an hour ago,” you pointed out. 

Hyunjin faced you then, the green of the traffic lights all over his face, in his eyes. He sighed and caressed your cheek tenderly. “Most people don’t care to know my name anyway,” he said with a shrug. He didn’t seem upset, he was simply stating a fact. “But you did. So now you know.” 

You saw in his big, a little hazed but still beautiful eyes the color of the traffic light switching to yellow and then red. Hyunjin still waited for the actual pedestrian signal to light up before leading the both of you on the street. 

“How come you only kind of have a dog?” you questioned, still needing a good distraction to help you forget that some of Hyunjin’s saliva was drying on your neck. You’d need a much bigger distraction to forget your not-so-drying panties.

“Oh…” Hyunjin chuckled and shook his head. “My neighbors had this dog… A couple, lovely people. They lived with the husband’s mom. Anyway, they unfortunately passed away in a car crash a year ago. It was really hard on her—the mother—to lose her son and daughter-in-law… They had this dog, and she was too overwhelmed to take care of him by herself, so…”

“So you took him in,” you said to end his sentence when he failed to do so. He nodded, offering you a shy smile. “So you really are a real-life Disney princess, huh? Dogs, frogs… drunk girls… is there anything you won’t save? What’s next?” 

Hyunjin stared at you with a puzzled expression on his face but he burst into laughter and pulled you closer to kiss your cheek. “Disney princess?” 

“You’re pretty enough to be one anyway,” you heard yourself reply without a single ounce of hesitation. He laughed again, this cute laugh of his, the one that made his eyes curve into crescents. “It’s fine, Hyunjin, I can walk the rest of the way myself.” You pointed at the next building over—yours—to prove your point.

“Nope, sorry.” He tightened his grip around you. “You said it yourself. A true Disney princess wouldn’t let a poor girl alone on the sidewalk on a Saturday night.”

“But you did leave a frog alone in the park.” You slapped the back of his head gently. 

He kissed your cheek again in return and your heart leaped in your chest. It was like he was trying to give you a heart attack. “I’ll take the long way back through the park to check on Chives,” Hyunjin assured. “I’m sure it’s long gone by now.” 

You stopped in front of the building where a relatively deep puddle of water always accumulated down the steps. “We have to jump over it,” you explained. 

Hyunjin tried to see if maybe it would be best to jump on the brick fence surrounding the path to the front door, but it was quite high. “Considering how your legs seem unable to function normally tonight, I would advise against you jumping over this puddle to land on a step.” He went ahead of you, easily clearing the puddle with his long ass legs. He took both of your hands in his “Careful, Tipsy.” 

That nickname. Why did it make your heart flutter? Was it the simple fact that a handsome boy had deemed you worthy of a nickname, even a humorous one? “What’s your dog’s name?” you asked, preparing to take the leap. You didn’t normally struggle this much. Sure, whatever Hyunjin had smoked with you was potent as hell, but he kept you in a constant flustered state. “Your-not-but-kinda-yours-dog?” 

“Chris. Alright, come on up now, it’s getting windy and you’re in tights.” 

And your panties were wet because of him, which was a little uncomfortable in the cold. “Chris?” 

“Short for Christopher. Look, I didn’t name him, okay?” 

Everything about Hyunjin was weird. Everything about Hyunjin was interesting. He gave you an encouraging smile as you did your best to avoid the puddle—

—and ended up with your two whole feet in it, splashing water all around when you landed. 

Hyunjin sighed as you climbed to join him on the step. The water was cold around your ankles, dripping into your boots. “Fuck.” 

“You’re a terrible drunk, Tipsy.” Hyunjin said sternly with a stiff nod. “At least you’re a cute drunk.”

You blushed at that, hoping that he wouldn’t notice. Hyunjin helped you up the rest of the steps and waited patiently while you were typing the code to the front door of your building. “Thanks,” you said once the door was open. 

“Sorry, I won’t be at peace until I know you’re safe in bed. Think I let you smoke a little too much.” He pushed you gently towards the door. “You need sugar and you need to lie down.” He fumbled in his pockets and produced two red lollipops from them, handing you one after unwrapping it himself. 

You watched him slide his between his lips, eventually grabbing the other lollipop and doing the same. You let out an appreciative groan as you headed up the staircase leading to your door. 

You licked your lips to taste as much of the flavor as you could. Sweet but tart at the same time. “They’re not regular lollipops.” They didn’t taste like the fake, overly-sweet flavor you usually associated with red candy.

“I mean…” Hyunjin chuckled. “I get them from a little candy shop that’s next to…” He sighed as if he wasn’t even sure he should be saying this. “My neighbor—the one with the dog that’s kind of mine now—can’t always pick up her prescription medicine herself, so sometimes I go for her. There’s a candy shop next door to that pharmacy. They make those. They’re raspberry flavored.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” You nodded to yourself and entered the code to get into your apartment once you had reached the door, leaving a trail of mud behind. “Disney shit. Saves frogs, dogs, drunk girls and does errands for elderly neighbors. Eats exclusively handmade candy.” 

The living room was empty. When you went to take your soaked boots off, Hyunjin motioned you to stay put and got on his knees to unlace them for you and pull them off your feet. You tried to hide your rosy cheeks behind your hair, but you couldn’t take your eyes off his long fingers as they worked on the laces and zippers of the boots. You couldn’t not shiver at the contact of his hands on your feet. 

“Who’s the princess now, Cinderella?” he stared at you from down there with a smile on his beautiful lips. 

“We are far from a glass slipper here…” You sighed at the sight of your favorite boots covered in mud. 

Hyunjin stood up and played with the lollipop in his mouth. “I feel bad. I’ll get you new boots,” he offered. 

“Why? It’s not your fault.” You shrugged. “I’m a terrible drunk, you said it yourself.” 

He nodded and took your hand again when you led him into the apartment. You heard Chae’s TV at a low volume through her door when you passed it, guessing immediately that her and Minho’s bodily fluid exchange was over—they enjoyed watching movies together, too. Either Jisung was deeply asleep or not home at all as the door to his room was closed and everything seemed dark in there. 

You turned on the lamp on your bedside table and sat on the edge of your bed after Hyunjin told you he was going to the bathroom. You took your damp socks off and threw them somewhat in the direction of your laundry hamper. The lollipop was mostly melted by now, leaving its sweet aftertaste in your mouth. You got rid of the stick as Hyunjin reentered your room holding a towel. 

“Your feet are wet,” he said, crouching to wipe them up. Disney prince shit. “You’ll sleep better with dry feet.” 

“You really don’t have to—” You blushed harder when he wrapped his long fingers around your ankle. You watched him dry your feet, his tongue swirling around the rest of his lollipop. He discarded the stick in the bin just like you had. 

“Almost done.” He squeezed your leg gently before letting it go. “You need socks to warm you up, your toes are ice cold.” 

Your thought immediately went to your favorite pair of fuzzy socks, the blue ones. The ones that were the same color as Hyunjin’s paint on his fingers last night. “First drawer.” You showed him your dresser. “There’s blue fuzzy socks, they’ll keep me warm.” 

He left you by the bed to fumble around in your drawer. You watched him open it as realization hit you like a truck to the face at the same time.

How drunk do you have to be to forget that? “WAIT—” 

You usually stored your faithful bullet vibrator in your bedside table after cleaning it—but not this morning. Being in a hurry a little you just threw it in the first drawer before going with Chae for coffee. 

Hyunjin turned to you, his cheeks a little darker than they had been a few seconds ago but with a reassuring smile. 

“Don’t worry.” He returned to the dresser, pushing its contents around, perfectly at ease as if he were in his own home. As if he hadn’t just found your favorite sex toy in your socks drawer. “No shame. Actually I have almost the same model… I think mine is a little older. And it’s blue.” 

You lay down on your bed, dizzy. You expected to wake up anytime soon because there was no way Hyunjin The Weed Dealer, the same guy who had a frog in his pocket less than two hours ago, had just dumped on you the info about which bullet vibrator he personally owned—and what color it was. 

You heard the drawer being closed back… footsteps… your eyelids were too heavy to keep them open for more than a second at a time, but you saw Hyunjin towering over you next to your bed, then he put socks on your bare feet. You immediately recognized the soft fabric of your cobalt blue fuzzy socks. 

The sudden warmth of your apartment had made you sleepy. Hyunjin gently lifted your legs onto your mattress and made sure you were lying comfortably, on your side, with a blanket over you. Real-life Disney prince. He gave your forehead a kiss, but you grabbed his shirt when he pulled away. 

“Sleep here?” you managed, fighting to keep your eyes open. You felt relaxed, like you were floating on a cloud. “I mean, if you want…”

Hyunjin sighed, a soft smile on his face. “You sure?” 

You scooted over to make space for him on your bed and he nodded. “Yes okay, alright. It’s probably best I keep an eye on you.” 

You watched him take off his hoodie, revealing a black t-shirt with a colorful abstract design on it. He also removed his socks for good measure and announced he was going to pour you and himself glasses of water for the night—which he did—before lying down next to you. 

He was so close to you, so beautiful. His eyes found yours and he blinked slowly, almost like a cat, cupping your cheek gently to pull you in for a chaste kiss. “Goodnight, Tipsy.”

“Goodnight, Fairytale.” Hyunjin chuckled at the nickname, and you fell comfortably asleep by his side soon after. 

It was still dark when you woke up. You felt warm, unnaturally warm, and it took a few seconds to remember everything. 

You were in your bed but you weren’t alone. You were buried under the covers, your back pressed flush to Hyunjin’s chest, his arm keeping you against him. You could feel his steady breathing in your hair. You could also feel his cock against your lower back. 

You inhaled sharply, utterly stunned. You closed your eyes again but it was too late—a rush of heat spread all over your body, ending its course in your core. The smell of him was strong and intoxicating. Hyunjin let out a soft moan when he squirmed gently in his sleep, pressing himself closer to you, causing you to become wet immediately. 

You gulped thickly—your mouth was dry and all of your brain cells were focused on the delightful pressure of Hyunjin’s concealed erection against you, his body around yours, his weight in your bed. You couldn’t tell if it was from your sudden arousal or drinking a little more than usual this evening, but you absolutely needed to use the bathroom. 

Unfortunately for you, you were mostly sober by now, causing you to overthink. If you got up, Hyunjin would wake up. Would he be embarrassed about his boner? You certainly didn’t need to let him know that you had felt it. Or that it had made you wet. If anything, maybe leaving the room for a minute would allow him to relax.

You tried telling yourself it was all a normal reaction of his body, nothing specifically about you. As if Hyunjin hadn’t hungrily made out with you earlier at the park. As if there had been no dry humping, no nothing. God, you’re really stupid sometimes, you told yourself.

As delicately as you could, you pulled your way out of Hyunjin’s warm embrace. You really wished you didn’t need to get up, that you could just stay there—you couldn’t remember feeling this comfortable, this cozy, in a long, long time. 

Hyunjin groaned as you got up and walked away, making sure to grab one of the two glasses of water on your way out. You didn’t even acknowledge him as you left, deciding to go with your plan of staying silent about the… issue.

By the looks of it, Jisung’s room was still empty. You made your way to the bathroom, emptying the glass of water in one large gulp, soothing your parched mouth. The light blinded you a little and the mirror confirmed that your trip in here was a good idea, especially with Hyunjin in your bed—you looked like absolute shit. 

You checked on your arm too—the burn was obviously still there, but you barely felt it and it didn’t look infected or anything. In a way, you were almost grateful for it. If it weren’t for your fall by the fire, you wouldn’t have needed to use the bathroom at the same time as Hyunjin. Still, you applied a cool compress on it while trying to tame your hair.

Nothing could have prepared you for how wet your panties were, though. You gazed at them, the sweet scent of your arousal hitting your nostrils. With a sigh, you decided to clean up quickly—you washed your face and your teeth and tried your best to clean yourself up, wondering if being this wet for a weed dealer was any kind of normal. Wondering if it mattered. Hyunjin was kind, thoughtful and funny. He was weird but he was sexy, and he had given you your best kiss so far in life. 

You couldn’t possibly put these panties back on. You discarded them in your laundry bag, grabbing a simple pair of shorts instead, also choosing to change into a tank top and drop the socks, despite not really wanting to take Hyunjin’s hoodie off, so you brought it back with you in the room, leaving it near the one he had been wearing all evening.

Thankfully, some of his scent had lingered on your skin, your hair. 

You immediately noticed that Hyunjin had shifted position—and that some water had disappeared from his glass. When you returned to your spot on the bed, still warm from earlier, he rolled over to face you.

“Everything alright?” he whispered, sliding his face closer to yours. 

You couldn’t help but smile. Even in the mostly dark room, you could see his large eyes, could make out the ring on his plush lip. Everything about him was mysterious, beautiful, endearing. Alluring. “I’m alright. Are you?”

“I am.” He tilted his head, looking at you from head to toe. “It’s kind of warm, isn’t it?” He chuckled, caressing your bare arm, causing you to shiver a little too violently. You hoped he didn’t notice that.

“I can find shorts for you too,” you assured. You were pretty sure Jisung wouldn’t mind you raiding his closet while he was out. “I’ll be right back.” 

But you didn’t move and neither did Hyunjin. You just kept staring at each other in silence, eyes on each other’s mouths. 

“Can I be honest with you?” Hyunjin asked under his breath, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt and playing with it. 

You took a deep breath, feeling the urge of touching him too. You pressed your hand on his side. His firm body was as warm as a furnace under your palm, even with the absence of covers. “Of course, Hyunjin.” 

“I’m really glad I stayed the night.” His hand made it under your shirt but stayed respectfully on your waist. Still, you wished you wore panties under your shorts—you’d stain them if he kept touching you, even just like that. 

You moved closer to him, no longer denying to yourself that you were seeking to feel his erection against you once again. You pressed a thigh in between his, running a hand through his short, disheveled hair. “I’m really glad you stayed too.” You bit your lip. Your heart was beating fast and you could feel blood coursing between your legs. Could also feel the fabric of your shorts becoming wetter by the second. You pushed your thigh upwards, just a little, just enough—until you felt him, still hard, through his jeans.

Hyunjin’s fingers dug into your waist and his eyelids fluttered a little. His exhale ended in a sigh as he pulled you as close as he could. “Can I kiss you again, Tipsy?”

You didn’t even respond—you just kissed him. He took your mouth, his ring digging into your lips, his tongue twirling around yours. His mouth tasted vaguely sweet from the remnants of many lollipops and a little bitter from the weed. You moaned when he bucked his hips, rubbing himself on your thigh. 

You kissed him harder, deeper, running your hands all over his body to feel him. His strong arms, his sharp jawline, his soft cheeks. Hyunjin grunted when you slid your hands under his shirt to feel his abdomen, then gave some attention to his nipples. 

“We—we don’t have to,” he stammered. But he was still fucking himself onto you and your cunt was throbbing. 

“But I want to,” you replied, pulling away from him to look into his eyes. “Do you?”

Hyunjin’s face twisted in pain or pleasure. “Fuck—I want you so bad.” 

He kissed you again and you lay your hands flat on his chest, teasing his nipples with your thumbs. Just brushing them gently, applying different kinds of pressure depending on the little sounds he produced when you did so, and how hard his hips jerked, too. 

But as Hyunjin was burying his hands into your shorts to knead your ass, you left his chest to undo the button of his jeans, then slid his zipper down. He hissed against your mouth, letting out sounds that could rival those of a wild animal. “I’m so hard,” he whined. “Fuck…” 

“Let’s take care of that.” You kissed his cheek and managed to pull his jeans down, although it was a little difficult because he was, indeed, so hard. 

You palmed his bulge over his boxers and he buried his face into your neck, kissing you there, biting you there, too. You suppressed a moan, remembering that, after all, you weren’t alone in the apartment. His cock felt good under your touch, even through the fabric. Firm, stiff. Warm. Hyunjin rolled his hips slowly, meeting your movement with gentle thrusts, his mouth devouring your neck. “Your skin is so soft,” he whispered, his tongue gliding on your collarbone. 

“So is yours,” you commented, smiling as you kissed him. 

He helped you, wiggling himself out of his jeans—soon enough, they were being kicked off the bed and Hyunjin pulled you on top of him, rolling on his back. You settled your knees nicely on either side of him, pressing your core to the swell in his boxers, never breaking the kiss. “Can I take this off you?” he asked, pulling at your tank top. 

You nodded your approval, your lips separating only to let the fabric pass over your head. Hyunjin let out a growl when he caught a glimpse of your bare tits, immediately cupping them in his big hands, playing with them, making them bounce, teasing your nipples. He was entirely too clothed to your liking, so you asked silent permission to rid him of his t-shirt—and he actually took him off himself.

You couldn’t even admire the view for more than a few seconds before Hyunjin pulled you close to his chest, your tits squeezed against him. He kissed your neck, one hand in your hair, the other disappearing into your shorts. When his fingers reached your folds, he bit back a moan, finding you just as wet as you had been before your pointless clean-up in the bathroom. 

“Fuck, I need you so bad…” He brushed his fingers on your pussy, coating them with your slick. “I won’t last, I need you.”

You ignored his pleas, largely distracted by the friction of him on your cunt which disappeared when you retreated further down his legs to pull his boxers down, finally.

And that was the closest you ever came to a hands-free orgasm. His cock sprung free, hard, flushed dark. Leaking. It was pretty, adorned with a few veins—the size of it sent a throb up your clit and a rush of warmth all over your body. You hummed in appreciation, wasting no time to release some spit onto his length, eager to feel him skin to skin. 

His nice, smooth cock felt like silk and velvet at once under your hand. You spread your saliva onto his tip, giving him a few strokes, watching as his face came undone. Feeling him throb under your touches. “I won’t last,” he whined again. “Let me see your pussy too.” 

While you were one to enjoy taking your time, that was just not the mood for tonight. You let go of his cock and he took control again as he lay you next to him, working on taking your shorts off you. 

He couldn’t resist tugging at his cock as he spread your legs open using his knee, taking in the sight of your pussy. “Oh my god, Tipsy…” He immediately reached for you, his fingers finding your wetness again. “So smooth… so wet.” 

You clenched around nothing when he pressed three digits flush against your core—and his fingers were long enough that he covered a lot of the area—but he had to cover your mouth with his free hand when he pushed two of them inside of you, muffling your whimpers. “Hyunjin—” 

But he took his time, stretching your hole, getting to know the feeling of your intimacy. You caressed his thighs, his lower abdomen, teased his cock, while Hyunjin slowly finger fucked you. He leaned over, taking your nipple between his pretty lips and swirled his tongue around it, eliciting more gasps and strangled noises out of you. 

He buried his fingers deeper inside you, massaging your walls, curling them in a search for your most sensitive spot. “Need to stretch you,” he said against your mouth. “Need you to be able to take all of me.” 

You melted when Hyunjin used his thumb to tease your clit, finding it rather easily. He used your own slick to ease his movements as he rubbed slow circles around it, causing you to bite into your own fist. For fuck’s sake—how deep could his fingers reach? It seemed as if he was taking all of the space inside of you. 

Your arousal was smeared all over his hand—you could feel it, see it, and Hyunjin kept up his pace, sinking his fingers inside of you and twirling them around to tease you. When you bucked your hips to fuck his hand from below, Hyunjin hissed, biting his pierced lip. 

“Hyunjin,” you breathed, grasping at his cock. 

He kissed you slowly again but not for long—you moaned when he pulled his fingers out of your hole, straightening himself on the bed. He looked a little too good there in the dimly lit room, with his toned body and his hand coated with your cream. He gave his fingers a few kitten lips, taking in the taste of you, before licking himself clean in earnest. “You taste sweet, Tipsy.” His cock twitched. “Some day, I’ll eat your pussy for hours and hours if you let me.”

You quivered at his declaration, a puddle of your slick forming underneath you. How could he have such an effect on you? 

How could he not? 

Hyunjin got up from the bed, his erection bobbing to the rhythm of his movements. You couldn’t look away. You couldn’t wait until he fucked you with his big, smooth cock.

He reached for his pants, which he had left on your dresser. “I stole a condom from Bang’s bathroom.” With that, he laughed.

You laughed too, unable to resist touching yourself as he retrieved the condom from his pocket. You played with your tits and teased your cunt a little under Hyunjin’s attentive stare. 

“You’re so pretty, Tipsy.” He wrapped his hand around his cock, watching you. “I’d watch you do that all day.”

You spread your legs open for him, exposing yourself, teasing your entrance with your fingers. He made you feel beautiful. Desired. “But I want you, Hyunjin. Need you here.”

“Show me where, baby. Tell me where you want me.” He leaned against your dresser, stroking himself slowly. “Tell me how you want me fuck your tight cunt.”

“Here.” You easily slid a finger, then two into your hole, curling them immediately to reach your g-spot. “Please.”

With no hesitation, Hyunjin pulled your drawer open to retrieve the vibrator he had seen earlier before joining you on the bed again. “Let’s have a little bit of fun, yeah?”

Hyunjin carefully removed your hand from your pussy, but licked your fingers clean. Then he positioned your legs to his liking and asked you to close your eyes. 

You felt the familiar shape of the toy on your folds as Hyunjin carefully coated it with your slick. He pulled it away then, causing you to whine your complaints. 

But then, he pressed his big hand on your inner thigh, pushing your legs wide open, and the small vibrator returned to your clit. 

And then Hyunjin activated the toy. 

You cried out, throwing your head backwards, your back arching into the toy involuntarily. The vibrations echoed through your body, creating waves of pleasure that took you away, away from it all. It was just you, the toy on your clit, and Hyunjin’s gentle voice as he was experimenting with different ways to tease you with the vibrator.

“Is this better?” He loosened his grip on the toy a little, letting you rub yourself against it to your heart’s content while he touched you all over, your thighs, your waist, your tits. “You feel good, Tipsy?”

“Yes, yes,” you panted, losing yourself in the steady pace at which you were fucking yourself onto the toy. It was so good, despite it being the same fucking toy you used pretty much every day. And yet the stimulation it provided was nothing compared to the feeling of Hyunjin’s fingertips holding said toy against your folds, or the sweet pain it elicited when he twisted your nipple or gently bit into your knee as he watched you.

You managed to keep your eyes open long enough to catch a glimpse of Hyunjin wrapping his hand around his cock, jerking himself off at the same speed as you were rolling your hips. You clenched at that—this unexpectedly beautiful man leaking precum on your thigh while he touched himself to the sight of your cunt, hissing whenever you moaned or throbbed, or if you touched him. 

You found his thigh, digging your nails into his skin. “Won’t you fuck me?” Your head was spinning—you were quickly climbing to reach your high, feeling the pressure of it in your core.

Hyunjin changed the angle of the toy, sensing your imminent orgasm and preventing it. You squirmed on the bed, holding back moans of desperation, but Hyunjin didn’t help at all by momentarily letting go of it entirely to reach for the wrapped condom he had left nearby instead. If you had been able to hold half a coherent thought, you would have understood that your dry spell had made you touch-starved, causing you to be a little more needy than usual. As in, at this moment, as you watched Hyunjin slowly apply the condom on his pretty cock, it felt as if you would die if he didn’t put it in you right this second. 

And he still didn’t fucking put it in you. 

He slid the toy gently to tease your hole but not pushing it in—just tracing circles around it, applying pressure. “You smell good, Tipsy.” You could smell yourself, could smell him, the sweet scent of his sweat, his breath. It made you dizzy.

“Just fuck me,” you insisted, still trying to get your hands on him, but him not really letting you. 

He smirked at you—a soft smirk, not wicked, not teasing. Hyunjin was simply pleased with himself. The smirk grew wider when he went to tease your nipples with the toy, coating your tits with your juices. “Nice tits, Tipsy.” He nudged your legs open again with one gentle push of his knee. “My balls hurt,” he added, aligning himself with your entrance. “I'm gonna fuck you so deep…”

You locked eyes with Hyunjin, mouth gaping, as he coated his tip on your wet cunt, rubbing your clit several times with it, causing your entire body to be engulfed in heat. Hyunjin—the weirdo, the stoner, the fairytale—apparently had a very unique way of fucking that was both very slow and not at all. Precise would be the right word. He did everything he was supposed to do to bring you closer, to make waves of pleasure roll within you, as if he had known your body forever. As if he wasn’t a semi-stranger with good weed and a nice cock. But maybe it was the color of his soul behind his large dark brown eyes that captivated you the most. The tattoos on his arm, the feeling of his lips on yours. Maybe it was all of those things that made you crave him like that. Or maybe he was just a fun guy who was good in bed. Did it really matter? 

Hyunjin pushed himself inside you, his breath hitching as your warmth engulfed him. You let out a moan when he sank down further, stretching you open, his cock taking up all of the space inside you. He gave a few thrusts, easing himself into your tight hole, and the sound of it almost made you cum. The wet noises of his cock in your cunt, his repressed growls… 

He lowered himself onto you with a sharp thrust of his hips. You cried out when Hyunjin bottomed out, but he kissed the moans out of you, busying your mouth. His lip ring dug into the supple skin of your lip but you loved it. You loved everything he made you feel, the perfect stretch of his cock, his hand in your hair as he slammed into you relentlessly. 

You couldn’t focus on more than one thing at a time. The vibrator, still functioning, forgotten on your stomach. Hyunjin pulling on your hair, exposing your neck to him—his teeth sinking into your skin there, biting down on you to muffle his uncontrollable moaning and grunting. Hurried lovemaking. 

“Cum with me,” he begged. “Your pussy… so good…” 

You kissed the side of his head and gazed at his perfect face when he pulled away a little. You touched him, feeling his toned body, his back, his ass. His arms. 

Hyunjin’s knees went limp when you carefully brought his arm to your mouth to kiss the rose tattoo. “Are you close, Fairytale?” You kissed the ink again, a wet kiss with your mouth open, coating it with your spit. 

Hyunjin slowed down his thrusts, tilting his head to the side as he watched you cover his tattoos with kisses, but always returning to the rose to make out with it the same you would if it were his lips. Or his cock. Twirling your tongue on the petals, gently sucking in the flesh there. 

He throbbed inside you and you were so on edge, so sensitive, that you felt it. And again. But this time, his eyes rolled a little at the back of his head, and he pulled his arm away from your mouth but only to dive in for another passionate kiss. “You’re fucking ruining me, Tipsy,” he breathed against your mouth. He bucked his hips, burying himself to the hilt inside you.

Hyunjin didn’t stop fucking you when he retrieved the vibrator again to press it on your clit. If anything, he only fucked you harder, deeper. So fucking deep, his long, smooth cock reaching the exact spot that made you melt. That made you go crazy. 

You put your hand over his, guiding the toy where you wanted it to be—on your clit, yes, but also low enough that Hyunjin’s cock brushed against it every time he pounded into you. 

You were about to cum, and by Hyunjin’s fucked out look, so was he. His fucking became frantic, erratic, his face hovering over yours to steal kisses or mumble praises about your cunt into your ear. So tight, so warm, you take me so well, do you feel how deep you're taking me?

Hyunjin. You called out his name in a strangled voice, falling into a warm ocean, heart racing in your chest. The pressure between your legs was so strong that it almost hurt you. Hyunjin. You said his name again when he lifted one of your legs up, resting it against his chest, fucking you even deeper. 

Hyunjin. You moaned his name when your pussy clenched around him. “I’m so close—” you started but couldn’t even finish the sentence.

“C—Clen—Clenching—so—tight—” Hyunjin managed, his face flushed, a few lazy drops of sweat rolling down the side of his face. “Milk me, Tipsy. Milk my cock, milk me, milk me—” 

Hyunjin. You breathed his name when you came, the knots in your stomach coming undone, finally. You blacked out entirely as the whole world dissipated around you, leaving only your orgasm and Hyunjin’s pulsing cock that he was desperately driving into you. 

His orgasm was beautiful though, pretty moans and low grunts as he bucked his hips with every shot of cum that filled the condom. And it felt good to cum around his cock, your fluttering walls hugging it, hips spasming with his. Nobody should look this good when they came, but he did. And he came for a long time, same as you, until he collapsed on top of you, drained. 

The room fell silent when the buzzing of the vibrator disappeared. Except for your panting and Hyunjin’s, you couldn’t hear anything. You stayed like that for a while, Hyunjin’s fingers playing with your hair and you tracing shapes on the skin of his back. 

He kissed your jaw, your face, your lips. You kissed him back, moaning when he finally pulled out, his softening cock leaving a trace of your slick on your thigh. 

You respectfully looked away as he disposed of the condom and then Hyunjin helped clean you up with tissues. He kissed you often, but not always your mouth. Your wrist sometimes, or your waist, or your chin. 

You were sleepy again by the time he lay down next to you again in your filthy bed. But it strangely felt good to lie in a puddle of your own cum, especially with Hyunjin’s weight beside yours.

He rolled on his side until he faced you and smiled when he noticed your sleepy state. He had quite literally fucked you hard enough to induce a coma. He brushed his thumb over your eyelid, kissing your nose gently. “You okay, Tipsy?”

“So good.” You closed your eyes, nuzzling into him, forehead pressed on his chest. “You okay, Fairytale?”

Hyunjin kissed the top of your head. “So good. You sleep now, okay?” 

You fell asleep to the sound of his breathing as it gently slowed down. He was so warm and he felt so good against you. You felt sore between the legs and you liked it.

When you woke up, Hyunjin wasn’t there anymore.

In fact, you woke up so abruptly that you thought you had dreamed it all. If it hadn’t been for the messy state you were in and the soft ache between your legs, you would have thought you had somehow dreamed the whole encounter. 

Your phone vibrated again and you searched for it on the floor, among the clothes that had been discarded here and there. It was still dark outside but not as much, and your phone informed you that it was almost 5 in the morning. 

You didn’t even look at the notification at first. You stared at the empty space in your bed where Hyunjin should have been. You looked around the room, easily noticing that his clothes were gone. He was gone.

There were three red lollipops on your bedside table, and a full glass of water. The hoodie he had lent you was neatly folded on your chair.

You drank some water but it was hard to swallow it, as if there was a lump in your throat. You checked your phone in the end, seeing it was a series of texts. 

Unknown Sender: Hanji gave me your number. Hope it’s ok. It’s Hyunjin btw

Unknown Sender: I’m sorry I left. I wasn’t sure if you’d want me there when you woke up. I went by the park on my way home and Chives was still there

Unknown Sender: I brought it with me. Still had the old aquarium from when I was a kid and my dad bought me a goldfish

Unknown Sender: I had a nice night with you. Hope I’ll see you again soon, Tipsy

And, attached to the last message, was a picture of Chives in an aquarium. The frog rested peacefully on a rock that Hyunjin had undoubtedly taken from the pond at the park.

You hadn’t dreamed him—you still felt the ghost of his cock in your pussy, he had left lollipops by your bed, and now he had texted you. And yet it didn’t feel real, for some reason. Even if it didn’t matter. Even if it was just for fun, because both of you were a little lonely and moderately horny. 

You lay back on your bed, resting your face on the pillow where Hyunjin’s had been some time ago. It still smelled like him. Like paint thinner, like cigarettes, like outside air, like roses, like weed. Like you. 

When you woke up for real—just past noon—you actually felt slightly dazed. Not enough to throw up, but just enough to let you know that it had been a rough night, especially for someone who isn’t used to partying. Or who had never been fucked his hard once in her life. 

Your phone battery was dead so you plugged it in before putting the hoodie on and grabbing the first pair of sweatpants you found in your dresser to go get more water—you were parched. You’d rehydrate a little and head to the shower to wash last night off you. Your hand ghosted your neck, your lips, your pussy, recalling Hyunjin, recalling the look in his eyes when he had pressed his hard cock against you…

Outside of your room, you heard quiet voices and slowed down, not particularly fond of the idea of anyone seeing you in the state you were in… You pulled the hood over your head, Hyunjin’s hoodie protecting you from unwanted attention, and entered the kitchen. It was empty—the voices came from the dining room.

“Y/N, is that you finally?” Jisung asked and you heard his footsteps coming towards the kitchen. “Hey, you—oh my god…” 

Your hand still on the fridge door handle, you turned to look at your friend, making sure to keep your movements slow as you were a little lightheaded. 

“She literally is wearing his hoodie,” Jisung said to whoever was in the dining room. 

You let go of the fridge to cross your arms over your chest and glare at him. “The fuck, Ji?” 

Chae and Minho appeared behind Jisung, shocked expressions on their faces. So Chae and Jisung were talking to each other again? With Minho present in the room especially?

Why did this morning feel more like a dream than last night did? 

“You actually brought back the frog boy here last night,” Minho stated without shame, and you blushed at the realization that he and Chae had most likely heard a lot more than they—or you—needed to…

Frog boy. You closed your eyes to take a deep breath, doing your best to appease your racing heart. Walk of shame but make it a million times worse as your own friends try to roast you for bringing a guy home for once. 

“Frog boy?” You couldn’t help but be offended despite the humiliating situation you were in. “Also, let’s not pretend like the two of you,” you pointed at Chae and Minho, “didn’t do some unholy stuff last night and many other nights before! And you were out doing god-knows-what, Ji!” 

“No need to get all defensive,” Minho replied, raising his hands in vindication. “Meant no disrespect. But a dude walking around with a frog at a party is just not something you see every day, y’know?” 

“How do you know about Chives anyway? Did Felix tell you?” Your brain could still only barely process last night, but you knew that Felix knew about the frog—if the damn frog was such a big deal to them.

Jisung chortled. “The frog has a name. I repeat, the frog has a name. Chives?” But he had pulled his phone out and showed you a picture that had been shared on social media. You recognized Chan’s basement. The focus of the photo was actually the video game gang, but you could clearly see Hyunjin behind them, carefully holding Chives. 

“I’m sure he’s a good guy,” Minho added. “But why the frog?”

“Leave her alone!” Chae punched Minho in the shoulder and shoved Jisung away from you.

You were a little too hungover and definitely too shocked to fully appreciate the fact that Jisung could stand being in the same room as Chae again—and interact with Minho and her—but you noticed it regardless. 

“Don’t answer him!” Chae crossed her arms over her chest. “Come on, guys, give her some space, she just woke up. Who cares if she slept with frog boy?” 

The boys left with quiet laughter, but you were relieved to hear the conversation shift to something else entirely as they walked away. Chae turned to you. “Are you ok?”

You nodded. “Except for these two dickheads, I’m fine.” You finally poured yourself a glass of cold water and drank a little. “Don’t call him that, okay? His name is Hyunjin, and he’s really nice actually.”

Chae’s smile was telling, but she gave you a minute as she looked into the fridge. “Let me fix you some breakfast while you shower,” she offered. “I was going to make some soup anyway.”

“Thank you.” You emptied your glass of water, wrapping yourself tighter into the hoodie. 

“So, is it gonna be a thing? Hyunjin and you?” Chae asked, her voice low, making sure to be heard by you only.

You shook your head. “Nah. He applied for an exchange next semester. He wants to go to Paris. Doesn’t seem like the kinda guy that commits to a girl anyway, does he?” 

Chae shrugged. “I didn’t know he wanted to leave. That’s too bad. He really does sell the best fucking weed.” She got to work, peeling a carrot. “But I guess he also doesn’t seem like anything, you know. I can’t get a read on him at all. He doesn’t look like a real weed dealer… He’s weird, but not in a bad way. Didn’t seem like the kind of guy that carried a frog to a party.”

“He was saving it. The frog. He tried to save the frog.” 

Chae stared at you for a long time. “Oh.” 

You walked away, headed for the bathroom. “And the frog’s fine, by the way. He brought it home with him.” 

You showered and then started some laundry, leaving out the hoodie on purpose. You’d give it back, of course, but you’d rather it kept some of Hyunjin’s smell for the rest of the weekend. 

──to be continued!

Author's note: World, meet frog boy. Frog boy, meet world. Guys, when I tell you that this idea happened the very day following the Maxident release... And when I tell you I've been sitting on this for months now, not releasing it... will you forgive me? I wanted to make this a simple one-shot, you see, but I failed and it became a series. I went through lots of ups and downs and a lot of it was rewritten in the weeks following the preview.

In any case, I'd like to thank you my readers for your patience and your kindness! To those who choose to read and interact with my stories, thank you. Please know you are a huge source of motivation for me and I appreciate it.

── no frog was harmed in the writing of this fic! 🐸

Series + permanent taglist ♡ @septicrebel @cb97percent @changbinluvr @neosracha @hwan-g @streetlight-s @tanyas97 @hyun-bun @americanokisses @aimeexx @upallnight-s @hyunskizz @lotus-dly @thestarseeker @skzho @suhomylife

[hamsa0811]

Finally got to rereading this, and it feels like coming home🥹. Words can't describe how much i missed my fairytale princess Hyune. This story would make the best romcom movie in history istg. This seriously needs to be adapted into a movie, a series and a play. I would inject it into my veins if i could.

"“Hey Tipsy,” he said, barely loud enough for you to hear over the video game ruckus and the music upstairs. “You okay? I saw you fall.”"

My sweet soft spoken pretty boy🥹💜

"Hyunjin’s eyes went from your face to the arm you were holding then back to your face. His smile had disappeared and he bit his lip softly. “Wanna see something cool?” he asked, his smile returning, eyes wide open."

Oh i absolutely love it when he's being a mischievous little boy. He's acting like a little boy who did something he's not supposed to do. It's so endearing, it has me giggling and kicking my feet.

" A frog. Hyunjin was holding an actual live frog and was handing it out for you to see up close."

This is so fucking adorable. I'm losing my shit. I need to squeeze his cheeks so bad. Also, The whole bathroom part was so fucking hilarious. CHIVES 🐸 in the building.

He smirked at you—a soft smirk, not wicked, not teasing. Hyunjin was simply pleased with himself. The smirk grew wider when he went to tease your nipples with the toy, coating your tits with your juices. “Nice tits, Tipsy.” He nudged your legs open again with one gentle push of his knee. “My balls hurt,” he added, aligning himself with your entrance. “I'm gonna fuck you so deep…”

THIS IS SO ATTRACTIVE OMG!!!!!! He is INSANE. I had to put down my phone for a second and process THAT. “Nice tits, Tipsy.” EXCUSE ME!!!!!

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Melissa Cox

[straywrds]

SUPER BORED ﹙series masterlist﹚

This work is intended for adult audiences only.

pairing: weed dealer!hyunjin x (afab) reader | genre: non-idol au, college au, suggestive themes/smut | warnings: Hyunjin is a weed dealer, drug use (recreational), partying/drinking, fwb kind of vibes but with mutual pining, light angst, some fluff. Light-hearted little series. Explicit sexual content and smut. (18+ only)

Summary: He's the guy everybody has seen around but nobody actually knows anything about except that he's an art major and sells weed...

Chapter 1: Wanna see something cool? Chapter 2: Who knows what goes on in a frog's mind? Chapter 3: Do you know what your heart wants? Chapter 4: Shall we get going, mademoiselle? Chapter 5: (mini chapter) Hyunjin's Interlude Chapter 6/Finale: title tba (to be released)

[hamsa0811]

Ramadan is over, which means i get to reread one of my favorites again *all of Mari's stories are a favorite btw*💜💃🏻. I've missed my frog boy so much🥺💜.

[straywrds]

intended souls | a lullaby on his throat chapter five

pairing: demigod!hyunjin x f!reader | word count: 13k | genre: mythology au, romance | warnings: adult and sometimes dark themes ; complicated feelings ; angst ; elements of contemporary fantasy ; explicit sexual content. This work is for adult audiences only.

You had known it before, but you were certain now—you would love him even if it annihilated you molecule by molecule. It was not something you could control and yet it felt like a choice, a conscious decision. You loved Hyunjin, and for as long as your heart would beat and perhaps even after, you would continue to love him. 

One never really gets used to solitude. 

There is no getting used to loneliness, there is only an illusion of it. The origin of this mirage most often comes from one’s foolish desire to be anything but hollow. Because, at its core, isn’t this what loneliness is? To be lacking something, something substantial enough that its absence alters us? Not everything can cause such a feeling. Loneliness, the true kind. Not everything holds enough weight for us to be off-balance once it is taken away from us. Or rather, once it is taken from within us. 

Sometimes, it can feel as though something precious melted and disappeared, or like it waited while we were looking the other way before sneaking out. There is violence in that, in this betrayal—it’s difficult to process the shift when we do not see it unfold. 

Other times, solitude is expected—but only truly lonely people can understand such a thing. Some people are made lonely and others are born lonely. In this case, it is much like a curse, something that follows us everywhere we go, lurking, but never far. 

In this case, it feels like the beautiful and precious thing has been denied to us. Like, perhaps, we failed some sort of test and were proven unworthy of it. There is no suitable analogy for it—we could compare it, however, to having our chest cut open with a badly sharpened knife before our heart is torn away. Most of the time, they don’t bother sewing us back up, and then we become the wound that was inflicted upon us. Bleeding, raw, unsightly enough that people look the other way so they don’t have to see it.

Only the best things can cause this sort of pain, only the most beautiful things can become so foul, so terrible. 

When something makes you fly high, it means the fall is harder, more brutal, but unfortunately not lethal.

You never got used to solitude.

It followed you all your life, really—at one point, you told yourself that you were meant to be alone, so you tried to embrace it. And you did so successfully, but to embrace and to get used to it are two very different concepts, and, in fact, they have nothing to do with one another.

It was as you reflected on solitude that you came to realize that a large room full of people sounded a little like the ocean. Murmurs of conversations came all together to form a whole, the sound of it echoing on the walls and the high ceiling, like ripples on water. At its faintest, when fewer people were speaking, you could swear it sounded just like a river. 

It reminded you of the river that ran through the city, coursing in curves, flowing gently and delicately, with pretty lights reflecting on it. The music of a violin playing and tickling your ears.

There were, more or less, three hundred guests attending the gala tonight. 

It changed nothing to the fact that you had never in your life before felt as alone as you did in that moment, surrounded by people you knew and by strangers, too, in a place that ought to be familiar but wasn’t really. 

The sea of them continued to whisper and talk and laugh, the sound of it often punctuated with glasses clinking or chairs scraping on the old floor when people pushed themselves up or sat down. A group of four passed near you as they returned from outside, smelling faintly of cigarettes and winter. You recognized one of the four as the head curator of a museum in Italy, one that you had visited during your Master’s and that you had particularly liked. The man, older now, noticed you and stopped as the rest of his group continued toward their table, a little farther down the room. 

“It’s an honor to be invited here tonight,” the man told you, and you had to look up so you could look him in the eyes, or rather, to pretend that you were still human. He shook your hand, but in the end held both your hands in his, squeezing them. “I remember when you were a student, coming to the museum every day… I knew then that you were special. Congratulations, dear.” 

You offered him a smile and a thank you, doing your best to look like you meant it. You did mean it, only you couldn’t figure out if it was relevant. If he had truly believed that something set you apart from the masses years ago, wouldn’t he have told you then?

Why wait until now to do it?

The background noise changed when the crowd began to clap politely. You looked at the front of the room, where a small stage had been put in place for the night. It was nicely decorated with warm lighting and real flowers and plants. As you were sitting very close, you could smell them, fresh and sweet. The focus of the decor, however, was the few pieces from the Deities exhibition that had been brought here, into the museum’s atrium. There were three paintings. The first one, on the left, was Agatheia and her three children, depicting the demigoddess sitting in her lush garden, smiling as she was surrounded by Kyma, Prokopios, and Hyathos, who, however, was staring out at the horizon, not quite living in the present moment. It had always been one of your favorite pieces. 

The second, on the right, was a large painting showing most of the ancient gods. The scene did not exist in the myths—the gods were never mentioned to have been at the same place all at once, as too many of them were enemies or rivals. At the very top of the frame was Minhas, god of the skies, inevitability, and mortality. He could be seen watching the other gods from his high viewpoint, observing all of them pensively.

Just below, Amaranthos and Perikles were looking down upon the chaos that they had stirred while fighting one another—the first had a sword made of obsidian and the other, a spear made of gold. Kyma, being taken away by Thoros, with Agatheia holding her daughter’s hand, looking like she was trying to get her daughter back from the King of the Underworld. However, Prokopios lay dead at their feet, his skin drained of color, his eyes open and rigid. Sophronia was alone, the goddess of flowers sitting on a rock, weaving a crown of roses. Her gaze, however, was turned to Agatheia. Some texts said that the two goddesses kept a secret friendship, and that it was Sophronia who gifted Agatheia the most beautiful flowers of her garden. 

Beneios was there, not too far from Perikles, holding his dead sister’s body, her heart pierced by one of Perikles’ golden arrows. His expression could not be seen, but one could understand his pain and mourning in his posture and in the love with which he held his sister. 

At the center of it all was Ismene, on her island, tall and radiant. She stood, towering over the god of light himself—Feliks was with her, on his knees as though he was seeking atonement, or simply begging his aunt for something. There were tears in his eyes and they resembled sun rays, illuminating his despondent expression.

Hyathos was with no one else. Unlike Sophronia, he wasn’t just alone—he was lonely, an arm outstretched, his fingertips caressed by the light spilling from Feliks’ tears. He stood, his ankles caressed by tall grass, his long, soft-brown hair floating in the wind. The expression on his face was complex, often named by art historians as one of the best portraits of its time. He was yearning for something and yet dreading it at once, nostalgic, bittersweet. The more one stared at him, the more emotions appeared—grief, fear, envy, anguish, curiosity. His eyes, it seemed, held whole entire worlds inside of them. You had written well over a hundred thousand words about this depiction of Hyathos alone, and it seemed like there was just as much to say about it still.

The last of the three paintings had been placed at the center. With no great surprise, it was The Cypress Tree, the most sought-after and cherished painting from the exhibition. Even from here, it seemed like you could feel the warmth emanating from it, from its lifelike radiance. It reminded you of the way the sun used to look—a debate that was still ongoing, as some people perceived a change in the color and aspect of sunlight while others did not. Scientists were studying the phenomenon but absolutely nothing hinted that something had changed in the atmosphere, the sky, or with the sun—the sun was the sun, as it had always been. Only, to you, and to some others, it looked different, in a way that could hardly be explained with words. It was in these moments that you envied painters. You thought that Arthur Calverley, who had so beautifully painted sunlight in The Cypress Tree, would have been able to convey this new luminescence with accuracy.

You watched as a woman made her way to the stage, stopping behind the reading stand, lowering the microphone until it was at a comfortable height for her. She seemed at ease in her professional-looking cocktail dress, gazing at the vast room with a smile on her face, looking amused. 

The room fell silent almost instantly and all the heads turned in her direction, except for yours. Even as she began speaking and introducing herself as the Dean of the university that presented the Alden Breay Award. You had spoken with her a few times over the phone and again tonight, meeting her in the flesh for the first time. She was a hyper type of person, yet intelligent and witty. It showed as she spoke to the crowd, explaining how the award had come to exist. 

You, however, were contemplating how it would be you, very soon, standing on that stage, giving your speech. In front of all of these people and a handful of cameras. Tonight’s ceremony was one of the most highly anticipated of the year, maybe especially since it also happened to be the day you launched the first three books on Cipherian. The first one was a dictionary, and the second was an analysis and explanation of the language’s complex grammar, including its even more obscure dialects.

The last book was the one you hated most. Or loved most. Or, somehow, both at once. It was the one you had begun to write before you had even processed the fact that you had suddenly acquired this language—the one you had so ardently wished to share with Hyunjin. 

It was a huge book—a complete translation of the most important texts of the ancient myths, accompanied by comprehensive and detailed essays that you wrote, from the perspective of the only person on earth who could understand them completely. For now, at least, as you had no doubt that linguists and amateurs alike would soon know Cipherian as well as you did, or perhaps even better, rendering you useless once again. Some days, you couldn’t wait for it to happen, wanting nothing more than to be invisible and forgotten, knowing very well that it would leave yet another scar the day it would come true. 

It was that book you were the most proud of. You would write other books like it—had already started to do so—with more texts and more translations. Now that you knew the language they were written in, the ancient myths were deeper, more textured. More real, too, somehow. 

You did not pay much attention to the Dean as she spoke, instead you focused on the rest of the room, maybe trying to get used to the sight of all these people.

Jisung must have sensed your unease because he reached for your hand under the round table, squeezing it in his. He was most likely just as nervous as you were, considering how clammy his skin was. Yet you appreciated the gesture, turning to him with a joyless smile, to which he responded with an equally flat one. He looked especially nice tonight with his hair combed to the side and a fancy navy-colored suit. He was sitting between you and Seungmin, who also looked especially dapper in a charcoal outfit. 

You shared your table, also, with the staff from the museum. Minji sat across from you, obviously agitated but in a giddy kind of way, almost childish. You envied her—she was, a little, the girl you wished you had been at her age. But unlike Minji, you had been born lonely, and you could not change that. When Mrs. Yoo noticed that you were looking in her direction, she mouthed a gentle It’ll be alright at you, making you wonder if it was very apparent that you felt like you were about to throw up.

“Deep breaths,” Jisung whispered into your ear. He had sprayed a little too much cologne tonight, but its vivid scent served as an anchor. 

Deep breaths. Easier said than done. 

You put a hand over your chest in a lame attempt at calming down. You could feel your pulse through your ribcage, crazed and unsteady. 

Your fingers ran into something cool and you wrapped your hand around it, suddenly remembering the existence of the necklace hanging around your neck. 

A few hours ago, as you were getting ready for tonight, Jisung entered your hotel room with a small box. It’s for you, he said, handing it over. A gift. And he had never really been the one to buy gifts, so it was suspicious. The gift turned out to be an absolutely stunning yet delicate white gold chain with a small pendant. The pendant was a green garnet whose deep shade of viridian fascinated anybody who looked at it. It was reminiscent of the ocean and a forest at once, and everything in between. 

There’s no way you bought this, you told Jisung. Your reasoning was simple—he didn’t buy gifts, and if he was going to buy gifts, they wouldn’t be as nice as this necklace. Only someone with refined taste would pick this over other necklaces. And, lastly, there was no way in hell he could afford it, even if you paid him well. You chose this necklace?

The thing with Jisung is that he is a terrible liar. It was actually that very fact that led to the demise of your situationship. When you clearly began showing signs of the Catching Feelings disease, he recoiled immediately and was not inconspicuous about it, no matter how hard he tried. And you knew he tried just so he wouldn’t hurt you. And it was such a stupid thing to do, yet everyone did it—there was no way one could fully protect another from the truth. Nothing could soften the blow—it could only be delayed. 

Of course I chose it. But when he saw in your eyes that you didn’t believe him, Jisung added, The lady at the store helped me. Which made total sense, and you probably would have believed him if you didn’t suspect this necklace to be custom-made and worth several thousand dollars.

You wondered if maybe Jisung needed to get laid. After all, he had left this girl he had started seeing after you. He said things didn’t work out. He had been with her for less than a month, even less time than he had spent fooling around with you. After that had been the beginning of the chaos, and he had started following you anywhere—you were not aware of him seeing girls. So you figured that maybe he was hoping you would fuck him in exchange for this insanely expensive necklace.

Thing is, you could be convinced. Maybe you would suck his cock after the gala, in the car on your way back to the hotel suite that had been offered to you since it was closer to the museum than your apartment was. You knew it made him crazy when you looked him in the eyes as he spilled himself into your mouth. After that, you could let him fuck you in the hotel room, on the couch maybe, or against a wall. Jisung fucked desperately, always. You used to like it because you had believed he was desperate for you. You had been a fool, though.

You did not love him. There had been a time when you thought you loved Jisung. But that was before you knew what love was really like. 

You nervously fidgeted with the necklace, fully aware that daydreaming about letting your almost-ex hit it just to feel something was not the best coping mechanism. 

On stage, the Dean had just spoken your name, inviting you to join her so she could officially hand you the award you had been granted. Your heart jumped in your chest and it felt like it came to a stop, much like your breathing, or the flow of time. For a brief moment, silence reigned in the atrium. 

Your gaze flew upwards, lingering on the large skylight that the ceiling was made of. The sky was dark and raindrops rolled down the curved glass. 

The thing with solitude is it doesn’t matter if you’ve had it for a long time or not, if you expected it or not—it is always quiet and furtive and violent. And it hit you exactly at that moment. The magnitude of your loneliness. The weight of it—crushing and unforgiving. Maybe you had known for a while but hadn’t been brave enough to admit it to yourself.

You would never be truly happy again. Not without Hyunjin.

You had tasted what genuine contentment was like, you had known what true love felt like, and now everything was bland compared to it. There was no point in chasing a similar feeling because it wouldn’t exist, not without him. There would be days when you would feel joy but you would never be really happy. Something would always be lacking in your life, lacking from you—he had left, it felt like, thousands of little voids in your body and your soul. 

You did not want the award. You never asked for it. You let Seungmin and Jisung convince you that you should take it, if only for the monetary prize that would be split between you and the museum. You didn’t need money. You did not want it.

The person you wanted to share all of this with was gone. 

A comforting hand pressed itself in between your shoulder blades—Jisung gave you a gentle nudge as a reminder that you had to stand up. 

Your legs were weak, trembling yet stiff, but you managed to push yourself up, a little too aware that all the heads were turned toward you, now. As soon as you stood straight, the entire room erupted in enthusiastic applause, the sound of it echoing on the walls, made even louder by the acoustics of the room. You smoothed out your pretty ball gown before closing your hands into fists, your fingernails digging into your palm, as Jisung stood after you, now pressing his hand at the small of your back to invite you to come with him. He took his role of security guard very seriously, but then he had also taken himself very seriously when he had been head of security here, so it shouldn’t surprise you. 

“Let’s go now,” you heard him mutter as he guided you toward the front of the room, regularly looking around as if he was fully expecting doom to fall upon you. He kept you close. The plan was that he would wait by the stage while you gave your speech, but now you found yourself wishing he would climb up there with you just so you wouldn’t be alone. 

Then you remembered the rift between alone and lonely.

He did help you up the steps though, holding your hand until the last second and giving it a squeeze before releasing you. The spotlights were warm and blinded you enough that you could barely see more than a few tables away—you couldn’t even make out the far end of the atrium, for which you were grateful. You could only imagine it would be easier to read your speech.

The Dean welcomed you warmly, introducing you once again into the microphone while an assistant was bringing the trophy. It was smaller than you expected it to be, yet no less beautiful—made of glass, gold and bronze, it depicted a woman, Alden Breay’s wife, sitting at a desk and seemingly writing. It was his wife’s essay on geopolitics that had inspired him the award in the first place, because, at the time, institutions wanted nothing to do with an essay on politics written by a woman. Breay had to claim the essay as his for it to see the light of day. He had sworn that worthy scholars should never go unheard and ignored again.

You were handed your trophy, which was heavier than it seemed and cool to the touch. You looked at it for a few seconds while the applause gained in volume and ardor. A nervous smile painted itself on your lips, and you took a moment to observe the trophy again, on which your name had been engraved, followed by for her immense contribution to the world of history, linguistics, and art, which changed the world.

You put the trophy down, causing the applause to slowly come to a stop, but not before you heard a few familiar voices calling your name—Minji and Mrs. Yoo, but also your mother, your sister, and your uncle, who had traveled for hours just to be here tonight. Tears welled up in your eyes while the importance of the moment was trying to make its way in the deepest corners of your mind. 

From his spot, Jisung handed you the two sheets on which you had printed your speech—it had taken many hours to settle on a final version, and many people had helped. You unfolded it with shaking hands, staring at the words on the first sheet, reading the first sentence. Thank you for being here tonight. It is an honor to stand before you to accept this award.

Not inaccurate or anything, and yet. 

Almost painfully, you lifted your head, really looking at the room. Now that your eyes had adjusted to the brightness of the lights, you could see better, although the faces remained unreadable. There were so many people. You gave lectures sometimes or participated in various speaking engagements, but never in front of a crowd like this. You hadn’t even been this nervous during your PhD presentation.

You cleared your throat, reporting your attention to the sheets you were holding. You suddenly felt the urge to look at something familiar, at something comforting—and since the thing you desired most was not available, you turned around, glancing at the paintings behind you. The gods, the gods that you understood better now. You allowed your gaze to linger on Feliks underneath his cypress tree, and then on Hyathos and his heavy expression, and the rest of them. To you, they had become so real that it was hard to distinguish fiction from truth, but you had no desire to perceive reality anyway.

The room fell quiet—a silence so thick you could almost feel it on your skin as it reached you. You inhaled it when you took a deep breath to ready yourself, but as you opened your mouth to begin reading your speech, something shifted within you. It seemed like those words on this piece of paper—words that you had composed, typed, and printed yourself—were no longer accurate. 

You folded the sheets again, trying very hard to conceal the uncontrollable shaking of your hands. You remembered exactly at that moment the way it used to feel when you and Hyunjin would exchange emails back and forth, writing entire essays about the myths just for each other. How easy it had been with him—this, and everything else. There was so much that you wished you could talk about with him now that you truly understood the myths. 

At the beginning of your essay book, one could read, To you who made me love these stories more than I ever did - each and every one of these words is for you.

Maybe it did not matter. Whether he loved you or not. Because you loved him, and nothing could ever change that about you. And you loved that part of yourself, the part that had fallen in love with this honeyed-skin stranger. You loved the part of yourself that had allowed it to happen, that had gone with him for dinner the very night you met him. So the fact that he didn’t love you as much as you loved him only mattered in the sense that you were alone and would always be, but this love would always have a home in your heart.

“Uh…” You began, recoiling slightly when a slight screech echoed after your voice. You pulled away a little, making sure to speak a few inches farther so the microphone would work well. “I, uh, I spent hours writing this speech, but… But there is more I want to say. And of course, I want to say thank you to those who decided I deserve this award. Never in my life did I imagine something like this would happen to me. So I’m grateful, I really am. And yet—we all know how I came to make the discoveries I made, and so much of it relies on luck that I almost refused the award.”

That declaration was punctuated by murmurs across the room. The more you spoke, the easier you could breathe, it felt like. 

You went on. “But language… Language brings people together. To me, instead of being a barrier, it is a gate, an entrance into another culture. I always felt this way, even before Cipherian was Cipherian, back when we only knew a few words of it. And so I think this is why I’m here tonight—apart from the fact that I was persuaded by people close to me—because I believe in the importance of this discovery, regardless of my actual involvement in it. I want to keep writing about it. I don’t think I will have enough of my life to say everything there is to say about the beauty and the intricacy of it.

“You know how they say that learning a language changes you, alters your brain, the way it works, and the way it processes information. I’ve always known that to be true, but it was never as real as the day I sat down to read every word of the myths we had not yet been able to understand. I read about arra, a concept that doesn’t quite exist in our modern world. The authors of the myths thought that love came from light—among other sources, because it could also come from blood, or the ocean—and that it was visible to the naked eye. Love. Arra is what lights up someone’s eyes when they see their soulmate. But even soulmate isn’t quite that in Cipherian. The exact translation would be intended soul, as in, there is only one soul we are meant to bond with. To these people, arra could be seen on someone. And that changed me.”

At this, the crowd’s whispers grew a tad louder, but the voices were appreciative, impressed, even.

“I remember it. Arra. I remember when it once illuminated my eyes, and now that the light went out, I see the world a few shades darker, but at least I have a word that explains the phenomenon.” You paused then, the shaking of your hands calming down only for you to begin feeling it in your throat. “But that’s not all. Cipherian opens a brand new perspective on the concept of legacy. To them, it’s called syn hsar avīmhyphaei. Essentially, the literal translation of that is continuity. Because, what is legacy for us? Let’s put it simply—it is what we leave behind after we’re gone, which is not a concept that can be applied to the gods, can it? How could immortal beings perceive legacy the same way we do if they never cease to exist? Hsar means circle in Cipherian. Syn hsar avīmhyphaei is the circle that continues. The gods’ legacy is what always was and what always will be.

“We do not know well the authors of the myths and even less those whose stories, written in the even more obscure language of the gods, inspired them. But whoever they were had a sensitive and beautiful vision of life, an understanding of it that our brains can barely comprehend.

“So, I think, this is why I’m here tonight. I think it’s the only way I could make sense of this award—because I want people to read those books. I want people to open their minds to this new perspective on life, which I think changes us for the better. It rewires our brains and our hearts and forces them open in a painless, loving way. 

“Above all… I wish for people to come together. Exchange, debate, discuss, learn. Love. There is nothing that can be compared to it—the act of bonding with someone because of a shared passion, or a common goal. Maybe the authors took themselves for gods—maybe that was what they wanted us to believe, that their legacy did not follow the rules of time, that it had no beginning and no end. And I think they were right. Let the myths and Cipherian be the bridge that brings people together. Together, let’s create a new and more beautiful legacy.” 

The applause that followed your speech deafened you momentarily, but it wasn’t because of its volume per se, it was because, for those few seconds, nothing else existed, not even you. Your soul left your body for a short moment while you were recovering from the immense stress of speaking in front of such a crowd. The return was brutal—the spotlights, it seemed, were warmer than ever, and your dress felt awfully light all of a sudden, as though it did not cover enough skin.

You reached for your trophy and let Jisung escort you back to your table, except everyone on the way there stopped you to congratulate you or shake your hand. Assistants were, however, asking attendees to stand while they cleared some space, as the next part of the gala would be the core party where people could dance and drink, and have dessert after the dinner earlier.

You let Minji take you to a corner to touch up your eye makeup. She did so in silence with a concerned look on her face, a look that you knew very well by now. You hadn’t quite descended from the high of the speech—in fact, you couldn’t remember any of it, not even a sentence—but focusing on Minji’s strange behavior certainly felt like a gentle slap back to reality. 

“What’s going on?” you questioned as she handed you your lipstick, which had a nice, creamy peach color. You had too much money now, more than you wanted, so you bought things that cost a ridiculous price. This lipstick was one of these things. “Did I make a fool of myself?” Your heart sank in your chest.

Minji shook her head vehemently. “No, god, no!” she assured, looking properly shocked. “On the contrary—it was great. You were great. You didn’t even look nervous.” She waited until you had reapplied the lipstick and put it back into her purse. “I’m just really proud of you.” 

You knew there was more to Minji’s sudden mood shift so you didn’t believe her made-up excuse. You did trust her, though—you could only imagine that she was withholding information from you because she thought it was the absolute best thing to do at this moment. Maybe it had something to do with the annoying journalists from the red carpet—because there had been a red carpet even though you insisted it was absolutely not necessary. 

Have you guys been dating for a long time? Asked about you and Jisung, because he was effectively your date for the night—as your personal security, of course. 

I love your dress! Who designed it? The dress was nice and you had found it at a luxury shop. A few haute couture designers had approached you, offering to design you a dress for tonight’s event, but you had politely declined. 

With which of the gods would you most want to go on a date? A question you had assumed was some sort of bait, considering you had been ridiculed during your university years when you admitted having a crush on one of them. The way a girl has a crush on a guy that doesn’t exist, but it hadn’t stopped the others from giggling not just behind your back, but right at your face.

Most of these so-called journalists had requested a camera interview with you, and Seungmin had politely let them know there would be no such thing tonight.

You didn’t need media exposure. Cipherian, the myths, and even your essays were all over the news and the internet.  

“Thank you,” you finally told Minji, making yourself smile. “I owe you and the others a lot.”

“No need to be humble tonight,” she reminded you playfully. “How about I take your trophy upstairs to your office? Seems inconvenient to carry around.” 

It was excessively heavy indeed, but now that Minji was offering, what you really wanted was to go with her. Just to be away from all of these people for five minutes. Or maybe twenty.

Or maybe an hour.

“I’ll go with,” you said. You figured you ought to give her a little excuse just so she wouldn’t suspect anything. “There’s something I wanted to check anyway.”

A hand pressed itself on your back, and you recognized Jisung. “Nope, no work tonight.” He had a faint smile on his face when you turned to him. “Besides, you need to eat.” 

Jisung took his hand in yours, guiding you away from Minji and toward the tables covered in food at the other end of the room. Since the beginning of the night, it was more of the same—everybody who saw you waved at you or gave you a solemn nod, and you did your best to give the appropriate response, but your throat was shut tight and you just felt weird. Like you expected more from tonight, or perhaps less, in a strange way. 

Once you made it to the food, Jisung asked for a few random items on the table, and the server carefully put everything on a plate. “With two forks, please,” Jisung added. “Thank you.” 

You also offered the server a smile, just so people would at least believe you weren’t completely miserable. Jisung once again took your hand, so you could go sit somewhere to eat. You weren’t hungry, but you’d eat a few bites just to shut him up—or rather, just so he wouldn’t worry about you too much.

As you walked away, though, you caught sight of the plaque with the caterer’s name on it. It was a bakery somewhere in town, with a very funny name. Familiar in an excessively bittersweet way.

“BabyBread,” Jisung read on the plaque, stopping in his tracks and following your gaze. He chuckled. “That’s a weird business name. But kinda funny, isn’t it?” When he saw that you weren’t responding, he went on, “Do you know this place? The pastries look delicious.”

Did you know this place? Yes. But you hadn’t been inside the bakery per se. Hyunjin, however, intended to take you there for dessert after your first dinner together. Your first date, for all intents and purposes. Yet you yearned for it, for a memory that didn’t exist. You had never tasted the food made over there because instead, you and Hyunjin slow-danced outside. And it changed your life. And it changed you.

“Thank you sir,” the caterer employee retorted with a smile. “Freshly baked today by yours truly.” 

“Oh, are you the owner of the bakery?” Jisung asked, making small talk with this stranger. “The name really is something.”

“It’s an inside joke, but yeah, it’s me.” The young man offered both of you a wide, heartfelt smile. He turned to you. “Miss, I want to extend my congratulations on your achievement. I can’t wait to buy your books and read them.”

Two things went through your mind at that moment—the first was that you had a box with copies of the books upstairs and that you would have someone give them to him. The second was that Hyunjin, that first night, had said he knew the owner.

“Please speak to my assistant,” you told him. “Tell her I want you to have the books—I have some in my office.” Before he could refuse though, you continued. “Sir, excuse me, but… There is someone I know, a friend, with whom I almost visited your bakery once.” It was a little more than a year ago—time flew a little too fast to your taste. “He said he knows you.”

The man’s eyebrows raised in a pleasantly surprised expression. “Did he?” His smile softened. “Who is that friend we have in common, then? He never told me he knew THE woman who deciphered the gods’ language!” 

Jisung tugged at your arm but you let go of his hand. You closed in the distance between you and the table—the closer to it you got, the more you could smell the sweet scents emanating from it. 

“His name is Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin.” Simply uttering his name out loud like this felt like a free fall, and there was nothing you could anchor yourself to. 

The young man squinted for a couple of seconds and he tilted his head to the side, just slightly. “Yes, Mr. Hyunjin. We became acquainted when I noticed it was him in a clothing ad across the street…” He let out a soft laugh but the more he spoke, the colder your heart felt. “He used to visit my bakery quite often.”

You swore you could hear Jisung’s impatience and unease as he stood a little behind you. But this baker was the closest thing you had to Hyunjin in months, even though he was just someone who knew him. 

“He left the city,” you responded, your voice cracking unexpectedly. You cleared your throat, feeling the familiar prick of tears in your eyes. 

The man frowned. “Are you sure, miss?”

Out of habit, you glanced at Jisung, who had an unreadable expression on his face, but was still dutifully holding the plate of pastries with the two forks on it. For an instant, he seemed puzzled, and then forced himself to look neutral again.

“Y-Yes,” you replied, turning to the baker again. 

He nodded slowly before shrugging. “I could swear I saw him earlier.” He gestured vaguely at the room behind you. “Must have been a trick of the light.”

The free fall came to an abrupt stop when you landed in a pool of ice-cold water, then sank to the bottom of it, only to end your journey in lava. Too thick to move and too hot to breathe. Almost with fear, you turned around, looking at the ball taking place in the atrium. 

“Everyone looks so dapper and fancy tonight,” the man went on with a light tone—maybe he had seen something in your eyes. Maybe, for an instant, you had let your sorrow shine through them. “Probably got confused with someone else.”

Except there was one thing you were sure of, and it was that nobody who had a functional pair of eyes could ever confuse Hyunjin for somebody else. He looked too out of this world for that. 

You froze in place, scanning the faces before you, looking for the one you had been so adamantly yearning for. Could it really be? No, it couldn’t, right? 

Jisung intertwined his arm with yours again before you could sink any deeper. “We can eat later. Let’s dance. I like this song.”

The song had just begun. Jisung had never been one to dance, not like that. It was a slow-paced classical piece, one that you had never heard before, yet it sounded both nostalgic and sad. 

He left the plate on the nearest table and dragged you to the dance floor under the gazes of several people. You wanted to cry. You wanted to leave. You did not want to dance, but when Jisung put his hands on your waist, you let him. He was looking at you gravely, almost like he was sorry that it was with him you were dancing and not somebody else.

You loved him. Hyunjin. It had been foolish to love him but it was not the sort of thing one could control. You knew nothing about him except, you knew his soul. It felt like that. You didn’t know about his family—he avoided the topic always—and you didn’t know about his childhood either, but you knew about his deepest and darkest feelings. And it had been enough to make you fall in love with him. 

And now you saw him in everything.

You saw him in the river coursing through the city. You saw him in the cold nights and warm afternoons. You saw him in the strangeness of the world and in its beauty, too. He had become a part of you and that could never be undone, not even after he left. He had become a phantom limb, but the space he occupied in your heart had remained unchanged. You felt him in everything. You felt him in the smoothest silk of fancy hotel room robes. You felt him in the most poignant music, whether it was piano, harp, or cello. You felt him in the emptiness of your bed. In the emptiness of your cunt, and the one of your heart, too.

Jisung led the dance, holding you firmly as he did his best to sway beautifully among the other dancers. Your gaze lingered at many places as you danced—Jisung, the peculiar expression on his face as he held your waist as though he was running out of time. The skylight, displaying nothing but darkness and raindrops. The walls, displaying some of the most significant art the world had ever come to see. The crowd, some of them dancing to the rhythm of the sorrowful melody playing in the room. Others stood around and watched those who danced while drinking champagne. It made you crave more of it. Champagne, or something stronger.

You saw Hyunjin in everything. You saw the color of his eyes in a bottle of luxury cognac, you saw the color of his skin in a glass of expensive white wine, or in a jar of honey left by a sunny window.

You saw Hyunjin in the language of the gods. In the deep and intricate way the myths illustrated love and yearning. You saw Hyunjin in the madness that was taking over you—the one the gods called ceinōahk, a word whose literal translation was everyday love. The concept would be difficult to explain, but essentially, it describes a love that is as natural as breathing, cooking food, or looking at the sky. Actions done on a daily basis, out of need for survival or just because they make life better and are a part of it. You saw him in other words or in grammar rules. You saw him in the commas and other symbols that adorned the ancient texts, like the one you had named the ōleiandyi, for oleanders were the inspiration behind it. A straight line ending in what looked like a star but was a flower with five petals. It took you a lot of practice to get it right because of the specific shape of oleander petals. 

The oleandi’s line would be traced below a series of words that needed to be insisted on, with the flower placed at the end to further emphasize the importance of the sentence. It felt as though every word he had ever spoken to you ought to be adorned with the symbol.

Your mind was so obsessed, so broken, so consumed by him, that you even saw him here, tonight, standing across the room, his gaze on you. Staring at you as if he had never left. Like he had been gone for two or three lifetimes. 

You had known it before, but you were certain now—you would love him even if it annihilated you molecule by molecule. It was not something you could control and yet it felt like a choice, a conscious decision. You loved Hyunjin, and for as long as your heart would beat and perhaps even after, you would continue to love him. 

Even if it killed you. Even if it kept you alive in the most unfair of worlds, which was to say, a world without him.

Bet she sucked her way through that PhD. Sloppy.

The voice that echoed in Hyunjin’s head was so loud and invasive that it might as well have been his own, only it wasn’t. It was plaguing his thoughts the way his father used to. Like poison. Like a nightmare one cannot wake up from.

Like a smear of blood on the cuff of a white button-down.

It had dried already. The blood. Much like the voice haunting his mind, it did not belong to Hyunjin, and it would not go away, no matter how hard he scrubbed or how much handsoap he poured onto it. He knew he wasn’t supposed to get water on it because it was silk, but he needed it gone. 

Girls like her always act like they’re stuck-up nerds but next thing you know, they’re giving you a handjob in the bathroom at some wine tasting thing and ask you to finish on their tits.

Hyunjin only wanted to get some fresh air. He could never have predicted he would run into these pigs, men he had never even seen before.

He might have taken it as a sign that he shouldn’t have come here at all. Seungmin had given him ample amounts of warnings. “Are you sure about this?” his former manager had asked him when Hyunjin gave him the necklace that he got for you. “What am I supposed to tell her?” 

“Just don’t tell her it’s from me. You can tell her it’s from you, or Han, or a fan. I want her to have it. I’ll be there, but I’m not sure I’ll… talk to her.”  

Nobody else in the world knew how much danger you were in. He had tried to warn Han Jisung. He had begged him to keep you safe, but what could possibly protect you from the wrath of the cruelest gods? 

He would see you on the news sometimes, or on a documentary series. Each discovery, each translation was a new window for mankind to look into another world. He knew you were drawing a lot of attention to yourself with your work. From mortals. From gods.

He knew he was making it worse, too. Hyunjin did his best to avoid you and thoughts of you, but that was like asking an irredeemable heroin addict to stop thinking about his vice. 

They would kill you for it. They would kill you for understanding them, for understanding life the way they did. They would kill you to punish him for falling in love with you.

Hyunjin knew he took a risk by coming here tonight but he told himself he would stay away. That he would watch you being crowned with the award, being recognized by your peers, and that he would leave after. He knew what he had to do. Maybe he had known before, but it had all appeared clearly to him when he learned about your car “accident” a few weeks ago.

His father had called him selfish many times and it had taken all this time for him to realize he had been right all along. Weak, selfish, and self-absorbed. He should not have asked you to dinner that day at the museum. He should have walked out of there as soon as you made his heart jump in his chest. He should have run away when your words made his soul turn from a dull monochrome shade to vibrant with color. 

There had been something in your eyes. And it was still there tonight. It was difficult to explain it with words—perhaps you, who possessed the language he had once known but had been taken away from him, would know how to describe it. It was as though you were begging to be loved. Please love me, your eyes said. But stay away. 

He was running out of time. To love you. To save you. To make things right. But he was selfish, which meant he was here tonight so he could love you one last time.

She probably rode a dick for that award too.

Or took it in the ass.

I know a guy who can get us into the afterparty.

How about we go say hi and maybe get a few drinks in her?

Hyunjin only stepped outside for one minute because the sight of you in that green tulle dress overwhelmed him. It had been so long since he saw you, since he was in the same room as you, breathed the same air as you—he could only take so much of it at once.

There had been a few other guests scattered around the stairs leading to the front entrance. Hyunjin chose a spot he thought would be the most peaceful, but his attention immediately turned to the three nearest men when he understood that you had gone to university with one of them. They were drunk, meaning the conversation was not happening at a quiet volume.

And they were talking about you.

Hyunjin had never been intimate with rage. It was the very reason why his father hated him. Amaranthos had always wished to witness his middle child become more like himself—ruthless, filled with fury, and thirsty for violence and disorder. Hyunjin, up until now, had always been the exact opposite of all these things. He had no wish to get involved in his father’s wars because he had no bias in them. He had no claims in them. To Hyunjin, all of it had always been so futile—why fight over a territory or an ideal? 

It had never been important enough for him. Not those wars, not any other, not anything.

And then he met you.

It was ironic, almost comical. As he felt more and more of his divine essence dissipating, Hyunjin began to display, finally, some of the qualities his father had wanted to see in him for so long. 

He rinsed the soap off for the third time, examining the cuff of his shirt under the ceiling light. The blood was still there. Paler, but there nonetheless. 

Hyunjin could tell that it was not just the free alcohol served at the award ceremony that made these men speak the way they did. It wasn’t even just lust or jealousy, although it was also that. The one who studied with you, he could tell, envied your success and resented you for it at the same time. Because you were better than he would ever be. And maybe he felt some sort of guilt for letting you give him a handjob in some bathroom at a wine tasting event and treating you like a disposable fleshlight.

Like a shooting star.

Everyone gets tired of me, Hyunjin. I’m just a shooting star.

He heard his father in these men. His cruelty. His impudence. Like poison. Like a nightmare. Like a stain of blood on white silk. He would recognize it anywhere—the corruption, the rot, now seeping through these mortals. Their impulses required so little divine intervention, but it was there. Their minds were too simple to fight their primal urges anyway. The kind of men who were just a little too eager to stick their cocks into something warm. Many gods were like this, too. 

When you get tired of me, Hyunjin, will you be gentle with me?

Hyunjin never had to use violence before. He witnessed it many times, he felt it, and he hated it. He was the victim of it often. But it was the first time he tried it with his own hands. His own fists. Grabbing this bastard by the collar of his shirt and slamming him into the pillar behind him, realizing that the hatred he had for this guy extended to himself. 

Smashing his face with his fist. One time, two times. Getting hit in return but not the pain that should have come with it. Maybe because he still had some immortality to him, or because he could not let these assholes defile your name like this and not react. Maybe this was his father taunting him—maybe he never meant to send them after you. Perhaps Amaranthos was just reveling in seeing his son’s facade break.

He was stronger than he thought he was. It only took a few punches until the man fell to his knees, mostly knocked out, but with still enough stamina to call Hyunjin a few nasty names. He was bleeding a lot from his nose and his lip was cut open. One of the other two just fled—the last one stared at the scene, frozen, apparently unable to react. Maybe he was trying to decide if it was worth risking getting his nose broken to show his loyalty to his friend.

Hyunjin did not care. He let go of the guy’s collar. He was bleeding all over his sleeve anyway. He backed up. The guy spat at his feet but ultimately just rested his head and stared at Hyunjin with a complicated emotion in his eyes. Guilt. Hatred. Shame. Ecstasy. It shone underneath the rest the same way obsidian reflected moonlight. It gave Hyunjin chills—he let two security guards take him away just so he wouldn’t have to look at the man anymore. And at the poison in his eyes.

Hyunjin avoided the worst of the commotion by bribing the head of security. The museum had hired an outside firm, so he was not familiar with anyone working at the doors tonight. It cost him all the cash he had in his wallet—and it was a lot—but he didn’t care. 

When you get tired of me, Hyunjin, will you be gentle with me?

He could not wash the blood off his shirt. 

Giving up, Hyunjin used a paper towel to dry himself as best he could, daring a glance towards the mirror in front of him. He barely recognized the reflection staring back. A man in a velvet tuxedo. A man stuck between two worlds, a prisoner of his own longing. With someone else’s blood on his sleeve and shadows in his eyes. It wasn’t Hyathos that he was seeing. 

It was Hyunjin—in his most broken, human form. 

He felt so small then, alone in this bathroom. Like the weight of the entire world was crushing him. Only, he had never been much more than that. Whatever this was. This was the most he’d ever be—a man who loved you and who had once been loved by you, too.

He took a deep breath, exhaling in a long sigh that left a smudge of condensation on the mirror, blurring his face. The air had become too heavy in here, too thick, much like the silence stuffing the room. He couldn’t hide in here forever anyway, could he? He knew that security rounds were done every ten minutes or so, which meant he had very little time to get out.

The hallway was a little less quiet—the party permeated through the floor here, as though it filtered between the old wooden planks. He wasn’t technically allowed here because it was the administrative wing on the second floor. Hyunjin just did not think it would have been a good idea to wash blood off his hands and shirt in the public bathroom downstairs, so he snuck up here. He knew this hallway because it’s where you brought him that first night. After dinner and slow-dancing in the park. After showing him the hidden painting. 

He passed the door to your office, remembering how it felt to hold you and kiss you there. The floor creaked beneath him, but the sound of you in his mind, moaning so prettily in his ear, was louder. Louder than the other voices, too, the cruel ones. 

Nothing mattered as much as you did.

And yet Hyunjin slowed down when he walked past the large window just before the staircase. It was so wide that it spanned nearly the entire wall. When he stood at the largest frame in its center, it was all he could see. 

And, now, the night took up all of the space within it. 

This window should have a similar view to the one in your office, meaning he should be able to see the park and the tree under which you sometimes sat. Only, it seemed like that part of the neighborhood had a power outage. Everything was dark and still. It was a strange sensation—Hyunjin knew it was there. The street below, the park across, the tree, the other museum wings. But the night had swallowed all of it.

His heart tightened in his chest—he had to hold onto the nearest window frame for a few seconds, his head spinning. He almost lost his balance. Almost. 

He remembered his orchard. 

He had built it, all of it, from nothing. Selecting only the best seeds and planting them with care. The trees grew in the fertile soil between the ocean and a pine grove, and so the fruit carried the taste of the land it grew on. Iodine. Timber. Sunlight. His father tried to convince him to tear down the pine grove so he could plant more trees and harvest more fruit. Hyunjin, mainly, grew peaches, but also apples and plums. He even had a few cherry trees, whose pretty blooms, in the spring, always moved him. He liked the trees he had, but he did not need more. He was content with his orchard. Satisfied. The fruit was juicy and sweet and fragrant. 

His father always wanted more. He always wanted him to want more. 

Hyunjin used to spend a lot of time there, alone, walking barefoot in the earth or the high grass, tending to his trees. Sometimes, he would venture into the pine grove. And sometimes—especially towards the end, before his father sent him here—he would go beyond the pine grove.

The pine trees were tall and ancient, older than time itself. They swayed gently in the wind, so he took his time, admiring the view on his way, walking the narrow path leading to the other side, stopping only when he reached it. He could not have gone any further anyway because that was also where the land stopped.

It did so dramatically—with a high, steep cliff, overlooking the ocean below. The perfect diving spot.

Hyathos was a demigod. He could not die, as in, death always evaded him or he always evaded death. But he would dive into the restless waters, over and over, as though colossal waves weren’t crashing onto the cliffside. As forceful as it was mesmerizing, the ocean broke onto the sharp rocks. The foam darkened their ochre-colored surface, drying only when the sun would kiss them come sunrise.

Hyathos was a demigod. Patron of desire, of disasters, and fruit trees. He had been loved by light itself, once, but not enough to be its sole craving. It was during one of his dives that he understood that being the god of desire did not mean he was meant to be desired more than anybody else—god or mortal alike. It meant he was more intimate with desire. It meant he felt it deeper and stronger and harder. 

Hyathos could not die. But sometimes, as his immortal body hit the water, he hoped he would. He had been interested in mortals before, but it was around this time that he became fascinated by them, visiting witches and warlocks to inquire about the mortal world and the people who inhabited it. What they did. What kind of things they liked. 

Their purpose.

Hyunjin’s fingers found the latch of the window in front of him. He could not take his eyes off the darkness below. Truth be told, he did not miss his life as a god, nor did he miss the dominion over which his father ruled, as it never truly felt like home. However, he did miss his orchard a little. 

And this window reminded him an awful lot of staring down at the sea from the top of the cliff on a moonless night.

Hyunjin tested the latch—his fingers acted before his mind could think. He wondered what would happen if he jumped. If it would feel the way it used to feel when he dove into the ocean. He wondered if he would die. Could he die, yet? Was Minhas already watching him?

It made no difference. Whether he was watching or not. The latch did not move when Hyunjin tried it. Of course not—it was sealed. 

He knew temptation invaded his mind out of fear. Or rather, grief. 

He could, maybe, force this safety latch open.

Or he could go back downstairs and watch you in your beautiful dress. He could face you one last time. And if you let him, maybe, hold you again. Just tonight. 

Hyunjin. I’m just a shooting star.

This whole time, you had it all wrong. It was he who was the shooting star, and you were the night sky, vast and deep and complex and beautiful. And he would endure all the anguish in all the universes if it meant he could love you in just one of them, just for a little while. 

Hyunjin adjusted his bowtie, using his reflection in the window in front of him before making his way downstairs again, searching for you. Always you. 

He saw it in your eyes when your gaze met his. Arra. Maybe it had been there since the beginning. He thought so.

Hyunjin felt it in his chest when your gaze met his. Belonging. 

It had been there since the beginning.

Upon seeing Hyunjin, your body came to a halt, Jisung crashing into you. You almost toppled over but caught your balance at the last second, which could be classified as a miracle considering how you didn’t even feel your body. Or perhaps you felt it too much, kind of in the same way severe burns affect someone. As in, those burns go through the skin and damage the nerve endings, cutting all sensation. Protecting one from the pain. 

It was what you were thinking of as you stood there, staring at the other side of the large room. That something within you was trying to shield you from whatever consequences would arise following this phenomenon. 

Because either he wasn’t actually here, or this was somehow a hallucination. You could believe that—you could see how longing for him too much had just caused your brain to produce this illusion, making him appear out of the blue, perhaps as an attempt to soothe this visceral need that you felt. Your mind had produced an image of him. A wraith. Not real, no matter how tangible he looked.

Or he was actually here. Standing there, motionless, as handsome as ever, wearing a black velvet tux, his complex eyes riveted on you. But he had been there before, and then he had left without a word. So perhaps his coming back meant nothing. 

Maybe he was here and he would just leave again.

It wasn’t burn injuries you thought about when he moved—Hyunjin, or the mirage of him, stood straight, walking slowly and steadily towards you. Something else came to your mind—it was as though each one of his steps was a detonation in your chest, instead this time there was no destruction. It was as though he was holding your heart in his hand and every inch of distance he closed between you was another not-so-gentle squeeze on it, forcing you back to life, breathing air into your lungs, allowing blood to course through your veins again. He was here. No illusion could have such an effect on you—only the real Hyunjin could find a way to your soul, bypassing any and all defenses on his way. He was the only thing you would ever let anywhere near your heart, even if it killed you.

He was standing right in front of you before you knew it, bringing with him his elaborate scent, enveloping you in it. Woody petrichor, with amber and floral undertones that made him smell like the exact moment when the sun pierced through stormy clouds. 

It really was him. His not-brown eyes, something darker, something brighter. Heavy with a burden that could not be expressed with words. His pomegranate lips, his honey skin, his delicate yet violently beautiful traits, framed by his silky dark hair. Its shade of black was so rich it was reminiscent of a night sky that had northern lights dancing in it. A black with furtive undertones—damp, rich soil. Solar eclipses. Burnt wood. The warmth that you remembered radiated from him, deep, soft, peach-colored, and just as sweet. 

All you could do was stare at him, taking in the sight of him, the elegance with which he held himself, the grace he exuded just by standing there. 

Your gaze returned to his eyes, studying them. There was something in them that you hadn’t seen before. Not that it hadn’t been there—because it had been. You just had not known to look for it because you hadn’t yet known it existed.

Arra. The force lighting somebody’s eyes as they gazed upon their soulmate—or rather, their intended soul.

His bottom lip quivered, yet Hyunjin parted his mouth open, his eyes dancing all over you. “Darling,” he breathed, and his voice hit you like a storm. He said it again. “Darling…” 

Relief came first, then fondness, followed by familiarity. You had thought about it a lot in your mind, the moment you would see Hyunjin again. Not because you assumed it would happen, but because you couldn’t help it. Whatever indifference had inhabited you in the first months after his disappearance had evaded you long ago, and the truth was that you could hardly fall asleep at night without imagining a scenario in which you saw him again. Sometimes, it was grandiose—he broke into a radio station while you were giving an interview, or he himself went on TV to give one, talking about how much he missed you. Other times, you just ran into him on a street somewhere. 

When you questioned him about it, Jisung told you that Hyunjin needed to leave or else you would be in danger. He did not know too much about it, but it had something to do with Cipherian, the myths and the translations. You couldn’t wrap your mind around any of it and Seungmin was no help. Despite having been Hyunjin’s agent for years, he also had no idea of his involvement in any illegal activities, and certainly not anything related to linguistics. Therefore, you did not think it was true. 

It’s not like there’s a price on my head, you pointed out that day. To Jisung, who had been hired by Hyunjin to be your personal bodyguard. Because, well, there was some kind of price on your head. 

Maybe it made you hate him a little less. Hyunjin. Maybe you resented him less, too. Whatever involvement he had in it—a foolish part of you wanted to believe he truly did it for your safety. For your own good. That he left reluctantly. That Jisung didn’t lie when he said Hyunjin loved you.

So when you slipped under your covers at night—whether it was in your bed or in an unfamiliar hotel room—you thought about him. Hyunjin. And about the moment you might see him again in a place that wasn’t an ad in a magazine or a billboard on the side of a road, whether his body was used to advertise perfume or a car or expensive jewelry. You thought about the true him, in the flesh, about his honey skin, the unnatural warmth that always emanated from him, the silky sensation of him underneath your fingertips or under your tongue.

Maybe it made sense that it would be here. In this museum, under the very skylight where you met him first, surrounded by the same walls, and even, for the most part, the same people. You wondered if you were the same woman you had been back then, all those months ago. It felt like you weren’t. Like he had changed you somehow.

You let relief wash over you for all the seconds it required—it was truly Hyunjin standing there, and he seemed healthy. He seemed fine, so nothing bad must have happened to him. He also didn’t look like he had developed some kind of hatred for you over time, which, selfishly, comforted some part of you. You became aware that something else was lurking underneath the relief—it was sharp, unkind. Ugly. 

For a second or perhaps two, you thought the world came to a stop but it turned out it was quite the opposite. Around you, it kept going. The world kept spinning and so did the dancers, intertwined, beautiful, relishing the moment, unaware of the storm going on in your chest. It was you who turned motionless. It was your heart that turned stagnant and inanimate. Maybe it wanted nothing to do with what was coming. 

But you couldn’t help it. 

The tears burned your eyes. They were hot. Scalding. As though it was acid rolling down your cheeks. You took a step back, feeling Jisung somewhere there but ignoring him. The world kept spinning. The whole time, the world had kept going, and you had been forced to follow along. You had been obligated to get up in the morning and to continue existing without Hyunjin. And he hadn’t even said goodbye. 

When you spoke, your voice came out all wrong. Foreign. As though it was acid spilling out of your lips, too. “You lied to me.” Your throat felt so tight it hurt. “You said you’d be back soon.” 

The memory was fuzzy, but it was undeniably there. You were sitting at your computer, writing compulsively, your naked body wrapped in a blanket, your pussy still sore from your earlier passionate lovemaking with Hyunjin. The scent of his cum lingered on you, musky and sweet. Remembering it was more painful than remembering all the months during which you were without him. Or all the other times you had been abandoned. All the other times you had been made ephemeral. 

Will you be back soon? you had asked him.

Soon, he had said. And it had been a lie.

“You lied to me,” you repeated, louder, your voice turning into a growl and a sob all at once. Your legs felt weak and your arms weaker, but you reached for him, Hyunjin, because you wanted to hurt him, maybe. Hit him in his perfect face. 

He caught your fist before it struck him, staring at you with wounds instead of eyes. He parted his lips, searching for words, but they never came. Still, he held your hand in his, inches away from his cheek, daring to squeeze it tenderly every few seconds.

“I bet you’ll say it was to spare me,” you added before Hyunjin could say anything. “I bet you’ll say it was so you wouldn’t hurt me. Well, guess what? It didn’t work!”

You were vaguely aware of the heads turning in your direction, but you were mostly aware of Hyunjin and of the way your hand felt when it was being held by his. Because he was not letting go, even if you tried to pull away. He looked a little like you had stabbed him in the chest. For an instant, it felt like you were looking into a mirror. For once, your pain had found its match. 

“I know,” he murmured, a scowl appearing between his eyebrows. He made no attempt to apologize. He did not ask for your forgiveness. 

He did not let go of your hand.

Instead, he pulled you closer. You tried to find something to say. You searched for strength within you—not to hit him, not really, but to scream at him. It was what you wanted to do. The entire time, since that day you finally allowed yourself to miss him, it had been what you had wanted to do. Scream at the top of your lungs. As though you needed an exorcism. People had hurt you before Hyunjin. Objectively, people had hurt you in worse ways. People had cheated on you. People had taken advantage of you. They sometimes said cruel things behind your back. 

And it had affected you. All those times. Deeply. Or so you thought. 

It all seemed so meaningless now. As you were facing Hyunjin again after all this time, you came to realize what love was. You had known for a while that you loved him and that it was true love. The truest, most forthright kind of love you had ever felt, and that you would ever feel, too. But you hadn’t really thought that you’d see him again. 

But you hadn’t really thought that he loved you the same way you loved him.

He did not let go of your hand. He was just inches away now, his face so close that you could only see the details of him—the moles on his honey skin, the fine lines adorning his pillowy lips, their pomegranate shade. The strand of silky hair that fell over his dark eyes. His purposeful and deliberate and troubled gaze. 

His breath smelled like the wine they served. The sleeve of his shirt was slightly damp. Hyunjin did not let go of you. 

You only became aware of the inert quality of your heart and soul as it dissipated the very moment Hyunjin kissed you.

He pressed his lips onto yours, his mouth warm and trembling, unsure yet unequivocal. It might as well have been your first kiss with the way it made you come alive. It might as well have been the thousandth time he kissed you with how familiar it felt—known but not mundane. Lips that were more than just a memory. Lips that you had longed for, that you had craved for, but you had not dared hope for. Because the absence of them had left you suffocating—and how could one even hope without air in their lungs?

Hyunjin deepened the kiss, pulling you closer, and you let him, moaning faintly into his mouth. He breathed into yours. And you in his. Kissing him was easy and soft and mighty. His lips reminded you of a late summer peach. You couldn’t let go of him, and he did not let go of you, still, his tongue finding yours, tasting you, feeling you. 

You thought of the first time he kissed you. 

And the last time.

And everything in between. The agony of it.

He kissed you again, tightening his embrace. You had never experienced such ecstasy. It was him. It was really him. And you felt his love on his lips. You saw it in his eyes. His kiss felt like a plea. It felt as though there were only the two of you on earth.

At least until somebody bumped into you as they danced with their partner. 

You allowed the kiss to break, but Hyunjin caressed your lips with his thumbs, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Darling,” he murmured, and you heard him over the music and the crowd. You would have heard him over thunder, over an avalanche, over anything. “Let’s get out of here, yes?”

Of course. You would follow him everywhere if he asked you. Your hand was still in his. You glanced at Jisung, who seemed reluctant to let you go, and offered him a reassuring smile. The smile came easily to your lips—it wasn’t rehearsed or forced. You realized that you meant it. 

You felt the cold air before even stepping out—someone took their time closing the door behind them, and you remembered you had left your jacket in your office upstairs. Somehow, this did not bother you.

It was cold enough that the rain had turned to snow.

Thick snowflakes fell lazily from the sky, quieting the city, melting in places, and covering the ground in white patches in others. 

Hyunjin held your hand still, but with the other one, you caught a snowflake on your palm. It dissolved almost instantly, but it remained long enough for you to see its intricate lines, unique yet familiar. 

It was too early in the year for snow. The fact that it snowed was strange, but it did not bother you, nor did the cold. Hyunjin was staring up at the sky with eyes full of tears, as though it meant something to him. 

One day, you told yourself, you would ask him. 

If he stayed, that is. But at least now you were choosing to follow him and to let him unmake you. His love, your love—it was worth paying whatever price.

to be continued...

Author's note: 🧍‍♀️ well. I never expected I'd be here, posting this, today. But here I am... and you know I want to thank you all, my readers who have stayed loyal & patient despite my VERY long hiatus. So, thank you. It's just nice to come back home and not find the house completely empty, you know?

But I cannot not thank my dear @cb97percent, without whom I would have given up a long time ago. She believed in me while I didn't believe in anything. She still does. But much like Chris caught Hyunjin just in time on that infamous day at the studio, she doesn't seem to want to give up on me, so I really wanted to say a special thank you.

I am so, so privileged to be here, and to have my readers and friends and this space. I just want to say, I'm so grateful. To everyone who made it possible: please know you've contributed to something deeply meaningful for me.

permanent taglist: **this is my taglist as it were the last time I posted something which is a long long time ago. I'm so sorry to have tagged you in something you don't care about if I have. If you want me to remove you, please DM me and I'll just do it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please also let me know**

@abiaswreck ; @accalus ; @aimeexx ; @alisonyus ; @anylady-fics ;

@b4kuho3 ; @binstitsweat ; @byeobie ; @cb97percent ; @chans1aptop ;

@chartrucewhore ; @compersian ; @cybergracie ; @flowersun ; @hanjingin ;

@hyuneyeon ; @hyunfruits ; @hyvneluv ; @hyunnie4ever ; @hyunjinswifeee ;

@hyuwunjinie ; @hynjinnnnlvr ; @hyyuniverse ; @iam2out ; @imseungminsgf ;

@karlachsleftbicep ; @leedunno ; @lotus-dly ; @love-stays ; @m00n-dream ;

@miraworldsstuff ; @mmoonriseflowerr ; @naoristerling ; @neosracha ; @rubyshoedpixie ;

@palindrome969 ; @selinia86 ; @shywolfcherryblossom ; @skzfelixlove ;  @straydhampir ;

@suhomylife ; @sunlitwilderness ; @ven-fic-recs ; @yourmercibeaucoupsblog

[hamsa0811]

I don't know what to say. I had to sit down for a moment and process this chapter. And i realized something, i realized that among your stories—i relate the most to this story's MC. I tried so hard not to be lonely my whole life till i realized that this is it.... It's not changing anytime soon. People won't start magically find me interesting enough to stay. So i had to make my peace with the fact that I'll be doing the things that i want and interested in alone for the rest of my life. It's not easy and sometimes i find myself seeking others to talk a little about a movie i watched. So i can't imagine the idea of finding that person that shares with you and lets you share in return and then losing them. That loss will leave you more empty and more hollow than before.

"When something makes you fly high, it means the fall is harder, more brutal, but unfortunately not lethal."

This chapter is full of raw emotions that you expressed so clearly and honestly.

"Other times, solitude is expected—but only truly lonely people can understand such a thing. Some people are made lonely and others are born lonely. In this case, it is much like a curse, something that follows us everywhere we go, lurking, but never far."

You have such a rare and beautiful ability to understand, feel, and express human emotions with incredible depth, empathy, and insight. It never fails to take my breath away.

"His bottom lip quivered, yet Hyunjin parted his mouth open, his eyes dancing all over you. “Darling,” he breathed, and his voice hit you like a storm. He said it again. “Darling…” "

When i tell you i cried, I'm not exaggerating. My heart is singing and my soul is soaring. To have them reunited finally is such a relief. I can't fucking express to you how much i love it when he calls her 'darling'. You can write a chapter with no plot at all and have him just call her 'darling' all the time, and I'd be so happy that I'll will probably read it every day.

[straywrds]

run along with the gods | a lullaby on his throat chapter four

pairing: demigod!hyunjin x f!reader + felix x hyunjin (past relationship heavily mentioned) | word count: 21k | genre: mythology au, romance | warnings: adult and sometimes dark themes ; complicated feelings ; angst ; elements of contemporary fantasy ; explicit sexual content. View all compiled warnings here (+nsfw warnings). This work is for adult audiences only.

He loved you in the way a mortal could love, which was to say, like he was running out of time.

A shooting star.

It was, after all, what you had always been. A temporary burst of light in the night sky of people’s existence. Something one of a kind, something flashy and fun but intrinsically ephemeral. A bench for people to sit on and rest when they were too tired to walk. A gentle voice to soothe their loneliness. Balance in their chaos. Mayhem in their order. A cold beer after a long day of work. A soft, woolen jacket on a chilly day. An upbeat song after a breakup. 

A tree to protect them from the harsh heat of the sun. A tree for them to sit under, to find refuge in its shade. 

You had been that to so many people that you weren’t sure what bore the curse exactly—your heart, your lips, or your cunt. It seemed that as soon as your heart warmed up to somebody they just ran away from you. As though your love was a contagious illness that people did not want to catch so they fled as soon as you exhibited symptoms. Your first boyfriend at the age of eleven. Your first real boyfriend at the age of fourteen, who broke up with you because you wrote him a love letter on Valentine’s Day but wouldn’t have sex with him yet. The boy who you had come to learn had asked you to prom so he could fuck you, which he did. His breath smelled like cheap beer and he dragged you to the back of the house where the afterparty took place. And he just fucked you there with your face pressed against the trunk of a tree, taking your virginity at the same time and staining your pretty prom dress with the pinkish cum that oozed from your pussy after. 

The woman who showed you the difference between fucking and making love, but had also taught you that people could make love even though they did not actually love you. That guy in college who only remembered you when he was drunk. That other guy in college who was mostly interested in pictures of your pussy or videos of you playing with it. The neighbor at the apartment in which you lived while you worked on your PhD, who turned out to be married.

Jisung, with whom you had fallen in love even though he couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t, get you off with meaningful lovemaking. Jisung, who had made it clear there was nothing between you two except sex and that your feelings were unwelcome because he wasn’t ready to commit yet. Except he kept you around, never too close, never too far. He’d call you at night if he had been bored and horny or something. Maybe fucking you was better than fucking his hand, but at least his hand couldn’t fall in love with him.

There had been another after that. A man more beautiful than you thought possible, his beauty coming from within. A man who held entire universes in his eyes, a man who fucked you so good that you saw god as you clenched around his cock. A man with whom you had believed you’d never run out of things to talk about. A man who you had believed might love you someday. As in, love love, not the fake kind. Except you had been wrong about that. You had been wrong about the whole thing since the very beginning of it, letting your loneliness win over your logic. Your brain had not put up much of a fight. Your heart had won that battle. Your stupid, irrational, foolish heart. 

And Hyunjin had left you. 

You had been a shooting star for him, something that was only fun for a second or two. After all, there were plenty of stars in the sky, so why try and get attached to the one that was meant to disappear? You had been a shooting star for him. A brief streak of light in the night. Something for him to wish upon.

Superficial. Temporary. A key to a museum vault. An opportunity. A cumdump. You had been many things to Hyunjin, but a lover was not one of them.

And you couldn’t care less.

“Miss? Miss?” 

The host’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts almost painfully, almost as though you had fallen into a pit full of them and he had grabbed you by the nape of your neck to hoist you back up. Suddenly you were no longer plummeting in the night sky—you were back in the reality of your life, which, for now, was a TV studio.

The spotlights blinded you and warmed up your skin more than the summer sun would. The chair they had given you was uncomfortable and the host conducting the interview kept looking at your cleavage as soon as the camera was away from him. 

The man, whose name you had forgotten already, stared at you, tilting his head to the side. “Are we experiencing issues with your earpiece, miss?” he asked, his gaze flicking to your tits once more. 

“N—No,” you responded, gulping thickly. “I just… What was the question again?” You couldn’t be more grateful that Seungmin had adamantly refused for you to do any live interviews. You only participated in pre-taped stuff. 

The host had an amused smile in which you detected flirtatious undertones. If he thought you had been distracted by him, he was wrong, but you wouldn’t let him know that. Later, you’d unbutton your shirt a little more so he could see your tits better, and hope that memory crossed his mind the next time he masturbated. 

He shot a glance at the camera to his left. “I’ll just do it again.” He sat straight on the chair again. “Miss, the world has given you many titles since you have shared your discoveries with it. You’ve been called a master linguist, a prodigy, a genius. But what about you? What do you think describes you the best?”

A shooting star. 

“I’m still just an art historian,” you replied, which was a rehearsed answer to a rehearsed question. “I guess you could say I got lucky.” That part wasn’t rehearsed, but they could cut it out later if they wanted, or if Seungmin didn’t like it. 

You had been adamantly against the idea of having an agent at first. How preposterous. How absurd that an art historian would hire an agent to handle the public aspect of this new life of hers. Yet Jisung insisted, claiming he could certainly not do that for you and that he knew a guy. That guy, Seungmin, was very good at his job and you were glad he was there to help out. There was so much to deal with—the publishers for the books, the business inquiries, the press… and everything else. 

This current interview, for example, was a PR stunt to shut down the accusations against you. People said you were a fraud, that someone else must have made the discovery, which you supposedly stole from that hypothetical person. Because, how on Earth was it possible for an art historian to take one look at the engraved words on one piece of a tablet and suddenly understand the entirety of this obscure language? It made no sense. And truly, you understood. There were days you still thought you were crazy. 

Others, however, were slightly more vile in their comments. They said that you hadn’t discovered anything, not because you had stolen someone else’s work, but because you had simply invented this language. Something to get money and attention from. The long list of world-renowned linguists who had double, triple-checked your work didn’t matter to them—they were persuaded that everything was made up. They somehow blamed the government for it, too.

“Lucky? I think you’re selling yourself short,” the host retorted. “What you did is no small feat. The circumstances around it may be… unusual, but it doesn’t take anything away from the immense worth of the gift you’ve offered the world.” 

Jonathan. His name was Jonathan.

You wondered if Seungmin had gone around the studio to find the host that needed to get his dick wet the most. This guy was really working hard to get some. 

You thought about his words for a second. They appeared in your mind in Cipherian too, but these symbols were coated with a deep, dark crimson light. “You flatter me, Jonathan.” You made yourself smile. Your lipstick was thick and left an unpleasant taste in your mouth. “It’s true that I’ve dedicated many years of my life to the myths and to the art created from them. Now, if some believe that isn’t enough to acquire the ability to understand a dead language, that isn’t my problem. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.” 

Jonathan looked at the left camera again, behind which the director was standing. “Is it true? Is it true that they studied your brain?” He asked it hurriedly like he was afraid someone would stop him before he could finish his sentence. You understood why—that question was off-script. It had been posed to you many times, but not necessarily something you were meant to discuss today. 

The director raised his hand but you could barely see him because of the spotlights. You heard Seungmin’s voice behind you, complaining, but you made a reassuring motion, keeping your eyes on the host. “Yes, they’ve studied my brain. Scans and MRIs, and more.”

Jonathan frowned. For the first time since you sat down with him, he seemed to be experiencing a genuine emotion. “That’s kind of… unprofessional, isn’t it? No, even worse—inhumane? You aren’t a lab rat after all.”

You shrugged. “I was curious myself,” you admitted. “I still don’t understand how it all happened, and I figured that tests could help. But they didn’t really see anything. No structural abnormalities in my brain, no strange mutation, and nothing to report in their screenings of my blood and organs. Whatever happened had nothing to do with the state of my body.”

“But they can’t study your mind, can they?” He seemed interested enough to stop glancing at your tits. 

“They did. As much as science allowed it. I spent a lot of time answering questions and submitting myself to all those tests. I thought… that whatever it was ought to be discovered. What if it had been just a tiny thing that could have been, eventually, implemented in other people, developing the parts of their brain responsible for language? What if it could have helped treat patients with aphasia, or even amnesia?”

Jonathan shook his head with a sigh. “That’s a noble cause, miss. I salute you.” He dipped his head. “I understand, unfortunately, that they found nothing on that front either?”

“Nothing at all. I couldn’t be more normal.” You were so normal that it was super easy to walk away from you. You were so normal that you left nothing behind, no pain, no scar. “I tell myself that all this time I spent studying—you know, I even traveled a lot around the Mediterranean, visiting different sites—created some sort of puzzle in my head. Only, the pieces had no order to them. At one point, they aligned with one another and it just… appeared to me, finally. I maintain that I got lucky.” 

Your grandmother used to say that a person couldn’t be both lucky with love and with wealth, that one would always outdo the other. Safe to say that all of the buzz around Cipherian had filled your bank account with so many zeroes that you developed tachycardia anytime you checked the number. 

But you had never been more alone. 

“And I maintain that you sell yourself short,” Jonathan responded, smiling. “You are quite literally in the process of creating a guide to this language—which opens the world to a second lost language also. Your contribution to the world of history and art is unmatched, wouldn’t you say?”

You had nothing to say about that. You didn’t really care. You had figured out a language, then another. You didn’t even have any credit for it because none of it had been deliberate. It had just happened. More like a curse than a blessing.

Seeing that you weren’t reacting to his statement, Jonathan went on. “How is the book coming along, then? I know a good portion of the world is more than impatient to delve into Cipherian.”

You nodded but it was out of habit more than because it meant anything—you did not feel human but you could at least try to look like one. “I’m aware of that and it’s why I’d rather take my time with it and do it right.”

“Of course—this kind of project deserves to be executed well.” The flirty glimmer returned on the host’s face. “It’s almost all the time we have, but I know everyone at home would want me to ask this—can you share some of it with us? A sentence, a grammar rule, anything?” 

They had told you beforehand that Jonathan was going to ask you this. This was part of the publicity stunt around your book. After you had brought forth your discovery to the museum, the director had it validated by a few world-renowned linguists and translators. One of them had dedicated most of his life to try and decipher the Voynich Manuscript, another had worked on several movies and TV shows to help authors create whole new languages for their script and the last had published several books on the Sumerian language. 

While they could fully verify what you were telling them, they couldn’t believe it. Not even from a lack of faith or trust in you—it was just that incredible. So they consulted colleagues, and historians, too. And a good portion of the language had leaked on the internet, meaning that by now, a lot of it had been elucidated by amateur linguists. Hell, they had most of it right—you had seen their work. They weren’t wrong but they didn’t understand it. Cipherian had countless layers to it and was too complex to ever fit it in one book, let alone a Reddit thread started by some incel in search of validation between his wanking sessions. 

The word for a dream that one would have when they slept didn’t even have syllables or a sound—it was a soft exhale of about 1.5 seconds with a relaxed jaw. There was no other meaning to the word dream, as though whoever spoke that language never used it for any other reason such as an aspiration or an ambition. In Cipherian, you couldn’t dream of visiting Iceland, you could only fall asleep and experience it through your slumber.

There was, however, a word for yearning. It was beautiful and sounded like a poem. The word sounded eerily similar to both Hyathos and Feliks, almost like their names had been melted together to create a new one.

Yearning. You knew it. You knew its cruel burn intimately. 

But you couldn’t care less. 

“I can tell you about the word, or rather, words, for never in Cipherian.” You tried as hard as you could to sound friendly or like there was still a soul inside you. “In the paragraphs of the Casnea tablet that have been made public, there are two sentences in which the word never is found,” you began, and for the first time since the interview had begun, you felt comfortable, at ease, at home. The language, the words, their meaning—they had become your sole purpose now. 

The first sentence was, Feliks lies beneath the cypress tree, alone. Sometimes he wants to take people there, but he never does.

The other, Feliks knows that Hyathos doesn’t belong anywhere near the cypress tree. He never did, even if it felt good to be there.

It turned out that, in Cipherian, never was conditional when it was associated with a person, and whether that person was awake or not. 

The meaning behind the first sentence was that people other than Hyathos did visit the cypress tree, but never when they were awake or even alive. Corporeal. 

The meaning behind the second sentence was that no matter how happy he was there, Hyathos never belonged beneath the cypress tree, except for when he saw it in his dreams. 

So you told him that. Jonathan. You said it just like that in its most simple form, also speaking Cipherian so that people could hear the two different pronunciations of the word never. The interview ended like that—he thanked you and shook your hand for the camera but kept your hand in his after the director had called ‘Cut’. He thanked you again, saying it had been an honor to meet the woman behind this new language and he looked at your tits again, so you accepted his offer when he suggested grabbing a drink together. There was a small bar right by the TV studios and he often went there. 

“We’re not going.” Jisung appeared in front of you like a ghost yet you barely reacted—you were used to his lingering presence by now. 

“You’re not going,” you retorted. Behind you, the filming crew was wrapping up and gathering their things. Darkness was creeping up in the room as one by one, the spotlights were being turned off. “I’ll meet you guys at the hotel.”

Seungmin joined you hurriedly. “It’s his job to stay with you and make sure you’re safe,” he pointed out with an accusatory tone, phone in hand. 

“You hired Ji because he was following me around with some sense of duty, he just wasn’t being paid for it.” You wrapped yourself in your soft jacket. 

“And you hired me to take care of those things.” Seungmin’s voice left little to no space for arguing. He pushed his dark hair away from his eyes as though he really wanted you to see how serious he was.

“Don’t make me regret it, Seungmin.” You glanced at him, catching sight of Jonathan at the other side of the room, waiting for you by the door. 

You had hired Seungmin when things had picked up for you in the past weeks. But it was rather suspicious now that you were thinking about it. What had happened exactly was Jisung saying he ‘knew a guy’ and now these two seemed to have formed an alliance against you. 

As if on cue, Seungmin’s phone rang. He lifted his index at you, motioning you to wait a moment, and stepped away as he took the call. 

As you went to grab your purse, Jisung put his hand on top of it to stop you. “Do you really want to go with that guy?” he asked softly. Too softly. “Didn’t you see the way he was looking at you?” 

You gulped, staring into your almost-ex’s eyes. “It’s because he was looking at me this way that I want to go, Ji.” You pushed his hand away, finally getting a hold of your bag. “If you wanted to keep fucking me, all you had to do was tell me.”

A cloud of darkness passed on Jisung’s face. “Let’s not go there.” He handed your bag to you, effectively quieted by your remark. “I’ll go with you. Yes, I’m going,” he added when you opened your mouth to refuse. “I’ll stay out of your hair, but I want to be around.” 

Jisung let Seungmin know of the new plan and you joined Jonathan, who led you through the TV station building, giving you—and Jisung—a quick tour. He told you how excited he was for the interview to air because it was something the audience had been asking for. He said, “It’s an honor to be a part of this grand thing, grand enough that it might change the world.” You almost told him he wasn’t a part of shit but remained quiet. You did, however, hear Jisung’s soft snort at the back and couldn’t suppress the amused smile that appeared on your lips.

The weather was as awful as it had been for the past weeks. It hadn’t really stopped raining for a long while, which broke several records. It was cold and dark, so you pulled the hood from your jacket over your head as you jogged on your way to the bar.

The bar was small but cozy. Just one room, crowded with tables and chairs and people. Each wall, except for the one to the left where the counter and bartenders were located, had several private booths. That was where Jonathan led you while Jisung took a seat at a table on the other side of the room.

You looked at your phone while Jonathan was ordering your drinks. Your work inbox was filled with emails and inquiries—more interviews, neuroscientists requesting to get a look at your MRIs, linguists asking to be involved in your current project because they claimed they had a good understanding of Cipherian already. But you knew they were full of shit. Seungmin had access to that same inbox and usually dismissed all of those. He must have been busy today if he hadn’t done it already, but you took a certain pleasure in deleting the most annoying messages. 

You checked your missed texts, too. There were fewer of those, although your phone had been ringing non-stop for the first week after the discovery. Colleagues from abroad or even locals who wanted to congratulate you and get juicy details. You hadn’t slept that week—no more than two hours a night. 

Minji had texted you, updating you on the current events at the museum. With everything going on, you hadn’t been able to fulfill your duties as assistant curator of the Deities exhibition and Minji had taken over for you. Still, she consulted you regularly and dared not make any major decision without your or Mrs. Yoo’s approval, which was almost a shame—the young woman was intelligent and had a bright future in front of her.

Still, you responded quickly to her. The issue today was with space in the rooms of the exhibition—a few new pieces had been added and it was difficult to find the right location for them. 

You pressed Send, and as you were about to put your phone away, another conversation, way below on the screen, caught your attention. The device, all of a sudden, weighed a ton in your hand. There was a little red exclamation mark next to the recipient’s name, letting you know your message hadn’t been able to make it to him. 

You opened the conversation. The last message Hyunjin had sent you was begging you to let him speak with you, only you, about the myths, some time before he visited you at your apartment and fucked you. You had ignored that message. 

Here is what had happened—you had been beyond exhausted and had slept a lot after your discovery. A lot. Yet Hyunjin had been there when you’d woken up. He had made food for you, had helped you bathe. He made love to you on the floor of your apartment and his cum had been warm, unnaturally so. You could still feel its heat within you, as though it had stained you with something that couldn’t be washed away. That morning had changed you in ways you couldn’t explain—but that warm pressure between your legs made you crave things you had never wanted before. 

You had written the essay. The first of many, but still. A quick analysis of Feliks and Hyathos’ relationship, based on the pieces of the Casnea tablet that had been uncovered. It had taken days. One morning Hyunjin had fucked you and filled you with his cum which seemed to have aphrodisiac properties.

And then he left. 

There had been no tears, no sobs, only resignation. A shooting star. You were a shooting star, ephemeral, short-lived. Your pussy was tight enough for men to want to fuck it a few times but not good enough to make them want to stay around. 

You: I’m done writing the essay. Where are you? I want you to be the first to read it. 

[Message could not be sent] You: Hyunjin?  [Message could not be sent] You: Are you alright? Is something wrong? [Message could not be sent]

The number had been deactivated, which you had found out when you had tried calling him. Many times. 

But there had been no tears and no pain. You waited for it to hit you, to pin you to a wall, cut your chest open, and crush your heart in its cruel, cold hands. You had loved him. Hyunjin. It was crazy to think of it this way but you had fallen in love with him. And now he was gone. And you didn’t care. 

You were empty and you didn’t care. Your mind was empty, and your heart, and your cunt. You weren’t lustful, you weren’t even horny—nothing else in your life existed except Cipherian and that insatiable craving between your legs. And you didn’t care.

Jonathan came back with a tray of tequila shots and some lime wedges. He handed you the first shot which you did not follow with lime juice. You let the liquor burn you on the inside just to feel something. 

There was a short silence during which Jonathan suckled on his lime, glancing around the room. “That guy, your bodyguard,” he said after a while. The room was loud with conversations and music but you heard him well. “He’s your boyfriend or something? You two seem close.” 

You shook your head. “Nah. We had a situationship some time ago but he broke it off because I had too many feelings for him.” And now you didn’t have feelings about anything at all. 

“Situationships are like that.” He handed you another shot. “Bad idea, especially with coworkers.”

You squeezed some lime juice into your glass and it made your fingers sticky. “So I assume you are more the one-night stand type of guy, Jonathan?” You raised your eyes at him as you spoke just to see his face. 

He was both pleased and a little uncomfortable. He hid behind his lime again. “Call me Jon,” he said after a while. 

You reached for him under the table, squeezing his thigh gently. He jumped a little in his seat but let out a satisfied grunt. “So, Jon. Do you have a condom with you? How about we chat, get drunk, and then you can fuck me in your office?” 

And this is exactly what happened. More shots followed. You went to sit on the same bench as Jonathan instead of facing him. He fingered you a little under the table and you rubbed his semi through his pants. Both of your voices low, you told each other how you liked to fuck. You knew very well there would be none of that tonight, nothing fancy, but warmth pooled between your legs anyway when Jon told you about the threesome he had a few years back. 

You weren’t sure what to say when he asked your preferences, and you almost left the bar when he inquired about your best sexual experiences. Your preferences? You weren’t sure. Maybe you liked it when people fucked you like they meant it. Like they loved you. Your best sexual experience? He had a name, and you did not want to speak it, so you said whatever came to your mind instead.

Men like Jon were easy to read. “I like being used.” Ironic. Ironic but perhaps true—after all, wasn’t it exactly what everyone who touched you did anyway? Like you were a disposable fleshlight?

“Oh, you’re very upfront, aren’t you?” At that, he buried his fingers deeper into your cunt, and you clenched around them, needing more. Jonathan hissed through his teeth. “Ah, shit, you’re tight…” 

His hard-on throbbed underneath your palm and you figured there was no point in delaying the inevitable, so you simply pulled away and stood next to the booth while Jonathan was attempting to conceal the bulge in his pants with his jacket. He paid the tab and took your hand in his. 

Jisung followed you with his eyes, glaring at you from his seat. You pretended you did not see him and walked the same way you had when you came here except in silence now. It was dark after nightfall, and the TV station was empty except for a few people here and there. 

You shoved your hand into Jonathan’s pants in the elevator, really feeling him, tugging at his cock. He groaned, his fingers digging deeper into the skin of your waist, his other hand pulling your shirt down to expose as much of your tits as he could. 

You didn’t let him kiss you, so he nibbled at your neck instead. And when you made it to his office, he did the same to your breasts, now fully exposed in private, while you were unzipping his jeans. 

“I love little cockhungry sluts like you.” Jonathan’s eyes were glazed over, inebriated. Or maybe just horny. His breath smelled like liquor. “Suck me.”

He put his hand on your shoulder and one weak shove was enough to get you on your knees. The carpet burned your skin a little but you didn’t care. You pulled his jeans, then his boxers down, exposing his erection. His cock was on the shorter side, but thick—thick enough that you struggled to take it in your mouth.

You released a liberal amount of spit on his tip, using your hand to spread it on his length. 

“Come on. Don’t be a tease.”

You looked into his eyes when you took his cock between your lips. He tasted bitter, salty, unpleasant, and you had a hard time adjusting your jaw to his size. But from the way he throbbed on your tongue, you could tell Jonathan reveled in the sight of tears welling up in your eyes. 

You didn’t care. You couldn’t give any less of a shit about any of it—Jonathan, the vile taste of his cock, the emptiness within you. 

“That’s it, ohh, fuck…” Jonathan caressed your head in a way that looked tender at first, but only for a second—quickly, he grabbed your hair in a fist, pulling you closer, forcing his cock deeper into your mouth. 

You gagged, your body convulsing with it, your cunt throbbing with it. You let your mouth fill with saliva until it ran at the corner of your mouth and down your chin, until it clogged your throat, until you couldn’t breathe. Your vision blurred as Jonathan fucked your mouth in desperate, shallow thrusts. You welcomed the sting in your throat and the one in your lungs, too. These days, this was the closest you could get to feeling alive. To feeling anything.

Gagging again, you anchored yourself to this stranger, your fingernails digging into his thighs. Jon, bent over, was losing his cadence, muttering deep, throaty groans without a care for volume, despite the occasional footsteps heard on the other side of the door.

“Fuuuuck. Ah, fucking—” Jonathan used the grip he had on your hair to pull out, leaving you panting and choking, lips swollen and sensitive. Some spit and precum dripped on your chest, rolling down your tits. “Get up, come here.” 

He helped you up, dragging you to the other side of the room to access his desk from which he produced a condom. You watched as he applied it over his flushed, straining cock. 

Before you knew it, he had you pinned up against the wall face first. He hiked up your skirt and pushed your panties to the side before burying himself inside your warm cunt in one swift motion. 

You cried out as he stretched you, keeping you firmly in place. You wouldn’t have guessed he was that strong, but he had no problem keeping you still as he worked you open for him. “Relax now,” he grunted, his hand at the back of your neck, squeezing you there. 

“Fuck me.” Your voice was weak because of the burn in your throat but he didn’t need you to tell him what to do. 

Jonathan thrust into you until he bottomed out—and he let out a strangled sigh when he did, but wasted no time pounding into you. He was frantic, chasing his high and yet doing everything to delay it. Jonathan fucked the way a man who watches too much porn did—a way that was relentless and impersonal. 

“Tell me you love my cock,” he grunted into your ear, one arm draped over your chest to keep you close while he fucked you. When you took more than two seconds to respond, he grabbed your hair again, pulling it, forcing your head to fall back. It hurt a little and you clenched around his cock. “Fucking say it,” he repeated, his voice low.

You didn’t love his cock, but it was inside you, momentarily occupying your mind and your cunt. “I love your cock,” you said nonetheless as Jon’s hand trailed up, his fingers wrapping around your throat. You knew what men liked to hear. “I love your big cock,” you added, eyelids fluttering, electricity spreading all over your core. “Harder, harder, please…” 

Men like him liked it when women begged. Jon loved it—he let out a series of breathy growls as he forced his cock deeper into you, his hips slamming your ass hard enough that you were losing your balance, and also, losing sight of yourself. You closed your eyes, letting your body take control, allowing your mind to recede, to become nothing. A few seconds of peace. Just a few instants where nothing existed except the ache in your dripping pussy and the sting of fingers around your neck and waves of fire spreading under your skin. There was a word for that in Cipherian. Llhas. There was no direct translation for it, but it represented a place or a moment where pain and pleasure blended together to become one. 

Jon came to a stop abruptly. “Let me see while I ravage you.” 

He wasted no time dragging you to the floor and you found yourself laying with your back on the carpet, your legs spread wide open. Jon bit his lip as he lowered himself to you, staring at your pussy. You imagined it must be flushed and swollen and pretty. His cock, heavy, bobbed when he got on his knees. He guided himself inside you again, but this time you saw his face as he buried his cock into your heat. You tried to read it but you could not. You understood a dead language better than empty lust, it seemed. 

You cried out when he moved, setting a fast and steady rhythm with deep, powerful thrusts. He tugged at your shirt to expose your tits better and watch them bounce as he fucked into you. Then he buried his face into your neck and you knew he was close. You clenched around him and he called you a whore. You moaned when he did so and he called you a desperate slut. He retreated a little to watch his cock disappear into your folds and he said, again, that you were a whore because you were creaming all over him. 

“I know you like having your tight little pussy stretched like that, don’t you?” But he wasn’t even talking to you really. He was just talking out loud. It wouldn’t have been any different if he had been fucking a blow-up doll. You listened to the sounds of flesh and wetness as he sank into you over and over. He held your face in his hand a little harder than he needed to but another wave of llhas came over you. 

It felt good when Jonathan came—he came like a feral animal, letting go of your face to hold your waist instead, slamming you onto his cock as he arched into you, hips stuttering, spilling himself into the condom. His hair stuck to the sweat on his temples and he kept fucking you to ride his aftershocks, returning to your tits, massaging them, and suckling onto your nipples as you milked the rest of his load with strategic clenches and rolls of your hips. 

He collapsed onto you, out of breath, a little pathetic. The office smelled like sweat and sex. 

“Fuck…” he sighed after a little while. You could feel him softening inside you—he moaned when he pulled out. “You’re amazing…”

But all you had done was lay there and let him fuck you. 

He tried to kiss you again but you did not let him do that. It took him a few more moments to gather himself and manage to stand up, and you watched as he discarded the condom. It fell into the bin with a heavy thump. You became aware of the ache between your legs—not llhas, just pain. And you welcomed it because pain was better than nothing at all. 

Jon had the grace to help you up. He pulled you against him into an embrace that meant nothing. “Did you cum?” he asked, then immediately, “When can I see you again?”

You pulled away slowly, buttoning your shirt back up before adjusting your panties under your skirt. Some of your arousal dripped into them and it reminded you of something foreign. 

“No,” you replied. “And you won’t,” you added before grabbing your purse and walking away. You heard Jonathan stammer in an attempt to keep you in his office but cut him off when you closed the door behind you. 

It’s without any real surprise that you found Jisung in the hallway, sitting on a bench, scrolling his phone. Waiting for you. 

Neither of you spoke at first, but when he stood, Jisung stared at you for a long time, as though he was trying to say something but the right words didn’t come. In the end, he gave up, and you walked together toward the elevator. 

It was still raining outside. Pouring. The drops rolled down the wide windows of the TV station’s entrance, distorting the colored lights of the city and cars on the other side of it. The night sky was dark, darker than usual, like thick ink. 

“Wait here, I’ll go get us a cab,” Jisung said finally. “There’s a restroom over there.” He motioned toward a short hallway. 

It seemed like lifetimes ago now, but back in the day when you and Jisung used to fuck, you had been the one to explain to him how beneficial it was for girls to pee after sex, and he had always made sure to remind you afterwards. He apparently had not forgotten that. You wondered if he heard the things Jon said to you while he was using your pussy. 

You did use the restroom when Jisung went out, attempting to wipe your slick off your panties and yourself as well as you could. You washed your hands and returned to the lobby, only to find Jisung near the door. Together, you went outside and the raindrops were cold and unforgiving. At least the cab was warmer and Jisung took care of speaking to the driver, so you just rested your head on the window and watched the pretty lights. There were many words in Cipherian to talk about light. 

Light coming from a flame. Powerful and dangerous. Cekliptio. From cekl, which meant fire, and ptiox, which was a word to designate the opposite of shadow.

Light coming from the stars, glimmering, faint, undeniable. Axst. Similar to the word Ixst, which meant freckles. 

Light coming from the Sun, which belonged to those with a soul that needed warming up. Feyllhks. Pronounced Feliks.

The light in one’s eyes when they see the owner of their heart. Arra. A word that could also mean belonging and eternal. 

There was no word in Cipherian for the lights of a city you didn’t know, but you wished one existed. These days, the dead language was all you had to find comfort in because it was the only thing that mattered. It was the only thing you had, the only thing you cared for. 

You watched the traffic light ahead turning to red. After a moment of sitting at the intersection, Jisung’s hand found yours and he squeezed it gently. 

“Are you alright?” you heard him ask, his voice soft and low. 

You did not know how to respond to that. Your pussy was sore and you wanted to get back to the hotel to soak in a hot bath. Not warm, hot. Until your skin reddened all over. Until the heat made you dizzy and hurt you all over. Then you’d sit at your computer and work on translating and analyzing. Because it was all that you had. You’d be drinking all the while and masturbate a few times while watching cheap porn before passing out on the bed or the floor. 

You weren’t alright. 

You weren’t anything. 

You opened your mouth to tell Jisung that—you figured you at least owed him the truth, no matter how bleak. At the same time, the light turned green, and the taxi crossed the intersection.

And another car hit it. It hit the front of the car on the passenger side. Your side. And it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your head hit something and the sound of bending metal and shattering glass was horrendous and deafening, becoming one with the pain that was slowly spreading within your body.

It hurt you all over, but not for long, because darkness enveloped you.

You were dreaming. 

And you knew that you were dreaming because pain no longer existed here. 

It was not a meadow with a lilac sky that you found yourself in. 

The air smelled sweet in this place, the crisp scent of apples, the soft scent of plums. The smell of peaches, ripe, juicy, warming up under the sun. 

The orchard you stood in stretched as far as you could see. It was bordered by the ocean on one side and grassy hills on the other. Among the fruit trees grew other trees in places, tall and lush, casting their shadow, cooling the air. Your bare feet sank into the soil a little as you walked and it was pleasant. Like a caress. 

Maybe you were dead and this was heaven. 

You were at one end of the orchard—you decided to visit the hills nearby and went on. And on. You walked for a long while, your mind empty. But the sight was pretty from here with the fruit trees and the sea glimmering under the warm sun, whose light felt like a kiss. 

Movement caught your attention at the other side of the orchard—somebody else was here. You stretched your neck to try and see better but they were just too far away. Soft brown hair floating in the breeze. A slow but steady gait. 

You took a few steps, trying to decide if you could make it to the mysterious figure before being pulled out of this dream. Then you saw something else, closer—a woman was sitting under a pine tree. She was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, with skin like honey and hair like silk. Her posture was both perfect and nonchalant, and you found yourself envying her effortless beauty.

She noticed you, too, and a smile appeared on her lovely face. “There you are. Come here, child. We do not have much time.” 

Maybe because you wanted to see her from a little closer, you did as you were told, hurrying to close in the space between you and the woman. She raised her hand, asking to take yours, and when you grabbed it, she gently tugged at your arm to invite you to sit with her. 

Her beauty left you speechless. There were roses braided into her hair, thorns and all, and the air carried their scent to you. 

“You have to tell me who did this to you,” the woman told you, pulling you closer as though she was trying to find the answer to her questions in your eyes. “Who did this to you, child?”

“Did what?” You frowned, confused. “Are you asking what killed me?” You did not remember. All that you remembered was loud noises. And pain.

She shook her head. “I want to know if you remember who put our words into your mind, my dear. I want to know who it is that wove them into your soul.” 

You looked away, your gaze trailing toward the sea, while you thought about it. It was difficult—it seemed like your thoughts had been separated from your body and your mind. It took a while to reach them. 

“A kiss,” you replied, and it was the best you could do. You could not say it with words. You could not remember it with words either, or images. But you remembered the kiss.

The woman nodded slowly as though she had been expecting your response. She sighed, turning her attention back to you. She caressed your cheek, still trying to read you. 

“The gift bestowed upon you was not yours to have,” she said. “But it is yours now, and it can’t be taken back. I am sure he’s sorry for it, you know. The one who gave you the kiss. He only ever wants to help people. He bleeds compassion, you see. I believe he thought he was giving you a message to relay to someone.” 

You looked behind her at the other side of the orchard, where the person there was now picking some fruit off the trees and putting them in a basket. “Are you talking about him?” you asked.

“No,” she murmured. “That is my son. This is his orchard.” 

“Your son?” You almost felt something at that but your heart dodged it. “I know him.”

“You do. You do know him.” This time, she caressed your hair before cupping your cheek. “You love him, but you don’t remember.”

“I love him.” Saying the words was strange. Distant. Cold. As though it was somebody else’s voice speaking through your lips.

“Oh, child…” The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “You can remember him here, if you want. In this place, love is stronger than anything.” 

You stood so that you could see her son a little better. He was still walking slowly among his trees, plucking dead leaves or harvesting ripe fruit. He hadn’t seen either of you yet.

“I remember that I loved him,” you said. “But I don’t remember what love feels like.” Your words made no sense, yet the woman understood you very well. She rose, and instead of standing idle like you, she made her way toward the closest tree on which peaches grew. She tugged at the ripest peach she saw and brought it back with her as she stood by you again.

“Eat,” she invited, handing you the fruit. 

You felt it with your hand, caressing its velvety skin—it was warm, unnaturally so, and dense. Denser than other peaches you had held before. It smelled good. It smelled like a peach that had been grown by the sea, and with all the care in the world.

You brought it to your lips, and then you bit into it.

And you remembered. 

It came to you all at once, so much of it that you felt physically heavier—like whatever had been contained in the peach had been transferred into you. But you remembered. Slow dancing in the night. A kiss. Many kisses. Pomegranate lips. Making love and meaning it. Being seen. Being understood. Being desired and desiring in return. You remembered him and his voice and his cock and his mind, as beautiful as a flower, as complex as life itself. His heart, sweet like a peach, fragile like one, too. 

“Say his name if you want,” she whispered. 

You closed your eyes, suddenly blinded by the sunlight shining upon you. You remembered him. You remembered Hyunjin and the depth of your feelings for him. 

It was too much—you cried. Then you laughed. You sobbed, you smiled. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen and the most painful thing you had ever felt. You remembered love.

“Can I remember when I go back, too?” you asked.

“I’m not sure,” the woman explained. “But I hope you do.” There were tears in her eyes. “He was always so alone before he met you. Even when he snuck out to meet the boy… I pretended I did not know, but a mother always knows. I could see it in his eyes, I could feel it in the heaviness of his steps. But you… It is different with you.”

The wind became cold, then colder. Somehow, you knew it meant your time here was coming to an end.

“Can I go see him?” you asked between bites of this peach, watching the young man as he carefully picked his fruit. 

“No. Not now. He is not really here.” Already, the taste of peach was fading away, and the world was turning dark again. “You’re in danger, child,” the woman went on. “My husband, and others, they do not want you to know what you know.” 

The peach was no longer in your hand, yet its juice still rolled down your wrist. “What should I do?” 

“Just remember.” 

It appeared to you in pieces, and you couldn’t tell whether you were dreaming or not. Pain in your arm. Your lower back. Your legs. Your head. The scent of gasoline, cold rain seeping through, twisted metal. Jisung, with blood on him, calling your name. 

The ambulance. More people talking to you and bright lights and more pain. The taste of peaches lingering on your tongue. 

Jisung again. Saying words you could not understand because you were busy trying to remember something, but it just would not come to you. It was a name. No, it was a name but it was also something else. Something sweet, and important.

Cold darkness. Then warm darkness, a mattress beneath you. Jisung. Again. With Seungmin. Their whispers makingtheir way to you, but instead of words, you just heard a breeze, like wind over the ocean. The pain wasn’t gone but it was different, more diffuse. There were moments you couldn’t even tell where it came from.

Jisung. His hand holding yours, his head resting on the bed. His face turned toward you. It was dark but not too dark, and you could see that he was sleeping. There was a bandage on his eyebrow and he had a few bruises on his arm. But he did not let go of you. Once upon a time, you thought you loved him, but that was before you understood love. 

He was still there when you woke up for good, awake this time. The light in the room blinded you and the first thing that Jisung did was to hurriedly close the blinds over the window and dim the ceiling light a little. You were in a hospital room, hooked up to a few machines and an IV, and there were vases with flowers surrounding your bed. Their scent permeated the room, subtle yet undeniably there underneath layers of antiseptic.

“Hey,” Jisung said, taking your hand again. “You’re back.” 

You almost joked by saying, I never left, but that would not have been true and you knew that. You did leave. You could still feel something velvety under your fingertips. You could still smell the rich scent of a pine tree under the sun.

You tried speaking and yet no words came out. They weren’t even stuck in your throat—it was as though they wouldn’t even leave your mind. After a few deep breaths, you made another attempt, forcing your lips open and focusing on nothing except the thought that you wanted to express, which was the overwhelming thirst making your mouth dryer than the Sahara. Panic took over you as you once again failed to speak. You looked around as if anything here could solve your problem. 

Nothing could, except Jisung noticed your gaze lingering on the water pitcher by your bed and understood what you wanted. He poured you a glass of ice-cold water and held it for you while you drank. Swallowing it was almost painful, yet immensely relieving. Llhas.

“You weren’t supposed to move before the doctor came to see you,” Jisung explained while he helped you lie down again, yet he remained by your side once your head lay on your pillow. 

The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds, and then the seconds stretched into a longer moment. There were so many things you wanted to say to him and your inability to do so had nothing to do with whatever made it hard for you to form words. You wanted to thank him for everything he had done for you these past months, yet it seemed those words did not even exist.

You wanted to apologize. For all the times he had asked you not to do something stupid, and you didn’t listen to him. Because you didn’t care. But it felt so unlike you not to care, and you could see that now. 

Jisung opened his mouth to speak but instead, cupped your face in his hand, pushing a strand of hair away from your eyes. He looked like a mess—he was wearing the same shirt he had been before, he hadn’t shaved, and he smelled like cheap spray deodorant. 

He seemed to read your question in your eyes because he gave you an answer. “A car hit the front of the taxi—the engine, actually. The police said he wasn’t drunk or anything. His car just… malfunctioned.” 

You frowned, trying to remember the actual event, but finding yourself unable to. Not clearly at least. All that you remembered was fear and the smell of gasoline. 

“Actually,” he went on, “they said it came close. We—you—were lucky.” He took a deep breath, struggling to keep his voice steady. “If the guy’s car hadn’t glided on the wet pavement before his brakes failed, he would have hit you directly.” He offered you a faint, joyless smile. “Everyone is begging for the sun to return, but if it hadn’t been for the rain, you wouldn’t be here I think.” 

You gulped, wincing as you did so, and Jisung took it as a signal to help you drink more water. It was only then, as you tried holding your own cup, that you noticed the cast around your arm. 

“I’ll go tell them you’re awake,” Jisung said, and he left the room. It seemed all incredibly empty then. Not even the flowers made it look any livelier. You lay on your hospital bed, eyes to the ceiling, letting the pain in your body speak to you. Your arm didn’t hurt as much as your neck and your shoulder, but it felt sore and heavy. 

It didn’t take very long until a doctor came in to see you, and Jisung remained by the door, waiting politely as you were told about a small fracture in your upper arm and a mild concussion, which explained the strange pressure you felt behind your eyes. It was alright because all you had to do was nod and say “Hm hm” in a variety of intonations, so your little problem went vastly under the radar. The doctor mentioned you were probably tired and advised you to rest—he didn’t want to discharge you until tomorrow, to make sure things were alright.

You slept most of the day. At one point, Jisung left to go shower but he was immediately replaced by Seungmin, who, it looked like, was inclined to speak just as much as you. He seemed troubled, often returning to his phone with a frown on his brow, but he brought you a phone. Not your phone, because yours had been destroyed in the accident.

In between naps, you held the new device in your hand. It was similar to the one you had, only a slightly newer model. You opened the text app and, naturally, it was empty. 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Seungmin told you when he caught sight of the screen. “The SIM card was also ruined so I had to get a new one. Did you sync your stuff online? I can do it for you.” It wasn't worth it. On your other phone, you had settings that synced pictures and videos, but not text messages. 

You remembered the conversation you wished to look at with your own two eyes, the one where the recipient’s phone number was now deactivated. 

You slept more. You slept until a nurse woke you up for dinner, saying that you hadn’t eaten enough today and that youhad to finish your meal. 

Jisung watched you play with your food—some sort of casserole—for a while. “You need to eat,” he said, but he tookthe plate away from you. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you after opening a food delivery app. “Order whatever you want. I’m starving, too.” 

Half an hour later, the two of you were eating burgers with french fries and an unhealthy amount of soda. He even ordered some cake for dessert, which you also ate. While you had dinner, Jisung showed you the flowers from up close and explained to you who they came from. They were pretty. 

There was one huge flower arrangement from the museum and one specifically from Minji and Mrs. Yoo, which brought tears to your eyes. There was a vase from the publishing house where you’d publish the book, and the last was a little smaller than the others, more modest, but lovely nonetheless. Chrysanthemums, aster and some leafage. There was a card with it: 

Get well soon. I hope to meet you again,

P. Seonghwa 

You looked at this one for a little longer than the others. Jisung seemed to believe you didn’t know, or remember, who the sender was, so he clarified for you.

“Remember? He’s the journalist who interviewed you a few months ago, about that tablet.” The Casnea tablet. How could he think you wouldn’t remember that? “Looks like you made a strong impression on him.” 

There were quite a few innuendos in Jisung’s last sentence and they did bring back a few memories—not anything that you had forgotten, just things that did not matter in the grand scheme of things. Not that Mr. Seonghwa himself didn’t matter. After all, he was a good person and a talented journalist. But Minji had hinted—no, she had claimed with certainty—that he had been hitting on you. And he did ask you out to dinner. And you never even responded to him, yet he sent you flowers? How did he even know you were in the hospital?

To Jisung, you gave a nod so that he wouldn’t insist, and you both finished your food. He helped you to the bathroom so that you could wash up—you sat on a chair while he ran a damp towel on your face and your neck. The gestures were familiar to you, only, not from his hands. He even brushed your hair with the comb that came in the bag of toiletries that Seungmin brought you. “I’m gonna have to tell the doctor, you know,” he said under his voice, nowspraying rose water in your brushed hair. “That you can’t talk.” He looked at you then. “Or is it that you won’t talk? Did that guy hurt you?”

It took a few seconds for you to even remember who Jisung was talking about. You shook your head, almost mumbling a no, but the words melted on your tongue before they could form. No. Jonathan hadn’t hurt you. You felt nothing about him, or for him.

He sighed. “I’ll go get us some coffee.” He remembered that you liked to drink one after a particularly big dinner. It spilled a little bit of warmth into your chest. “If it hasn’t come back in one hour, I'll tell the doctor. Aphasia’s no joke. They’re gonna have to do more MRIs.” 

You knew he wasn’t even talking about the tests the doctors did last night—this was about how nobody could figure out how, or why, you suddenly acquired the knowledge of a dead language. They had studied you and your brain for weeks without finding anything even a little abnormal about it. And yet here you were, involved in yet another language-related incident.

You sat on the bed with your empty phone, not even knowing where to begin with it, or perhaps enjoying its silence. The nurses Jisung had tasked with watching over you were pretending not to be staring, leaning against the wall by your door. He had done that when he went to pick up the food too. As if you needed a babysitter. 

You cleared your throat, inhaling as much as you could. You could talk. You really could. You could read and talk. And write. None of these things were foreign to you, so it wasn’t supposed to be hard. You needed to be able to speak again if only to tell Han Jisung that you wouldn’t allow him to put a baby monitor in your bedroom later on, no matter how overprotective he acted with you.

“Here I am,” Jisung announced proudly when he returned, a cup holder in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He gave a not-so-inconspicuous nod to the nurses by the door, who then walked away. “I had an idea while I was downstairs—I figured, maybe some reading could help. Make your brain think about words.” 

He handed you your coffee which was average hospital coffee, and left a pile of magazines on your bed. “They didn’t have much,” he apologized. “But it’s better than nothing, I guess.” 

When he went to sit on the chair, you made space for him on your bed. He seemed to hesitate before he sat next to you. It reminded you of the few instances after you had sex with him, when you’d smoke before sleeping, or before he left your place. He rarely spent the night at yours. 

The first magazine was a little boring—it didn’t have much going for it other than a few scientific articles. One about Antarctica, one about heirloom tomatoes, and another about the fauna in certain African countries. You flipped through the pages, finding no problem in reading, just having no interest in doing it. 

You finished your coffee by the time you made it to the second magazine, which was a well-known, music-oriented magazine. This one seemed to have a bit more life to it, so you started on page one and actually read the article—about an up-and-coming alternative band—alongside Jisung, who commented on it. You knew he was doing it just to stimulate your speech abilities and you appreciated it. A lot. 

Actually, you were just laughing at one of his stupid jokes when you turned the page you were on and came face to face with a full-sheet advertisement for a luxury jewelry brand. Your heart dropped in shock, putting an abrupt end to your laughter. It stirred in your throat, becoming something else, as tears tickled your eyes. You fought them, though, so that your vision remained as clear as it could be, staring at the ad before you. 

Hyunjin.

You would say that you had almost forgotten how beautiful he was but he possessed the kind of beauty that was impossible not to remember. He was handsome in a way that nobody else before him had been or after him would be.

In the ad, he was dressed in modest, white clothing and sported his usual chin-length hair. He sat nonchalantly yet with his usual perfect posture in a white porcelain bathtub, posing with elegance and looking directly into the lens of the camera. Droplets of water could be seen sticking to his honey skin. One hand was buried into his damp hair while the other displayed a textured silver bracelet and a ring. 

Hyunjin.

You reached for the magazine, caressing his face with your fingertips as though you could feel him, but it was only a fool’s attempt at making sure that he was real. That he had ever been real. Just yesterday, you could still pick up your phone and scroll through your texts until you found the dead conversation with him just to verify that he had indeedexisted. That he had indeed once existed with you. In your life. And you in his. 

Just yesterday, you didn’t care that he had left you.

“Fuck.” Jisung tried to take the magazine from you but you were quicker, which caused you to moan in pain from having moved a little too fast. He raised both his hands, yielding before you could hurt yourself any further. 

You reported your attention to the page only you weren’t really seeing it. You were seeing other things. You were tasting expensive wine, you were slow dancing in the cold night, you were talking for hours about history and art and everything else. You were smelling petrichor and amber and rose and peaches and you were feeling Hyunjin’s smooth skin under your touch. Under your tongue. His lips on yours kissing you alive and his cock inside you fucking you to your demise. 

You exhaled in an unexpected sob which caught you off-guard and brought you back to reality. You turned to Jisung, your lips trembling, your heart sprinting, its beat echoing within your ribcage like a song, or more accurately, war drums. 

The words came to you as though they were meant to be the ones you spoke all along. 

“I miss him,” you uttered, your voice no more than a whisper, but not weak. “Hyunjin. Ji, I miss him so much.” 

There was nothing that Jisung could do, but he held you as you wept as finally, the scorching pain of his absence tore through you like a serrated blade. And yet you relished it. Every moment of it, every tear, every second of agony. Nothing had ever hurt you quite as much as losing him, but you would choose to be tormented over being numb any day. Because it meant your heart was still beating in your chest. It meant that you could feel something. Anything. It meant that you had loved him. That you still loved him. 

But had he loved you? No. Why would a man like him love you?

If he loved you, why would he leave?

You did not sleep, but Jisung did, his arms around you as though he could bear some of the weight of your sorrows for you. You let him sleep, tears rolling down your cheeks quietly as the night shift of the hospital began. 

It was two in the morning when Jisung stirred in his sleep before waking up almost violently. His first instinct was to check on you. Your cheeks were still damp and your eyes were dry and sore but you had cried all of the tears you had to cry.

“Do you know, Jisung?” you murmured as he took your hand in his. “Do you know why he left? Was it because of me?”

You had spent all these months without thinking about it but had made up for it these past few hours, analyzing the situation, going through all of your memories to find something. A reason. The shadow of a reason. But you couldn’t think of anything, so the natural conclusion had been that Hyunjin had realized he didn’t want you and had left. He was kind and sensitive, and you could imagine that he had found himself unable to tell you because he knew it would break your heart. You couldn’t compare with that past lover of his, the one he never forgot. The one he still loved. 

It probably felt wrong. To kiss you, to fuck you, when he loved another.

“Because of you?” Jisung frowned, squeezing your hand harder. “I’m not supposed to—” He cut his own sentence off, biting his lip. You couldn’t make out his exact expression in the darkness of the room but you saw the moment his shoulders went from tense to relaxed. Not from relief, but from a surrender. “He came to see me. Before he left.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“He came to see me,” Jisung repeated, his voice low. “He… he wouldn’t give me details, but he said that you would be in danger, and he asked me to watch over you while he was gone.”

The words spilling from Jisung’s mouth were so unlikely, so foreign, that you took the time to translate them in your mind. But none of the languages you knew could explain their existence. Nothing made sense anymore. You hadn’t really questioned Jisung’s sudden willingness to become your personal bodyguard. But you hadn’t really questioned anything back then. 

It wasn’t even the part about you being in danger that shocked you the most.

“But why would he ask you that?” You shook your head. “It’s not like he cared, is it? If he cared, he wouldn’t have left. He never… loved me. Or anything like that.” It hurt you to say those words, but it was better than not speaking at all. 

Jisung’s breath hitched softly, ending in a sigh. “Is that what you think? Is that what you’ve thought this whole time, why you… do these things?” And you knew he meant getting drunk and fucking strangers just to feel something.

There were no words for the feeling that was creeping up in your chest, and it had nothing to do with your temporary aphasia. 

“God, I hated not telling you, I should have told you.” Jisung leaned closer to you then, as though you wouldn’t hear him from a few inches farther. “He did. Love you, I mean. He said so, I promise. I swear, he told me that he did.”

You thought that you were dreaming, but you knew that you were awake because of your desolation, that feeling of emptiness—the barren thing that you had become, it all felt too real to be a dream.

Outside, the rain stopped.

Hyunjin: How is she doing? You said they’d remove her cast yesterday but you didn’t text me. Please respond. 

Hyunjin put his phone down and grabbed his glass instead. Half of it was filled with wine and the other half was pure boredom. Despair. Sorrow. And it was sour, the taste of it overcoming the wine. 

It was a white. It was the wine that he had with you on your first date.

It wasn’t supposed to be a date but it became one. Nothing was supposed to happen the way it did but it was too late now, and what had been done could not be undone. You could not unlearn Cipherian. 

He could not unlove you.

He tried. He did try, not because he wanted to, but because he thought that making you insignificant might be the only way to save you. Making it so that you did not matter, that you were invisible to the gods. But it just was not possible. He could put the whole world between the two of you; he could prevent any access to the internet from his phone or laptop to resist temptation; he could keep his days and his nights busy with photoshoots and fashion weeks, but it did not mean that you would leave his mind for one second. You never did.

You haunted him. 

Hyunjin looked at the horizon before him. The view from his hotel room was stunning—he was right by the sea, close enough that its scent invaded the room through the double doors he left open. Tonight, however, he was sitting on the suite’s private balcony, with a bottle of wine kept on ice and a dinner he hadn’t touched in front of him. 

The sun was setting and taking its time doing so, blending and melting into the blue of the sea. The sight of it cut his breath short. He reached out, as though he could feel it with his fingers. Its light, its warmth, its force. And he did. He did feel it. Light came to him as a gentle caress. Like somebody taking his hand in theirs. 

“Feliks,” he said under his breath, and the sounds of the promenade below him swallowed his voice. The waves, lazy but steady, and the conversations. All these people, so alive, so mortal. Alive because they were mortal. 

Hyunjin was neither of these things. One might believe that immortality granted an unlimited amount of vitality, ofresolve, too. He found that it was rather the opposite. Did they know? All of these people? Did they know how lucky they were? 

He jumped when his phone vibrated on the table—Hyunjin let his arm fall back on the side of his body while his other hand grabbed the device quickly, eager to read the response.

Seungmin: Sorry, things have been busy. The cast came off and she’s fine, just a little sore Hyunjin: Is she eating? Sleeping? Seungmin: Mostly. Han is on it 24/7. You ok? Hyunjin: I’ve got lots of really cool gigs.

Which was his way to say that he was okay even though he was not. However, he would keep pretending otherwise over the phone so that his former manager wouldn’t worry. During their time together, he and Seungmin had grown fond of each other—enough so that Hyunjin knew he would leave your employment and come find him again should he feel like it was necessary. But Hyunjin had asked him to keep an eye on you. 

He could not tell Seungmin, or Han Jisung, that you had angered the gods, and that it was all his fault. But it seemed like they did buy his made-up conspiracy story about how your big discovery made many people jealous. They even believed they had a distant connection to Hyunjin through past jobs and that they could use him to find you, because they would find you. At any cost. You mean any cost? Seungmin had asked while Hyunjin was going around his bedroom, throwing random items of clothing into a bag—he had booked a last-minute flight to get away from you as quickly as possible. Why does that sound like these people are going to… kill her?

Because they fucking will, had been Hyunjin’s answer. It was the closest word to it anyway—kill. Death. It was the only way he could explain the urgency of the situation to a mortal, but what he feared might happen to you was so much worse. Death was the proof that one used to be alive, that they loved and were loved. 

But when some of them would get ahold of you—his father, or perhaps Feliks’ father—they would just unmake you. They would make it so that you had never existed. Nobody would remember you. All of the things you had ever touched would go untouched by you. Including him. His lips, unkissed. His cock would never have known the miracle between your legs. His heart, his mind, and even his soul would have no recollection of you, same as everyone else. 

They were greedy, self-important, arrogant gods. It would not matter to them that it was Feliks who had kissed their language into you without consulting you about it—it would not stop them from doing what they felt was necessary to do in order to remain that. Gods.

Because it was that for them—that rift separating them from the mortal, all the pieces of it that made it whole and solid—was what made them godly creatures. It wasn’t about who they were, what they were, and the vastness of their dominance. It was about who they were to mortals, what they were as opposed to mortals, and how they could use their sovereignty to establish themselves as supreme beings. 

And maybe it had been why he never fit in. Because Hyunjin had never cared much for it—for who he was to others, and whether he was worshiped or not. He’d much rather have a simpler life, where one has to earn love instead of claiming it by force or manipulating others into it.

Seungmin: I saw that. Congrats!

Hyunjin let his thumb hover on the screen as the next text he wanted to send appeared in his mind. It was the very same text he had wanted to send since day one, since the very moment he sat his ass down on that first flight that put distance between you and him. 

Maybe it had been foolish. To think that by making this sacrifice, he was saving you. That it would take the gods’ attention away from you a little—after all, it was him they were meant to observe while he served his sentence on the mortal plane, not you. Hyunjin knew his father, he knew the anger of others like him—they were probably furious that you had come to learn the secret language of the gods, but he knew that they were even more resentful that he, Hyathos, had fallen in love with a simple mortal and had decided to devote his life to her. 

Hyunjin typed the words just to see how it felt to do so. Does she ask about me sometimes? What a pathetic question. Counterproductive, too. Kyma had been generous—and brave—enough to provide you with indifference, but there was only so much she could have done from here after all, so it was Hyunjin who was cursed with the yearning for your love.

A blessing can sometimes come disguised as a curse.

There was no winning with that, no matter what Seungmin would tell him. If he said you never talked about him, it would crush him. If he said you asked for him or missed him, it would be even worse. That was also why he never let Seungmin tell him where your public appearances took you—otherwise, nothing would stop him from just getting on a plane and finding you. And kiss you again. And tell you how he felt. 

There was no point in sending that text to his former manager because Hyunjin had been very clear—if for any reason, at any moment, you asked about him, Seungmin and Jisung were to tell you that he had ghosted them, too, not even bothering with saying goodbye.

He drank the rest of the wine in his glass and instead of filling it again, Hyunjin started to drink directly from the bottle, then he erased the text and put his phone back. He had typed those words many times yet never sent them. 

Hyunjin jumped when a flash of light illuminated the world, followed by another. When he heard the rumble of thunder, he looked up out of habit, only to be faced with the sunset again. Although it was rapidly descending, it was still very much there in a clear, limpid sky. 

One glance behind him showed another story—over there, dark, thick clouds were rolling over the world, coming face to face with the last slither of light, blending with it in the sky like oil on a canvas. Lightning cracked once again as the scent of petrichor invaded the air. Hyunjin remained there, motionless, as the tourists on the promenade were becoming aware of the incoming weather, hurrying to take shelter. It was noisy, but then Hyunjin realized the racket didn’t only come from downstairs—it came from the skies, too.

And then it rained. It rained so hard that each drop felt like tiny shards cutting into his skin—if Hyunjin had been able to feel pain, he was certain that this would be enough to make him pass out. Instead, it just felt like a hundred little cuts. Still, he lingered on the balcony for a few moments, watching the sunset as it struggled to withstand the sudden storm. The world was becoming dark and cold. Somewhere on the promenade, a child was crying and calling for its mother, only the rain was so dense that he couldn’t even see where the screams came from. 

The clouds swallowed the sunset and Hyunjin retreated inside, closing the double doors behind him. Tomorrow, on the news, they would once again talk about the strangeness of the weather and the impact it had on the world. He envied them. The mortals. They thought it was climate change. They thought it was some meteorological once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon. 

Well, it was a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon but it had nothing to do with climate change. 

Despite the closed doors and the rain falling hard outside, it seemed to him that he could still hear the child. Screams coated with cold-blooded terror, with sheer panic. The child begged for their mother over and over and Hyunjin heard it despite thunder and distance.

He grabbed a hoodie left on the back of a chair and quickly put it on, pulling it over his head before heading downstairs. Dismay was tangible in the hallways—people were afraid of the sudden rain. He ran into many of them, drenched, making their way back to their hotel room, just grateful to be somewhere dry.

Hyunjin was glad to have chosen the stairs instead of the elevator when the power went out in the building but even more so when did not come back on. No auxiliary power seemed to be functional either as the entire place turned dark. He used his phone to navigate his way outside, but by now, it was difficult because of the straight-up agitation that reigned in the hotel. He heard a scream downstairs, then someone asking others to keep calm. 

Hyunjin found the lobby crowded. By the mismatched arrangement of people here, he figured that some of them had probably been lounging on the beach when the rain hit and had simply run for shelter to the nearest door they could find. Others clung to their suitcase. The room was lit up by many other phones and a few small lanterns that people sometimes brought on camping trips. 

Outside, it looked like the end of the world.

It wasn’t raining. Oceans were falling from the sky, crashing down hard enough that it felt like an earthquake. Or maybe there was an earthquake. 

Hyunjin elbowed his way toward the door. Two security guards were standing by it, not guarding per se, but like everyone else, watching the peculiar scene outside. Water was rising in the streets—it wouldn’t take long before it reached the door and crept under. Some buildings farther down the promenade were already half-submerged. 

“You really should stay inside,” one of the two men told Hyunjin, barely glancing at him—just enough to notice that he had wrapped his fingers around the door handle. 

“There was a child in distress,” Hyunjin replied. 

“Authorities have been called,” the guy assured. “Was this your child, sir?” 

His child? No. He wondered sometimes if his divine seed could have taken within you. You were the first woman he had fucked without protection and he wasn’t entirely sure mortal birth control worked in this case. That would have been so much worse. Should he have put a baby inside you, his father’s retaliation would surely be the worst imaginable. Hyunjin could very well picture it and the way his father would tear the unborn child out of your womb and claim you for himself by putting one of his inside you. It was the way they did it. The gods. The cruel ones. 

He had been so careless. He had been negligent. Clearly, you weren’t pregnant so there was no point in ruminating and yet, he realized the magnitude of his mistake as he watched the torrents fall from the sky. He had been foolish and fearless when he should have been the opposite. He should have walked away the moment you made his heart flutter at the museum. He should have walked away the moment you made his cock hard just because of the words you were saying, or because of your perfume. He should have walked away the moment he realized he could not walk away because he did not possess the strength to deny himself this, to deny himself you.

He had been unreasonable, unwise, and imprudent. He had been a mortal.

He gulped, his throat dry. “I’m just gonna go see.” He did not wait—Hyunjin pulled the door open and walked outside. 

It was probably as close as it could get to drowning while standing with two feet on the ground. The storm went on, worsening the deluge, yet Hyunjin could still hear the panicked screams. Somewhere farther, much farther, were sirens and honks. But here, it was just him, standing in the middle of the street as he tried to locate the source of the cries. Whenever he thought he found it, thunder rumbled, or someone pounded on the window of the hotel, surely to incite him to come back. 

The water had risen above his ankles when he figured out where to go, weighing down his footsteps. The rain was cold and unforgivable, and for once, he felt like something was matching the desolation of his life since you were no longer in it. He felt like it was that, this torment of his, that was descending from the skies, permeating every molecule around, flooding the entire place. This is how he felt without you. Like he was drowning, except not. Like every footstep, every inhale of oxygen cost him part of his soul, and maybe it did.

Could one drown in emptiness the same way they could in water? 

The more he walked, the louder the cries became. He called out to see if he would be heard in return but got no response. His heart was pumping so hard in his chest that he felt something strange happening to his body, something that had never happened before. It felt a little like his brain was floating in jello, like his body was going limp despite his unwillingness. His balance was weird too, like he really had to focus just to stay on his feet. 

Was this what being dizzy felt like? He had heard so much about it during his time here but had never experienced it himself. He did not think he even could experience it. Maybe it was the wine—while alcohol didn’t affect him as much as it would a mortal, he wasn’t insensitive to it. But this… was a lot.

Hyunjin held onto a ramp by the side of the promenade as he fought his way through the wall of rain. Using his hearing to guide himself, he stopped again near a small shop that rented beach chairs and other similar items. The cries stopped then, but he had enough time to finally be sure that they came from the other side of the building.

He jumped over the fence, landing in water that now reached close to the middle of his shin. He did not know what he expected to find when he turned the corner of the shop, but it certainly wasn’t this.

A child stood there. A little boy, his posture stiff, his hands closed in fists. He did not move when Hyunjin appeared beside him, keeping his gaze fixated on the horizon, toward the place where the sunset had been before it got swallowed by a storm.

Hyunjin tried to speak but the words remained stuck somewhere in his throat. He reached for the boy, not really thinking, or perhaps thinking that he would at least take him back with him to the hotel, where they could try to find his parents after the rain was over.

When his fingers came in contact with the child’s shoulder, the boy turned to him, his head snapping at inhuman speed. Hyunjin had not been afraid very often in his life—certainly not among mortals—but he was now. The child’s face was distorted with emotions too deep for a boy this age—terror, agony, and dread decorated his traits, taking control over them, over him entirely. 

Hyunjin looked into the boy’s big, intricate eyes, and then his gaze lingered on his soft brown hair. Damp, it stuck to his honey skin. He had seen this face before. He could not shake off the feeling of familiarity he felt, no matter how scared of one another they were. He had seen this boy before.

He had been this boy before.

It became obvious then, that Hyunjin was staring at a version of himself when he was still young, even by god standards, when he was little and innocent. I must be dreaming, he told himself, unable to look away. Tears pricked at his eyes as terror invaded him too. 

How could this be possible? 

Then, the boy resumed his screaming, his face contorting even more as though he was in pain. He screamed and he cried and he begged for his mother, for their mother. Hyunjin wanted to tell him that no matter how loud he shouted, Agatheia would never hear him, not from here. 

Before he could even do anything, the boy ran away, but not for long—he ran toward the other side of the promenade, stopping at the fence, which was the only thing between him and a nasty fall into the sea. I won’t hurt you, Hyunjin wanted to say, but that would have been a lie. He had hurt himself plenty. 

The boy climbed on the fence—Hyunjin darted in his direction but it was too late. The child glanced behind his shoulder, looking straight into Hyunjin’s eyes, and he jumped. 

He looked down into the sea when he reached the place where the boy had been just two seconds ago but he couldn’t see anything, just waves. It was at this moment that the rain began to falter, too, the incessant sound of it becoming less and less deafening, the pressure of it less and less unpleasant.

He stood there for a long time, not moving, staring at the water. Neither jumping after the child nor walking away. The rain had completely come to a stop when Hyunjin finally looked away, finding the avenue crowded with emergency services. A firefighter was coming his way and even spoke to him but Hyunjin could not respond yet. In his head, the scene kept playing over and over—the child turned ugly by fear, the child screaming, the child running, the child jumping into the sea.

“Sir?” the man insisted, putting himself in front of Hyunjin. “Sir, are you hurt?”

Hurt? No, he could not be hurt. Not his body anyway. A curse, a blessing. All of his wounds were within him, bleeding, raw, sensitive, and you were the worst of them all. 

He shook his head, walking away. The firefighter followed him for a few meters before being called somewhere else, so Hyunjin went back to the hotel on his own. His shoes were filled with water, much like his clothes. He didn’t look at anyone when he reached the hotel lobby, and he climbed the five floors in the staircase because the power was still out. 

He was cold, or at least he thought he was. 

Once he reached his room again, he put his phone on the table and removed all of his clothes, and then Hyunjin lay down beneath all of the covers of his bed. It seemed like he had never been as tired as he was now. 

He fell asleep, only it felt a little too much like it.

Like he jumped over a fence and fell into a stormy sea.

Hyunjin was dreaming. 

And he knew that he was dreaming because he was back here in the meadow with the cypress tree. The sky was lilac, the air smelled like evergreen trees, like salt, and like gold. The soft grass caressed his bare ankles, and it was at that moment that he realized he was fully naked, much like the figure sitting underneath the tall tree. 

Feliks. 

He wanted to run yet he knew there was no need to hurry in this place, so he simply took one step, then another, crossing the space between the sun and him at a steady pace. The closer he got, the sweeter the air became as undertones of ripe peach and plums blended with it. 

Hyunjin could not take his eyes off him, off Feliks. He knew that it was a dream, but it felt so real. The warm glow of his light-colored hair, the shimmer of the constellations on his skin.

His smile. The smile that he had for him, back when he could still call this place home. Not that the land of gods had ever been that for him, a home, but this meadow had been the only thing that felt like it for him before you came into his life. 

“Hyathos.” Feliks’ voice filled him like sunlight melts ice on a winter morning. “I’ve missed you.”

He was there then, towering over his past lover, looking at him as though he could not believe what he saw. And yet he was there, undeniably. His smile, his delicate and beautiful body, his thighs, his cock. Soft, it rested lazily on Feliks’ flat stomach, as tantalizing as ever.

Feliks offered him a hand. When Hyunjin took it, he pulled him gently to the ground with him, and he let him. His knees sank into the soft grass, and then they sat close to one another, their bodies touching in more than one place. It started little fires all over Hyunjin, its flames coursing through his veins, settling at the back of his neck, somewhere within his ribcage, and between his legs. 

“I miss you,” Feliks repeated, and the slight alteration in his sentence made Hyunjin want to cry. 

“I miss you too.” And he did. He missed him and how easy and forbidden their love had been. He missed his lips and his laugh and his hands all over him. He missed the man he had been when they were together—hopeful, self-assured, courageous. Yet, he resented the god he was facing now. “Why did you do this, Feliks?”

He knew he didn’t have to explain any further—they never needed a lot of words to understand each other. Besides, Hyunjin imagined he could read it in his eyes. 

Feliks bit into his lip, his glimmering eyes filling with tears. “I thought it would help if you could read the stories again, the real ones, not those the mortals tell each other. I thought... since you could no longer understand our language, that I could give it to someone close to you. Someone who wasn’t selfish, who would share it with you willingly.” 

Hyunjin found nothing to respond to that, but he had to admit he had been waiting eagerly for your published translations of the ancient texts so that he could remember them, really remember them, once more.

“I didn’t think enough,” he went on. “I should have known this would anger them.”

Them. Hyunjin’s father, Feliks’ father, the others. “Do they know it’s you who did it?” he asked, his voice low and strangled. He had lost you already and he wasn’t sure he could lose Feliks also.

The god of light nodded slowly. “That is why I called you here, Hyathos. I wanted to see you one last time before…”

“No.” Hyunjin felt something tickle his throat. 

Feliks sighed. “They’ll probably send me to my aunt Ismene and she will be the one to judge me for my actions, which I know are highly punishable.” He reached for Hyunjin’s face, cupping his cheek in his warm hand. He had forgotten that feeling—the feeling of light itself spreading on his skin like kisses, like honey on warm bread. “My betrayal runs deep, I don’t expect exile would be quite enough to pay for my mistakes.”

“Don’t say that.” He hadn’t noticed before, but there was a small basket with peaches on the other side of Feliks, their skin soft and brightly colored. He recognized them. His peaches, the ones he used to grow in his orchard. The ones he used to bring here to share with Feliks. How did he get ahold of these? “It can’t be the end. They can’t unmake you, you’re… Feliks.” 

“There are other suns. I am just one of many. I am replaceable.” Feliks let go of him to grab two peaches, handing him one. 

Hyunjin understood that feeling—he had been that, once. Replaceable. One of many. He had been that to Feliks, and it had broken his soul. Or so he thought. Sometimes he wondered if he had truly loved Feliks but then regretted having those thoughts—of course he had loved him. Part of him still did love him and always would. It just had not been truelove. The kind of love that binds souls no matter what. The kind of love one doesn’t have to beg or wait for. 

Still. A world without Feliks was not a world that Hyunjin could imagine. When he tried to think about it, his brain only sent him white noise. 

He did not taste the peach, but he watched as his former lover bit into his, as the sweet juices ran down his chin. Feliks wiped them with the back of his hand. 

“Am I dreaming?” Hyunjin asked.

Feliks nodded. “Yes. It’s the only way I can reach you. It’s the only way I could reach her.”

He gulped as a strange sensation spilled into his chest—not quite anger, something milder than that. Irritation. Displeasure. “It’s the only way you could reach that painter too,” he pointed out, doing his best not to scowl. 

“I wanted you to get the message somehow, and back then, even bringing you here in your sleep would have been dangerous,” Feliks retorted before taking another bite of his peach, slurping as flesh and juice filled his beautiful mouth. 

The message. Yes, Hyunjin had read it in Caverley’s painting. It was not a message meant for mortal minds or words. It was a message of love. It was an apology. It said something along the lines of, I’m sorry I could not love you enough. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to love you enough. I miss you, but I can’t have you.

Hyunjin tilted his head. “It killed the man who painted it.” 

Feliks averted his gaze, letting go of his half-eaten peach. “I wanted you to—”

“You wanted me to understand, I know,” Hyunjin cut him off. It was always that with Feliks—he was so scared of being forgotten and misunderstood that he did not hesitate to use drastic measures to prevent it. Like fucking an apology into a clueless human, or kissing a dead language into the mortal Hyunjin had fallen in love with. 

They had been lovers for quite a while, but it had not been enough time for Hyunjin to make Feliks see that he loved the sun even after the night fell. 

“Feliks, have you ever loved me? Truly?” Sometimes, ignorance was worse than a dreaded truth.

“Is that what you think? That I never loved you?” Feliks’ eyes filled with tears. “Of course I did love you. I still do. Our loves are just not in the same language.” 

Hyunjin disagreed—the language was the same, it was the tenses that varied. Feliks only ever spoke to him in the present tense while he had seen his future in him. He had been a little foolish, perhaps, but he had truly believed thattheir love could unite their families. That, with time, his father would see that the gods from the realm of Light were not enemies, not rivals, but could be powerful allies instead. In return, he had been certain that Feliks could have convinced his parents that the people from the realm of Blood could be more than simple-minded warriors. The land of the gods had never known peace, and he had wanted to change that. He loved him enough for that, Feliks, that it could have changed the world. 

“It couldn’t have worked,” Feliks continued, his voice lower. “There are too many things between us.” 

He was right. Except that Hyunjin had wanted to try anyway. He would have tried, he would have. 

But when he went to respond, Feliks stopped him, raising his hand, listening. “Someone’s here,” he whispered. He turned toward the tree line at the other side of the meadow and spoke to it. “Come, dear. I’m sure he’ll want to see you.” 

Hyunjin turned his head just in time to see a person step onto the tall grass and approach the cypress tree with slow but purposeful movements. 

You. 

He stood, his heart stopping as you made your way toward him, more beautiful than any god or goddess he had ever seen.

“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Hyunjin asked no one in particular, but it was Feliks who gave him a response.

“Yes.” He stood, too, and embraced him from behind. It felt a little like Hyunjin was propelled two hundred feet farther. Feliks’ body was warm, comforting. Familiar. Like many times before, Feliks kissed his neck, pressing his full lips on his skin there. “There’s a reason why she’s here, but she is just a dream. It would be too risky to bring her whole here again. You want to keep her safe, right?”

Hyunjin gulped, hating the sudden weight tugging at him in his lower stomach, or perhaps hating that he relished it. “Yes. More than anything.”

You came to a stop before him, looking at him with big, sad eyes, your lips trembling. Your hair was longer than it had been the last time he saw you. He was stunned at the unexpected sight of you. He hadn’t thought about the moment he would see you again because he had just assumed there would be no such moment. 

“But she looks real,” he insisted, his body going limp. 

Feliks held him tighter, leaving little kisses on his upper back, his bare shoulder, wrapping an arm around his chest to pull him closer. 

“She looks real because you want her to look real, Hyathos.” Feliks offered you his other hand. “Come see me.” 

So you did—you obeyed, walking past him to join Feliks but never letting Hyunjin leave your sight. He couldn’t hold it against you—nobody could ignore it when the light itself summoned them. It used to be all he had. Those moments when Feliks called on him and they would come here in this secret place to talk and to fuck. It used to make him feel so big, so important, to be loved by someone as bright and warm as Feliks. It used to drive him crazy when Feliks would get hard under his touch, or when Feliks begged to suck his cock. Then Hyunjin would watch as his length disappeared between his lover’s pretty lips, and everything felt right. 

He used to believe it when Feliks said I love you. And he did. Love him. This, Hyunjin and Hyathos alike knew. But Feliks wanted to be loved by all—he felt inadequate and small and lacking when he did not feel the love of many.Hyunjin, on the other hand, felt inadequate and small and empty when he did not feel the love of Feliks. He never sought more than that—he never needed more than that. Feliks, perhaps, had a bigger heart than he did, and it just required more to replenish it. 

Feliks let go of him to take both your hands, pulling you closer to him. He left a chaste kiss on your cheek. “You should taste a peach, they’re delicious,” he advised you, and you complied. When you were at a reasonable distance, Feliks approached him again. “It’s time to say goodbye, Hyathos. I don’t think I’ll ever see this place, or you again.” 

No. It did not matter that he had not been enough for Feliks, he couldn’t imagine his life without him. Hyunjin had learned that—that love was rarely fair. But that did not bother him.

“They’ll come get me and you have to be gone before they do. They can’t see you. It’s too dangerous,” Feliks insisted. He pressed his small hand on Hyunjin’s cheek, pulling him into a kiss. Lips on lips. And then the lips parted, deepening the kiss. 

It felt good. Like returning to a favorite travel destination knowing that it would never be your home but enjoying being there nonetheless. It felt good like a ray of light appearing from behind clouds after a storm. It felt good like a blade through the heart.

Hyunjin pulled away, realizing that kissing Feliks felt exactly like it always had, only he no longer wished to do it. It hurt him. It hurt him to become aware of it, and yet relief overtook him. 

Feliks had a faint smile. “Go now, take her with you. They’ll be here any minute.”

He wasn’t quite ready to let go yet. “You have to fight. You have to lie, to tell them… it wasn’t you. You have to—”

Feliks shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I tell them. Aunt Ismene will see everything.” 

Hyunjin wondered what she would see. He wondered if, perhaps, Feliks had wanted to give mortals the language of the gods so that they found new ways to love him. That was something that he did, sometimes—giving up entire parts of himself seeking validation, admiration, and affection. As though he was blind to himself, to how bright and regarded he was. Nothing would ever be enough for him. Nothing. And for that, Hyunjin pitied him. 

He could hear them now—footsteps coming from the forest, and voices, too. As though whoever was coming to get Feliks had no fear of being heard. “Feliks…” 

“Whatever happens, we’ll never be fully apart,” Feliks said, letting go of him, even nudging him away. “Please. You have to leave.” 

But Hyunjin’s feet were anchored to the ground. He wanted to weep and scream. He looked away, past the forest, toward the mountains separating the realm of Light and the realm of Blood. On the other side of them was his mother. She was probably sitting in her garden, hoping for the safe return of her only remaining son. He wanted to stay here and go see her. He wanted to stay here and eat peaches with you and Feliks. He wanted you to get to know him. Feliks. You’d like him, he was sure of that.

“Now!” Feliks insisted through his teeth, and when Hyunjin still didn’t move, he turned to you. “Get him out of here, please. Please, both of you have to go.”

The peach that you were holding fell to the ground when you let go of it, immediately taking action. You made your way to him, taking his face in your hands. “Hyunjin, come with me.”

You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“Follow me. We’re leaving.” And he did follow you, but not without a last glance at Feliks from over his shoulder. He could see it now—Feliks had summoned you here because he knew you were the only thing Hyunjin would choose over him. “Faster. Faster!” 

You were running then and so was he—both of you bolted, sprinting to reach the safety of the trees surrounding the meadow before it was too late. Feliks still stood underneath the cypress tree, looking at the both of you even though he could not see. 

Six figures appeared, but before he could make out who they were exactly, you forced him to look away, holding his head in your trembling hands. “Wake up now,” you whispered. “I miss you. I miss you. Please come find me.” 

You were a dream. You weren’t really asking him this. It could not be real.

Behind him, noises of a fight echoed.

“Wake up,” you said again. But all he wanted to do was go kill the men who were taking Feliks away and then fuck you hard. He missed you in a way he did not know something could be missed—like he had put a part of himself in your heart and existed without it since. 

He kissed you, tears running down his cheeks. Feliks screamed, and Hyunjin woke up.

The hotel room was dark, the air humid and cold. Hyunjin stayed motionless in his bed, his heartbeat the only thing he could hear, holding onto the last thing he had felt from his dream, which was your lips. He was rock hard underneath the sheets, sensitive, leaking as though he had been aroused for hours. 

He closed his eyes again, chasing the dream, trying to make sense of it. It was night outside and it was night inside andit was night inside of him too. He didn’t know if any of it was true. Feliks. He didn’t know if they had taken him away or if it was just his mind telling him that he, Hyunjin, was ready to let him go.

Maybe it was both.

He remembered you, too, your body, the feeling of it against his. Your skin, your lips. Your scent. You. He rolled on his stomach to rub himself on the mattress, an unbearable pressure building between his legs, an ache spreading all over his cock and his balls and his chest. 

He loved you. He did. He loved you in the way a mortal could love, which was to say, like he was running out of time. He needed more of it, more time, to kiss you, to love you, to make you breakfast. To eat your pussy. To bake a peach crumble with you. To make love to you, to visit hundreds of museums all over the world with you. 

He was running out of time. He had been wrong. He had been wrong to leave. How could he keep you safe if you were on the other side of the world? 

Hyunjin came then, the thought of seeing you again more than enough to tip him over the edge as he humped the mattress desperately, longing for you, yearning for you. He came whispering your name like a madman, spilling himself all over the satin sheets. His high lasted him for an unusually long time during which he could not stop seeking friction and imagining it was you he was fucking, remembering your pussy, remembering you. 

When he had fully emptied himself, he collapsed on the other half of the bed, his stomach covered in cum, his body covered in sweat, the fancy sheets stained in a way that ought to make him ashamed except he was not. The rain had stopped outside. He stared at the darkness around him, panting softly. Maybe the sun would never rise again, but that would not stop him. 

He could see it now—he was meant to be with you. At all costs. He would give his immortal life if it meant it would keep the selfish gods away from you. 

Night fell early these days, and the air smelled crisp—the fall winds were merciless outside of the car. You wrapped your woolen cardigan tighter around you, your gaze fixated on the road ahead. Music was playing at low volume on the car’s satellite radio—just some late-night chill beats to fill the silence that reigned inside the car. 

Jisung sat behind the wheel, driving carefully—neither too fast nor too slow—with his fingers tapping on the wheel to the rhythm of the music. 

Jisung sat behind the wheel, driving carefully—neither too fast nor too slow—with his fingers tapping on the wheel to the rhythm of the music. 

He cleared his throat. “Feels kinda weird to be back home, doesn’t it?” As though to support his statement, he motioned vaguely at the scenery around you, which was the highway between the airport and the downtown area. “It’s been a while.”

You nodded distractedly. “Yeah, been a while.” 

But even as you came upon familiar buildings and as you entered and drove deeper into the city, none of it felt like home. It felt no different than being on this stupid press tour. You wondered if perhaps it might feel strange because it was nighttime and that everything would be alright tomorrow morning, yet you knew you were only telling yourself lies. 

Maybe out of habit, Jisung slowed down the car as you drove past the museum. Your museum. You had visited so many of them to give press conferences that you had almost forgotten how much you liked this one. Maybe it was just because you were used to it. Maybe it was just because once, Hyunjin had kissed you within these walls. 

You almost told Jisung to stop here, that you’d go get something from your office just so you could see this familiar place again but changed your mind at the last minute. Still, you watched the museum from the side mirror after you went past it, not letting it leave your sight until the car took a right turn. 

When you turned your head at the front again, you noticed that Jisung had been watching you from the corner of his eyes, but pretending he wasn’t at all. 

Again, he cleared his throat. “Maybe—I mean, look, do you maybe wanna spend the night at mine?” He spoke a little too fast for it to sound natural. “I mean, not like, spend the night, I mean, just sleep there. I’ll take the couch. Then I’ll go help you unpack your things at yours tomorrow.”

You took a deep breath. Could he really sense that you weren’t exactly sure how you’d react to being back there again? At your apartment? It had been months, after all. You feared, almost, that Hyunjin’s scent would linger in places, like your couch or perhaps even your bedroom. And you didn’t know how that would make you feel. 

The same question that had been haunting you since the night of the accident returned to your mind, like pieces from a shipwreck lost at sea resurfacing after a violent storm. 

Why did he leave? If what Jisung said was true—if Hyunjin did love you, or even something close to that, why didn’t he stay?

For your safety had been Jisung’s only and relentless response whenever you questioned him, but that was a pile of horseshit. You couldn’t even blame Jisung for it—you knew he had been fed that aforementioned horseshit by Hyunjin himself and was only repeating his words.

“I’d rather go home,” you replied, but your voice sounded strangely foreign. You knew he offered because he cared and because he seemed to genuinely believe you were in some kind of danger. You, on the other hand, didn’t. Or maybe you didn’t care. “I’m not really tired so I’ll be up all night anyway. I’ll just work.”

Jisung let out a non-committal hum while he was trying to form a response. “It’s all you’ve been doing though. Working.” Still, he negotiated a turn, heading toward your neighborhood. 

“It’s all I have.” And it was just true, yet you knew it was a bit dark and that he would worry. He always worried, it seemed. “To do,” you added quickly. “It’s all I have to do.”

He saw right through you yet Jisung pretended he didn’t. “Will you go back to work at the museum? Like, after the books are out?”

You shrugged, feeling a strange weight pressing on your chest as you approached your building. “I mean, yes, I figure.” Technically, you were still employed there, and the entirety of your work on Cipherian and the myths was sponsored by the museum. You wondered how strange it would be, though. To walk on those floors again. To remember the woman you had been before.

That woman, you figured, was dead. She had been changed forever, altered to the point that she no longer existed. You would never be her again. You had been stained by something you couldn’t describe with words. 

Jisung did help you get your suitcase up to your door and stayed by your side while you were looking for your keys—you hadn’t used them in so long, after all. He asked if he could look around before you got inside, and you granted him that—after that, you knew he would be at peace and he would leave you alone. And it wasn’t even that you minded his company. If anything, you had come to enjoy it quite a lot. You just needed to be alone for a few hours, as though it would allow you to mourn something. 

“Looks fine to me,” Jisung told you. He hugged you, keeping you in his embrace a little longer than he needed to. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will. Thanks, Ji.” 

He smiled but there was no joy on his face, only remorse. 

It felt strange to close the door behind him. You listened to the sounds outside—his footsteps in the stairway, the cars passing in the street. His rental starting and driving away. Then you focused on the noises coming from inside—the steady buzz of your fridge, your upstairs neighbor walking from his bathroom to his bedroom. Your breathing, deep, slow. Different. The same.

Sometimes, you only notice that things changed after you brought them back to the place they were before. 

You showered. It was still the same body wash as it had been before you left and it reminded you of Hyunjin. Of showering with him, here. His body against yours. His big hands lathering your skin, his lips on your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder. Other places. It felt strangely empty without him.

Everything was empty. Your fridge, your cupboards. You still had some gyokuro green tea though, so you put some water to boil and made yourself a cup, but without anyone to share it with, that felt rather hollow, too.

Just sitting on the edge of your bed while changing into your clothes was too much. Nothing felt right. Someone else ought to be there. For an instant, you considered calling Jisung and telling him you had changed your mind, that he should come spend the night, and then you realized there was no point to it—it just wouldn’t do. Even if he slept with you in your bed. Even if he fucked you in it all night. 

You found your laptop in your luggage and went to sit in a corner of your living room, which was also barren and cold. But you sat by a window and drank your tea while the night deepened outside—there were fewer cars on the road, lesspedestrians too. You cracked open the window and started by checking your personal email. You composed a simple email to your mother to let her know you were back in your apartment, figuring it ought to suffice for now. She had been asking you to come visit but you kept telling her you were too busy. It wasn’t even a lie, but you just didn't want her to realize that the woman who had once been her daughter was gone forever.

In your work email, however, one message in particular caught your attention because it came from the most prestigious university in the country. It wasn’t that you never received correspondence from people attending art history classes there—you had worked with quite a few PhD students these past few years, and even some professors who wanted to consult you for their courses. 

But this email wasn’t from someone at the university. It was from the university. It was a rather short email, yet a deeply significant one. You read it once, and then another time, but it took two more read throughs for the words to be processed by your mind. 

Your phone rang then, and you wouldn’t have taken the call if you didn’t know exactly why Seungmin was calling you. 

“Did you see the email?” you asked, but you knew he had because he had access to your work email and he was always on his phone.

“I did.” You could tell Seungmin was in a car. “So, you’re going to accept it, right?” 

The Alden Breay Award, presented to scholars whose research distinguished itself by its contribution to the world. It wasn’t unlike a small-scale Nobel prize. Only one of them was awarded each year to researchers from all across the globe, all fields included. It was a highly sought-after honor that generally immortalized the researcher’s work.

Your selection had apparently been voted by a vast committee of experts in philology, palaeography, ancient history, linguistics, archeology, art history, philosophy and semiotics. There was, apparently, no doubt that you ought to be this year’s recipient of the award for your work on Cipherian and the ancient myths. According to the selection committee, your discoveries had propelled the world of history several decades into the future, making the impossible possible.

You gulped, but a knot remained in your throat.

“I don’t think I really deserve it,” you murmured, closing the lid of your laptop as though it would make the award disappear forever. The living room was dark without it. “I didn’t really research anything. It just happened.”

“You made the discovery regardless,” Seungmin insisted. Before you could add anything, he went on. “Of course they gave it to you. You’re all over the news already. Everyone says it’s the discovery of the century. They had to give it to you. I think you'll also get a Pulitzer, but you didn't hear it from me. It’ll be good exposure. Good money, too.”

You didn’t care about money. You already made more of it than you needed. 

Your silence lingered, during which you heard Seungmin pay the driver of his cab and come out of the car. You stared outside, looking at this place that didn’t feel like home, wishing that it did. 

“Okay.” You tasted the word in your mouth, finding it had no flavor. “I’ll do it.” You may not be of much importance, but whatever exposure this would get you, the museum would get as well. “The email said we could choose the location for the event, right?” 

“Yes!” Seungmin sounded happy about it. It painted a faint smile on your lips—at least one of you was excited. “Do you have a preference? There are some very good venues—” 

“The museum.” You thought about Mrs. Yoo, about Minji, about everyone who had worked so hard on the Deities exhibition. They should be the ones who reaped the honors of it all. Not you. The least you could do was to bring the party to them. 

Oh, you had spent many late nights at the museum, same as anyone else, trying to make everything work, organizing shipments of valuable artifacts, trying to convince other museums to let you borrow something of theirs for a while. But none of this was of any importance because a language had appeared in your brain, and now that language was your prison. Now, that dead language was the only thing about you that mattered. 

“The museum’s a great idea,” Seungmin retorted and you could hear him typing frantically on the phone. He must have put you on speaker and was already drafting an acceptance letter for the award, no doubt. “It’s so late, why don’t you try getting some sleep? We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Well. Later.”

It was already two in the morning. You cleared your throat, taking a deep breath to keep your voice as steady as you could make it. “Yeah, okay.” It was best not to argue with him. 

“I forgot to tell you—congrats, really,” Seungmin said and you could even hear the smile in his voice, which somehow made you feel even worse.

There was nothing to congratulate you for. You had done nothing. Yet all these people wanted to speak with you and give you awards and call you grand things but you knew it had nothing to do with you. None of these people knew you. You had not let them know you, nor would you ever. 

You had let someone in once and it cost too high a price.

None of this was about you personally. Whatever had happened, you were simply the voice for a language that had been extinct for millennia. After you were done translating all the available texts, after you had written down every ounce of knowledge you possessed on Cipherian, your purpose would be fulfilled, and the world would no longer have a use for you.

It was, after all, what you had always been. A temporary burst of light in the night sky of people’s existence.

A shooting star.

It took you a long time to fall asleep—by the time you drifted off, the sky was beginning to turn pale. You dreamt. You dreamt that you ran, holding someone’s hand, dragging them with you. You ran away from something terrible but you did not know what. You ran toward the unknown but it did not matter and you were not afraid. There was a hand in yours, familiar and warm and the feeling of it was intimate. You never looked behind you to see who it was—there was no time for this, there was only time for running. 

When you woke up hours later, you were out of breath as though your dream had been real. 

You noticed it as soon as you opened your eyes—in the sky, a sun had risen, but it did not look the same as it did yesterday. 

.. to be continued.

author's note: Hello everyone! How are you guys doing? I hope you all have been well & that you are having a good summer. I wanted to say a huge thank you for all the love that you give me. It's such a wonderful thing and yet I cannot help but feel like I don't deserve it. I will always work hard so I do deserve it one day 🤍 I appreciate every ask sent, every reblog, everything. I am the luckiest author on here and maybe in the world, and I owe it all to you guys. So, thank you.

I would like to extend a special thank you to @cb97percent who helped me with this chapter when I struggled a lot with it. Thank you, love.

Also, a special thank you to @hyunskizz whose love for Hyathos has kept this story alive. Thank you my lil apple. May he always bring you comfort and delicious fruit.

permanent taglist:

@abiaswreck ; @accalus ; @aimeexx ; @anylady-fics ; @b4kuho3 ;

@binstitsweat ; @casualtaelyn ; @cb97percent ; @changbinheart ; @chans1aptop ;

@chartrucewhore ; @djeniryuu ; @dwaekkiracha ; @erispancakes ; @fwess ;

@hanjingin ; @hwan-g ; @hyuneyeon ; @hyunfruits ; @hyunjinswifeee ;

@hyunniethepooh ; @hyunsungbased ; @hyuwunjinie ; @hyyuniverse ; @iam2out ;

@imseungminsgf ; @jollchacho ; @katsukis1wife ; @k1ra4a ; @lilbabiebunni ;

@leedunno ; @lotus-dly ; @miraworldsstuff ; @mmoonriseflowerr ; @moasworld ;

@naoristerling ; @neosracha ;@palindrome969 ; @revehosh ; @skzfelixlove ;

@starseekersworld ;  @straydhampir ; @straykids5star ; @suhomylife ; @sunlitwilderness ;

@ven-fic-recs ; @yourmercibeaucoupsblog

[hamsa0811]

Speechless... Just speechless. I don't know how you do that honestly. Your ability to put feelings into words will always be mind blowing to me. The way you describe places and scents make it so real, i feel like i'm in the story. For the first time in this story i feel sad for Feliks. I'm not gonna lie but i resented him for a moment. The way he was unintentionally destroying things for hyunjin just because he was so sorry was so selfish to me. But seeing it from hyunjin's POV made me change my mind. And i just feel sad and pity for him. Maybe this is the closure both of them needed. Still sad tho. And I'm glad hyunjin finally realized that leaving wasn't the right choice and that he decided to go back to her because i missed having my 'darling' dose * Please hyunjin if you're reading this, end this heartache and go back to your darling*.

[straywrds]

a murmuration of starlings | a lullaby on his throat chapter three

pairing: demigod!hyunjin x afab reader | wordcount: 19.9k | genre: mythology au, romance, smut | warnings: mentions of past breakups ; complicated feelings ; fluff/angst/comfort ; mild themes of jealousy ; explicit sexual content. View all compiled warnings here (+nsfw warnings). This work is for adult audiences only. > view a guide to Lullaby's mythology here.

To one, love could be like a murmuration of starlings and to the other it was the sharpest of blades. One was not better than the other—nobody could condemn a desperate person who chose the blade if the knife loved them back.

Arthur Calverley lived alone in his house which was located in a port city—the house served also as his art studio since he could not afford to pay rent for two separate spaces. It did not matter though. He lived for art and Arthur did not mind living among it too.

His life was no more than a series of little routines. He woke up each morning and fixed himself some breakfast which he ate with two cups of strong tea. He didn’t like to paint in the morning so he usually went for a stroll by the docks for a little session of people-watching and to breathe some fresh air too. Once in a while he would purchase a light meal and eat on his own, with a beer on the side to chase the salt and the sea flavors down his throat. 

If he needed to buy paint, he would do so before returning home. He trusted only one man to sell him good-quality supplies, and while Arthur did not really like to make conversation, he didn’t mind staying over at Taylor’s for a little while, chatting about art, yes, but about other things as well. Life, the economy, the weather. He was known for his paintings but he was not rich from them—they were adequate, sure, but no more. 

Still, he painted.

It was his everlasting loneliness, perhaps, that made Arthur paint in grays and blues and dark greens. He painted forests and foggy seascapes. Sometimes he painted portraits, although he was not very good at them so he usually avoided including persons in his pieces. But if he chose to paint a market on a rainy day he simply painted faceless people. Who cared what they looked like anyway? Who cared about some strangers’ facial traits or even the color of their hair? 

His seascapes sold the most, so Arthur revisited the theme often just so he could make a living. There were years where he did not sell as many pieces as he would have hoped and he had to take on odd jobs here and there—sometimes, Taylor would bring him along on his trips when he went to scout for new pigments. 

This year was this sort of year. It rained every day, it seemed. Few people traveled—few people came to art galleries too. Arthur sometimes helped unload boats at the docks in exchange for a free meal and a few coins. He went home smelling like the sea and like despair, but it was at night that Arthur liked painting the most. Something about the lighting of his favorite oil lamp and a few candles scattered around the room just made him want to saturate canvases until the sun rose. 

Arthur Calverley lived alone in his house located in a port city and he liked it this way. But on two occasions he met strangers who captured his curiosity. 

The first one never gave him his name. Arthur met him as he was leaving the docks after a day of work there—there had been a big shipment of silk from the East and Arthur had been rewarded with a good pay at the end of it all. His body was tired and aching, so he walked unhurriedly towards his home, his gaze often turned to the sea. That had been when he had seen him, the stranger. Long, brown hair floating in the soft breeze, standing with his two bare feet in the sea. He was staring at the setting sun wearing no more than trousers and a basic blouse—Arthur had quickly worried that this man would catch a fever if he stayed out there in this weather. 

The stranger never gave him his name but he was stunningly beautiful. His big, strangely-colored eyes fell upon Arthur like a blessing. He was tall and lean, his body both elegant and a little gauche but it was difficult to describe how, with words anyway. If Arthur had been good at portraits, he might have been able to convey it this way, but even then, he wasn’t sure that even the most skilled painters would ever be able to capture his beauty. Every movement was graceful and confident and noncommittal. “Where are your shoes, sir?” Arthur had asked him. “What are you doing out here in the cold?” 

The stranger had full lips of the same color as a muted sunset. “Just looking at the sea,” the stranger had said. From up close, he was even more beautiful, and the air surrounding him smelled like the earth, like rain, like a sunset. 

Arthur had asked if he had come on a boat. The stranger had given him a nod—it made sense that the beautiful man came from the same place as the silk had. His hair looked smooth, smoother than the silk in those crates Arthur had moved around all day, and the same could be said about his skin. 

“Do you have somewhere to go, sir?” 

A slight shake of the head. “I’ll just stay here.” The stranger had offered Arthur a faint smile. “Just looking at the sky. And the sea. Have a nice night, sir.” 

But Arthur did not have a nice night. In fact, he could not sleep, not even after a couple of glasses of the cheap gin he kept. That night, he put his clothes back on and returned to the exact spot where he had seen the stranger, but nobody was there. Arthur never forgot the man’s eyes and his lips. His thoughts often wandered back to him when his cock was in his hand. He liked the way it felt when he touched himself imagining it was the stranger’s plush lips hugging his length instead of his own fingers. 

Arthur Calverley met the beautiful stranger again eight months later exactly. It was the beginning of fall and the wind was crisp as he made his way to his favorite inn. It was his favorite because it was never crowded and the beer was decent. He had sold two paintings this past month and he wanted to celebrate. To Arthur, celebrating was to sit in a quiet corner of this inn, drinking beer and enjoying the feeling of having a few coins in his pockets.

His parents lived in London and he had not seen them since the age of 16 when his mother caught him and his best friend kissing behind the house. Just a kiss, no tongue even. But his mother had told Arthur that it was wrong. That he should marry a woman and that he shouldn’t kiss boys. Arthur didn’t really like to have company and the idea of marrying—a girl especially—filled him with dread anyway. So he had gone away, and now he was painting his sorrow onto canvases. It wasn’t much, but he had to keep going, didn’t he?

Arthur was two beers into the night when he saw him. The beautiful stranger from the beach. He wore nice clothes tonight—black slacks and a jacket. He had elegant shoes, and he still carried this unusual but enticing scent with him. He crossed the inn, dodging a serving girl and two men who looked like they were about to brawl and sat on the unoccupied chair across Arthur, sliding a glass containing an amber liquid in front of him.

“We meet again,” the stranger said. He had a strange intonation to his voice, but not unpleasant. It reminded Arthur of intricate music. “How have you been?”

Arthur could not believe it. “I—huh—” It took the painter a few instants to gather his thoughts. “You really remember me, sir?” 

The handsome man chuckled, taking a sip from his own drink, leaving his lips wet with whiskey, shimmering under the flames from the lamps. “Of course I remember you. You were concerned for me.” He motioned toward the glass he had brought for Arthur. “For your kindness.”

He raised his glass at Arthur and drank more. Arthur mirrored him and the taste of the liquor shocked him. It was the absolute best whiskey he had ever drank. It tasted smoky and sweet—it was obviously very expensive. Clearly, this handsome man was not homeless. “No need to thank me,” he assured. “You appeared… lost. I even returned to check on you during the night,” Arthur recalled with a self-deprecating smile. “Couldn’t sleep knowing that a barefoot man was spending the night outside.” 

The stranger offered him a smile that made Arthur’s heart flutter. It did not matter that his mother had cursed him for kissing his friend. Nothing could change that about Arthur—some men gave him butterflies in his stomach. 

“I was lost,” the other admitted. He paused there, swirling his glass and watching the whiskey inside of it. Arthur let him, using that opportunity to observe him better. His soft brown locks falling on either side of his perfect face, the curves of his nose, the shape of his lips. “But isn’t that what people do here? Feel lost? And feel compelled to find themselves again?”

It was obviously a rhetorical question and yet it left Arthur wondering. What did he mean by here? This tavern, this city, or perhaps this country? Arthur had never traveled across the sea, but a part of him believed that the precarity of the human mind transcended continents. That even if this beautiful stranger had come on a boat from a distant land, he would understand such sentiments.

Or perhaps not. Maybe he had never known this sort of dejection before. Maybe the stranger was the son of a powerful king and he had fled his home in disgrace. Or maybe he was the head of a rich family and had left them, having lost himself among them. Maybe he was looking for something here, he just didn’t know what yet.

It felt nosy to ask. Arthur cleared his throat, taking a deep breath. “Those are wise words, sir. It seems to me like you’re not quite sure of your place in this world.” 

The beautiful man laid his eyes on Arthur again, causing him to blush violently. It seemed as though his gaze pierced right through him, but not painfully—it felt more like a kiss than a blade. “I must admit you’re right.” Then, “Please don’t call me sir.” But he did not give him a name to call him with. “Do you know your place in your world?” 

Arthur shrugged. “Yes and no. I don’t think there is a definitive place for anyone. To most, my life is insignificant, and they would be right to say so.” The man was listening to him, drinking his every word. Arthur was normally shy and did not like to talk to people, especially not strangers, but he found it easy to speak to the inhumanly pretty man. “I wake up, I go for a walk. Sometimes I do a little work on the docks in exchange for a meal and to pay for the oil in my lamp. I like to paint in the warm light of it.”

The stranger raised his perfect, thick eyebrow. “You paint? You’re an artist?” 

“I paint. I paint seascapes and stuff. It’s not enough to make a living out of it, so I don’t think I count as an artist. When I die, no one will remember me. I’m not like those people whose paintings are in London, or Paris, or Firenze.” 

“But you paint,” he insisted. “Would it be rude to ask to see your work? I will pay for it, just like I would pay to enter any art gallery or museum.” 

Arthur found that request equally endearing and scandalous, and yet he would have done just about anything just to stay in the presence of this man a few minutes longer. He accepted—they both hurried to finish their drinks and left the tavern. 

The night was cool. They walked in silence for a while, until the stranger raised his arm to point at a vague spot on the beach. “This is where you found me.” 

“That would be there, yes.” Arthur watched as the man’s arm fell back, as elegantly as a ballet dancer’s would. He found nothing else to say, or rather, the lump in his throat prevented him from speaking with ease. It was one thing to be with him in a public space, and another to be alone with him, in his house…

The stranger remained by the door while Arthur went around the living room to light up a few candles and a lamp. “I—huh—I’ve been working around the docks a lot, I reckon the smell must linger in here…”

“Don’t worry.” The stranger smiled again. In this light, he was even more beautiful. “I’ve spent a long time in a small village with very little company except for fishermen. The smell of the sea does not bother me.” 

Arthur received this piece of information like one would hear a prayer. Arthur’s parents used to drag him and his siblings to church every Sunday, and he hated it. He just did not understand devotion to an invisible, hypothetical entity. But tonight, he felt truly privileged to be gifted a piece of the stranger’s past. “A village?” Arthur knew a few fishing villages not too far away. He had a cousin there. “Where?”

“An island. A long way from here,” was all the man responded, and Arthur respected his privacy. 

Carrying the lamp with him, he showed him the way to the studio. He only had three paintings there, lacking money even to buy supplies. There was also something rather disheartening in painting just to see the canvases piled up here, unwanted. Only two paintings were completed—the third remained unfinished, although it was almost done. 

The man looked at the art for a long time in complete silence, taking the lamp from him to look very closely. Arthur let him—he was used to his paintings being studied like that. Sometimes it was out of genuine interest, but most of the time, rich people just liked to pretend they knew anything about art, so they looked at his paintings for a while, angling their heads in different ways, humming inaudibly. They’d make up something to say, using words they had heard before, and either buy the painting or not. 

“You have a lot of talent,” the man commented, moving to the canvas that was still on the easel, waiting for its final coat of paint. “How does it make you feel? Painting?”

What an odd question. Arthur was used to how long have you been painting or how much do you make selling those—definitely not questions like that one. Again, the stranger’s words made their way through his flesh, settling in his heart and releasing a diffuse warmth within him.

Arthur weighed his words carefully. It seemed to him that this man needed to hear this answer. It seemed like he was asking Arthur a question but that the answer would reveal something about himself. He didn’t want to mess it up. 

And yet, the answer was easy. “Alive. It makes me feel alive when I paint. I have nothing else.” 

The man nodded slowly. He was very close to him now, his scent tickling Arthur’s nose. “I can see that,” he murmured, turning to Arthur after leaving the lamp on a table, scanning him. His eyes, his hair, his lips. Arthur was looking at his, too. “You paint from your soul.” 

Nobody had ever said something like this to him, not even the owners of the art galleries at which he exhibited his pieces once in a while. Not even the people buying the pieces. No one. Tears welled up in Arthur’s eyes as the warmth in his chest spread to the back of his neck and his face. Ashamed, he went to look away, but the stranger didn’t let him—gently, he pressed two fingers on Arthur’s cheek, forcing him to hold his gaze. 

“You talked about those artists in those places. London, Paris… Why aren’t you there, too?” he questioned with a slight frown. “It’s where you want to be, isn’t it?”

Arthur could feel himself melt. The fingers were still on his face, spreading fire all over him. “It’s where the masterpieces are. Those are just paintings.” 

The man tilted his head ever so slightly. “On whose authority? Who decides what is a masterpiece and what isn’t?” He brought another hand to Arthur’s face, cupping his cheek. His skin was smooth and warm. 

“History. Only time, and history, and legacy will tell.” Arthur had always been prepared to be forgotten—he knew that his art would never be shown in Paris, that it would never matter. But he painted because it was all that he could do. It was all that he had, all that he was.

A nod. “Two landscapes and a seascape,” the stranger went on, “but not one bit of blue sky, not one ray of sunshine, none of its warmth.” The words did not sound like an accusation or a complaint. If anything, they were spoken just like praise would have been. “And yet, so much beauty. Do you really think that things can be beautiful in the shade too?” 

There were tears in the stranger’s eyes, much like they filled Arthur’s. “Yes, absolutely I do.” He thought about it for a minute, sensing that this was very important for this man. “I like the way the waves look under the sun, when they sparkle. But it can be blinding if you look for too long—dizzying even. I find that the sea is most pleasant to watch just a few moments before sunrise, when the sky isn’t quite blue yet, when the light doesn’t reach us directly.” 

The stranger gulped, pulling Arthur closer to him. His breath smelled like sweet apples and whiskey. 

And he kissed him. And Arthur kissed him back. He was a little drunk from the beers and the liquor, but he wouldn’t have resisted him even completely sober. It had been an eternity since he had been touched, since he had been felt. The stranger’s mouth was warm and wet, and yet his kisses were slow and methodical. They did not gain in speed, but they became deeper, warmer. Clothes sticking to bodies, hands traveling all over, pulling each other closer. A jacket being pulled off, another. A shoe. Buttons being undone. 

It was dark in Arthur’s bedroom and part of him wanted to ask him to wait just a moment while he lit a candle just so he could see him. But it could not wait, so he felt him under his fingers while the stranger kissed his neck. His body felt beautiful. In that moment, Arthur wished he had not been a painter but a sculptor—he would spend eternity trying to recreate this body, chiseling marble and wood and ice if he must. 

This is what happened that night—they kissed for a long time, and the stranger took Arthur’s hard cock in his warm mouth, sucking him off as gently as he had kissed him. He regularly came to a stop to collect precum and swallow it, although sometimes he would just smear it with his spit all over his cock. They did not say a word, but Arthur pulled him back up for a kiss and took the stranger’s cock in his hand while chasing his own taste in his mouth. 

The stranger fucked his hand in deep, slow thrusts, the tip of his long cock hitting Arthur’s thigh, sending sparks of intense pleasure through his core and his spine. 

They kissed and they kissed and they kissed, rubbing onto one another. When the stranger returned between Arthur’s legs, he released a large amount of spit onto his hand, smearing his cock with it, but letting his fingers continue their journey to his ass. This is how Arthur came—his tip hitting the stranger’s throat as he fingered him. He had been with men before but it had never been this good. He came a lot and the stranger took his load, swallowing it in the dark, making sure to leave kisses on Arthur’s spent cock after. Let me, he said. He wanted to taste his cum too.

The stranger fucked Arthur’s mouth deeply, in short, shallow thrusts. He was big enough that Arthur struggled for air but it made him feel alive, and the stranger’s moans were as pretty as him. He came soon, flooding his throat with sweet-tasting cum, keeping Arthur’s head in place with a fist in his hair. It was the happiest Arthur had been in a long time, maybe ever. 

The stranger kissed him again, but Arthur was suddenly very sleepy. They lay in his bed, and he wanted to hold the beautiful man, but he fell asleep before he could.

When Arthur woke up, he was gone. The sky was gray in the small window of his bedroom. He found his clothes neatly placed on the empty side of the bed, with a generous amount of money next to it. Arthur felt like a different man then, like the warmth that was in his chest last night was still there. Like it would never leave. 

Years went by. Arthur never forgot the nameless stranger, or the taste of his cum, or the feeling of him. He painted whenever he could, no matter how few paintings he sold. It was the closest it felt to being kissed and desired and devoured. He worked a lot on the docks and even in the town. His body grew tired—too tired for a young man his age—but Arthur kept going.

One day, the tiredness became unbearable, perhaps because of the strange sensation in his chest, like something was tugging at his heart. He was unable to even finish his work that day and went home even though it meant he wouldn’t get paid today. In fact, he barely made it home, walking under the scorching July sun, lightheaded, barely conscious. When finally Arthur reached his house, he removed his clothes, dirty from work, and collapsed onto his bed. 

And he dreamt of light. 

Arthur had never had a dream like this, a dream where it felt more like being awake than asleep. A dream that felt truer, more authentic than his daily life. 

Yet, Arthur knew he was in a dream because his chest no longer hurt him, because he was in a place that couldn’t have existed, because a man made of light was standing some distance away from him.

He was in a meadow. It was dusk, and the color of the sky was so delicate that it kept Arthur’s attention for a few seconds—a lilac softer than silk, yet mysteriously dark. The tall grass caressed his ankles, swayed by a warm breeze.

The man walked slowly toward Arthur. It was at that moment that he realized that he was just as naked as when he fell asleep. He waited for panic and shame to hit him but they never did. He only felt peace. 

He only felt the light. It came from him, from the beautiful man with the pale hair. It was neither blond or white, it was as though it was made of the same material as the sun. Arthur had only seen one person as beautiful as him before—the nameless stranger. 

“Hello, love.” The man spoke with a deep voice that resonated in Arthur’s body like an earthquake. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Waiting for him?... 

The man was closer now, standing right before him. Arthur squinted, blinded by the light, fascinated with the man’s eyes. Their color changed every millisecond it seemed—some colors that Arthur had never seen before, that he could only dream of blending with his oils. Just below them were constellations, real constellations, not freckles. They twinkled like real stars, golden and silver and red and periwinkle and deep red. 

“Come and show me.” The man offered him his hand and Arthur took it. He felt safe here, he felt as though no harm could ever come his way. 

“Show you what?” he asked, looking around. The field was surrounded by a beautiful, lush forest, but there was a large cypress beyond the treeline, within the confines of the clearing. Arthur had never seen a tree like that. 

“Everything, Arthur. Come.” He was guiding him toward the cypress so Arthur simply followed him. His hand was small in his, like his feet, but he regularly looked behind him as though to check on Arthur. Every time, his heart-shaped lips turned into a smile. 

When they made it to the tree, the man let him go. Arthur found himself missing the contact of his skin with his, craving the peculiar heat that emanated from him. 

The man took his other hand. Arthur had never believed in much in his life, but he thought that this man was an angel. He thought that the other man had also been an angel visiting him. He had fucked his throat and fingered his ass and made him feel whole for an instant.

This one, however, gave him his name. “I’m Felix,” he said. When he said it though, it sounded more like Felixx, or Felixs, with a weird emphasis on the last syllable. It was pretty in his mouth though. “I need your help.” 

“My help?” Nobody had ever needed Arthur for anything in his life, certainly not a being like this. He emanated strength and peace, something powerful. 

“You met someone some time ago,” the man said, walking backwards, stopping only when his back hit the tree. “A man.”

Arthur knew immediately. “Yes. Do you know him?” 

“We loved each other on these grounds,” the angel explained. “Come and kiss me.” 

There was not a molecule in Arthur’s body that wanted to resist the beautiful angel, so he kissed him. Felix wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him closer and closer, devouring his mouth. His tongue was hot and kissing him felt like drinking a cup of scalding hot tea, but sweeter. “You have some of his taste on you. Did he tell you something? Hyathos?”

Hyathos. The beautiful man’s name, surely—Arthur thought it fit him. He kissed Felix again, nibbling at his pretty lips, hungry for more. As though he was running out of time even though time seemed insignificant here. There was only the warm breeze, there was only the light in Felix’s hair and the dusky sky and the forest. Nothing else existed, nothing else mattered. 

Arthur thought about it for some time. “We didn’t talk a lot, but he asked about my paintings.” 

Felix nodded, pulling away from Arthur’s face so that he could look him in the eyes. Gently, he caressed his temple, his hair, his lips. Time was insignificant here but it was also fleeting. It was everything. It was nothing. Arthur knew he was dreaming because nothing here made sense. 

“Your paintings,” Felix echoed, his hand traveling to Arthur’s neck, his shoulder, his waist. His cock. “What was he looking for?” 

Arthur felt a familiar and pleasant rush between his legs as Felix rubbed his hardening length. He was hard too—Arthur could see the tented bulge in his tunic. He felt no timidity, had no problem stealing yet another kiss from Felix, did not hesitate to roll his hips to fuck his hand a little. Arthur had been tired for a while, sometimes even too tired to get himself off. He felt nothing of the sort here. He just felt the soft grass beneath his feet, and Felix’s warm hand. 

“Shade,” Arthur revealed between lewd, wet kisses. “I think he was looking for beauty in it.”

Felix tugged at his cock, eliciting a few moans from Arthur, causing him to lose control. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted Felix. He pulled his tunic to reveal his cock, reveling in the sight of it—it was pretty and smooth, perfect in every way. It was hard, so hard. 

Arthur took Felix in his hand too, squeezing his length until his breathing became labored, until Felix fucked his hand too. “I have a favor to ask, Arthur,” he managed, his face buried in his neck. 

“Anything.” Arthur let himself fall on his knees, coming face to face with Felix’s pretty cock. He wondered if he would go to hell for this. He wondered if he would go to hell for fucking not one, but two angels. “Anything you want, Felix.” He opened his mouth and took Felix’s tip between his lips, tasting him. He tasted like light, like an afternoon, like his demise. 

“If I give you a message, can you give it to him? To Hyathos?” 

Maybe angels couldn’t communicate together. Maybe they were estranged from one another, Arthur didn’t know. All that he knew was that he would do anything that Felix asked of him, because what else was he going to do? 

Arthur looked up. He gave Felix’s cock sweet kisses. “Yes, yes.” He didn’t know if he would ever see him again—Hyathos. He hadn’t seen him in years. “What is it? What’s the message?” 

There were no words for it, it seemed. Arthur knew he was dreaming because Felix gave him the message with his body, kissing him all over, caressing every part of him. He fucked him too, Arthur laying in the grass and Felix over him. He fucked him for an hour, a week, an entire lifetime, whispering things to his ear, things in a language that Arthur did not know. Felix was fucking him in quick, deep thrusts, groaning, sometimes tugging at Arthur’s cock, sometimes kissing his shoulder. He came deep inside him, filling his ass, and nothing had ever felt as good as that. He made Arthur cum. He made him watch his seed spurt into the grass beneath them, his cock still inside him, his cum running down all over Arthur’s ass and thighs, sticking to the blades of grass on which they lay. 

And then Arthur woke up. It took him several seconds to understand that he was not under the cypress tree, that he was not with Felix. He sat on his bed, shaking, feverish. The ache in his chest had returned. He was painfully alive, painfully mortal. There were a lot of cum stains on his sheets and his body was covered in sweat.

And yet he carried something within him. Something that transcended all of this.

Arthur got up. He lit up candles and his favorite lamp. Naked, he stood at his easel. He had already prepared a canvas, planning to paint a misty river landscape when he could. But the plans had changed. Everything had changed.

Arthur had never painted light before.

But that night, he did.

For days and nights and days, Arthur painted. He was not hungry. He was not thirsty, although sometimes his mouth felt dry, which compelled him to wet his lips a little. He painted, following Felix’s instructions perfectly despite the fact that he gave them in a strange language. Arthur did not sleep and did not leave the easel until three days later when he ran out of paint. 

He hastily put on some clothes and made his way to Taylor’s. The merchant seemed surprised to see him in such a state and questioned him. “Are you alright there, friend?” 

“Just fine. Need paint.” Arthur was used to the store and had access to anything he wanted, so he just went around the corner and grabbed whatever he needed. 

“What are you painting these days then?”

Arthur didn’t feel like talking and yet the secret was too heavy on his mind not to say anything. It felt as though he knew he had to say something. “I had a strange dream. It… inspired me. I’ll call it The Cypress Tree. You’ll see, Taylor. I never painted anything like this before.” 

Taylor did not ask any questions and just let Arthur leave with the paint. 

It took him another five days to finish the painting. Arthur had never painted light before, he had never learned how to do it, but it came naturally, as though his soul had learned how to speak it. As though light was a language that could be spoken in kisses, in strokes of a paint brush, in drops of cum being absorbed by the soil. 

Arthur painted his dream. Arthur painted exactly what Felix had asked him to. Arthur painted Felix’s apology to Hyathos. 

He signed the painting, and then the pain in his chest became searing until it was all that existed, until nothing at all existed.

It was Taylor who found his body the next day, collapsed on the floor of his art studio next to an easel on which rested Arthur’s last painting.

His masterpiece. 

“It’s alright darling, I’ve got you.” 

It was Hyunjin’s voice that finished waking you up—as soon as your eyes fluttered open, pain shot through your skull, making you recoil, forcing you to close them again. The migraine began somewhere at the back of your neck and ended somewhere in your jaw, yet you could feel it in your shoulders too, and your back. Your eyes were just as sore, with a lingering sting to them.

You had cried a lot. 

Just like a river forcing its way through a dam, last night came back to you all at once, in the span of a millisecond. It caused yet another stab of the migraine to attack your head. You closed your eyes harder, trying your best to evade the light behind your eyelids, diffuse and yellow and bright. Morning light, sometime after sunrise. 

You were in Hyunjin’s arms. He was holding you and carrying you gently and slowly in your apartment, toward what you assumed was your bedroom. He held you tighter when you became agitated, pressing you into the crook of his neck. You buried your face there, hiding from the light. 

As you remembered the previous night, panic grew within you. You tried to wiggle out of Hyunjin’s arms but he did not let you. He was strong, stronger than he looked, and you found that peculiar but it wasn’t even the weirdest thing that you had seen this week.

Yesterday was supposed to be just a day. You were supposed to drink wine, take a sleeping pill and put yourself into a light coma until some time had passed, until the warmth in your heart dissipated, until you no longer felt a thing for Hyunjin. Because it would kill you. It would kill you when he would leave, because he would leave. They all left. Yesterday was supposed to be just a day, and instead it had been a revelation.

When you spoke, your voice sounded foreign, like it had traveled long distances before floating in the air around you. “Hospital,” you managed. “I need to go to the hospital.”

Hyunjin’s response came immediately. “No, darling. You don’t. I’ve got you.” 

Yes. Yes you needed to go to the hospital. Something had happened last night, something you couldn’t explain even though there were very simple words to speak about it. 

Your day had started normally. You had decluttered your apartment a little. You had answered emails from students who needed counsel for their Master’s or PhDs. You answered more emails to colleagues from other museums. You drank wine. You had been visited by Hyunjin who was begging to be in your presence, who had made love to you. Nothing about that last part was normal, you didn’t think. You didn’t think it was normal that a man such as Hyunjin wanted you, and yet. He drank your words the same way he drank your pussy—passionately, like his life depended on it. 

You tried to forget. You tried to revoke your memories, to give them away, to force them out of your brain. 

Your day had started normally. Hyunjin had been here in the evening, and you drank and talked, and made love. He had left, and you had simply looked at your computer to pass the time, because you found yourself missing him when he wasn’t with you, even for just an instant. And it was frightening. You knew that it was all temporary, that it would kill you when Hyunjin left for good, but you couldn’t deny that you couldn’t resist it.

Yes. It was then that it had happened—reading emails, you had seen pictures of the new piece of the Casnea tablet that had been uncovered in the Mediterranean. 

Feliks lies beneath the cypress tree, alone. Sometimes he wants to take people there, but he never does. This is the place for him and for Hyathos only. Feliks knows that Hyathos doesn’t belong anywhere near the cypress tree. He never did, even if it felt good to be there. Hyathos belongs elsewhere, far away. Like some creatures or peculiar plants, he thrives in the shade.

Those words that you had read so effortlessly were engraved in your heart, your brain, your soul. They had become a part of you. You had spent all of your life not understanding the forgotten language, the language they deemed untranslatable. And yet, the moment you laid your eyes on the words, they had come to you as naturally as the language you had spoken her whole life. 

Hyunjin wasn’t taking you to your bedroom—he entered the bathroom and sat you on the counter by the sink, but you didn’t let go of him, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer. If you could become one with him, if you could somehow melt into his body, you would. 

“Let’s just splash water on your face,” Hyunjin said under his breath, whispering into your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin. “You cried a lot, darling.” 

Yes. Yes, you cried a lot. You knew the language of light. You knew it as though you had always known it, as though it was buried somewhere within you all of your life and something or someone had simply opened that gate, allowing you to access it. Your mind was spinning with memories of the other piece of the Casnea tablet, the very one you had seen in person after visiting a colleague during a trip out of the country. Your mind was spinning with the fragments of vases, with pieces of tombs, with engravings on caves and walls and mountains, all containing letters and words from this forgotten language.

The dead language that had suddenly come back to life in your mind, last night, as you just looked at the words. 

You had thought that you were crazy. That you were hallucinating. So you read, over and over, while Hyunjin was out. You read through the tears that you were crying, you read despite the violent tremors taking over your body. You couldn’t unsee. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t lose that understanding of the words, it seemed that they lingered to you the way the juice of a ripe peach makes one’s skin sticky and sweet. 

It couldn’t be true, could it? It couldn’t be the real language, the one that had been lost in time and history, that you were comprehending all of a sudden—that was, factually, impossible. Even less plausible was the fact that it wasn’t the one they called the language of the gods that had suddenly been woven into your brain, no—it was an even more obscure dialect. A dialect used so sparingly that it was believed only a few individuals, perhaps even exclusively royalty, spoke it. It was even less translatable than its root, but paradoxically, it was also believed to be the key to unlocking the language of the gods. For that reason, they named the dialect Cipherian.

And now you could read it. Hell, as images of the Casnea tablet appeared in your mind, sounds also emerged. Syllables and intonations. Syntax and phonology. Inflections—many of them, displaying intricate, poetic grammar. Colorful, complex semantics. If you wanted to, you could part open your lips and ask Hyunjin how he was doing in Cipherian. You could tell him about today’s weather in it, or ask him to fuck you. 

It couldn’t be true. Nobody, not even a genius, could do that. That just didn’t happen. It couldn’t. Nobody, not even a genius, could absorb a language in a matter of seconds.

Especially not a language that hundreds of linguists from all around the world had failed to crack for decades. 

You had to go to the hospital. You had to be put into the psych ward where they would give you Seroquel or something stronger and it would go back to normal. 

But Hyunjin did not let you. He kissed your ear and his mouth was warm. He smelled like your bodywash. You kept your eyes closed, letting the memory of the shower you shared with him last night wash over you, soothing some of the panic, if only a little. If it was all that you had—if the memory of Hyunjin, of his mouth on your neck or on your cunt, if the soreness between your legs like an echo of his cock was all that kept you from jumping from the balcony at this moment, then so be it. You would die anyway, you would die when he would leave, just like a shooting star disappearing in the night sky after displaying its light for half a second. 

So maybe it was okay if you let it last for a little longer. If you grasped at this, at him, at this invisible bond between the two of you. It was as though he had been within you the whole time, too, alongside those foreign words. He did not feel unfamiliar, he had never felt like a stranger to you, not even during that very first interaction with him at the museum. 

Hyunjin pulled himself away from you. You leaned against the wall, breathing deeply, your mind jumping from one thing to another. The new words, this new grammatical system that had made a home out of your mind, the strange feeling in your eyes from having cried too much. The heaviness in your chest that you couldn’t explain.

He took care of you. He placed a cool towel on your face and let some lukewarm water run on it, not minding the fact that it rolled down your neck and chest. He brushed the tangles out of your hair and helped you brush your teeth, which helped make your mouth feel less dry and pasty. He brought you to your bed, tucking you comfortably under your sheets, making sure the pillows were positioned perfectly under your head. 

You wanted to say, I just slept, I won’t fall asleep, but you felt tired. Exhausted. Like you had traveled around the world. “I’ll be right back, darling,” he whispered into your ear before disappearing. You heard noises coming from the kitchen. The kettle, cutlery, the fridge. 

You closed your eyes and it seemed like you could see it. The letters. The words. As they engraved themselves into your DNA. You felt more and more tired as your brain translated every single one of your memories. The first book you had read on your own at the age of four, about a little cat who did not want to eat dinner but wanted dessert. The kitten made several attempts at bypassing the plate before her, even going as far as drawing an empty plate to fool her father into thinking she’d eaten. Another book had come in later, this time it was about a little human girl and her mother at the grocery store. The mother was in a hurry and wanted to go through the express checkout lane—to do so, they needed to buy ten items or less. You remembered these books. They were still in your mother’s basement, in a box somewhere. But now you knew them from a different angle. You saw light coating the letters, the commas, you understood the spaces between the words. 

When Hyunjin came back, your eyes were closed again—your eyelids were too heavy to keep them open. He sat with you on the bed, pushing your hair out of your face. “You have to eat and drink,” he said.

But you weren’t hungry. You were just tired. “No, I—”

You felt something sweet touch your lips. The wedge of a peach. “Eat,” he insisted. 

You ate—two wedges total, but it was all that you could stomach without gagging. The juice of the fruit coated your lips, but you also drank a few sips of the sweet green tea Hyunjin had prepared for you. When he was satisfied, he laid you down again. “You can sleep now,” he whispered as if he knew. 

You slept. 

You slept for two days.

Hyunjin stayed by your side, only leaving your bedroom if absolutely necessary and never for long. Your slumber was often disturbed—you’d frown then or mumble something he couldn’t make out. You even gasped a few times, and then Hyunjin was certain that you would wake up, only, you didn’t.

He spent his Sunday there, sitting in your bedroom, watching you, watching the news, too, expecting something, anything. Expecting a new war to break out between two rival territories, expecting an earthquake, a monsoon, or a plague. He didn’t know what it would be but Hyunjin knew that some unfortunate—and deadly—event would occur sooner rather than later. Because everything in this life was about balance. It was in everything one ever laid their eyes upon, intrinsically so, but balance was not something that mortals controlled—it came from elsewhere. It came from the same place as he did.

Balance, equilibrium, harmony. Mortals would use those words to describe this phenomenon. But to gods, it was justice.

Hyunjin was aware of the terrible weight of Feliks’ gift to you. Something never seen before, something deeply significant. He knew that it was an affront and that retaliation would be gruesome. What Hyunjin didn’t know, though, was if Feliks would claim the offense or hide behind a veil of light, letting someone else take the blame for it.

Did they know? Did they know it was you who knew their tongue, or did they think it was somebody else, someone unimportant?

Hyunjin had no way of finding out before it was too late. Before justice had been carried out. Maybe it would take the shape of a catastrophic event. Or maybe, one day, Hyunjin would wake up to find you gone. Erased. Unmade.

So he stayed by your side, wiping your face with a lukewarm washcloth regularly, keeping your hair out of your eyes, making sure your pillows were comfortable underneath you. Once in a while, he would dampen the corner of a clean towel, not wringing it dry, and let you suckle on it in your sleep. After a few tries, however, Hyunjin found it was more efficient to use his thumb. When he became certain you were effectively absorbing the water, he added a sprinkle of salt to it as well as some honey, just so you would get a few nutrients.

He spoke to you. A lot. You didn’t seem to hear him, and the noise certainly didn’t wake you up. He knew you couldn’t hear him, not even in your sleep, because he was able to speak to you freely. About Feliks, about his father, his mother. He did not use their names but he did tell you about his mother’s garden, and the peculiar color of the sunsets there, which he liked to watch from the same spot always.

He had forgotten a lot. The transformation of his atoms into what he was now had altered his memory, and Hyunjin wanted so badly to know what you knew. He was ashamed to think that, but he was jealous. Jealous that you had entered the world of gods.

Jealous that Feliks had kissed you.

It drove him crazy. While you slept soundly, Hyunjin paced in your apartment, his mood jumping from yearning, to envious, to furious, to… something else. A craving, a tingling in his lower abdomen when he thought of your bare feet walking on the soil where he and Feliks had fallen in love. What did he tell you, exactly? Had he told you anything about him? Had he given you a peach?

Had he touched you? He had kissed his language into you, yes, but had he touched you? Had he pinned you to the cypress tree and taken your mouth like that? Had he laid you on the grass? Had he been straddling you? Had his pretty cock been hard and pressed against your cunt while his tongue traced words and grammar into your soul? Had he touched you? Felt you? Had Feliks felt your breasts with his hands?

Hyunjin was ashamed that such thoughts haunted him—even more so that they made his cock hard. It was unfair. He should have been there, too. He knew it was too dangerous and yet. He should have been there, fucking you softly while Feliks was buried to the hilt in your ass, your pretty moans filling the meadow and the lilac night. Then Hyunjin in your ass and Feliks fucking your cunt. Feliks kissing him as he chased his high, his hands secured around your waist. He should have been there, eating Feliks’ cum out of your pussy, swallowing you and him at once while he emptied his balls in Feliks’ throat.

The love he had for Feliks was distant. It belonged to another time, another place, and it no longer belonged in his heart. It made him angry that he had these thoughts, that they made him spit into his palm and stroke his straining cock. It made him sad, too, because Hyunjin’s heart belonged with yours now. Only yours. And he knew that to be true because when, finally, he twitched into his own hand, it was you who appeared in his confused thoughts. Just you, an entire universe away from the cypress tree. Just you, your legs around his waist, your voice in his ear, your pussy hugging him nicely. Hyunjin came so hard that a few specks of it landed on your coffee table, but he watched as he sprayed his thick, shimmering cum onto his stomach, wishing you would come and lick it.

It was the day after that he heard you tossing and turning while he was folding some of your laundry in the kitchen. He needed to keep himself busy while waiting for you to return to him or perhaps while he waited for the world to end.

Hyunjin ran to you, finding you as you were climbing out of bed, your back turned to him. Walking slowly, your limbs visibly numb, you made your way to the window, wasting no time pulling the curtains open.

Sunlight filled the room, violent, devastating, beautiful. You basked in it, your gaze fixated on the horizon above the buildings across the street. Your breathing was calm and steady—slowly, you turned to him, facing away from the window. Your uncombed yet supple hair framed your face which Hyunjin couldn’t describe as emotionless. Rather, it seemed like you experienced every possible human emotion at once.

If your eyes had been lost and hazy before your long sleep, they were the opposite now. You gave him an appraising look, focused, alert, aware. You reached for your head, feeling your face with your fingers as though you weren’t certain you were real. You caressed the gentle curves of your cheeks, your nose, your dry, cracked lips. Hyunjin had never seen a thing more beautiful than you. And he had seen many things.

“How long was I asleep?” you asked finally, taking a step toward him. “Is it today still?”

He closed up the space between you, pulling you into a tight embrace. It surprised you but you still wrapped your arms around his body, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “It’s Tuesday, darling,” he said, his voice soft and low. He caressed your hair gently, reveling in the feeling of your breath on his skin.

You pulled away from him in shock. “Tuesday?” A million thoughts crossed your mind at once—Hyunjin saw them all behind your eyes, scurrying, pricking at your synapses.

“Don’t worry, I called Minji, then I called the museum.” He pulled you back against him, his miracle. “I said you had the flu.” You signed, relieved, in his arms. “Your mom also called—I told her I was your assistant and that you were out for a work trip.”

You let out a soft snort and it healed him maybe. He did not let go of you, for Hyunjin knew what he would have to do sooner rather than later. “Thank you for lying on my behalf, honey.”

A comfortable silence grew between you, punctuated by the sounds of the city filtering through the window and the TV, which played at a low volume in the living room, set on the 24-hour news channel. You relaxed in his arms, your fingers tracing small circles on his back. He did not want this moment to end. It would end soon but it didn’t need to be now, within the next ten seconds. The sun was making your skin warm and your hair shine. Could you understand what it was telling you, now? Did you hear it, did you feel it in your bones like he had once?

What was Feliks whispering to you?

You moved against him but he kept you there for a little longer. “Please,” he murmured but his voice was swallowed by the wailing of a siren outside.

You raised your face, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his neck. Your lips were warm, a little rough, and dry. “I dreamt of you,” you revealed in between kisses, each of them igniting a new desire within him.

Hyunjin’s heart skipped a beat. “Me?”

You nodded. “We were walking together, outside. There was nobody else, it was just us. We were on an island, surrounded by nothing but a deep blue ocean.” You paused as though you were trying to remember. “We were barefoot and the sand was warm. Then we walked inland, following a path. There was a little house.”

Hyunjin froze in place, tensing up as panic took over him. No, no no no. He almost collapsed, his air evading him. What you were telling him wasn’t just a dream, no. You had truly visited some other place, and maybe it was why you had slept for so long. Hyunjin was familiar with the location you were describing—while he had never seen it with his own two eyes, he had heard a lot about it from Feliks. Peirasmos Island, home to none other than Ismene, Feliks’ aunt—Perikles’ older sister. Ismene, apparently, had long, blonde hair in which she braided myrtle leaves and flowers.

Ismene, the goddess of strategy and trials.

Gods were sent on Peirasmos Island for one reason and one reason only—to be assessed by Ismene, to be judged. Assessed. It was not Ismene’s burden to decide on somebody's faults or their worth, all she did was use her expertise to see someone for who they were and what they had done—nothing else. The sentence was not hers to give.

Hyunjin knew what you were about to say. He closed his eyes, his lips trembling. “The house was made of limestone. It had a small garden behind it, with a bench made of the same stone as the house. It was just one room with no glass in the windows.”

“Was someone in the house, darling?” he asked, his voice trembling even more than his lips.

“Yes.” Yes, of course. “A woman. I don’t remember her face, I don't think I saw it even once, but she had beautiful blonde hair.” Just like Feliks—it ran in the family. “She had flowers in it. She made us soup, heating it in a cauldron over a hearth but she did not speak. I wasn’t afraid of her. The soup was salty. She left before sunset, leaving us alone.”

You paused then. Hyunjin had one tiny bit of hope left, yet he knew not to hold onto it. Delicately, you kissed his jaw again but he kissed your lips. Your mouth tasted like stale water and your lips were raw but he did not mind that. He kissed you deeply while he still could.

“We made love,” you went on, and the last of his hope disappeared. Your voice was lower than it had been, as though you were telling a secret. “You fucked me on the stone floor and it was so good, Hyunjin.”

And now Ismene knew. She knew what you meant to him—she must have seen it in your eyes, or perhaps smelled it on the floor of her house. He could very well imagine her on her hands and knees, inhaling the spot where he had fucked you, finding in the scent of his cum the love he had for you.

He could not tell you this. If he tried, the words would close his throat shut. Instead, he kissed you. He could not tell you that he was kissing his love into you, for his love was like a knife on your throat, its sharp blade threatening to cut you open, to cause your demise.

The world could end. This, Hyunjin could fathom. But not you. You were his world now, the only place where he was understood. Your eyes were the only mirror in which he saw the reflection of his true self. He had never heard the absolute truth before he kissed your lips. He had never felt his soul before he tasted your pussy.

He knew that it was his destiny—that you were his fate, his serendipity. He had been meant to lick the juice of peaches off Feliks’ cock and that had been meant to unmake him so that he could be remade with you, in the version of him that he was supposed to be. The one he liked most. Not Hyathos. Hyunjin.

He also knew that he would rather be unmade again than see you harmed because of him.

So when you pulled away, breaking the kiss to look into his eyes, Hyunjin let you go, his arms falling on either side of him, limp, helpless. 

“I’m hungry,” you said, unaware of the danger he had put you in by falling for you. 

Hyunjin cooked for you. You sat on a stool by the counter while he carefully cut vegetables before roasting them. He had recharged your laptop and you scrolled through your email, then various news websites, then more specific art-related websites. 

“No one else knows.” Your voice was barely more than a whisper but he heard you very clearly. “Nobody is talking about it. The tablet. Cipherian. The discovery.” 

Hyunjin took a deep breath, weighing his words. “Why would they?” He gulped, a void carving itself into his chest. Soon, he figured, that void would be you-shaped. 

You took a few seconds to think about it. “Isn’t the latest fragment of the tablet a key to decode the language?” It seemed that as you were asking the question, some of your memories came back to you. You fell silent, your gaze fixated not on your screen but on your keyboard. Hyunjin wondered if, perhaps, you were looking at the letters on the keys, trying to make sense of them. “It’s not…” You gave yourself an answer, typing something on the computer. 

Hyunjin cracked an egg, then two, into a warm, buttered frying pan. One quick glance behind his shoulder confirmed that you were staring at the same picture you had been when it had dawned on you. When you realized that you understood it. Almost like a credit card needing activation, your mind had required exposure to the words to finally process them, opening a whole new universe to you.  

If he had to describe it, Hyunjin would say you fell into a trance after that, as though you were remembering the exact circumstances of the discovery of your newly acquired knowledge. He knew you couldn’t make sense of it, and he also knew he couldn’t help you make sense of it. Hyunjin may have been born a god but he had never been as helpless as he was this morning. 

You barely reacted when he slid the plate of food in front of you, so Hyunjin took your hand in his and closed it around the fork, forcing you to hold it. Your skin was cold and clammy, like someone who was ill. He kissed your temple, the scent of your hair as alluring as it had always been. “Eat,” he whispered into your ear. 

But you wouldn’t eat. You were muttering silently, your head leaning against him, eyes on the screen of your laptop. When Hyunjin closed the lid, you stared at the window instead, but not like one would just look at it. You stared like you were reading it, just like a book. And maybe you were. 

He put some food on your fork and brought it to your lips. He found that you accepted the food this way, so he literally spoon-fed you like that for a while, sometimes stopping to make you drink some watered-down juice. The more time passed, the slower your mutters became and the longer the pauses between them became, too. 

Once upon a time, Hyunjin had fallen in love with light itself. He had allowed it under his skin, into his heart, and he had let it change him. He had given all of his thoughts and all of his love to Feliks, and in the end it hadn’t been enough. In the end, it had ruined Hyathos. 

It was very human of him and he knew it, but he had believed something could be done with these ruins. He had believed, foolishly perhaps, that you would make a home out of them and that together, you would rebuild them into something better. He had also believed the same could be done with you and your broken heart. 

But then Feliks had taken that away from him, too. And all of that for what? So that you could read this message and relay it to him? Hyathos belongs elsewhere, far away. Like some creatures or peculiar plants, he thrives in the shade. Feliks didn’t need to infect your brain with his words for Hyunjin to know that. He had known for a while already that no matter how much he loved Feliks, he would never belong with him, he would never belong in places where his light shone.

That morning, after feeding you breakfast and hydrating you, Hyunjin ran you a bath in which he made you sit to wash the last few days off you. You let him do it, almost like your body and mind weren’t connected. Like your body was here but your soul was elsewhere, maybe traveling back and forth in between worlds. 

The sun was filtering through the bathroom window, caressing your skin. He lathered you lovingly, moved by the beauty of your body and the way it felt beneath his fingertips. The softness of you, your breasts, your waist, your pussy. He hated Feliks. No, of course he didn’t, but he kind of did. It was unfair. He washed you, noticing that you reacted to his touches, and it made him hard in his pants. Hyunjin was afraid of the things he felt for you.

He dried you up and put comfortable clothes on you, and you managed to brush your teeth on your own while he was making some tea. Hyunjin felt strangely detached from his own emotions, as though they were simply happening rather than he was experiencing and feeling them. 

When you joined him in the living room, you were different. You seemed a bit more like yourself, and your gaze had returned not to its original clarity—even more than that. 

You went to him on the couch and accepted the cup of tea he handed you. You even kissed him, running your fingers through his hair, sitting close to him. “Thank you,” you murmured. “I’m sorry, I—” You paused, sighing. “Do you understand what’s going on?” 

He did. He painfully did yet he couldn’t say a word of it. It was unfair. He hated Feliks, except he did not. He knew that Feliks could not have done that to change you, to alter you to a point where there was now an entire world of distance between you and him. Hyunjin knew Feliks wasn’t cruel like that, but he knew he was oblivious to his own strength, his powers—he couldn’t have imagined what he was doing when he kissed his language into you. 

But he should have. He should have known. And for this, Hyunjin resented him. 

“No,” he said, his voice low. He was trying to dodge the invisible gag preventing him from enlightening you. “Do you remember what we talked about before you… found out?” 

You frowned, visibly thinking. “We had sex,” you recalled. “Then you went out, and I checked my emails, and—”

“No, before that.” 

The crease between your brows deepened. You placed your cup on the coffee table, facing him on the couch. “I read to you. About the sky. And…” You were so close, so fucking close to finding out that it made him nauseous. In his chest, his heart was thumping hard and fast. 

It happened suddenly. You raised your eyes to stare into his, straightening your posture. “I had a dream. I dreamt about Feliks.” 

Hyunjin could have collapsed. You had been well-versed in the myths before, but like most mortals, you rarely used the proper pronunciation of Feliks’ name. The difference was so subtle that it was almost imperceptible anyway, that only a trained ear could notice. And he did. He did notice that you did not call him Felix, and probably never would again. 

“But how…” Hyunjin couldn’t expect you to understand the whole truth now, or ever. You were not religious—a person who was would have immediately seen this as divine intervention, as a miracle. But your mind needed a bit more time to make sense of it all. “Do you think that while I dreamt, I could have, I don’t know… Unlocked something in my brain? You know, they say we reach deep into our subconscious when we sleep.”

If that was the explanation that comforted you, then so be it. “What else could it be, darling?” He pulled you close, cupping your face in his hand. “That, and the dream you told me about when you woke up. I think your brain was telling you something.”

Your eyes became unfocused for a few seconds. “Ismene. She was the woman… I dreamt of her too, I…” 

You returned to silence for a while and Hyunjin let you, admiring you. Admiring the way the sun reflected in your deep, beautiful eyes. Admiring the way your pretty tits showed through your shirt. 

“I think I understand now,” you said after a while. As though you needed to face him, you straddled him on the couch, and it was your turn to take his face in your hands. He saw your mouth drop open when you felt his cock through his pants. “I understand the myths.” 

Hyunjin smiled, tears pricking at his eyes. Yes, you understood now and you would understand even more as time went on. “You’re beautiful.” And you were. You had always been, but he had never seen this much purpose in you, except when you had brought him down to the museum vaults to show him the painting. “You’re beautiful,” he repeated, caressing you, your tits, your waist. 

“Make love to me again,” you whispered, crashing your lips onto his. 

And he did. He undressed you and laid you on the floor, in the sun, and ate your pussy, again and again, lapping at you desperately. You were better than any of the ripest fruit he had ever tasted as a god or as a mortal. You came under his tongue but that did not stop him—he swallowed you, consuming you, letting himself be consumed by you at the same time, but his head remained buried between your legs. 

You were more divine than he was, your body, your moans, your hands in his hair, your juices rolling down his chin, smeared all over your thighs and your ass. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted you. You came again, clenching and fluttering around his fingers, moaning with your mouth wide open, speaking in a language he could not understand because it had been erased from his memory.

He kissed you to see what those words tasted like and he found that your pussy was sweeter anyway. People worshiped gods and most gods worshiped themselves. But not him. He understood now why he had never been like the others, like he had never quite fitted among these gods—it was because Hyunjin had been meant to worship you, and only you. 

You undressed him, kissing him all over, his shoulders, his neck, suckling on his nipples while stroking his cock. Sunlight enveloped both of you as Hyunjin aligned himself with your entrance, his cock hard and straining, flushed dark. 

He fucked you on that floor where you had cried so much. He fucked you like that, stretching you at first, your heat swallowing him, then harder, pounding into you with deep, sharp thrusts. Hoping that Feliks was watching. Hoping that Feliks could see him, Hyunjin, declaring his love to you and your body and your pussy. 

He fucking loved your pussy and how warm and wet you were, how well you took his big cock. 

She’s mine, Hyunjin thought, pumping in and out of your soaked folds, watching your tits bounce with every thrust. Or maybe he said it out loud, because you opened your eyes, pulling him closer. 

You said something then, something he couldn’t translate but something he understood anyway. Yours. More words. Fuck me harder.

He drilled you into the floor with you on your hands and knees, your bodies becoming one as you reached behind you to hold onto him, your nails digging into his skin but it just felt like kisses. A goddess. You came, again, clenching so hard around him that Hyunjin couldn’t pull out in time. The waves of your orgasms transferred to him and he spilled himself inside you with long, intense pulses, each of them releasing a large amount of his divine cum. And that was better than anything. “Feels so good,” you whined into his ear as he fucked his seed deeper within you, somewhere Feliks would never reach.

Could you feel it? That he was saying goodbye? 

Maybe you did. You remained motionless when Hyunjin pulled out, and he watched as your cunt fluttered lazily a few more times, as his glistening cum oozed out of your hole. He didn’t move either for a while, until he felt the warmth of sunlight burning him gently. He wiped you clean, then the floor, where you sat in the sun. 

You got up as he gathered the clothes scattered around the room, making your way to the kitchen, naked, your pussy still flushed and swollen from how hard he had fucked you. Hyunjin watched as you sat in front of your laptop, opened a word processor, and began to type. 

He stayed for some time, washing up at first but not too thoroughly—he wanted the scent of you to stick to his skin a little, while he could. He wrapped a blanket around your body and poured you two glasses of water as well as laid a few snacks by the computer. You did not look away from your screen once—you typed and you typed, spilling your knowledge onto the keyboard. 

He glanced at the screen although he knew he shouldn’t. 

Both Hyathos and Feliks want to be loved—who doesn’t? But the two young gods crave different kinds of love. What Hyathos wants is the true kind of love, the kind of love that stains both parties, for better or worse. And he is seeking it, looking for it everywhere—in the sky, in the roses and asters of his mother’s garden, in the colorful trees of his orchard. 

Feliks, on the other hand—is the embodiment of light. Light does not discriminate, light touches everyone and everything. Light demands to be seen, to be witnessed, to be felt. Light demands gratitude, for without it, there is no world. Feliks is not selfish, Feliks is light itself—how could he ever think of shining his light on one and one only, no matter the bond between them? How could the people who are touched by him not love him back?

Feliks wants to be loved by all, and Hyathos wants to be loved by Feliks. 

This love is incompatible. This love is impossible. This love, ultimately, will pain Feliks and make him feel guilty of the way his heart works. It will, however, be Hyathos’ demise.

I wonder what this says about the people who wrote those myths, I wonder what they were trying to say here, what kind of logic they were trying to express with the tale of the star-crossed lovers. It brings forth how, at our core, we humans have not changed and never will. We’ve always told stories of impossible love. However, by comparing the original Language of the Gods and Cipherian, something becomes obvious: Cipherian seems to be used exclusively to refer to Feliks and Hyathos, often mentioning this unique and tragic bond that unites them. 

A secret language, with the purpose of speaking of broken hearts. This can be witnessed by the semantics of it. The word 'never', for example— 

He looked away. He had seen enough. 

Hyunjin had no doubt that you were currently typing one of the most important essays this world had known. You would type it and then, most likely, share your discovery with your colleagues at the museum. Linguists from around the world would beg to hear about it directly from you. People would talk about you on the news or in their reels, people would analyze Cipherian and your interpretation of it. People would become aware of your interpretation of the myths, too. And you had always been right about them, even before. 

And now, too much attention would be oriented on you and on this terrible yet irresistible secret that you were unearthing before their eyes. His father would come to feel it, his mother, too. If Feliks hadn’t told his family yet, they would also feel the shift in the fabric of the universe, and they would notice you. They would see you. 

Ismene knew that Hyunjin loved you. 

He hadn’t even had the pleasure of telling you that. It would have been too early—mortals usually waited before admitting this sort of thing. Time meant nothing to him. His heart had been beating since the beginning of the universe, and perhaps before that. He had waited lifetimes to find you. His purpose, his home. But now Ismene knew, and while she would never make accusations herself, it would be her duty to inform those concerned by the issue. She may have been an enemy of Hyunjin’s father, for the blood of light ran through her veins, but he would hear her nonetheless. 

When he would hear that his disappointment of a son had something to do with the revelation of the gods' core story, he would want to punish him. He would sit and think about the most cruel way to torture Hyunjin. Torture would not come in the form of pain or an extension of his banishment. Torture wouldn’t even be an immortal death, not right away at least. You were the key to unmaking Hyunjin for good, and now, Amaranthos knew.

You were the best thing that had ever happened to Hyunjin. And many things had happened to him. 

He loved you. And because he loved you, he would choose you over anything—divinity, light, or himself. 

Hyunjin kissed your cheek, wondering if you could feel the tears on his skin. Maybe you did, because you leaned into him a little, yet were unable to look away from your screen. Hyunjin understood—your mortal brain was invaded with knowledge bigger than itself, bigger than this world, and your focus would be greatly affected by that. For a while at least. 

“You’re leaving?” you asked, and to his surprise, you did slow your typing down and turned to him. You frowned when you saw his tears, wiping them away. Your hand smelled like him, like his petrichor-scented musk. “Are you alright?” 

He nodded. “Just glad to see you’re better, and writing,” he lied. “You worried me a lot the other day. I’ll head out and let you work.” 

“Will you be back soon?” You turned not just your face now, but your body toward him. There was a pretty pink mark on your left breast where he bit you earlier. 

Time meant nothing to him. It meant everything also. “Soon,” he lied again. He almost said it then, I love you, but that would have been selfish. “Write well, darling.” 

You offered him a faint smile, coated with sadness. “See you later,” you told him, and Hyunjin hated to hear you say it, hated to know he made you tell lies, too. If there was indeed a later, he had no idea when that would be.

He left your apartment. The sun was harsh and unforgiving in the sky, unnaturally warm for this time of the year. Hyunjin, who thrived in the shade, did not belong in this world anymore, not without you.

Each step that Hyunjin took as he walked away from your apartment seemed to deplete the strength of his soul. He almost turned back a few times, telling himself he could protect you better if he stayed by your side. The temptation was so great that if he had been capable of feeling pain, he was certain it would hurt him all over just to leave you, today, like that.

He managed to stop himself at the last second, choosing to hop into a random bus that would put as much distance between you and him as possible, but there was no taking you off his mind. He tried telling himself it was just temporary, that he would return to you in no time, but for the first time in a long time, he was facing the unknown. Even when his father had sent him here, even as Hyunjin woke up amongst the mortals, he had always had some grip on the situation, and he hadn’t been afraid. 

He hadn’t known fear before, and he found that it tasted bitter, that it wrapped his ribcage so tightly that he could hardly breathe.

Hyunjin got off the bus when it reached its last stop. This part of the city was quiet, or at least quieter, but that didn’t help him, it only made it worse. It would be so much easier if he didn’t love you, if he didn’t care—but the very reason for all of this to have happened was because of what he had in his heart, and you have been the one to put it there. On accident, yes, but still.

He wanted something, he just didn’t know what. If he couldn’t have you, what could he have, what could he do? 

For the first time in a long time, Hyunjin wished he could speak to his mother. He wished that he could visit her in her garden to ask for advice, or maybe just to ask her to hold him in her arms. He also wished, strangely, that he could hear his brother’s booming laugh echo all the way to the beach where he used to sit with his sister. She didn’t speak much, his sister, but Kyma rarely left Hyunjin alone for long periods of time. She’d keep her distance, sitting away from him, until he was ready to talk. 

He trusted her but he had been too fearful to reveal to her the extent of his relationship with Feliks. Yet, she knew that he was hurting. “I could make this go away,” she told him once, pouring Hyunjin a glass of wine so red it looked like liquified rubies. And Hyunjin knew she could, for Kyma was the patron of attraction, winter, and… indifference. “Drink this, I made it sweet for you.” 

But Hyunjin never drank the sweet wine, because he did not want to forget Feliks, no matter how painful it was to remember the taste of his love and the feeling of light on his lips or around his cock. 

If he couldn’t have you, what could he have?

What did he want?

He couldn’t feel his mother’s embrace or his little sister’s reassurance, but there was something he could do that would at least cost him an hour or so. An hour during which he wouldn’t painfully have to resist running back to you. 

So, Hyunjin found a cab and asked the driver to take him to the museum. Your museum. You wouldn’t be there, but the paintings and the statues would be. They were not the real thing but they were real things. And it would have to be enough. Hyunjin hadn’t missed his old life once since his exile, but today he needed something familiar, something tangible. 

He occupied his mind describing to himself each building the car passed. When that wasn’t quite enough, he tried to describe both the buildings and the people on the sidewalk, and when that also wasn’t enough, Hyunjin engaged in conversation with the driver, asking him about the city, pretending to be a tourist. The driver indulged him, offering a few funny stories he had heard from other tourists, and he gave Hyunjin a few suggestions for restaurants. Among them was the bistro he took you to dinner. He thought about that night, remembering it and your lips glistening with wine. He remembered dancing with you in the park and kissing you for the first time. 

He remembered feeling understood. Seen. Loved. You loved Hyathos. Only you didn't know what it meant to him.

Hyunjin gave the driver a generous tip before taking the main entrance into the museum. It was still buzzing with visitors and he was informed at the desk that waiting times could be quite long for those who wished to see Calverley’s The Cypress Tree. He did not mind that. In fact, he welcomed it. 

He entered the wing where your exhibition took place. The crowd was even more dense here, and he could see the queue for the portrait of Feliks from here. He would go see him later, but for now, he was craving something else. 

He was also craving silence in his mind. Because he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when you would type the last words of your essay. Would you be freed from that hypnotized state? Would you realize why there had been tears on his face this morning? Would you remember the desperation with which he had fucked you? 

Would you miss him? And if you did—what would you do about it? Would you touch yourself to the memory of him, each moan drawing more attention to you than the last? Would you seek him, would you call him? Would you look up at the sky and hope to see him? You didn’t know that the wrong pair of eyes would be following you. That your prayers would be met with violence, not benevolence.

More people were interested in the paintings, leaving Hyunjin decent space to observe the statues. He found that some of them were not accurate at all. He had come here many times already to look at each piece of the exhibition though, and found beauty in them anyway. Like the way this artist had decided to make his mother corporeal, with a smile on her face and wind in her hair. 

Or how another artist had depicted Kyma’s dark fate. The detail in the marble where her captor’s fingers sank into her supple skin to take her away from her home. The anguish on his sister’s face, her mouth open like she was screaming. Yet, nobody had heard a thing when she had been taken. 

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” A man to Hyunjin’s right was looking at the same sculpture, studying it carefully. “Gorgeous nonetheless.” 

Hyunjin nodded absentmindedly, lost in his thoughts. He wondered if his sister was still alive, and if she were, if she could hear him at all. 

“You’re taller than I expected,” the man went on. 

It took Hyunjin a few seconds to process what he had said. He turned to the stranger, frowning. The man was wearing an all-black suit which complemented his short but curly hair of the same color. His gaze was heavy with beauty and horrors alike but it did not stop him from flashing a dimpled smile at Hyunjin. 

“Who—” But the man had a tattoo right below his neck, barely visible due to the collar of his shirt. A black moon. 

Hyunjin’s stomach churned as he realized he was facing the very man depicted in the sculpture before them—Thoros, King of the Underworld, ruler of the night. The man who had abducted his little sister because he wanted to marry something pure and better than him. 

“Relax, it’s fine,” the man went on. “My love, can you come here before he murders me?” 

At first, Hyunjin blamed his reduced capacities—after all, he may not have been a true mortal but his essence had to be contained within the body of one, including his cognitive faculties. So it shouldn’t be unexpected that he saw something and drew the wrong conclusions about it. Except it was much worse than that—when a woman appeared from somewhere behind Thoros, he thought he had lost his mind, fully. He thought that perhaps his father’s retribution had already begun and that he had decided to drive his own son crazy, to make him lose his wits. 

The woman did not speak, not yet—her eyes were glistening with tears when she stood before Hyunjin. The woman was that, a woman, grown up, strong, with intelligent eyes. He did not remember her like this—Hyunjin remembered his sister as a soft and secretive thing, barely of age. 

If this was her, really her, then Hyunjin was facing none other than the Queen of the Underworld, patron of attraction, winter, and indifference. 

“Brother,” Kyma said, swallowing a sob. Her lips remained parted as though she wanted to say more but her words were evading her. Instead, she reached for him, touching his hair and his face. 

Hyunjin did the same, feeling her curls and the skin of her forearms, her hands. Her hair was longer but still the lovely shade it had always been—something too textured and layered to describe it in just a word. Not quite brown or black, it shone under the large skylight in the ceiling, showing flashes of impossible colors—the green of moss, the gray of basalt, the yellow of marigold.

It couldn’t be her, could it? Yet he knew deep in his heart that it was his sister, not some twisted hallucination. In a way that he couldn’t explain, he felt it in his heart.

“Kyma,” he whispered, his sentence trailing into nothing when his little sister threw herself at him to hold him in her arms. Hyunjin embraced her, bittersweet at the memory of his last embrace with her—she had been smaller then, too small. “It’s really you. You heard me.” There was no other explanation—Hyunjin did not believe in coincidences. 

“I did.” Kyma pulled herself away to look at him from head to toe. “We took the risk to come immediately.”

We. Hyunjin became aware of the implications of Kyma’s visit and, more importantly, who was accompanying her. Her husband, yes, but he was the man who had taken her as his hostage, who had stolen her away from her home. 

To say that rage overtook Hyunjin would be a euphemism. In fact, he was so shocked that he froze in place, repressing a violent gag when Thoros came to wrap his arm around Kyma’s waist. This might have been his only chance to get her back, to try and free her. Hyunjin was already elaborating a plan—which included slitting Thoros' throat right then and there while he had taken a mortal form—when Kyma stretched herself to deposit a little kiss on Thoros’ cheek. In return, he kissed her hand, which he then kept in his. 

“How dare you—” Hyunjin started, but Kyma raised her hand, interrupting him.

“Thoros insisted on coming with me, but I told him it would anger you. Can you please prove me wrong, brother? And let me explain? We don’t have much time. We can’t leave the Underworld for too long.” 

Hyunjin gave the man an appraising look. He may have been dressed all in black yet he radiated warmth—it spilled from his kind eyes, from the smile on his lips. Like a gentle sunrise. Now that he was facing him for the first time, Hyunjin thought Thoros had very little to do with the stories being told about him. Actually, there was not an ounce of cruelty showing in his eyes and absolutely no threat in the way he was embracing Kyma. He held her like one would hold his lover.

Like Hyunjin would hold you. 

“Father told us he stole you away from our home,” Hyunjin whispered, memories coming back to him a little too fast to keep track of all of them. They were distant, but they were real. He remembered crying for days and nights in Kyma’s empty room, wondering whether his little sister was going to be killed quickly or become some ruthless man’s toy. “Do you love him, Kyma?” 

She nodded slowly. “I think… I think Father lied to you, or perhaps he misunderstood me.” She took Hyunjin’s hands in hers, pulling him closer. They were surrounded by people, but none of them seemed particularly preoccupied by their presence. They were properly indifferent. “I told him about Thoros and about our love, and I told Father I wanted to marry him, but he thought I had been bewitched.” 

This was the first time Hyunjin heard of such a thing. He listened intently as Kyma and Thoros told their version of their tale, which was a rather different version than the one he knew. 

Thoros had inherited the crown from his father and he took it eagerly, taking with it all of its burdens. One of those burdens was the inability to leave his home for very long, or else the Underworld turned into chaos. Souls would be misplaced or even lost, and that wouldn’t even be the worst—souls could also escape. So, Thoros stayed on his land most of the time, except on the nights when the moon was dark. On new moons, he would leave his castle unbeknownst to everyone, for nobody could see him in the dark. He was no more than darkness in a pit of more darkness on those nights. 

And it was how he met Kyma. She caught his attention one night as she was walking barefoot in her mother’s garden. He had never seen a woman as beautiful as her—she was so beautiful that it took him three moon cycles to dare approach her. When he did, she was standing on the beach, the high tide swallowing her ankles and rising quickly. 

She was not afraid of him, and it was then that Thoros fell in love with her. Nobody was not afraid of him, especially not those who did not know him. But Kyma did not fear Thoros, not even when she saw the black moon above his collarbone. They talked all night, for so long that Thoros almost did not make it back home before sunrise. Before he left, though, she offered him a flower from the garden—a white camelia, almost as delicate and pretty as her. 

It did not take long before Thoros asked Kyma to become his queen. But when she told Amaranthos, he wouldn’t believe her, certain that Thoros had poisoned her mind. He locked her in her room. “What he said was, not you too, not you too.” And Kyma didn’t know at the time, but now she knew that he had been talking about Hyathos and Feliks. 

Hyunjin, lost in his thoughts, could feel the despair that had haunted their home after that night. “Our brother died for nothing, then? He went to fetch you back. Did he kill him?” He shot a glance at Thoros next to her. Hyunjin hadn’t been particularly close with his older brother, but Prokopios was his brother anyway, and that meant something, didn’t it? 

“I didn’t kill your brother if that is what you think,” Thoros explained. “He spent the night at a tavern in a little town, one day of travel away from the Underworld. He met a woman there and she gave him a strange berry, or so people say. The berry was to make your brother desire her—he lay with her all night, then all day after, just like she wished, until she became pregnant from his seed. She wanted to give birth to a god.” Thoros explained that when Prokopios found out what had really happened, he fell into despair—the berry had made him mad, forcing him to fall in love with this deceiver who did not love him back. 

“In the end, it was locals who killed him when he started attacking each and every one of them, hoping to kill her last, and the baby in her belly too,” Kyma concluded. “He was a ferocious fighter, but the enchantment on his heart made him weak.” 

“What… what about the woman? The child?” For now, Hyunjin would rather think about them than about the death of his brother. He had grieved for him a while ago, resenting him for dying and for leaving him to be the next in line for the crown, also pitying him for having been the one sent out there to die. “Did she…”

“She did give birth to him, but she was not a goddess, not even a demigoddess,” Kyma explained. “She was only an enchantress allowed to live among us. She died giving birth to the baby boy, and the few citizens left in the village were too scared he would turn into a monster like his father, so they brought him to us.” 

Kyma pushed herself to the side, revealing a bench behind her, on which two children were sitting. The oldest, a boy who resembled Prokopios so perfectly that Hyunjin gasped upon seeing him, was showing a few museum brochures to a little girl who had Kyma’s beautiful hair and Thoros’ warm smile. 

“Y—You—” Tears blurred Hyunjin’s vision as he observed his nephew and niece. The knot in his stomach launched yet another rope, entrapping his heart, tugging at it. He had never thought about that. About becoming an uncle. Or a father, even. He used to be blind. He used to only think of Feliks and the next time he would feel loved by him. 

Maybe, after all, his father hadn’t been wrong about him. 

Thoros looked up through the skylight, watching the sky intently. “We don’t have much time left,” he pointed out. “It’ll be sunrise soon enough back there.” 

Kyma took Hyunjin’s hands again. “I heard you calling for me, brother. I know what you want. But tell me first why you wouldn’t just come back with us. Do you love that mortal more than your home? We could take you back with us and then you could return to see our parents. Mother misses you, I’m sure.” 

“She misses you too,” Hyunjin pointed out. “She has no children left. She has two grandchildren and has no idea.” 

“I know.” Kyma’s eyes were wet, too. “I chose him. I chose Thoros, because I didn’t think I could exist without him.” Kyma had been promised to another god, a good man, just not one she loved. “I didn’t want to exist without him.” She let her words dissolve in the ambient noise of the room. “Do you think you can exist without her? The mortal?” 

She could have stabbed him and it would have had the same effect—Hyunjin felt a terrible pain in his chest, searing, inevitable, like a burn. “I don’t want to exist without her,” he whispered, and it felt like filling his body with venom. “But I have no choice. They will notice her, if they haven’t already.”

“They have.” Kyma didn’t hesitate to relay the information to him. “But I don’t think they hold the whole truth, and the rumors… Well… Apparently, Father would be getting ready for something, but we don’t know what.” She followed with her eyes when a ray of light moved on Hyunjin’s shoulder. “Come with us,” she insisted. 

He shook her head. “I don’t belong there anymore.” He was terrified of going back. Terrified of hearing Feliks call him in the language of light. “I just want her safe. You chose him, Thoros. I choose this. We have much to learn from mortals, sister, and this is one of those things—the easiest option will always be more tempting than the best one.” 

Hyunjin had been here for over a century already and he had acquired more knowledge than he ever had when he was a god. He knew that staying here was a risk, but he wanted to be close in case you needed divine aid. He had been here for over a century and he had seen mortals write and sing and dance about love, and he found that the mortal kind of love was the greater kind, the one that meant something. Or maybe he was just biased because he loved you. 

In his life here, he had seen the same love story told by different authors from different decades and continents and yet it was never actually twice the same. To one, love could be like a murmuration of starlings and to the other it was the sharpest of blades. One was not better than the other—nobody could condemn a desperate person who chose the blade if the knife loved them back. 

“Okay.” Kyma was wearing an elegant navy blue dress with a blazer of the same color. She reached into one of the pockets, extracting from it a mini bottle of cognac. It was the very same kind as the one he had drank with you, in this museum, in your office. Your mouth tasted like it the first time he heard you moan his name as you came, the weight of your body on his more delightful than immortality. “I can’t give you more than this, not from here. I tried to get two, but it didn’t work.” 

He nodded, taking the bottle in his hand. It was strangely warm. “Is it for her or for me?” he asked. Behind Kyma, her children were now walking around the sculptures, looking at them with big, impressed eyes. The little gods were more beautiful than any of those pieces of marble. 

“That’s for you to decide, brother.” Kyma squeezed his forearm. “But it’s her thoughts that are felt all the way to us, and have been for a while. So few mortals are focused on the divine these days that it makes her stand out.” 

Hyunjin couldn’t even look at his sister anymore—he focused on the bottle in his hand and the liquid inside it. It held a terrifying power. “Will she forget me?” His throat was shut tight, making his voice sound small and weak. 

Kyma forced him to look into her eyes. “No, Hyathos.” Hyathos. This name that had been once his was foreign now. “Putting distance between your bodies isn’t enough—all this does is also create distance between your hearts, temporarily.” She was smiling, but her smile was filled with sorrow. “I’m proficient in indifference, not miracles, brother. Your souls are intertwined and few could undo that.” She took his hand and forced the bottle into his pocket. It seemed to Hyunjin like it weighed a ton. 

Thoros, who had walked away for a few instants, returned, flanked by the two children. He stood a little behind Kyma. “We have to go now,” he said softly, offering Hyunjin a sorry smile, and Hyunjin knew he was equally apologetic to him and Kyma. He had not expected this from the king of the Underworld, but there were oceans of love pouring from his gentle eyes. 

Thoros was a handsome man, with a strong body containing both force and benevolence. Hyunjin had never really thought about it, but it must take a toll on any man to be so deeply responsible for the lost souls of the world. It was one hell of a burden, except it didn’t seem like that to him—Thoros did not seem weary or drained. If Hyunjin had to describe his energy, he would say his sister’s husband was pleasant, dependable, and kind.  

“No, please.” He wasn’t done. He wanted to sit with his sister and hear about her wedding. He wanted to take the children for a little trip and eat gelato with them. He wanted to get to know the man who had married his little sister. 

“We really have to, or else it’ll only make things worse,” Kyma pointed out, and Hyunjin knew she was right. “I know your heart is full of questions, brother, but you have to know it also holds the answers to them.” 

She held him again, kissing him on the cheek. Hyunjin only had enough time to whisper a weak thank you before they disappeared into the crowd. Parting from Kyma again was almost as painful as it had been the first time, except for the fact that Hyunjin knew she was happy. Happy, and in love, and loved, too. And Hyunjin knew that love could change anyone, including—and perhaps especially—gods.

He stood there, under the skylight, wondering about what kind of parents Kyma and Thoros were, and what their life was like. He thought about all the things he couldn’t have told her. He wished he could have spent more time with her, he wished he could have told her about you. And how Hyunjin came to meet you. He wished he could sit with Kyma and relay to her all of your thoughts about the myths. Above all, he wished you could have met her. And Hyunjin could have introduced you to Kyma as the woman he’s in love with. 

The sun shifted again, bringing Hyunjin back to reality. He gave one last glance at the sculpture he was closest to. Now that he knew how inaccurate it was, he had no interest in it anymore, so he walked away. He knew where he was headed. 

He found a man and a woman at the security desk, chatting about the next maintenance tour in the room where Feliks was exposed. He came to understand that the crowd was so important from morning to night that the museum needed to close the room from the public for a few minutes once every couple hours, just to make sure that everything was alright there. 

The woman noticed him first, staring at him with curiosity. “Yes, sir?” 

Hyunjin looked around, suddenly having second thoughts about this. Deep down, however, he knew he was doing the right thing. He gave the woman your name and told her he was a friend of yours, also doing research. 

“She is not here, sir,” the man responded. “Called in sick at the beginning of the week. But you can go to reception and leave a message to her.”

“I know she’s sick,” Hyunjin retorted, trying very hard to remain calm. That had always been difficult for him. It seemed like he was nothing but a pit where emotions fell into, trapped in there forever, unable to escape, doomed to rot. Doomed to be wretched. Wherever Hyunjin went, he brought with him his disasters—and now, he had made a disaster out of you, too. “I’m here to see Han Jisung.” 

“Sir, you would need an appointment—” 

“Can you please just call his office? Tell him Hyunjin wants to see him.” 

The woman nodded and went to the phone on the desk, entering an extension number on it while the man regarded Hyunjin with visible annoyance. The woman repeated word for word what Hyunjin had instructed her to, and it took no time before she hung up the phone, announcing to Hyunjin that Jisung was on his way. 

The Director of Security appeared through the crowd with an apprehensive look on his face. He was wearing a standard security button-up shirt and even some sort of tactical belt, but he also had a dark gray blazer on. When he stood before Hyunjin, he was fidgeting pointlessly with the flashlight on his belt.

“Hwang.” Jisung offered him a stiff nod. “You wanted to see me?” 

Hyunjin buried his hands into his pockets. The bottle was there—the glass of it was cold yet he could feel the warmth of the liquid inside it, tempting, terrifying. “In private,” he responded, which earned him yet another nod. 

The path they took was familiar to Hyunjin—it was the same one you had led him on during that fateful night when you brought him to your office. The upstairs hallway was much quieter than the floor below but the conversations and footsteps could be heard nonetheless. When Jisung walked past the closed door of your office, he slowed down. “Are you here to pick stuff up for her?” He didn’t even look behind him.

Hyunjin couldn’t give him an immediate answer—the answer was no, only, he wished it was yes. “No. I need to speak with you.” 

A third nod—Jisung then motioned Hyunjin toward the door to his office, in which Hyunjin had already been, also on the same night. Jisung made his way behind his desk but did not sit and neither did Hyunjin—they just stood, facing each other, with a desk between the two of them. 

“What do you want that is so top secret, then?” There was obvious disdain in Jisung’s eyes. There were other things too, but it only told Hyunjin he had come to the right person. 

“I’ve got something to ask of you. It’s not a small thing,” Hyunjin admitted, the weight of the bottle almost crushing him the same way a galaxy would if it fell onto him. “It’s about, huh, our friend in common.” For some reason, speaking your name out loud, here, today, felt wrong, so he avoided it. “It’s an errand that will take considerable time, I believe, and since you will no doubt have to miss some work for it, I will compensate you generously.”

Jisung tilted his head to the side. “What?”

Hyunjin went on without waiting. “I’m asking you—begging you—to please keep an eye on her. From up close, as close as you can without it seeming… forced, or suspicious.” It wasn’t fair. It should be Hyunjin who did that. “Can you please keep her safe?” 

Any aversion completely melted from Jisung’s face, turning immediately into concern. “What? Is she in danger or something? Is it a stalker? Online? That weird neighbor of hers who liked to listen when we—” Jisung ended his sentence there, for which Hyunjin was grateful. 

He shook his head. “No, well, I don’t know. Maybe. She could be in danger. Just. Can you? Can you keep an eye on her?” He closed his hand around the small bottle in his pocket. The choice was his to make—he could either make this easier for himself or for you. Which was to say, there was no choice to be made at all. 

Jisung crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you guys break up or something? Why aren’t you the one keeping an eye on her?” 

Break up? Hyunjin wished, in a twisted, disastrous way, that there had been something to break up. “No. We were never a couple.” And it hurt Hyunjin to say that. What terrible words to use oxygen for.

It wasn’t fair, yet it was all his fault. It went against everything that made sense in the world for an immortal to fall in love with a mortal. You would literally die someday. You would grow old, which was not a problem for him—he would massage your painful joints and play your favorite music and hold all of your weight so you could dance with him. But there would be a day when you would take your last breath and Hyunjin would remain the same, unchanged on the outside and shattered on the inside. His body, even the one of a mortal, would remain healthy and strong and young until his divine essence was allowed back among the gods. 

And after you died, Hyunjin wouldn’t even be able to kill that body. He would be sentenced to live the rest of his immortal life without you, knowing that you had once existed and that you would never exist again.

A curse can sometimes come disguised as a blessing and a blessing as a curse. This, the young demigod knew all too well.

He should have been more careful. He should have run away from you the moment you made his heart skip a beat, the moment he saw you approach him in this very museum. He should have left when you began speaking not to him, but to his soul. But how could he resist you? How could he resist that feeling of belonging, of respite? 

We were never a couple. What an awful, fucked up thing to say. It was all he wanted with you. To wake up in the bed you shared with him. To kiss your sleepy eyes and drape himself all over you, touching you all over, feeling your body against his, his precum rolling down your thigh, the scent of your pussy filling the room. Your hands all over him, too, loving him, and he loved you too. Fucking you hard or gently or both, staining the sheets with sweat and cum and devotion. 

“So, let me put all the facts out there,” Jisung started. “You showed up here one day, took her to dinner, came back here to fuck her in her office and have been fucking her ever since. You didn’t break up because you weren’t a couple and now you’re offering to pay me to hang out with her?” 

Hyunjin had never been one to feel rage. In fact, it was that trait of his that had caused his father to be so disappointed in him. He wanted for Hyunjin to be as seething, as furious as he was. But nothing had ever compelled Hyunjin to be angry, or outraged, and even less to offer any sort of retaliation. His first reaction had always been to back off and keep quiet. To observe. To keep his big emotions to himself. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been that, angry, or if he had ever been.

But he was now. Or at least he thought he was, Hyunjin wouldn’t have been able to tell for sure if the fire burning in his veins was rage, however he suspected it when he saw terror in Jisung’s eyes. But Hyunjin couldn’t control himself—he walked around the desk and grabbed the other man by the collar of his shirt, shoving him into the wall behind. “And how is that different than what you did to her? HOW?” He was stronger than Jisung, much stronger, and he ought to be careful except he couldn’t. “AT LEAST I LOVE HER. All you ever did was use her like some fleshlight and discard her when you wanted to try another toy.”

Jisung’s fear transferred to Hyunjin—he became afraid of himself, afraid of what he had done and what he wanted to do, which was to throw Jisung at the wall hard enough to hit his head. This is what he was—a disaster, creator of more disasters. 

He let go of Jisung, backing away until he felt the wall behind his back. Jisung remained at the other side of the room, eyes on him, chest rising and falling as he took deep, deep breaths. Hyunjin wasn’t really expecting anything specifically to happen after such a scene, yet Jisung surprised him.

“What’s going on with her? Did someone… threaten her or something?” And Hyunjin understood then. Jisung had figured out that he wasn’t reacting this way for nothing. 

Hyunjin couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t tell him that his god of a father would perhaps send something terrible upon you. It could be tomorrow or ten years from now. It could be a drunk driver while you crossed a street. It could be a heart attack. It could be a man just like him, a mortal version of Amaranthos, the god of violence and indulgence, the king of bloodshed, and this man would perhaps do unspeakable things to you.

He couldn’t tell that to Jisung, but he could be vague about it. “Or something, yeah,” he responded, his voice slow and slurred, almost like he was living a nightmare, and maybe he was. “So. Can you? Keep her safe?” 

Jisung nodded, his eyes a little unfocused, like he was trying to put some order in his thoughts. He gulped thickly, finally managing to hold Hyunjin’s gaze. “Should I take my gun with me? Should I go now?” 

“As soon as you can. As for the gun… if you can carry it, it might be for the best. An extra precaution. But don’t let her see it. And don’t tell her I sent you.” He reached into his pocket with a shaky, clammy hand. Crossing the room again, he handed the small bottle of cognac to Jisung. “Can you give this to her? It’s her favorite. Tell her it’s to celebrate her discovery.” 

“Discovery?” Jisung took the bottle from him, and it went into his pocket. 

“She… found something,” Hyunjin chose to say. “She’s working on it as we speak—she doesn’t have the flu. It’s, huh, it’s stressful, like really stressful. She’ll seem weird at times, so just… I don’t know. Just… don’t panic, stay with her, she’ll come back to her senses sometime later.” He motioned toward Jisung’s blazer pocket. “The cognac might help her calm down.” He hoped that the story he had constructed was believable enough. He was not afraid that the cognac wouldn’t make it to you or that you wouldn’t drink it—Kyma herself had brought it for you, so it meant you would get to taste it. 

And it would make you indifferent. To him. 

A heavy silence filled the room. Jisung stared at Hyunjin, at the window behind him, then at Hyunjin again before going to his desk, grabbing the phone there. He composed an extension and Hyunjin heard him trying to steady his breathing. “Yeah, Jung? Can you come up here and cover the cameras? I’ll call in Choi to be on floor duty. Yeah, after the Room 3 sweep is fine. Yeah, I gotta bounce.” Nothing else was said, he simply hung up the phone. 

“I’ll go now.” Jisung grabbed his keys and his cell phone as well as his wallet from a drawer of his desk. “You’ll be around?”

“No.” He hadn’t really thought about the long-term version of things. “I’ll be out of the country for some time.” What Hyunjin meant is he would call his manager so that Seungmin could find him as many overseas contracts as possible, making sure his days and nights were fully booked. Anything to stay busy. Not that it would make him forget you, but it might help him stay away from you. 

“Right.” Jisung went to the door and Hyunjin followed him. They walked past your office again, then went downstairs. The agents he had seen earlier were busy closing Room 3 for the hourly inspection. 

“Mind if I go in while they do their thing?” Hyunjin asked almost absentmindedly, almost like he had no say in it. “Just to see the painting again, then I’ll leave for good.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Jisung seemed too preoccupied to really care. He simply waved at the male security guard and let him know Hyunjin would go in with them, which wasn’t questioned since the statement came from the Director of Security himself. “Take care, Hwang.”

“You too, Mr. Han.” And the men parted ways, just like that. Just like that, Hyunjin had forsaken the thing he liked most about himself, which was you. 

Hyunjin went to stand in front of The Cypress Tree, the Calverley painting. He remembered the man, the salty scent of his house, of his skin, the taste of his lips. Behind him, the two guards were putting a few things in order in the large room. There was another skylight built into the ceiling here, but it was even bigger than in the other gallery. 

It seemed to Hyunjin as though a ray of sun filtered through it only to illuminate the painting before him. Feliks, his youthful beauty, his hair of light. 

Many many years ago, Feliks had given Arthur Calverley a message so that he could paint it onto a canvas with the aim that Hyunjin would come across it someday. It had taken all this time for him to be reunited with it. This painting, it was said, had killed Calverley, and Hyunjin believed it. The story around the painting was more like a folk tale to mortals but Hyunjin knew it to be true—the story said that Calverley had barged into the art supply store owned by his friend to buy more paints, claiming he had a strange dream and had been inspired by it. 

So he had painted the message given by Feliks and it had killed him.

And Hyunjin was terrified that the same would happen to you, too. 

Behind him, the two guards were now relaying some information to the front desk through their walkie-talkies and paid him absolutely no attention. Hyunjin went over the ribbon separating him from the painting, standing as close to it as he could without touching it.

He felt the warmth emanating from it. He could smell it, too—the scent of light, of warm cypress, of ripe peaches, of soft grass. Of Feliks, and his cum and Hyunjin’s cum, too. Their foolish, impossible love. He stared at the painting, letting Feliks’ apology enter his pores and melt into him. 

“I miss you too, Feliks,” he murmured to the brush strokes that looked exactly like Feliks. “I’m sorry I wasn’t enough. I tried to be happy, I wanted to. I wanted her more than anything. Can you help me? Can you help me keep her safe?” 

A cloud rolled into the sky, covering the sun, and Hyunjin wept. 

... to be continued.

author's note: Wow… Honestly, guys? I had given up hope. I did not think I would ever update Lullaby. Not because I don’t care about it—because of the opposite, actually. There are a lot of emotions I associate with this story, and I think I needed time. A literal year later, here we are. Originally, I had imagined this to be the last chapter which would have been followed by an epilogue. I allowed myself to get carried away though, which will undoubtedly cost me notes and engagement because this chapter is very plot/mythology heavy and has minimal spice. 

All that being said, I want to say thank you to the readers who support me through asks, reblogs or tips. You guys make one hell of a difference in my life as a lil kpop ficcie author. Thank you for your patience and thank you for loving the stories and their characters. It means more to me than you could think! 💕

permanent taglist: @abiaswreck ; @accalus ; @aimeexx ; @b4kuho3 ; @binstitsweat ; @casualtaelyn ; @cb97percent ; @changbinheart ; @chans1aptop ; @chartrucewhore ; @djeniryuu ; @dwaekkiracha ; @erispancakes ; @fwess ; @hanjingin ; @hwan-g ; @hyuneyeon ; @hyunfruits ; @hyunjinswifeee ; @hyunniethepooh ; @hyunsungbased ; @hyuwunjinie ; @hyyuniverse ; @iam2out ; @imseungminsgf ; @inkybird ; @jollchacho ; @katsukis1wife ; @lilbabiebunni ; @leedunno ; @lotus-dly ; @miraworldsstuff ; @moasworld ; @neosracha ;@palindrome969 ; @revehosh ; @skzfelixlove ; @starseekersworld ;  @straydhampir ; @straykids5star ; @suhomylife ; @sunlitwilderness ; @ven-fic-recs ; @yourmercibeaucoupsblog

[straywrds]

gyokuro green tea | a lullaby on his throat chapter two

pairing: hyunjin x (afab) reader | wordcount: 23k | genre: mythology au, romance, smut | warnings: angst & a lot of mentions of unrequited feelings ; mutual pining ; view all compiled warnings here. This work is for adult audiences only.

GYOKURO green tea 玉露 — Shade-grown green tea. Gyokuro is a high-grade sencha prepared from the tips of tea leaves shaded from sunlight two weeks before harvest. (cr.)

You were dreaming.

And you knew you were dreaming because none of what you were seeing made sense. Or rather, it made too much sense—you had seen it before, but not like this. You had seen the dark lilac sky, the forest,

the cypress tree. Felix. Feliks.

He lay under the tree, his head resting against the trunk, his golden, radiant hair floating in the soft breeze. You took a deep breath, surprised by the lingering sweet scent in the air. It smelled like summer, like food… no, like fruit. Like crisp apples, sun-kissed plums, like ripe peaches. 

There was a considerable distance between you and him, but you heard Felix as if he was standing right next to you. “Come and say hi, love.” His deep voice hardly matched the way he looked. You could see that he had turned his head and was staring at you.

You ought to be scared but you weren’t. The breeze was soothing, the long grass soft under your bare feet. You ought to be cold—the only article of clothing that you were wearing was an oversized white linen tunic that reached just below your knees. But you weren’t cold. 

You could feel his warmth from across the field. Felix. 

You walked slowly, neither rushed nor slow—you simply walked, crossing the field, the blades of grass tickling your ankles. The closer you got, the warmer it felt, as if you were approaching a fire. In a way, you were. 

From up close, Felix was so beautiful you wanted to cry. 

His facial traits were delicate and striking all at once. His big, blue eyes stared at you—no, brown, no, dark blue, green, golden, brown, hazel… The more you stared, the more his eye color shifted and yet, you couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened. It just did. His heart-shaped lips turned into a kind smile and he extended his arm, inviting you to sit not next to him, but on his lap. You wanted to join him but you couldn’t, not just then, because you were hypnotized by the constellations on his face.

It was one thing to see them in drawings or paintings, and to read descriptions of them in old or new texts. Felix’s smile turned into a grin when he noticed your frozen state. “I won’t hurt you, I just want to talk,” he insisted with a soft chuckle. 

You took one step, then another. Here, the large cypress tree protected you from the breeze and Felix was all you felt. He was all you could see. You made your way to him, positioning one foot on either side of his thighs before kneeling down to straddle him. His skin reminded you of a warm mug of freshly brewed coffee, of a prolonged orgasm, of the first day of summer. He looked like sunlight made corporeal—the warmth from his body transferred between your legs and you gasped when he put his small hands on your waist, pulling you closer.

“Beautiful,” he commented, his hands running over your body, squeezing your hips, your ass, palming your breasts through your tunic. “I get what he sees in you.” 

“Who?” You didn’t even know how you managed to speak. From this close, the constellations on his cheeks looked so real you couldn’t take your eyes off them. They twinkled like real stars. They pulsed like a slow, steady heartbeat. 

Felix didn’t give you an answer. Instead, he slipped his hands under your shirt to feel your skin and his fingertips reminded you of a melody played on a piano, of an afternoon of sunbathing. 

You touched him, too. His face. You took his head in your hands, feeling his silky hair through your fingers, swiping your thumbs on his cheeks. The constellations had a texture to them. Not bumpy, not rough—but if one had been able to reach out into the night sky and graze the stars with their hands, it would have felt exactly the same.

Felix bucked his hips just enough to make you feel his hardening cock—he was wearing the same tunic as you and the fabric rubbed against your core, eliciting a soft moan out of you. In return, Felix pulled you in for a kiss.

You kissed him back, opening your mouth for him, pressing yourself against his erection. His hands were already running back to your tits, playing with them in the same way he was kissing you—leisurely, unhurriedly, with the intent of a discovery, of a breakthrough. 

He pulled away, his forehead against yours. “I taste him on you.” He retreated further, his hands trailing down to rest on your hips, pressing down on you harder, pushing you onto him. 

“Taste who?” You whimpered when you rolled your hips against him, his contained erection brushing your clit. “Who do you taste on me?” 

Felix took your mouth again, your arousal smearing all over you and his shirt. He kissed you with hunger, with need, his mouth devouring yours to chase that taste he recognized. 

“I taste him on you,” Felix said again into your mouth in between kisses. “Can’t you smell him in the air? He left a part of him here.” 

You frowned, inhaling again. The sweet scent had lingered but the smell of your soaked pussy was stronger. 

“Who?” you asked again.

“Him,” Felix whispered. “.......”

“What?” All you had heard was white noise, but you had seen his lips form a word. A name. A forbidden name, it felt like. 

He said it again. “.......” 

You read the forbidden name on his lips but for the life of you, you couldn’t think about it. When you did, you thought the same white noise that was spilling out of Felix’s full lips when he spoke it. 

“Let me taste him a little more, will you, love?” And Felix kissed you again, his lips enveloping you, warming you up. 

You were dreaming. And you knew you were dreaming because why else would you be able to taste sunlight in Felix’s mouth?

It was your ringtone that woke you up. Or, more precisely, that propelled you to consciousness. You almost fell down your bed trying to reach for your phone, noticing that it was actually the ringtone and not the alarm that was ringing. You declined the call without even looking at the caller ID—you just wanted silence. You needed it.

It was quieter but not exactly silent. Outside, the world was awake, the day had started. Cars, buses, people. Life. 

As suddenly as you had been pulled away from sleep, you remembered your dream.

It eluded you the very moment you remembered though—just like spilling a glass of water a second before taking a sip of it. You chased it, chased the memories… A breeze, blades of grass caressing your skin. Warm hands on your hips. Something hard pressed between your legs. Gentle kisses. White noise. 

You couldn’t remember the dream, but when you brushed your fingers on your pussy, it confirmed your suspicion—you were wet. Soaked. You shivered at the small contact, blushing. But why were you even blushing? You were alone in here, and it’s not like anyone knew you’d had a wet dream… 

I wish I could remember what it was, you thought, daring to press your fingers harder between your legs.

… but your phone rang again. You let out a frustrated sigh and used your other hand to pick up the call—you rested the other on your inner thigh, waiting for one minute of damn peace to get this over with.

It was Minji. “Hey, so did you… did you forget the interview or what?” 

Few things in life could have turned you off as quickly as that one question did. The interview. With the journalist. From the fucking Herald—just the most important newspaper in the country. 

“Fuck, no I didn’t forget—” You didn’t forget the interview, but you smoked weed and had a few too many glasses of wine last night before bed because you were stressed out about the interview. By the looks of it, what you had forgotten was how to set a fucking alarm on your phone. 

“Can you cover me?” you asked, pushing the blankets off and getting out of bed as quickly as if it had been set on fire. “I’ll be a bit late, but I’ll get a taxi.” Your heart was pounding in your chest. This was a big step for you—you didn’t normally handle interviews. But this time, Mrs. Yoo had insisted it should be you. The newspaper wanted to print a big story on the Deities exhibit with an emphasis on a few specific pieces—The cypress tree, Agatheia, Prokopios… 

Your thoughts lingered on Felix longer than they should have considering the current urgency of the situation, but Minji’s voice brought you back to reality. “Sure, I’ll say the bus broke down or whatever,” she assured. “Okay, gotta go, I can hear someone coming. Be quick!” 

You left your phone on your bed and ran to the bathroom for a quick shower. If you hadn’t had that weird dream, whatever it was, maybe you wouldn’t even need one… but you felt a little too filthy to show up at an important meeting like this. So you washed up, brushed your teeth, and used a clip to put your hair in a twist updo that may have given the impression you had your shit together. If people didn’t look at you from too close. 

The outfit didn’t matter, you decided—jeans with a black sweater tucked inside of them, a few golden accessories… and you were out, praying to all the gods you knew so the taxi wouldn’t take too long to reach the restaurant at which the interview would occur. You made small talk with the driver and mentioned politely that you were late, to which he responded with an understanding nod and you felt with relief the car picking up some speed. 

You read your notes on your phone on the way. Just a few sentences you had written in the hopes you would remember them the exact way you had worded them because they sounded better than whatever you were about to blurt out to this poor journalist, burdened by stress and the fear of failure. And a hangover.

It felt like a test—you really shouldn’t be the one doing the interview, so why you, if not to put you under the spotlight and observe you before deciding whether you were worthy of a promotion or not? 

You arrived seventeen minutes late at the restaurant where the meeting was taking place. It was your first time here as it had opened last month only, but you were looking forward to seeing some of their food. And, more importantly, to finally get some caffeine in you.

The restaurant was small, cozy. Quaint. It reminded you of the restaurant where you had dinner with—

No. You took a deep breath as you crossed the dining room to meet with the journalist and Minji. You saw them discussing something she was showing him on her phone but you still slowed down a little to give you more time. The atmosphere of the whole place was comfortable, warm, with soft classical music playing from speakers you couldn’t see.

Small, cozy, quaint—the place reminded you of the dinner you had with Hyunjin. 

And what had happened after. Fuck, I can’t think of him right now…

You hadn’t given it too much thought except it had occupied your brain ever since that night. The way he had been staring at you from across that table, the expensive wine, the way it had felt to slow dance with him by the river. But you couldn’t think about him, about the taste of his mouth, the feeling of his lips on yours, his big, hard cock on—

“She’s here!” Minji announced when she caught a glimpse of you in between tables.

Which was just as well anyway. It was best if you didn’t think about him at all. Hyunjin.

After the other day, he had brought you to your doorstep and you had slept a lot. Two days later, he had simply texted you, ‘I had a lovely time, darling. Payment has been forwarded as agreed. I’m leaving for a business trip, I hope I’ll see you soon.’ 

You had replied, ‘Have a nice trip, Mr. Hwang.’ Mr. Hwang, as if you hadn’t cum hard rubbing yourself onto him. Except that some physical distance was welcome. It was a relief to think that he wasn’t even in town. You couldn’t allow yourself to think about him, to remember his bright eyes, his plush lips, his smooth tongue… His feverish kisses, his big hands all over your body, his long fingers playing you like an instrument, fucking you like a wh—

“Sorry I’m late!” You were hoping the red on your face could be interpreted as true remorse from your tardiness, or maybe evoke the look of a woman who had made a run for it. 

“No problem, miss,” the journalist replied. His name was Seonghwa, and you had spoken to him on the phone a few days ago to arrange today’s meeting. He offered you a smile. “Not a problem at all. In fact, your coworker did a good job of introducing the topic to me while we were waiting. It was quite interesting!”

“I showed him the new tablet they found,” Minjin explained.

Last week, a piece of a large tablet had been uncovered on Casnea—a Mediterranean island—as workers were digging to build a tunnel. Like all the other texts, it was written in the lost language of gods—an old dialect that had been used in a small portion of the Mediterranean region for an unknown amount of time. 

Immediately after the tablet had been found in that tunnel, linguists from all over the world had started the arduous work of translating it. 

As of today, only a portion of the language was understood. One would assume that unlocking part of a language, even an extinct one, would open the door to a full comprehension of it—but not in this case. The world knew enough to have written stories about what was on these ancient scripts, filling the blanks best it could. 

Inaccurately, no doubt. 

Everybody in the industry was hoping for some miracle, a discovery that would be the Rosetta Stone of the language of gods. 

Wasn’t that—the blanks in the stories—the reason Hyunjin wanted your input on things?

He seemed to be so eager, so hungry for knowledge… Every day since his departure on that mysterious business trip, he texted you with a specific prompt, stressing that he did not expect an answer from you right away. ‘The thought has simply crossed my mind, darling, and I figured I should write it down before it evades me…’ 

‘In this chapter of the myths, they never mention why Feliks chose to give her peaches instead of the traditional olives and herbs to indicate his refusal to marry the goddess of the seas. What’s your opinion on that, darling?’

‘I came across this article online today… What do you think the author meant when she called Amaranthos a paradox?’

‘Darling, I hear Feliks is on display now. Too bad I’m away and can’t visit at the moment. What are people saying about him?’ 

Day after day, he would send a text message that ended with a question mark. And you knew you didn’t have to indulge him and didn't have to respond right away, or at all for that matter. But in a sense, when you did so, it helped alleviate the shame of what happened in your office… as well as the guilt that had hit you when you had become aware of the amount of money he had sent you. It almost made you feel like some escort—the evening had been a lot more like a date night than an art history lesson, and the payment had too many zeroes… But you’d never admit that to anybody.

And, fucking hell—it’s like he knew which questions to ask to make your fingertips itch until you had typed your answer. Sometimes the answer was a simple paragraph or two. Sometimes, you had to type it down on your laptop because it was three or four thousand words long. And then he would respond with an equally or longer comment that would excite all of the synapses in your brain.

You loved your job, loved the museum, loved giving the occasional lecture at a university when a professor invited you to their class. But you couldn’t remember feeling this much passion for anything before in your life than those exchanges with Hyunjin. In the past weeks, the two of you had written enough content to publish it in a book. There was very little, if any, mention of your personal lives—it wasn’t necessary. Nothing substantial anyway. Hell, it felt like true freedom. 

Still, it was demanding not to think about him, not to remember the flutters of your heart when his warm skin had brushed yours, not to touch yourself to the memory of him when your bed felt too empty at night. 

You almost jumped when Minji elbowed you discreetly under the table, violently inviting you to get your head out of your ass and say something. As a reminder, she showed you the pictures of the Casnea tablet that she and the journalist had been talking about but you barely paid attention to them.

“Did you guys decipher it without me?” You thought that humor might help cover up the fact that you were late for an important meeting as well as very distracted. And maybe a little wet, too.

Seongwha eyed you as you made yourself comfortable on your seat. “I wish!” He chuckled at his own joke. “Thank you for meeting me—it was difficult to get someone to spare some time. As I understand, things are quite hectic at the museum.” He paused, hesitating. “Because of that painting. The cypress tree.”

You flinched, dipping your head to cut eye contact with him. Why were you so flustered all of a sudden? You took a deep breath, doing your best to appear as calm as possible. But you had never been particularly good at that—especially not lately. You had to fight the urge to grab your phone from your purse and check if Hyunjin had sent his daily prompt…

“It’s crazy,” Minji replied so quickly that you didn’t think she even noticed your embarrassment. “The museum has never been as crowded as it is these days! Everyone wants to see Felix.” 

“Is it true that the waiting times are longer than they are for the Mona Lisa?” He inquired with curiosity. 

You sighed—mostly in relief, noticing a waiter was approaching you—and nodded. “Yes. Everyone wants to see it.”

Everyone except… Well, except the one guy who seemed to see himself in Hyathos and his ex-lover in Felix, and seemed to have an unhealthy attachment to a painting that had been lost for years before it resurfaced recently.

But Hyunjin was on a business trip. And it was better off this way. Maybe it would be even better if he stopped texting you every day. If you didn’t see him again.

In fact, during the past two weeks, when you weren’t busy crafting an intelligent response to his questions, you had successfully convinced yourself that he had meant to target you, meant to seduce you to get a look at the painting. At this point, you didn’t even think he was heartbroken at all—it was just part of his selfish scheme to see The cypress tree. And you had been foolish enough to believe him. To think that there was any kind of honesty behind his sweet words. 

But you had been subjugated by his honey skin, the smile he flashed at you as he called you darling, the tenderness of his motions as he pulled you against him to slow dance in the park… 

The sweet taste of his mouth. His soft moans into your hair… 

Because there was no way all of this had been because he wanted you? Like, just you?

You barely heard the others give their coffee order to the waiter. This time, Minji noticed your state—dazed, emotional, even—and she actually ordered your sweet cappuccino for you with a concerned look on her face. ‘Are you okay?’ She mouthed to you while Seongwha was looking at his phone. 

You nodded. Yeah, yeah, you were okay. 

Only, it took a considerable amount of energy to fight your heart. From within your chest, it was impatient for Hyunjin’s return, it told you that there had been a connection between the two of you, that you had felt something unusual and beautiful in the way he had kissed you. 

It took a considerable amount of energy not to fall in love with Hyunjin. You could not afford to, could not afford to let your heart lay its claim on him—you fell in love too easily and rarely tried to prevent it. But this time it was different. If you fell in love with Hyunjin, it might just end you. It might just reduce you to dust. 

So, you were okay—but a good portion of your subconscious was constantly fighting the tidal wave of emotion that Hyunjin had introduced into your life. 

“Let’s order food and begin, maybe?” Minji asked, and you managed to focus a little better on the events currently taking place in this restaurant instead of reminiscing the feeling of Hyunjin’s smooth tongue across your neck.

At least, Seongwha asked interesting questions and seemed genuinely interested in the exhibition. His research was good—he admitted to almost finishing a whole history degree before changing his career goals. So you talked a little about that, too.

The food was good. That morning, you ate an egg with a honey butter croissant and a bowl of berries with yogurt. You talked for a long time, explaining each painting and piece of art to Seongwha, and their places in the world. You rarely met journalists that were actually interested in what you had to say and welcomed the breath of fresh air. It looked like Minji had a good time as well, as you hadn’t seen her smile so wide in a while. 

It was true that things at the museum were quite hectic lately. Because of the exhibition and the way it had picked up, making it the hot spot of the moment. So it was good to be here, in a lovely restaurant, even just for a few hours. Towards the end, when Seonghwa was quietly typing the rest of his notes on his laptop, you checked your phone. 

Hyunjin: I’m flying home today. I would like to see you again, is it okay if we schedule another dinner tomorrow night?  Hyunjin: Or another time?

You looked up at the table where leftovers from everyone’s breakfast were drying up. Seonghwa and Minji were still chatting casually while he typed—you could tell from Minji’s phone that she was busy requesting a lift for the two of you. 

So here’s the thing. 

Your first boyfriend had been your first kiss. In college, there was this guy in your History of Photography class. The third week of your first semester, he asked you out, and you went. That night he kissed you, then he fucked you on the floor of his bedroom. It was the first time you had sex, and there had been discomfort but you had felt so good, so desired. Somewhere in the middle of him asking you out and him filling the condom, you had fallen in love with him.

But he had enough of you after two weeks. 

Your friends at the time had told you that you hadn’t been in love with him, that you hadn’t known him for long enough. But that guy had bought you a book, and would bring you coffee any time you had even just a few minutes to meet up between your lectures. Your heart swelled when you thought about him, and if that wasn’t love, then what was it? Infatuation, apparently. But you didn’t know how to differentiate them. 

Then there had been a few people, mostly casual encounters as you tried to make your peace with this first breakup with your first boyfriend. Just a few, really, and always drunk—if you remembered them too clearly, you would have fallen in love with them, too.

Then there had been this woman, a few years older than you but not by much. Enough to captivate you, to make you want to risk it all for her. She laughed like a song and she kissed like a rainy day. She showed you what tender lovemaking was, and you fell in love with her when she cried after you brought her flowers. Later, you realized that she cried because she felt guilty—she already knew, at that point, that she did not love you the same way you loved her. She had gathered what she needed from you by then, and she left soon after.

Another classmate. The neighbor at your first apartment building after moving in this city. 

Jisung.

You did not want Hyunjin’s name to be a part of this list. Your list of failures, the list of people who had touched you but had found they did not like the texture of your heart once you had let them go past the defenses surrounding it. They did not like the scent of your eagerness, they did not like the taste of your love. You did not want Hyunjin to get sick of you, to have bitter thoughts if the memory of you ever crossed his mind. 

Weeks later, you still did not understand why he had kissed you, why he had made you feel so loved, so warm, that night in your office. If it weren’t to try and rob the goddamn museum, what was it? You weren’t worth the effort of these continuous texts either. 

But you knew that some lonely people couldn’t help but chase other, lonelier people. They didn’t always do it with bad intentions—it didn’t seem like Hyunjin was actively trying to hurt you. But he would, in the end. He would. It was up to you not to let him. It was up to you not to fall in love with him.

There was a voice at the back of your head telling you it was too late for that, but you ignored it. 

“Well thank you for everything, I actually have to head back to the office,” Seonghwa said after closing the lid of his laptop. He extended his arm over the table to shake your and Minji’s hand. “I’ll be in touch with the final draft of my article. I’d like it if you could proofread it and make sure I don’t make a complete fool of myself.” 

“Absolutely. Thank you for the opportunity—it’s not every day that a major newspaper gives this much of a shit about ancient art pieces.” 

Seonghwa chuckled as he grabbed his things and got up from his chair. “You’re right, I was surprised when they asked me to look into it in so much detail. We’re looking at a few spreads at least.” 

You couldn’t hold back the surprised expression on your face. This truly was a first—you were used to the occasional shoutout to the museum here and there, but nothing like this. Seonghwa and his photographer would be visiting the museum on Monday morning to take some pictures. 

“Wow,” you breathed. “Could you say thank you to your editors—to whoever’s decision it was? It’s… quite rare that we get to go so in-depth about our exhibitions like this.”

“Will do.” The journalist offered you a smile. He was handsome, but for some reason that very obvious detail had eluded you until now. Not unlike the dream you had forgotten the very second you had woken up this morning, the detail slid past you as soon as you noticed it—it simply did not matter to you how handsome or intelligent or nice he was. Your phone weighed a ton in your hand. “Well I’ll see you on Monday!” 

Minji actually did the polite and courteous thing of walking with him to the front of the restaurant and you lingered a little longer at the table. To give yourself some time. To read the text messages again and give Hyunjin a response.

You: I’m free tomorrow night. This time, maybe let me know in advance what the topic will be so I can prepare a little?  You: Hope you had a nice trip, Mr. Hwang. 

You made sure you had gathered all of your things before finding Minji outside. Seonghwa had already disappeared and you walked with your colleague in silence while she typed something on her phone and you looked at the pedestrians around you, at the bright blue sky, at everything. It was a beautiful day. 

You couldn’t remember what your thoughts had been about before you met Hyunjin, where your mind used to run in moments like these. And that was terrifying. 

“The car should be here in a minute or so,” Minji announced and she turned to you as you waited on a quiet side street, the city noise drowned out a little by the row of buildings separating you from one of the main roads. “So, are you gonna tell me about it or not?”

“About what?” From the bottom of your heart, you couldn’t tell what Minji was asking exactly, but you knew that it wasn’t going to be pleasant. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been… You’ve been distracted. And it’s since you went on that date with the rude man from the museum.”

“It wasn’t a date,” you corrected, but you could already feel your ears turn warm. You knew you couldn’t deny the way you’d been acting for the past two weeks, though. “I’ve been busy at the museum same as you, Minji.”

Minji chuckled and shook her head, wrapping herself tighter in her mauve jacket when a breeze blew over the city. “Oh, I’ve been busy working too. But what I’ve seen you most busy with is texting this man and daydreaming about him. Did you… you know?”

You avoided looking at Minji, pretended to be absorbed by the employee of an antique store across the street who was cleaning the shop’s window. “I don’t text him that much. And I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m losing more respect for you every second that passes, I swear,” Minji sighed. “Like, sure, he was hot, but he was so… arrogant. He’s not your type at all.” 

“He was arrogant for the first five minutes.” You pressed your lips together and bit into them, searching for the right words. “Then he was… likable, I guess.”

“I think the word you really want to be using is fuckable.” 

“MINJI—” You turned to her, shocked. You had a good relationship with your coworker, but never would have thought she was so bold. Or that she cared this much. “Oh my god!”

“Am I wrong though?” Minji had a mischievous look in her eyes. “Shit, you’re blushing so hard! I’m right, I knew I was right!”

“How could you even know?” 

“You’re glued to that fucking phone of yours, you didn’t notice Seonghwa hitting on you and he was really hot! And… Jisung asked me about that night, your date with the mysterious man.”

“It wasn’t a date.” You momentarily froze, barely making out the car that had parked just in front of you. “Wait, Seonghwa hit on me?” And then the worst information made it to your brain. “Jisung asked you about it?”

Minji waited until you were both sitting at the back of the car, and then after she had made small talk with the driver and given him advice to get through traffic more easily on his way to the museum. 

“What did he ask?” You questioned, speaking not too loud, hoping that the music playing would muffle some of your words. 

“He asked me if I knew what happened with the guy, that’s really it.” Minji shrugged, and you felt your heartbeat decrease significantly. You could get in serious trouble if anybody ever found out you had gone into the storage rooms without permission and handled a painting like that. Nobody knew except you and Hyunjin. For all you knew, Choi thought you had snuck into the basement to have some semi-public sex or something. “Said you came back to the museum after the date.”

You shrugged. You had avoided speaking about it for all this time, not just to cover your ass but because… Because keeping it for you made it less tangible. It already felt like a fever dream—from walking across the museum to go speak with this handsome stranger to when he had dropped you to your building at some point past midnight the next day, fucked out, the smell of him clinging to you like it was an oil spill and you were the ocean. What would happen if you were to speak it out loud? 

Would it make it feel real? And if so, would it be a good or a bad thing?

“We went to a restaurant for the… lesson.” You chose the word carefully. You couldn’t remember what had been agreed upon beforehand or how to call this agreement anyway. “But what’s so different between the meeting we just had right now with a journalist?”

Minji sighed. “What did you eat? What was the mood like, the restaurant?” 

You gave Minji the information she requested. The more you talked, the more real and tangible your encounter with Hyunjin became, bringing a sense of relief to you. You hadn’t dreamed this. He had bought expensive wine and had brought you to this restaurant, fancy but not too fancy either—just enough that you would be impressed yet comfortable. You related to the best of your ability the conversations you’d had with him—telling Minji enough for her to get an idea without spilling all of the details. Still, she needed to know how transparent Hyunjin had been about his previous breakup, his unforgotten love. 

“So he still loves this guy?” Minji questioned as the car left you not too far from the museum. It was a beautiful day and walking a little wouldn’t hurt. “And he told you so before…  concluding with you?”

“We said a lot of things.” You also said too much to Hyunjin, and while it felt like it created a bond between him and you, maybe you had made yourself too vulnerable to him. “We… have a lot in common.” 

You told Minji about the slow dance in the park, how tall he felt against you, that you had felt safe around him despite Hyunjin being a stranger. 

“You danced with him? No, I’m sorry—this was definitely a date. And… don’t tell me that you did go back to the museum and that you… Is it where it happened? Oh, god. Nobody can ever know about this, you’ll be fired. Did you really… oh, oh this is so good. But did you—”

No matter what Minji was saying you could barely hear. Well, you heard her—she was walking right beside you. But your brain couldn’t process what she was saying because it was trying to process what it was seeing. 

And what you were seeing was an ad for cologne—an expensive one at that, a fancy brand that was familiar but that you had never bought from. You stopped right in your tracks to look at the digital billboard and its display. A still image with a gorgeous palette of both cool and warm colors. The background, a cityscape blurred in royal and sapphire blues, kissed by the rays of a sunset in the exact shade of the grapefruit-flavored macarons that you liked so much. 

The subject of the ad—the focus of it, what was supposed to sell the damn cologne—was a man yet it was difficult to describe him. He was just standing there, looking into the camera as if it were a lover, an epiphany, or just any other Wednesday. His facial expression evoked many emotions at once, yet his eyes shone with wonder, but you couldn’t tell if it was from having seen it all or the exact opposite and every second brought a new miracle for him. 

Strands of hair covered just enough of his forehead to create the perfect composition of his—and there was no other way to say it—divine face. He had a captivating smile yet it was quite faint, his mouth curved just enough to accentuate his pretty cheekbones. He stood there looking like a million dollars in a black suit and a black silk shirt. And that was it. 

Your gaze trailed back to the man’s eyes, big, striking, indescribable. Familiar. 

Skin like honey, his eyes a color you could not name and heavy with the burden of a thousand universes in them, or beaming with the beauty of a thousand universes in them. His blood orange lips—destructive, treacherous, enticing. 

Familiar. No, so much more than that. You remembered their taste, the taste of his mouth laced with the taste of you. The smell of thunderstorms and sweat and sex.

You stared for a long time or for a second at this billboard. At Hyunjin. The one posing for this godforsaken ad, one that you had never seen before or maybe you just never noticed it. At the bottom of the ad, the brand name and cologne bottle were the least of your concern yet you took a few moments to stare at those, too. Audace was the name of the perfume, by the famous fashion company called Raphaёl Delaunay. Below, you could read the cologne’s slogan. La liberté est un fruit défendu sauf si on ose la saisir. Freedom is a forbidden fruit except for those who dare claim it. 

When questioned about his work, Hyunjin had told you he was a freelancer.

Freelancer my ass. This was the posh kind of campaign, one with a lovely paycheck whose number ended with many zeroes. 

“Holy shit—” You heard more whispered curses from Minji. “Why didn’t you tell me he was a model!” 

“Well I didn’t know! He didn’t tell me!” You immediately pulled your phone out of your purse to do something you should have done the very day you met him but it didn’t occur to you—you were going to look him up online.

The sight of a notification from Hyunjin sent shivers down your spine. With one last glance towards the cologne ad, you walked away slowly, letting Minji guide you through the light crowd on the sidewalk. 

Hyunjin: Topic? I don’t want you to prepare anything, I just want to talk about whatever we feel like. The Casnea tablet, or The cypress tree. Anything, darling. Hyunjin: I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at 8. Is that alright with you?

You didn’t respond. You hated leaving anybody on read, but you couldn’t bring yourself to reply and, instead, opened a search engine and typed his name in it. There, you found the answers to your questions.

Hyunjin was a model—shit, a supermodel, if you could believe what you were seeing on your phone. Perfume, cars, clothes—runway, campaigns or fashion events—this dude had done it all. You felt dizzy as you scrolled through the images.

You had been on a not-date with this guy. This sexy, rich, apparently famous guy. He had slow danced with you in a park, had told you the reasons why his voice was coated with torment. He had told you that the sun had scorched his heart and that he wanted to sit in the shade for once. He had kissed you, had made you moan. He had cum all over himself as you stained his underwear with how desperate you were for him.

He texted you every day. As if he cared. But why would he?

“You really didn’t know?” Minji asked you as you made a turn to get into the museum by the back entrance to avoid the crowd. “Damn. How did you not know that?”

“For fuck’s sake, Minji.” You sighed, overcome with shame and something worse too. Disappointment. Disappointment that Hyunjin had thought you were good enough to rub himself against but not to tell you his job. “It’s not like I looked at his LinkedIn before I went to dinner with him. I don’t know what to do,” you admitted. “He wants to meet again tomorrow night, and I said I’d go.”

Minji didn’t respond immediately, so you just followed her inside the museum. This entrance was quieter, leading immediately to the stairs that led to your office floor. You could hear the crowd even from here, the excited voices of people discovering a piece of history through art. You wish you could spend all of your days down there, talking with them, seeing their faces when their eyes fell upon The cypress tree.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Minji sighed as she walked slowly with you and stopped next to your door. The hallway was empty, and you suspected that many of your colleagues were on their lunch break. “You can always cancel, you know.” A glint of playfulness appeared in Minji’s eyes. “Not that it was a date or whatever, that night with him. But if it had been, it would drive him crazy if you did cancel on him this time. Just saying. But then, I get it. I’d want to see him too. Guy’s super hot. Like, really fucking hot.”

“You’re not helping me.” You sighed, too, but watched Minji as she walked away, towards the interns’ room. “But thanks anyway, I guess.” 

She waved goodbye at you and you pulled up your phone again as you let yourself into your office. Maybe your surprise was a bit much. Maybe you shouldn’t have expected Hyunjin to tell you he was a famous supermodel just a few hours after meeting you—maybe he had even been hurt that you hadn’t recognized him. Or something. Maybe he—

Your string of thoughts was abruptly interrupted when you finally looked up and saw a large object on your desk. A basket—a real, beautiful wicker basket—filled with… food. Items. 

You almost dropped your bag but quickly shut the door behind you, as if you weren’t allowed to have food products in your office. 

But this basket definitely hadn’t been there yesterday when you left, and only people from security had keys to the offices’ doors, meaning… 

You got closer to your desk, noticing a small envelope left next to the gift basket. You opened it only to find a note. It was from Hyunjin, and your heart skipped a few jumps when you read it.

As a thank you for all of the knowledge and opinions you so generously share with me. I hope to see you soon, darling. — H.H. 

You read the words many times as if you had lost the ability to understand sentences. And yet they were there, and you had to believe it was real and not a prank just from the wording of them. 

So you turned your attention to the basket. It was filled to the brim with all sorts of things. Fresh flowers—marigolds, tulips, roses, peonies, sweet pea. You could smell it from here, the scent so violently delicate that it gave you chills. You carefully grabbed the flowers to set them aside, allowing you to have a better look into the basket. There was just so much stuff.

A jar of artisan, organic, local honey. Wildflower honey, the label said, all handwritten and hand-painted. Dried apricots and figs, gold-speckled chocolate, the same wine you had at dinner with Hyunjin—Chateaux Margaux, which you knew was worth a few hundred dollars. A can of Gyokuro green tea. A jar of artisan tangerine jam, made with real citrus from Jeju. A photo album, just a few pages, filled with photos that had seemingly been taken by Hyunjin since his signature was on them. The subjects of the photos were varied—a field with flowers. A busy street. A skyscraper. A sunset. A sunrise. A river. A loaf of bread. A bridge surrounded by trees. Artworks, famous pieces of art from all around the globe. Monet, Van Gogh, Khalo, Vermeer, Turner, O’Keeffe, Renoir… 

The basket also contained fruit. Strawberries, concord grapes, pomegranates, mandarins, apples, cherries, peaches. Few of these fruits should be in season right now, and even less at the same time, yet, when you touched them, they all seemed perfectly ripe, fresh, ready to be devoured. Savored. How the fuck did he get peaches this pretty, this ripe, at this time of the year? You grabbed one, feeling its fuzzy exterior under your fingertips before bringing it under your nose to inhale its scent. If peaches could smell like sunlight, you’d say this one smelled like it. 

Something shiny caught your attention at the bottom of the basket—a golden necklace with a small glass pendant containing a real pressed flower. A rosebud, mulberry-colored, in a delicate frame of gold. You had rarely seen something so pretty. 

This was no ordinary gift basket—but then, apparently, Hyunjin was so wealthy that maybe, to him, this wasn’t much.

Maybe, to him, you weren’t much. 

You put everything back in the basket and decided to at least find a container to put the flowers in some water before you went home. They were too pretty to go to waste, and they smelled too good.

You grabbed them and figured you’d ask Mrs. Yoo if she had a vase or something—her husband always had flowers delivered to her office, so she must have one. You were walking in the hallway when Jisung’s voice made you jump.

“Ah, I see you’ve found your gift.” He was just getting out of his office as you passed it. You faced him, quickly shoving the flowers in your back to hide them. “Really? I’ve seen them. The courier delivered it here, so I had to check, make sure that it was nothing potentially dangerous, you know. It’s my job.”

You let your arms fall back on either side of your body. All of a sudden, the large hallway seemed so small. You stared at Jisung, at his eyes, his mouth. Not so long ago, you still longed for him. Today, he felt… foreign. Like your soul was speaking a different language than his.

“Dangerous?” You took a deep breath. “It was just a thank you gift, from—”

“I know who it was from. I had to sign for the delivery.” Jisung bit his lip and ran a hand through his dark hair, adopting the pose he always took when he was nervous. “You know. You didn’t erase all the footage from the cameras. You could have gotten me in trouble.”

“What? Yes, I disabled the cameras—”

Jisung leaned closer to you, careful not to be heard. You could smell him, his perfume, but the smell of the flowers was stronger. “You disabled the cameras in the storage rooms, sure. But not up here.” His gaze caught yours in a whirlwind. You knew him well enough to know that there was jealousy in there, envy. Anger, maybe, too. “Did you know that the cameras record audio, too?”

You gulped, tightening your grip on the flowers. “What about it?”

“I heard you fuck him. I heard it.” Jisung’s mouth was parted open and for one moment, you thought he might kiss you. But instead, he sighed, eyebrows furrowed. “Then I saw your little walk of shame out of your office. Can’t believe you did this to me. You could have gotten me fired. Fired. You used me. You said all of these things the other night to make me give you my keys just so you could come and fuck your pretty boy here. Is that a new kink of yours? Didn’t know that one. Wish I had known. Or not. Whatever.”

Jisung took a step back, giving you the space to walk away. “Ji, I didn’t—” You tried to remember everything from that night, but it was like a dream that you had forgotten. You knew one thing, though. “I meant what I said. About us. About… me.”

“Sure. Whatever.” Jisung was avoiding your eyes now. “Gotta get back downstairs, we have a large group of visitors incoming.” 

You watched Jisung walk away, trying to swallow your embarrassment and sorrow away. He disappeared in the elevator, and you found yourself holding the flowers up again, staring at them, at the colors, their soft petals.

What did it mean?

You couldn’t fall in love with him. With Hyunjin. It would kill you. It would kill you if you did, it would obliterate what was left of you. You had given so much already, to the people you had loved. When they left, it was always with a piece of your soul.

You returned to your office without a vase or pot for your flowers. You sat on your chair, fumbling in the basket again just to look at all the pretty items. The smell of the peaches was thick, enthralling. You grabbed one and bit into it without hesitation. It was juicy, fruity, sweet, so sweet. If it smelled like sunlight, it tasted like warmth, like the very atoms that made the reflection of the sun on a quiet lake. Its juice rolled down your chin, but you made no effort to wipe it away, too absorbed by the flavor establishing its home in your mouth, dancing on your tongue like love, like summer.

It was the best peach you ever tasted. 

You: Good afternoon Mr. Hwang. Unfortunately, I must cancel our plans for tomorrow’s session. Thank you, have a good day.

The art of texting—because it was an art. You had never been particularly good at it but Minji, it turned out, had mastered that skill, and she had generously shared her knowledge with you yesterday when you had ultimately decided you didn’t want to see Hyunjin. Not so soon. Maybe not ever again. And it only had so much to do with the fact that he hadn’t told you about being a supermodel. You knew, deep down, that there were other reasons.

Now you weren’t a psychiatrist but you also weren’t an idiot—you were aware that you had simply been waiting for a good reason to put distance between Hyunjin and you, which was some kind of reaction to the repeated trauma of your failed romantic life. It would kill you if you let him pull your chest open to see your true colors. It would destroy you if he decided to touch your beating, living heart with his long and graceful fingers…

Stop thinking about his fingers. Easier said than done, though… 

But you had asked Minji for counsel as you weren’t sure of the best way to cancel the session—or date, as she liked to call it—while remaining polite but firm. After a few attempts, you had agreed on the simple three-sentenced text that you had ultimately sent Hyunjin. 

Well. The text that Minji had sent from your phone, because you were simply too intimidated to press ‘Send’ yourself. 

You didn’t regret it. Truly, you didn’t. It would only hurt you if you kept seeing him, even as his… tutor. But you were a mess today. Twenty-four hours after sending that text, you still returned to the conversation on your phone every once in a while to read it, to analyze it. The day dragged and you couldn’t wait for it to be over. 

Hyunjin had responded to you almost immediately yesterday. 

Hyunjin: Can we reschedule, then? Please let me know asap.  Hyunjin: Sunday? Monday? Anytime, darling. 

Anytime, darling. You scrolled up, returning to the deeper conversations you had with Hyunjin in the past few weeks. Sometimes it was about a line he read in a book that reminded him of Amaranthos, or a song that made him think of Feliks. You would miss that. The connection you seemed to have with him only when it came to mythology, to the ancient texts. Nobody cared like he did. Nobody cared as much as he did. Nobody cared to understand what was written between the lines like Hyunjin. 

With a sigh, you returned to the bottom of the conversation. It felt like shame, like regret, like knowing the best decision is often the most difficult one.

You: I don’t know when I will be available next. I can introduce you to some of my colleagues or recommend interesting books on the matter if you really need something. 

Hyunjin: But it’s you I want to talk to. You know better than anybody else. I’ll double the price. Surely, a couple of hours with me would earn you more money than a couple of days of work at the museum. 

By the time you had gotten that last text, Minji had gone home and you were alone to craft the response. So there had been no response, which somehow made it worse. So you kept returning to the conversation. Every word, every comma was imprinted in your mind like a fucking nightmare. A few times, you had even thought you’d seen the three little dots animation telling you that Hyunjin was currently typing a message—but it only lasted a second or two before disappearing. Just a glitch.

Just a glitch, right? 

Today was Saturday and you had barely been able to sleep because of the crippling shame and anxiety. Still, you had gone to the museum for a few hours. To work. On a fucking Saturday morning. This alone revealed the extent of the disarray you were in. But responding to emails and working had kept your mind somewhat busy, which was most welcome today. After that, you had gone for lunch and then for some shopping.

But now it was dark outside and your apartment felt so large. Empty. No movie could grab your attention for more than a few minutes before you got bored and turned it off. Music didn’t help, and neither did taking a long, hot shower and putting on your most comfortable silk pajamas. Reading a book was out of the question, so you had only one option left—sit in front of your laptop to work from home. But you did so while drinking wine. 

The wine that Hyunjin had given you, the expensive one. It was just as delicious as it had been that other night at the restaurant. It was even a little too good. It reminded you of his lips, his scent… Of slow dancing to a violin melody. It reminded you of opening a crate to find the most beautiful painting you had ever seen, one that seemed to have been painted with real sunlight instead of paint. 

9:27 PM. A little early but it wouldn’t be that weird to go to bed right now. Except that you wouldn’t be able to sleep for sure. Fortunately for you, you’ve kept leftover medicine from the last time you underwent minor dental surgery… And sure, it would be a very bad idea to mix that stuff with wine but you absolutely needed something to knock you out right now, or else you’ll do something really stupid. Something that would lead to your demise. If you didn’t put yourself into a coma, you might just fold. You might just grab your phone and text Hyunjin. 

Taking one of these pills was what you had done the day Jisung had decided he had had enough of you. That he had gotten what he wanted from you, that it was time to move on. ‘We’re not really dating anyway, but I’m just letting you know we shouldn’t be seeing each other anymore. I think you’re getting too attached, and it’s unhealthy.’ That’s what he had said. That night had been Hennessy and a little pill for you. 

Hyunjin had texted, ‘But it’s you I want to talk to.’ So you would drink one more glass of wine to go with that little pill.

Just tonight. Tomorrow you would find something to do. You would drive across the city for no reason and come back. Maybe you could go check out the bakery with the funny name, the one you almost went to with Hyunjin. You could see if Minji was available—you would take her for a little hike outside town and then you could have dinner. Anything. 

Anything to fill the void that had been created inside of you the moment you had decided you shouldn’t see Hyunjin anymore. You and your stupid fucking heart, always loving and loving and loving more. 

Your room was dark and cool, so you turned on the small lamp on your bedside table. You had to dig at the back of the drawer to find the bottle of pills, catching glimpses of other things on the way there—the book you never finished reading, your two favorite vibrators, a Polaroid that showed the large hydrangea bush behind the museum. Pens that you bought but never really used. A notebook that you bought but never really used. And another one. 

The pills were at the bottom of the drawer. When you recovered them, you realized there were two and a half left in the bottle. After tonight, you would only be allowed one and a half heartbreak before running out of a way to be comatose instead of being hurt. Unless you somehow managed to earn yourself another wisdom teeth extraction… 

As you went to push the bottle open, your eyes caught something on the bedside table. It shone under the dim amber light of your lamp, like a little fire with a flower in the middle of it. The necklace that Hyunjin had given you. The tiny pressed rosebud tugged at your heart as if it weighed a ton, yet you wanted that around your neck. You wanted to sleep in it, let it remind you of something—you just didn’t know what.

You left the pills where you found them and stood in front of your mirror as you attached the necklace behind your neck. It fell at just the right spot below your throat, finding refuge somewhere above your breasts. You undid two buttons from your silk blouse to stare at the full effect of it, looking at your reflection in the mirror. What a beautiful gift. What a generous gift, even from someone who was apparently wealthy. 

Because the gifts were thoughtful. Every single item Hyunjin had gifted you had purpose, meaning. The basket felt like temptation, like you should have texted him something other than thank you. Like you should text him now, or send him a picture of your bare pussy, or a video of yourself slurping on the juices of a ripe peach.

Your thoughts were interrupted when the doorbell rang. It was so unexpected that you thought it might come from the TV before you remembered that you had turned it off. 

A strange feeling appeared within you. Out of nowhere, just like that. You kept your eyes on the mirror where your puzzled face stared back. You looked foreign, like you were dreaming. Like you dreamed and left something over there, or brought something back with you—you couldn’t tell. The feeling became wider and heavier—it was as if you were watching a tsunami take over a city, as if you were expecting the end of the world. Like chaos approaching. Beautiful and messy and uninvited but there.

You jumped when your phone rang again but immediately exited the room to go find it. It was in the living room next to your laptop, exactly where you had left it. And it was Hyunjin’s name on the screen. Like chaos calling. As you picked up the device to decline the call or take it and beg Hyunjin to come find you, the doorbell rang again. So you hadn’t made it up after all. There was no TV, no radio, no nothing. It was just you, the quiet ringtone of your phone, the muffled sounds of an old city seeping through the closed windows, and your heartbeat.

You crossed the apartment to reach the door. As you pulled it open, your phone stopped vibrating in your hand. 

You felt no surprise when you found Hyunjin standing at your doorstep. Like chaos had come. You felt no surprise but you felt a plethora of other emotions—fear, desire, anger, disappointment. He wore dark trousers with a warm jacket, and his hair was as perfect as ever. 

“So you are home,” was all he said. He was holding his phone too but slid it into his pocket. Handsome, unpredictable. Hyunjin stared at you with so much intensity in his eyes that you felt the flames of it lick at your skin, like stings, like kisses. 

You may have seen him on that perfume ad but it could not compare to the real thing, to the tangible man in front of you right now. How tall he was, effortlessly elegant. The faint wetness on his silky lips, how he held himself. Like earth revolved around him, like he didn’t belong here or anywhere else. 

You had spent one evening with this man. You had written him thousands of words and he had responded with just as much. You didn’t know him, but you knew how beautiful he looked when he had an orgasm. You didn’t know him but you knew you would fall in love with him. You may have been doomed from the start. Hyunjin would be the end of your line. The beginning of your end. You could keep fighting it, you could keep ignoring his texts and pretending he never made you feel whole but it would make no difference. 

You would become a shooting star in the deep blue sky of his life. Temporary respite, ephemeral shelter. And then he would move on and you would disintegrate. 

Hyunjin took one step closer, his scent reaching your nostrils. He smelled like thunderstorms, like light, he smelled like a forgotten dream. “You’re home,” he repeated, his voice low with a crease on his brow that didn’t take anything away from his beauty. “Why did you cancel our session then?” 

You gulped thickly. The universes in Hyunjin’s eyes were dancing and you swayed with them, getting lost in his scent, his rose-like lips, the shape of his shoulders. “I—”

“Why don’t you want to talk to me?” He moved even closer. “Darling, talk to me. Why did you cancel our dinner if you’re here in your pajamas?” 

You could have said anything. After all, it wasn’t Hyunjin’s business at all what you did with your free time—and lately what you did with your free time consisted a lot of masturbating in between work emails and wine glasses. Pretending you weren’t thinking of him. You should tell Hyunjin that he had no right to ask you that question. 

But you felt something in your chest, something binding you with him, to him. Whatever that was wouldn’t allow you to speak to him like that. 

You did lie, though. You tried. Maybe some distant part of your brain still wanted to resist him. “I’m working,” you said with a trembling voice, gesturing vaguely behind you where your laptop rested on the coffee table in your living room. 

Hyunjin didn’t even look behind you. He just looked at you, his eyes exploring you as if you were a new world. You became very much aware of what you were wearing—cherry-colored silk shorts and shirt. No bra, no underwear even. Your hair still a little damp from your shower. You looked like a mess. Hyunjin looked like a prophecy. “What are you doing here?” you asked him but it felt as if your heart was going to spill out of your lips. You could taste it on your tongue, hot, aromatic, sweet and tangy. It didn’t matter what he was doing here because he just was. 

“What did I do?” Hyunjin seemed small then. Shy, even. “What did I say to upset you?” 

You stood in front of each other for a while, in silence. You looked at him and he looked at you. You stared at the way his clothes hugged his body, taking in the sight of him. His broad shoulders, his troubled eyes. His long limbs, his perfect face. The mystery and the beauty of his soul stuck to him like a second skin. You felt defeated but not exhausted—as if there had been no fight at all. As if you had pretended there was one just for show. Those texts that Minji had helped you write, your indifference towards the basket with the gifts. It was all pretense. 

“What did I do?” Hyunjin repeated but not in an insistent voice. He sounded defeated, too. “Can I fix it? Can you please let me fix it?” 

He had said, I want to sit in the shade too. You remembered a little too well that night spent with him, an evening that felt more like a dream than a memory. But it was real. You could recall the feeling of his lips on your neck, the taste of his mouth. 

You took a deep breath and finally stepped to the side to let Hyunjin in. “Come on in, it’s a cool night.” 

Hyunjin watched you in silence as you closed the door behind him. He seemed taller, cramped with you in your small entryway. His smell was stronger too without the outside air to diffuse it and it made you dizzy. And maybe it made you wet a little, but you couldn’t acknowledge that, not right now. 

Hyunjin removed his elegant black shoes. “Thank you.” From the floor, he looked up to stare at you. “I just want to talk.”

“Talk about what?” You crossed your arms over your chest to conceal the fact that the cool breeze made your nipples hard. Or maybe that was from the way Hyunjin kept staring at you like he was a hungry animal and you were his prey. 

He pushed himself back up and removed his coat before hanging it on the wall with yours. “Tell me what I did to upset you. Please.” He faced you then, facial expression as hard and as cold as ice. “Let me fix this. I always make things worse. Please let me make this one thing better.” His voice sounded like a beautiful midnight, like the smell of cherry blossoms. 

If you stayed in that small room, you would pin him to the wall and kiss him. So instead you walked away back into your apartment, returning to your beloved wine. “I’m having the wine you gave me. Do you want some?” You took three big sips of it, swallowing it so quickly that it brought tears to your eyes.

“Are you drinking wine out of a mug?” Hyunjin stood awkwardly in the small space between your kitchen and the living room. “That bottle is worth several hundreds—”

“Wine is wine whether I drink it in a mug, in the bottle or lick it off the floor.” You made your way to your small but functional kitchen and took the bottle from the fridge—but not before slamming a clean mug on the counter for Hyunjin. 

He watched you pour the fancy sauvignon blanc into a mug that said in wide letters I DON’T NEED YOUR OPINION I JUST NEED COFFEE. “So… How have you been?” he asked, albeit a little hesitantly. “Thank you,” he added when you pushed the filled mug towards him across the counter. 

“Busy.” That wasn’t a lie at all—between work and spending hours writing whole essays for him, you hadn’t seen time fly by at all. “How was your trip, Mr. Hwang?” You made sure you looked him right in the eyes as you asked the question, your face disappearing behind your cat-themed mug. “Your business trip.”

Hyunjin took one sip of the wine, then another. “It tastes just fine,” he admitted. “The trip went alright, thank you for asking.” He stood there, tall, lanky, perfect. He didn’t look real, not here, not in this place that you called home. He looked like he came from another planet. “Should we sit? I really need to talk to you.” 

You considered your apartment. You disliked the idea of him being here very much. He was a millionaire or something—so what was he thinking right now? About the dirty dishes in the sink, the mismatched furniture? 

He wasn’t looking around anyway. His gaze had barely left you for more than a few seconds at a time. His lips were coated with wine. 

With a deep breath, you guided him towards the living room. He sat with you on the couch as you drank and drank and drank. “What do you want to talk about, Hyunjin?” 

He leaned closer to you but he did not touch you. Yet you wanted him to. You wanted him to need you, to claim you in the same way he had before. “I went to the museum tonight. To see you. They told me you weren’t working.” 

“I’m working from home.” You motioned towards your laptop where a half-written email was rotting away. “Did you see The cypress tree?”

Hyunjin’s gaze lowered. Instead of staring at your face, he stared at the chain still hanging from your neck. “I did.” His eyes returned to yours, shining under the city lights filtering through your curtains. “It’s quite something, even the second time.” 

“I’m still not used to it,” you admitted. “It hits me every time I see it.” 

“I went over there by the southeast road,” Hyunjin added as if you weren’t talking about the painting that he cherished so much. The very painting that had caused the two of you to bond instantly. 

You sat back into the couch, turning to face him. Trying to decode the enigma that he was. Your gaze lingering where it shouldn’t—his wet lips, his soft hair. You fucking missed touching his hair, feeling it under your fingertips. Feeling his body under yours, warm, alive, ethereal. “That’s not where the entrance is,” you pointed out.

“It’s where the staff door is.” Hyunjin drank most of the content of his mug and set it back on the coffee table, right next to your laptop. “Darling, please ask me again what I do for a living.” 

He was drilling holes into your skull, into your soul. His intelligent eyes were burning you at the stake. 

Hyunjin saw you. He saw you the moment you entered his life. He made you feel seen and heard and listened to. He made you feel like he wanted to see you, like every moment he wasn’t hearing a theory of yours or finger fucking your cunt was a waste of his time. You knew this was an illusion—you knew none of this could be real. Your mind knew but your heart ignored the wisdom that you had earned through the countless misfortunes you had encountered. And it made you want to jump. Into his eyes, his mouth. Made you want to fall. 

Just like a shooting star.

You were many things but stupid wasn’t one of them—you easily guessed that Hyunjin had seen the very same cologne ad as you did on his way to the museum. And Hyunjin was many things but stupid wasn’t one of them—he must have figured out why you were so reluctant to meet with him all of a sudden. 

As you were about to oblige him and spill your heart out, your phone rang with a text notification. The device rested in between your laptop and Hyunjin’s half-empty mug, but you could read the text from where you sat.

Seonghwa: I had a lovely time meeting you and am thoroughly enjoying the process of writing and working on the article. I have a few more follow up questions for you if that is okay. Are you busy tonight? Can I call you? Or would you rather meet? How about dinner tomorrow night? 

“Should I leave you so that you can call this… Seonghwa?” Hyunjin asked before you could even process the words you had just read. He had seen the message.

You reached for your phone to slide the notification away. “No. No.” Your heart was beating fast in your chest and you were embarrassed but you couldn’t understand why. “It’s just… I gave an interview… for the Herald. He’s a journalist. I’ll text him tomorrow.” 

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he insisted but made no attempt at even moving from the couch. “He’s texting you past 9 PM on a Saturday night. I really don’t think this was about work. Did you fuck him?”

“What? No!” Heat spread all over you, the embers of you turning to forest fires. “It was for an interview, I was with—” 

Hyunjin shrugged and grabbed his mug again to drink more. A lot more. “It’s none of my business anyway, is it?”

No, it wasn’t. Except it was. 

You had doubted a lot. You had doubts about whether Hyunjin was simply after the chase, after some attention—or even if he had a darker ulterior motive. Or else why would he bother? Why did he bother with you at all, right? 

But you saw something in his large, wistful eyes that night. You saw a glint of bitterness. Of jealousy. Something unexpected. You saw eagerness, too. You saw lust in the way Hyunjin’s gaze kept grazing your body as if you were an invitation, an ocean he desperately wanted to bathe in. 

“I didn’t fuck him.” You placed the phone back where you took it. “I don’t want to fuck him.”

Hyunjin licked his lips, holding the mug so nonchalantly that it looked like he was about to spill its contents on himself. “Please ask me what my job is, darling.” As if Seonghwa had never texted you. He wasn’t even asking nicely—he was begging.

You swallowed more wine too. For courage. To let some seconds put themselves between you and your thoughts. Why couldn’t you shake the feeling that tonight was important? Meaningful?

“You said you were a freelancer.” You tried to make your tone as nonchalant as Hyunjin’s fingers around his mug were. 

Hyunjin moved closer to you, just a little. Just enough. You felt the warmth of his body, of his soul. You saw the details of his irises, you smelled the wine on his breath and the scent of him—electricity and petrichor with a hint of sweetness, like a ripe plum. Like a disaster. 

“What kind of freelancing do I do though?” Hyunjin went on, his voice so low it was barely a whisper. “Please, darling. Ask me. Let me make this right.”

Let me make this right. Most people in your life fled after having touched your shores. They brought up their anchor and floated away from the island that you were. People rarely found something worth staying for in you. They simply basked in the warmth of your love and walked away.

You could choose to be cold. Life had been begging you to turn yourself into an ice statue. Life had been begging you to stop feeling so much, to stop feeling at all. But Hyunjin’s breath was warm and nice against your skin, like a summer breeze. 

“What kind of freelancing do you do, Mr. Hwang?” But really, you wanted to call him honey again, the color of his skin calling for your touch.

“I do modeling jobs.” He had no hesitation. He pushed his hair away from his eyes when it fell on his forehead. “That’s what I do.” 

You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your face. You tried to conceal it by drinking more wine and taking your time sipping on it. “I think I saw one of your ads, Mr. Hwang. By the museum, actually. Near the southeast entrance.” You finished your wine but you weren’t sure if you felt drunk or wide awake. Maybe a little bit of both. Like you were floating in between worlds.

Hyunjin chuckled and bit his lip gently. “Did you?” He made no effort to stare away from your lips. 

“You looked good, it almost made me want to buy overpriced perfume.” 

Hyunjin took a playful expression. “Almost? Damn. They’ll never renew the contract if my face doesn’t sell enough…” 

You put your empty mug back on the table. When you took your space back on your half of the couch, Hyunjin was even closer as if he had magically moved without you noticing. As if he had never not been right there, millimeters away from you. As if he couldn’t be anywhere else except near you. 

“It’s not your face that sells as much as your eyes.” White wine got the best of you. Or maybe you were drunk on Hyunjin. “It’s your gaze… it’s like you’re staring right into our souls, Hyunjin.” Like you’re making love to us through a poster, you wanted to add. Instead you said, “I don’t know how you manage that. But I guess your face is… you know. It’s a good face.”

Hyunjin chuckled. “A good face, huh? Well, alright then.” His smile faded when he cupped your cheek again, sending electricity through your body. “I’ve missed yours, darling. Would you like me to refill your wine?”

“I can go—” 

But Hyunjin was gone already, disappearing into the kitchen as if he were in his own home. He acted like he belonged here. He looked like it, too, like he was at ease anywhere he went. Like he walked this earth and knew where he was supposed to go next, always. You did wonder if this was an act or if it was for real. Surely, nobody could be so certain of themselves, right? 

When you got up to follow Hyunjin to the kitchen, you found him closing the bathroom door instead. 

The bathroom smelled like you. The whole apartment did, of course—in fact, Hyunjin had to make great efforts not to rummage through every corner of this place. Like he was researching for your truth, hidden somewhere in here. 

The bathroom smelled like you because you had showered some time before he came in. There was residual condensation on the mirror and the room was warmer than the living room or the kitchen, the air in it thicker. Hyunjin closed the door behind him and leaned over the sink, watching his reflection in the mirror. How could you have such an effect on him? 

Something was different today—he had tried to convince himself that it had everything to do with you suddenly turning cold and distant over text, messing with his head. But now that he was here, with you, he saw something in your eyes. No matter how long he looked into them, he couldn’t pinpoint it. Could it be this Seonghwa? You said you didn’t want to fuck him but could his presence in your life have altered you somehow? 

The bottles on the shelves of your shower caught Hyunjin’s attention as he was relieving his bladder. He could hear you in the apartment—it sounded as if you had gone into the kitchen and were fumbling in the fridge. He decided to inspect the bottles after putting his definitely not fully soft cock back into his pants and washing his hands, reading the labels on them like one would read a scientific article. Analyzing and attempting to find correlations between you and the products you used. 

Your shampoo and conditioner smelled like rose and sage. An interesting and bold combination, but an attractive one too. Hyunjin was grateful he could finally put names on the smells he thought about when he masturbated lately, which he often did remembering the feeling of his face buried in your hair as you rubbed yourself on his cock. You used fruit-based skincare and a geranium leaf body wash with added mandarin and bergamot rind oils. He wanted to stand under the hot water and lather his whole body with this. Your scents, you.

But instead, Hyunjin exited the bathroom. He found you in the living room but not with wine this time—you were pouring Chartreuse liqueur into two glasses with ice in them. 

“I hope you like it, I ran out of everything else,” you told him as he sat back on the couch. “I’m not an alcoholic by the way.” 

Hyunjin took the glass from you, observing you. He smelled it on you—the rose, the sage, the hint of fruit on your face, the earthy and citrusy scents on your skin. But there was something else, and it wasn’t a perfume. It was more than that. Yet he couldn’t help but feel like it was a familiar smell. You would smell like this if a man had fucked you right after your shower, while your hair was still wet and your skin still sticky with humidity. Hyunjin wanted to be that man—he wanted to be the one slamming into you while you held on to the sink, your face pressed into the mirror. He wanted his cock to smell like you, wanted to shower with you again after you had creamed all over him. 

Hyunjin took a sip of the drink. He was quite familiar with its strong, herbal taste, but he found that it paired rather well with the color of your eyes. “You don’t need to make excuses, darling.” Another sip, bigger this one. For fuck’s sake, he wished he didn’t have a high alcohol tolerance. Being drunk would help calm him down. “I’m quite certain you often share drinks with guests such as myself.”

Hyunjin may have been what he was and may have traveled through space and time, but you saw through him in the same way you saw through Hyathos. You had seen through the hints woven into his sentence. “No, Hyunjin. I didn’t fuck Seonghwa or anybody else. I told you so.” You drank again, lying comfortably on the couch with your legs resting on his thighs and your head propped up on a few cushions. The silk on your body only made Hyunjin want you more. You weren’t wearing a bra under your top and he was almost certain you weren’t wearing underwear either. 

“So you are an alcoholic then?” Hyunjin chose humor to hide his hunger for you. He drank again. And again. 

“Ah, shut up, Mr. Hwang.” 

He ran his hand on your bare leg, from your ankle all the way to where your shorts stopped. You shivered under his touch, your breath coming to a halt. “It’s good to see you again, darling,” Hyunjin admitted in a whisper. “Thank you for answering the door tonight. I’m really sorry I upset you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Hyunjin?” He loved the way his name sounded on your lips, the way it rose from your throat like a song. “That you’re a model?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter to me. It’s just a way to make money and live.”

You clicked your tongue before letting out a tired sigh. You seemed a little annoyed but were smiling despite it all. “Hyathos reincarnate.” 

Fuck. You saw him. You had seen him from the beginning, understanding him in ways even he didn’t. It made him feel like he hadn’t failed. Like he hadn’t lost too much of himself pouring his love into a light-filled void. You made him feel like it didn’t matter that he had been cursed with silence, that he would never be able to tell you who he was and why you would always be graced with perfectly ripe fruit for the rest of your life. 

You made him feel like it didn’t matter that he was Hyathos at all. You made him feel painfully normal, extraordinarily mortal. You made his heartbeat pick up a pace, you made his cock hard, you occupied his mind in the most delightful ways. You made him feel like he belonged somewhere, whether it was committing a crime to witness a painting or just here, sitting on this couch with you, brushing his fingertips on your legs, behind your knees, feeling you respond to his touch. 

“Considering the public opinion on Hyathos, I’m not sure it’s a compliment.” Once again, Hyunjin pulled out his strongest shields—humor and sarcasm. “I’m just Hyunjin though, am I not?” Sometimes, he needed to say that out loud, to remember it. To remember what he was, what he had lost. 

“You’re Hyunjin the supermodel,” you replied, emphasizing the last word and raising your glass at him before taking a large gulp of the drink. The ice cubes in it were melting slowly, just like him. Just like you, too. “The ad by the museum… Is it the cologne that you use, by any chance? You smell good, I’d buy a bottle if it was.”

“I don’t really use cologne, but I can get you a bottle.” Hyunjin let his hand rest on your thigh. If he belonged on this couch, his hand belonged there, his fingers teasing the leg opening of your shorts. His mouth belonged on you, your lips, your pussy. “You think I smell good?” His cock shouldn’t have twitched at that, but it did.

You hid your face behind your small hand. You were the most interesting thing he had seen in this place. You always surprised him. He couldn’t predict you. And Hyunjin had always been good at predicting.

“What do you use then?” You sat a little more upright and Hyunjin watched your tits move with you, bouncing under the silk of your shirt. “You do smell good, honey.”

Honey. Hyunjin. Mr. Hwang. Hyathos reincarnate. It did not matter which word you used—whenever you addressed him, Hyunjin lost a little bit more of his divine nature.

Literally.

“I use some oils for my skin and my hair. Do you really want the whole list of products in my bathroom?” he asked as if he hadn’t carefully inspected your stuff in your bathroom just moments ago. You laughed at that, a laugh so pretty it sounded like a summer afternoon. A laugh that tasted like peaches, like stolen kisses. “I’ve missed you, darling. I missed you every day.”

What good had his divine nature done anyway? What had it brought him exactly other than loss, than defeat, than a string of unstoppable disasters? 

“I did write to you a lot,” you pointed out, finishing your glass. Hyunjin mirrored you and both empty glasses were returned by your laptop. Hyunjin recognized some work document on the screen but he didn’t let his eyes linger too long. Besides, he preferred looking at you, at your body, your rosy cheeks and the way your tongue ran on your lips. “I…” 

You didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, your fingers found his, squeezing them over your thigh. Hyunjin didn’t really know you but he understood you. He understood the suffering you had gone through. He knew that if you returned his words, if you told him ‘I missed you too’, you would break some unspoken promise you had made with yourself. Instead of saying that, you chose to dismiss his feelings. Hyunjin could have resented you for that, but he didn’t.

“Why do you even care, though? I’m just me. I’m just an art historian who loves myths and who sees herself in them for some reason. You’re… important. You’re rich, you’re a supermodel, Hyunjin. What the fuck are you even doing here? I don’t understand.” You sighed then and it reminded him of the sounds you had made when you had cum all over him. Could you feel him grow hard against your calves? The sound of your voice alone would be enough to make him blow his load in his pants. “You’re intelligent. You’re sexy. If you think I haven’t looked you up, I have. I’ve seen the underwear campaigns, I’ve seen all the clothes and the cars that your body and your face sells. And you don’t even need any sort of mythology counseling. You’re well-versed in art and in the myths. I don’t understand why you’re here tonight, Hyunjin. I just don’t understand why you care.”

From the way you reacted when Hyunjin shifted his weight, he could tell that you felt his crotch against your skin. He could tell because you pressed your thighs together, because your lips parted open and your eyelids hooded your eyes just for a few instants. Was this what you looked like when you touched yourself? 

“You see yourself in the myths, you say. I see myself in this world.” You couldn’t understand what he was trying to say but you didn’t have to. “I care because of the way you see things. It’s like your eyes were tailored to see the invisible. It’s like you were made to understand me, and me you. Tell me I’m not crazy. Tell me you feel it too, darling. That we were meant to run into each other.” You’d believe him if you knew how far he had come from just to find you. 

Hyunjin saw it in your eyes. That you did believe him, and that it scared you a little. That you felt the same bond he did—but once again, if those words were to spill out of your lips… it would be much like suicide for you, wouldn’t it? 

Sometimes, Hyunjin wished it wasn’t so easy for him to open his mouth and let his heart speak for him. What a fool he was, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help feeling the way he did, couldn’t help staining you with the fascination you induced in him.

Selfish, they used to call him. Withdrawn. Unreasonable. The accusations that had caused his sentence, the one that had sent him to the mortal world. And also because he had been fooled by the weight of Feliks’ body under him, his voice when he took all of him, making Hyunjin feel like he belonged there. In his embrace. His warmth. Fucking him, over and over. Feliks whimpering under him then Hyunjin moaning something desperate as he filled him. 

He couldn’t help that he had been tarnished, damaged, by the love he had given. But Hyunjin also couldn’t help that you made him feel like it had been worth it.

“You don’t realize the effect you have on me, darling.” Hyunjin couldn’t stop. You could keep your words to yourself—it was alright. But he needed them out. Maybe, just maybe, after he had set them free… maybe it would fix him a little. You could never truly understand, of course—but you made him feel as if his celestial essence had been taken away from him just so that he could meet you. “You don’t realize how I feel when I think about you. When I read those essays you sent me.”

If he didn’t pull away from you, Hyunjin would push your shorts to the side and fuck you. He was willing to bet you were wet—he’d stretch you and fuck you until you understood. Until he made you feel the same red string of fate binding the two of you. 

Maybe he’d feel like a god again when you sighed his name as he sank into you. 

But Hyunjin slid away from you to sit on the other side of the couch after getting rid of the slippers you had given him as well as his socks. Just like you, he lay barefoot on the couch, his legs intertwined with yours. He stared at the scene, moved by the beauty of it. His feet brushing against your hips, your thigh. 

You trivialized his feelings again, but Hyunjin didn’t resent you for it. Mortals did this a lot. Hell—he had done it himself. With Feliks, with his father. His mother even. It had been best to make himself invisible rather than letting his mother see the extent of the disaster that he was. 

“My essays?” Your voice was small, trembling a little. You brought a hand over your chest to play with the necklace he had given you—he had found it at a market, handmade by an old lady who sold these to pay her rent. He had told her about you. She had said that he sounded like he was in love with you. Strong words, bold—but he hadn’t been able to deny them, as crazy as it was. “They’re just… Ideas. Personal opinions based on my own understanding of—”

But Hyunjin cut you off before you had the chance of dismissing yourself any further. “Darling.” Hyunjin’s hand traveled down, finding your ankle, tracing circles on your bare skin there with his fingertip, as if he couldn’t not touch you. But really, he wanted to be touching your mouth, his fingers teasing your lips, lingering on the inner part of them, the wet part. “They’re more than just that. They’re a window into your soul and into mine.”

The warm pressure within his abdomen grew stronger, larger, like something gently fell between his legs. He wanted to kiss your toes, to suck on them until you came. He was hard and you knew it—you rested your leg comfortably against his contained erection, providing much needed friction. Hyunjin may have had a high tolerance to alcohol but he didn’t have a high tolerance to you—he was drunk on you. No, more than that. High. He was certain that this was the kind of feeling that heroin addicts were chasing. You, your body, against his. It made him feel like he had died and had been reborn. 

In a way—that was exactly what had happened to him.

To hell with it. He had nothing to hide anymore, so Hyunjin went on. “I can’t stop thinking about you… about your words. I edge myself to your theories. You make me cum with your words, darling.” Every night in that hotel room after photoshoots, Hyunjin would pull out his phone. Most people would visit a porn website, grab some lube and go at it. But not him.

He would lie naked on the bed and read you. Over and over. His cock growing harder and more sensitive with each sentence. He would roll on his stomach and rub himself on a pillow or take himself in his hand. Sometimes for so long that he would release enough cum to drown you in it should you have let him fuck your mouth. 

He didn’t need to be a demigod, he didn’t need anything except this. Your knee pressing on his hard cock, the sound of your soft breathing filling the room, your frightened yet warm eyes on him. Your nipples poking through your shirt. “Would you read to me?” he asked. “Please read to me the email you wrote about Hyathos and the sky.”

You did not belittle his feelings this time. You inhaled to take a deep breath, pushing yourself closer to him, the pressure of you on his cock squeezing a soft moan out of him. 

You stared at him for a long time and he stared back. At you, your face, the way your eyes found his hand around your ankle, the bulge in his pants, his warm face. “Sometimes, I think that if my heart breaks again, I will die.”

He gulped so loudly that he was certain you heard it. “I won’t let it happen. Not to you.” Unfortunately for him, Hyunjin couldn’t die. He had been sentenced to suffer from his broken heart until the end of times. 

“You can’t do anything about it, Hyunjin. And I’m not sure I can do anything about it either.” You closed your eyes, allowing Hyunjin to bask in the stillness of the moment. He rolled his hips a little, rubbing himself against you. He was so hard it felt more like an ache than arousal. When you opened your eyes again, you stared right at him. “Hand me my phone, will you? I’ll find that sky email.”

With his long arm, Hyunjin managed to reach for your phone without leaving your embrace. When you took it from him, you typed and scrolled on it but never stopped applying pressure between his legs.

You cleared your throat. “Good morning Hyunjin. The sky is clear today, all blue. It reminded me of Monti’s Agatheia and her three children. It reminds me also of Engel’s Agatheia’s garden, the 1799 painting. As I’m certain you’re aware, our museum doesn’t have this one in the exhibit—it’s a property of the English government who “took” (stole) it from Germany during WWII and we weren’t able to strike a deal with them. Anyway, Agatheia isn’t even in that painting. It’s a depiction of Hyathos, and it was often debated whether the final result of the piece was intended to be that. If, maybe, the piece had been a request, with Agatheia in the original idea of it. Why not put Hyathos’ name in the title if he is the only person in the painting, you know? No one knows. About that, Engel said the same thing always: he did paint Agatheia’s garden, and according to the myths, it was Hyathos’ favorite place besides the field with the cypress tree and Felix.”

Hyunjin realized he had closed his eyes, lulled by the sound of your voice and the meaning of your words. He had also tightened his grip around your ankle, hard enough to notice the imprint of his fingers on your skin when he released it. But you didn’t complain at all—if anything, you snuggled into him more, letting his legs occupy the space between yours. His right foot was resting right between your thighs and for a moment there, Hyunjin couldn’t even hear you anymore. 

He extended his foot until it brushed against the fabric of your shorts, right against your core. He felt your pussy under his toes, soft, warm, damp. You inhaled sharply when he did so but you moaned when he applied more pressure, your legs opening for him. 

“Keep going, darling,” he invited, massaging you with his toes and his forefoot. Ah, how pretty you looked, your hair falling messily on either side of your face, the chain around your neck. Your fluttering eyelids. “Tell me more about the sky.”

You rolled your hips once, then twice, rubbing yourself against his foot. You even used your free hand to press onto it, effectively using him to fuck yourself on. Yes. Yes, Hyunjin had been meant to be banished from his home just so that you could moan because his toes were on your wet cunt. 

“So maybe Hyathos’ favorite place is the garden,” you went on, your voice shaking a little, dripping with lust. “In the painting, he isn’t looking at the garden, though. He’s staring at the sky. This is how he is depicted often—looking out at the horizon, upwards. Either a little or significantly. Even in the myths, even in what we have of the ancient texts. Thousands of years ago, people were already writing about Hyathos and the sky. But why? There are a few hypotheses. Do you have any, Hyunjin? I’d love to hear them. I’ll make sure to ask you the next time we share a bottle of wine. Most people say that it’s because Hyathos was always waiting after Felix, always expecting to be summoned to him, to his world of light. I think that’s a little reductive and although it’s not inherently wrong it’s certainly not right—Hyathos’ gaze was stuck to the sky long before he met his lover. 

“How would one feel if he was constantly judged by his peers? If each of their moves was scrutinized? If, no matter what they did or said, they were held in contempt? This is how the story goes, isn’t it? I don’t think Hyathos was waiting for Felix specifically. I think he stared at the sky because it was better than looking into his father’s eyes and seeing anger and disappointment. Than seeing his mother’s melancholy on her face. Than watching as his young sister was taken away, as his older brother followed her into the Underworld.” 

You paused your reading, your eyes rolling at the back of your head as Hyunjin kept teasing you over your shorts. He saw the stain on them from here, he felt it too—the wet fabric against his skin, the gentle throbs of you as his touches became more insistent. He may have been created as a god, but you were the one meant to be worshiped. He wanted to watch as you stained the pretty silk covering you, wanted to hear and taste and smell you. He wanted to be more like you. His cock twitched when you pushed the shorts down, taking them off, exposing your beauty to him. Your cunt. Soaked, pretty, perfect in every way. 

The shorts were lost behind the couch as you pulled Hyunjin’s foot back between your legs, spreading them open for him. “Keep going, honey,” you invited him, using the same tone he had with you moments ago. There were flames in your eyes. I’ll suck your pretty toes clean after.” 

With that, you pressed your own leg onto his hard cock, still painfully concealed in his pants. Hyunjin whimpered, rutting against you in quick, shallow thrusts. “You would kill an immortal, darling,” he told you, “with how sweet your pussy smells, how delightful any filth sounds when it comes out of your mouth.” 

Your head fell back when Hyunjin managed to rub the area around your clit. Fuck. Your tits moved with you every time you met him with rolls of your hips. They moved like waves. 

You moved like beautiful clouds in a blue sky.

“So Hyathos kept his eyes to the sky.” Your voice was low, your tongue often peeking out from between your lips. “Whatever he was seeing up there was better than his daily life. Escapism in its simplest form is too often overlooked when it comes to studying art. As if one wasn’t allowed to look at the sky just because. It made me realize that I often look at the sky just because it’s pretty. I’ll take pictures of every golden sunset I come across. I’ll make a point of choosing a seat at a restaurant or in any room that is near a window. Sometimes, life is a little too much, and then we look up. We might see the moon, or the sun, or a bird. But for a few seconds, we’re up there, don’t you think, Hyunjin? I don’t think Hyathos was waiting for anyone. I think that if he had kept his gaze on the world around him, he would have been a totally different person. Filled with rage, with resentment. Instead, he chose to be quiet and calm. He chose to let the sky soothe him.”

Yes. Yes. Hyunjin rubbed your slippery cunt harder, using your slick to ease his movement. He could cum untouched to this, to you, your voice and your little moans in between your sentences. The way your pussy felt under his toes, smooth and wet. You didn’t even bother when your phone slid from your hand, falling on the wooden floor with a quiet thud. You moved under him, pressing his foot flush against your core. 

Hyunjin changed his angle, aligning his big toe with your entrance, eliciting more moans from you. “Yes,” you sighed. “Fuck me. Hyunjin. Fuck—” 

He had hoped he would be fucking you tonight when he decided to make his way to your place, sure. But Hyunjin had never imagined he would end up on your couch, feeling your tight hole as he stretched it with his toes. You were so beautiful that he forgot his own longing, the heavenly torture of his twitching cock. 

He gave a few gentle thrusts, easing himself into you. You moved with him, fucking yourself on his foot, sinking onto him and spreading your legs to take as much of him as you could. Hyunjin couldn’t remember something more intoxicating than the sight of his toes pushing into your tight cunt, so tight that he felt you clench around him. 

“So… close…” You closed your eyes, caressing your tits with your free hand, playing with your nipples. “Yes, don’t stop…”

“Cum for me baby,” he said under his breath. “Cum for me. I can’t stop thinking about it, about the way you moan when you cum…” 

Hyunjin kept his pace, listening to the wet sounds of your cunt taking him, watching you tease your nipples with one hand and rub your clit with the other. He would have been content if, for the rest of eternity, you just used him as a sex toy. It would have been enough.

Hyunjin sensed your orgasm approaching and watched it break you apart. With your back arching, you clenched around him hard, becoming a mess as you gushed all over his foot, your arousal coating him, your voice filling up the room. Your moans were deep, stirring in your throat before they escaped your open mouth. A true work of art. He kept up his caresses and touches until you seemed to have mostly recovered and until the spasms in your legs had stopped.  

You didn’t waste any time getting on your knees, your head hovering his foot. You left a gentle kiss on top of his toes, sending a jolt of electricity through Hyunjin’s body. You gave one tentative lick, gathering some slick on your tongue. Then another, then another. Small licks, cute, adorable, tickling Hyunjin’s foot, worsening the pressure in his cock. “You have pretty feet,” you commented, making him want to pull his cock out and spray your face with his cum.

You wrapped your lips against his big toe, sucking gently on it and teasing him with your tongue. The scent he had noticed on you earlier came back, flooding the space around you. Hyunjin tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling gently to signal you that he needed you closer.

He sat upright, allowing you to straddle him comfortably. “Come here, darling. Let me kiss you.”

Your eyes were glazed over but Hyunjin couldn’t tell if it was from cumming hard or from drinking. His hand traveled from your waist to your face, cupping your cheek as delicately as if he were plucking an apple from a tree. He brushed his thumb on your skin, your lips, parting them open for him. 

You kissed him first, pressing your mouth on his, exhaling your boozy breath into his lungs. You took his lips eagerly, moaning in his mouth, rubbing yourself onto his erection. You tasted like Chartreuse, like your cum on his foot. You tasted like a grass field in the summer, like a breeze that smelled of peaches and freedom. Like a fragrant cypress tree. You tasted like sunlight.

Your mouth tasted like Feliks.

Upon that realization, Hyunjin pulled away from you abruptly, anchoring his eyes to your lips. You took a deep breath, swallowing thickly, your breathing fast and uneven. “Hyunjin? Are you okay?”

His hand was still around your head, his fingers digging deeper into your hair and scalp, this thumb returning to your lips. 

Hyunjin’s voice came out as a strangled plea. “He came to you, didn’t he?”

You tilted your head, caressing his hair gently to soothe him, as one would with an untamed animal. Your other hand played with the first button of his shirt. “Who are you talking about, honey? Tell me. I told you, I didn’t fuck—”

“Not him.” Hyunjin didn’t mean to snap at you. He kissed you again, chasing that long-lost taste, teasing your mouth with his tongue, coating it with the taste of light. He didn’t give a single shit about that journalist. “Did you meet someone else?”

You pressed your forehead against his. “I didn’t, Hyunjin. I… I couldn’t stop thinking about you. No matter how terrified I am of this, of us...”

Hyunjin wrapped you in his arms, nestling your face in the crook of his neck. You kissed him there, your tongue dancing on his skin. “Did you have a dream, then?” Hyunjin asked. “He might have come to you as a dream.” 

“What?” You left the comfort of his embrace to stare into his eyes. “No, I—” 

But he knew he was right when you stopped in the middle of that sentence, your gaze turning blank for several seconds. “I did have a strange dream,” you whispered. “But I forgot. How do you… how could you have known that?”

Feliks had left something on you. A message, perhaps. The nature of the dream itself didn’t matter, not really, but Hyunjin couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at the idea of his former lover burying his cock into you and whispering into your ear, kissing your mouth with his warm lips. 

Hyunjin caressed your thigh, slowly making his way between your legs. “Close your eyes, darling,” he invited. “You had a dream. Where were you? Were you outside?”

“Outside, yes.” You moaned when his fingertips brushed your soaked pussy. “Someone was there.” 

Hyunjin didn’t hesitate. “He kissed you.” 

“Yes.” You sighed when Hyunjin slid two fingers into your cunt, your arousal gushing around his hand. “It felt like watching a movie I had already seen. It wasn’t a foreign place.”

Of course. Of course he would have brought you there, to the place where his and Hyunjin’s love had blossomed. When new blades of grass grew there, they did so in a soil that had seen true love. A soil where Feliks’ angelic face was resting, the grass tickling the constellations on his cheeks while Hyunjin pounded into him, hands sticky with the juices of peaches. It had looked so pretty when he pulled out, his cock followed by a trail of cum, tiny droplets of it staining the grass. 

When new flowers grew beneath the cypress tree, they did so in soil that had been fertilized by the love he had fucked into Feliks. 

Hyunjin gathered your arousal on his fingers and brought them to his lips, wasting no time tasting you. You opened your eyes as he did so, staring at his mouth as he discovered that your pussy tasted like you, only you. He shouldn't be so relieved about this, but he was.

You kissed him deeply, clinging to his shirt while simultaneously trying to unbutton it. “It was just a dream,” you said in between kisses. “I don’t care. I want you. Even if it kills me.”

Hyunjin didn’t understand the message that Feliks had tried to send him. The more time he spent here, the more he forgot how to be a demigod, how to decipher the codes, how to understand the celestial world.

The more he kissed you, the more mortal he became. You wanted him even if it killed you, you said. 

He wanted you even if each second spent by your side quickened the unmaking of his divine soul. 

Hyunjin secured his arms around you and lifted you up. “I want to make love to you,” he said into your ear. He didn’t need to remember the language of the gods or the secret language of light. He had you. He knew the dialect of you.

“You’re strong, Hyunjin.” You kissed his neck with a soft giggle, clinging to him. “Bedroom is on the left.” 

Hyunjin took your mouth, pausing in the hallway to press you against the wall there. He parted your lips open, running his tongue over your bottom lip before releasing some spit, passing it on to you. He almost came when you twirled your tongue around his, swallowing him with a moan. He ought to mark you, but he wouldn’t, not tonight—the taste of his spit would cover Feliks’ taste.

For now. 

Hyunjin nodded towards his coat, hanging on the wall right by your bedroom door. “Get the condom in the pocket, will you, darling?”

You kissed him with a smile but obliged. “You came prepared,” you said against his lips. 

“I can’t wait to fuck you, baby.” 

Your bedroom was as pretty as you were. Decorated walls—some artwork, photographs, illustrations of all kinds. You had a few plants, a mirror, and the curtains on the window were matching your cream-colored bed sheets. He gently lowered you onto your bed, staring down at you. Despite the low lighting here, Hyunjin saw your flushed cheeks, your messy hair. The slick coating your pussy and your inner thighs. 

He had been with other mortals. He had been with gods and goddesses, he had known pleasures that his altered mind couldn’t remember but that he couldn’t even explain to you if he did. Sunlight itself had once filled him to the brim, he had tasted peaches from an eternal orchard. He had only known a painless life—to this day, Hyunjin still did not feel that. Pain. The physical kind, at least. But he thought he knew what it must be like when he watched you unzip his pants to free his cock, gazing at it with hunger in your eyes. Or maybe it was love that he felt. Maybe pain and love were too closely related to be able to differentiate them, he didn’t know. Perhaps they were the very same thing. 

Hyunjin helped you lay down on your bed after getting rid of his pants and boxers. You finally unbuttoned his shirt and were able to graze his skin with your nails, digging them into his waist. He freed you from your last remaining item of clothing too, immediately covering your tits with wet kisses. Your nipples were hard but smooth under his tongue, and you jerked your hips, seeking friction, when he nibbled at you gently. Lovingly. 

He moved down a little, kissing your navel, spreading your legs open. His fingers dug into the soft skin of your thighs as he took in the sight of your soaked folds. “Look at you, darling.” He pressed his lips on your mons pubis, the scent of your cunt making him drunk. “So wet.”

He felt your fingers in his hair as his mouth descended onto your intimacy. Hyunjin dragged his tongue on your cunt, twisting his neck to emphasize the pressure he applied. You turned to mush on the mattress, melting into his mouth with long, erotic moans. You tasted better than anything. Sweet with just enough bitterness to tingle his tongue. Hyunjin lapped at you, his plush lips never leaving your core, his head effectively trapped between your thighs. 

He looked over at you as he kissed and licked his way to your clit just in time to catch you twisting your own nipple and releasing it. He watched your hand gliding over your body as you reveled in the stroking of his tongue on your clit. You moved so well. You had to have been made for him, just for him. His lips attached themselves to your pussy like they were meant to be there. Your cream filled his mouth like you were meant to be his only sustenance. 

Hyunjin buried his face deeper between your legs, sucking on your clit, while he pushed two fingers into your hole to massage you. To stretch you. You were so tight… would you scream as he fucked you? Would your eyes roll at the back of your head? 

“Ah, Hyun—” You clenched around his fingers when he curled them to tease your sensitive spot. It felt soft and squishy under his fingertips, like a ripe fruit. But you were sweeter than that, sweeter than summer. 

But Hyunjin kept flicking his tongue on your clit, his cock throbbing with you every time you clenched. You were so wet that his face was coated with your slick—he slurped on your cunt desperately, hungrily, drinking you in. You were sweating and Hyunjin liked the smell of your sweat, the feeling of your sticky skin against him. The warmth of you. 

He only emerged from between your legs when his own cock bothered him too much. You immediately pulled him into a kiss, lips clumsily sliding due to how wet his were. From you. But you licked him clean, even his cheeks, as you would lick an ice cream cone. “You know, Hyunjin.” You made him look into your eyes by pushing his chin upwards. “I almost didn’t let you into the apartment. Before you showed up at my door, I had told myself I wouldn’t speak to you anymore.”

Hyunjin kissed you, his tongue wandering into your mouth, his cock brushing against your thigh. If he could feel pain, he knew this would hurt him. When he looked down, he saw how engorged he was, flushed dark, ready. Like he had been made to fuck you. 

He took the condom from where you had left it on the mattress nearby and carefully unwrapped it. “Why did you let me in then, darling?” He discarded the packaging, but it fell onto your stomach. Still, you watched him apply the condom, watched his fingers around his girth. 

“I know that fighting it is useless,” you breathed, spitting into your palm before taking his cock in your hand to stroke him a few times. “When you'll get tired of me, Hyunjin, will you please be gentle with me?” 

Hyunjin stared at your beautiful hand working him, squeezing his cock, eliciting waves of pleasure within him. He grunted, rolling his hips lazily to fuck your palm. 

“I’ll never get tired of you, darling.” He caressed you all over. Your stomach, your waist, your breasts. Your neck. “Why would I get tired of you?”

You shrugged, using your other hand to play with his balls. Just lightly. You tugged at his cock when he gave a little slap to your left breast. “Everyone gets tired of me, Hyunjin. I’m just a shooting star.” 

Hyunjin dove onto you, bringing his face just over yours. Your breath tickled him. “Not for me.” He kissed you. He kissed you like he loved you and you kissed him back the same way, pulling on his cock until he lowered his hips near your core. “You’re the tree I want to sit under.”

There were tears in your eyes. You let go of his cock to push the hair out of his face. “You want to sit in the shade,” you recalled. 

“Yes. You’re the shade, the tree, you're the rich rain that makes the world thrive.” His hand replaced yours around his length as he coated himself in your slick. “Spread your legs, darling. A little more.” He pressed the tip of his cock against your hole. “That’s good. Ready?”

“Please,” you pleaded, actually jerking your hips, trying to fuck yourself onto him. 

Hyunjin kissed you. A slow kiss, just lips on lips. Not devouring. Tasting, feeling. The texture of you, your smooth tongue, beautiful lips. Your mouth tasted like your pussy. He slid into you and you cried out against his mouth—he stopped his movements, observing your face.

“You’re so big,” you whined. “Don’t stop.”“I don’t want to h—”

Your hands found his lower back, then his ass. You tried to push onto him to make him fuck you. “I can take it,” you moaned, writhing under him. “Please, Hyunjin.”

Anything for you, he wanted to say. But instead, he thrust into you, burying his sensitive cock into your sweet tight cunt, bottoming out immediately. You gasped into his neck as he moved a little, but the way he was stretching you was driving him crazy. Hyunjin slammed into you again and your head fell back.

While your mouth was wide open, no sound came out of it as you adjusted to his size.

“Look at me, darling.” Hyunjin began fucking you in earnest with feverish thrusts, his mouth on you at all times. Your nipples, your neck, your lips, your shoulders. “Look at me while I fuck your pretty pussy.” 

Truth be told, he was close already. You had started edging him weeks ago when he had met you. He wouldn’t last and by how often you clenched around him, neither would you. He was moving with a little more ease into your warmth now, a hand on your waist to keep you in place. “Fuck, darling. Relax, okay?” But you couldn’t.

The arch of your back was out of your control and so were your fingernails digging deep into his skin. You were so wet around him. When Hyunjin looked down, he groaned at the sight of his cock disappearing into your creamy pussy.

He listened at the symphony of it, of the sounds of flesh and wetness, your strangled moans, your breathing. Hyunjin adjusted his grip on you, pulling your knees up, resting your ankles on his shoulders. That angle allowed him to fuck you even deeper, so he watched your soul leave your body as he continued to pound into you, bucking his hips as if his life depended on it. So vulnerable, so strong. Your tits bounced every time he bottomed out, adorned by the pretty chain and pendant around your neck. Hyunjin knew you were close—you could not stop clenching around his cock, making it almost impossible for him to thrust into you as much as he wanted.

“Look at me,” he said again. “When you cum, look at me, darling.” He wanted to see your orgasm wash over you.Your hooded eyes found his, hands grasping at him, his arms, his hands holding your legs in place.

“Hyunjin, Hyunjin—” you breathed, going limp under his deep thrusts. His fucking became erratic but so did your moans. You throbbed around his cock, eyes rolling at the back of your head. You looked like you were falling into a deep pit, like you were floating on a stormy sea. A kind of beauty so raw, so normal, that Hyunjin wanted to cry.

The pressure in his lower abdomen became too much, as if you were commanding him to cum with you—so he did. He buried his cock deep within you, allowing your fluttering walls to milk him, every inch of you tickling and massaging and stimulating him. This was all that existed in that moment. You, your pink, wet cunt, so snug around him. His destiny. Your voice and the way your body spasmed under him. Your tits, full, beautiful, moving with you. Moving him.

Hyunjin came for a long time, pulsing into you, emptying himself in the condom, his mind blank. His soul had left him too. But he held you, fucking you for as long as he could before collapsing onto you with a groan.

You wrapped yourself around him, arms and legs. Two disasters intertwined. Hyunjin kissed you deeply, tasting his sweat and yours on your lips. “Darling,” was all he said. It was all he could say. He had been with other mortals, he had been with gods and goddesses, but nobody made him feel like you did. You may have been a disheveled mess on a cum stained bed. You may have been the thing that would unmake him. But you were the most beautiful heaven he had ever lost himself in.

He was gone, disappeared. He had gone missing within you, your kisses, his yearning, your lips, your sweet-tasting cream. “Hyunjin.” You sighed into his hair, kissing him there. “Wow, I think I saw god for a moment.” You had a soft little chuckle that either broke his heart or fixed it. He kissed your collarbone, straightening the chain around your neck so that the pendant fell exactly in between your tits.

“Literally,” he said. He wished you knew. He wished you never knew. Hyunjin made himself pull away from you, turning away while he discarded the used condom. He heard you shift on the bed, then you laughed behind him. He quickly wrapped the condom in a fistful of tissues before you caught a glimpse of the thick, shimmering liquid inside of it and turned to you. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You were laughing with your mouth wide open, struggling to keep your seated position. Your face was still flushed from the lovemaking and you were holding the condom wrapper in your hands. You were beautiful like a renaissance painting.

“Did you fuck me with a Raphaёl Delaunay condom? Do you get these for free because of the cologne campaign?”

“I got these for free at an exclusive party.” Hyunjin took the wrapper from you, warmth spreading at the back of his neck. “It’s all I had at home…”

You laughed again, wrapping an arm around his stomach and kissing his shoulder. “A cock as pretty as yours surely deserves designer condoms.” Hyunjin stared at the floor, still a little too fucked out for his mind to make sense. But you made sense, and it was more than enough. He twisted his neck until he could kiss your cheek. “Don’t get me started on that pussy of yours, darling.” He thought it looked beautiful, glistening, delicate, perfect. But it would look so much better filled with his cum.You pulled him in for another kiss.

“Do you want to stay the night? It’s getting late…”

The warmth from his neck descended in his chest. It was a soft kind of warmth, gentle, not like a harsh sun in a desert. Like an early sunrise, a promise of something good.

“Of course.” He would stay by your side until the end of times if he could. “Do you want to shower, then we can make tea and chat some more?” He would never have enough of your words. “I’d like to get to know you.”

You smiled. “The green tea you’ve sent me in the basket?” You nodded, pushing yourself away to get off the bed. “I’d very much like to get to know you too, Hyunjin.” He wished. He wished he could tell you everything. He wished he could tell you why Hyathos loved staring at the sky so much. 

But instead he showered with you. He had never showered with someone before—and neither had you, apparently. But you laughed together, kissing under the warm water, as he lathered your beautiful, inviting body, as you shampooed his hair. He knew the names of the scents that you wore, and now he knew how it felt when they clung to him. He brushed your hair and you brushed his. You kissed a lot. So easy, so simple. Too simple. Hyunjin always found a way to complicate things. Chaos always found him, somehow. 

Your phone rang while you were looking for clothes for the both of you. Deep into your closet, you found a pair of sweatpants for him and he simply threw that on with the shirt he had come in with, because his trousers were stained with your arousal. Maybe he would never wash them again. You ignored the phone call. He went with you into the kitchen and poured water into your electric kettle. “I’m hungry,” he pointed out. “The little grocery store down the street… is it open late?”

You checked the clock with the floral print on the wall nearby, pulling the can of Gyokuro tea from a cabinet. He had bought this very can on his recent trip to Japan for the high-end business clothes campaign. “It’s still open for another hour. I’m hungry too, I want something sweet.” 

“I’ll go get us something, darling.” He kissed you for a long time, drowning in the taste of your mouth. “I’ll be right back.”

“Can you get something for breakfast tomorrow morning, too?” You added as he reluctantly walked away. “Or should we go get breakfast together?”

“I’ll take you somewhere nice,” Hyunjin promised. He knew exactly what restaurant that would be, a place by the river, with large windows. He would also buy more condoms at the store tonight because there was no way he wouldn’t fuck you again some time before the morning came.

He heard your phone go off as he was wrapping himself in his coat with a smile on his lips. When he had knocked on your door earlier, his heart was heavy. And now he felt like a different man. Or rather, he felt just like that, like a man, mortally normal, falling in love. Easy. “Maybe you should get that. Your phone I mean,” he said out loud, for you. “Maybe it’s that journalist. He’ll insist on a booty call of some sort, I bet.”

Your laugh resonated all throughout the apartment, filling Hyunjin’s chest with your sunrise-colored soul. “Shut up!” He heard you make your way from the kitchen to the living room, but opened the door leading outside. “Be quick, Mr. Hwang. I’m hungry.”

“See you soon, darling.” 

The night was cold but it didn’t bother him at all. Hyunjin walked calmly, breathing deeply. As if a weight had been lifted in his chest, but he couldn’t explain what it was. All he knew was that it was no longer there, and that the world was different now. The store was empty. Hyunjin greeted the employee warmly, commenting on how pleasant the evening was outside. “I hope you get to enjoy it after your shift,” he even added, grabbing a shopping basket and disappearing into the aisles. 

Hyunjin found chocolate and a decent-looking cake. He also grabbed some salted pistachios, a few perfectly ripe mangoes, and a bunch of grapes. He’d feed them to you if you let him, one by one, watching your lips close around the fruit, watching the juice of them coat your lips. Which reminded him—condoms.

There was another man in that aisle, also staring at the colorful boxes. His dark hair hid his face, but Hyunjin recognized him immediately. When the man turned around to face him, Hyunjin felt a wave of nostalgia hit him, almost pushing him over. He gasped, staring at the man as if time had stopped. He did know him. Or rather, he had known him in another life. 

“Hey, Hyunjin.” The man said his mortal name, exaggerating his accent but with a wide smile illuminating his pleasant face. “Been a while, hasn’t it?” 

Beneios. The Messenger. The one anchored to his principles but doomed to keep them to himself for eternity, meant to remain impartial. For a long time, Hyunjin had resented him, for he wasn’t allowed to be neutral, not according to his family at least. 

“How should I call you?” Hyunjin asked under his breath, joining the man. “Who is sending you?”

The Messenger’s smile softened, just like the rest of his strong body. “Changbin’ll do.” He nodded politely at Hyunjin. “But I’m not sure that who sends me is of any importance at the moment.” 

“It is to me,” Hyunjin insisted, recalling the taste of sunlight on your tongue.

Changbin sighed, turning away from him to glance at the various types and sizes of condoms. “You’re falling in love with her,” was all he said. “You’re straying away from your true essence. They have sent me some time ago to check on you—most of the time, they can’t even keep an eye on you anymore. You’re blending with the masses. Hyunjin, you need to put an end to this, or else you may never be able to return to us.”

Hyunjin knew. He could feel it, like a piece of twine wrapped around his heart tugging at it, tighter every day. And yet, he had never felt more like himself. “Do you think I want to go back?” Hyunjin said under his breath, his gaze on a bottle of lube. “I’ll never be good enough for him.” But when he said that, Hyunjin wasn’t sure who he was talking about—his father or Feliks. 

“But you don’t belong here,” Changbin insisted, squeezing his shoulder in his strong hand. “Your presence here is one thing. But to allow such closeness with a mortal… That’s a hazard for her as much as it is for you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Hyunjin pulled himself free from the Messenger’s grip with a groan. “Who’s sending you?” he asked again. “It can’t be Feliks, he’s using her instead to send his cryptic little messages.”

Changbin frowned, staring at Hyunjin with a puzzled expression on his face. “What? He interfered with a mortal again?” 

Hyunjin gulped and took a deep breath. “Apparently. I don’t know what the message was. I just…” He didn’t want to say it out loud, didn’t want to speak it into existence. That he had tasted sunlight on you. “I can’t understand it.”

The Messenger’s eyes darkened and he shook his head. “You’re forgetting who you are, Hyathos, and where you come from. Are you forgetting that you will return to us soon, too?” 

No, Hyunjin couldn’t forget that no matter how hard he tried. He grabbed the condoms that he came here to buy. “Is that all, Changbin?” 

The Messenger sighed with sadness painted over his traits. His dark clothes did little to conceal the strength he held in his body—the same strength he had in his soul, too. “There was one more thing. The garden is gloomy without your presence haunting it.”

Hyunjin knew then that his mother had sent Beneios here. She feared for him, no doubt. Hyunjin loved his mother, but he would never forgive her for allowing his father to treat him the way he had. Still, he received his mother’s words like a knife to the heart. Good thing he couldn’t experience physical pain.

“Be careful, Hyunjin.”

“Wait—” Hyunjin turned as Changbin walked away. “Do you… do you want some tea? She’s making tea, her apartment is right around the corner.” Hyunjin wanted him to see you. He’d understand then. He’d understand how easy it had been to fall in love with you. Maybe Changbin would relate this to Agatheia, and she’d understand, too.

“Tea?”

“It’s Gyokuro tea,” Hyunjin went on, his hands trembling. “It… it thrives in the shade.” 

Changbin stared at him for a long time, as still as a statue. “Goodbye, Hyathos. Don’t forget who you really are.” 

And just like that he was gone.

It took a while for Hyunjin to make his way back to the register. The employee said nothing as she put his purchases into a bag and Hyunjin did not say a word as he left the store. He wanted to forget. He wanted to be more like you. He wanted you.

Of course. Of course, he had overlooked one major detail—his father would never allow that. To him, you were nothing, not even a speck of dust. One morning, Hyunjin might wake up and find out that you had never existed, that his father had wiped you out entirely. Your past, present and future all gone, erased, except in Hyunjin’s mind. As a torture method. As a reminder, as a threat, as a punishment.

He found his way back to your apartment. To his father, you were nothing, but Hyunjin hoped that you were insignificant enough to remain invisible to Amaranthos. Or that, for the first time, someone would stand up to him, preventing him from displaying his cruelty again.

Hyunjin didn’t know what he had expected when he returned to your place, but it certainly wasn’t that—he heard your sobs before he even saw you, and didn’t bother taking off his shoes before running to you.

He found you in your living room, sitting on the floor by the coffee table, staring at your laptop, hugging your knees close to your chest. The sobs were uncontrollable. They came from deep within you. Your phone was right beside the laptop on the table.

“Darling…” He kneeled by your side, wrapping you in his arms. You barely responded to his touch, your eyes still on the screen in front of you. “Darling, talk to me.” Maybe Changbin had visited you. Maybe—

“Hyunjin.” Your voice was shaking just as much as your body. He held you tighter, kissing the top of your head. “Hyunjin, I’m scared.”

This time, he kissed your lips. “Tell me, darling. I’m right here.”

You gulped while he wiped the tears off your face. Finally, you managed to stare into his eyes. “I think you need to take me to the hospital.”

Hyunjin frowned, doing his best to recall everything that had happened in the past hours that would warrant seeing a doctor. “What’s going on? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head vigorously. “No, my body is fine. It’s my head. I’m crazy.” You hit your head with your palm so hard that Hyunjin felt the impact. When you did it again, he grabbed your wrist, holding it away from your skull. His heart was racing. He may not know physical pain, but he knew fear, and he knew that it was overtaking his whole body and soul. Your empty gaze, your shaking limbs… 

Hyunjin looked at the screen. It was an email. ‘Second piece of the Casnea tablet found’. According to the message that a colleague archeologist had sent to you while Hyunjin was buried to the hilt in your pussy and fucking you senseless, another part of the tablet had been unearthed a few hours ago. There were pictures. Hyunjin stared, captivated, his hand caressing your hair softly. He couldn’t find anything horrifying in the email. The new part of the tablet contained more of the unknown language of the gods. The language that he had once known but had forgotten.

“It’s untranslatable,” he said, wondering if it was that fact that had sent you into this panic attack. 

“It is, right?” Your voice was small then. You looked up at him, pale and beautiful, fear all over your face. “No one would know what this says?”

“No, darling.” Hyunjin’s heart threatened to explode, but he wasn’t sure why.

“But I do. Hyunjin, I know what this says.” You reached out to the laptop, pointing at the pictures. “I understand the words.”

Hyunjin fell on his ass beside you, too stunned to speak. He stared at the pictures more intently, at those letters that should have known to decipher. The symbols, the sentences. Gibberish. Except for two words. Maybe that’s what you had meant. He showed them to you. “Feliks, here. Hyathos, here. See? You’re not crazy. I see them too.” 

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND!” You pulled away from him violently with a shriek before kneeling on the floor again, sobbing so hard you could barely breathe. “I KNOW WHAT THIS SAYS. ALL OF IT. I CAN READ IT!” 

Hyunjin returned you into his embrace and you allowed him. A cold rain fell on him as realization hit him. The taste of sunlight on your tongue. The message. The message wasn’t a message, it was… knowledge.

“What does it say?” Hyunjin whispered into your ear. “What does it say, darling?”

There were just a few sentences on the broken tablet. You took a deep, ragged breath. “It’s part of the story. It’s a part of the ancient texts.”

“The myths?”

You touched the screen of your laptop where the words appeared on it and you read them, as easily as if you had been raised in the ancient language. “Feliks lies beneath the cypress tree, alone. Sometimes he wants to take people there, but he never does. This is the place for him and for Hyathos only.” You breathed again but Hyunjin couldn’t. His lungs had stopped functioning.

Your finger descended on the other paragraph. Most of the symbols on it had been damaged, erased, except for one sentence. “Feliks knows that Hyathos doesn’t belong anywhere near the cypress tree. He never did, even if it felt good to be there. Hyathos belongs elsewhere, far away. Like some creatures or peculiar plants, he thrives in the shade.” 

Hyunjin held you for hours as you cried, as your laptop battery died, as the night went on, as he repeated the words in his mind. Feliks had kissed knowledge into you. He had burdened you with it. To speak to him. Hyunjin knew that this wasn't written in the usual language of the gods, no. This was something else. This was the secret language of light, and Feliks had taught it to you.

Only when you fell asleep did Hyunjin cry, too. He had never been as mortal as this. He cried, dampening your sweet-smelling hair, he cried all the love he hadn’t allowed himself to mourn. The love that had faded, that had turned into a disaster. He cried, holding you against him, listening to your breathing, the two of you still on the floor of your living room.

He saw the night sky die, he saw it turn into a sunrise. Hyunjin watched the rays of light, amber and thick and warm, filter through your windows. He felt them on his skin, like a gentle caress, like a goodbye kiss. You writhed in his arms when the light touched your eyelids, waking you up delicately. 

He took your face in his hands, gazing into your eyes. And it’s in them that he understood the truth. He had never belonged anywhere before. Or with anyone, never for a long while anyway.

He always made things worse. His love stained people with pain, with disasters. 

But not you. He belonged with you. To you. And he would die an immortal death before he let anyone take you away from him.

to be continued.

a/n: Hello my beloveds, and thank you so much for your patience. For the love you have shown me and my works. I hope you know that you taking the time to read my silly little fics means so much to me. That the time you take to come tell me about it? Makes me happy beyond words. I hope this chapter was a little worth the wait, or parts of it were at least. Again, thank you so, so much. I'm very grateful. I missed the demigod and I'm glad I was able to update this finally <3

Permanent + series taglist ♡ @cb97percent @changbinluvr @neosracha @hwan-g @streetlight-s @tanyas97 @hyun-bun @americanokisses @aimeexx @upallnight-s @hyunskizz @lotus-dly @thestarseeker @skzho @suhomylife @honeyedtalisman @inkybird @hyuka-luvbot (if you want to stop being on my permanent taglist or the series taglist feel comfortable to send a message!)

[straywrds]

intended souls | a lullaby on his throat chapter five

pairing: demigod!hyunjin x f!reader | word count: 13k | genre: mythology au, romance | warnings: adult and sometimes dark themes ; complicated feelings ; angst ; elements of contemporary fantasy ; explicit sexual content. This work is for adult audiences only.

You had known it before, but you were certain now—you would love him even if it annihilated you molecule by molecule. It was not something you could control and yet it felt like a choice, a conscious decision. You loved Hyunjin, and for as long as your heart would beat and perhaps even after, you would continue to love him. 

One never really gets used to solitude. 

There is no getting used to loneliness, there is only an illusion of it. The origin of this mirage most often comes from one’s foolish desire to be anything but hollow. Because, at its core, isn’t this what loneliness is? To be lacking something, something substantial enough that its absence alters us? Not everything can cause such a feeling. Loneliness, the true kind. Not everything holds enough weight for us to be off-balance once it is taken away from us. Or rather, once it is taken from within us. 

Sometimes, it can feel as though something precious melted and disappeared, or like it waited while we were looking the other way before sneaking out. There is violence in that, in this betrayal—it’s difficult to process the shift when we do not see it unfold. 

Other times, solitude is expected—but only truly lonely people can understand such a thing. Some people are made lonely and others are born lonely. In this case, it is much like a curse, something that follows us everywhere we go, lurking, but never far. 

In this case, it feels like the beautiful and precious thing has been denied to us. Like, perhaps, we failed some sort of test and were proven unworthy of it. There is no suitable analogy for it—we could compare it, however, to having our chest cut open with a badly sharpened knife before our heart is torn away. Most of the time, they don’t bother sewing us back up, and then we become the wound that was inflicted upon us. Bleeding, raw, unsightly enough that people look the other way so they don’t have to see it.

Only the best things can cause this sort of pain, only the most beautiful things can become so foul, so terrible. 

When something makes you fly high, it means the fall is harder, more brutal, but unfortunately not lethal.

You never got used to solitude.

It followed you all your life, really—at one point, you told yourself that you were meant to be alone, so you tried to embrace it. And you did so successfully, but to embrace and to get used to it are two very different concepts, and, in fact, they have nothing to do with one another.

It was as you reflected on solitude that you came to realize that a large room full of people sounded a little like the ocean. Murmurs of conversations came all together to form a whole, the sound of it echoing on the walls and the high ceiling, like ripples on water. At its faintest, when fewer people were speaking, you could swear it sounded just like a river. 

It reminded you of the river that ran through the city, coursing in curves, flowing gently and delicately, with pretty lights reflecting on it. The music of a violin playing and tickling your ears.

There were, more or less, three hundred guests attending the gala tonight. 

It changed nothing to the fact that you had never in your life before felt as alone as you did in that moment, surrounded by people you knew and by strangers, too, in a place that ought to be familiar but wasn’t really. 

The sea of them continued to whisper and talk and laugh, the sound of it often punctuated with glasses clinking or chairs scraping on the old floor when people pushed themselves up or sat down. A group of four passed near you as they returned from outside, smelling faintly of cigarettes and winter. You recognized one of the four as the head curator of a museum in Italy, one that you had visited during your Master’s and that you had particularly liked. The man, older now, noticed you and stopped as the rest of his group continued toward their table, a little farther down the room. 

“It’s an honor to be invited here tonight,” the man told you, and you had to look up so you could look him in the eyes, or rather, to pretend that you were still human. He shook your hand, but in the end held both your hands in his, squeezing them. “I remember when you were a student, coming to the museum every day… I knew then that you were special. Congratulations, dear.” 

You offered him a smile and a thank you, doing your best to look like you meant it. You did mean it, only you couldn’t figure out if it was relevant. If he had truly believed that something set you apart from the masses years ago, wouldn’t he have told you then?

Why wait until now to do it?

The background noise changed when the crowd began to clap politely. You looked at the front of the room, where a small stage had been put in place for the night. It was nicely decorated with warm lighting and real flowers and plants. As you were sitting very close, you could smell them, fresh and sweet. The focus of the decor, however, was the few pieces from the Deities exhibition that had been brought here, into the museum’s atrium. There were three paintings. The first one, on the left, was Agatheia and her three children, depicting the demigoddess sitting in her lush garden, smiling as she was surrounded by Kyma, Prokopios, and Hyathos, who, however, was staring out at the horizon, not quite living in the present moment. It had always been one of your favorite pieces. 

The second, on the right, was a large painting showing most of the ancient gods. The scene did not exist in the myths—the gods were never mentioned to have been at the same place all at once, as too many of them were enemies or rivals. At the very top of the frame was Minhas, god of the skies, inevitability, and mortality. He could be seen watching the other gods from his high viewpoint, observing all of them pensively.

Just below, Amaranthos and Perikles were looking down upon the chaos that they had stirred while fighting one another—the first had a sword made of obsidian and the other, a spear made of gold. Kyma, being taken away by Thoros, with Agatheia holding her daughter’s hand, looking like she was trying to get her daughter back from the King of the Underworld. However, Prokopios lay dead at their feet, his skin drained of color, his eyes open and rigid. Sophronia was alone, the goddess of flowers sitting on a rock, weaving a crown of roses. Her gaze, however, was turned to Agatheia. Some texts said that the two goddesses kept a secret friendship, and that it was Sophronia who gifted Agatheia the most beautiful flowers of her garden. 

Beneios was there, not too far from Perikles, holding his dead sister’s body, her heart pierced by one of Perikles’ golden arrows. His expression could not be seen, but one could understand his pain and mourning in his posture and in the love with which he held his sister. 

At the center of it all was Ismene, on her island, tall and radiant. She stood, towering over the god of light himself—Feliks was with her, on his knees as though he was seeking atonement, or simply begging his aunt for something. There were tears in his eyes and they resembled sun rays, illuminating his despondent expression.

Hyathos was with no one else. Unlike Sophronia, he wasn’t just alone—he was lonely, an arm outstretched, his fingertips caressed by the light spilling from Feliks’ tears. He stood, his ankles caressed by tall grass, his long, soft-brown hair floating in the wind. The expression on his face was complex, often named by art historians as one of the best portraits of its time. He was yearning for something and yet dreading it at once, nostalgic, bittersweet. The more one stared at him, the more emotions appeared—grief, fear, envy, anguish, curiosity. His eyes, it seemed, held whole entire worlds inside of them. You had written well over a hundred thousand words about this depiction of Hyathos alone, and it seemed like there was just as much to say about it still.

The last of the three paintings had been placed at the center. With no great surprise, it was The Cypress Tree, the most sought-after and cherished painting from the exhibition. Even from here, it seemed like you could feel the warmth emanating from it, from its lifelike radiance. It reminded you of the way the sun used to look—a debate that was still ongoing, as some people perceived a change in the color and aspect of sunlight while others did not. Scientists were studying the phenomenon but absolutely nothing hinted that something had changed in the atmosphere, the sky, or with the sun—the sun was the sun, as it had always been. Only, to you, and to some others, it looked different, in a way that could hardly be explained with words. It was in these moments that you envied painters. You thought that Arthur Calverley, who had so beautifully painted sunlight in The Cypress Tree, would have been able to convey this new luminescence with accuracy.

You watched as a woman made her way to the stage, stopping behind the reading stand, lowering the microphone until it was at a comfortable height for her. She seemed at ease in her professional-looking cocktail dress, gazing at the vast room with a smile on her face, looking amused. 

The room fell silent almost instantly and all the heads turned in her direction, except for yours. Even as she began speaking and introducing herself as the Dean of the university that presented the Alden Breay Award. You had spoken with her a few times over the phone and again tonight, meeting her in the flesh for the first time. She was a hyper type of person, yet intelligent and witty. It showed as she spoke to the crowd, explaining how the award had come to exist. 

You, however, were contemplating how it would be you, very soon, standing on that stage, giving your speech. In front of all of these people and a handful of cameras. Tonight’s ceremony was one of the most highly anticipated of the year, maybe especially since it also happened to be the day you launched the first three books on Cipherian. The first one was a dictionary, and the second was an analysis and explanation of the language’s complex grammar, including its even more obscure dialects.

The last book was the one you hated most. Or loved most. Or, somehow, both at once. It was the one you had begun to write before you had even processed the fact that you had suddenly acquired this language—the one you had so ardently wished to share with Hyunjin. 

It was a huge book—a complete translation of the most important texts of the ancient myths, accompanied by comprehensive and detailed essays that you wrote, from the perspective of the only person on earth who could understand them completely. For now, at least, as you had no doubt that linguists and amateurs alike would soon know Cipherian as well as you did, or perhaps even better, rendering you useless once again. Some days, you couldn’t wait for it to happen, wanting nothing more than to be invisible and forgotten, knowing very well that it would leave yet another scar the day it would come true. 

It was that book you were the most proud of. You would write other books like it—had already started to do so—with more texts and more translations. Now that you knew the language they were written in, the ancient myths were deeper, more textured. More real, too, somehow. 

You did not pay much attention to the Dean as she spoke, instead you focused on the rest of the room, maybe trying to get used to the sight of all these people.

Jisung must have sensed your unease because he reached for your hand under the round table, squeezing it in his. He was most likely just as nervous as you were, considering how clammy his skin was. Yet you appreciated the gesture, turning to him with a joyless smile, to which he responded with an equally flat one. He looked especially nice tonight with his hair combed to the side and a fancy navy-colored suit. He was sitting between you and Seungmin, who also looked especially dapper in a charcoal outfit. 

You shared your table, also, with the staff from the museum. Minji sat across from you, obviously agitated but in a giddy kind of way, almost childish. You envied her—she was, a little, the girl you wished you had been at her age. But unlike Minji, you had been born lonely, and you could not change that. When Mrs. Yoo noticed that you were looking in her direction, she mouthed a gentle It’ll be alright at you, making you wonder if it was very apparent that you felt like you were about to throw up.

“Deep breaths,” Jisung whispered into your ear. He had sprayed a little too much cologne tonight, but its vivid scent served as an anchor. 

Deep breaths. Easier said than done. 

You put a hand over your chest in a lame attempt at calming down. You could feel your pulse through your ribcage, crazed and unsteady. 

Your fingers ran into something cool and you wrapped your hand around it, suddenly remembering the existence of the necklace hanging around your neck. 

A few hours ago, as you were getting ready for tonight, Jisung entered your hotel room with a small box. It’s for you, he said, handing it over. A gift. And he had never really been the one to buy gifts, so it was suspicious. The gift turned out to be an absolutely stunning yet delicate white gold chain with a small pendant. The pendant was a green garnet whose deep shade of viridian fascinated anybody who looked at it. It was reminiscent of the ocean and a forest at once, and everything in between. 

There’s no way you bought this, you told Jisung. Your reasoning was simple—he didn’t buy gifts, and if he was going to buy gifts, they wouldn’t be as nice as this necklace. Only someone with refined taste would pick this over other necklaces. And, lastly, there was no way in hell he could afford it, even if you paid him well. You chose this necklace?

The thing with Jisung is that he is a terrible liar. It was actually that very fact that led to the demise of your situationship. When you clearly began showing signs of the Catching Feelings disease, he recoiled immediately and was not inconspicuous about it, no matter how hard he tried. And you knew he tried just so he wouldn’t hurt you. And it was such a stupid thing to do, yet everyone did it—there was no way one could fully protect another from the truth. Nothing could soften the blow—it could only be delayed. 

Of course I chose it. But when he saw in your eyes that you didn’t believe him, Jisung added, The lady at the store helped me. Which made total sense, and you probably would have believed him if you didn’t suspect this necklace to be custom-made and worth several thousand dollars.

You wondered if maybe Jisung needed to get laid. After all, he had left this girl he had started seeing after you. He said things didn’t work out. He had been with her for less than a month, even less time than he had spent fooling around with you. After that had been the beginning of the chaos, and he had started following you anywhere—you were not aware of him seeing girls. So you figured that maybe he was hoping you would fuck him in exchange for this insanely expensive necklace.

Thing is, you could be convinced. Maybe you would suck his cock after the gala, in the car on your way back to the hotel suite that had been offered to you since it was closer to the museum than your apartment was. You knew it made him crazy when you looked him in the eyes as he spilled himself into your mouth. After that, you could let him fuck you in the hotel room, on the couch maybe, or against a wall. Jisung fucked desperately, always. You used to like it because you had believed he was desperate for you. You had been a fool, though.

You did not love him. There had been a time when you thought you loved Jisung. But that was before you knew what love was really like. 

You nervously fidgeted with the necklace, fully aware that daydreaming about letting your almost-ex hit it just to feel something was not the best coping mechanism. 

On stage, the Dean had just spoken your name, inviting you to join her so she could officially hand you the award you had been granted. Your heart jumped in your chest and it felt like it came to a stop, much like your breathing, or the flow of time. For a brief moment, silence reigned in the atrium. 

Your gaze flew upwards, lingering on the large skylight that the ceiling was made of. The sky was dark and raindrops rolled down the curved glass. 

The thing with solitude is it doesn’t matter if you’ve had it for a long time or not, if you expected it or not—it is always quiet and furtive and violent. And it hit you exactly at that moment. The magnitude of your loneliness. The weight of it—crushing and unforgiving. Maybe you had known for a while but hadn’t been brave enough to admit it to yourself.

You would never be truly happy again. Not without Hyunjin.

You had tasted what genuine contentment was like, you had known what true love felt like, and now everything was bland compared to it. There was no point in chasing a similar feeling because it wouldn’t exist, not without him. There would be days when you would feel joy but you would never be really happy. Something would always be lacking in your life, lacking from you—he had left, it felt like, thousands of little voids in your body and your soul. 

You did not want the award. You never asked for it. You let Seungmin and Jisung convince you that you should take it, if only for the monetary prize that would be split between you and the museum. You didn’t need money. You did not want it.

The person you wanted to share all of this with was gone. 

A comforting hand pressed itself in between your shoulder blades—Jisung gave you a gentle nudge as a reminder that you had to stand up. 

Your legs were weak, trembling yet stiff, but you managed to push yourself up, a little too aware that all the heads were turned toward you, now. As soon as you stood straight, the entire room erupted in enthusiastic applause, the sound of it echoing on the walls, made even louder by the acoustics of the room. You smoothed out your pretty ball gown before closing your hands into fists, your fingernails digging into your palm, as Jisung stood after you, now pressing his hand at the small of your back to invite you to come with him. He took his role of security guard very seriously, but then he had also taken himself very seriously when he had been head of security here, so it shouldn’t surprise you. 

“Let’s go now,” you heard him mutter as he guided you toward the front of the room, regularly looking around as if he was fully expecting doom to fall upon you. He kept you close. The plan was that he would wait by the stage while you gave your speech, but now you found yourself wishing he would climb up there with you just so you wouldn’t be alone. 

Then you remembered the rift between alone and lonely.

He did help you up the steps though, holding your hand until the last second and giving it a squeeze before releasing you. The spotlights were warm and blinded you enough that you could barely see more than a few tables away—you couldn’t even make out the far end of the atrium, for which you were grateful. You could only imagine it would be easier to read your speech.

The Dean welcomed you warmly, introducing you once again into the microphone while an assistant was bringing the trophy. It was smaller than you expected it to be, yet no less beautiful—made of glass, gold and bronze, it depicted a woman, Alden Breay’s wife, sitting at a desk and seemingly writing. It was his wife’s essay on geopolitics that had inspired him the award in the first place, because, at the time, institutions wanted nothing to do with an essay on politics written by a woman. Breay had to claim the essay as his for it to see the light of day. He had sworn that worthy scholars should never go unheard and ignored again.

You were handed your trophy, which was heavier than it seemed and cool to the touch. You looked at it for a few seconds while the applause gained in volume and ardor. A nervous smile painted itself on your lips, and you took a moment to observe the trophy again, on which your name had been engraved, followed by for her immense contribution to the world of history, linguistics, and art, which changed the world.

You put the trophy down, causing the applause to slowly come to a stop, but not before you heard a few familiar voices calling your name—Minji and Mrs. Yoo, but also your mother, your sister, and your uncle, who had traveled for hours just to be here tonight. Tears welled up in your eyes while the importance of the moment was trying to make its way in the deepest corners of your mind. 

From his spot, Jisung handed you the two sheets on which you had printed your speech—it had taken many hours to settle on a final version, and many people had helped. You unfolded it with shaking hands, staring at the words on the first sheet, reading the first sentence. Thank you for being here tonight. It is an honor to stand before you to accept this award.

Not inaccurate or anything, and yet. 

Almost painfully, you lifted your head, really looking at the room. Now that your eyes had adjusted to the brightness of the lights, you could see better, although the faces remained unreadable. There were so many people. You gave lectures sometimes or participated in various speaking engagements, but never in front of a crowd like this. You hadn’t even been this nervous during your PhD presentation.

You cleared your throat, reporting your attention to the sheets you were holding. You suddenly felt the urge to look at something familiar, at something comforting—and since the thing you desired most was not available, you turned around, glancing at the paintings behind you. The gods, the gods that you understood better now. You allowed your gaze to linger on Feliks underneath his cypress tree, and then on Hyathos and his heavy expression, and the rest of them. To you, they had become so real that it was hard to distinguish fiction from truth, but you had no desire to perceive reality anyway.

The room fell quiet—a silence so thick you could almost feel it on your skin as it reached you. You inhaled it when you took a deep breath to ready yourself, but as you opened your mouth to begin reading your speech, something shifted within you. It seemed like those words on this piece of paper—words that you had composed, typed, and printed yourself—were no longer accurate. 

You folded the sheets again, trying very hard to conceal the uncontrollable shaking of your hands. You remembered exactly at that moment the way it used to feel when you and Hyunjin would exchange emails back and forth, writing entire essays about the myths just for each other. How easy it had been with him—this, and everything else. There was so much that you wished you could talk about with him now that you truly understood the myths. 

At the beginning of your essay book, one could read, To you who made me love these stories more than I ever did - each and every one of these words is for you.

Maybe it did not matter. Whether he loved you or not. Because you loved him, and nothing could ever change that about you. And you loved that part of yourself, the part that had fallen in love with this honeyed-skin stranger. You loved the part of yourself that had allowed it to happen, that had gone with him for dinner the very night you met him. So the fact that he didn’t love you as much as you loved him only mattered in the sense that you were alone and would always be, but this love would always have a home in your heart.

“Uh…” You began, recoiling slightly when a slight screech echoed after your voice. You pulled away a little, making sure to speak a few inches farther so the microphone would work well. “I, uh, I spent hours writing this speech, but… But there is more I want to say. And of course, I want to say thank you to those who decided I deserve this award. Never in my life did I imagine something like this would happen to me. So I’m grateful, I really am. And yet—we all know how I came to make the discoveries I made, and so much of it relies on luck that I almost refused the award.”

That declaration was punctuated by murmurs across the room. The more you spoke, the easier you could breathe, it felt like. 

You went on. “But language… Language brings people together. To me, instead of being a barrier, it is a gate, an entrance into another culture. I always felt this way, even before Cipherian was Cipherian, back when we only knew a few words of it. And so I think this is why I’m here tonight—apart from the fact that I was persuaded by people close to me—because I believe in the importance of this discovery, regardless of my actual involvement in it. I want to keep writing about it. I don’t think I will have enough of my life to say everything there is to say about the beauty and the intricacy of it.

“You know how they say that learning a language changes you, alters your brain, the way it works, and the way it processes information. I’ve always known that to be true, but it was never as real as the day I sat down to read every word of the myths we had not yet been able to understand. I read about arra, a concept that doesn’t quite exist in our modern world. The authors of the myths thought that love came from light—among other sources, because it could also come from blood, or the ocean—and that it was visible to the naked eye. Love. Arra is what lights up someone’s eyes when they see their soulmate. But even soulmate isn’t quite that in Cipherian. The exact translation would be intended soul, as in, there is only one soul we are meant to bond with. To these people, arra could be seen on someone. And that changed me.”

At this, the crowd’s whispers grew a tad louder, but the voices were appreciative, impressed, even.

“I remember it. Arra. I remember when it once illuminated my eyes, and now that the light went out, I see the world a few shades darker, but at least I have a word that explains the phenomenon.” You paused then, the shaking of your hands calming down only for you to begin feeling it in your throat. “But that’s not all. Cipherian opens a brand new perspective on the concept of legacy. To them, it’s called syn hsar avīmhyphaei. Essentially, the literal translation of that is continuity. Because, what is legacy for us? Let’s put it simply—it is what we leave behind after we’re gone, which is not a concept that can be applied to the gods, can it? How could immortal beings perceive legacy the same way we do if they never cease to exist? Hsar means circle in Cipherian. Syn hsar avīmhyphaei is the circle that continues. The gods’ legacy is what always was and what always will be.

“We do not know well the authors of the myths and even less those whose stories, written in the even more obscure language of the gods, inspired them. But whoever they were had a sensitive and beautiful vision of life, an understanding of it that our brains can barely comprehend.

“So, I think, this is why I’m here tonight. I think it’s the only way I could make sense of this award—because I want people to read those books. I want people to open their minds to this new perspective on life, which I think changes us for the better. It rewires our brains and our hearts and forces them open in a painless, loving way. 

“Above all… I wish for people to come together. Exchange, debate, discuss, learn. Love. There is nothing that can be compared to it—the act of bonding with someone because of a shared passion, or a common goal. Maybe the authors took themselves for gods—maybe that was what they wanted us to believe, that their legacy did not follow the rules of time, that it had no beginning and no end. And I think they were right. Let the myths and Cipherian be the bridge that brings people together. Together, let’s create a new and more beautiful legacy.” 

The applause that followed your speech deafened you momentarily, but it wasn’t because of its volume per se, it was because, for those few seconds, nothing else existed, not even you. Your soul left your body for a short moment while you were recovering from the immense stress of speaking in front of such a crowd. The return was brutal—the spotlights, it seemed, were warmer than ever, and your dress felt awfully light all of a sudden, as though it did not cover enough skin.

You reached for your trophy and let Jisung escort you back to your table, except everyone on the way there stopped you to congratulate you or shake your hand. Assistants were, however, asking attendees to stand while they cleared some space, as the next part of the gala would be the core party where people could dance and drink, and have dessert after the dinner earlier.

You let Minji take you to a corner to touch up your eye makeup. She did so in silence with a concerned look on her face, a look that you knew very well by now. You hadn’t quite descended from the high of the speech—in fact, you couldn’t remember any of it, not even a sentence—but focusing on Minji’s strange behavior certainly felt like a gentle slap back to reality. 

“What’s going on?” you questioned as she handed you your lipstick, which had a nice, creamy peach color. You had too much money now, more than you wanted, so you bought things that cost a ridiculous price. This lipstick was one of these things. “Did I make a fool of myself?” Your heart sank in your chest.

Minji shook her head vehemently. “No, god, no!” she assured, looking properly shocked. “On the contrary—it was great. You were great. You didn’t even look nervous.” She waited until you had reapplied the lipstick and put it back into her purse. “I’m just really proud of you.” 

You knew there was more to Minji’s sudden mood shift so you didn’t believe her made-up excuse. You did trust her, though—you could only imagine that she was withholding information from you because she thought it was the absolute best thing to do at this moment. Maybe it had something to do with the annoying journalists from the red carpet—because there had been a red carpet even though you insisted it was absolutely not necessary. 

Have you guys been dating for a long time? Asked about you and Jisung, because he was effectively your date for the night—as your personal security, of course. 

I love your dress! Who designed it? The dress was nice and you had found it at a luxury shop. A few haute couture designers had approached you, offering to design you a dress for tonight’s event, but you had politely declined. 

With which of the gods would you most want to go on a date? A question you had assumed was some sort of bait, considering you had been ridiculed during your university years when you admitted having a crush on one of them. The way a girl has a crush on a guy that doesn’t exist, but it hadn’t stopped the others from giggling not just behind your back, but right at your face.

Most of these so-called journalists had requested a camera interview with you, and Seungmin had politely let them know there would be no such thing tonight.

You didn’t need media exposure. Cipherian, the myths, and even your essays were all over the news and the internet.  

“Thank you,” you finally told Minji, making yourself smile. “I owe you and the others a lot.”

“No need to be humble tonight,” she reminded you playfully. “How about I take your trophy upstairs to your office? Seems inconvenient to carry around.” 

It was excessively heavy indeed, but now that Minji was offering, what you really wanted was to go with her. Just to be away from all of these people for five minutes. Or maybe twenty.

Or maybe an hour.

“I’ll go with,” you said. You figured you ought to give her a little excuse just so she wouldn’t suspect anything. “There’s something I wanted to check anyway.”

A hand pressed itself on your back, and you recognized Jisung. “Nope, no work tonight.” He had a faint smile on his face when you turned to him. “Besides, you need to eat.” 

Jisung took his hand in yours, guiding you away from Minji and toward the tables covered in food at the other end of the room. Since the beginning of the night, it was more of the same—everybody who saw you waved at you or gave you a solemn nod, and you did your best to give the appropriate response, but your throat was shut tight and you just felt weird. Like you expected more from tonight, or perhaps less, in a strange way. 

Once you made it to the food, Jisung asked for a few random items on the table, and the server carefully put everything on a plate. “With two forks, please,” Jisung added. “Thank you.” 

You also offered the server a smile, just so people would at least believe you weren’t completely miserable. Jisung once again took your hand, so you could go sit somewhere to eat. You weren’t hungry, but you’d eat a few bites just to shut him up—or rather, just so he wouldn’t worry about you too much.

As you walked away, though, you caught sight of the plaque with the caterer’s name on it. It was a bakery somewhere in town, with a very funny name. Familiar in an excessively bittersweet way.

“BabyBread,” Jisung read on the plaque, stopping in his tracks and following your gaze. He chuckled. “That’s a weird business name. But kinda funny, isn’t it?” When he saw that you weren’t responding, he went on, “Do you know this place? The pastries look delicious.”

Did you know this place? Yes. But you hadn’t been inside the bakery per se. Hyunjin, however, intended to take you there for dessert after your first dinner together. Your first date, for all intents and purposes. Yet you yearned for it, for a memory that didn’t exist. You had never tasted the food made over there because instead, you and Hyunjin slow-danced outside. And it changed your life. And it changed you.

“Thank you sir,” the caterer employee retorted with a smile. “Freshly baked today by yours truly.” 

“Oh, are you the owner of the bakery?” Jisung asked, making small talk with this stranger. “The name really is something.”

“It’s an inside joke, but yeah, it’s me.” The young man offered both of you a wide, heartfelt smile. He turned to you. “Miss, I want to extend my congratulations on your achievement. I can’t wait to buy your books and read them.”

Two things went through your mind at that moment—the first was that you had a box with copies of the books upstairs and that you would have someone give them to him. The second was that Hyunjin, that first night, had said he knew the owner.

“Please speak to my assistant,” you told him. “Tell her I want you to have the books—I have some in my office.” Before he could refuse though, you continued. “Sir, excuse me, but… There is someone I know, a friend, with whom I almost visited your bakery once.” It was a little more than a year ago—time flew a little too fast to your taste. “He said he knows you.”

The man’s eyebrows raised in a pleasantly surprised expression. “Did he?” His smile softened. “Who is that friend we have in common, then? He never told me he knew THE woman who deciphered the gods’ language!” 

Jisung tugged at your arm but you let go of his hand. You closed in the distance between you and the table—the closer to it you got, the more you could smell the sweet scents emanating from it. 

“His name is Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin.” Simply uttering his name out loud like this felt like a free fall, and there was nothing you could anchor yourself to. 

The young man squinted for a couple of seconds and he tilted his head to the side, just slightly. “Yes, Mr. Hyunjin. We became acquainted when I noticed it was him in a clothing ad across the street…” He let out a soft laugh but the more he spoke, the colder your heart felt. “He used to visit my bakery quite often.”

You swore you could hear Jisung’s impatience and unease as he stood a little behind you. But this baker was the closest thing you had to Hyunjin in months, even though he was just someone who knew him. 

“He left the city,” you responded, your voice cracking unexpectedly. You cleared your throat, feeling the familiar prick of tears in your eyes. 

The man frowned. “Are you sure, miss?”

Out of habit, you glanced at Jisung, who had an unreadable expression on his face, but was still dutifully holding the plate of pastries with the two forks on it. For an instant, he seemed puzzled, and then forced himself to look neutral again.

“Y-Yes,” you replied, turning to the baker again. 

He nodded slowly before shrugging. “I could swear I saw him earlier.” He gestured vaguely at the room behind you. “Must have been a trick of the light.”

The free fall came to an abrupt stop when you landed in a pool of ice-cold water, then sank to the bottom of it, only to end your journey in lava. Too thick to move and too hot to breathe. Almost with fear, you turned around, looking at the ball taking place in the atrium. 

“Everyone looks so dapper and fancy tonight,” the man went on with a light tone—maybe he had seen something in your eyes. Maybe, for an instant, you had let your sorrow shine through them. “Probably got confused with someone else.”

Except there was one thing you were sure of, and it was that nobody who had a functional pair of eyes could ever confuse Hyunjin for somebody else. He looked too out of this world for that. 

You froze in place, scanning the faces before you, looking for the one you had been so adamantly yearning for. Could it really be? No, it couldn’t, right? 

Jisung intertwined his arm with yours again before you could sink any deeper. “We can eat later. Let’s dance. I like this song.”

The song had just begun. Jisung had never been one to dance, not like that. It was a slow-paced classical piece, one that you had never heard before, yet it sounded both nostalgic and sad. 

He left the plate on the nearest table and dragged you to the dance floor under the gazes of several people. You wanted to cry. You wanted to leave. You did not want to dance, but when Jisung put his hands on your waist, you let him. He was looking at you gravely, almost like he was sorry that it was with him you were dancing and not somebody else.

You loved him. Hyunjin. It had been foolish to love him but it was not the sort of thing one could control. You knew nothing about him except, you knew his soul. It felt like that. You didn’t know about his family—he avoided the topic always—and you didn’t know about his childhood either, but you knew about his deepest and darkest feelings. And it had been enough to make you fall in love with him. 

And now you saw him in everything.

You saw him in the river coursing through the city. You saw him in the cold nights and warm afternoons. You saw him in the strangeness of the world and in its beauty, too. He had become a part of you and that could never be undone, not even after he left. He had become a phantom limb, but the space he occupied in your heart had remained unchanged. You felt him in everything. You felt him in the smoothest silk of fancy hotel room robes. You felt him in the most poignant music, whether it was piano, harp, or cello. You felt him in the emptiness of your bed. In the emptiness of your cunt, and the one of your heart, too.

Jisung led the dance, holding you firmly as he did his best to sway beautifully among the other dancers. Your gaze lingered at many places as you danced—Jisung, the peculiar expression on his face as he held your waist as though he was running out of time. The skylight, displaying nothing but darkness and raindrops. The walls, displaying some of the most significant art the world had ever come to see. The crowd, some of them dancing to the rhythm of the sorrowful melody playing in the room. Others stood around and watched those who danced while drinking champagne. It made you crave more of it. Champagne, or something stronger.

You saw Hyunjin in everything. You saw the color of his eyes in a bottle of luxury cognac, you saw the color of his skin in a glass of expensive white wine, or in a jar of honey left by a sunny window.

You saw Hyunjin in the language of the gods. In the deep and intricate way the myths illustrated love and yearning. You saw Hyunjin in the madness that was taking over you—the one the gods called ceinōahk, a word whose literal translation was everyday love. The concept would be difficult to explain, but essentially, it describes a love that is as natural as breathing, cooking food, or looking at the sky. Actions done on a daily basis, out of need for survival or just because they make life better and are a part of it. You saw him in other words or in grammar rules. You saw him in the commas and other symbols that adorned the ancient texts, like the one you had named the ōleiandyi, for oleanders were the inspiration behind it. A straight line ending in what looked like a star but was a flower with five petals. It took you a lot of practice to get it right because of the specific shape of oleander petals. 

The oleandi’s line would be traced below a series of words that needed to be insisted on, with the flower placed at the end to further emphasize the importance of the sentence. It felt as though every word he had ever spoken to you ought to be adorned with the symbol.

Your mind was so obsessed, so broken, so consumed by him, that you even saw him here, tonight, standing across the room, his gaze on you. Staring at you as if he had never left. Like he had been gone for two or three lifetimes. 

You had known it before, but you were certain now—you would love him even if it annihilated you molecule by molecule. It was not something you could control and yet it felt like a choice, a conscious decision. You loved Hyunjin, and for as long as your heart would beat and perhaps even after, you would continue to love him. 

Even if it killed you. Even if it kept you alive in the most unfair of worlds, which was to say, a world without him.

Bet she sucked her way through that PhD. Sloppy.

The voice that echoed in Hyunjin’s head was so loud and invasive that it might as well have been his own, only it wasn’t. It was plaguing his thoughts the way his father used to. Like poison. Like a nightmare one cannot wake up from.

Like a smear of blood on the cuff of a white button-down.

It had dried already. The blood. Much like the voice haunting his mind, it did not belong to Hyunjin, and it would not go away, no matter how hard he scrubbed or how much handsoap he poured onto it. He knew he wasn’t supposed to get water on it because it was silk, but he needed it gone. 

Girls like her always act like they’re stuck-up nerds but next thing you know, they’re giving you a handjob in the bathroom at some wine tasting thing and ask you to finish on their tits.

Hyunjin only wanted to get some fresh air. He could never have predicted he would run into these pigs, men he had never even seen before.

He might have taken it as a sign that he shouldn’t have come here at all. Seungmin had given him ample amounts of warnings. “Are you sure about this?” his former manager had asked him when Hyunjin gave him the necklace that he got for you. “What am I supposed to tell her?” 

“Just don’t tell her it’s from me. You can tell her it’s from you, or Han, or a fan. I want her to have it. I’ll be there, but I’m not sure I’ll… talk to her.”  

Nobody else in the world knew how much danger you were in. He had tried to warn Han Jisung. He had begged him to keep you safe, but what could possibly protect you from the wrath of the cruelest gods? 

He would see you on the news sometimes, or on a documentary series. Each discovery, each translation was a new window for mankind to look into another world. He knew you were drawing a lot of attention to yourself with your work. From mortals. From gods.

He knew he was making it worse, too. Hyunjin did his best to avoid you and thoughts of you, but that was like asking an irredeemable heroin addict to stop thinking about his vice. 

They would kill you for it. They would kill you for understanding them, for understanding life the way they did. They would kill you to punish him for falling in love with you.

Hyunjin knew he took a risk by coming here tonight but he told himself he would stay away. That he would watch you being crowned with the award, being recognized by your peers, and that he would leave after. He knew what he had to do. Maybe he had known before, but it had all appeared clearly to him when he learned about your car “accident” a few weeks ago.

His father had called him selfish many times and it had taken all this time for him to realize he had been right all along. Weak, selfish, and self-absorbed. He should not have asked you to dinner that day at the museum. He should have walked out of there as soon as you made his heart jump in his chest. He should have run away when your words made his soul turn from a dull monochrome shade to vibrant with color. 

There had been something in your eyes. And it was still there tonight. It was difficult to explain it with words—perhaps you, who possessed the language he had once known but had been taken away from him, would know how to describe it. It was as though you were begging to be loved. Please love me, your eyes said. But stay away. 

He was running out of time. To love you. To save you. To make things right. But he was selfish, which meant he was here tonight so he could love you one last time.

She probably rode a dick for that award too.

Or took it in the ass.

I know a guy who can get us into the afterparty.

How about we go say hi and maybe get a few drinks in her?

Hyunjin only stepped outside for one minute because the sight of you in that green tulle dress overwhelmed him. It had been so long since he saw you, since he was in the same room as you, breathed the same air as you—he could only take so much of it at once.

There had been a few other guests scattered around the stairs leading to the front entrance. Hyunjin chose a spot he thought would be the most peaceful, but his attention immediately turned to the three nearest men when he understood that you had gone to university with one of them. They were drunk, meaning the conversation was not happening at a quiet volume.

And they were talking about you.

Hyunjin had never been intimate with rage. It was the very reason why his father hated him. Amaranthos had always wished to witness his middle child become more like himself—ruthless, filled with fury, and thirsty for violence and disorder. Hyunjin, up until now, had always been the exact opposite of all these things. He had no wish to get involved in his father’s wars because he had no bias in them. He had no claims in them. To Hyunjin, all of it had always been so futile—why fight over a territory or an ideal? 

It had never been important enough for him. Not those wars, not any other, not anything.

And then he met you.

It was ironic, almost comical. As he felt more and more of his divine essence dissipating, Hyunjin began to display, finally, some of the qualities his father had wanted to see in him for so long. 

He rinsed the soap off for the third time, examining the cuff of his shirt under the ceiling light. The blood was still there. Paler, but there nonetheless. 

Hyunjin could tell that it was not just the free alcohol served at the award ceremony that made these men speak the way they did. It wasn’t even just lust or jealousy, although it was also that. The one who studied with you, he could tell, envied your success and resented you for it at the same time. Because you were better than he would ever be. And maybe he felt some sort of guilt for letting you give him a handjob in some bathroom at a wine tasting event and treating you like a disposable fleshlight.

Like a shooting star.

Everyone gets tired of me, Hyunjin. I’m just a shooting star.

He heard his father in these men. His cruelty. His impudence. Like poison. Like a nightmare. Like a stain of blood on white silk. He would recognize it anywhere—the corruption, the rot, now seeping through these mortals. Their impulses required so little divine intervention, but it was there. Their minds were too simple to fight their primal urges anyway. The kind of men who were just a little too eager to stick their cocks into something warm. Many gods were like this, too. 

When you get tired of me, Hyunjin, will you be gentle with me?

Hyunjin never had to use violence before. He witnessed it many times, he felt it, and he hated it. He was the victim of it often. But it was the first time he tried it with his own hands. His own fists. Grabbing this bastard by the collar of his shirt and slamming him into the pillar behind him, realizing that the hatred he had for this guy extended to himself. 

Smashing his face with his fist. One time, two times. Getting hit in return but not the pain that should have come with it. Maybe because he still had some immortality to him, or because he could not let these assholes defile your name like this and not react. Maybe this was his father taunting him—maybe he never meant to send them after you. Perhaps Amaranthos was just reveling in seeing his son’s facade break.

He was stronger than he thought he was. It only took a few punches until the man fell to his knees, mostly knocked out, but with still enough stamina to call Hyunjin a few nasty names. He was bleeding a lot from his nose and his lip was cut open. One of the other two just fled—the last one stared at the scene, frozen, apparently unable to react. Maybe he was trying to decide if it was worth risking getting his nose broken to show his loyalty to his friend.

Hyunjin did not care. He let go of the guy’s collar. He was bleeding all over his sleeve anyway. He backed up. The guy spat at his feet but ultimately just rested his head and stared at Hyunjin with a complicated emotion in his eyes. Guilt. Hatred. Shame. Ecstasy. It shone underneath the rest the same way obsidian reflected moonlight. It gave Hyunjin chills—he let two security guards take him away just so he wouldn’t have to look at the man anymore. And at the poison in his eyes.

Hyunjin avoided the worst of the commotion by bribing the head of security. The museum had hired an outside firm, so he was not familiar with anyone working at the doors tonight. It cost him all the cash he had in his wallet—and it was a lot—but he didn’t care. 

When you get tired of me, Hyunjin, will you be gentle with me?

He could not wash the blood off his shirt. 

Giving up, Hyunjin used a paper towel to dry himself as best he could, daring a glance towards the mirror in front of him. He barely recognized the reflection staring back. A man in a velvet tuxedo. A man stuck between two worlds, a prisoner of his own longing. With someone else’s blood on his sleeve and shadows in his eyes. It wasn’t Hyathos that he was seeing. 

It was Hyunjin—in his most broken, human form. 

He felt so small then, alone in this bathroom. Like the weight of the entire world was crushing him. Only, he had never been much more than that. Whatever this was. This was the most he’d ever be—a man who loved you and who had once been loved by you, too.

He took a deep breath, exhaling in a long sigh that left a smudge of condensation on the mirror, blurring his face. The air had become too heavy in here, too thick, much like the silence stuffing the room. He couldn’t hide in here forever anyway, could he? He knew that security rounds were done every ten minutes or so, which meant he had very little time to get out.

The hallway was a little less quiet—the party permeated through the floor here, as though it filtered between the old wooden planks. He wasn’t technically allowed here because it was the administrative wing on the second floor. Hyunjin just did not think it would have been a good idea to wash blood off his hands and shirt in the public bathroom downstairs, so he snuck up here. He knew this hallway because it’s where you brought him that first night. After dinner and slow-dancing in the park. After showing him the hidden painting. 

He passed the door to your office, remembering how it felt to hold you and kiss you there. The floor creaked beneath him, but the sound of you in his mind, moaning so prettily in his ear, was louder. Louder than the other voices, too, the cruel ones. 

Nothing mattered as much as you did.

And yet Hyunjin slowed down when he walked past the large window just before the staircase. It was so wide that it spanned nearly the entire wall. When he stood at the largest frame in its center, it was all he could see. 

And, now, the night took up all of the space within it. 

This window should have a similar view to the one in your office, meaning he should be able to see the park and the tree under which you sometimes sat. Only, it seemed like that part of the neighborhood had a power outage. Everything was dark and still. It was a strange sensation—Hyunjin knew it was there. The street below, the park across, the tree, the other museum wings. But the night had swallowed all of it.

His heart tightened in his chest—he had to hold onto the nearest window frame for a few seconds, his head spinning. He almost lost his balance. Almost. 

He remembered his orchard. 

He had built it, all of it, from nothing. Selecting only the best seeds and planting them with care. The trees grew in the fertile soil between the ocean and a pine grove, and so the fruit carried the taste of the land it grew on. Iodine. Timber. Sunlight. His father tried to convince him to tear down the pine grove so he could plant more trees and harvest more fruit. Hyunjin, mainly, grew peaches, but also apples and plums. He even had a few cherry trees, whose pretty blooms, in the spring, always moved him. He liked the trees he had, but he did not need more. He was content with his orchard. Satisfied. The fruit was juicy and sweet and fragrant. 

His father always wanted more. He always wanted him to want more. 

Hyunjin used to spend a lot of time there, alone, walking barefoot in the earth or the high grass, tending to his trees. Sometimes, he would venture into the pine grove. And sometimes—especially towards the end, before his father sent him here—he would go beyond the pine grove.

The pine trees were tall and ancient, older than time itself. They swayed gently in the wind, so he took his time, admiring the view on his way, walking the narrow path leading to the other side, stopping only when he reached it. He could not have gone any further anyway because that was also where the land stopped.

It did so dramatically—with a high, steep cliff, overlooking the ocean below. The perfect diving spot.

Hyathos was a demigod. He could not die, as in, death always evaded him or he always evaded death. But he would dive into the restless waters, over and over, as though colossal waves weren’t crashing onto the cliffside. As forceful as it was mesmerizing, the ocean broke onto the sharp rocks. The foam darkened their ochre-colored surface, drying only when the sun would kiss them come sunrise.

Hyathos was a demigod. Patron of desire, of disasters, and fruit trees. He had been loved by light itself, once, but not enough to be its sole craving. It was during one of his dives that he understood that being the god of desire did not mean he was meant to be desired more than anybody else—god or mortal alike. It meant he was more intimate with desire. It meant he felt it deeper and stronger and harder. 

Hyathos could not die. But sometimes, as his immortal body hit the water, he hoped he would. He had been interested in mortals before, but it was around this time that he became fascinated by them, visiting witches and warlocks to inquire about the mortal world and the people who inhabited it. What they did. What kind of things they liked. 

Their purpose.

Hyunjin’s fingers found the latch of the window in front of him. He could not take his eyes off the darkness below. Truth be told, he did not miss his life as a god, nor did he miss the dominion over which his father ruled, as it never truly felt like home. However, he did miss his orchard a little. 

And this window reminded him an awful lot of staring down at the sea from the top of the cliff on a moonless night.

Hyunjin tested the latch—his fingers acted before his mind could think. He wondered what would happen if he jumped. If it would feel the way it used to feel when he dove into the ocean. He wondered if he would die. Could he die, yet? Was Minhas already watching him?

It made no difference. Whether he was watching or not. The latch did not move when Hyunjin tried it. Of course not—it was sealed. 

He knew temptation invaded his mind out of fear. Or rather, grief. 

He could, maybe, force this safety latch open.

Or he could go back downstairs and watch you in your beautiful dress. He could face you one last time. And if you let him, maybe, hold you again. Just tonight. 

Hyunjin. I’m just a shooting star.

This whole time, you had it all wrong. It was he who was the shooting star, and you were the night sky, vast and deep and complex and beautiful. And he would endure all the anguish in all the universes if it meant he could love you in just one of them, just for a little while. 

Hyunjin adjusted his bowtie, using his reflection in the window in front of him before making his way downstairs again, searching for you. Always you. 

He saw it in your eyes when your gaze met his. Arra. Maybe it had been there since the beginning. He thought so.

Hyunjin felt it in his chest when your gaze met his. Belonging. 

It had been there since the beginning.

Upon seeing Hyunjin, your body came to a halt, Jisung crashing into you. You almost toppled over but caught your balance at the last second, which could be classified as a miracle considering how you didn’t even feel your body. Or perhaps you felt it too much, kind of in the same way severe burns affect someone. As in, those burns go through the skin and damage the nerve endings, cutting all sensation. Protecting one from the pain. 

It was what you were thinking of as you stood there, staring at the other side of the large room. That something within you was trying to shield you from whatever consequences would arise following this phenomenon. 

Because either he wasn’t actually here, or this was somehow a hallucination. You could believe that—you could see how longing for him too much had just caused your brain to produce this illusion, making him appear out of the blue, perhaps as an attempt to soothe this visceral need that you felt. Your mind had produced an image of him. A wraith. Not real, no matter how tangible he looked.

Or he was actually here. Standing there, motionless, as handsome as ever, wearing a black velvet tux, his complex eyes riveted on you. But he had been there before, and then he had left without a word. So perhaps his coming back meant nothing. 

Maybe he was here and he would just leave again.

It wasn’t burn injuries you thought about when he moved—Hyunjin, or the mirage of him, stood straight, walking slowly and steadily towards you. Something else came to your mind—it was as though each one of his steps was a detonation in your chest, instead this time there was no destruction. It was as though he was holding your heart in his hand and every inch of distance he closed between you was another not-so-gentle squeeze on it, forcing you back to life, breathing air into your lungs, allowing blood to course through your veins again. He was here. No illusion could have such an effect on you—only the real Hyunjin could find a way to your soul, bypassing any and all defenses on his way. He was the only thing you would ever let anywhere near your heart, even if it killed you.

He was standing right in front of you before you knew it, bringing with him his elaborate scent, enveloping you in it. Woody petrichor, with amber and floral undertones that made him smell like the exact moment when the sun pierced through stormy clouds. 

It really was him. His not-brown eyes, something darker, something brighter. Heavy with a burden that could not be expressed with words. His pomegranate lips, his honey skin, his delicate yet violently beautiful traits, framed by his silky dark hair. Its shade of black was so rich it was reminiscent of a night sky that had northern lights dancing in it. A black with furtive undertones—damp, rich soil. Solar eclipses. Burnt wood. The warmth that you remembered radiated from him, deep, soft, peach-colored, and just as sweet. 

All you could do was stare at him, taking in the sight of him, the elegance with which he held himself, the grace he exuded just by standing there. 

Your gaze returned to his eyes, studying them. There was something in them that you hadn’t seen before. Not that it hadn’t been there—because it had been. You just had not known to look for it because you hadn’t yet known it existed.

Arra. The force lighting somebody’s eyes as they gazed upon their soulmate—or rather, their intended soul.

His bottom lip quivered, yet Hyunjin parted his mouth open, his eyes dancing all over you. “Darling,” he breathed, and his voice hit you like a storm. He said it again. “Darling…” 

Relief came first, then fondness, followed by familiarity. You had thought about it a lot in your mind, the moment you would see Hyunjin again. Not because you assumed it would happen, but because you couldn’t help it. Whatever indifference had inhabited you in the first months after his disappearance had evaded you long ago, and the truth was that you could hardly fall asleep at night without imagining a scenario in which you saw him again. Sometimes, it was grandiose—he broke into a radio station while you were giving an interview, or he himself went on TV to give one, talking about how much he missed you. Other times, you just ran into him on a street somewhere. 

When you questioned him about it, Jisung told you that Hyunjin needed to leave or else you would be in danger. He did not know too much about it, but it had something to do with Cipherian, the myths and the translations. You couldn’t wrap your mind around any of it and Seungmin was no help. Despite having been Hyunjin’s agent for years, he also had no idea of his involvement in any illegal activities, and certainly not anything related to linguistics. Therefore, you did not think it was true. 

It’s not like there’s a price on my head, you pointed out that day. To Jisung, who had been hired by Hyunjin to be your personal bodyguard. Because, well, there was some kind of price on your head. 

Maybe it made you hate him a little less. Hyunjin. Maybe you resented him less, too. Whatever involvement he had in it—a foolish part of you wanted to believe he truly did it for your safety. For your own good. That he left reluctantly. That Jisung didn’t lie when he said Hyunjin loved you.

So when you slipped under your covers at night—whether it was in your bed or in an unfamiliar hotel room—you thought about him. Hyunjin. And about the moment you might see him again in a place that wasn’t an ad in a magazine or a billboard on the side of a road, whether his body was used to advertise perfume or a car or expensive jewelry. You thought about the true him, in the flesh, about his honey skin, the unnatural warmth that always emanated from him, the silky sensation of him underneath your fingertips or under your tongue.

Maybe it made sense that it would be here. In this museum, under the very skylight where you met him first, surrounded by the same walls, and even, for the most part, the same people. You wondered if you were the same woman you had been back then, all those months ago. It felt like you weren’t. Like he had changed you somehow.

You let relief wash over you for all the seconds it required—it was truly Hyunjin standing there, and he seemed healthy. He seemed fine, so nothing bad must have happened to him. He also didn’t look like he had developed some kind of hatred for you over time, which, selfishly, comforted some part of you. You became aware that something else was lurking underneath the relief—it was sharp, unkind. Ugly. 

For a second or perhaps two, you thought the world came to a stop but it turned out it was quite the opposite. Around you, it kept going. The world kept spinning and so did the dancers, intertwined, beautiful, relishing the moment, unaware of the storm going on in your chest. It was you who turned motionless. It was your heart that turned stagnant and inanimate. Maybe it wanted nothing to do with what was coming. 

But you couldn’t help it. 

The tears burned your eyes. They were hot. Scalding. As though it was acid rolling down your cheeks. You took a step back, feeling Jisung somewhere there but ignoring him. The world kept spinning. The whole time, the world had kept going, and you had been forced to follow along. You had been obligated to get up in the morning and to continue existing without Hyunjin. And he hadn’t even said goodbye. 

When you spoke, your voice came out all wrong. Foreign. As though it was acid spilling out of your lips, too. “You lied to me.” Your throat felt so tight it hurt. “You said you’d be back soon.” 

The memory was fuzzy, but it was undeniably there. You were sitting at your computer, writing compulsively, your naked body wrapped in a blanket, your pussy still sore from your earlier passionate lovemaking with Hyunjin. The scent of his cum lingered on you, musky and sweet. Remembering it was more painful than remembering all the months during which you were without him. Or all the other times you had been abandoned. All the other times you had been made ephemeral. 

Will you be back soon? you had asked him.

Soon, he had said. And it had been a lie.

“You lied to me,” you repeated, louder, your voice turning into a growl and a sob all at once. Your legs felt weak and your arms weaker, but you reached for him, Hyunjin, because you wanted to hurt him, maybe. Hit him in his perfect face. 

He caught your fist before it struck him, staring at you with wounds instead of eyes. He parted his lips, searching for words, but they never came. Still, he held your hand in his, inches away from his cheek, daring to squeeze it tenderly every few seconds.

“I bet you’ll say it was to spare me,” you added before Hyunjin could say anything. “I bet you’ll say it was so you wouldn’t hurt me. Well, guess what? It didn’t work!”

You were vaguely aware of the heads turning in your direction, but you were mostly aware of Hyunjin and of the way your hand felt when it was being held by his. Because he was not letting go, even if you tried to pull away. He looked a little like you had stabbed him in the chest. For an instant, it felt like you were looking into a mirror. For once, your pain had found its match. 

“I know,” he murmured, a scowl appearing between his eyebrows. He made no attempt to apologize. He did not ask for your forgiveness. 

He did not let go of your hand.

Instead, he pulled you closer. You tried to find something to say. You searched for strength within you—not to hit him, not really, but to scream at him. It was what you wanted to do. The entire time, since that day you finally allowed yourself to miss him, it had been what you had wanted to do. Scream at the top of your lungs. As though you needed an exorcism. People had hurt you before Hyunjin. Objectively, people had hurt you in worse ways. People had cheated on you. People had taken advantage of you. They sometimes said cruel things behind your back. 

And it had affected you. All those times. Deeply. Or so you thought. 

It all seemed so meaningless now. As you were facing Hyunjin again after all this time, you came to realize what love was. You had known for a while that you loved him and that it was true love. The truest, most forthright kind of love you had ever felt, and that you would ever feel, too. But you hadn’t really thought that you’d see him again. 

But you hadn’t really thought that he loved you the same way you loved him.

He did not let go of your hand. He was just inches away now, his face so close that you could only see the details of him—the moles on his honey skin, the fine lines adorning his pillowy lips, their pomegranate shade. The strand of silky hair that fell over his dark eyes. His purposeful and deliberate and troubled gaze. 

His breath smelled like the wine they served. The sleeve of his shirt was slightly damp. Hyunjin did not let go of you. 

You only became aware of the inert quality of your heart and soul as it dissipated the very moment Hyunjin kissed you.

He pressed his lips onto yours, his mouth warm and trembling, unsure yet unequivocal. It might as well have been your first kiss with the way it made you come alive. It might as well have been the thousandth time he kissed you with how familiar it felt—known but not mundane. Lips that were more than just a memory. Lips that you had longed for, that you had craved for, but you had not dared hope for. Because the absence of them had left you suffocating—and how could one even hope without air in their lungs?

Hyunjin deepened the kiss, pulling you closer, and you let him, moaning faintly into his mouth. He breathed into yours. And you in his. Kissing him was easy and soft and mighty. His lips reminded you of a late summer peach. You couldn’t let go of him, and he did not let go of you, still, his tongue finding yours, tasting you, feeling you. 

You thought of the first time he kissed you. 

And the last time.

And everything in between. The agony of it.

He kissed you again, tightening his embrace. You had never experienced such ecstasy. It was him. It was really him. And you felt his love on his lips. You saw it in his eyes. His kiss felt like a plea. It felt as though there were only the two of you on earth.

At least until somebody bumped into you as they danced with their partner. 

You allowed the kiss to break, but Hyunjin caressed your lips with his thumbs, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Darling,” he murmured, and you heard him over the music and the crowd. You would have heard him over thunder, over an avalanche, over anything. “Let’s get out of here, yes?”

Of course. You would follow him everywhere if he asked you. Your hand was still in his. You glanced at Jisung, who seemed reluctant to let you go, and offered him a reassuring smile. The smile came easily to your lips—it wasn’t rehearsed or forced. You realized that you meant it. 

You felt the cold air before even stepping out—someone took their time closing the door behind them, and you remembered you had left your jacket in your office upstairs. Somehow, this did not bother you.

It was cold enough that the rain had turned to snow.

Thick snowflakes fell lazily from the sky, quieting the city, melting in places, and covering the ground in white patches in others. 

Hyunjin held your hand still, but with the other one, you caught a snowflake on your palm. It dissolved almost instantly, but it remained long enough for you to see its intricate lines, unique yet familiar. 

It was too early in the year for snow. The fact that it snowed was strange, but it did not bother you, nor did the cold. Hyunjin was staring up at the sky with eyes full of tears, as though it meant something to him. 

One day, you told yourself, you would ask him. 

If he stayed, that is. But at least now you were choosing to follow him and to let him unmake you. His love, your love—it was worth paying whatever price.

to be continued...

Author's note: 🧍‍♀️ well. I never expected I'd be here, posting this, today. But here I am... and you know I want to thank you all, my readers who have stayed loyal & patient despite my VERY long hiatus. So, thank you. It's just nice to come back home and not find the house completely empty, you know?

But I cannot not thank my dear @cb97percent, without whom I would have given up a long time ago. She believed in me while I didn't believe in anything. She still does. But much like Chris caught Hyunjin just in time on that infamous day at the studio, she doesn't seem to want to give up on me, so I really wanted to say a special thank you.

I am so, so privileged to be here, and to have my readers and friends and this space. I just want to say, I'm so grateful. To everyone who made it possible: please know you've contributed to something deeply meaningful for me.

permanent taglist: **this is my taglist as it were the last time I posted something which is a long long time ago. I'm so sorry to have tagged you in something you don't care about if I have. If you want me to remove you, please DM me and I'll just do it. If you want to be added to the taglist, please also let me know**

@abiaswreck ; @accalus ; @aimeexx ; @alisonyus ; @anylady-fics ;

@b4kuho3 ; @binstitsweat ; @byeobie ; @cb97percent ; @chans1aptop ;

@chartrucewhore ; @compersian ; @cybergracie ; @flowersun ; @hanjingin ;

@hyuneyeon ; @hyunfruits ; @hyvneluv ; @hyunnie4ever ; @hyunjinswifeee ;

@hyuwunjinie ; @hynjinnnnlvr ; @hyyuniverse ; @iam2out ; @imseungminsgf ;

@karlachsleftbicep ; @leedunno ; @lotus-dly ; @love-stays ; @m00n-dream ;

@miraworldsstuff ; @mmoonriseflowerr ; @naoristerling ; @neosracha ; @rubyshoedpixie ;

@palindrome969 ; @selinia86 ; @shywolfcherryblossom ; @skzfelixlove ;  @straydhampir ;

@suhomylife ; @sunlitwilderness ; @ven-fic-recs ; @yourmercibeaucoupsblog

[straywrds]

sunlight/shooting star | a lullaby on his throat chapter one

hyunjin x reader (afab), hyunjin x felix (as past lovers) ; word count 24.9k ; genre: mythology au, romance, smut | warnings: angst ; hurt/comfort ; mutual pining ; view all compiled warnings here. This work is for adult audiences only.

A blessing can sometimes come disguised as a curse and a curse as a blessing. This, the young demigod knew all too well. 

“Ungrateful, thankless. Selfish, even for a demigod.” 

Nothing he had not heard before. These words—and many others—were just like a familiar lullaby sung to him since the beginning of time. He was quite accustomed to them. He had learned to hear them and let them go. He used to be angry, oh, he used to be enraged. 

They don’t understand me, he thought. Sometimes, he would even voice his stance—you don’t understand me, he said, then. You’re not trying to understand, you’re just trying to prove a point that doesn’t have any veracity to it.

They said he was detached, disdainful, aloof. Withdrawn. But that wasn’t quite true. He had no stake in their wars, their quarrels, their games. He did not cause harm nor did he wish to, and that was apparently what perplexed and disturbed the others.

If you do not pick a side, what is your purpose? They would tell him. If you are not fighting with us as an ally, you are irrelevant. If you are not our enemy either since we do not get the satisfaction of ripping your heart out. And you are irrelevant this way, as well.

But he was his father’s son and he must face the consequences of his inadequacy. He knew they would catch up to him, these consequences. Perhaps this was the cause of it all. Perhaps, by expecting things to turn sour, he had made them worse. 

He always made everything worse. 

Today, the young demigod was on his knees before his parents, receiving once again his father’s reprimands. Nothing he had not heard before, but his father was especially outraged today. He watched quietly as wine spilled from his father’s cup, staining the linen covering his body and dampening the golden throne on which his father sat. He was simply waiting for it to be over. It was never a joyful occasion when his father summoned him.

“If you do not want to act like a demigod, then you are not worthy of being one, boy.” 

Boy—this was what they called him behind his back. They called him many things. Egotistical. Insensitive. 

But it was a whole other thing when it came from his father—his father usually avoided him so as not to waste his precious time on his disappointment of a son. In his father’s mouth, the words he heard so often held a new, unwelcome weight. They came to his ears like poisoned blades. 

King—this was what they called his father to his face. They called him many things. Unforgiving. Bloodthirsty. 

He was proud, his father. A king amongst gods, the ideal god, a god with too many ideals. A god who did not know how to quit. A god who did not know contentment and who did not wish to ever become acquainted with it.

“Won’t you let him make an appeal, love?” His mother asked. She was soft-spoken. She was soft in many ways and in many ways the young demigod was just like her. 

Queen—this was what they called his mother to her face and behind her back, too. Graceful. Strong-minded. In many ways, he was just like her. 

His father made her his Queen and in return, she gave him sons and a daughter blessed with beauty and insight. But was she happy? 

What would happiness look like on a demigoddess forced into a marriage with the god of violence, battles and cunning? 

“He’s had his chance to prove himself. Countless times he disappointed me instead.” 

He knew what this was about—he knew this was about Feliks. Feliks happened to be the son of his father’s enemy. But it had been so long. Sometimes he could barely remember the look on Feliks’ face after a kiss, or how it felt when he held his hand. So why hold so much grudge? Surely his father had more important things to do than to resent his eldest son over the time he spent with his first love? 

His mother knew better than to argue with the god of battles, the king of bloodshed, so she became quiet.

“I have no use for you here,” his father declared. This didn’t come as a surprise to the young demigod—he had been expecting such an outcome for a while, now. “You belong with mortals, who are just as ungrateful and selfish as you are, boy.” 

The young demigod knew quite a lot about mortals—more than other gods did anyway. After Feliks, he had been in dire need of distraction and mortals had provided just that for him. To observe them, to try and understand them had soothed him a little. But to truly decipher them, from afar, had proven itself harder than the young demigod had imagined. After all this time, he had not yet been able to capture their essence.

“Mortals think they have no use for us,” his father went on. “Since you love them so much despite that, boy, you shall stay with them until you’ve decided to be more than… this. If you even can.”

More than this. More than what?

How can one be more than themselves?

A blessing can sometimes come disguised as a curse and a curse as a blessing. This, the young demigod knew all too well. 

When his father sent him away, he thought he was condemning him to desolation, to dissatisfaction. He thought this punishment would dishearten his only remaining son, for the god of violence, indulgence and bloodshed couldn’t imagine living without the full range of his power. Couldn’t fathom having his abilities diminished or being less than his absolute best.

However, the young demigod had no problem with the new state of his divine condition. More blessing than a curse, for certain. 

Heavy is the head that wears the crown. He heard that somewhere, or maybe he read it in a book—he had been reading a lot of books. Drawing, too. It takes time to adjust to a mortal world, it seemed, and the young demigod spent the first years of his sentence acclimating to his temporary home. It might be what bothered him the most from this whole endeavor—that he spent years secluded in a forest, trading goods and food with the locals, befriending the fishermen, the elders, and the baker, learning how to be more like them, unlearning how to be a god. All of this, only to be brought back by his father when he would deem him worthy. Or whatever that meant, anyway.

Well, the young demigod’s shoulders had never felt lighter. 

It was time to crawl out from seclusion, to mingle. To experience what it was like to exist without the burden of inadequacy. 

The village he had lived close by all this time did not have a lot going on. It was small. The fishermen would bring him books from their trips, paper, and markers, too. They liked his sketches enough that it became possible to trade them in exchange for a portrait or a special request. Except there was very little fun in doing something by obligation only.

But he was here now. He made it here, in this city, and today the sky was gray but the young demigod didn’t mind the absence of sunshine—once, light itself had kissed him and it haunted his soul ever since. It lived within him.

The young demigod walked at a steady pace, his long legs allowing him to pass effortlessly most pedestrians. He looked around in wonder, taking pleasure in the sound it made when his shoes hit the sidewalk or in listening to the conversations around him. This woman over there had just gotten a new promotion at work, apparently, but she wasn’t too happy about it. That man on the bench was on the phone, telling somebody all about his plans for his daughter’s birthday. Several people even had short discussions with their pet dogs. 

How could his father ever think he would feel misplaced here? 

The young demigod spotted a rather welcoming shop where they apparently served food, and since the food offered to him on the train had been quite disappointing, he decided to get in to grab a bite.

He was only one step in when the smell of the shop’s interior hit him—the demigod stopped in his tracks, stunned, inhaling deeply to invite more of this scent into his nose. He had never smelled anything quite like this before. At the village, the baker made bread and that was about it. On holidays, he made bread, drizzled it with honey, and covered it with pistachios, which was a treat, yes, but quite unoriginal. 

There were a few other clients around the small shop and the demigod went to wait in line behind a man giving his order at the counter. He didn’t have enough of his two eyes to take it all in, nor did he have enough of his two nostrils to smell this place. 

The man in front of him stepped away, and an employee of the shop offered him a wide, welcoming smile. 

“Hello, sir,” she said, her eyes fixated on him, making him wonder if something was wrong with the outfit put together. “What can I get you today?” 

The young demigod looked at the large blackboard behind the woman, giving the menu a quick read. Most of the items listed on it he simply did not know. He had heard a lot about some but had no idea what they were, or how to order them.

“I’ll have what he’s having, please,” he replied, waving towards the man who was waiting for his order. “If that’s possible?”

“Of course.” The woman’s brow furrowed slightly, but her smile didn’t change. She had interesting eyes. “Iced americano it is, then. Anything else?” 

“No, thank you.” He shook his head, still processing the enticing smell of the place. Sweet, bitter… Something that reminded him of the chocolate one of the fishermen brought him once. 

“Can I get your name then, sir?” 

“My name?” He stopped fumbling for money in the pockets of his oversized jacket and turned to her. “My name?” 

“To write on your cup,” she explained, waving at him the empty cup in which she was supposed to pour his iced americano—whatever that was. “Just your first name, you know?” 

He froze for a second, gazing at the plastic cup in that woman’s hand. 

“Hyunjin.” This word was now his name despite how foreign it sounded on his tongue. This was not the name that once spilled out of Feliks’ mouth when he came undone under him—but that was so long ago that it might have been just a dream. It certainly felt like one. 

He said it again, this name that wasn’t quite his yet, just to get used to the sound of it. To carve it in his bones, to claim it. “My name is Hyunjin.” 

A few moments later, the young demigod was handed the plastic cup with his name on it and his iced americano poured inside of it, and he returned outside to taste it. One sip and he was sold. One sip and he was entranced. 

This was one of the many things he liked about this place—how just about anything was a blessing or at least had the potential to become one, as long as you let it. The sidewalk under his feet, the gray sky. And coffee too, apparently. He had read a lot about coffee but he had never tasted it—he was not disappointed. 

Hyunjin decided he liked coffee a lot. 

Years after his first coffee, Hyunjin still found joy and pleasure in this beverage daily. 

He was in another city, these days. Older, this one. It resonated with him better, almost as if his bones were at home here more than in the other places he had visited. It was a strange feeling—belonging. One he had not felt in a long, long time.

Hyunjin woke up basking in the sunlight. He kept his eyes closed, content with the warmth that caressed his bare skin, burying his face deeper in the soft pillow his head rested upon. It was the end of summer and he knew this meant the sun would not warm up his bed for much longer, and his mornings would be cool. His mornings would no longer remind him of Feliks, of his body entangled with his, his touches, his voice, him—the wildfire that a simple kiss used to ignite. The flames that used to lick them, engulf them both and carry them away from their fate, even just for a few hours.

Because they had been doomed from the start. This, Hyunjin had known the moment he had caught sight of Feliks. It had not stopped him from falling in love. In love, in lust, in adoration—there was no assortment of words that could express wholly and truthfully what it had been, what Hyunjin felt, still—today, here— as the sun embraced his naked body, as sunlight left tender kisses on his hardening cock. 

Soulmate—this is what mortals called it. To Hyunjin, it had just been Feliks. 

The son of his father’s enemy, the boy with hair like gold and constellations across his face. 

His first love, the god of light, the god of compassion, the god of lust. A deep and deeply beautiful voice whispering sins into his ears, his small hands all over his body. Stolen moments and always in hiding, hurried lovemaking, messy and sloppy and real. One could not just get over it. One could not just get over how it felt when Light itself spilled his seed in their mouth, or how Light felt around their cock. Warm, snug. 

Belonging.

But today, it was just his own spit-coated hand wrapped around his length, made alive in the first place by the sunlight’s tender touches and the distant memories of his soulmate. Distant, yes, and yet. Pleasure throbbed within him already, making his breathing rapid and shallow. Hyunjin let out a long, warm exhale into the crook of his arm, bucking his hips to meet with the long, meticulous strokes around his cock, fucking his own palm gently. 

Feliks had always been too good for him. This, too, Hyunjin had known the moment he had caught sight of him. The god of light himself was ethereal, never quite there and yet everywhere at once. There was nothing he couldn’t do but he bothered with very few things. But who could blame him? 

Why would light itself bother with anything? 

It felt like true consecration whenever Feliks called upon him in the secret language of light. Come to me, he would say. My love, I need you. So Hyunjin would answer his call, bringing with him peaches wrapped in white linen. They would eat the peaches together under the shade of their favorite tree—a large, fragrant cypress—and talk, talk, talk. Then they would lie in the soft grass, hands and mouths sticky and sweet from the fruit, and talk some more. I dreamed about you, Feliks would tell him sometimes, his golden head resting on his chest, and Hyunjin would run his peach-coated fingers in Feliks’ soft hair. Let me show you, my love. Let me show you my dream. Feliks had a beautiful mouth, full lips, and they looked so good on Hyunjin. The constellations on Feliks’ face looked even prettier when covered in Hyunjin’s off-white, shimmering cum. 

That was so long ago, though, that it might as well have been a dream. Half-forgotten, half-misremembered, little pieces of it twirling in Hyunjin’s mind, brought back whenever the sun kissed him—but he no longer spoke the secret language of light. 

Hyunjin squeezed himself a little harder, chasing the memory of Light’s full lips locked around him, his thumb mimicking the circling of Feliks’ tongue around his tip. Eyelids still shut closed, he thrusted into his own hand harder, and harder, pretending the mattress beneath him was not a mattress but his lover with the hair of gold, pretending that the ceiling above him was not a ceiling but a beautiful and fragrant cypress tree. 

Balls aching, cock twitching, Hyunjin bit his lip when the pressure in his gut worsened, forcing his eyes open. He squirmed on his bed, facing the large window in his bedroom, so he saw them so clearly it might have been an epiphany—the rays of light, their deep yellow, the small particles of dust dancing in them, painting the walls with their beauty. To Hyunjin, they smelled like peaches. To Hyunjin, they tasted like Feliks. 

His cock pulsed in his palm and Hyunjin rolled on his back, filling his bedroom with choked moans and whimpers, the wet sound of his hand sloppily rubbing him deafening. Hyunjin looked down as his release was finally granted to him, his shoulders sinking into his mattress, his back arching. He came into his own hand and over his stomach, thick strings of shimmering off-white made prettier under the sunlight. He stared, panting, at his own work around his flushed cock. He pulsed one last time, releasing just a few drops of cum, so he thumbed them away and rubbed the last of his high, warm from his orgasm and the sun, from half-forgotten memories. 

Hyunjin stayed like this for a while, the cum drying on his hand reminding him of his peach-coated fingers. But when he ran it in his silky black hair it did not feel the same as running them through Feliks’ golden locks. 

It did not feel the same. 

Hyunjin washed off his shame in a hot shower and watched coffee drip into a mug, a green towel wrapped around his hips, today’s news waiting for him on his tablet. 

The first sip of coffee managed to warm up Hyunjin on the inside, so he stayed near the counter to drink just a little more, hoping it would spread to his soul. Today, the sky was blue, with a few clouds slowly rolling across it. Hyunjin heard his phone’s text notification—but the device had stayed in his bedroom, so, out of habit, he looked down at his tablet where the text had also been sent. It was Seungmin informing him that he had found a new gig for him. Call me ASAP, his manager added in a second text message. 

Hyunjin sighed, swiping the text away to return to the news. He did not need money at the moment, as his last few contracts had been—and still were—particularly lucrative. But if he kept thinking this way, he knew he would run out of money eventually. 

Ah, capitalism—the mortal world’s most awful hindrance and its biggest motivator, all at once. 

Besides, he would get bored if he didn’t take a few jobs here and there. Even him, even in this place where he could learn in infinite amounts—the work provided some sort of structure that Hyunjin never had before in his past life. 

By the time he actually scrolled through the news, Hyunjin had finished his coffee. He wondered if maybe he ought to call his manager now or later—and if he ought to make more coffee or head outside at a café to relax with a book, surrounded by strangers. 

An ad in the corner of the screen caught Hyunjin’s attention. “COME MEET THE DEITIES,” it said in big letters, showing a familiar painting below. “Starting September 4th at the National Museum of Art.” 

A few clicks later, Hyunjin was staring at a painting he had seen in books before, or on TV—Agatheia and her three children, 1487-88. He put his empty coffee mug on the wooden table next to the couch, unable to look away from the screen. 

At least he knew exactly what he was going to do today. 

The blinding sun managed to finish waking you up after the wailing of an ambulance pulled you away from your dreams. You stirred in your bed, whining in discontentment at the whole concept of being awake, wrapping yourself tightly in your covers. The weather had been cooling steadily and you had yet to get used to it. 

The ambulance quickly drove away, its loud sirens fading with it—and your dream fading, too. You tried to remember the details of it but they eluded you. Shit. It had been a nice dream, too, and you didn’t get many of those.

Your eyelids fluttered at the sudden invasion of light, the sun hurting your eyes—you knew that last night’s multiple drinks were also to blame for this—so you buried your head under your pillow, allowing yourself a few minutes to acclimate to being awake and alive as an adult woman in this day and age. 

You were sprawled all over the mattress, your covers half on the ground—whatever that dream had been about, it must have been intense. Your forgotten dreams were without a doubt the most intense—and only—action going on in your bed, these days. 

Loneliness is an intrinsically odd feeling. It’s not quite that, actually—a feeling, an emotion. A state would describe it well, but to call it a condition would be even more accurate. And this condition, you had it. It had unfortunately been afflicting you for a while. You didn’t seem to know how to keep people from growing tired of you. Trying a change in your wardrobe, trying new hobbies, and indulging others’ kinks did not work. Not for you, at least. 

Maybe this was all just how you were meant to be loved. Temporarily. Showing your true colors and letting people see your soul. Allowing people to feel it with their lips, kissing hope out of you. Allowing people to pretend you were easy to love. Allowing them to find salvation in you, satiety, so that they could find themselves within you. In return, they showed you their true colors, making you fall, making you soar.

Until they had enough—and they always had enough after a while. Sometimes it was after a month or a week. Or a day. Once, it had been one year and three months. But there was always a time when they had seen enough of you and would rather they had never witnessed the colors of your soul.

And then they left. They always left. Maybe this was how you were meant to be loved. Like a streak of light in a dark sky, relevant and captivating for a few moments only. Maybe this was how you were meant to be loved—like you were a shooting star. 

The sun shone in your room, filling it with something intangible but warm. Shooting stars are not even visible during the day, which was an accurate description of how you felt. Invisible or not, you pulled yourself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. 

The shower helped with the process of waking up, but you did cut your legs on two occasions while shaving. 

Your alarm rang just a minute after you returned to your bedroom wrapped in a purple towel, your damp hair dripping on the wooden floor because you couldn’t manage to find the will to wrap it in another towel. As if a few drops of water would harm the floor. As if you cared if they did.

You were not unhappy, or desperate, or indifferent. A little jaded, maybe. You had always thought that it was the case for everyone—but not everyone would be willing to admit to that. 

Your morning routine was basic and uninteresting—shower, coffee, music. Dancing around, half-naked in your apartment, pretending your life wasn’t in shambles. That you weren’t lonely. Until it was time to attempt styling your hair and putting on clothes, and then leaving for the day

You knew your day would be bad the moment you got into the museum by the front entrance and saw Han Jisung in a standard security uniform instead of his business casual one—it meant that the director of security would be working the floors today. It meant you would see him a lot today. 

What’s worse than working with your ex? Working with your almost-ex. 

Nothing particularly good had come out of your few dates with Jisung—you wished you could say he was an asshole, that he didn’t treat you right, but the worse he did was to suck at foreplay, making your sexual encounters with him not so… satisfying. He was still a good-looking guy, polite, smelled nice, worked out a little, and read a book once in a while. He did try the foreplay thing, but despite your best instructions just couldn’t seem to make it work. 

Anyway. In the end, he had gotten tired of you—like everyone else before him. You were simply a shooting star in his life.

Except that he worked in the same museum as you. Normally, his office was on the third floor and he stayed there most of the day, overseeing security protocols and hosting meetings. Sometimes, however, when one of his security officers called in sick, he liked to jump into his old uniform and pace around the museum—said it kept him on his toes and allowed him to get an even better idea of the real security requirements around the museum. 

Again—he really wasn’t an asshole. You were just a shooting star. The reason you didn’t like it when he was around was that it reminded you that it hadn’t worked with him either. That it never worked with anyone. That people always got tired of you at some point.

“If it isn’t our favorite assistant curator,” Jisung exclaimed loudly exactly 0.03 seconds after you got in. Your exact title was that: assistant curator, as well as educational programmer—but you let that one slide so you didn’t have to speak to him for too long. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

Here’s the thing about almost-exes—there is no conversation to be had with them. Not enough intimacy between the two people to have anything substantial to say, and yet, too much to be asking personal questions. You knew Jisung had been seeing a girl lately, but you weren’t going to ask about that, were you? Besides, you met her briefly last week when she came to visit him during his lunch break. A sweet girl. Too sweet, maybe. You had been this close to asking her if he took his time going down on her in bed but figured it might be best not to. Not now, anyway. Maybe it would be best to wait at the office Christmas party when she would be a little tipsy, and then you’d ask. 

“Good morning, Mr. Han.” You offered him a stiff nod and slowed your pace, but did not stop. “Hope you don’t get blisters on your little feet from actually walking around and doing real work, for once.” 

“Go to hell, maybe?” 

“Guess I’ll see you there, then.” 

The few minutes before the museum’s opening were your favorites. Most staff were on the floor making last-minute arrangements while discussing their evenings. You greeted the coworkers you met on your way to your office where you just needed to drop your bag and your jacket. Today was sunny but cooler than expected, so your taupe pleated midi skirt and short-sleeved, pearl white knit top required a little something more. You were indecisive about fall—some people loved it, others hated it, but you did appreciate that it allowed you to wear your expensive leather jacket and some ankle-length boots to go with it. 

You quickly sat at your desk to check emails knowing full well that you wouldn’t respond to any of them unless they came from upper management, if that, even. However, one caught your eye—a young student was asking for help writing a paper on women in classical mythology. You read her email carefully, writing down a few things on the notepad gifted by your friend last month—each sheet had a different cat picture on it—and decided to reply later, as you would need to cross-check a few references anyway. 

You jumped when someone knocked at the door but weren’t particularly surprised to see Jisung’s head poke through the crack of it. 

“Got a minute?” he asked with a flat smile. 

“Did anyone try to steal any of my paintings, Ji?” you reply, barely looking away from your monitor. “It’s your job to run after them, not mine.”

The current exhibit on mythical deities occupied most of your thoughts these days anyway—so much that the possibility of someone sneaking in and fucking off with one of the treasured paintings or sculptures had definitely grazed your mind more than once and even given you nightmares. 

This, the Deities exhibition, was years in the making. The whole thing had started before you were officially employed here, back when you were still an art history major looking to secure a career in a museum someday soon. They were just beginning to coordinate everything and one of your professors was a consultant on the project. Years later, you had an office in this museum and were working directly under the woman responsible for this big exhibition, as well as making your name around the country when it came to classical mythology. 

You didn’t consider yourself unhappy. You had a career, a nice place to stay, a few friends, and some acquaintances. It wasn’t a bad life. You did live a little far away from your hometown and your family, but it didn’t affect you that much. You didn’t consider yourself unhappy but you also didn’t think you were as happy as you ought to be—but then, how does one define that? Happiness? Was that it? Was the mere fact of not being unhappy enough? 

“Nobody stole the paintings,” Jisung said with a sigh and rolling his eyes, but with a smile, too. “I just—I was just wondering if you remembered I’m hosting a party tonight?” 

“A party.” You finally pulled away from your monitor, spinning your chair to face your door and Jisung. You heard a few people talk about this party just yesterday, in fact. “Yes, I remember. Why?”

“Are you still coming?” 

You eyed Jisung for a few seconds, a mix of confusion and contempt on your face. “Are you fucking serious?” You took a deep breath, doing your best to diffuse the irritation rising within you. After all, this was your workplace, and relationships between employees were strongly frowned upon so you couldn’t just yell at him this morning. Not that it had been much of one—there had been no relationship, really. An almost-ex. You had been simply a shooting star warming up his bed for a few nights. “Jisung, you didn’t even invite me to your party. Did you get all the way up here this morning just to make fun of me?” 

Jisung clicked his tongue and let himself in to close the door behind him. “I told Yeji to tell you that you were invited…” Jisung sighed. “Didn’t she tell you?”

“No, she didn’t. Next time you want info to reach me, why don’t you come tell me right away instead of acting like we’re 8? Why didn’t you ask me directly?”

“I thought if I asked you, you’d just say no. I didn’t want to make things weird,” Jisung explained with a shrug. “Looks like they’re even weirder now, though.” 

“They are.” You got up and hung your employee ID around your neck. You still remembered when they gave the lanyard and badge to you, the pride you had felt. “I’ll see if I can make it to the party, not making any promises.” 

Jisung nodded, his hand on the doorknob, visibly hesitating. “I miss you, you know. I’m sorry—I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I really hope we can be friends.”

Sometimes, people say things that they feel like a kick in the chest—this was exactly one of those times. You stood in front of him, his soft eyes on yours. He was honest, you could feel it. You jumped when he put his hand on your shoulder to squeeze it faintly—the touch was light but sent small chills down your spine. Muscle memory, maybe, or perhaps you were just touch-starved and lonely. 

“I have to go, and so do you,” you retorted, doing your best to hold his gaze and suppress the wave of emotion that was submerging you. Too many emotions to do a headcount of them anyway. “Come on, Ji.” 

He sighed, his warm, minty breath caressing your skin. You couldn’t even remember the brand, but you did like his toothpaste. Would it be weird to ever ask him what brand he bought? It probably would. Not enough intimacy between the two of you to go there. 

Jisung pulled the door open, walking away without a word and you just knew that you wouldn’t go to this party, you knew you’d use all the possible excuses not to go. If people had no problem not loving you, you on the other hand were quite the opposite—it was quite difficult to let them go. One would think you’d gotten used to it, that it would become easier over time. 

But it was just getting worse. 

You headed downstairs, the museum now filled with the voices of visitors and staff alike. You let the background noise drown the thoughts of shooting stars and Jisung and parties while you made your way to the eastern wing where your coworker was waiting with your first assignment for the day—a PhD student coming for a short interview about Perikles, the god of war himself. In fact, they were standing near the 1479 Italian painting depicting him. A night sky as the background, the god holding a spear in his right hand and a bleeding heart in his left. Glowing, for he was the god of gold, too, patron of all shiny things, father of the god of light.

“Hello,” you said, shaking the student’s hand—he seemed shy, so you took a step back and turned to the painting while your coworker was walking away. “Quite impressive, isn’t it?” 

The student pushed his hair out of his face to take a better look—the painting stood several feet tall and even wider. You had shed a few tears when you had seen it first. “I didn’t think it would be this large in person. The gold looks real, too.”

“It does.” You smiled, turned to the student again, and introduced yourself to make it easier for his own introductions. He was currently working on vulnerability vs. force in the artistic depictions of classical mythology. What had caught your attention was the vulnerability he seemed to have found in Perikles—a concept you had not encountered very often. 

You answered all of his questions, enjoying the conversation quite a lot. You took a mental note of the student’s name—even wrote it down on your phone—as he showed a lot of potential. Finding evidence of vulnerability in the god of war himself, in a painting depicting him going headfirst into a battle—and to be correct and right about it—was quite a feat. You didn’t have the balls to be this bold, not when you had been a student. 

Your coworker came back after some time had passed. You didn’t have any other appointments today and did enjoy discussing with this student, so you were surprised when she told you someone else was there for you. 

The student excused himself, thanking you profusely and promising he would be in contact with you soon. You would make a point of reading his dissertation—he really made some good points today, and you figured you could learn from him as much as he could from you.

“I don’t have any appointments,” you told Minji with a frown. “I was supposed to review—”

“It’s a last-minute thing,” Minji replied, cutting you off. You then noticed a slight flush on her cheeks. “Someone is here and he asked a few questions, I answered them the best I could but apparently, it wasn’t enough. He asked who was in charge of the exhibition, but Mrs. Yoo isn’t here yet, she has a meeting across the city…”

You looked around the room, trying to find the person responsible for making Minji stressed out like this. She was a few years younger than you, still earning her major but knowledgeable and very polite. There were quite a few groups already, children from a school and a few others, all of them staring at the art pieces in awe.

“What kind of questions?” you asked Minji to prepare yourself mentally. 

“He wants to see Felix.” 

“He wants to see Felix?” The god of light, compassion and lust—eldest son of Perikles himself. “As in, The cypress tree, 1889, oil on canvas Felix?” 

Minji nodded, biting her lip with a sigh. She pointed towards the adjacent room, where more of the exhibition was displayed. 

“I told him the painting wasn’t ready for display,” Minji explained. “Then he started asking about Agatheia and he said I didn’t know enough about her.” 

“Leave it to me.” You liked Minji. She reminded you a lot of yourself when you were younger, except she was better and kinder. You wouldn’t let anyone be rude to her—she knew pretty much anything there was to know about the demigoddess Agatheia anyway. “Where is he?”

“With Agatheia and her three children.” Minji pointed towards the other room again, where the small Italian painting was being displayed. “He’s…” The young woman hesitated, and a shy smile painted itself on her face despite her flustered state. “You’ll see. You can’t miss him.” 

You immediately crossed the room to make your way to this person—while you were in no position to talk back to a visitor or a guest, you would also not let anyone disrespect your coworkers or yourself for that matter, and certainly not over something you were an expert at. A renowned one, even. People traveled here to talk to you and your team about those gods and their history and the art associated with them, so who the hell did that man think he was?

You saw him immediately, except it didn’t feel like seeing someone, it was more like witnessing him, the same way you don’t just see a sunset, you contemplate it… and you wear shades not to become blind. The difference between seeing and beholding. 

Oh, god, were the only words that came to mind at that moment, your pace slowing down significantly, your breathing becoming shallow. You actually pretended to get a text message and stopped to hide behind one of the tall decorative pillars in the room, using your phone as some kind of distraction while you processed just how fucking attractive that dude was. Attractive didn’t even begin describing him—otherworldly, maybe, did a better job of that. Maybe.

He stood near the painting, half-facing you, scrutinizing the piece so intently you could barely see his eyes as he was squinting so hard. He held himself nonchalantly and yet with such grace that you couldn’t look away when he simply pushed his silky dark hair away from the side of his face, revealing even more of it—and you were not prepared for that. Again—Oh, god. Handsome, intelligent face. He stood tall with broad shoulders. a lean body and entirely too much arms and legs. He made casual clothes look anything but that—distressed jeans, a white t-shirt with a black jacket over it. The black wingtip boots seemed huge on him but strangely balanced it all at the same time. 

He hadn’t noticed you yet, so you allowed yourself a few more seconds to gather yourself together. This was just a guy. Sure, he looked good, but at the end of the day it was just a guy like any other guy—and you were not the kind of girl to let that influence you. You remembered how rude he had been to Minji, and this was enough to get you out of your hiding place and make your way to him. 

He twisted his neck slowly when he heard your footsteps on the wooden floor, his gaze finding yours, and you suppressed a gasp. Oh, god. He looked even better from up close, and you were still walking, getting closer, and closer…

“Miss.” He offered you a polite dip of his handsome head, his soft hair following the motion—he had to push it away from his face again, flashing his big hand at you, as well as a gentle but dazzling smile that made you a little weak in the knees. “I assume you are the expert I asked to talk with?” 

His voice was as smooth as his skin, as his whole aura. He had this very specific way of speaking and pronouncing words—they filled his mouth and hit every inner part of it before he released them from his tongue like tidal waves upon his lips. His mouth barely moved while he spoke and yet he made himself understood perfectly. 

Oh, god. 

“Yes,” you managed, clearing your throat. You took a deep breath for good measure and looked for an instant at the painting behind him. “The curator of the exhibition is not here at the moment, but I work with her and will answer any questions you have, sir.” You gulped, your eyes falling on him again. “It will be my pleasure.” 

The man stared at you for a few seconds, running his smooth tongue on his bottom lip. He seemed amused yet solemn—something in his eyes told you he took his mythology very seriously.

“I was told the painting I wish to see is not yet ready for display,” he started, raising his chin just a little, almost in defiance. “The cypress tree. I would like to see it—I’m willing to give you a generous amount of money.” 

“Would it be presumptuous to assume you’re attempting to bribe me?” It was not the first time someone offered money for services—Mrs. Yoo had even been offered a few million dollars in exchange for a small sculpture from Greece, a few years ago. “Sir—the painting is not ready to be displayed—”

“But is it here?” The handsome man paid very little attention to the fact that you were speaking. “Is it currently physically present in this museum?” 

You gulped, taking yet another deep breath in an attempt to calm down. The painting in question was right here in one of the vaults. You did not have access to it, not on your own anyway. The painting needed specific wall anchors as well as a custom frame—the frame had failed to be delivered on time, causing the painting to have to stay in the vault. 

“Even if I were the kind of woman to accept bribes—which I’m not—I do not have access to the room it’s stored in. We expect the components we need for it to get here in a little over ten days, sir,” you explained, doing your absolute best to stay calm. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” You even added a smile. 

He did not seem satisfied with your response, but he smiled too nonetheless, showing his white teeth. “I was reading the description for this one,” he started, turning towards the painting near both of you. “I find it rather inaccurate.” 

“Inaccurate.” You blinked, forgetting for an instant the way he looked, forgetting decorum a little—you took a step towards him, crossing your arms on your chest. “Inaccurate, really?” You had written it yourself and it had been approved by the entire department—you weren’t going to let anyone badmouth it so easily. Or anything else for that matter. You worked with competent people—

“Agatheia, wife of Amaranthos, patron of elegance, beauty, and intuition,” the man spoke slowly as he read the very words you had composed, cutting your offended thoughts short. He leaned over the railing separating him from the painting. The smell of his cologne hit you in the process—a deep, complex scent, subtle but impossible to ignore. A woody base, with spicy and floral accents, like petrichor itself but highlighted by a citrusy ray of sunlight. It reminded you of the smell that followed thunderstorms when a breeze swept the rain away. It was all over the place and had no reason to have such an effect on you, except it very much did. 

“The tales describe her as mysterious, quiet, and cold, all of which she became after she married Amaranthos,” he went on, always in that poised intonation. You cleared your throat, choking on your own air—you could almost taste his cologne. “The tales claim the demigoddess was seldom seen with a smile on her face, making Monti’s 1487-88 painting all the more fascinating. To him, it was impossible that a mother wouldn't smile when surrounded by her children, regardless of her marital status.” 

When he was done relating your own words to you, the man faced you, unreadable, his brows raised up a little—as if he was expecting an immediate response from you. But a response to what?

You stared at the painting—it was a lot easier to look at it than at him—thinking it all over. It showed Agatheia with her long, dark hair and a silver crown on her head. She was sitting in her garden on a white limestone bench, surrounded by lush greenery, flowers, and her three young children. So young, in fact, that Kyma couldn’t support her own weight yet and was sitting in the grass, holding a pink flower, offering it to her brother Prokopios—the eldest. The middle child was staring at the horizon towards the sea and the mountains. He was rarely depicted as anything but detached, and indifferent. Still, Agatheia’s gaze was on the other two, a soft smile on her face. 

“I fail to see what is so inaccurate about this, sir,” you concluded with a shrug. “In fact, I wrote this myself.” 

He scoffed. You faced him again, your eyebrows probably disappearing behind your hair. “The demigoddess was seldom seen with a smile on her face… Mysterious, quiet and cold… Are you describing a goddess or Batman here, miss?” 

This took you by surprise and you forgot to breathe for several seconds until you burst into a fit of laughter entirely too loud for someone like you in this place—but you also couldn’t stop laughing, hoping that no tears would smudge your mascara. 

“Excuse me?” You wiped the corner of your eyes carefully, gazing at him once more. 

He was absolutely serious, giving you an appraising look, his eyes trailing from your face, your clothes, observing you carefully. They even lingered a little too long on your legs, and you soon felt warmth spreading on your face. It did not help when the man slowly dragged his tongue across his bottom lip before looking into your eyes again. 

Cocky. Handsome. Smelled like thunderstorms. Intriguing gaze—who the fuck was he? Why did you enjoy this exchange so much? You prayed to any god willing to listen to you that it was not because of his looks. You prayed you were not that shallow, that maybe you just liked having your ideas challenged.

“You seem to be saying she was trapped in a loveless marriage,” the man went on, his voice insisting but remaining very polite—he took a step towards you, and you smelled him again. It made you dizzy. Or maybe it was his whole demeanor that had this effect on you—every one of his movements was relaxed and light yet, burdened with purpose. “You seem to be saying she was unhappy.” 

“I’m not saying anything, this is a text put together relying on many sources I’ve read while in grad school and after—” you blurted out. This time, it was your turn to raise your chin. “But, sir, I know the tales like the back of my hand. I know what I’m talking about. I’ve studied for—”

The handsome man’s snicker cut you off in the middle of your sentence. “Bold—and a little rude—of you to assume I don’t know what I’m talking about,” he countered with that sultry voice of his, “don’t you think, darling?”

Darling. You suppressed a groan, noticing the head curator walking in, headed to the next room—she was simply passing by, but you allowed silence to fill the space between you and this stranger.

He was strange. And beautiful, and graceful. His skin was pure honey—smooth, amber, enticing. You almost expected it to drip gold when he moved. You almost expected it to taste sweet and feel thick under one’s tongue. He let out a sigh, impatient and frustrated and maybe a little amused, too—his blood orange lips curved into the slightest of smiles, which he obviously tried to contain. 

You met his gaze, intrigued. His eyes were bright and a color you couldn’t quite put into words—you were a scholar but you were not a poet and the mere words hazel brown simply didn’t describe them. His eyes, it seemed, held whole entire worlds inside of them.

“Rude? Me?” You squinted at him, trying to read his face, to understand him. You didn’t need to decipher the whole thing—just one little piece should suffice to break his apparent wall of self-complacency. “You come in here, you insult my coworker’s and then my intelligence—”

“I’ve read the tales, too,” he cut you off, never raising his voice but effectively shutting you up. “I’ve read the stories, but these are just fiction based on ancient texts, aren’t they? Then, why base your whole opinion on fiction when there are factual texts about the same matter, and they say otherwise?” 

Those ancient texts, engraved on clay in an obscure language, were not much to rely on in your opinion. And in your opinion, they did not contradict the fiction they had inspired—but obviously, either this man was stubborn or he had woken up intending to ruin someone’s day. By the looks of it, that was his number one kink and he was an expert at it.

The language of the gods, they called it. Really, it was just a dialect that couldn’t be fully translated, so only about a third of the known words were understood in some capacity, making understanding the texts impossible. 

“But even the ancient texts are that sir,” you insisted, noticing more and more details about this man—like the small beauty mark under his eye and the satiny texture of his lips. “Fiction, stories… only, older, written in a language that we can’t translate.” 

Darkness veiled the man’s eyes, so much that you took half a step back, removing yourself from his immediate space. He did not seem angry—the emotion stirring up within him was much deeper than that, something intricate, something beyond your comprehension. It did move you, though, the way he just looked away behind you, not at the painting, not at anything—like he just couldn’t hold your gaze anymore, like he wished he became blind or deaf. Like he had lost all purpose in life.

“Myths…” he muttered, nodding absentmindedly, his facial expression slowly returning to normal. “Why, then, do you think that on this painting,” when he said that, he did turn towards it, but you weren’t sure his eyes were processing any of the information they captured, “the middle child isn’t with the rest of them?”

You let out an exhale in relief—but relief from what, you weren’t sure. All that you knew is that he looked less upset now—ready for a conversation instead of a confrontation. 

“The stories say—” you began, but he just shook his head slowly.

“I know what the stories say and I know what the ancient texts say too, that’s not what I came to hear. I’m asking you, darling. The person you are, not the art historian—why do you think he’s always depicted on his own? In the tales and in art pieces alike?” 

You turned to look at the painting too, your shoulder almost brushing the man’s arm. Darling. You were a historian, not a psychiatrist capable of analyzing a fictional character’s social and emotional issues. Yet—maybe this man had figured that about you—you definitely had opinions on the matter. 

“The middle child,” you started with a sigh, “Hyathos, demigod, patron of desire, of disasters, of fruit trees. The stories say his father paid him very little mind until Kyma, the youngest, disappeared into the Underworld and the eldest son went after her, leaving Hyathos as the only heir. Still, he spent many years before that completely unbothered by his father’s cruelty, raised mostly by his mother. A wild, free thing. He fell in love with the god of light, and then Kyma was taken away… The quarrel between Hyathos and Felix's fathers made it difficult for their love to flourish. I think…” 

You realized the man was staring intently at you, his big eyes fixated on your face, moving lazily from your eyes to your lips—you blushed a little at that, pretending you didn’t notice, and turned to the painting again. 

“I think he never quite fit in,” you went on. “Not with his family, not with his lover. My interpretation of Hyathos’ story is a little sad. I…” You hesitated before going any further, but considering this man was an absolute stranger, figured it was okay. “I relate to him quite a lot, actually. Maybe it makes my understanding of him inaccurate. Or very accurate, I don't know. Hyathos was doomed from the start, entangling things and people in his whirlwind of disasters—as if he could help it. Not enough for his father, not enough for Felix, not as strong as his brother, not as soft as his sister or as king as his mother…” 

Your gaze trailed on the depiction of Hyathos on the artwork, his short, dark hair swayed by the wind. He was just a child in this painting and yet, the artist had painted an intelligent mind behind his eyes—an old soul. This is what your parents used to say about you too. Until you became an adult and realized you had just been a child with a lot of issues and even more anxiety. 

“But he just wasn’t given a chance to show his true self,” you concluded, still staring at the young Hyathos, painted gracefully, with a loose white linen blouse as his only clothes. “He’s much like his mother, you see—for people like them, showing their true colors would have been too dangerous. It was wiser to keep their distance. From each other, from their family, from the whole world. From themselves, too…”

“From themselves...” The honeyed-skin man echoed you quietly but he was all you could hear, despite the museum growing more and more crowded. You became painfully aware that he was still looking at you and not at the painting, so you took a few seconds before turning to him. “Sometimes, it’s easier to keep going if we forget who we truly are, you’re right about that.” 

You always found comfort in the myths, in the stories, and even in the half-translated texts they were based on. You always found relief in fiction in general—these stories just happened to be your favorites. On top of that, you quickly realized that people who saw themselves in the myths and connected to them connected with each other, too. Maybe this was why you did not have many acquaintances outside of this bubble—why even bother wasting time with someone who did not care to understand the complexities of Agatheia as a woman and a wife, or the tragedy that her eldest son went through when he tried to save his sister? What about the love story between Hyathos and Felix, this romance that didn’t have an ending and not in a good way? 

To say that you felt a connection with this stranger at this very moment would be a euphemism—he cocked his head to the side, staring so deeply into your eyes that it felt as if he was reading directly inside of your brain. You noticed his lips parting just slightly, catching sight of his smooth tongue, forgetting that you were furious at him just moments ago. Remembering perfectly how the word darling had sounded in his mouth, said to you. 

“Aren’t most people lying to themselves anyway?” you offered as a response, taken aback by the sudden shift in the conversation. “I’d bet money that everyone around us is actively suppressing, to some extent, parts of themselves they think aren’t suitable for a potential career, lover, or society in general.” You glanced at the painting again, letting the blue of the sky soothe you. “Hyathos never knew how to tame the parts of him that his father didn’t like, never knew how to be anything but himself—so it made him an outcast. His loneliness was both his curse and his strength.” 

The stranger gulped—you watched his adam’s apple bob, noticing his long, elegant neck in the process. His tongue ran a few times on his lips while he was mustering his thoughts. You watched that, too, and the way his lips looked when they were wet. Pretty, pink. Kissable as hell. His scent was intoxicating to the point where you wanted to ask him what cologne he wore so you could run and buy some and smell it every single day or spray some on your pillows to fall asleep to it. 

“Never heard that angle before,” the stranger stated, straightening his posture. He ran his fingers through his hair again. “Miss, I must say, your insight is fascinating. Do you give lectures or presentations? Consulting sessions?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, his long fingers wrapped tightly around it. “I’d like to hear more from you.” 

You looked at him, then at his phone, where the Add Contact page was already open, then at him again, still unable to read him. But you didn’t need to read him, to understand him all, not this morning, not here. 

“I don’t give presentations, but I offer my help to students or historians who ask for it.” The urge to smooth out your shirt took over you and you didn’t fight it—besides, it gave your hands something to do and made it easier not to touch the man’s silky hair. Oh, how you wished you could just run your fingers through it. “If we’re talking many sessions, though—”

“I’ll pay for your time. I’ll pay you well,” he insisted, handing you his phone like you weren’t just some stranger he had just met. You knew he could afford any extravagant rate you’d ask from him—the scent of his cologne only could prove it, but so did his branded clothes and fancy haircut. He smelled and looked expensive. “Please?”

You took the device from him, your eyes not leaving his. “Why do you need a consultant?” you asked, still not typing anything into the phone. “Are you writing a book or something?”

“Or something,” he replied evasively. He bit his lip, a slight smile on his face. “If you say no, it’s fine, but I can’t promise I won’t be back here every other day to pester you, whereas I’d rather be paying you directly for your knowledge, and I’d make sure to offer coffee and/or dinner as well.”

“Now you’re speaking my language!” You smiled too, focusing on his phone to add yourself to his contacts—handing him your phone in return while you did so. Your heart skipped a beat when his fingers brushed yours. His skin was warm, as smooth as his lips looked. Fucking hell, are you really going to get all excited because of this? He’s way out of your league anyway, he’s really just asking for your number because of your job. 

But he said coffee and dinner.

Yeah, but fucking look at him, bitch. 

You did. You looked at him while he typed his information into your phone, his thumbs working quickly. 

“There,” he said, exchanging phones again. “Very nice meeting you, darling. I’m Hyunjin.” Hyunjin. You liked it, but was it just because you liked the face attached to it? He stared at his phone, reading your name—you watched it come alive on his lips when he mouthed it quietly, then it danced in his mouth when he said it out loud to speak to you. “What are you doing tonight? I know it’s a Friday night but I have a reservation at a nice restaurant—we could have our first session right away. If you want—this is last minute, you can absolutely say no.” 

You couldn’t say no. You just couldn’t—actually, you feared the moment he would walk away from the museum and you would no longer smell him or see him. His relaxed posture, his long legs, his bright eyes. He had eyes like books, just waiting to be read, like a plea to be stared at.

“Sure thing, honey.” You didn’t know where this boldness came from—you didn’t understand the craving you had to be in his presence either—and warmth spread to your face and neck, but you maintained his gaze. “Tonight sounds good.” 

Hyunjin’s smile turned into a content smirk, obviously happy to have received a nickname in return for the one he gave you. “I can have a car pick you up,” he offered. 

So, he really could afford pretty much any amount you’d request—he hadn’t even asked what your rates were. 

“That’s fine, thank you.” He might have been the most attractive person you had ever seen but you weren’t stupid enough to give him your address twenty-five minutes after meeting him. “Just… text me the location of the restaurant sometime today?”

“Will do.” A brief hesitation from him, but he extended his arm to offer you a polite handshake.

You hesitated as well but shook his hand—his honey skin felt like warm cashmere against your palm. His grip was firm yet gentle, and he squeezed your hand delicately before letting go of it, sending shivers down your spine. “See you later then, Hyunjin.”

“See you later, darling.” He winked playfully at you and walked away confidently, easily dodging the other visitors, strutting his way through the crowd like he was a king amongst commoners. He disappeared through the door to the main hall, leaving you with confused thoughts. What the hell just happened? 

Where was the rational, level-headed woman you were before catching sight of this man? The one who did not give her name and phone number to strangers just because they looked hot? The one who did not let strangers call her darling just because it sounded like a promise on their pretty pink lips? 

Hyunjin’s scent lingered in the air for a few moments after he left, so you hung around that spot a bit longer, hoping it would stick to your clothes, to your hair, to your skin. 

You: Almost there, Mr. Hwang

Hyunjin: Please call me Hyunjin. Should I order us a bottle of wine, then?

You: No, thanks. I don’t drink on the job, but feel free to order whatever you like for yourself, of course. You: Maybe I’ll have a glass after we’re done!

Hyunjin smiled softly at his phone before putting it screen down on the table and looking around the bistro’s small dining room. It was one of his favorite spots to eat dinner, as it was also a tourists’ favorite—which meant he encountered very few regulars like him and was able to witness new people almost every week. He could then listen to their conversations and watch them. He enjoyed that—just watching them, figuring out patterns in mortal life. 

This restaurant appealed to people on dates for the most part, and that was another thing that Hyunjin was fascinated with—people falling in love. Or people pretending to fall in love to get some. A last-minute trip booked to impress a girl who was just playing hard to get. Or sometimes, people from totally different parts of the world meeting on a dating app and grabbing a few drinks here before returning to a hotel room. Very few times had Hyunjin seen true, meaningful love taking place here, despite the romantic appearance of the restaurant.

Hyunjin looked around, appreciating the view, the smells of delicious food, and the comfortable, dim lighting. The tables were rather small and round, but sturdy. Upholstered armchairs served as seats and pretty artwork covered the dark brown walls. He had made the reservation asking for the table in the back left corner, the one by the window. Even if it was dark outside, it was nice to see the city lights on the other side of the river and their reflections in the water. 

A waiter came to see him for the second time that night, and Hyunjin ordered a bottle of white wine and two glasses. 

“Two glasses? Would you like to order your usual bottle, sir?” the waiter asked amicably—Hyunjin was well-liked in the establishment, mostly because of his good manners and excessive tipping habits. 

Hyunjin chuckled. Except for business dinners with Seungmin, Hyunjin rarely brought anyone here—for meetups, he usually took people to other places than this one, less intimate. Places where he wasn’t a regular. This one felt like it was for his enjoyment only. 

But he had enjoyed your company quite a lot. And your words, and the way you had spoken about… about him. About the man he used to be. He was Hyunjin now. Just that, Hyunjin. And yet, this morning at the museum, he felt like you were talking about him, like you were seeing right through him—only, you didn’t know that. To you, he was just a myth.

“No, I’d like something a little more… something a little more, period,” Hyunjin responded with a smile for the waiter. “If you know what I mean.”

The man handed him the wine list, opening it to the second-to-last page. “Might I suggest a sauvignon blanc—this one right here, sir. The Chateaux Margaux. It’s rather elegant and has a delicate vanilla aftertaste. It’s quite… romantic, sir, if I may.” 

Hyunjin smacked his lips playfully and let out a small laugh. “Alright then, the Chateaux Margaux it is.” He handed the wine menu back and watched the waiter walk away, listening to the soft, ambient jazz music playing in the background. 

Romantic. He would not consider tonight a date, but he very much hoped he would be given the opportunity to taste your lips before the end of the night. In the end, he was no better than the rest of them—the customers seeking some affection—but at least he was also interested in what you had to say. Fascinated, even.

You entered the restaurant at that moment causing Hyunjin’s breath to quicken up. If he thought your looks were pleasing this morning…

You had let your hair loose tonight—it shone under the dim lighting of the restaurant, swaying with your airy but sure-footed steps. There were a few braids in it and making it hard to look away from it. From you. You wore a sage green, loose-fitting sweater dress with a pair of black ankle-length combat boots—a nice, elegant look for the cool fall evening. 

He watched you for an instant while you spoke with the maître d and he saw his name form on your lips, even if he couldn’t hear you. I’m here for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin’s reservation. A shy smile. You pushed your hair behind your ear with one hand while the other clutched your bag. Black, leathery—it matched your boots. You had taste. But this was not exactly an outfit for a not-date meeting, and certainly not for a history lesson, even over dinner—Hyunjin was not going to pretend he hadn’t noticed that. 

You made eye contact with him about halfway into the dining room while you were being led to him, and Hyunjin couldn’t help but smile when he noticed the flush on your cheeks. He pushed himself out of his chair to greet you, which you did, barely looking him in the eyes and pushing your hair behind your ear again. 

“Thank you for accepting my last-minute invitation.” He offered his hand and you shook it nervously. Your skin felt smooth against his, still cool from the time you spent outside, so fragile, so mortal. He struggled to let you go.

“Oh, of course, Mr. Hwang.” He pulled your chair for you and you sat down, crossing your legs beneath the table. “You’ll find I’m quite passionate when it comes to the myths—to exchange ideas about it all in a restaurant like this…” You suppressed a nervous chuckle while he returned to his seat in front of you. “It’s my pleasure, really.” 

“Please, do call me Hyunjin—I insist.” 

The waiter returned with the bottle of wine which rested in a bucket with ice. You eyed him with concern as he laid the two glasses on the table, preparing to open the bottle. 

“I said I don’t drink on the job,” you told Hyunjin with that unique laugh of yours, the one you had earlier in the museum. 

The laugh that, to Hyunjin, was no different than a symphony or a delicate whisper in his ear. Maybe he should have asked you to see a funny movie or a stand-up comedy show, just to hear more of it and memorize it until it stuck in his head like a catchy song.

“Then maybe I shouldn’t pay you at all,” he retorted playfully, watching your eyes go from him to the wine bottle, “so that you wouldn’t be technically working.” 

“You’re very funny, Mr. Hwang,” you replied, shaking your head with a sigh. You made sure to enunciate his name very clearly, mocking him. “This looks expensive, so I will have half a glass, I guess. If anything bad happens, I’ll blame peer pressure.”

“This is an excellent bottle, miss,” the waiter noted. He opened it and Hyunjin watched as he poured the liquid into the glasses. It was light colored. Not just pale. Light as in sunlight. “Mr. Hwang chose well. He said he wanted to treat you to something special.”

“Did he?” you raised your eyebrow and crossed your arms over your chest. “So thoughtful of this man I only just met.” 

Hyunjin made a mental note—he needed to give this man an outrageous tip for the monumental assistance he had just provided him as an impromptu wingman. He smiled at you as his fingers found his filled glass. “To new acquaintances, then,” Hyunjin said, raising his glass while the waiter walked away. 

You unfolded your arms and grabbed your glass too. Hyunjin could tell you struggled to hold his gaze, but this was exactly why he wanted you to have some wine—so that you could relax a little. 

“To new acquaintances,” you echoed, clinking your glass with his, lifting it to your face. You gave it a shy inhale, smelling the content of your glass before pressing it to your parted lips. Hyunjin watched you over his glass, witnessing your face turn to shock, to acceptance, and finally to delight as the sunlight-colored liquid hit different areas of your mouth. “Oh, fuck.” You drank more. “Shit, this is amazing.”

There was a trace of your lipstick on the glass. Dusty pink, barely there, except it was there, and Hyunjin wondered how it would look smeared on his lips or staining his cock instead of your glass. He drank some wine as well, finding it exquisite in every way, except that he couldn’t seem surprised by it, or else the waiter’s efforts would be wasted. 

“I’m glad you like it, darling.” The pink growing on your cheeks matched your lipstick quite well and complemented the color of the wine, too. “You know, it really is okay if you drink—I’ll pay you regardless.” 

You did drink. One gulp, then two, until the glass was almost empty. “I’m still so confused as to why you supposedly need my help—as to why I’m here at all.”

“I particularly liked your analysis of Hyathos and his motivations,” Hyunjin replied, shrugging—there was no point in playing around or denying the truth. “It sounded as if he was more than just standoffish to you.” 

“People who call him that, or cold, can’t read between the lines.” There it was—the spark in your eyes he had seen earlier at the museum. It had been at that moment he had decided he wanted to fuck you. Scarcely any people had that kind of passion and even fewer showed it at all—those truly opening their ribcage to display the colors of their heart the way you did were so rare that Hyunjin could only name one other than you. “Actually, they can’t read at all.” 

You leaned back into your chair, looking around, giving the place an appraising look. At least, you seemed satisfied with it. Your gaze stopped on a painting or a photograph on the wall every few seconds, giving it a quick analysis before moving on to the next.

“Your first time here?” he asked. He was so curious about you that keeping all of his questions to himself felt like he had a block of ice in his throat. 

“Yes, actually. It’s very…” but you let your sentence trail off and die on your wine-coated tongue. “You had a reservation here already, you said. With someone else? Did you ditch them to get a private art history lesson?” 

Hyunjin laughed in earnest at that despite your serious expression. You couldn’t suppress the smile that curved your dusty pink lips—you pushed your hair behind your ear again, revealing more of your blushing cheeks. So pretty, not unlike the pink apples that grew in his orchard. Back when he still had an orchard. 

“I didn’t ditch anyone.” A drop of wine spilled on the outside of your glass and you quickly licked it away. Hyunjin drank, too—his mouth was dry. So much for being the patron of desire. One might assume he would get used to it. “I come here often, on my own. I like the food.” 

“If you picked the wine then would you be so kind as to help me pick a dish that goes well with it?” You did look him in the eyes when you said that, with such intensity that Hyunjin wondered if you had figured out he had nothing to do with the wine you were drinking tonight. 

“I have my favorites, I can suggest a few.” He shrugged, finishing the rest of his glass in one go. The wine was most definitely way too expensive to be binge-drinking it, but he needed the warmth of it to spread in his chest. “I really like the halibut—it’s served with roasted asparagus and daikon and has a side of risotto.” 

“That’s what I call fusion cuisine,” you commented pleasantly. “Sounds delicious.”

“I have good taste.” As if to prove his point, Hyunjin took another sip of wine. “Would you like to order now? Did you even have lunch? The museum looked crowded, even at that hour in the morning.”

“God, yes please, I’m famished.” You did seem relieved, as if you were shy about being hungry. Many mortals seemed inconvenienced by basic needs. “Today was a little hectic, you’re right…” Hyunjin sensed once again that there was more you wanted to say but had stopped yourself at the last second. He didn’t push it. 

So he made eye contact with his wingman/waiter and the food was ordered quickly—he chose the same dish as you, as the halibut was his favorite. You didn’t want an appetizer—or, rather, Hyunjin figured you probably did but didn’t want to embarrass you by insisting. Instead, he’d offer dessert after if you were still hungry. 

You talked about your favorite foods and restaurants for a good while—Hyunjin always found that it was a good ice-breaker with mortals. Everyone had their favorite things. He definitely had his favorite coffee shops, and bookstores as well. The conversation lasted for a while before a comfortable silence grew between the two of you—at least until you decided to steer the conversation towards the very reason you were here with him tonight.

“Where does your fascination for Hyathos come from anyway?” you asked, glass still in hand, making the liquid swirl lazily in it. “I won’t lie, I usually encounter people who prefer his brother, or the tragic story of his sister—”

“I know.” He didn’t mean to cut you off but also, Hyunjin had heard enough about it all. How Hyathos was the least interesting character in the myths and ancient stories. That there wasn’t much to say about him as no one knew anything—he kept to himself. He was cold. This was all Hyunjin heard.

“But—” you interrupted him in return, your lips glistening with wine, “I think it’s because people don’t understand him. For instance, he may have fewer lines of dialogue in certain versions of the myths, but it’s not for a lack of substance. Hyathos’ silence is his dialogue. While others rant or have angry outbursts, he observes, he feels.” You licked the wine off and shrugged.

Hyunjin’s cock twitched slightly at that. He didn’t know what enthralled him most—your wet lips or the words escaping from them. He cleared his throat, squirming a little in his armchair as he worked hard on evenly redistributing the blood flow in his body. 

“He is your favorite character, I assume?” you went on, taking another sip. “Hyathos?”

“No—I’m interested in what others have to say about him, as you can see. But if I had to name a favorite, it’d be Feliks.”

You smiled in your glass for a few seconds before putting it back on the table and looking into his eyes. “Feliks. I don’t hear the proper pronunciation often—people, myself included, usually go the lazy route.” You strummed the table with your nails—they were painted black. “So that’s why you so badly want to see The cypress tree.” 

He nodded slowly, noticing the waiter approaching with your food. “I’ve only seen pictures of it, and a reproduction—I’d very much like to see the real thing.” 

The cypress tree—an 1889 painting that was said to leave any of its viewers speechless for a few minutes. They said the artist had a dream one night where Feliks spoke to him in the secret language of light. When he woke up, he painted The cypress tree. It took him weeks, during which he got very little sleep and ate very little food. He had locked himself in his art room and painted, painted, painted. The artist, a young man from England, died shortly after completing the painting. They said that his rendition of Feliks—especially his hair—was ravishing, to the point that it made people cry. 

“It was lost for years,” Hyunjin pointed out after their plates had been laid on the tables. “Did you get a chance to see it?”

“Not even.” You had a long sigh, slightly frustrated. “They unboxed it while I was at a meeting elsewhere, then wrapped it back up. I could have asked to go have a look, but I guess… Guess I didn’t want to be that bitch, you know?”

Hyunjin chuckled, using his fork to break apart his first bite of the halibut. He made sure the bite would contain asparagus and daikon, too. “You have people to impress? Management?” He ate while awaiting your response, but couldn’t help his delighted groan—it really was one of his favorite foods in the whole fucking world. 

“I guess so.” You ate too, mirroring his ecstasy. “Shit, Hyunjin—you were right about this food.” Except that instead of a satisfied groan like him, you let out a little moan and Hyunjin had to make a silent prayer to his cock to please keep it together. You stuffed your mouth with the fish and veggies again, looking like you hadn’t eaten in a week, like you were having an epiphany. “Fuck,” you added, your mouth full. 

Lewd. 

“What about you? What do you do for a living?” you questioned in between bites. You rested your fork on the side of your plate to enjoy some more wine. By the look on your face, it was quite obvious the wine pairing was a success. 

“Ah, I’m a freelancer.” Hyunjin did not like to disclose his occupation, not to people who made his cock twitch the way you did. “I do jobs here and there.” Hyunjin watched the frown appear on your brow—subtle, yet obvious. Not upset, but rather amused. 

“Alright, if you want to be all mysterious, suit yourself, honey.” You resumed your devouring of the food and he watched you eat with endearment. “Hyathos reincarnate or whatever.” 

That was bad timing on Hyunjin’s part to fill his mouth with a bite of considerable size at that very moment. His eyes filled with tears as he tried to survive the current choking episode that overtook him—it was his turn now to avoid your gaze.

“Everything okay there, Hyunjin?” You grabbed the pitcher and an empty glass and poured him some water. An ice cube fell into it, splashing the table. Hyunjin stared at the drops while you forced the glass into his hand. “Drink up.” 

He drank. He swallowed the food although it elicited more tears in his eyes, which he wiped carefully with the back of his hand. 

“Sorry if I said something I shouldn’t have said—” you began, but Hyunjin waved his hand dismissively. 

“You’re alright.” He cleared his throat and drank wine this time instead of water. “I ate too fast, darling. No worries.” He sprinkled the darling in there hoping that it would mess with your head enough that you wouldn’t notice his flustered state.

But it did not. You were still watching him the same way you would look at some artwork—trying to find correlations and themes and meaning. Inspecting.

Sometimes, a curse was just a curse. 

He could not tell you. He could not even do anything that would lead you to believe that he was who he was, what he was. In fact, Hyunjin tested the waters once more—he opened his mouth to speak the words out loud, words that haunted him. It’s me. I’m him. Or rather, it was me, and it will be me again, someday. I am Hyathos, son of Amaranthos and Agatheia. My father sent me here to punish me.

But nothing came out. No sound, no voice, no air. So he sealed his lips back together and shoved the words back down his throat to where they came from—and just like that, he could breathe again. This was his curse—the invisible gag that was on him, binding him to this mortal identity, making it physically impossible for him to be seen. To be really seen.

Literally—he could not explain to you the depth of the emotions overtaking him. They filled his chest with warmth. It felt like watching the sun rise over a calm ocean. It felt like biting into a ripe peach or a crispy apple. Like drinking plum juice. Like a peaceful rainy afternoon. Like the smell of a cypress tree. Like walking barefoot in soft grass with flowers swaying in the wind all around him.

It felt like belonging. 

“We don’t have to talk about Hyathos anymore,” you insisted, stretching your arm across the table to give his forearm a gentle, polite tap. “I’m sorry, Hyunjin.”

“No, it’s fine.” He smiled, just hoping it was a convincing smile at all. “Don’t let your food get cold just because of me. We’re here to talk about him and the stories, aren’t we?”

“Guess so.” You smiled too, letting his arm go to grab your fork again. “We can talk about Felix too since he’s your favorite.” 

“You gave me a very interesting analysis of Hyathos earlier,” Hyunjin said. “I’d be interested if you did the same with Feliks.”

You nodded and washed down the last of your fish with some wine. Hyunjin took the bottle from the bucket and waved it at you, making a silent offer—another nod confirmed your endorsement, so he filled both of your glasses. 

“Hyathos is more in his own thoughts, acting in silence. Making himself forgotten, invisible. Felix is quite the opposite, isn’t he?” 

“He is the god of light,” Hyunjin pointed out, giving you time to finish your veggies too. “Ethereal. Everywhere.”

“Quite literally.” You wiped your mouth with the corner of your napkin and pushed your plate away, leaning comfortably in the armchair with your glass of wine. The color of it looked pretty with your skin tone. “His father’s pride, his mother’s favorite. Loved and admired by everyone.” You paused as if to taste the wine in your mouth but really, you were tasting your words. “While Hyathos is full of his own sentiments, keeping them for himself, Felix gives, and gives, and gives.”

“Can’t let anyone out in the dark, in the cold…” Hyunjin started, feeling on the verge of choking again—except this time, it had nothing to do with his curse and everything to do with the day Feliks had had enough of him. “Once you’ve been touched by light, it stays with you, no matter what.”

“Oh wow.” You took a moment to process it. “Hyunjin, that’s beautiful. And correct in every way. He was loved but he loved a lot, too. He just… he loved being a lover, you know?”

“I know.” For fuck’s sake, nobody knew that better than him. “He was good at receiving love, too. Not everyone is.”

“Again, you’re correct.” You sat straight in your armchair, pushing your hair away from your face and it fell in waves of silk behind your shoulders. “But Felix isn’t… he isn’t selfish, you know? It’s something more intricate than that. He couldn’t not be loved. He’s Felix. The god of light. Beautiful inside and out, with constellations on his cheeks and sunlight in his hair. It’s just what he is. Do we question the sun when it shines, or why it shines? No, it just does. Felix is the same. He loves—he just loves.” 

Hyunjin drank the last of his wine in one large gulp and set the glass back on the table a little harder than he should have, but he kept his calm. The waiter came at that moment anyway, giving him a good reason to think about something other than Feliks for a minute.

You declined dessert, but Hyunjin mentioned you’d occupy the table until you had at least finished the wine—which would be rather soon, considering how little was left in the bottle. 

“I’ll take the tab, please,” Hyunjin said, working hard at making his voice as pleasant as possible. Sometimes, when he remembered Feliks too well, his words were coated with poison. The waiter left with a nod while you finished your glass. “Thank you for this, I had a good time. If you want, I know a nice little café—they have an excellent selection of pastries, as well as the best gelato in town. All homemade from local ingredients, of course.”

“Actually, that sounds lovely.” Your smile was telling—either you really liked gelato or you were in no hurry for this not-date to end. “Let’s go.” 

“But the wine—” It was a rather expensive wine, after all. 

You grabbed the bottle and drank directly from it, almost exactly half of what was left in it, before handing it back to him, urging him to do the same. Hyunjin shook his head, laughing. He could hardly believe you were like this. That there were so many colors to your personality—and he had only known you for a few hours.

It didn’t feel like this, though. It felt like he had met you before, it felt like catching up with an old friend instead of meeting someone new. 

It felt like belonging. 

“Alright then.” He finished the wine and got up without waiting. “I’ll go settle the bill, why don’t you wait for me outside?” He didn’t want you to see, or hear the price for tonight’s dinner. “See you soon, darling.” 

Your eyes filled with sunsets from hearing the nickname. 

Hyunjin offered to take the car but you adamantly refused—the café was a reasonable walking distance from the restaurant and you needed to breathe some fresh air. Perhaps it would smack some sense into your mind. Perhaps it would remind you that this was not a date—that you were paid to be an art history consultant tonight. 

But he called you darling. And he stared at your mouth a lot. For the love of god, don’t fall in love with him. You loved too easily, but not just anyone. They all had something in common, though—they made you feel interesting. As a kid, having art and mythology as a passion did not make you cool. And, it turns out, it did not as an adult either—but a few people were still interested in what you had to say. 

And you often ended up falling in love with them. 

“Isn’t it too cool?” Hyunjin asked as you walked together, mostly in silence until now. “You’re not wearing tights under your dress.” 

It might have been the wine—but the fact that he noticed you weren’t wearing tights and also mentioned it tickled you. Between the legs. Or maybe that was his goddamn cologne. Wherever he went, Hyunjin brought with him thunderstorms and orchards and light. 

“I’m fine, honey.” You made yourself call him that to shut him up. Besides, it wasn’t a lie—you felt like a small fire was burning inside you. It only made you realize how lonely you had been. Tonight, you felt alive. Especially under Hyunjin’s intelligent eyes. “I’ll even have the gelato.” 

Hyunjin’s laugh was as warm as the color of his skin. He took a turn to the left and you followed him. It was a Friday night and the sidewalk was a little crowded, so you stayed close. It felt good to be close to him. You wondered if your clothes would smell like him tonight. You might just go to bed in that dress if they did. 

“I usually get the stracciatella,” he mentioned. 

“No way! It’s my favorite flavor! I really like the cinnamon one they sell at a place not far from mine.” 

“Oh, I’d love to taste that someday.” Hyunjin raised his arm to show you the café you were headed to—it was across the street, a few buildings down. The place itself looked rather fancy—cozy, even—but something about it was humorous. 

“BabyBread?” you read the name on the sign several times before even speaking them out loud. “Who the fuck calls their café baby bread?” 

You barely heard Hyunjin’s response over your uncontrollable laughter. “I know the owner—it’s just an inside joke, apparently. I swear they have the best stuff.” 

You ignored the other pedestrians looking at you funny—as if people were no longer allowed to laugh in public. “BabyBread. I have to take a picture of it when we’re closer. I didn’t even know this place existed!” 

It was true that you didn’t often come to this part of town—none of your acquaintances lived nearby and you did not deem it worth the commute. Now, if that gelato was as good as promised, maybe it would be worth it.

On your way to BabyBread, a beautiful melody caught your attention. It came from the right, in a small park. It was tiny, with just a few benches and exactly four trees and one shrub, but it had a lovely view of the river. A woman was playing the violin there, under the one lamppost. A small crowd had already gathered around her—a few of them even danced to the ballad she was playing.

“Beautiful,” Hyunjin pointed out. Both of you had stopped in your tracks to watch from the sidewalk. “Do you want to go listen for a little bit? If you’re not cold?”

You nodded in agreement and he followed you into the park. You stood behind the crowd, entranced by the woman, entranced by Hyunjin’s smell and his presence. The music was painfully exquisite. It reminded you of something but you couldn’t say what exactly—like it was just on the tip of your tongue, like blanking on a word.

So you just stood in silence. The song ended and you joined the crowd’s polite clapping. The woman refused any money that was offered to her. Instead, she smiled—a smile so warm it made your heart flutter almost as much as Hyunjin’s eyes when he laid them on you. “I will now play another song,” she said. “It was my father’s favorite. It’s called, I Don’t Want to Set the World on Fire, and it’s my favorite love song.” 

And she played that song. And the song was beautiful, and she was beautiful, too. 

“Would you like to dance?” Hyunjin was so close to you that you almost jumped when you felt his hot breath on your skin, his voice directly in your ear. “With me?” he added as if it wasn't obvious.

You turned to him, warmth spreading from your core all the way to your fingertips. You took a deep breath, finding it hard to gather your oxygen. And your senses. 

“Yes,” you heard yourself whisper back, your voice shaking a little. 

He took your hand in his, a contact that was no longer new to you but still sent electric shocks all throughout your body. Hyunjin led the both of you a little to the side, away from the standing crowd and closer to those who were slow dancing but still a little withdrawn, by a tree. Just the two of you. 

Your heart caught on fire when Hyunjin’s arms embraced your waist but you wrapped yours around his neck. He ran his tongue on his lips, slowly, purposefully, his eyes on your mouth, his wine breath on your face. You could barely hear the music anymore—all that you heard was your own heartbeat and your own thoughts. 

He pulled you closer, just a little, and led the dance. He moved slowly and meaningfully, his body warm against you. A body that felt good to rest against. Your fingers were touching his hair, too. Soft. His honey skin was smooth like marble. 

“You dance well,” you commented. “Do you often do this with girls? Pretend you’ll buy them gelato but take them here?” 

Hyunjin bit his bottom lip, his shoulders shaking with a silent laugh. “No. I’ll still buy you gelato, you know, darling.” You were still dancing, but his fingers dug deeper into the skin of your waist—and heat spread between your legs. “A woman like you can have both—a dance, and ice cream.” 

“A woman like me?” As if acting on their own, your fingers crept up in his hair a little, your fingertips entangled in it. Just a little. “What does that mean, Mr. Hwang?”

He stared at you, not at your mouth but into your eyes this time, pulling you close, your bodies flush against each other. He cocked his head, closing in the distance between his face and yours. “You read between the lines,” he said under his breath. And yet, you heard him very clearly despite the violin playing. “You see things others don’t even bother to imagine. I could listen to you talking for hours—I believe it’s deserving of some gelato.” 

You bit your lip. His mouth was right there, ripe for the taking. They would taste savory from dinner and boozy from the wine. You were willing to bet they felt good, too—Hyunjin had full lips, as plush as fresh roses. 

“You’re just willing to listen, Hyunjin,” you replied. It was true. Few people in life actually cared about the things you had to say. “That’s all.” 

“Nobody sees him the way you do,” Hyunjin went on, disregarding your comment entirely. “Hyathos. And Feliks, too.” Talk about a man with a passion. “Tell me more about him, please. Feliks.” 

Maybe you were a little drunk, but Hyunjin’s voice veiled with longing whenever he mentioned Felix. You clicked your tongue, feeling sorry for him—to you, tonight, he just looked like a guy who had lost someone. Someone who weighed heavy in his life.

“Why do you like him so much?” you asked, as if it was any of your business, as if you hadn’t met this man this very morning. “Does he remind you of someone?”

Hyunjin’s hands traveled just an inch lower but it was enough for the heat in your core to become more persistent, turning into something else. “I was in love once,” he revealed, his sentence slow and beautiful just like the violin playing in the background. “He…” 

“Felix reminds you of him? Of this love that you lost?” You did not shy away from touching his hair anymore—you ran your fingers through the back of his hair. 

“Yes.” One word and yet so powerful, spoken in a half-moan, half relieved sigh. “He was my first love—my only love. I promised myself he would be the last.” 

You sighed somewhere near Hyunjin’s neck. Here, the scent of his cologne was stronger, deeper—like you were discovering new colors to it, new textures. From here, there was something intense about it. Not in a bad way. In a way that made you want to bury your face in the crook of his neck. Instead, you kept your eyes on his chest, focusing on his clothes. A dark gray wool coat over a black button-up. Black trousers. The same black wingtip boots he was wearing this morning at the museum. He wore a thin golden chain too—a small glint only highlighted the strong smell around his neck. 

So maybe you only met him this morning. And maybe you were biased by his looks, his expensive branded clothes, the way he held himself, his black card. His longing stare for the river, for art pieces in museums, for you. But maybe it didn’t feel like you met him this morning. Or rather, yes, it felt as if you only just met him but like it was meant to be. Could fate be real, in the end? 

“I feel like people say that a lot,” you said, your voice no more than a murmur but it was okay—the song was quieting down and coming to an end. “That they were never in love before. Except it’s not true. It’s just a lie they tell themselves to keep going. But they fall in love again and they say the same thing—that the last one wasn’t real, that this is one is the very first time they actually fall in love. But of course it’s always going to feel like the first time—it’s with a new person. No two loves are the same.”

Hyunjin kept his words to himself for a while. Behind you, the violinist ended the song on a long, nostalgic note, so you stopped moving. When you tried to pull away from Hyunjin, he didn’t quite let go of you, and you didn’t quite want him to, anyway.

“I think you’re right,” he breathed, his brow creased and a concerned look on his face. “You seem to know a lot about this. About love. Were you in love before, once?”

“More than once.” You still let go of him, setting your hands on his forearms. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” 

Why was it this easy to speak to a stranger? Was it easy because he was a stranger? “Love just never worked out for me,” you revealed with a shrug. The violinist began playing another song, even slower this time, and Hyunjin softly swayed with you in the night. “I’m not meant for it. Or it’s not meant for me.” 

“It’s because you’ve never known true love,” Hyunjin disagreed with a shake of his pretty head. “You wouldn’t say that.” 

“I don’t know. Maybe. Yes.” You sighed, closing your eyes for an instant, letting the music and Hyunjin rock you to an approximation of peace of mind. “I don’t care whether it was true love or not. Look where it got me—nowhere. I’m past the age of dreaming of a perfect domestic ending. I attend my friends’ weddings and they ask me: when is it your turn? I don’t know. I don’t know.” You paused, fully aware that you had just thrown all of this at this poor man. “Sorry, I just—yeah.” You sighed again. “Your true love—it was the guy who reminds you of Felix?”

Hyunjin nodded silently, gulping. His bottom lip retreated inside of his mouth for an instant and you admired the pout, the soft skin, the color. 

“Yes.” He hesitated but not for long. “I miss him. I loved him more than he loved me. I saw the future in him—my future. But he spoke to me in the present tense. You know?”

“Oh, I know.” You couldn’t fight the urge to reach for his arm and squeeze it gently—even through layers of clothing, you could feel the firmness of it. “It’s funny. That he was like Felix. And you’re so much like Hyathos.” But then, you frowned, looking into Hyunjin’s eyes again. “Sorry—I said it was funny, but I didn’t mean it as humorous. I mean, funny as sad and tragic as hell.”

It happened naturally—Hyunjin pulled you against him and you rested your head against his shoulder, close to his chest. He held your waist, still, leading the dance—but really you were just swaying together, lazily, comfortably. The wool of his jacket was so soft you just wanted to steal it from him and take it home. 

“You said you were in love before,” he said, his mouth close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “But you got over it, right?” 

“Sort of.” You didn’t want to outright lie to him, but you couldn’t lie to yourself either. “Some days it’s difficult. I understand, Hyunjin. Why you so badly want to see that Felix painting so badly. I understand now…” Maybe Hyunjin just never got the closure he needed with that guy. 

You thought back about the day your coworkers unboxed it without waiting for you and Minji to return from the meeting. Since that day, the painting was waiting in a storage vault, wasting its beauty away. If only you could—

“Everything okay?” Hyunjin asked, pulling back to look at your face. He seemed a little concerned, and you realized you hadn’t really ended your sentence. “We can talk about something else. I guess I’m not paying you to talk about your feelings. Or mine, for that matter.”

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, determined to do something you weren’t even sure was possible. Something you had never really done before—rebellion. Hyunjin watched you quietly, curious, a faint smile on his lips. You wondered what kind of expression was on your face. 

Jisung picked up the call after just two ringtones. You could hear the party going on in the background—music, voices. Laughter. You had almost forgotten about this party you were definitely invited to.

“Hey,” Jisung said. He sounded tipsy. Not drunk, just not sober. “You lost or something? Party started two hours ago.”

“I know.” You looked into Hyunjin’s eyes. His big, not-quite-hazel eyes looked into yours in return. They looked burdened by knowledge, by something beautiful, too. “Jisung, I need your help. Can I come over real quick?” 

“My help? For what?”

“Is anyone from management at your party?” You just had to make sure. After all, you were about to commit a crime.

“Fuck no. What’d you need my help for? You said you’d come to my party but didn’t even call to cancel—” 

“I’ll tell you when I’m there. I think I can get there in about 25 minutes.” 

“You—” But you hung up before he could speak the rest of his complaints. 

Hyunjin watched you with a squint and a glimmer in his eyes. “Who’s Jisung?”

“The guy I was in a situationship with who ultimately decided I had too many feelings for him and that we should go back to being just friends.” You put your phone back into your jacket, smoothing the fabric of your dress. “And also, he’s the Director of Security at the museum. Let’s go see Felix, shall we?” 

Hyunjin’s hired chauffeur parked at an empty spot just a few buildings away from Jisung’s apartment. His place was nice enough—he lived on the first floor of a condo building and had a cute little staircase leading to his front door. Sometimes, after sex, you’d sit on the steps to have a glass of liquor and smoke some weed. He really wasn’t all bad. But you’d much rather remember how unwilling he had been to satisfy you sexually—it made it easier to forget the good memories. 

You turned to Hyunjin sitting next to you at the back. His mood had shifted completely since you had told him about Jisung. “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time, darling. We’ve got all night,” he replied with a smirk. “Are you sure you’re not gonna get yourself in trouble?” 

“I don’t care. I’ll be fine, but I don’t care.” 

So you got out of the car and headed immediately to Jisung’s door. He opened soon after your knocks—the party still very much happening behind him.  

“What the fuck?” He stared at you with glossy eyes. He was drunker than he had been on the phone. “What are you up to?”

“I want your keycard. It’s all-access,” you said without preamble. “I want to get into Storage 2A.” 

Jisung stared at you for several seconds—several—looking as if you had spoken another language and he was trying to translate it. “You’re FUCKING kidding me.” 

“I’m not. I… I need to see a painting that’s in there. I’m with a researcher… another historian, and we think we can prove another theory but we just have to see it.”

“YOU’RE FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Jisung rubbed a hand on his face, shaking his head. “You want me to risk my whole fucking career so that you can go see a painting that you can look up on Wiki?” 

You sighed, biting your lip. “Ji, this one painting is special. The light in it… it can’t be seen from a picture of it on a screen. I have to see it with my own two eyes. I’ll be just in and out, I’ll go into your office and deactivate the cameras in the hallway—no one will know. I promise. Who’s on guard duty tonight?”

“Choi.” Jisung took a deep breath. “Is that your researcher?” He lifted his chin towards something behind you and you followed his gaze.

Hyunjin was standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, strolling casually. “Hello,” he chimed in. “I heard raised voices—I was only checking up on the both of you. Very nice meeting you, Mr. Han Jisung.”

“Who the fuck is that guy? Why does he know my name?” Jisung asked, turning to you again. 

You took a few moments to regain your composure. Unfortunately, the wine seemed to be wearing off, rendering you a little too sober for the situation, but not sober enough to easily access your thoughts or to make sense of them. 

“You don’t owe this to me,” you admitted to Jisung, leaning against the rail of his staircase. “We’re not even friends—I know this. I’m just the almost-something, which is worse than nothing. But I’m asking, please. I promise I won’t get caught. I promise I won’t get you into trouble. I’m sorry I fell in love with you, Jisung. I wish we could be friends.” 

You didn’t know what prompted this outburst of honesty, but it seemed to have an effect on Jisung who relaxed almost instantly. He sighed, burying his face into his hands. 

“Fine. Whatever. I promise if something happens, I’ll kill you myself.” 

“Deal.” 

Jisung disappeared for a few moments before coming back with his keycard and his keychain. “I did mean it. That I would kill you. If you get caught. Bring the keycard back tomorrow, yeah?”

“Thanks, Ji. I’m sorry. I’ll try to come to your next party if you invite me.” 

But Jisung didn’t say anything—he just nodded and closed the door.

“That was a lot,” Hyunjin commented as you made your way back to the car. “Thanks. For doing this for me.”

“Guess I’m not just doing this for you—I’m doing it for me, too.” Except it went beyond just seeing the painting—you just couldn’t say what exactly it was about. “Alright, honey. Let’s get going.” 

Choi was the kind of guy that wasn’t easily swayed unless you knew his weakness—and you happened to be aware of his. All it took was some sweet talking and making sure your dress was hitched up a little, showing more skin, as well as a large slice of chocolate cake with fudge sauce. 

And now you were in Jisung’s office, sitting at his computer, disabling the specific cameras that were on your way to Storage 2A. 

“You knew his password,” Hyunjin pointed out. “Feels like he could lose his job just for that alone.” 

You shrugged, clicking your way through the security system. “He used to bring me in here to impress me sometimes, showed me some stuff on the system.” You turned to Hyunjin. “I guess it worked in the end. He did impress me.” 

Hyunjin chuckled and shook his head. “Guys keep setting the bar lower and lower—soon enough, you’ll have to crawl under the soil to even see it.” He made a face, taking a playfully dumb intonation for some kind of imitation. “Hey baby, wanna go upstairs? I’ll show you my computer! You can even spin in my chair if you want!”

You laughed in earnest at that, pushing yourself out of your chair. “And what do you suggest guys should do to raise the bar, Mr. Hwang?” 

Hyunjin waited until his laughter died off before leaning over the desk separating him from you—his scent got entangled in your nostrils again, creating just about the same effect in you as the wine earlier. “I don’t know, how about committing a crime with their girl?” His smirk was as sharp as a blade, and he used it to cut his way into your ribcage. 

Your breath itched but you managed to turn it into a sinister chuckle. “Sounds fun,” you said, just to fill the silence in the room before it grew too thick to breathe. You grabbed the keycard and keychain and made your way out of the office, followed by Hyunjin. 

You were not stupid—you were fully aware of the innuendo Hyunjin had just made. Only, you couldn’t figure out if he actually meant it or if he just liked the chase. A lot of guys were just like that, especially guys like him. Hot, not in need of money, not in need of anything except, maybe, emotional validation. Whatever he had gone through, it was obvious the guy had some unresolved issues. Why else would he be so attached to a painting?

For once, you wanted some control over your narrative. This was why you were committing the aforementioned crime—you had to find your way back to yourself. You had forgotten her, that woman, through heartbreaks and loneliness. Through time.

When you were 16, you and your group of friends found an abandoned house not too far from the school. It was hidden from view, located in the middle of a small wooden area. Half of it had burned and the rest had just been left there—the land was for sale, but it had been for many years. In any case, it wasn’t uncommon for you and your friends to skip classes just to head there and chill. And drink beers you had stolen from your parents. And kiss, sometimes. Just for the fuck of it. In the warmer months, you’d take your clothes off and get some sun on the balcony. Eventually, your mother found out through the school noticing your lack of attendance. She scolded you, but looking back, you couldn’t remember she ever told your father. You felt so alive, though, on that balcony, making yourself vulnerable to skin cancer. Making yourself. 

You hadn’t told Choi exactly where you were going and what you were doing and it did not seem to matter—he was sitting at his booth, eating his chocolate cake with a bottle of milk. The bottle of milk was Hyunjin’s idea and you thought it was a rather nice finishing touch to the bribe. 

You led him through the hallways. Hyunjin did not speak but neither did you, feeling a lump in your throat. You couldn’t help eyeing the cameras—you had triple-checked that they were indeed deactivated, but they wouldn’t stay like that for long.

“We had ten minutes from the moment I started the deactivation protocol,” you told Hyunjin, coming to a stop in front of the large door to Storage 2A. The dark gray door looked like a threat, like freedom. It hadn’t even occurred to you to pull such an elaborate scheme to see the painting—you had remained passive, waiting to see if anyone would need access to the room to sneak your way in with them. “We have eight minutes left, now,” you added after looking at the timer on your watch. 

“Thank you for this.” Hyunjin placed his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently and leaving it there. The warmth from earlier, the one spreading between your legs, came back. “I promise I’ll make it worth your time. And the risks you took.” 

You took a deep breath before scanning Jisung’s card with the reader. It gave you the OK to unlock the door with the two keys required—only Jisung possessed the two, others only had one—and you pushed the door open. 

The crate was there, resting on a sturdy table. Your heart was beating so fast that for a solid fifteen seconds—how long it took to get from the door to the table—you were certain that you would throw up. Only when you reached it did you realize Hyunjin had stayed in the doorframe.

“You coming or not?” you asked, turning to him. “We have seven minutes, almost six left, and then we have to be out of this whole room and hallway with the painting secured.” You know you could make it in time—if the man decided to move, that is.

He did. He took a deep breath and entered the room, closing the door behind him. 

“See that box over there?” You waved towards the small counter to the right, where a few items had been left. “Grab two pairs of gloves, please. Just in case."

Hyunjin did as he was told while you removed the lid of the crate and set it to the side. Only then did you take the gloves he was handing you and put them on.

“Don’t look now if you want the full effect,” you advised Hyunjin. “It’s in a ballistic glass case. I’ll remove the lid of the case. Maybe turn up the light a little?” 

Hyunjin got to work while you carefully pulled the other lid and set it next to the wooden one. And then you looked inside.

And then it hit you, like a kick to the solar plexus. 

The colors were muted except for the ones used to paint Felix and the tree. It was dusk and the sky was lavender and blue with no stars in it. There was a forest beyond the field. The grass was long and soft, making it more comfortable for the god of light to sit under his cypress tree. It must have taken a lot of work to paint a dusky scene like this, especially considering the detail on the forest, on the grass. On Felix. 

He was so beautiful, sitting under that tree with a ripe peach in his hand. Its juices dripped on his fingers, on his wrist—some even coated his cherry-colored lips. He had a pretty face and a small frame, but elegant limbs. The constellations on his face were so pretty they almost distracted you from the focus of the painting—his hair. Not blond, not gold, not white. His hair was pure light, almost blinding to look at. You reached into the crate and hovered your hand above the canvas, expecting it to emanate actual warmth. It was long enough that it brushed his shoulders, although the front was shorter. It moved with a breeze that you could feel just as much as the light appeared warm to the touch. 

“Hyunjin?” Even you were surprised by the trembling in your voice. “It’s time.” 

In the stillness of the room, Hyunjin’s light footsteps were deafening. Part of you wanted to see his face when he would finally see the painting—but you couldn’t look away. You just couldn’t. Every line, every brush stroke was heavy with purpose and talent and grace—you had seen a lot of art in your life and you had appreciated it, always. Each piece had its soul, you always said.

But this one—this one was a godsend. A miracle. An enigma.

You only became aware of the tears in your eyes when you heard Hyunjin’s noisy breathing and sniffling—only then did you manage to pull your gaze away from the miracle to check up on him. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes were wet and he was obviously overcome with emotion. They did say the painting made people cry—something about the color palette, the lighting, the softness of the scene. A few studies had been conducted but nothing conclusive had ever come out of them except this: people often cried while looking at the painting. It moved them. 

“I’ll take it out of the crate, if you want,” you offered. You did not know why you had this guy’s lack of closure from a relationship at heart like this. Was this really a part of yourself or was this some personality trait you had developed in the hope his velvety lips would ever touch yours? “It’s not a problem.” 

“No, no—it’s too beautiful to take any more risks than we already have,” Hyunjin managed with a raspy, shaking voice. “Thank you. I’ll never thank you enough for this.” 

A quick glance at your watch revealed it was past the time you wrapped it up—literally. “Hyunjin, we have to go now. The painting will be displayed in a few days, you can come back. As often as you can.” 

He nodded and retreated near the door as if he feared the painting, as if he feared his own reaction to it. You carefully placed the two lids back, making sure everything was exactly the same as it was before you touched it. You even put the gloves back where Hyunjin took them and opened the door. It seemed a lot heavier now than it had been when you entered the room—but you managed to open it regardless. 

You and Hyunjin both had a last look at the interior of the storage room before you closed the door and reengaged the lock. On your watch, time flew faster than ever, so you grabbed Hyunjin’s wrist and literally dragged him out—by the end of the hallway, you were running alongside him. 

There were 39 seconds left on the timer by the time you left the storage wing.

Choi had finished his cake but was drinking some milk while doing his security round. “Hope it was fun,” he said in a pleasant tone. “Cake was delicious.”

“Thanks, man,” you managed. “You’re a lifesaver.” 

The security officer walked away with a proud nod, leaving you and Hyunjin in the middle of the Deities exposition. If you liked the museum when it was full of guests and full of life, you also appreciated it when it was quiet.

“Are you okay?” you asked Hyunjin—he seemed a little pale, and his eyes were still teary. 

“I need a drink,” he admitted with a sigh. “Do you—”

You didn’t know what he was about to say—maybe he was about to offer you a ride home in his hired car so he could get home too and get drunk. Maybe he was about to ask you for a drink at the nearby bar. But you didn’t let him. You took control of the situation—no matter how bold it was, how unlike you it was. 

“I keep a bottle of Hennessy in my office,” you announced with a faint voice as if you couldn’t believe you were speaking those words, but you grabbed Hyunjin's attention nonetheless. “I think I need a drink, too.” 

The flash of a smile, albeit one saturated with melancholy, appeared on Hyunjin. “Sounds like you never run out of good ideas, darling.” 

You were actually allowed into your office at any time of the day or night, so you were a lot more relaxed when you went there to unlock the door for Hyunjin while you returned to Jisung’s, just to put everything back to normal on his computer and his desk. 

When you returned to your own office, Hyunjin was leaning against the wall near the window, looking at the view—there was a park with a small pond across the street, as well as many historical buildings. You were adamant you had the best view out of everyone. 

“In the summer, there are ducks in the pond,” you decided to tell Hyunjin, closing the door behind you. To make conversation, or maybe just to hear more of that voice of his when he would respond. “Sometimes, on my lunch break, I go eat with them. I bring them grapes or corn, or oats.”

“The sun must be warm then,” Hyunjin replied with an empty voice. “It looks like the sun must hit the park quite hard at noon. Do you sit in the shade?”

“I do sit in the shade, under that tree over there.” You did your best at showing him the elm tree you usually sat under while unscrewing the cap on the Hennessy. “Otherwise, on clear days, I’d just burn in the sun.” 

Hyunjin nodded while you poured cognac into the plastic cups you had stolen from the breakroom. “You’d just burn in the sun,” he echoed, getting you worried in the process. 

You handed him his drink, which he took and tasted immediately. “Are you actually alright, Hyunjin?” At least, his eyes were dry again.

“I think love can burn someone,” he said. “I think, love can make someone blind. I think love is like the sun.” 

You drank in silence for a while, letting the Hennessy warm you up from the inside, letting it drown the scent of Hyunjin’s cologne and the sorrow in his voice. Whatever that painting meant to him, you understood tonight was a lot to process for him. 

“How did you get over it?” he asked you, drinking more. And more. 

“Hyunjin…” you sighed, staring with him at the park on the other side of the street. It was night and you couldn’t see much, but you could make out the pond and the elm tree. “I… I don’t think my love was as deep, as real as what you had. It’s okay to feel the way you feel.”

“You apologized to Jisung. For falling in love with him.” Hyunjin turned to you then, and you held his gaze. “I feel like that too. I feel sorry, except I can’t apologize.” 

Maybe the guy had died, or ghosted him entirely and was impossible to find. You did not question it. You just grabbed the bottle and gave Hyunjin more Hennessy. One thing was sure—you did apologize to Jisung, and maybe it was to get his keycard from him or to alleviate your own heavy heart.

“Can I be honest with you?” he said, lifting his eyes from his cup to look at you. “Despite it all—how I can’t get over him, the way the painting made me feel—I just want to move on, you know? I want to sit in the shade, too.” 

You nodded in silence, drinking, looking at Hyunjin over your glass. “When Felix and Hyathos…” You had to choose your next words very carefully and you knew that. “As we talked about earlier, Hyathos doesn’t have a lot of dialogue in the stories but he feels a lot. I’m sure that deep down, he knew Felix just couldn’t be his—not just his, at least. And… I’m willing to bet that it’s that feeling, that feeling of I knew it, that made it even worse for him. I knew it, I could have prevented it, but I didn’t. He blames himself for it all but—why? Who would blame someone for seeking some warmth in a cold, unkind life? He had never been anyone’s favorite before. Until Felix made him feel favored. And loved.”

Hyunjin finished his second drink in two large gulps and set his empty cup on the window sill. You decided to turn on the small radio in your office—it was set to a station that played relaxing classical music. It usually helped you focus on your work but tonight, you just wanted something to relieve the silence, the atmosphere.

“Thank you,” was all he said for the longest time until he turned to you. “Wanna dance again?” He smiled, too, a beautiful, true smile. As if what you had said had a real impact on him. As if he actually cared about what you had to say and took it into consideration. 

He offered you his hand, so you finished your drink too, and took it. “There’s not a lot of space,” you pointed out, but he pulled you against him, closer than earlier at the park even, and wrapped his arms around you.

The dancing itself was imperceptible—just two bodies moving slowly close to one another, souls getting to know each other, Hennessy breaths colliding. God, he smelled good, so good—you were facing his neck, his jaw, and had to fight the urge of licking him there. His skin was smooth, doughy, soft. Inviting. 

“Darling,” he whispered his mouth so close to your head that you felt his breath in your hair. “I don’t normally fuck on first dates, you know. But I really fucking want to kiss you.”

You had to be thankful he was actually holding you because you might have died right on the spot—in one instant, his face was just over yours, his boozy breath tickling your nose, his head cocked to the side. Warmth spread from your gut to your lower back where Hyunjin’s hands trailed, pulling you even closer to him. 

“But then—it’s not a date, is it?” he added, speaking so close to your mouth that his words were kissing you instead of his lips.

You stretched your neck just slightly, closing in the distance between your face and his. Your heartbeat had gone up significantly, racing in your chest. Your hands found the fabric of Hyunjin’s shirt and you closed your fists in it, maybe to anchor yourself even more or to pull him closer to push him away—except you knew you wouldn’t resist him. You knew you couldn’t resist him even if you tried. 

“It’s not a date,” you whispered, your eyes on his beautiful lips, your whole body warming up. 

Hyunjin was smiling when he pressed his plush lips against yours. He parted yours open, kissing you with an open mouth, breathing his air into your lungs. It tasted sweet—maybe you were crazy, but it did. His mouth tasted like Hennessy with a hint of something else. Something that reminded you of ripe plums. The texture of his lips was like them too—soft and supple. Pliable. You wanted to bite into them, but Hyunjin beat you to it. His teeth grazed your lips as a warning for what came next.

He took your face in his big hands, his tongue finding its way past your lips, brushing your tongue in passing. You whimpered against him, breath hitching, your hands in his silky hair. You entangled your fingers in it, keeping him close.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Hyunjin rasped, his kisses becoming more insistent. His hands traveled back to your waist, his long fingers digging into your skin there. “Been on my mind all day, darling. Couldn’t stop thinking about you. And what you said.”

“What I said?” You weren’t sure what he was referring to but it didn’t matter—at that moment, Hyunjin gently pushed you towards your desk. When your ass hit the edge of it, you naturally climbed on it to sit, opening your legs just enough to leave space for Hyunjin to settle between them. 

Hyunjin’s only response was to devour your mouth some more. And you let him. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling up his lips with your tongue, wetting them—just the sound of it was enough to make you wet as your mouths became acquainted with one another. Your skin heated up, each swipe of his tongue into your mouth eliciting more tingling to your core. You could feel your panties sticking a little to your skin, rubbing against you with every movement. 

The last of your functioning brain cells made you pull away, just to look at him, to figure out if any of it was real—if he was real at all. Or maybe you were just indulging in staring at his wet mouth, flushed cheeks, his eyes with the universe in them. You pressed your hand against the side of his face, brushing your thumb on his smooth, honey-colored skin. 

Hyunjin’s hands were on your thighs in no time, spreading your legs open furthermore, pulling your ass closer to the edge of the desk, your core now flush with his crotch. He kissed you again and you kissed him back, eager to taste his sweet oxygen and his Hennessy mouth again.

Blood rushed between your legs when he pulled up the skirt of your dress, burying his face into your neck. He dug his thumbs into the flesh of your thighs. “Fuck—” you managed, but it turned into a moan when one of his hands made it to your panties, his fingers brushing the fabric lazily. 

“You’re wet,” was all he said as if you didn’t know already. He placed kisses on your neck too, slow, meaningful, going tongue first. He was driving you crazy. He pushed your panties to the side, just a little, the back of his finger brushing lightly on your pussy.

And you were done for. Or maybe you had been done for the very moment you saw him in the museum this morning. His honey skin, his blood orange lips, with purpose and lust and torment in his eyes. 

“So fucking smooth…” he whispered, his mouth now hovering over your ear. “Wet just for me, too…” He licked the back of your ear in one agile swipe of his tongue, leaving a kiss on the upper part of it. “Can I, darling?”

He gave a few cautious strokes on your pussy, his other hand holding you by the waist. 

“Please,” you breathed, your face in his neck, fingers working on unbuckling his belt. You rolled your lips a little, chasing friction against him, your panties, against anything. “Please, Hyunjin—” 

He took your panties off you but didn’t let you pull down his pants—yet you could feel him growing hard against you. You moaned into his mouth when he pressed two fingers against your slit, moving them slowly in circling and tickling motions over your skin, spreading your slick all over yourself. 

“Let me see your pussy, will you?” Hyunjin hummed, pulling away to look at his hand working on you. “Shit… You’re so wet, darling. Look at that cunt…” He parted you open with his fingers, his expression turning into the face of a starving man. 

“Hyunjin,” you insisted, grinding on his hand impatiently. You tugged at his waistband again, but didn’t insist—you were too dizzy from him to keep your thoughts together anyway. “Need you, okay?” 

He chuckled, but continued his relentless touches, teasing your entrance with his fingertips. He twirled them just a little, just to test you, to feel your plush walls. 

“So tight,” he commented, taking your mouth for a kiss again, his thumb now teasing your clit. 

You shivered under his caresses, feeling up his torso. He was warm to the touch even through his shirt and you liked how he felt under your palms—he had a toned body, solid yet graceful. This was how he touched you, too—there was very little hesitation in the way he slowly stretched your hole and traced circles on your clit. And for how long he did it, too, just the same motions, unhurriedly, skillfully.

Your juices coated his hand, dripping all over your desk. You could hear the sound of it, the squishy, wet noise of his fingers dancing inside you. 

“Do you normally get so wet for anybody, darling?” he mumbled into your mouth before licking your lips, your chin, your jaw the same way he would lick ice cream. “Should I feel special, maybe?” 

The flush on your cheeks deepened and you closed your legs around him, urging him to get closer. His was squeezed between your two bodies, but he continued his merciless teasing of your pussy. 

“Maybe so,” you admitted, barely managing to speak the words out loud. “Fuck—” It was definitely unlike you to do this. You, too, didn’t like to fuck on the first date. And definitely not in your office, on your desk, after accessing a protected storage room. 

He kissed your cheek gently before pushing his digits a little farther into your hole. Both of you moaned at once, filling the room with your raspy voices and hot breaths. Heat spread under your skin, but you moaned again when Hyunjin’s free hand slithered under your dress to find your breasts, caressing them through the lace of your bra. 

“Feel me up, darling,” he invited, his voice syrupy and addictive. “You’ll see how you make me feel.”  

You were still caressing his torso, his back, your nails grazing the fabric of his clothes, trying to remain as level-headed as you could. At his demand, and because you really fucking wanted to, you pressed a hand over his crotch. He was hard—and not just a little. You cupped his bulge, squeezing him through his pants. Hyunjin hissed, burying his face into your neck, sliding his fingers deep into you. 

You cried out, your head falling backwards, sprawling on your desk. He had long, deft fingers, and he twirled them inside you, often curling them to reach your most sensitive spot, massaging every corner of your cunt like his life depended on it.

Your hand returned to the swelling in his pants, caressing it, feeling his length. You rubbed him, delighted by the feeling of it and the sound of his breathing accelerating with your touches. He hummed when you squeezed him again, harder this time. 

He had said he wanted to sit in the shade, that love had burned him. To some, you were a shooting star—to Hyunjin, maybe, you were a cloud, a veil over the sun sheltering him for a few instants. And maybe he was like a spoonful of honey, meant to sweeten a cup of tea that you had let steep for a little too long, turned bitter, harsh. Maybe it was time for you too to find shelter, to find some respite in something.

Or in someone. 

So you pulled Hyunjin into a kiss, your mouth wide open, your tongue moving in waves against his, feeling his lips, his teeth, his air. He sank his fingers as deep as he could within you, his palm flat against your clit, rubbing you in languid motions as he fucked you with his fingers, your arms wrapped around his neck. 

“You feel so good, darling.” Hyunjin retreated from your mouth, squeezing your nipple through your bra, mirroring how you were squeezing him through his pants. “I just need to taste you, for fuck’s sake…”

Hyunjin pulled his fingers out of your sensitive pussy—you moaned your complaints at the sudden emptiness but appreciated the feeling of your own slick oozing out of your hole. He stared at his fingers coated with your juices, dripping on your thighs before putting them against his mouth to give them a thorough lick. 

Pure elation saturated his face the same way light saturated Felix’s hair in the painting you had left in Storage 2A. He swiped his tongue a few more times on his fingers before he kissed you again, the two of you sharing your taste in a deep kiss. 

“Sweet, aren’t you?” Hyunjin mouthed in between kisses. “Your cream is so pretty too, just like your pussy.” He brought his hand back between your legs to collect more of it, rubbing your clit a little while he was there, but then pressing his coated fingers against your lips, pushing them in. 

You sucked on his fingers, your tongue twirling around them, your mouth now stained with your own taste. That, with his scent and the Hennessy and the feeling of his very hard cock against your palm made your pussy clench, made you moan, made you forget that you were just a passing cloud or a shooting star or a broken promise. 

“You drive me crazy I fucking swear…” Hyunjin started, taking his fingers out of your mouth and his hand from under your dress to put both of them on your waist, pulling you closer. “Let me hear your cute moans some more, will you?” 

Hyunjin lifted you from the desk, surprising you, but effortlessly moved you to the cozy loveseat in the opposite corner of your office. At first glance, you wouldn’t have assumed he could lift you, but you also wouldn’t have assumed he was a tortured, heartbroken mythology enthusiast. So maybe you shouldn’t make assumptions about him anymore unless you enjoyed being proven wrong.

He kissed you again as he sat next to you, his hands returning beneath your dress to feel your bra and your warm skin, playing with your tits while you finally unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. He propped himself up when you pulled his pants down to make it easier for you to slide them to his ankles, but he took your hands into his when you went for his boxers.

Hyunjin gently pulled you onto him and you found yourself straddling him, his strong thighs between yours. He kissed you softly, taking his time for now, kneading your ass as you couldn’t help but seek friction against him, rolling your hips slowly. You sank onto him, rubbing yourself against his contained erection with soft whimpers. 

“That’s so fucking good, baby,” he whispered into your ear, inhaling sharply. “Don’t stop, yeah?” 

Hyunjin’s mouth returned to your neck as he made out with it, leaving his saliva and his scent all over you while you moved your hips in steady undulations to feel his hard cock against your pussy. He was so hard—so fucking big, too, you could tell this much. You just wanted him inside of you. 

Except he was making you dizzy with his tongue on your skin, his breath all over you, his hands holding you the way the violinist from earlier was holding her instrument. Like he would never let you go, like you were fragile and strong and a masterpiece capable of creating melodies worth dancing to.

The pressure built within you as you pressed yourself closer to him, your body enveloping his, your hair in his face, your arms secured around him. “Hyunjin…” 

“Don’t stop, fuck—” Hyunjin grunted before dragging his tongue on your collarbone. “So fucking needy...” He bucked his hips into you, meeting you halfway, rubbing himself onto your pussy, smearing your juices all over his straining erection. 

Except he was eager too, moving with you, bruising your neck with his scorching kisses and how he sucked on your skin, locking it between his full lips. God, he was so hard you figured it wouldn’t feel any different if you were rubbing yourself on a fucking iron rod. 

“Keep going, darling,” Hyunjin moaned, his lips swollen by the kisses—you took them again between yours, sucking on them, twirling your tongue the same way you would if it were his cock in your mouth. “You’re so fucking wet. Look at that mess…” 

You did look down, catching a glimpse of the dark fabric of his boxers now soaked through, making them stick even more to his skin—when you saw the outline of his cock, hard and thick contained in them, you almost lost your mind, heat pooling between your legs.

“Hyunjin please,” you begged, “so hard—” 

He heard your plea and pushed onto you to sit you back up on his pelvis. It only took you a few seconds of writhing to find the perfect position again—his covered cock right against your slit, like it fucking belonged there.

“Your cunt smells so fucking good, darling,” Hyunjin growled, sliding one arm in between the two of you, the other hitching up your dress to expose your body and your tits. He buried his face in the delicate taupe lace of your bra, licking and kissing you there, too. “Oh fuck, cream all over me like that baby, please, please I literally can’t fucking wait—let me hear you…”

His hand found its way between your legs and he used two fingers to tease your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure there to make you go limp—you slumped against him, losing control of yourself. 

The same was happening to Hyunjin—his thrusts were becoming erratic as he frantically chased his own high, his moans joining yours. A sinful symphony, but not as unholy as his beautiful eyes rolling at the back of his head just for a few seconds or his tongue sticking from between his lips. It was smooth, pink, wet—you couldn’t resist kissing him just to lick it some more, whimpering into his mouth.

Your needy humping gained speed as you felt more pressure in your gut, tits bouncing with you. Hyunjin’s motions on your clit were bringing you over the edge, always closer, your fingers entangled in his soft hair, both of you sweaty, panting messes. 

The friction of his wet boxers over his hard cock, his incessant playing with your clit—you were almost there, flames licking you from within, blood buzzing in your ears, but it was Hyunjin who cried out first. He violently bucked his hips and rutted against you, holding you in place, his eyelids fluttering as if he couldn’t control himself. “Oh fuck fuck—” His head fell back, resting on the wall behind him but he did not stop working on your clit, his fingers often teasing your entrance too. “Cum with me, baby, cum with me, make a mess with me," he chanted in a whisper.

His soft moans were more than enough to get you there already, except that you felt him twitch even through his boxers, twice. “Hyunjin—” You pulled on his hair a little, twisting his neck enough to make it easy for you to kiss it. You wanted to cum with the smell of his cologne in your mouth, so you licked him, kissed him, and bit him softly while another pulse shook his cock.

He came hard then, his body shaking with grunts that sounded very unlike the image he projected. “Oh fuck, that sweet cunt of yours—” he muttered, his orgasm still stirring in him, moaning with every spurt of cum he released on himself.

His blank gaze found yours, eyelids halfway closed, lips halfway open, and you came, too, pleasure rippling through you, the shockwaves of it coursing through your entire body hard enough to make your back arch. You oozed onto Hyunjin’s boxers and hand, crying out his name or maybe some unholy comment while your walls fluttered against him. You continued rolling your hips slowly, riding out the last of your high, smearing your smooth cream all over him—just like he had asked. You felt hazy from it all, your body warm, hair sticking to your face as you regained your senses slowly.

“Take your time, darling.” Hyunjin’s voice was just there in your ear, deeper than it had been before. He was out of breath, too. You placed a gentle kiss on his neck, your eyes still closed, lulled by the sweet post-cum hormones. He was still moving underneath, your pussy clenching lazily to release the last of your juices as Hyunjin extracted the final moments of pleasure from you. “I swear you smell as good as you taste…” 

Hyunjin pulled his fingers from between your legs and you heard him slurp on them, swallowing you without hesitation. Your hands let go of his hair finally so you could rest them on his heaving chest. Finally, he came to a rest, wrapping you in his long arms. “You okay there, darling?” he asked softly. 

You nodded against him and he kissed the top of your head. You didn’t want to move, didn’t want to let him go. You liked the cool wetness you were resting upon, his softening cock, the smell of sex between your body and his. 

“I’m good,” you said in a hushed voice as if you both hadn’t been moaning with wide-open mouths just moments ago. “A little fucked out, I think…” 

Hyunjin chuckled softly and he kissed you again, on your forehead this time, really taking the time to press his mouth against your skin. “We’re not in a hurry, are we?” he responded, adjusting your weight on him to make the both of you more comfortable. 

Hyunjin traced circles and random lines tenderly on your back while your breathing came back to normal, and you had to close your eyes and focus not to kiss him, beg him to fuck you, beg him to let you be more than a shooting star in the sky of his life. 

The smell of thunderstorms laced with the smell of sweat and sex was a little too enticing. When you pulled away a little, Hyunjin took your face in his hands, pulling you back in for a deep, slow kiss. And that was even more addictive. The wet sounds of the kisses were louder than the music playing faintly in the background.

“I’ll clean you up, baby, okay?” Hyunjin murmured, brushing his tongue to wipe the saliva that had accumulated on your lips while grabbing the box of tissues on the table nearby. “Then I’ll make sure you’re home safe.” 

You weren’t sure what would happen. Once you got home. You didn’t think you’d manage to stand in a shower for long, but maybe you could run a bath and soak in it for a while. You felt tired but you didn’t think you could sleep.

Would you ever be able to stop thinking about Hyunjin? The way his hair swayed when he moved his head, how hard his cock was, the texture of his lips? Would you ever be able to forget the look in his eyes as he stared at Felix, the smell of his cologne, the way your name sounded in his mouth? 

Why did your name, when Hyunjin spoke it, sounded like it dripped with gold, with honey, with promises? 

to be continued

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[straywrds]

achillea millefolium | four of wands chapter three

pairing: witch!hyunjin x f!reader | wc: 21.7k | genre: adult romance | warnings: mutual pining ; angst ; heavy fantasizing ; occult sciences and mentions of sex magick. This work & chapter contain dark/adult themes and strong language. This work is for adult audiences as it includes sexually explicit content. Reader discretion advised. See detailed + nsfw warnings here.

──── There were times you thought Hyunjin was a dream, that he wasn’t even real. Other times you convinced yourself he was just a guy, no different than anybody. And sometimes you truly believed he had otherworldly abilities. You couldn’t explain how—maybe there was something in his DNA, the perfect formula to make him like that. Whatever it was, he had bewitched you. Because you had never felt like this before. Nothing had ever been this easy.

You used not to remember your dreams. Hell, you used to think you never dreamt at all—you just assumed that whenever you fell asleep, your mind became a void where you were granted a few hours of respite from life. You used to believe that nothing happened when you fell asleep. That it was darkness, and nothing else.

It had never been easy for you. Sleeping. As a baby, your parents regularly had to take you on long car rides at night just to lull you to sleep. As a child, you stayed up past curfew to read books under the light of a flashlight which was in fact merch from The Lion King movie that your uncle gave you one Christmas. As a teenager, you’d lay in bed with your headphones and listen to Linkin Park, Nirvana, or Slipknot, but you’d also read sometimes, or masturbate. 

As an adult, you binge-watched TV shows or documentaries, or you worked. If you were going to be awake all these hours on a given day, you wanted to make them at least a little productive. If that didn’t work, you still masturbated in the hopes it would help you relax. You had a white noise machine that was still in its original box and you kept a blue light filter on all of your screens. And yet, for years, you struggled, watching the night sky become morning through the windows of the bedrooms you occupied. And when you did sleep, there was nothing.

Then there had been Daehan. While you dated him, you’d take random over-the-counter medicine just to make yourself a little sleepy. Anything that caused drowsiness was good enough—melatonin, yes, but mostly allergy meds or nighttime cold medicine. You couldn’t see it while it was happening. That you desperately needed to escape. That the cold, empty void of your sleep was better than sharing his bed. You used to take the pills early just to maximize the amount of time you didn’t have to worry about whether he was texting other girls or sending them pictures of his dick. Sometimes, he’d get into bed and wake you up by pressing his hard cock against your ass. And it made you feel like you mattered. Being his docile cumdump made you feel cherished. To let him shove himself inside your cunt. You were usually asleep again by the time he was done, which was not very long, and you drifted to sleep again with his cum leaking out of your bored cunt.

You used not to remember your dreams. 

And then you moved to Heron Lake.

» Read the full chapter on ao3.

author's note: Thank you are always the first words that come to mind when I sit to write these little notes. I have always said and continue to say that I have the absolute best readers in this entire fandom and maybe even website. I’m blessed. I’ve been lucky. And this is why I am always terrified I’ll disappoint too many of you too badly at one point, if I haven’t already. If this day is today, I hope you can forgive me. I have missed Heron Lake but I simply couldn’t make the plot progress without giving our MC the proper time to process the changes happening in her mind and her heart. I think, maybe, because there are a lot of things in my heart too these days and it’s hard to make sense of them. I’ll say it again: thank you. Thank you for choosing to read my story, thank you for your kindness, for every ask, reblog, for all the love you’ve given me and my little fics. Thank you for allowing me to experiment and for wanting me around. You guys take care, ok? 🤍

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[straywrds]

peach, saffron, vanilla | four of wands chap. 2 🔞

pairing: witch!hyunjin x afab reader | wc: 22.2k | genre: romance, light angst, suggestive/eventual smut | chapter warnings: angst due to a past relationship (reader), mutual pining, occult sciences/mentions of magick, drinking, voyeurism ("accidental"), heavy fantasizing. Mention of (fictional) historical backstory with heavy violence. This work contains explicit + adult themes: 18+ only. Ageless blogs DNI. [ the magick in this work isn't written with the intention to be accurate ] Reader discretion advised. Explicit warnings under the cut | masterlist.

⸻ Your heart was trapped in a cage. Your heart was chained up, tethered, your heart was the feather of a raven, your heart was the space in between the stars. Millions of light years of distance, of emptiness, just voids after voids after voids. 

Explicit warnings: voyeurism and masturbation (m, f). Cum eating (m, f) Mentions of semi-public sex, graphic mentions of sex magick & the use of sex for occult purposes (sex rituals). Open discussions about sexual themes that elicit arousal for MC.

On Wednesday, you woke up to a bright, sunny sky. A spring day that was cosplaying as summer, with the breeze carrying all sorts of scents—grass, flowers, herbs, and the now familiar smell of the breakfasts served at Parker’s. That morning, you made your coffee and waved at Ali and Michelle from your front porch when they went past your house. You were on your laptop answering emails. Far down toward the empty lot and the pond, a small group of wild rabbits was hopping around, minding their rabbit business. You watched them and their fluffy brown and white fur in between emails. 

After your shower, you put on casual clothes and went on a little walk in your backyard. It was rather large, and you hadn’t explored it and its perimeter properly. And, truth be told, the far end, bordered by the tree line leading into the woods, had been on your mind since the other night. The nightmare. The wet dream, a voice added in your head but you quickly dismissed it. 

But by studying the area, you noticed there was a trail past the initial tree lines. You couldn’t see where it went or where it ended from here, but it got you curious. 

You grabbed your purse and headed outside. The walk from your house to Main St was relatively short, but you’d need to find a car soon, especially if you wanted to do some shopping in the nearby towns. But Meg had said she’d help when you had gone to Parker’s for lunch the other day, and you believed her. She seemed to know everybody in town so she was bound to find something. 

You knew where you were headed but you still made a few stops along the way—you quickly went in and out at the Lee’s to say hi to Felix. In exchange, he gave you a couple sticks of garlic bread. You also stopped by the post office where Ali spilled some lukewarm tea about one of her coworkers who she suspected was having an affair with someone from the bakery next door. 

And then you reached your destination—Bahng’s Sporting Center. It was sort of early and yet there were several cars in the parking lot already. Still, it was Chris himself who welcomed you into the store, as warmly as he would welcome a close friend. He gave you a quick tour of the place. By the interactions he had with clients and employees alike, you decided he was probably the best boss anyone could have. He was kind and helpful and very laid-back, insisting that the elderly man behind the cash register take an extra break right this second. 

“What can I do for you today, friend?” Chris asked at the end of the tour—you stood with him among the pool accessories and supplies. “Or did you just miss me?” He gave you a playful wink. 

“There’s a trail behind my house,” you started. “I remember you said the woods lead to Elkwater Springs…? Is it hike-appropriate?” 

“Oh, absolutely it is!” Chris seemed delighted and immediately led you to a different section of the store. “Some parts of the trail might not be as cleared out as others but it’s pretty straightforward. You really can’t get lost and if you do, you’ll either end up at the main lake or at the back of the hardware store.” 

 You tried to picture the map of Heron Lake in your head as best as your memory could. You figured that if you did end up too far away from home to return either by the forest or the road, you could always give Felix a call and see if he had a pizza to deliver around there. 

“I’ll need shoes then,” you decided. You still didn’t know why it had to be today, but you just needed to go explore this forest for some reason. “All I have is some old sneakers, or heels…” 

“Gotcha.” Chris immediately showed you a specific pair on a shelf nearby, his dimpled smile illuminating the room as if selling you a pair of shoes was his dream come true. “Those are some of the best mountain boots I have. They’re light but also waterproof—convenient as we sometimes get sudden rainfalls and all. They’re super secure around the ankle but flexible enough for good movement. Also, they’re on sale. What’s your size?”

You studied the boxes in front of you and motioned toward the ones of the right size. “There doesn’t seem to be a sale announced,” you noted, suppressing a smile.

“Well, I own the store, so I must know better than you.” Chris winked at you. “The sale is for women who got my wife drunk on bellinis last week specifically. No one else is eligible.”

You laughed with Christopher as he helped you around the store. The hiking boots were a perfect fit, but he also suggested that you get a decent water bottle and a hat as well as some insect repellent. “For ticks,” he specified. He also mentioned that SPF might be a good idea but that tree coverage was excessive in that part of the forest, and you shouldn’t be burning under the sun. 

After you paid, Chris mentioned he had a few errands to run and offered you a ride. You weren’t sure the errands in question were anywhere near your house but you accepted anyway. Sometimes, people just wanted to be kind to each other. It was difficult to accept, though, and you’d need to work on that.

For some reason, it felt like Chris and Renee had been put on your path for that exactly. As in—Chris was begging you to please let him give you a ride home; you can’t just carry all that stuff on the street anyway, can you? And he looked like he meant it. 

Sometimes, people were meant to carry our burdens, big or small. That was probably one of the hardest things to accept in life. 

On the way home, you also let Christopher give you advice on the particular terrain in the area behind your house. You’d have to be careful where you set foot because sometimes the rocks could be slippery. You wouldn’t have great cell reception all the way, but it would be decent for most of it.

“Don’t get hurt,” Chris finally said as you closed the car door behind you. “My wife will kill me if you can’t make it to soccer tomorrow because I sold you stuff to go on a hike.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t go too far since it’s the first time.” But that turned out to be a lie. 

You filled your backpack with essentials and changed into more appropriate clothing before heading to the trail. It was already past noon when you went past the tree line—oaks and birches and larches, a few bushes with flowers on them that you didn’t recognize. You had used a Plant ID app for the trees but would need to do the same with the bushes to figure out if the berries they would grow would be edible at all. If you weren’t sure, Chris would know though. And since he seemed inclined on keeping you alive…

Entering the forest felt like entering a new dimension. Your house was some distance away from the center of town but sounds of human life still made it to you sometimes. Cars, a fire truck, voices. 

But not here. You could swear you had gone through a portal. It took your eyes a few seconds to adjust to the new lighting. Chris hadn’t lied about that tree coverage. The air was cool here and smelled like earth, like leafage, with faint sweet undertones of flowers. 

Trees bordered the trail on either side of it. Trees of all kinds, too many to ID them all. That day, you realized that green was too simple of a word to describe the variety of shades filed under it. The soft green of the grass, the harsh green of firs, the peculiar green of the moss growing on bark. Bushes of all shapes and colors, mushrooms you wouldn’t even dare touch, flowers that were too impatient to wait for summer and preferred to bloom in the spring. 

Dragonflies, butterflies, bees buzzing all around, moving from one flower to another to harvest the pollen. Bumblebees so heavy with it that they struggled to stay in the air. 

Animals. More rabbits, some squirrels. Birds. So many of them. Birdsongs that you could only faintly hear before were now crystal clear. Whistles and warblings and other intricate notes. You recorded it all on your phone, both amazed and curious. You were almost sure that if you replayed that footage to one of the locals, they’d be able to put a name on every single song on it. Not that it mattered, not really. You just couldn’t help but want to learn their names. You had never heard as many birds as that.

The trail itself was covered in pine needles. It made your footsteps quiet and comfortable, but you now understood why Chris had been so adamant on you making sure not to slip and hurt yourself. You walked slowly at first, looking all around you, at the soft rays of light filtering through the tree branches and insects zooming through them. 

You walked. You may have been one of those darn city slickers, but it also made you a great walker. You didn’t particularly like public transit and you enjoyed nice weather—the perfect combination for people who liked to walk. It was a nice walk, too. With valleys and clearings. Sometimes, the trail took you back to a little creek that ran along it, and you liked to squat to look into it, or to let the water run through your fingers. You laughed when you saw tadpoles, but you weren’t afraid to be called crazy. Not here. Not just in Heron Lake—here exactly. There was fucking nobody here to witness your bewilderment. It made you feel like you were alone in the world, which was a strange thought: both comforting and frightening. 

The creek eventually became larger and larger, and you knew you must be getting near Elkwater Springs somehow. You thought you could hear a waterfall in the distance, but it could have been the wind or something else. 

It was at that point that the trail forked for the first time. It had been pretty straightforward until then, curving and bending through the forest alongside the creek, even crossing it at one point on a small but sturdy wood and stone bridge.

You drank some of your water as you watched the two options before you. It was clear that the path on the left was the one you were supposed to take—it was more defined, cleaner. The other one had small trees growing on some parts of it and did not look that inviting. You figured that since it was your first time here, you should stay on the main trail, for safety. Maybe some other time, Felix, Renee or Chris would come along and you’d try the other one. 

You had done the right call—that trail took you straight to the Elkwater Springs area. 

The path went down a steep hill as, on your left, the waterfall plunged into the river that became a lake. There were people there—a few kayaks on the lake and some people sitting on large rocks by the waterfall. You felt like doing that too, because even if it was a small waterfall, it was still pretty and you liked the sound of it. You could feel the power in it, too, somehow, but you couldn’t understand how, or why it mattered at all. 

You sat in the shade of a solitary larch tree. You had a nice view of everything and yet felt like you weren’t in the way of anyone. You did, however, enjoy watching them, too. Most of them seemed to be tourists. Families or couples or groups of friends. Everybody seemed happy.

You snapped a few pictures. The waterfall, the lake. As you snacked on your granola bar, you suddenly became aware that these photos would be forever yours. You couldn’t think of a single person to whom you could send these. Nobody who would care anyway. Nobody back home cared. Everyone here had been here dozens of times. 

There were many ways to be alone. You had felt very alone when you had caught your ex fucking your boss. You had felt very alone years and years before that when none of your friends had come to your birthday party. When you were eight. Such a young age to know the bitter taste of solitude.

But it had tasted just the same as it did today. A moment so pure, so beautiful, a moment that should be shared but that would forever be yours and yours only. What a sad, tragic thing. 

Using your backpack as a makeshift pillow, you laid down on the soft grass. To rest. To look at the sky and the tree branches and the birds. You didn’t mean to fall asleep, but you did. A light sleep, but you dreamt nonetheless. 

You dreamt that you were in the forest and that somebody was calling your name. A voice like honey, soft and kind and beautiful, just calling you, over and over. You were not afraid.

You jerked awake anyway—the hike must have made you more tired than you thought it would, because when you woke up, the light had shifted completely and most tourists were gone from the area, with just a few people scattered here and there. It looked like the sun was about to go down, so you quickly grabbed your things and started your way back.

You walked quickly, scared that you wouldn’t make it in time before sundown. Chris had made sure you left his store with a powerful dynamo flashlight but you still didn’t want to risk it. You often checked your phone to make sure you still had signal in case you did get lost—not that you would, or could, get lost, because the trail was literally just one trail, one path, covered with pine needles always. There was just one trail. 

Except not.

You didn’t get lost—soon enough though, you realized that by focusing too much on your phone, you had taken a different path, the one from earlier that was less visible. You stopped in your tracks, looking all around you to try and see if you could maybe cross the trees to make it to the real trail. 

It became obvious you were in the dip of a soft valley. You could cross the trees but they looked thick, and you were scared you’d somehow make your situation worse by doing that. You could also walk back in your tracks until you found the other trail. And yet, your gaze returned, over and over, to the slope on the other side. A simple climb would take you to the higher point of the valley.

You had no reason to do that. Sure, perhaps you’d get a good vantage point up there. It was still a far worse idea than just turning back, but you felt compelled to go anyway.

As if something, or someone, was calling you. 

The terrain was different here. It was still part of the forest, but it was a large clearing with very few trees that grew except for those surrounding the building.

A house, it seemed like. The sort of house that had more windows than walls, and a modern yet rustic look to it. The size of it was impressive—it was several yards away from you and yet it left you speechless. It looked like it had been something else before it had been transformed into a home, maybe some kind of tourist attraction.

A small rocky path connected the house to the forest, where it continued. There was a car parked at the end of it by the house—a modest but clean Subaru Outback. By all accounts, if there was a car, there must be an actual road nearby, which relieved you. Maybe there had been a good reason why you felt like you ought to climb up here.

But it didn’t matter, not for now. The house fascinated you. Its tall windows, some of them with curtains but most, not. The interior of the house was intricately decorated—rich woods and earth tones. Sage green, whites, yellows. Plants all over the place. Obviously, the owner of the house was very outdoorsy—there was a large fenced area behind the house that could only be some sort of garden. A large willow tree hid it from your view, and vines grew along the fence, offering good privacy. It looked like there were more plants out there, and even furniture. But you weren’t going to snoop around, were you? 

You hid behind one of the trees while you tried to recreate a map of the town to figure out on which road this rocky path would lead. You could be crazy, but it might actually be not too far from Chris and Renee’s place. Were you willing to risk that? Maybe you should try to just have a look… See if you recognized anything… 

You stayed behind the trees. The presence of the car in the driveway let you know that someone was most likely in the house and you didn’t feel like being mistaken for a robber. You chose to go around behind the house instead of in front of it, but before you could make it there, something caught your attention, making you stop right then and there.

As soon as you turned the first corner of the large house, you came face to face with more large windows. The kitchen on the first floor, although most of it was obstructed by the garden and the fence. You could hear water, too—a fountain most likely. 

There was light in one of the windows upstairs. Normally, you would have stared for 0.2 seconds before moving on—after all, sundown was imminent—but not this time. What you saw demanded your attention. What you saw effectively changed you, forever. You knew you shouldn’t be seeing this. You knew you should certainly not be watching, but you couldn’t look away. 

Crimson hair, a bare chest. A room that could have been a bedroom, it was hard to tell from down here. The man was sitting in a strange position on a couch. There were candles on shelves all around him, burning bright but not as bright as him. Hyunjin.

Everything clicked into place. Only him would live in a place such as this.

Only him would be fervently masturbating, surrounded by candles and herbs and other things you simply couldn’t see because you couldn’t look away from him. You watched as Hyunjin’s back arched into the couch, as he fucked his palm languidly. His cock was long and smooth and he not once let go of it. His mouth was wide open. You tried to listen but you couldn’t hear anything. You knew that he must have been crying out. His eyes were closed and his face was twisted with pain and pleasure alike. 

Look away. But you couldn’t. You had never seen anything like this. You had never seen anyone like this. Hyunjin’s body was lean and toned, moving gracefully as he fucked his hand. He looked strong. His red hair was sticking to the sweat on his forehead. His cheeks were flushed. 

He wasn’t just jerking off. The more you looked, the more evident it became that he was making love to his hand, to himself, or something that seemed like it. He thrust into his own palm exactly like he would into a lover. Into you. His strong thighs supported most of his weight, helping the rolls of his hips, his cock was hard and twitching and as beautiful as him.

Keep looking. Look at me. Don’t take your eyes off me. You could hear Hyunjin’s voice haunting your head. You knew it was only the most perverted parts of your brain begging to indulge, but it worked. Look at the way I fuck. This could be you. This should be you. Come to me, darling. I’ll make you feel so good. 

You did not avert your eyes. There was pressure growing between your legs. Wetness, too. All of a sudden you felt so empty. Your mind, your cunt, your heart.

He was close. It was obvious—even from here, you could make out the dark flush of his cock. For all you knew, he could have been at it for a while, edging himself for hours. 

Hyunjin came and you heard him despite the soundproof windows. You heard him in your head, imagining his pretty moans and whimpers as he tensed up and pulsed into his hand. He came all over the floor and himself, head fallen behind, legs wide open. You felt the exact same emotion, the same force, as you had when you had witnessed the waterfall earlier. Something that could not be explained. 

You tasted the salt of his cum when Hyunjin let go of his cock to wipe it off his stomach and he put his fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean, which you had never seen a guy do before. It was lewd, sensual, it felt like an act of rebellion, like something sacred. You thought of the pink of his tongue laced with the off-white of his cum. You thought of his voice and his lips and his softening cock and the amber-colored light that filled the room. You wanted it to fill you too. If people’s souls had colors, Hyunjin’s was like that. Amber, soft, pretty, warm. 

Wait, come back. But you had already turned back, practically throwing yourself down the slope to put as much distance between you and the strange house as you could. Between you and the man with the crimson hair. As you quite literally ran down, you could swear you saw four gardenias growing on the slope, among the pine needles and grass and wild raspberry bushes. But it couldn’t be. Hyunjin had effectively rendered you crazy—crazy enough that you ought to tell someone to take you to a hospital, but you wouldn’t need to beg anybody if you just told them you heard his voice in your mind and tasted his cum on your tongue.

He was still moaning in your head, and calling your name, and fucking you, his crimson hair blinding you. To love and to be loved. 

It took you no time to find the trail again, but you were tired, your legs weary and your pussy wet. The sun was almost completely gone when you finally reached your backyard again and your phone rang. Felix’s name was on the screen but you didn’t pick up the call. You were covered in sweat and pine needles and god-knows-what, but as soon as you entered your house, you pulled your pants down, then your panties. They hung around your knees as you finally pressed your fingers against your pussy.

You were wet. Sensitive. Not any different than if Hyunjin had been fucking you himself. You wasted no time rubbing your clit then shoving your fingers into your throbbing hole. But it wasn’t enough. You fell on your knees, seeking friction, now effectively fucking your fingers against the floor, moaning in the crook of your elbow.

One minute and seventeen seconds—the time it took your orgasm to rise within you like a storm over a dusky sky. There was a puddle of your slick on the floor beneath you where you had been grinding on the floor. Your hole pulsed around your fingers, sending waves of pleasure throughout your whole body. The living room was dark, no amber-colored light—it was your moans that filled the room. You came to the thought of Hyunjin’s hand around your neck as he sprayed his cum into your sloppy cunt.

You did not dream again that night because you barely got any sleep.

You were going to be late for soccer.

You were busy Thursday morning—two online meetings and then another meeting over the phone, the three of them new clients. It meant three new files and a lot of getting to know each other. You were looking forward to working with these companies, but you had underestimated the time it would take to fill every form. You also hadn’t expected having to complete all of this work with so few hours of sleep.

But at least it kept you distracted. At least your mind was on something other than the house in the forest, the house overlooking the valley, the house with the interior basking in amber-colored light. The man with the crimson hair and the intricate rolls of his hips, reminiscent of waves or a shooting star. His large hand squeezing his cock, his lips closing around his fingers, sucking his cum off himself. 

And then your mother called. She had no purpose for the call, she said. She just missed you. You missed her too, so you talked to her. An hour, then another. By the time you hung up, your phone battery was empty and you hadn’t eaten anything all day. You made some food—a plate of turkey sliders with pasta salad and a large glass of iced tea. It was all normal. You should feel normal, but you didn’t.

Something had changed inside of you but not like someone changed their hair color or painted the walls of their living room—you had changed the same way seasons changed. You had changed the way winter melts into spring, shyly at first, and then all of a sudden. No turning back. There were buds sprouting within you, there were white gardenias blooming, their stem firmly planted into your chest, expanding, their sweet, creamy scent enveloping you.

You showered and, lulled by the hot water, you fell asleep on your couch, only to wake up way past dinner time. 

You were almost late for soccer. 

You weren’t sure you wanted to go at all. How could you ever look Hyunijn in the eyes again? It had been wrong, so wrong to just… stay there and watch him. There was a little voice inside your head telling you that he hadn’t exactly been hiding either—he had been lustfully masturbating, fully naked, right by a large fucking window. Maybe he was into that. Maybe he was into exhibitionism. Because if he didn’t want to be seen, he’d at least draw the curtains closed, right?

You sat by the large window in your bedroom too, your eyes glued to the space where, behind the trees, was the trail leading to Elkwater Springs. To Hyunjin. Your phone vibrated a couple of times. You weren’t a psychic, or a witch, but you knew exactly what you’d see once you picked it up.

Renee : Girl are you coming or not? 

Renee: I can come pick you up right now, they can start without me 

You put your phone back—you didn’t know what to tell her. You had been accustomed to saying the truth as often as possible, but this time would have to be an exception. You needed to get over it. You were an adult. You watched porn and enjoyed it. Hyunjin was not the first man you had seen masturbating. You liked to watch girls, too. Regular guy-fucks-girl porn did very little for you and you had always been more into solo stuff. 

Maybe that was why the whole situation troubled you so much—because yesterday’s scene scratched a very particular itch for you. It had nothing to do with Hyunjin himself, this was all basically muscle memory. Your brain was used to becoming aroused by watching things like that. End of the story. 

Your phone vibrated again.

Renee: nevermind I’m literally in my car right now on my way to you

You: it’s not safe! Don’t text and drive! 

Renee: okay maybe I exaggerated and I haven’t started the car yet. Are you okay? Do you not want to come to soccer anymore? 

You sighed, watching the trees sway with the soft breeze. 

You: I accidentally took a longer nap than expected. Just running late. You don’t have to pick me up

Renee: be there in 5

It left you five minutes to find a soccer-appropriate outfit. You had no intention of actually playing the game, but you didn’t want to look too out of place either. You decided on a pair of comfortable shorts and a black t-shirt with a sunflower print on it. You wore a sports tank top underneath, just in case Chris would pick you up and throw you onto the soccer field, forcing you to play. 

You had bought some grapefruit beer to bring along, so you grabbed that before joining Renee when her car pulled up in your driveway. She was also sporting the shorts-and-tank-top look, and her hair was held in a ponytail. She nodded eagerly when she saw the beer you were holding. “Love that shit,” she commented as she backed up and returned to the road. She was driving Chris’ car today, so a chill R&B beat was playing on the speakers and there were four or five black hoodies at the back of the car. 

“Sorry I’m late,” you said. You almost added, I wasn’t sure I’d go at all but stopped at the last second. If you said that, you’d need to give her a reason why and you didn’t feel like making one up. “I didn’t sleep too well last night.”

“Don’t worry, we got full teams today, don’t feel forced to play.” Renee was tapping the wheel to the rhythm of the song and humming it under her breath when she wasn’t speaking. “I mean, you’re never forced to play, but… you know?”

You laughed. “Yeah, I know.” You liked that about Renee—neither of you owed long and detailed explanations to the other about certain things. She knew exactly how you were feeling. Or well… she knew most of it, anyway.

“Had a good hike?” she inquired, raising an eyebrow. “Chris told me you went to the store yesterday.” 

You gulped, playing with the fabric of your shirt, looking at the scenery out the window. You were probably three minutes away from the high school now. “Yeah, it was nice.” You paused, choosing your next words carefully. “I went all the way to Elkwater Springs and back. It’s beautiful.” 

“It is beautiful,” Renee commented. Maybe she was sensing something was off about you but she didn’t push it. “Didn’t get lost?”

You shook your head, now staring at her fingers on the wheel. “Not really. Stayed on the main trail.” 

There was a pause, short, but a little tense yet playful. “You know, if you take the other trail, then up the valley, you get to Hyunjin’s house.” 

You paused, too. For a long time. You were pulling up to the high school when you spoke again. “I did go up the valley. I saw his house,” you admitted finally. “It’s big.” So is his cock. 

There was a smile on Renee’s face, one that you could hear through her voice despite not looking at her directly. “It used to be some sort of wellness retreat center some time ago. It was closed for years, and then we learned that someone had bought the building and the surrounding land to fix everything up and live in it.”

You nodded. “It’s a big house,” you said again, but this time you actually meant it. You hadn’t even thought about it yesterday—your mind was too busy on the events happening inside to focus on anything else. “He has a lot of money, looks like.” He hadn’t even let you pay him for the tarot reading. He had poured you several shots of very expensive bourbon. “A lot a lot. What’s his job? Like, his actual job, I mean?” You refused to believe that he was living off late-night tarot readings at Parker’s.

Renee parked the car and turned off the engine before she spoke again. “He doesn’t have one, not really.” She exited the vehicle and you followed her after grabbing your beers—but she had all of your attention. The sun was warm on your skin. “You’ll see him sometimes helping out at Parker’s when he’s bored, or sometimes he hangs around the store with Chris. He’ll go help Felix and his dad when they’re overwhelmed with deliveries. He’ll go bake a few batches of muffins at the bakery. But he’ll never accept cash for it. He’ll take a leftover pizza if Mr. Lee gives him one. He’ll let Chris invite him out for dinner or beers. But never actual money, and the same goes for his… talent.”

If you had been curious before, you were downright fascinated now. You walked with Renee around the school, but she made a point to walk slowly—she wanted to tell you these things. Or she wanted you to know them, you weren’t sure. And you weren’t sure why, but you needed to know. Hell, if Hyunjin had a biography out, you’d order a copy and spend all night reading it. 

“He wouldn’t let me pay him,” you revealed, kicking a rock on your way. The parking lot was large, too large for the school, it seemed. But the area was surrounded by forests and hills, and you could see the mountains from here. There were birds singing and insects clicking. You recognized the Subaru in the handful of cars parked at the front of the school. 

“He has money. Enough money. He doesn’t need a job. He doesn’t need people to pay him when they go for a consult.” You had reached the end of the main building, revealing the large stretch of green grass in between the school and the forest. There were a few areas for the students to hang out, a race track and, at the far back, a soccer field. Music was playing from a wireless speaker. You saw the small group already kicking a ball for fun. There was a tall man with crimson hair. “His money comes from a legal settlement, but I don’t know what was the settlement, nobody does,” Renee added with a shrug. “Apparently, it’s medical-related, but we don’t know for sure.” 

You nodded. You were both walking a bit faster now. “Renee, is he an actual witch? Does he actually have powers?” Above all, this was what was on your mind the most. 

Renee stopped in the middle of the track field. From here, you could see the scene a little better. Chris was talking and laughing with Felix and another man you didn’t know, but his outfit and general style hinted that he might be the P.E. teacher with special permissions, allowing the soccer group to reunite every week here. You were pleased to see that Ali and Michelle were here too, but only Michelle was dressed in sports clothes. Meg and her boyfriend were there, Felix’s sister and two women you didn’t know. 

There were more people, too, but not too much. You were intimidated but relieved to see a few familiar faces. Ali was comfortably sitting on the bench with Bruce—you already knew that was where you were headed right this second. You’d probably hear more about the affair between the postal worker and the bakery employee. 

Renee nodded slowly. “Look. I don’t know what I believe in. Or I don’t believe in.” She shrugged. “There’s something about him. He offered me a reading maybe a month after he moved in. His hair was black back then. I had never seen anyone like that.” She giggled softly. “I mean, he is excessively beautiful, isn’t he?” 

You couldn’t deny it. “He doesn’t look real.”

“Chris says that too!” You laughed with Renee at that, and she went on. “Anyway. He just asked me if he could read my cards. Sure, why not? I was outside, at the park by Hawthorn Road, reading a book. He sat down with me on the grass and we started.” Renee’s voice became quiet all of a sudden, like she was choking a little. “He told me that my mom’s energy followed me everywhere. How could he have known? That my mother is dead? The cards were pretty straightforward. My past was a little dark and my present was wobbly. At that time, I didn’t like that I didn’t have a goal. The card for my future reading was Justice. He told me I ought to do what was right for me. That after I had become just and aligned to my truth, I would feel better.” Renee paused again and you gave her space, not really looking toward her. “I was really depressed back then, I thought I was useless. I started taking fewer translation contracts. I started writing more. One day, I called Chris—we were just friends back then but I had a crush on him, I just didn’t think I was worthy of him—because I needed to ask him a few questions for the novel I was working on. He ended up coming to my place and he read some of the book. He loved it. He kissed me that day. We got married a year later. Hyunjin officiated.” 

To love and to be loved. Not exactly the same thing, but not completely different either. In Renee’s case, it had been obvious she needed to give herself enough love and time to accomplish her creative goals, which had perhaps unlocked something in her heart, too. 

Renee seemed to understand your pensive expression. She lifted her chin toward you. “What was yours? Your main card, I mean?” 

You thought about the gardenias you had believed were growing near Hyunjin’s house. How they could only be a hallucination. Or a memory. “Four of Wands.”

Renee frowned. “I don’t know what this one means.”

You weren’t sure you should tell anyone about this—but if you were going to tell someone, it would be Renee. Especially after she had told you this whole story about her card. “He told me this card only appeared to people in the process of falling in love. He also said that even though I didn’t think I was ready, I actually was.”

“Ready for what?”

“To love. And to be loved.” It felt strange to speak those words out loud. Strange, but not bad. They tasted like honeyed bourbon, warm and sweet and exhilarating. 

Renee’s eyebrows disappeared behind her bangs. “Girl! Who you’re in love with like that?” 

You shook your head. “No. He specifically said the card appeared to people who were falling in love, not already in love. Apparently it’s not the same.” You took a deep breath. “It’s why I was asking if you thought he had actual powers, though. Because I’m not falling in love with anybody. And I certainly am not ready to, anyway. I had grieved the whole ‘relationship’ thing after my ex.” 

“Did you love him? Your ex?” You had almost reached the soccer field. You could hear Chris enthusiastic voice from here. “Do you remember what it felt when you fell in love with him?”

You thought about it. Really thought about it. The sight of a smile on people’s faces was too much at that moment—you looked down to watch the blades of grass instead, but not before a streak of crimson caught your eye momentarily. “I don’t know if I was in love with him. I don’t know why I stayed with him. I don’t understand why. When I think about my relationship, it feels like I was playing a role because I thought that was right. I don’t think he loved me. I resented him a lot for that. But I don’t think I loved him either. I was just better at pretending I did—at convincing myself I did.” 

Renee patted your back gently. “Then how would you know that you’re not falling in love if you don’t know what it feels like?” 

She went past the gate to join the others before you could give her an answer. 

It was Chris who introduced you to everybody. The P.E teacher, Changbin. He spoke to you for about one minute, but his speech was so fast that he might as well have given you his whole entire biography in that short span of time. Still, he spoke with a poised voice, and his smile was pleasant. 

There was also two men around your age—one with blue eyes and dusty blond hair and the other with dark, shaved hair and also blue eyes. The difference between the shades of blues were, in that order, a bright sunny day and a stormy afternoon. They were Adam and Ronan, and by the way Adam slapped Ronan’s ass for no apparent reason—and the way Ronan responded to that by giving Adam a shy kiss on the corner of his lips, you understood they were a couple. Apparently, Ronan was Chris’ tattoo artist and Adam owned the town’s car repair shop. 

You met Meg’s boyfriend, Minho. The first impression he left on you was that he was a quiet guy, but polite and nice. And then ten seconds later, when Chris asked him a very simple question, he pretended he did not speak the language. Minho started talking louder and louder, all made-up gibberish words, until Chris tackled him into the grass to make him stop. The quiet guy illusion disappeared very quickly when he turned out to be the loudest of them all. 

You had seen Felix’s sister on a few occasions so she asked about your work and you asked her about the concert she had mentioned she would attend last weekend in another city. She seemed to have had a good time. Her friends were sweet too and complimented your shirt, so you nervously admitted you loved their outfits too. 

“Fantastic Four.” A soccer ball rolled gently toward you until it stopped right by your shoe. You looked in the direction where it had come from, only to see Hyunjin standing a few feet away from you, a bottle of water in one hand, the other resting on his waist. He was a little out of breath. “Happy to see you made it. Renee said you’d come.”

You blinked, trying to take it in all at once. Fantastic Four—it didn’t take you too long to understand he was referring to the card from your reading. 

Hyunjin was wearing comfortable black shorts and a white t-shirt. His hair was a bit of a mess because he obviously had been running around practicing just earlier but the sun was hitting it just right, making it look like stained glass, like a strawberry lollipop melting under the light. Despite the very normal appearance of his outfit, you couldn’t help but feel like there was something magical about this man. The tattoos helped, but it was more than that. He had a glimmer in his eyes and he was smiling, but it was restrained. Like there was something behind that, something darker, as if he was standing at the edge of a cliff and he was afraid of heights. As if he was keeping his happiness on a leash. 

You kicked the ball toward him and he caught it under his foot. “I came to watch,” you told him, trying very hard to ignore Renee’s intense gaze on you as she was obviously snooping around your conversation with Hyunjin. “Looks like you play a lot, though.” 

“I was on a team for a few years.” Hyunjin nudged the ball again and it returned to you. “In school,” he clarified. Around the two of you, people were about to separate the group into two teams. “Some people are coming to my place after. I’m making pizza. You’re welcome to join.” Hyunjin took a step toward you, the breeze carrying his scent to your nostrils. He smelled like his cologne, like deodorant. Sweat was pearling at his temples and the sun was making the drops look like tiny crystals. “I’d really like it if you came.” 

You blushed violently and there was nowhere to hide. You were standing right in front of him and he was staring at you with his big dark eyes. In the sun, they looked like two drops of dark syrup on whipped cream, with streaks of terracotta, with streaks of a color reminiscent of burgundy. The more you looked at him, the more you wanted to stare. Your eyes flicked between his eyes, the ink on his skin, the crystals rolling on the side of his face, the delicate curves of his cheeks and jaw. Your eyes, often, returned to his lips, enticing, pillowy, dark pink. 

You didn’t know what to say. “I’ll go.” As if there was any other option. As if you could resist him anyway. You felt the urge to fill the conversation a little to diffuse the tension building in your chest, and so that he didn’t think you were some weirdo. It had been a lot easier to speak to him when you were tipsy. “I saw your house the other day,” you added. “I went to Elkwater Springs through the trail behind my house.” 

Hyunjin’s smile relaxed a little, and so did his broad shoulders. He came closer to you to take the ball. “I also saw your house the other day,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I was gathering some stuff in the forest. Some herbs carry stronger energy when you harvest them during a thunderstorm. I almost went to knock because I saw that you’d left your windows open, but you closed them in the end. Didn't want your house to get rained in.” 

A wave of ice-cold chills went through your body, tickling your skin all over. You remembered very distinctly the dream you had on the night there had been a thunderstorm. 

Hyunjin touching you, kissing you, fucking you. The dream had seemed so real that you could almost feel it still, his weight on you as he made love to you on that big rock. 

You remembered the dream and the wetness between your legs when you had woken up. You remembered closing the windows and seeing something behind the trees at the back of your house. 

“Don’t worry,” Hyunjin added with a wink. “I didn’t spy on you or anything. It was the middle of the night. But there’s yarrow growing in that area, so I visit it once in a while.” 

You had so many questions—how was he orienting himself at night, during a thunderstorm, in a dense forest? What was so special about storm-harvested yarrow? And what exactly was yarrow anyway? Had he heard you through the open windows? Had he heard you as you were dreaming of him, of his cock stretching you, his mouth devouring yours? 

You couldn’t be more grateful when, in the end, Chan stopped tackling Minho to tackle Hyunjin instead, urging him to start the game. 

It seemed that while Chan acted like a mom to the group, Hyunjin was in charge of whatever came to soccer itself. You observed them as they played rock-paper-scissors to define the teams while Ali and Ronan were chatting with you on the bench. When Ronan asked you about the special grapefruit beer you had brought, mentioning it was one of his favorites, you gave him as good of an answer as you could, still too absorbed with the man with crimson hair to really pay attention to anything else. 

It didn’t take very long for you to understand why Hyunjin was in charge of soccer. He was good at it. He was better at it than anyone else—running and dodging and feinting and sliding, all of it while looking like a meteor, bright and fierce and unreal. What a sight it was to watch him play. Hyunjin was good and he knew it, and confidence became him. He wore it like some people wore a special cologne on a date night—knowing it wasn’t for everyday use, but being aware of its potency.

Hyunjin’s gaze was focused and yet he was smiling. Sometimes, the smile turned into a cocky grin but that suited him, too. He earned himself grunts and playful rolls of the eyes whenever he stole the ball from his opponents. On the first break, it was debated whether Hyunjin should be alternating between the two teams since the other strong player was apparently absent tonight due to a family reunion. Eventually, Ronan offered to join the opposite team since Hyunjin was worth two players and the idea was accepted, leaving you with Ali and Bruce on the bench. Bruce seemed to be enjoying watching the game—as much as a dog could enjoy soccer, at least. 

The sun went down toward the end of the second half, but Changbin had turned on the exterior lighting. People were more relaxed now, some had simply stopped playing to watch the rest of them finish the game. Most players still on the field had a beer in hand—it was Chan and Hyunjin against Felix, Minho and Changbin. Every time Minho kicked the ball and it did not go exactly where it was supposed to go, Chan would yell, MINHO IS ALLERGIC TO BALLS!!!!!!!!!!! at the top of his lungs. 

You could get used to that. How friendly everyone was. You left the bench to mingle a little, accepting a White Claw from Adam and also sharing your grapefruit beer with those who wanted one. It was one of those that Hyunjin was drinking now, not even spilling a drop of it as he scored yet again with an elegant flip of his hair to get it out of his face. He was sweating heavily, the drops of sweat stained red by his hair, in turn staining his white shirt with specks of red and pink. 

Renee was chatting with Meg but she was staring at you staring at him. In passing, she mentioned to you that she was one of those who would go to Hyunjin’s place after and you were welcome to get yet another ride with her. She and Chris also had the habit of getting shitfaced drunk at Hyunjin’s place and usually walked home since they lived not too far from him, and you were also welcome to crash at their place. “Unless you spend the night with magic man,” Renee added with a wink, making you blush. 

Here, sunsets lasted for a long while. Where there wasn’t a mountain, you could see a strip of light, amber at first, then dark orange, then dusty pink, then indigo… Then it faded into the midnight blue of the sky. At that point, the game was over and most people were gathering their things—some people had left already. Hyunjin disappeared in the school with a small group where they would use the showers in a locker room. 

Minho was one of the last ones still there. “Have fun sucking each other’s tiny tiny dicks off,” he said to Hyunjin, Chan, and Changbin. To be fair, they had made fun of him and his balls too, and it was deserved. If somebody had heard them but didn’t know them, they might have believed they had been serious, but you knew better.

The night was cool. Renee, perhaps sensing you needed it, didn’t speak much for the first half of the car ride. It was just the two of you—Chan would get a ride with Hyunjin—and the windows were down. You looked at the sky, wondering why you were seeing him among the stars. 

You broke the silence. The sound of your own voice surprised you—there wasn’t even any music playing. “Renee, you said you had a crush on Chris before dating him.”

A pause. “Yes. He was my friend.” You were leaving Main St to get to the road that crossed the forest. 

You didn’t even know what you were trying to say. “I’ve never had a crush, not really,” you admitted finally. “Except when I was like nine years old. When I look back, I realize I missed so many things. I was always… afraid of that. It never felt right. And I have no idea what to do now.” 

Another pause, but shorter this time. “Hey, can we be adults here? Two grown-ass women, speaking heart-to-heart?” She offered you a soft smile. She had a little bit of a sunburn on the tip of her nose and on her cheeks, and it made her even more beautiful somehow. “This is about how you want to fuck Hyunjin, yeah?” 

This sentence felt just about the same as if she had suddenly crashed the car into a tree. Your heart jumped in your chest but you couldn’t even look away from her. Your mind was racing as fast as your heartbeat. 

“Come on! It’s alright! The man’s really fucking hot and mysterious.” Renee bit her lip gently, as if she hesitated. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. And… him at you.” 

“He doesn’t look at me. I’ve seen him twice in my whole life,” you commented. “The first time, he was forced to look at me because he was giving me a tarot reading. And tonight he was busy outplaying everybody on that field.”

“Your overly defensive tone tells me everything I need to know.” Renee took yet another, narrower road—this one was not even paved, but you recognized the pattern of trees you had seen closer to Hyunjin’s place. “So, you’ve never had a crush before now, is that what you’re telling me?”

You were new here but you trusted Renee enough to tell her this. “I dreamt about him. It’s like he really is a witch and he put a spell on me.”

Renee chuckled. “I’m not saying he doesn’t have some sort of powers, but he didn’t put any spell on you, woman. You just need him to blow your back into oblivion. Ever had a one-night stand?”

“No, but almost.” You had made out with a guy after a party but hadn’t let him fuck you. The next morning, he had asked you on a date and you had ghosted him because you didn’t want to date him. “I’m not easily attracted to people.” You sighed. “I don’t know what love feels like either. I guess I never thought about having sex with somebody I didn’t know.”

Renee was now pulling up to Hyunjin’s driveway. You could see some light from his house through the trees. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I think he wants to fuck you too. If he hits on you, how about you let him instead of deflecting? See where this goes. Just a thought.” 

You had mourned all of this. Your relationship with your ex felt like a long-term scam instead of a proper romantic adventure. This whole time you had blamed yourself, and yourself only—you couldn’t blame him for being afraid to face life on his own and choosing to make a partner out of you. Couldn’t blame him for how easy it had been to lure you into his bed and then into his life. Maybe some of this had been because you, too, used to be terrified to be alone.

You still were, to a certain extent at least. Above all, you were resigned to it. To be alone. 

“I guess. I still don’t think he wants to fuck me. Have you seen him?”

“Girl shut up. Just accept it.” Hyunjin’s house had appeared before you. From this angle, it was even more impressive. 

It was just this huge building in an empty lot in the middle of the forest. There were a few lanterns here and there, illuminating the front and backyard. There were trees and flowers and chairs and decorations. A small paved path led from the parking space to the front door. The air smelled like lilac and freshly cut grass. You wished it was daytime. 

You sat at a small table near the house while waiting for the others to also arrive after their—Minho’s words—gay shower. This is what you heard—Renee’s breathing, and the breeze, and katydids and crickets. You heard something croaking too, farther away in the trees. In the distance, you could swear you were hearing the waterfall, too, steady, powerful, as if the sound of it was carried by the wind. This is what you felt—like you belonged here, but you didn’t know why. Like this house was where you were supposed to be tonight. Like Renee was right. Like you had been wrong to believe that you would even notice someone the way you noticed Hyunjin.

While you were waiting, a cat appeared from behind the house—immediately, Renee jumped on her feet to greet the little all-gray feline. She petted its long hair and the cat jumped into her arms. “That’s Alma. She’s Hyunjin’s,” she explained, bringing the cat back to the table where you were sitting. “She’s the sweetest cat I ever met. I’ve actually been tempted in the past to steal her from him.” 

Her coat was soft. Alma let you scratch her head and her chin. “Is she hungry? Hyunjin’s been gone for a while.” 

Renee smiled. “Nah, she’s fine. Actually, if she showed up now, it means the boys will be there shortly. She seems to sense when her human will be home.” 

You listened to the music of the night. The katydids, the wind, the waterfall. “Let’s say you’re right somehow,” you said, almost under your breath. Renee had to lean in closer to you. You were keeping your eyes on Alma, now curled up into a ball on the table. “Let’s say he does want to fuck me.” You took a deep breath. In the distance, a new noise emerged—a car. “Let’s say he does, whatever. And let’s say that we do fuck, just that, no strings attached. He tells me he had a good time but that it won’t go any further. What happens after?” This was a genuine question. “This is a really small town. I’m renting that house for a year. Do people who have one-night stands see each other all the time, do they wave each other hello when they randomly come face to face at the grocery store?”

Renee looked at you for a long while, as if she couldn’t understand what you were saying. When she spoke again, Hyunjin’s car was appearing through the path in the trees. “But why the fuck do you assume he’ll want nothing to do with you after you guys fucked?”

You couldn’t give her an answer because you didn’t have one other than being used to being disposable. You were glad the boys had arrived—it gave you the perfect excuse to remain quiet. 

A lot of jokes were made about their extensively gay shower. Chris kissed Renee while Hyunjin was unlocking his front door, Alma rubbing her side on his shins. He was talking sweetly to her while Felix was checking his phone. Apparently, Changbin had decided to stay in town and go to Parker's instead. It sounded like Hyunjin took no offense in that—Changbin had a crush on one of the employees and everybody knew it except her, apparently. 

“I forgive you the gay shower,” you heard Renee tell Chris behind you, “if you promise me we won’t go home too late tonight.” 

“Are you okay? You’re tired?” Chris sounded genuinely worried. There was something about the way Chris and Renee loved each other that made you believe that love did exist.

“Nah, I just feel like writing a little.” Hyunjin had pushed open his door and Felix had followed him inside, and you looked behind you before going in too. 

Renee winked at you with a smile. “Felix leaves early too usually,” she said, to you. And it sparked something inside of you, but you averted your gaze, too shy to admit it.

If the house had impressed you from the outside, it was even more spectacular from the inside. The ceilings were high and the windows were huge—but you already knew that. The walls were painted white—but a warm white, cozy, like fluffy clouds on which the beginning of a sunset reflects. There were also a lot of sage-green accents—the couch, a large bookshelf, the French doors separating the living room from the kitchen. 

There were flowers everywhere. And books, and strange objects. Mason jars filled with herbs or dried flowers or liquids you couldn’t recognize. Decks of tarot cards, crystals and gems and pieces of paper with hastily written notes, or peculiar sigils drawn on them. Plants everywhere. Potted, hanging, all the shades of green and brown and more. The walls were covered with pictures and frames and more plants and flowers. Fairy lights and posters. Chairs and armchairs all over the place, with throw blankets and cushions and footrests. All of it mismatched. All of it unique, most likely thrifted. All of it coherent, and so very Hyunjin.

“You don’t need to be shy,” Hyunjin told you. He had noticed that you were looking around furtively. “I can give you a little tour if you’d like. Then we can start on dinner?”

“I’m starving!” Felix complained, but he was smiling. 

It was late and you ought to be hungry too, only you weren’t. You thought about what Renee had told you. “Alright, I’d love a tour. This is such a nice house.” 

After the living room, Hyunjin showed you the kitchen next. It was huge, and fully equipped to feed thirty people at least, you reckoned. Hyunjin explained about how the building used to be this wellness center and how he had the whole house remodeled, except the kitchen. He liked it as it was, and kept most of the equipment, only changing the cupboards for something that fit more his taste. There was, again, a lot to see here. Hanging bouquets of dried herbs. Jars filled with spices and intricate ingredients. Something you liked about Hyunjin’s house was that it was clean but not tidy. There were books on the countertop. There were a few plates and an empty mug by the sink.

This house was lived in. It was loved, too, and it showed. 

Hyunjin gave Alma some wet food while you two were in the kitchen. You could hear the others’ conversation from here—they were discussing some event that would take place in the town next week that would apparently make Chris very busy at the shop all week. You observed as the gray cat lapped at her food, purring and happy. 

Hyunjin showed you the bathroom and the guest room. The guest room was more modest, but it had a beautiful frame on the wall—a hyperrealistic still-life painting. Peaches on a wooden table, next to a bottle of wine. The sun was caressing the fruit, gently, lovingly almost. The colors were incredible. Hyunjin told you he bought it at an art fair last year, from the artist herself. 

The upstairs was even better. Hyunjin had an ‘office’, with a beautiful wooden desk and more bookshelves. He showed you the room you had seen him in the other day, you saw the couch, the large window. On a shelf, there was a small collection of photo cameras. Some very old, some very recent. Hyunjin told you he liked photography but didn’t dedicate enough time to it. He showed you one camera in particular, a film camera, that he had bought from a man on the street a few years ago. “He was a tourist. I liked the camera for some reason. It called me. I made an offer and he accepted. Sold it to me with the film still inside.” Hyunjin showed you a thin photo album that was by the camera. It contained the pictures taken by the stranger and also by him. It showed Heron Lake, Main St, Elkwater Springs. 

One picture showed Hyunjin, not from up close, but it was undeniably him. His hair was about the same length it was today, but black. He was sitting under a tree, his knees up, supporting what seemed to be a journal he was writing into. He had fewer tattoos than he did today, but the same wisdom in his eyes. The same strength, the same softness to him. The man had taken this picture, then Hyunjin had noticed him, and had bought the camera from him. The rest of the pictures were taken by Hyunjin—the view from the top of the Elkwater Springs waterfall, a beautiful rose bush, Main St, Chris and Renee…

Everything Hyunjin showed you was a little universe in itself. An empty vivarium that he kept just in case a lizard, a snake or a frog would need saving. Another one containing dormant chrysalides—luna moths and monarch butterflies that Hyunjin raised and released around his garden every year. “I’ll show you the garden later,” he promised. The upstairs also had a little reading nook and two bathrooms—one was for the master bedroom. 

You were intimidated by all of this. By the spells scribbled down on pieces of paper here and there. By him. By his damp hair, his tattoos, by his soft voice and by how tall he was. By the shelves filled with candles of all sizes and colors, with essential oils and herbs and strange items and ingredients. You were intimidated because you had no idea what you were doing here and why your heart was fluttering, but it was, and it felt good that it did. It made you feel alive. 

It made you wish you weren’t so frightened to open up. 

When you joined the others again, Hyunjin offered all of you a drink while he was making a quick dinner. “All of the ingredients are ready, I just need to put the pizza together and cook it.” He turned to you then, “Wanna give me a hand? You seemed to like the kitchen.” 

You had never been particularly good at cooking, but you could recognize a good kitchen when you saw one. “Yes. And I’ll have a drink, too.” Maybe this would help you. 

This is what happened—you followed Hyunjin to the kitchen and he made drinks. Gin with lime and lemon juice and fresh mint and homemade strawberry syrup, on the rocks. It was good and refreshing and delicious. You two never stopped talking. 

You mentioned his soccer skills and he told you about his school and how his parents were strict but he had been on the soccer team and also in a few swimming competitions. He asked you about your school, too, and you told him the basics of it, although that sparked many memories and you two ended up chatting about your childhoods for a good while as Hyunjin was preparing dinner. 

He was making pizzas—all from scratch. You observed as he worked the dough with his agile hands, kneading and folding it like he knew what he was doing. “Felix’s dad taught me,” he said finally, noticing your interest. 

Occasionally, one of the others would come in the kitchen to ask something or for a refill on the drinks—you took care of that while Hyunjin was making the food, but you wondered why they wouldn’t join you. In the end, you figured Renee was probably trying to earn her wingwoman of the year title and, perhaps helped by the couple drinks you had, it made you smile discreetly. 

You should feel awkward. You should be embarrassed beyond belief—you had quite literally pulled a voyeur moment on that man and watched him masturbate. You didn’t know him, not really, but you knew his parents’ names and you knew that he liked to make his pizza sauce with fresh tomatoes and herbs he grew in his garden. He knew that you were bitter about a lost job opportunity and that before moving here, you had never seen mountains like that, so high and lush with greenery and life. 

You knew that you would watch him cook for hours and hours if given the chance. His motions were precise, neither slow or fast, always just right, somehow. He wouldn’t let you help him—he was making two pizzas, one with grilled veggies and the other with bacon. He chopped the bacon and cooked it in a pan with rosemary and a dash of honey. He made the veggies with browned butter and parsley and thyme and you watched as the mushrooms and bell peppers and red onion and cauliflower became grilled to perfection. 

“I didn’t like to cook before,” Hyunjin began as he spread the sauce on the dough. “I guess I learned to appreciate it in this very kitchen.” 

“It is a practical kitchen,” you commented. A low, chill beat was coming from the living room, creating a soft and relaxing ambiance when layered with the conversations happening in the two different rooms. You felt at ease here. “Did you live in a house before, or an apartment?” 

Hyunjin hesitated but it barely showed. “An apartment.” Another pause as he started piling up the ingredients on the pizzas. “I like it much better here. It feels right.” 

You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. His delicate traits were like an open book—whatever was on his mind didn’t please him, so you should redirect the conversation elsewhere. 

But it made you curious.

“I think I get it,” you offered. “This place feels right for me too. This place even more—your house, I mean.” 

A thin smile appeared on Hyunjin’s pink lips and he looked away from the pizzas to stare into your eyes. “Heron Lake found you too, didn’t it?” 

“What?”

“Why would you come here if you hadn’t been called? How did you even find this place? This town out of all towns? A tiny nook in between mountains? Nowhere?” 

Hyunjin wasn’t the first person to ask you this question and he was certainly not the last. The truth was that you didn’t have an answer. You didn’t really know. 

“How did it happen for you?” Hyunjin inquired, reprising his making of the pizzas after taking a few sips from his drink. Behind him, Alma went to curl up on a rattan chair in the corner of the room. “Saw an ad for Chris’ store for no reason? Thought you could uncover the truth about Mothman? Read one of the Elkwater forest ghost stories online?” 

“No, I—” You frowned, putting your glass back on the counter with a loud clink. Mothman was one thing, but… “There are ghosts?” You looked around, but the curtains were drawn on the windows and it was nighttime anyway. “What the fuck?”

Hyunjin shrugged. “I’ve never encountered anything truly malevolent, don’t worry. It’s an old forest. An old place. There’s all sorts of things here—and it’s why you were called, why I was called. Nobody finds Heron Lake—it finds you.” 

You were wondering what sort of ghosts might live in a forest—also making you question everything you thought you knew about life. If anybody had asked you if you believed in ghosts five minutes ago, the answer would have been not really. And now the answer was I don’t know. If you didn’t believe in something, it shouldn’t scare you, right? 

“I was just online looking at… nothing and everything,” you recalled, definitely trying to think about anything other than ghosts in your backyard. “Just scrolling. Then I zoomed in on this random place, and again, and again, and the lake caught my eye. Elkwater Springs. And now I’m here. So I guess you’re right.”

Hyunjin stuck his tongue out playfully, suppressing a laugh. “I’m always right!” 

You rolled your eyes but really, he was always right… About things he had no reason to be. And it was unsettling. At your age, you didn’t think you could ever see magic again in this world, and here you were. Hyunjin’s arrival in your life had changed your beliefs fundamentally, probably more than you wanted to admit for now, but definitely more than you thought it had.

Hyunjin seemed focused on his task, as if placing cheese on pizzas was the most important thing in the world right now. It was endearing. It was fascinating. The bracelets around his wrists tinkled like windchimes when he moved. His hair was almost fully dry now, looking silky soft under the amber ceiling lights. 

The question spilled from your lips before you could even think about stopping it. “Hyunjin, is magic real?”

He didn’t budge—he simply looked at you over the pizzas. “Some magic is real. You can ask me questions if you’d like. I can’t promise you I have all the answers, but I’ll do my best to quench your curiosity.” With a lopsided smile, he added, “Don’t hold back.”

You looked over your shoulder while Hyunjin was putting the pizzas into the oven. In the living room, Renee, Chris and Felix were apparently now playing a video game. “Shouldn’t we join them?”

“You can if you’d like, but I have to stay near the pizzas to make sure they don’t overcook.” Hyunjin crossed the kitchen to make it to his very fancy fridge—the doors matched the cupboards and it was huge and looked like you could play a movie on it—and pulled a bottle of wine from it. “Feel free to join me. This house… is a safe space. You can do whatever you want and nobody will ever judge you. I only invite people who give off energies that match mine, and each other’s.” 

This, you didn’t doubt at all. In fact, it explained a lot about the sudden comfort you had felt in here. How, already, you were sitting crossed-legged on one of the stools in the kitchen, snacking on the cheese and bacon that hadn’t made it on the pizzas, speaking with Hyunjin about your childhood and lost dreams, or about the uses of basil—it tasted delicious and was supposed to attract luck.  

“You can go take a nap upstairs, or pick a book to read, or play video games, or go sit outside in the garden with Alma,” Hyunjin went on. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stared at him and at the way his thick, perfectly sculpted brows stitched together as he was uncorking the wine. “I’ll stay here then.” Your voice was a little shaky. You cleared your voice. “That wine looks fancy.”

“It is,” Hyunjin admitted. “Last year, I helped a couple with a spell and a ritual. A couple of months later… They sent me a gift package. As a thank you. And there was a bottle of this wine in it, and I’ve been addicted ever since. I indulge once in a while.” 

Hyunjin said that in the same voice he would have used to tell you he helped someone with a flat tire. The wine was from Italy—a Gavi—and its color was a complex yellow reminiscent of sunsets. Or liquid gold. You suppressed a smile as Hyunjin grabbed a second wine glass and filled it for you. 

“You help people. That’s honorable.” You meant it. “You help them enough that they want to thank you and send gifts.” It made you wonder what exactly was your purpose in life. Your job helped nobody. What kind of legacy was that? “They must have been very grateful.”

The wine was delicious. Cold, refreshing, sweet but with bold citrusy notes and a pleasant floral aftertaste. It tasted like summer. It tasted like the illusion you had once been truly happy in your life. 

“Yeah, they were.” Hyunjin’s smile turned dark for a few seconds. His full lips were coated with the wine. The kitchen smelled like pizza and laughter resonated through the house. You never wanted the moment to end, but you watched as Hyunjin reached for his phone and looked for something on it—he only needed a few seconds. Soon enough, he showed you a picture. It must have been them, the couple he had mentioned. Their smiles were radiant. The man was holding a newborn baby. 

“That’s them?”

Hyunjin nodded. “They weren’t able to conceive. But it was their dream. To have a baby.” 

In that instant, Hyunjin’s face looked like he had never been happy once in his life. You gave him the phone back, and it returned on the counter while he drank heavily from his glass. You watched his adam’s apple bob as he swallowed it all, gulping thickly. Maybe he was uncomfortable talking about that, about his… powers. 

But he went on. “They came here as tourists. They got lost on a hike and I came across them and offered to guide them back. On the way back to town, we chatted, and I learned that it was a little vacation they were having because they had suffered through IVF procedures and nothing had worked out.”

“But how does that work? A spell to make a woman pregnant?”

Hyunjin thought about it for a long time, swirling his wine in his glass, head tilted to the side. His crimson hair brushed elegantly on his shoulder as he sorted through his thoughts. He was—and there was no denying it—the most beautiful fucking thing you had ever seen. From his perfect honey skin, his plush lips, his posture. 

“See, it’s not abracadabra and she’s pregnant,” he explained. “I told you the other night—it’s all about intention. And about channeling those intentions with the right energies. They just needed a little nudge. They just needed…”

You finished his sentence, remembering what he had said during your tarot reading. “...an antenna.”

“An antenna,” Hyunjin echoed, looking a little more relaxed. “All it took was their love and their desire to bring life into this world. Some nettle, the flames of a few candles, the full moon. Green ink on paper, and enough energy to cast the spell. I didn’t do much, just guided them.”

Somehow, Hyunjin was even more beautiful when he was talking about his talent. There was a spark in his eyes, there was confidence in his voice. It made you want to sit here all night and listen to him. 

“Energy? What kind of energy? you asked, curious. The timer on the oven said there was two minutes left on the pizzas. Hyunjin was regularly checking up on them. You needed more time. 

Hyunjin drank some wine and licked it off his perfect lips, staring directly into your eyes. “When appropriate, I find sex to be the most efficient spell-casting technique.” He drank wine, again, pressing his tongue against the glass before locking his lips around it, carefully letting the liquid into his mouth. He swallowed it, never breaking eye contact with you. “Orgasms are powerful, but everything that comes before is, too. Lust, desire, kisses and touches. All that.”

It was as if Hyunjin had shocked you—a violent, electricity-charged wind stirred within you, starting as a tingle in your fingertips and ending as tremors in your core. You pressed your thighs together as if it would make any difference. As if you hadn’t felt that sentence in your clit. 

“S—Sex?” You were a little too aware of the warmth emanating from your face. You were a little too aware of how quickly your heart was beating, too. 

“Sex magick,” Hyunjin confirmed with a nod. “It’s not necessarily what’s required in every situation, but often, it just… works. Naturally, for people seeking fertility…” 

There was one minute left on the timer. Hyunjin went to look at the pizzas anyway, just to make sure. You stared at the golden liquid in your glass, rethinking your whole life in just a few seconds. “But what does it mean? You… You had sex with them?”

Hyunjin let out a short snort, but it wasn’t a mockery, it was as if he found you genuinely funny. “God, no! I’ve never had sex with anyone for a spell. But I was there, yes. The baby was conceived that very night as far as we know. I brought them to the top of a mountain, and we talked for a while, and then… Then they started touching each other, and I just encouraged them. Talked them through it, guided the intentions. The same goes for solo stuff, too. I’m just there to make sure the energies flow.”

“You watch people fuck?” This sounded messed up—it should be messed up, but it wasn’t. Somehow, it fucking wasn’t. “You talk to them while they fuck and it… it… makes magic happen?”

“That’s a wildly summarized version of it, yes. I doubt that me, simply encouraging him to fuck her deeper, or to tell her how good she is at taking him, or to comment on how fucking beautiful it was when he filled her with his fertile seed, is what made the pregnancy hold this one time. But then, what do we know?”

You knew one thing—that your pussy was wet. That you couldn’t not imagine it now, the night, the full moon, two lovers fucking on the ground, their bodies feeding off the energy of the moonlight and the earth beneath them, their cum permeating the soil, their moans filling the air. Hyunjin’s soft voice, guiding them, his gaze lingering on the curve of her breasts, on his cock stretching her. 

You knew one thing—you didn’t know anything. Maybe it was all true. Maybe Hyunjin held power inside him somehow. Maybe he was able to make things happen. Maybe his voice carried intent, maybe his lips were beautiful enough to make miracles happen. For all you knew, his cum contained ancient, forgotten magic.

The timer on the oven went off, making you jump in your seat. You almost fell off but managed to make it look smooth, as if you were getting up. Your knees almost gave out when you stood on your feet. 

You were so wet that you could feel it stick to your panties. 

Hyunjin, in the span of two minutes, had aroused you so badly that you were considering running to the bathroom real quick to finger yourself to get some relief. You didn’t think you could make it through dinner. 

“Dinner’s ready!” Hyunjin shouted toward the living room. “Is your match over soon?” 

“Three minutes-ish!” Chris replied. Three minutes—you didn’t need that long to cum, not in the state that you were in currently. 

You began retreating, slow, careful steps, never turning your back on Hyunjin, as if he were a wild animal. He was pulling plates from the cupboards while the pizzas cooled down a little.

“Tell me,” Hyunjin began, now looking into the fridge to grab some cans of soda, “is there something you want? No, let me rephrase that.” He placed the Coke Zeros and the Ginger Ales on the counter and turned to you, his eyes inquisitive. “I know there’s something that you want. I’m offering you my help.”

“Your help?” You gulped, the pressure between your legs coming and going in waves. 

“A spell. I can make a spell with you. That thing you want—we can make it happen.” Hyunjin took a step toward you, enveloping you in his scent once again. You could feel the warmth emanating from his body. 

“With me?” As opposed to for you? He was the witch—you had no magical power except the excessive talent of always picking the slowest checkout lane at the local Wal-Mart. “I don’t… I’m not a witch.”

“It’s your intentions that matter,” Hyunjin explained with a soft, comprehensive smile. “They matter more than whatever I can do to help. Just think about it. It’s a simple offer, and it’s free.” 

You were about to respond when the rest of the group joined you in the large kitchen. Chan and Felix grabbed a can of soda each while telling Hyunjin about the wondrous feats they had just accomplished in the game—and Renee had to remind them that she had beaten both of them in the end. The room smelled delicious, the scent of the tomatoes Hyunjin had roasted with garlic for the sauce, the fresh herbs, the touch of sweetness in the bacon. And yet, Hyunjin’s personal scent, the strange perfume of roses and smoke and sunshine, haunted you. 

You took the same seat you had just left, now abandoning your plan of a quick cum in the bathroom. The wetness between your legs was uncomfortable and yet, there was something thrilling about it, as if it served as a reminder. That somebody had stirred something up within you. A storm, a forest fire, something frightening, something unstoppable. Something beautiful.

The pizza tasted as good as it smelled, and you listened to the conversations around the counter as everybody sat on their stools to eat dinner, giving Hyunjin all the compliments he so deserved. Between the five of you, the fancy Gavi wine disappeared rather quickly but was followed with a refreshing beer to finish dinner with. 

At some point this week, people had stopped calling you new girl, and you had stopped feeling like a stranger, too. You saw something in the locals’ eyes here in Heron Lake—familiarity. Like the trees were not just trees, but old friends. Like the mountain was their home. Like the lakes and rivers surrounding this place were a lot more than simple bodies of water. Like they were anchored into this place, the soil, the forest, the mountains, like they were a part of it as much as it was a part of them.

You were a little afraid of this feeling inside of you, but you couldn’t deny your heart any longer—it was on its knees, begging you to allow Renee to become your best fucking friend, begging you to ask Chris to join you on a hike, begging you to ask Felix if he could show you how to play his favorite video game. 

Begging you to let Hyunjin tell you the whole history of witchcraft if he wanted to. Begging you to let him in. Him, all of them. Ali and Michelle too, and Adam and Ronan. Maybe you should finally look into getting that tattoo you wanted to get earlier this year. Maybe you should visit Parker’s often and ask Meg if she needed help waiting a few tables, maybe you should learn to know the mysterious Minho while you were there, while also assisting Changbin in seducing that girl he liked. 

Maybe each person was a work of art on a canvas, not quite blank but never quite finished either, always changing, always being made more beautiful as they let other people’s colors blend with their own. Maybe Hyunjin had been right—you hadn’t found Heron Lake, it had found you. 

Like you were supposed to come here. For the first time in your life, everything felt right. 

Renee had conveniently picked the seat right next to yours. You had, on purpose, stayed a little away from Hyunjin, perhaps to give your mind a little rest from the intense spinning that occurred to it every time you were a little too close to the man with the crimson hair. 

She dipped some of the crust of her second pizza slice in Hyunjin’s fancy chives and butter sauce, chasing it down with some beer. “So,” she started, wiping the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin. But then she didn’t say anything else.

You weren’t a fool—you knew exactly what she was trying to say, probably utilizing the fact that the boys were very focused on watching a video on Felix’s phone. “Yeah?” What were you supposed to tell her? Hyunjin told me about that one time he watched a couple conceive a baby and it made me wet and now I want him to perform sex rituals on me?

“We’ll probably leave soon after dinner,” Renee went on after finishing her pizza. “We’ll go get the car from the school tomorrow, we can give you a ride home then. Felix, you still staying over at our place?”

“Think so!” Felix clapped enthusiastically. He turned to you. “You should come too! But if you really wanna go home, we can call someone and head back home together.” Felix lived closer to you than the others. 

Hyunjin’s gaze flicked from the phone, landing on you for half a second before returning to the screen. You noticed it, and Renee noticed it too. “You guys should stay a little longer. I made ice cream,” he said, pushing his empty plate away. 

An extensive explanation of Hyunjin’s latest hobby followed, dutifully given by Chris and Felix. Apparently, Hyunjin had won an ice cream machine at a fair that had visited the town last year, and he had started experimenting with that. Some people—Changbin—said that he made the best ice cream in the world. 

You and Chris cleaned up the kitchen a little while Renee was helping Hyunjin divide the leftovers—apparently, it was also a tradition of this group of friends to share the leftovers when they met for a meal. “Actually, I think our cupboard has more containers from everyone else’s than our own,” Chris explained with one of his insanely endearing giggles. 

“I should host sometime soon,” you decided, but you couldn’t figure why the fuck you had said that. Not that you didn’t mean it—you’d love to invite people over, but you certainly couldn’t cook on Hyunjin’s level and your house was bland. A lot of your belongings were still in boxes or bags, and you hadn’t bothered with decorating any of the rooms, knowing that you were only renting for a year. “I won’t make pizza as good as this though,” you added, making sure everybody was warned. 

“I can help you,” Hyunjin offered. Behind him, Felix was preparing bowls and spoons for the ice cream. “When you host, I mean. I’ll come over and help out.” 

Renee’s face was worth approximately five million US dollars at that very moment and you tried to ignore her expression of pure triumph. You also tried to push some of your hair over your face to hide the blatant flush on your cheeks. “Oh—wow—I mean—you’re really nice—that’s—that’s nice,” you managed. “You don’t have to, I mean—”

Hyunjin tksed you, rolling his eyes with a smile. “I know I don’t have to. Believe it or not, most of the time, when people offer their help, it’s because they genuinely mean it.”

You nodded, humbled, but your heart was warm. “You’re right. Thanks, Hyunjin.” 

“Ice cream time!” Hyunjin declared to change the subject. Maybe he had noticed your slight discomfort, but he couldn’t know that part of it was from panties being still very wet from earlier and everything that entailed. “I made two flavors—pistachio with pine honey, and peach, saffron and vanilla.” 

Hyunjin took care of scooping everyone’s ice cream, not letting anybody help him. Chris mentioned he wanted to eat outside to get some fresh air. Felix followed him after Hyunjin filled his bowl with huge scoops of each flavor. It was your turn now, but Hyunjin pulled Renee’s bowl. “I assume pine honey?” he told her with a smile. 

“You know me.” Renee went to a drawer to get a spoon in addition to the one she was already holding. “You also know me enough to know I’m definitely gonna have a taste of the other one too.”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” Hyunjin admitted with a laugh. 

You watched Renee taste the peach ice cream. She had a slight frown, as if she was truly studying it. “Wow,” she muttered. “That’s special.” 

“It sure is.” Hyunjin handed her the bowl filled with pistachio and pine honey ice cream, “I came up with the recipe last week.” He pulled the last two empty bowls toward him—yours and his—and began filling them with peach ice cream. 

Renee thanked him and went with the others outside. You could see them from here, sitting at the small table where you and Renee had been earlier. There was a small lantern on it and Chris had turned it on, basking the three of them in soft, yellow light. There was something excessively peaceful in seeing this trio and their smiles. 

“I didn’t ask which one you wanted,” Hyunjin said, pulling you back to the kitchen. “It’s because I made the recipe for this one after I met you.” 

The ceramic bowl was cold in your hand when you grabbed it from him, filled with two perfect scoops of golden-colored ice cream. You had never seen such color in ice cream before—there was obviously nothing artificial about it. It reminded you of sunflowers and marigolds and the smell of sunshine that lingered on Hyunjin. 

He glanced at the window, watching the others for a few seconds. “I’d like to show you the garden,” he told you. “If you want?”

A scary thought went through your mind—that you’d follow him just about anywhere if he asked you with those eyes, if he asked you before he licked clean the ice cream scooper, the thick cream sticking to his wet tongue, his eyes observing you as if you were a map, a puzzle, a question waiting to be answered. You’d probably follow him if he told you he wanted to go deep into the forest to harvest some obscure herb. 

But the garden sounded nice. Anywhere sounded nice if he were there. “I’d love to,” you retorted, clearing your throat. 

“We can talk about your spell,” Hyunjin explained, storing the ice cream into his large freezer again. “We’ll also have to discuss boundaries, and if you’re comfortable with it, you can tell me what it’s about exactly, but I think I know.” 

You followed him into the short hallway that ended with a large sliding door that led to the garden. “You do?” 

“Well I know you got the Three of Swords in your tarot reading, and I know it was about your ex,” Hyunjin explained, stopping right before the door, keeping a hand on the handle. “I’m interested to know how exactly you’d like to get back at him. And maybe what it is that he did to you, too. If you want. Because… I know that’s what it’s all about. I know it's preventing you from being happy.” Hyunjin hesitated. “I’d like to think we could become friends you and I, or something. Someday.”

“Oh.” How could Hyunjin read you so well? And why was he so kind to you? Maybe life had made you forget that, sometimes, people were honest and upfront about their emotions. That life wasn’t always about downplayed feelings. That not everybody was playing a game of who will text first, that not everybody was keeping vital information unspoken. “Yeah, I’d like that a lot.” The warmth on your cheeks was back and you needed to busy yourself with something, so you simply picked up some ice cream on your spoon and brought it to your lips as Hyunjin was pushing the door open. 

The intricate beauty of the garden hit you at the exact same time as the elaborate taste of the ice cream did, almost causing your synapses to short-circuit.

The ice cream was sweet, but not overly sweet. It tasted like ripe peaches and saffron and vanilla, exactly what it had been described as, but the blend of these three flavors created a fourth one that was strangely familiar. You quickly ate more, chasing more of that unexpected yet divine taste, letting it melt on your tongue and coat the inside of your mouth. 

“Oh my god…” You turned to Hyunjin as he closed the door behind him. “That’s delicious!” 

For the first time maybe ever, Hyunjin appeared shy. Bashful. He took his time with the door before looking in your direction again. “You really like it?” The garden had minimal lighting, all warm and intimate, but enough to show his big, dark eyes. 

You took a step toward him, momentarily forgetting the magic garden around you. “You made this? From scratch?” The taste lingered in your mouth. The bowl was cold in your hand. Hyunjin was tall and his eyes were devouring yours. “After you met me?” 

Hyunjin took a bite of the ice cream as if he needed to revisit its taste, to make sure. “Our first meeting left quite a strong impression on me,” he admitted. He looked somewhere behind you. “Are you afraid of birds? Some people are.”

“What? Birds? No, why?” You didn’t want to change the subject. For some reason, this ice cream was the most important thing to you right now. 

Hyunjin’s uneasiness seemed to dissipate a little. He licked his lips clean and stretched his neck, looking vaguely in the direction of the forest—probably around the very place you had been when you had seen him in his window. He parted his lips, just barely, and whistled. A soft whistle at first, then turning into a melody. The sound was steady, beautiful. It filled your mind the same way the ice cream’s flavor had. 

Your gaze followed Hyunjin’s, looking up to the sky. And, seeing the sky.

You had moved to Heron Lake a little while ago now, and while you had heard about the view of the night sky from the mountains, you hadn’t experienced it. Until now. The sky looked like deep blue silk. The stars weren’t just white dots on it, they were actual little spheres of light. Yellow and orange or blueish or red, even. Sparkling and twinkling and shining into the darkness. From here, it looked like you should touch them, feel them under your fingertips. They looked like red pearls of sweat rolling on Hyunjin’s honey skin. They looked like the fairy lights reflecting in his big eyes. Worlds and galaxies and mysteries and the taste of ripe peaches with a touch of saffron and vanilla. 

You jumped when the same whistle that Hyunjin had produced echoed into the night, but this time it hadn’t spilled from his lips. You looked everywhere around, and, for a second, figured that Chris or someone else must have responded to him, until you heard the flapping of wings, until you saw a shadow flying beneath the stars. 

A raven carefully circled over the garden until it landed gently on Hyunjin’s shoulder, immediately going for the bowl of ice cream that he was holding. You knew this was a raven because last week, when you had asked what was the difference between a raven and a crow, Felix had told you that you’ll know when you see a raven because they’re just so fucking huge. He had been right about that.

The bird gently tapped the ceramic with its large beak before returning to nuzzle in Hyunjin’s neck, eliciting a giggle from him. He let go of the ice cream to scratch the top of the bird’s head, much like he would do to a dog. 

You had told him you weren’t scared of birds and that was true, but you had never seen such a big one from so close. It was large but it was beautiful, almost invisible in the night, the lights reflecting on its feathers. 

“You’re calm,” Hyunjin noticed. “A lot of people freak out.”

“Is that… your bird?” You couldn’t help but come a little closer, fascinated by the way the bird’s head moved, and the sound it made when it flapped its wings. 

“Yes and no. I don’t want to claim him as mine. He was abandoned by his group when he was still a fledgling… I don’t know why.” Hyunjin left a little kiss on the bird’s face, to which it—he—responded with a low, soft croaking noise and a short series of whistles. He turned to you. “Do you know what a group of ravens is called? There’s a word for it.”

“What is it?” As if this is what mattered now. You kept eating the ice cream before it could melt, almost like you wanted to remember this taste forever. Almost like you needed to figure out what it reminded you of before the bowl was empty. 

“An unkindness.” 

Unkindness. Words were often so harsh, so cruel, gratuitous. You stared at the raven resting on Hyunjin’s shoulder, finding absolutely nothing unkind about it.

“What about this one?” you inquired, curious, hoping he would explain to you why there was a kind raven living around his house, or maybe give you its name if it had one. “What do you call it?”

Hyunjin's eyes were as dark as the bird's feathers when he stared into yours. “A friend. A guardian.” The bird flapped its wings, taking flight but not for long—it went to rest on a low branch of one of the few trees within the fenced garden, preening like there was no tomorrow. “His name is Aris—short for Polaris, the North Star. I found him on a very difficult day. A dark, dark day…”

Hyunjin let the sentence trail to silence and you allowed it, giving him a few seconds of privacy as he was staring at his feathered friend. “Did you find him or did he find you?” you asked, smiling fondly. 

He was smiling when Hyunjin turned to you again, the bittersweet cloud gone away. “You’re starting to get it.” He saluted you like a master would his apprentice. Twisting his neck toward the raven, he added, “Wanna go back to sleep, Aris?” 

Aris let out a low shrill before speaking words. “Goodnight Aris,” he said in a voice that sounded much like Hyunjin’s. “Goodnight Aris, goodnight Aris, bye bye, sweet dreams.” 

You knew that some birds could talk—or rather, mimic sounds—but this was beyond anything you thought possible. Aris took flight once again, disappearing into the night with a muffled whoosh.

“Wow.” You stood there, still staring blankly at the branch where Aris had been a moment ago. “I think that’s the coolest thing I’ve ever fucking seen.”

Hyunjin laughed so hard at this that he choked on the last spoonful of his ice cream. There were tears in his eyes when he managed to breathe normally again. “I think he likes you though. He tends to be wary of strangers usually.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You scraped the bottom of your bowl to make sure you weren’t wasting any of that peach ice cream. The taste was so bold, sweet yet… sweet yet… perfect. The word erotic came to your mind, but you quickly pushed that at the back of your head. The rest of this train of thought would have to wait until you were reunited with your vibrator. “He’s beautiful. He lives outside?”

“Yeah. Sometimes he’ll stay inside though,” Hyunjin explained. “He’s free to do whatever. Sometimes, he leaves for several days. And I always think, that’s it, Aris finally found a mate. But he always returns. Always alone.”

You frowned, feeling genuine melancholy for this bird. “Oh. That’s too bad…” The ice cream was gone, so you licked your lips clean and left the empty bowl with Hyunjin’s on a stony ledge. “But he has you. That’s something. Maybe he doesn’t want a mate.” 

“I delude myself into thinking this, yes. That it’s his choice. Some people choose to be alone—maybe birds do the same.” 

You couldn’t stop the question before it escaped your lips—and you didn’t really want to stop it anyway. “You seem alone too, Hyunjin. Aren’t you?” You hadn’t seen any sign of a partner in his house and by the way Renee was so adamantly trying to get you into his pants, he must be single. “Is it your choice?” It must be, you thought. He was too beautiful, too striking, not to be desired by many.

He did not hesitate, did not shy away. “Yes.” Then, softly, “same as you.” He motioned toward the garden, inviting you in. “Let’s go?” 

You followed him. There was a lot to see all at once, but Hyunjin assured you that it was even prettier during the day when all the flowers were open and soaking up the sun. But you liked it at night, too. The fence provided intimacy and a sense of warmth—it was made of wood but covered entirely by thick, leafy vines. It smelled like wet earth, like flowers, like herbs, too. 

There was a tiny greenhouse in which Hyunjin grew various things—from rosemary to chamomile, also French parsley, lavender, bay leaf and sage and everything in between. He also had a few tomato plants and grew his own lettuce. He promised he would make you a salad when it would be time to harvest, claiming that his lettuce was particularly flavorful because he planted it alongside basil and oregano. 

Hyunjin also had a hot tub. A very fancy one at that, but not luxurious per se—he explained that it was more like a complicated bathtub. The water was exclusively heated by a stove that burned wood. “It’s not the same as electrical. The warmth is different. Elemental. Real.” And then he explained how even the water here wasn’t apparently just regular water.

“The building’s water source comes from the same underground water source as Elkwater Springs,” he clarified. “This is one of the many reasons I really wanted this house.”

“Why, though? The water is just better?” The strong flavor of the ice cream remained in your mouth—it stayed there, lingering, much like the wetness between your legs. 

Hyunjin raised his eyebrows, surprised. “You haven’t heard the legend behind Elkwater Springs? How it got its name and all?” 

You tried to remember if you had seen this pop up anywhere but couldn’t think of it at all. “Is it not online?” 

Hyunjin shook his head, inviting you to sit with him on an outdoor couch. The cushions were smooth and bouncy. This outdoor lounge set was much more comfortable than the one you had in your fucking living room. 

“The legend dates back to way before Heron Lake was founded,” he began, speaking in a low voice, as if he didn’t want to be heard by anybody but you. The people who were here had lived here for a long time and they knew the ancient magic of the mountains. They also knew the forest well, respecting it and worshiping it as their goddess. They lived here peacefully for centuries until they were disturbed by invaders who wanted their land. They did not want to fight—spilling blood in a battle within the forest would be an affront to their goddess. 

“They folded to preserve peace, making deals with the invaders, asking to be left alone if they moved farther into the forest. The deal was made. The clan leader was a wise woman. She had lost her mate to an illness many years prior to that—all that she had left was her people and her daughter. The daughter fell in love with one of the invaders and she became pregnant with his child. 

“When the truth was uncovered, the invaders killed the man for treason and came to take the daughter away and bring her with them. Her pregnancy was advanced by then—so much so that the shock of it all made her water break. The clan protected her. They firmly said that the child belonged to the forest, just like its mother and its grandmother. The invaders slaughtered more than half of the clan, including the wise leader. Her daughter fled, disappearing into the trees, leaving behind her a trail of blood that was dripping from between her legs. She collapsed near Elkwater Springs and gave birth, alone, to her son. It was then that one of the invaders caught up with her, alerted by the baby’s cries and by the blood staining the grass. When he tried to shoot her, an elk appeared from behind the large rocks and was killed by the invader in her place.”

Hyunjin’s storytelling was so gripping that you could see everything clearly—every tree, every person. You could see the elk, imagine its blood in its thick coat, you could hear the mother’s cries and pleas. There was nothing else left—just you and Hyunjin, and the words that came out of his enticing mouth. 

“The legend says that it was the goddess, the forest, who protected the mother and her child. This gave the mother enough time to disarm her opponent and she killed him, knowing she shouldn’t spill blood in the forest, knowing it was the only way she could save her baby. She washed her son in the waters of what would then become Elkwater Springs. The baby did not cry after this. 

“The mother left her son with the dead elk, carrying the dead invader away, begging the goddess to save her son. The invaders came and found her soon after. They killed her and assumed they had also killed the bastard son. They threw her body in the water and it was carried back to the dead elk and to her son. This is how her cousin found her, and her son, who was very much alive. They took the meat of the elk and buried her nearby. The mother’s blood runs into Elkwater Springs, and so does her protection. The trail in the forest was created by her son’s birth blood as she ran away from the fight, ending at the waterfall. The son lived a long life, and it is thanks to him and the sacrifice his mother made that the forest is preserved.” 

It took you a long while to process and digest it all. Hyunjin may have presented this as a legend, but you heard this as a truth. You thought about the trail that you had followed and how it had conveniently carried you exactly here. From your house. You thought about the strange force you had felt in the waterfall, something that you hadn’t been able to explain but something that you had felt within you. 

“This is such a sad story…” Your voice was small, smaller than you had imagined. You were moved. Hell, the pressure you had felt all evening in your lower abdomen had turned into an ache, almost as if the mother from the legend had come to show you what her pain had been like. 

“But the baby lived,” Hyunjin retorted, his voice suddenly low, dull, flat. “It’s all that matters. The mother gave her life for her son. She wouldn’t have wanted to be alive anyway if her baby had somehow perished.” 

You gulped, listening to the silence around you, realizing that silence was just a made-up word for something that didn’t exist except maybe in the vacuum of space. But here, silence meant the distant flow of the waterfall, the katydids, Hyunjin’s slow breathing, distant voices of your friends, and the lazy flapping of water coming from the hot tub. 

You didn’t insist. “Yes,” you decided to say, staring at the pretty paved path underneath your shoes. It was made of what seemed to be natural rocks, uneven and mismatched, yet they agreed together and agreed with the rest of the strange garden. Somehow. The high-tech hot tub, the willow tree, the oak tree, the greenhouse, the countless flowers and bushes and plants. Everything, you thought, must be so closely tied to Hyunjin, his soul, his energy. As if he held this whole place together somehow. 

You heard footsteps in the not-silence. They stopped at a short distance from you, on the other side of the fence. 

It was Felix. “My dad just called to check if I was too drunk to drive… he’s closing the restaurant in 10, said he’d pick me up after his last delivery. If you wanna hop in.” 

Every atom, every molecule of your body was at war with your brain—you wanted to go home. You wanted to stay here. Hell, you’d spend the whole entire night right here, sitting on this couch, staring at the stars. You could see shapes in them. Lines and formations and constellations that didn’t even exist. You wanted to stay here and observe Aris the raven from up close, study his black feathers under the sunlight. You wanted to stay here and listen to Hyunjin tell you stories all night. And then the day after. And the night after. With your mouth still sweet from the ice cream. 

But you knew better. “Alright, thanks a lot, Lix. I’ll be there soon.” 

“Don’t forget your leftovers in the fridge,” Hyunjin warned, and he turned to you again as Felix was walking away. “We should probably talk about your spell before you go,” he offered. “If you want.”

You thought about Daehan. About the pain he had put you through. For so long you had wanted revenge—proper revenge. You had schemed and conspired and while you had never acted, it was never for a lack of will. You were simply afraid of the person it would make of you if you managed to ruin his life. But this is what you had wanted to do—you had wanted to anonymously contact upper management of your old company and tell them about him fucking your boss in the bathroom. It wasn’t even made up, it was all real. But you knew this would be more than enough to get him fired. You should have told someone, anyone, about it. But you never did. 

Because you weren’t one for revenge. Not in practice. In theory, it was fun to think about it, to imagine his face as he got scolded for it, as his life was shattering. But really, you didn’t think you could live with yourself if you did it. 

But you couldn’t live with yourself with what he had done to you either. 

“I don’t really want… I don’t want revenge,” you told Hyunjin. 

“What is it that you want, then?” he asked softly. 

You told him everything. You told him about how Daehan was your competition and then your boyfriend and how he had never loved you right. Because, perhaps, he had never loved you. “I shouldn’t have stayed with him, but I did, and that’s on me.” How there had never been plans for the future, how he had never wanted to make enough space for you in his apartment, how you had never attended a full reunion with his family. “I should have seen the signs, the red flags, but I didn’t.” 

You told him about the Director of Creative Marketing job opening and how it had felt like a dream you could have. Because for the first time in your life, you felt like you could do this, that you were worthy of this job, of something. You told Hyunjin about all the times Daehan wouldn’t come home until very late and all the tears that stained your pillows and how he started hating you for it. Because you cried. Because, over time, you stopped being able to cry quietly. You told him about the breakup. And how you had felt numb about it. Neither sad, neither happy. Something else.

You told him about the utter lust with which he had fucked your boss in the bathroom and the cum dripping on her thigh and the look on his face. “He never fucked me like this. I still think I’m unfuckable.” Hyunjin listened, never speaking a word. He just listened, sometimes nodding, sometimes humming in agreement with a statement you made. 

“And I hate myself because I just let him do all this to me. I blame all of this on myself, even though I shouldn’t, but some of it really is on me,” you concluded with a sigh, your gaze flicking from Hyunjin, to the sky, to the string of fairy lights next to you. 

Hyunjin took a few seconds to think about it. “So, what is it that you want?” He licked his lips, staring at you intensely. “It helps when you put concrete words on your emotions. Even if what you want is impossible—your heart feels lighter once you’ve spoken the words that are trapped inside of it.”

“For a long time I just wanted to ruin his life,” you admitted, with shame, looking at your feet. “Wanted to make him lose his job. Expose him. Something.” You found enough courage to look into Hyunjin’s eyes again, the smooth dark brown of them, coated with an emotion you couldn’t name. “I don’t want that anymore. I just… I just want to know if he knows what he did to me. If he realizes what he put me through, for so long. Does he know? Do you think he knows that he hurt me?”

Hyunjin had no hesitation when he took your hand in his. His skin was smooth and warm, and your hand fit entirely in his. He squeezed it gently, sending wildfires through your entire body. “Tell me why you want to know if he knows that he hurt you. Say it. Find the words to express it.”

Hyunjin brushed his thumb on your skin. He was very close now—so close that you could feel his breath on your skin, warm and creamy and boozy. You ought to be distracted. Part of you was—the pressure was back between your legs, the tickling, too. And yet there was only you, and your hand in his, and Hyunjin’s big brown eyes. 

“Because if he knows that he hurt me, and did all of that despite knowing how it made me feel, it means it’s… his fault. It means it’s not my fault. And it means I’m right for hating him.” You realized your face was warm again, but not because you were blushing—a few tears were rolling on your cheeks. Not really because you were sad, but because it felt liberating to finally tell the story, from beginning to end, to someone. And to put words on the dark feelings in your heart. “I don’t like that I hate him. I just… I just wish he had been brave enough to break up with me before. So that I didn’t have all this hatred inside me.”

Hyunjin nodded slowly, keeping your hand wrapped in his, bringing his other hand to your face. Gently, he wiped your tears away with his thumb. 

“Just cry if you have to cry, it’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe here.” 

Your vision was blurry but you could still see genuine sorrow on Hyunjin’s face. He bit his lips and, finally, pulled you close, embracing you. And it felt natural, not forced, not weird—it felt like you belonged in his long arms, basking in his scent, his warmth, his presence. He pressed you against him and you buried your face into him. 

“I understand what you want,” Hyunjin said after a few moments. “We can make you better. Do you trust me?” 

You nodded in his arms and he pushed your hair away from your face-stained tears, looking into your eyes. “Yes.” Truth be told, you trusted Hyunjin like you had never trusted anyone before in your life. It was a brand new feeling, strange and scary and beautiful—just like him. “Anything.” You meant that. At that moment, you realized you did mean it, as scary as this all was. You thought about the couple he had told you about, and the ritual with the moon. It had worked, hadn’t it? “Those people who couldn’t have a baby,” you started. “The full moon. It worked for them.” 

Hyunjin gulped thickly, taking a deep breath. “The next full moon comes very soon,” he said. He was so close that he was speaking directly into your ear. His voice echoed within you, like an earthquake. “Are you comfortable with… that?” 

You nodded. “How does it work? You said it was the most powerful one.” You thought of the sight of him in that very window you were sitting under, of the way he was making love to the air, to himself, to some unseen entity. Perhaps he was making love to the ghost of the mother who had given her life to save her son. Was this why he seemed so strong? Because he used his powers like this? You thought, also, about how it was the same hand he used to touch himself that was touching your skin now. The lips that were ghosting your ear had eaten his cum—and that made you dizzy.

Hyunjin pulled away from you, making it easier for him to look you in the eyes. Except he didn’t—he averted his gaze, staring instead at your hand, still in his. But then he let go of you as well. 

“I’ll be very honest with you,” he started. “I believe that if you performed a ritual at the full moon—the full moon is best to release unwanted vibrations—it would be best if you used your sexual energy to cast it. It just makes sense, especially considering what you told me about your ex and how he treated you.” 

You nodded. “Yes. I want to try that.” 

You could swear that Hyunjin’s cheeks had darkened a little. He still wasn’t looking in your direction. Instead he was fiddling with the delicate chain around his neck. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with that? If I’m… present during the ritual, I mean?” 

“Yes.” The true answer would be more complicated than that—you wouldn’t be comfortable, you would be embarrassed, no matter what the spell entailed. But you also knew that Hyunjin’s presence was necessary. And, part of you really wanted him to be there.

You wanted him to see you, perhaps, the way you had seen him in that window.

Hyunjin ran his fingers through his hair while taking a deep breath. He looked like he was about to take a dive into an olympic pool. “If we’re going to do this,” he began, controlling his voice and yet you still heard the faint tremors in it. “You have to know something, or else it’d feel like I’m taking advantage of you, which I’m not. I genuinely think you were sent here for a reason, and that we can free you from this burden that you have to carry. But—” 

You didn’t press him. Instead, you gave him space. Whatever he was about to tell you, he didn’t really want to tell you, he just felt compelled to—maybe he had seen a stain of bad luck in your future, maybe the idea of spectating your sexual energy disgusted him, maybe he would need you to do a blood sacrifice to the moon. In the distance, you could hear a car coming closer and you guessed it must be your ride home. 

Hyunjin blurted out the rest of his sentence so fast that it took you several seconds to properly process it. “I’m attracted to you. Sexually. I don’t think this’ll get in the way of me assisting, but you have to be aware of it before we proceed so that whatever consent you give me is at least informed.” 

Seconds passed. Hyunjin dared not look anywhere that was in your direction but you couldn’t look away. His profile, the curves of his cheekbones, the shape of his lips—from here, they looked like a perfectly drawn cartoon-style heart. The way the soft breeze hit his hair. His posture, both perfect and casual, almost nonchalant. 

It was a splendid night. The stars were pretty, the weather was just right, you had made new friends. Your mouth still tasted like some mysterious ice cream. You felt good. Tired, but not in a bad way. Tired like having spent too much time in the sun and tired like having laughed a little too hard. Your pussy was wet and your heart beat fast. There was enough alcohol coursing through your veins to numb you, but not enough to make you stupid. You had heard Hyunjin’s words and you understood them. You were just having a hard time believing that they were real.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Hyunjin added quickly, finally staring upon you with panic in his eyes. “And it’s totally okay if you no longer want me to perform the ritual—we can find some other way. It’s just that it sounds creepy as fuck if I tell you I have to be there and guide you while you… you… while you explore your feminine and sexual energies and I… I… I’m not a stalker, I’m not a creep, I promise, but it’s okay if you don’t want to—”

“Hyunjin.” You cut him off, speaking firmly. “I want to do the ritual, and I’d like you to be there.” The car was coming closer and closer. You could stay. You could spend the night. Yet, something told you that you really shouldn’t, that the time wasn’t right.

“Oh.” Hyunjin relaxed instantly, burying his face into his big hands, embarrassed. “Okay then, good,” he spoke into his palms. 

You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, you wanted to tell him. I’ve been thinking about you since the very moment I laid eyes on you. I’ve been wondering about your cock since I saw you fuck your own hand with it. I’ve been wanting you, and only you, for the few days that I’ve known you. 

But you said nothing of the sort. Of course—your heart was trapped in a cage. Your heart was chained up, tethered, your heart was the feather of a raven, your heart was the space in between the stars. Millions of light years of distance, of emptiness, just voids after voids after voids. 

It seemed to help Hyunjin to talk about ‘business’. “You’ll have to practice a few things,” he said as the sound of a car, and car doors, resonated all the way to here. “First, you should try practicing having an orgasm with your eyes open. The whole time.” He was blushing but he didn’t shy away this time and it made you want to kiss him. “And you also have to practice, huh, edging.” 

Edging didn’t seem possible in your life, not anymore, not since you had met him, the sex witch with the mysterious aura and perfect body. It was as if all that was possible were long sessions between you and your favorite toys and cumming over and over, never quite satiated, until you passed out in your bed. 

Felix’s voice came from the front of the house. “Hey! Car’s here! Take your time though!” 

“Edging?” You could have cooked an egg on your face with how warm it was. “Why?”

“To charge up more energy,” Hyunjin explained. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna torture you for hours and hours—but this sort of ritual is best with one, meaningful, huh, finish. We’ll build up your tension until it’s time that you release. Sounds okay?” 

“Yes.” You were grateful you weren’t wearing clear shorts because you were soaking through two layers of fabric. “Sounds okay.” 

“The next full moon is next week on Saturday,” Hyunjin explained. “If I remember correctly, the apex will be just a few minutes short of midnight. “I think we’ll both need some time to, huh, make ourselves comfortable… Why don’t you come by around six? I can pick you up if you haven’t found a car by then. I’ll make some dinner and we can have a few drinks and chat.” 

You nodded slowly, getting up before you could leave an embarrassing stain on Hyunjin’s couch. It felt so futile, so ridiculous, so stupid, to plan on seeing him next week when he was right there and you right here and he could fuck you into that couch all night. “Alright, I’ll be here at six.” Then, turning to him, you added, “Thank you. For wanting to help me.” 

“No problem.” Hyunjin stood as well, now leading you back into the house. He forgot the empty ice cream bowls as he passed them, so you grabbed them. “And if at any time before or during the ritual, you want to stop—it’s not a problem. It’s all okay,” he explained. “It will only work if you’re entirely comfortable with it anyway. It’ll work best if you… if you like it. God, I know I sound like a fucking insane person…”

He pulled the door open, letting you in before himself. From here, you could hear voices in the kitchen, and sounds of items being moved in the fridge. “I trust you, Hyunjin.” And it was true. You really did. “I don’t think you’re insane.” 

Chris appeared at the other end of the hallway, his smile illuminating the whole room. “There they are! Did he introduce Aris to you?”

You welcomed Chris’ warm presence and let it calm you. “He did,” was all you managed, though. 

“I miss him, I ought to visit more often,” Chris added before disappearing once again. 

The kitchen was somewhat busy with everybody packing their leftovers. Felix was talking with his dad and Renee—Renee shot you a glance that you knew meant she would be calling you for details tomorrow. You refused your own container with a slice of pizza in it, and Hyunjin didn’t insist. Instead, he went to the freezer and handed you the tub of peach ice cream. 

“I made it for you after all.” He shoved his hands in his pants, his bashful demeanor returning. “I’ll see you around, Fantastic Four.” 

“Thanks for the ice cream. And for… the rest.” 

Hyunjin offered you a stiff nod as a response, and you followed Felix outside after saying goodbye to Chris and Renee. 

You were grateful that both Felix and his dad were talkative—they did all of the conversation on the way back, allowing you to simply nod or hum to reply to them. When you tried to pay them for the ride, they adamantly refused, Felix pointing out that when you’d find a car, you’d probably be the one offering rides back home. He was right, or at least, you were hoping he was. You were hoping that you’d be able to become friends with people again, someday. 

Your house was quiet and dark, but warm from the sun today. You cracked open a few windows upstairs and debated whether you should shower now or after. You stared at the drawer where you kept your favorite sex toys. You had never thought this about them, but tonight, they seemed so pointless. As if you knew they would never suffice. 

So you did shower, lathering your body, every inch of it. But in your mind, it was Hyunjin’s fingers spreading the soap on your skin, rubbing it into you. It was his hand between your legs, fucking you under the hot water, his chest pressed against your back, rubbing circles on your clit, massaging your breasts. You almost came, but you didn’t. 

You fucked yourself in your bed, on your back first, using a blue dildo. But that wasn’t enough and, soon, you ended up on your knees with the toy shoved deep within you, humping a pillow. In your mind, it was Hyunjin beneath you, fucking you from under, his fingers digging into your waist, slamming you onto him. You almost came, but you didn’t. 

Your bed was a mess by then and your pillow was damp, stained. Your room smelled like your pussy. Your room smelled like— 

Like peach and saffron and vanilla ice cream. 

Your house was dark but it was cooler with the windows open. Naked, your cunt throbbing and dripping, you returned downstairs, heading directly for your fridge, grabbing a spoon from the cutlery drawer on the way. First, you rubbed your pussy with your free hand, listening to the wet noises of it, gathering as much of your juices as you could on your fingers before licking them clean. You tasted good. You tasted sweet, but not overly sweet. 

The tub of ice cream was just where you had left it in the freezer. You brought it on the counter and took a large spoonful of it, shoving it all in your mouth, not minding the cream melting at the corner of your lips. 

The ice cream tasted like you. Like your cunt, specifically like your juices when you were craving Hyunjin. Because of course he made your pussy taste better. The ice cream tasted like being afraid and letting go anyway. The ice cream tasted like your wet pussy, like your moans louder than a storm. The ice cream tasted like the Four of Wands. 

You came hunched over your counter, fucking yourself with three fingers, the taste of peach and saffron and vanilla lingering in your mouth, drops of cream rolling down your neck and onto your breasts, drops of cream rolling down your inner thighs too, sticking to your skin. To love and to be loved.

... to be continued.

A special thank you for @cb97percent & her fic, Momo, for inspiring me parts of this chapter! In fact, a special thank you to Ren, period, for supporting me in this lil writing adventure, and for inspiring me and many others to create, and to create in a way that is aligned with ourselves. And, thank you for teaching me about kindness.

a/n: Hello beloveds! <3 I'm happy to share this new chapter of the witch boy with you all. Thank you for the support on chapter one! I appreciate all the feedback & kindness. I'm hoping to update Super Bored soon after this, stay tuned! 🐸

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