midnight scribe

𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐚𝐱 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮

[hwaelysian]

NAVIGATION | INTRO

daydreaming is contagious. proceed with caution.

call me barbie | 23 years young | your source of angst and dark fics | what is a bias? | inbox always open for soft/hard thoughts | no requests!

you are responsible for the content you consume. proceed with caution.

❦ ateez masterlist (under construction) ❦ the walking dead masterlist (under construction) ❦ misc. (coming soon)

[kisssan]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 — ❝ presenting a situation as having only two alternatives when, in fact, there are more. ❞

in the gilded halls of a prestigious frat house, loyalty is a fragile lie and love is nothing more than a risky gamble. what began as a simple bet among brothers has spiraled into a suffocating obsession that threatens to dismantle everything they built.

the false belief that hearts can be won through deception and that brotherhood can survive betrayal. as a single event triggers a chain reaction of manipulation and lust, the men who once called themselves best friends begin to stab each other in the back, proving that once the lie takes root, the truth becomes the most dangerous weapon of all.

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈. 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐌𝐀

word count :: 19,3k

main love interest :: choi san

synopsis :: if there’s no label, it’s only fair for everyone to take a bite. you’re considered a prize in the predatory world of the frat house. when you show up to their party unannounced, you unknowingly become the center of a high-stakes bet. caught in a dizzying hunt between the charming frats, you’re forced to navigate a maze of lust and deception, all while wondering if the man you actually want will finally claim you before someone else wins the game.

COMING OUT ON JUNE 13TH .ᐟ

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈. 𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐌𝐀

word count :: tba

main love interest :: choi san, ???

synopsis :: finding yourself standing at a crossroads where the light no longer reaches. the devil offers an apple to his favorite angel, but as you take a bite, you realize the sweetness was only a mask for the rot of a soul-crushing deal. to save the heaven you built, you must now learn to thrive in the shadows casted over your heart.

COMING SOON .ᐟ

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐆𝐌

word count :: tba

main love interest :: choi san, ???, ???

synopsis :: the lie has become your truth, woven itself into the dream life you wanted. a new shadow now enters the circus to pull the strings of your silent surrender. even as the cage door locks tighter than ever before, a promise arrives to keep you forever in the very paradise you are trying so desperately to stay in.

COMING SOON .ᐟ

© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.

taglist ( open )﹢ @strhwa @lillys-bakery @les4heeseung @yeehaw-odyssey @livonianmaia @estrnrea @chanscappuccino @lateez @cyberpxnks @zerowantstobattle @raicecakes-and-buldak @finewinesixtynine @jensdior  @hwavon @hwa2tiny @woosansbb @haleria @lol-imtrash2000 @haohaoshoe @iamagnesrrr @phesodain @chuuyaobsessed @niyareloadedd @enhacolor @atetheluck @eviemae5864 @booposaurusrex @belongjoong @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @urfavleobiscuit @way2jellyous @cultofsin @hearts4itoshi @matznana @eggielix @sangibaby @dovelydrz @tinyfixon @zayn-210 @seungminimpossible @pilmographyy @pinkyerkz @ophelie-dctl @minkisdoll @sassysiren1031 @powerpuff-girls4l @minyunsan-kitten @frayaatiny @atzjoonghwa

[hwaelysian]

If the masterlist is so pretty imagine the writing 😩

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

I sincerely love it when men's eyes are etched in tragedy ✨️

[kissthigh]

this and an older man who pats his thigh when he wants me to go over to him

[imurdollie]

this ughhh

[mellowgrungeweasel]

Okay why is this older!Dean Winchester core?

[hwaelysian]

rick grimes😩

[orchidsgrowfromthesoul]

when the fic has 10k+ words, fluff, angst, smut right at the end, friends to lovers, character who’s down bad for reader, AND Y/N DOESNT ACT LIKE A CHILD

[hwaelysian]

The term “five star Michelin” irks me so bad in songs MICHELIN DOESN’T HAVE FIVE STARS IT HAS THREE anyways I had to get that off my chest

[hwaelysian]

snowbound - teaser.

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: park seonghwa x reader x kim hongjoong 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a snowbound train, a restless winter storm outside, and two strangers who make the night feel warmer than it should. some attractions are hard to resist, but in the stillness of the tracks, nothing is quite as it seems. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: (?) 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: incubus!seonghwa, incubus!hongjoong, traveler!reader, confined space, aerophobia, snow storm, supernatural elements, slight gore, seduction manipulation, erotic content 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: reply/reblog for a tag.

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

[hwaelysian]

this week! reply/reblog for a tag 🧚‍♀️

[kisssan]

pairing﹢jeong yunho x fem!reader genre﹢smut. ex-bf!yunho, age gap (reader is 24, yunho is 36), themes of obsessive tendencies and stalking, jealousy, emotional manipulation, slight yandere (if you squint), corruption kink, toxic relationship, dubcon undertones but it turns consensual, cunnilingus, choking, mean dom!yunho, implied size kink/difference [the big dick yunho agenda is real], hate + unprotected sex, missionary + mating press, praising + degradation, overstimulation, orgasm control, tummy bulge, creampie, pet names (doll, babydoll, dollface, angel, pretty girl, etc), minimal aftercare. synopsis﹢he was the only older guy you had ever dated, and you swore you would never do this to yourself again. two years of love, obsession, and control are gone, or at least, that’s what you thought. some people don’t let go or move on — he never did. so why does he walk back into your life like nothing ever happened... this time, as your professor? word count﹢17,9k

✦ WATCH THE FIC TEASER ✦ PLAY THE VINYL RECORD

these are the best eleven months of your life after ending the relationship with your now ex-boyfriend. next month you're even thinking of celebrating, because it will mark a whole year. your best friends will definitely treat it like a huge occasion, just like on that fateful day when you handed them the news on a silver platter… they had never been so happy, throwing a small party just for the three of you.

YUNHO was the only older guy you had ever dated, and you swore you would never do this to yourself again. to sum it all up, the relationship turned toxic rather quickly. you almost lost all of your friends, even your two best friends, karina and yeji, who tried their very best to shove some sense into you, but you never listened, delusional enough to believe that you could change him. oh, how naive you were, that’s why you were so easy to manipulate…

apologies came in the form of very expensive gifts, things you had always wanted, or in gentle kisses and touches that slowly wandered and eventually led to the bedroom, where you ended up naked beneath his covers. you thought it was normal, since every relationship had arguments, but that’s not what this was about. it was about toxicity, extreme jealousy, possessiveness, maybe even obsession. the man was a literal freak.

karina practically did a full analysis of him, confirming what she had said the very first time you told her about the problems that occurred between you and him: "he's a psychopath." she had been direct, telling you it wasn’t okay and that you needed to break up with him. yeji agreed with her, always wanting the best for you, adding that "older men always want to date someone younger and it's not just because of looks… please be careful."

you suffered once and learned your lesson. enjoying your vacation, cocktail in hand, while the sea breeze drifts past you, the sun hot against your skin as you lounge on the deckchair, slowly tanning. of course, sometimes you still think about the past; you can’t really stop that after spending two whole years with him. yet even though everything had been bad and suffocating, there had been a good side to him too: tall, handsome, funny and somehow rich. what more could you want?

the other thing you wanted was for your parents and close friends not to find out that you had been dating someone not two or three years older, or even a year younger, but a whole twelve years older. yes, you were twenty-one when you met him, a couple of months before your birthday, through mutual friends. one gathering led to another, and before you knew it, you were dating him, convinced you had finally found the one you were going to marry, the only man who truly knew how to be a man. alas, it turned out he was just another shark in the ocean, ready to strike at its defenseless prey.

it doesn’t matter anymore, since you’re single, genuinely happy, enjoying your summer, shining brighter than the sun itself, and everyone sees you like some kind of eternal sunshine. you finally returned to yourself, only smarter this time, no longer falling for tricks or manipulative tactics. life is good when you don’t have a man bitching in your ear about the outfit you’re about to wear or asking why you were talking to some guy for too long. the waiter, if you must specify, who was simply announcing the lunch menu.

“ah, can’t believe we have to be back at university that soon…” you said, sipping from your drink while idly chewing on the straw. karina was on your left, glued to her phone, while yeji sat on your right, carefully lining up small seashells along her thighs.

“and we’re graduating this year too… but someone decided to study at a different university, breaking our teenage dreams,” karina said as she turned off her phone, glancing at you with a playful look while you rolled your eyes.

“not my fault the one you’re in didn’t have what i wanted.” you took another sip, and yeji giggled softly. “none of us dropped out though, which is an achievement on its own.”

yes, you didn’t study at the same place as them, but that didn’t stop you from hanging out, if anything, there was even more gossip to share. and so the conversations continued, all the way until you started getting ready for dinner, and then for a few more days after that, until eventually you had to go back to seoul and wish each other “good luck for the new last year.”

you really did need some luck, because you had just found out that your favorite professor had retired. you were going to miss the woman; you had been her favorite student, but all good things eventually come to an end. everyone was already sitting in the lecture room. you had heard that the new professor was someone young, but there hadn’t been time to check who exactly he was since they were still fixing schedules and systems. the only thing you knew was that tuesday at nine in the morning was your first lecture with the new professor in question.

“i think he probably used to play basketball or football, i saw him earlier and he’s really tall,” one of the boys said, and the others quickly agreed, while you remained focused on your phone, scrolling through reel after reel, meme after meme. then you overheard the girls whispering nearby, their voices a little more excited. “did you see his hands? and him in general… he’s so fine…”

the problem with having a young professor is exactly that — he was young, and from what everyone was saying, quite attractive too. the other problem appeared the moment everyone finally sat down when the door opened. a tall figure stepped into the room, his style was effortless in a way that made it impossible not to glance twice. a soft gray cardigan hung loosely over his shoulders, the thin knit falling open enough to reveal the clean white t-shirt beneath.

the muted colors helped him blend in, making him look more like a student than a teacher. slim black pants traced the long lines of his frame, the strap of a black crossbody bag thrown diagonally across his chest, and he wore simple sneakers. his black hair fell in soft layers that framed his face, the strands straight and smooth, cut just long enough to brush the tops of his eyebrows and skim the sides of his cheekbones.

you were sitting a little further back, your phone still in your hands. the room buzzed with chatter as people continued talking among themselves until the professor cleared his throat, the sound cutting clean through the noise as he prepared to introduce himself.

“hello everyone, i’m jeong yunho and i’ll be your new photography professor this year.”

your eyes widened instantly, your head snapping up so fast it almost hurt. oh no… houston, we have a problem. you blinked several times, half expecting your vision to clear and reveal someone else entirely. maybe it was just someone with the exact same name, appearance, and voice. unfortunately for you, it wasn’t. why is your ex-boyfriend the new professor? out of all the people in the capital, it had to be him who got the position.

you sat there frozen in complete shock, your mouth slightly open until your deskmate and close university friend, jeongin, gently pressed a finger under your chin to close it as he leaned to whisper, “i guess everyone, including you, just found their new crush, huh?”

what, why, and how? was this some kind of twisted karma? because if it was, you definitely weren’t the one who deserved it. your heart started beating faster, anxiety and something close to fear crawling up. could you run away? maybe copy someone else’s notes, no… you couldn’t. suddenly you wished you were studying metaphysics with karina, because that sounded far more pleasant than this.

“i’d love to get to know all of you,” he continued, smiling as he set his bag on the desk before leaning back against it, arms loosely crossed, while his gaze moved around the room. “so i’ll share a few things about myself. and don’t worry, i won’t make you do anything today. i’ll just introduce the course and explain what i expect from you.”

surprisingly hands immediately began rising with questions. meanwhile, you were still struggling to believe what you were seeing and hearing. he hadn’t changed at all, you had to admit it. he had only gotten more attractive. always taking care of himself and being unfairly pretty, making you remember how two years ago you thought about what your future children would look like... now you want to throw up. forcing yourself to keep your composure, glancing at jeongin and making a slightly grimaced face. yeah, a crush for sure, except you wanted to crush him into pieces.

“how old are you, professor?” someone from the middle rows asked, earning a few curious murmurs from the class, making yunho chuckle, “straight to the personal questions already? alright then. i’m thirty-six.”

everyone was surprised by the answer, and all kinds of reactions rippled through.

“don’t look so shocked,” he added with a small grin. “i promise i’m not that ancient.”

“are you a full-time professor?” another student asked.

“not exactly,” yunho replied, pushing his sleeves up slightly as he spoke, revealing his forearms, “i’m a professional photographer first. i mainly work in editorial and commercial photography such as fashion shoots, campaigns, exhibitions, that sort of thing. teaching is something i enjoy doing on the side, especially with students who are serious about the craft.”

“does that mean you’re going to give us easy grades?” someone joked, making him raise an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “absolutely not.”

the class laughed again, a little nervous this time.

“i can be friendly,” he added, shrugging lightly, “but don’t mistake that for me being tolerant. photography is about discipline and perspective. if you’re here just to press a button and hope for the best, you’re going to struggle.”

another hand went up. “so… we won’t pass easily?”

“correct,” nodding his head once. “i expect effort, creativity, and consistency. if you work hard, you’ll do amazing. if you don’t…” he paused briefly before smiling again, “you won’t pass this course by simply showing up and smiling at me. well, at least you’ll get some nice pictures out of the experience.”

more chuckles followed, but the message had landed. the atmosphere quickly became relaxed and comfortable as he answered questions with small jokes. the students were already warming up to him, clearly charmed by how easygoing he was. as you listened to him speak, watched the way he carried himself so seriously and correctly in front of everyone, you couldn’t help but wonder where exactly all that cheerful composure had been when he was with you?

“attendance is mandatory.” and then his gaze settled directly on yours, a faint smirk pulling at his lips as he stared straight into your soul, the one he had almost taken from you a year ago. “of course, if you have to be absent, it’s not a problem, as long as it doesn’t happen often. i know some of you will be at the mall with friends. also i don’t grade by email; everything you do will be shown and discussed in class.”

the entire time he spoke, his eyes kept drifting back to you. when he paced slowly across the front of the room, even when he turned to answer someone else’s question, somehow his attention always circled back. for some reason, you held his gaze instead of looking away, and the longer you stared at him, the more that fear slowly faded until all that remained was pure hatred.

jeongin leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice into a teasing whisper. “well there goes our plan of skipping class to eat kfc… or getting more sleep,” he murmured, nudging your arm lightly.

thank god your best friends studied at different universities, otherwise they would have dragged you straight to the administration office and forced you to drop out for real. and honestly… you were starting to think about it yourself. the worst part was that you couldn’t switch the class for anything else. great, truly amazing. you were trapped for an entire semester.

“that’s everything for today,” yunho said after a while, clapping his hands together once as he was done answering questions and talking about cameras, “i won’t keep you any longer. enjoy the rest of your morning.”

chairs scraped across the floor as everyone began packing their things, the room filling with chatter again. you grabbed your purse quickly, already standing up before most people had even processed that the lecture was over. as you walked out with jeongin, you noticed a small crowd forming around the professor’s desk. a couple of boys and girls had already gathered there, asking questions, laughing at something he said, clearly eager to stay a little longer.

you didn’t even glance his way. no goodbye, or a polite “have a nice day”, because he didn’t deserve to have one. you just kept walking toward the door, hoping that you would manage to graduate before the sudden temptation to drop out started looking a little too appealing.

“your analysis lacks depth,” yunho says, placing your paper on his desk, making you scoff, since this is the third time now that he’s returned it for edits. lacks depth, he says… well, you did as well, asshole. if you had to edit one more thing, it honestly wouldn’t be that bad to buy a gun, and no, it definitely wouldn’t be pointed at your head.

every single tuesday he calls on you far too often in class. your assignments always come back covered in detailed comments, red ink everywhere like a declared war on your academics. you swear he’s grading you harder than everyone else, which honestly seems unfair to the people who are actually doing nothing. apparently, you’re the only one being treated like a social experiment.

“and what exactly do i need to change again, professor?” you ask, grinning through your teeth, burying every thought that would probably send you straight to jail under a perfectly fake smile. you’re this close from going insane, feeling that familiar anger rise again, the irritation that always appears when you’re forced to deal with someone you can’t stand.

for the last four weeks, your life has been hell, to say the least. during lectures he’ll ask a question, several hands go up while yours remain fiddling with a ballpoint pen, and yet he always picks you. and the first time you didn’t know the answer, what followed was a casual, “it would be nice to learn things before the test, hm?” which felt like complete humiliation, because beneath that joking tone there had been something that definitely wasn’t a joke.

once you and jeongin arrived ten minutes late, which honestly wasn’t even your fault. what were you supposed to do when your friend insisted on waiting for his coffee while there was already a long line that early in the morning? of course, a comment followed: “please be on time next time.” but when someone else walked in thirty minutes late during the same lecture, there were absolutely no remarks.

that’s exactly why you always come prepared with answers and make sure you’re always on time. you know his tricks far too well. no matter how charming his smile is, how sweetly he talks, how funny and relaxed he seems… it’s just one of his many masks. karina really was right about him being some kind of psychopath.

everyone else, unfortunately, loves the new professor. they talk about his fun classes, how nice he is, and how cool it is that he’s such a professional teaching them new techniques. some of your peers even linger after lectures just to chat with him. meanwhile, you sit there thinking that your older ex should seriously consider enrolling in acting instead of photography, because the performance he’s putting on deserves ample shiny awards proudly displayed on a goddamn mantlepiece.

the whole thing has turned into some twisted cat-and-mouse game. he teases, pushes, and provokes. you glare, don't bite back, and refuse to give him the reaction he clearly wants. despite all of that, he always finds his sneaky ways to make your life a little more miserable.

here and there, he calls you to his desk after class for absolutely no reason. “you should consider approaching a different lens for your next project,” like this couldn’t have easily been written in a single email. or he’ll start explaining camera settings you already know perfectly well, dragging the conversation out while the rest of the class disappears into the hallway.

and god forbid you see him outside the classroom. the moment you notice him walking down the hallway, you immediately pull a perfect one-eighty and walk in the opposite direction because you hate this man so fucking much, you refuse to breathe the same air as him.

what’s more upsetting is that you can’t even tell anyone. because if karina and yeji ever found out that your toxic ex-boyfriend was now your professor, they wouldn’t hesitate for a second before throwing a chair at him.

what you don’t know, however, is that he requested this university job partly because of you. actually, not partly at all, he knew exactly what he was doing. even when you were still together, he knew where you studied and what major you were in, just like you knew about his photography work. of course, teaching also gave him the chance to try something different in his career. and what better opportunity than this? his unbelievably beautiful ex-girlfriend just so happened to be one of his students, completely unplanned.

and it doesn’t stop there, oh no, everything is just starting.

jeongin begins to notice a pattern, which honestly isn’t hard to miss when during class yunho asks another question. probably ten hands rise into the air, but he still chooses you. your friend leans closer to your ear and whispers, “you must be his favorite~”

you stare at the board like you want to burn it down, alongside mister pretty devil himself, who of course, happens to wear clothes that fit his figure perfectly, fuck him honestly. “if i was his favorite, do you think i’d be studying camera obscura in this much detail?”

not to mention the way he addresses you with that smooth voice, softly calling you, “miss (name).” the moment you hear it, it’s game over. you have to respond with “yes, professor,” or “yes, sir,” like some twisted academic roleplay you never signed up for. it makes you want to vomit, bleach both your eyes and your trachea. you hate his guts so much. he has always liked being in control, and now he has it again, at least within the walls of this campus. outside of it, however, he has absolutely none.

when it comes to homework and assignments, everyone else receives short feedback, brief but explanatory enough to understand their mistakes, things like: “good composition” or, “nice lighting” and even, “if you try a black and white effect, it might work better.”

your feedback, on the other hand, is practically a full essay. it could probably qualify as a documentary script because he covers everything, even the tiniest details. he has a ridiculously keen eye for things, which apparently also makes him a professional at being a complete jerk who picks on you for absolutely no reason.

“your framing… well, it’s technically correct,” he muses, tapping the printed photo with his finger exactly where he seems most dissatisfied, “but technically correct isn’t the same as emotionally effective.”

you want to throw your camera at him and shove the lens straight down his throat, as the class sits there admiring him. “wow, professor jeong gives such thoughtful feedback.”

it also happens that he’s constantly spammed with emails from students asking if their work is passable or what more they  can do to improve their visuals, so eventually he announces loudly, “if anyone needs extra help, my office hours are wednesday and thursday afternoon.”

later that same day, only you receive an email: “your project concept has potential. come to discuss it.”

you go, of course, because you care about the grade. knocking on the door to his office, and he lets you in, acting like the two of you are complete strangers. the entire conversation stays professional, purely academic, every word measured, but the tension makes your heartbeat faster. after ten painfully long minutes, you finally stand to leave, and just as your hand reaches the door, he says, that same smile on his face, “don’t sabotage your own work out of stubbornness.”

almost slamming the door behind you, but you need to have self-control and not let him know that you are slowly losing your cool.

it goes without saying that the girls in the course absolutely adore him. some of them simp for him, always giggling and gossiping. “the way he looked at me today… he said he is single, so do you think i have a chance?” or “he’s literally the most handsome professor here, why isn’t my boyfriend like him?”

you almost choke hearing that, because you know the other version of him. the one who used to kiss apologies into your neck after fights. the one whose hands knew every point of your body andwho knew you better than you knew yourself. fingers that always seemed to know exactly where to press, where to… why are you even thinking about that?

during one of his lectures, yunho suddenly says something that makes your stomach twist.

“photography is about obsession. you need to want the subject more than anything else. you have to focus on it completely if you want to capture the perfect shot.”

you freeze, eyes widening slightly at his words, because you know exactly how obsessive he can be. yunho glances at you, that smug little smile appears again, and he continues the lecture as if nothing happened.

it’s almost nightfall when the young professor arrived home. he dropped onto the couch, leaving his bag on the floor beside it, his head falling back against the cushions as he stretched his legs over the small wooden table and stretched his arms up above his head.

he exhaled once, then again, tapping his thigh with his fingers in the quiet that filled the apartment. the silence didn’t last long before a small laugh slipped past his lips. he closed his eyes, and of course, you appeared in his mind again. you were constantly there, living somewhere between his thoughts and his heart, occupying space you had no right to anymore.

weren’t you just adorable? each and every time you walked into class, you were dressed better than everyone else, always prepared and looking at him with that sneer that no one else seemed to notice. not even your deskmate, the one he sometimes caught himself glaring at out of pure irritation and jealousy, though he knew jeongin wasn’t any real threat.

you were his muse, his fallen angel, the pliable doll he had once controlled so carefully until two other puppets, your dear best friends, stepped in and cut the marionette strings, ruining the entire show. you had been so kind-hearted and obedient, so sweet and perfectly made for him… but everything had ended so quickly.

yunho knew exactly how to push your buttons; it was too easy for him. he watched every little reaction, the glares you tried to hide behind forced politeness. he fed on it more than he probably should have. still obsessed with you and completely unable to let go, hiding it well enough behind the role of a professor. 

you were his one weakness, the sensitive gap between two ribs guarding the heart he had, the one thing that made the control he prided himself on slip through his fingers. he had never stopped loving you, at least not in his own twisted way. goddamnit, you looked like an absolute doll today. the dress, the way your hair fell over your shoulders, the gloss on your lips. were you going on a date with someone? with who? when? where? normally he would have known already. the thought made his jaw tighten slightly, tongue pushing the inside of his cheek. if it wasn’t for the university schedule taking up so much of his time lately, he would have kept better track of things. he hoped you weren’t going on a date with anyone.

reaching for his phone, unlocking it as he opened one of the many accounts he used. your instagram appeared on the screen, and even though your profile was private, that had never really stopped him. the pretty much convincing fake account had been accepted months ago and you had never questioned it. he doesn’t just have one fake account, there are several, each with a different purpose: one follows you, the second follows your friends, the third follows men who comment on your photos.

his thumb scrolled slowly through the posts, stopping at one in particular.

you standing by the ocean with goldensunlight catching your skin, wearing that stupidly beautiful dress that he bought. the same vacation he had surprised you with, and the irony was that he had been the one holding the camera when those pictures were taken, and then his scrolling stopped when he saw you had a story posted.

you sitting across from someone in a restaurant, a glass in your hand, smiling. the caption tagged someone… jaemin? the quiet apartment suddenly didn’t feel so quiet anymore. yunho stared at the screen a little longer than necessary, his fingers tightening slightly around the phone. he decided to do his research, and within minutes, he knew jaemin’s major, his other social media, his schedule and which classes he attends.

“so you were going on dates now, huh?” his hand ran slowly across his face before he leaned back against the couch again, letting out a low breath that almost sounded like a mocking laugh. he shouldn’t care, and what’s left of his sanity knew that, but something in his chest twisted like a scalding hot knife. the truth was simple, and it irritated him more than anything else.

his home still has traces of you. your favorite mug still in the kitchen, a sweater you forgot draped over a chair, the perfume bottle you left behind on the bathroom counter. he hasn’t moved them at all, so when passing them he’ll sometimes pause, observing your belongings like they’re priceless artifacts he forever wants to keep.

a drawer in his desk contains a perfectly organized stack of polaroids. shots he took of you while you were dating, containing multiple domestic situations of you laughing on the beach, asleep on his shoulder and drooling, you looking annoyed while he teased you endlessly, you wearing his hoodie… there’s a lot, some even nudes taken during private moments when you trusted him. nothing is displayed openly, but preserved with a date written on the back, sometimes a short note, things like mine or xoxo.

as a photographer, he justifies it to himself as art. in his mind those photos were the purest versions of you, deleting them would feel like destroying masterpieces. the man doesn’t see anything wrong with it. they were taken with consent back then, and the memories belong to him, so he never questions keeping them.

though, admittedly, yunho still adds to the collection with printed screenshots from your instagram stories. blurry shots of you crossing campus, a candid photo of you mid-laughter taken from far away during a university event. he keeps a hidden folder on his computer, where inside are hundreds of photos and videos, not just from when you dated, but also recent ones.

sometimes he records his lectures for teaching review, as the university demands, and in private, he’ll rewind parts where you speak. listening again, and again, and again, so he can get off with his dick in hand, trying to chase his high from being turned on by watching you argue with him in class. she still looks at me the same way… anger is better than indifference. your hatred is still attention, and attention for men like him is oxygen.

he studies those images and compares them to how you look in class now. noticing the differences in the way you dress, how you glare at him and refuse to look at him too long… she pretends she doesn’t belong to me anymore.

also your old professor who retired? yunho knew her; she was a well-known photographer in seoul, a colleague of his whose exhibitions he had attended more than once over the years. during a gallery event, the two of them talked for a while, as she casually mentioned that she would be retiring soon and that the university needed someone to take her place. then she also mentioned that one of her best students would be graduating soon. the way she spoke about that student caught yunho’s attention immediately. the woman even pulled out her phone, scrolling through photos from one of the class exhibitions before zooming in on a familiar face — yours.

the elder woman happily explained how talented you were, the potential you had and how you were easily one of her favorites.

that was when he applied to the university, under her recommendation.

yunho finally stood from the couch and walked toward his bedroom. he opened the drawer of his bedside table, reaching inside until his fingers brushed against a familiar photograph: a polaroid from two years ago.

you were laughing in it, leaning slightly toward a cake with him beside you on your 22nd birthday. the faint lipstick mark you had playfully pressed onto the corner of the photo was still there, and he ran his thumb slowly over it. he just stared at it, placing the polaroid carefully on the nightstand beside his phone and the nightlamp. when he finally lay down under the covers, the photograph remained within reach, the faint outline of your smile visible in the dim light.

he closed his eyes, hoping, as he drifted toward sleep, that maybe tonight you would appear in his dreams.

fridays are always a godsend, especially after sitting through a lecture with the devil the day before. anything feels better after that, especially when you’re out for lunch with jaemin. sunlight spilling through the windows, soft chatter around you, and for the first time in a while you feel at ease. he insisted on paying, of course, saying something about how you “deserve to be spoiled properly,” and honestly… you didn’t argue.

he knows what you like. not in a suffocating way that feels like he’s memorized you without permission. but in a very gentle and attentive way.

“are you free tomorrow?” he asks, stealing a bite of your cake like it’s his.

“i wish,” you sigh. “i have to attend a birthday party with my parents.”

“mm,” he hums, pretending to think, though the smile on his lips gives him away. “guess i’ll have to reschedule my very important plan of kidnapping you for the evening.”

you chuckle softly, taking another bite of the sweet treat. “you’re not funny.”

“i’m hilarious,” he corrects you, lifting his index finger. “you’re just in denial.”

rolling your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile that appears on your face. the thing you really liked about jaemin was how sweet-talking and funny he was, knowing what to say at any given moment. he has this mischievous side, but he was also very loving and attractive. 

“i was going to ask you to come over,” he adds more quietly, almost shy beneath the teasing. “but… another time.”

that makes you pause, because he doesn’t push or corner you. more so, never demands you to be with him and cancel any plans you have already made with someone else. it’s like an option, not an expectation. there’s no hidden trap set ahead of time for you to fall into.

“maybe next weekend?” you echo, that playful tone came as you asked him, looking at him for a moment, and then down at the already finished cake. and that’s enough for him. his bright and boyish grin returns instantly, like he didn’t just make your heart skip.

“see? progress. next thing you know, you’ll admit you like me.”

“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you warn, pointing your fork at him.

“too late, i already did.”

“jaemin–”

“what?” he leans in slightly, eyes sparkling with that same mischievousness. “you gonna hit me?”

you narrow your eyes. “if you keep talking, maybe.”

he gasps dramatically, pretending to be scared for his life, “not the man-hater queen threatening violence again.”

“i am not a man-hater!”

“you are when it comes to me.”

“you’re annoying.”

“and who is paying the bill?”

that shuts you up completely. instead of teasing you more, he just smiles, playfully winking at you, letting you have that moment.

after lunch, he insists on walking you to the mall so you can meet up with karina and yeji. it’s not far, twenty minutes at most, but he acts like it’s a whole event, a met gala of sorts, and you should be escorted like the princess you are. you walk side by side, hands brushing at first, then naturally finding each other, fingers lacing together. the weather is warm for the autumn season. leaves crunch when people pass by, cars hum in the distance, and for a while, you forget about yunho and about everything.

jaemin talks about random things like how he and jeno tried to summon ghosts as kids, jokes about what he saw online, and somehow, you’re laughing again without having to worry or trying to come up with excuses or reasons of how you can be so happy when something else gives you joy? he looks at you with adoration in his eyes and that’s what makes you feel safe.

when you reach the mall, he slows down, not letting go of your hand immediately. he lingers for a second, like he wants to say something else, then just smiles.

“have fun, man-hater queen.”

“thank you, cake thief.”

he laughs, finally letting go but not before leaving a quick, soft kiss on your cheek. “text me when you get home,” he says, and you nod, a little stunned by this bold yet sweet gesture. he walks off with a smile, and your best friends are already waiting for you inside at the usual meeting spot. 

the moment karina spots you, she’s already sprinting, grabbing yeji by the wrist and dragging her along like she’s on a mission. it’s been weeks since you last saw each other, university has been kicking all of your asses, and you didn’t realize how much you needed this until now.

“(name), babe, how are you? you don’t know how much we missed you,” karina squeals, letting go of yeji just to throw her arms around you in a near-death hug. you laugh, breath knocked out of you for a second before hugging her back. 

“i missed you, too,” you manage, and then yeji is right there, pulling you into her own hug, softer but just as tight. “and you don’t know what i have to tell you.”

“jaemin?” they ask in unison, already cocking their brows up.

“how did you know?”

yeji nodded her head towards the glass storefront behind you. “we can literally see you from outside.”

“he walked you here, didn’t he?” karina snorts and you don’t even deny it. that’s enough to send both of them into giggles as they hook their arms through yours, dragging you further into the mall.

the next hour follows it’s rhythm. gossip, teasing, overlapping conversations, with you telling them about jaemin and the date earlier, how attentive he is without being overbearing. sometimes you catch yourself thinking you don’t deserve someone like that. someone so patient and sweet, but karina shuts that down immediately, while yeji nods along, reminding you that the bare minimum just feels extraordinary after what you’ve been through.

what you don’t tell them… is everything else. you don’t mention yunho, not a single word leaves your mouth. it sits somewhere in the back of your mind, tucked away like it doesn’t even exist. they deserve to know, you know they do, but you don’t even know where to start, or how they’d react. and… you’re not ready for that, to lose them, so you stay quiet. maybe sometimes silence is the solution.

you move from store to store, bags slowly piling up in your hands. makeup is a priority, you’re running low, and soon enough, you’re standing in front of rows of lipsticks, testing shades against your skin. just for a second in your peripheral vision, you catch a tall figure, standing a few meters away. you turn your head, and nothing. you blink, frowning slightly. that’s… weird. you could’ve sworn someone was there.

“(name), come here, we found the new face masks,” yeji pops up out of nowhere, grabbing your arm and pulling you along before you can think about it too much. “they’re not even that expensive like everyone says.”

letting yourself be dragged away as the rest of the day passes in a blur of chatter and shopping bags. trying on clothes and spending money like you were the granddaughter of a very wealthy ceo. maybe in a past life you were rich, because right now, money seems to disappear the second it touches your hands. 

by the time you finally sit down for coffee, you take a slow sip of your ice-cold drink, letting the sweetness settle on your tongue as you listen to karina and yeji talk. your social battery was starting to fade, and you were also running out of things to gossip about, content on just listening instead of talking.

for a moment, everything is fine as it should be, until you get that feeling again, like someone’s watching. you glance up, eyes scanning the space around you, but everything looks normal. people talking, walking, laughing, nothing out of place…. you shift slightly in your seat, fingers tightening around your cup. probably your brain is messing up with you after the tiring day you had.

the day started on like that — him following, and you being completely unaware.

he saw you earlier and was there during the whole date. he doesn’t hate jaemin even if jealousy spikes, but he quickly calms himself down. the younger man is just a temporary placeholder, a distraction you picked up because you didn’t know what else to do with the space yunho left behind. his tongue presses briefly against the inside of his cheek, a habit surfacing whenever irritation starts to settle in. he already knows what to order; he’s been here before… with you. at this restaurant, same table across the room, known for its delicate pasta and overly sweet desserts you always claimed you wouldn’t finish.

it’s wrong, not because you’re laughing and enjoying yourself, but because it’s not with him. 

he watches the way jaemin leans in when he talks, how quickly he smiles, casually reaching for your plate, how comfortable he acts like he’s already earned a place he doesn’t deserve. jaemin doesn’t notice the smaller things like the shift in your posture, the way your fingers tighten around your fork when you’re thinking too much, the way your eyes drift when your mind starts wandering. he sees what’s in front of him, nothing more.

yunho sees everything.

he doesn’t need to chase you. he never will. you come back on your own. anger, frustration, curiosity, it doesn’t matter what drives you, it always leads back to him. because no one else will ever know how to handle you the way he does. he doesn’t want a version of you that’s easy. he wants the one who pushes and bites back to keep the spark alive.

you think you hate him, he can see it in your eyes. hatred means you still care; you react because you are affected. indifference would be a problem. but you’re not indifferent, just confused, pretending not to see what’s already there. he missed you. not just your voice, your presence, or your body. he missed this, the way you draw him in without even trying, like a moth to a flame.

he could have walked up to you right now. say your name to strike up a conversation as your professor. what a coincidence, right? you and he in the same place, at the same time, ordering the same food. your expression would drastically change; he knows exactly what it would look like. he’s imagined it enough times, but he doesn’t move.

he doesn’t rush things anymore, learning that the hard way. you need to feel like you have space and the freedom to choose. so he waits, and that’s fine, yunho understands. after all, you’re already his… you just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.

it was getting late, and when you finally said goodbye to your friends, he’s already on the move. you don’t seem to notice how he chooses the same subway train, standing where the reflection in the window does the work for him, watching you through the blur of the passing lights and shadows.

you’re on your phone for a while, and by the movement of your fingers, you are scrolling through instagram or tiktok. then you are staring ahead, you always get like this when your energy runs out. he knows the exact moment your thoughts start drifting and when exhaustion takes over.

someone dares to look at you for too long. yunho burns holes with bloodshot eyes as the stranger looks away. the train slows at your stop, and you step out. he follows by matching your speed, always out of sight. footsteps always a few seconds behind, stops when you stop. he’s walked this path more times than you’d ever guess. yunho’s gaze moves over everything on the street: the corners, people walking and the cars passing by, the distance between you and anything that could get too close.

you reach your building and pause for a second, opening your purse for your keys. he’s already stopped, waiting for you to step inside. the door closes behind you, as he stays where he is. his eyes lift, scanning the building, counting without thinking how long it would take to reach your floor… it should be one minute and twenty-three seconds.

he waits a little longer, enough to see the second light flicker in your bedroom. it’s the same every night with him walking you back home. what if you hadn’t come back alone? what if some creep had followed you? that wouldn’t have ended well, not for them.

his shoulders finally relax as he turns away. to anyone else, that would be the end of it. just a random man on the street… even if his home is in the opposite direction, thirty-five minutes away. hands sliding into his pockets, the quiet jingle of metal breaks the silence with each step. a small cluster of keys, shifting against each other, and one tucked among them does not belong to him. his thumb brushes over it absentmindedly; it has always been there.

yunho still has a key to your place. sometimes he visits when you’re not there, and he always knows when that is. why does he do it? even the divine beings don’t seem interested in answering that, and they don’t want to interfere either. what is he doing in your apartment? nothing, he goes there when he wants to rest. he doesn’t move things around or leave signs. he just sits on your couch and enjoys the atmosphere you created.

your bedroom door stays open, so he doesn’t need to enter to know if anything has changed. he’s like a ghost, maybe a poltergeist, one that doesn't haunt by moving objects but stealing them instead. 

he opens drawers sometimes. the most familiar one is always the same — the drawer with your underwear. never takes anything new or expensive, always the ones at the bottom. old pairs, the pieces you don’t think about anymore, and you wouldn’t even notice are missing.

it’s proximity, a way for him to be close to you, or for you to be close to him. 

in the living room, there’s a plush toy you never threw away. he gave it to you when you celebrated your six-month anniversary. it still sits in its place, untouched and harmless-looking. except it isn’t. inside it, carefully hidden where no one would think to look, is a small camera. he watches from time to time, when he needs to. nothing invasive, just enough for him to see you when you’re home. someone has to make sure you get home safe, even if you don’t know it, and if it has to be him, then so be it. 

your father had a lot of friends, and it just so happened that your family was invited to mr. kim’s 50th birthday, an anniversary celebrated in a rather grand and luxurious way. honestly, it felt more like a wedding than a birthday… but either way, it was still an occasion for drinking. people of notoriety greeted each other left and right, laughter and chatter filling the air, until the man of the hour finally made his entrance, the one who had every right to celebrate until the very last drop and bite were gone.

“if this isn’t my one and only goddaughter?” it should probably be mentioned that this kind and ridiculously rich man was your godfather. no blood relation, but he had always been like an uncle to you. the affluent one  who spoiled you endlessly as a child, giving you everything you wanted, because clearly your parents failed to treat you like the princess you deserved to be.

“happy birthday, uncle minseok!” you said, stepping forward to hug him, genuinely happy to see him. the gifts were still left by the entrance, but you always had your own little privileges. “this is for you, i hope you like it… even if you are getting old.”

inside the small wrapped bag was a simple package of marshmallows, as your mother immediately noticed, lightly tapping your shoulder. “(name), this is inappropriate.”

“calm down,” minseok laughed warmly, taking the bag from your hands without a second thought. “she knows exactly what to give someone.” he glanced at you with a grin, because this candy has become very significant during the years, something small but from the heart. “thank you, my dear. you’ll get the second piece of cake.”

the evening continued with drinks being passed around, conversations flowing about business, and whatever gossip caught your ear. at some point, your godfather rested a hand on your shoulder, “come, there’s someone i want you to meet,” he said casually, guiding you through the crowd. “a very dear friend of mine, and an excellent photographer. you might learn a thing or two.”

you didn’t think much of it at first, nodding as you followed along, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, your drink still in hand. this would be just another introduction for you to smile at a stranger. this would hopefully be someone you could form a connection with to help you in the future when you do decide to pursue a career, but just like that, everything in your body turned upside down. your entire world tilted and your pulse quickened, because of course it had to be him.

dressed like absolute sin in a suit that made it painfully obvious he knew exactly what he was doing. professional and put together… but unlike on campus, where he toned it down by being casual and relatable to young people your age, here amongst people closer to his age and high calibre, he wasn’t holding back. the clothes fit him perfectly, outlining his frame in a way that makes you force yourself not to react — masking your expression into something neutral that doesn't scream what the hell are you doing here.

“yunho,” minseok called out, catching his attention. “ah, perfect timing, indeed. i want you to meet someone.”

yunho turned, and for a split second, his eyes met yours. there it was, that familiar recognition, gone just as quickly as it appeared. his own expression of shock smoothed out instantly, slipping into that same composed mask you had grown to despise.

“this is my goddaughter, (name),” minseok continued proudly, squeezing your shoulders by the exposed skin your dress created. “she’s studying photography as well.”

you swallowed and played along, like you were meeting him for the very first time. as if you didn’t know the way his hands felt, or how his voice sounded when it wasn’t calm and controlled, the way he used to look at you when no one else was around… as if you hadn’t let him take your virginity. 

“it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said, offering your hand with a polite smile that stung like acid to hold. his gaze lingered for just a moment too long before he took it. warm and bigger than yours, soft too, just like it always has been, perfectly made to fit.

“the pleasure is all mine, miss (name),” yunho replied, smiling at you, and god, you hate how natural he makes it sound, like you’re nothing more than a stranger he’s just been introduced to. but of course, he doesn’t stop there. the pad of his thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles before he lets go.

it wasn’t awkward, more like… unsettling in a way that made your skin itch. it wasn’t just that you saw him every week at the university, no, now he was here too, at an event where you were supposed to have fun, not stand there thinking of at least five different ways to get away with his murder. your godfather, completely unaware of the tension, patted your shoulder before turning to yunho. “i’ll leave her in your care, and (name), you might want to take some photos now that it’s still not too crowded. have fun, kiddos.”

and just like that, minseok walked away, leaving you alone with the man you hated the most.

your blood started boiling like molten lava almost instantly. the fake smile dropped the second his back disappeared into the crowd, your nails digging into your palms as you inhaled slowly through your nose and you stared at yunho with pure and undisguised hatred.

"you know it's not very polite to stare." he was fixing something on the camera, or looking at photos, you didn't know, but you knew one thing, and that was that you hated him. “so, how is your project going? did you fix what i told you to?” 

you stiffen for a split second, your smile tightening as you look at him, because of course he would say that here, of all places, since he just couldn’t resist torturing outside campus.

“i wasn’t aware this was a consultation,” you reply sweetly, but your tone carries that hostile warning of a bark that tells him you are about to bite like an angry dog.

“old habits,” he hummed softly, deleting a few blurred pictures.

“yeah?” you shot back, one eyebrow rising, “then maybe you should work on dropping a few of them.”

“that explains a lot.” the way he calmly answers makes you want to punch him.

“explains what exactly? you enjoying your little performance? you’re very convincing, i’ll give you that.”

“i don’t know what you mean,” he says lightly, though the way he looks at you says the exact opposite. liar. something about the way you’re talking back instead of ignoring him, clearly tells him one thing — you haven’t moved on completely.

“you still get worked up so easily,” murmuring almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

“you still talk too much,” you snapped, and he took a step closer, enough to close some of the distance, his presence more noticeable and intimidating, and you sometimes forget how tall he actually is.

a small smile tugged at his lips because, truth be told, he was enjoying this far too much. his eyes were scanning your face, studying every reaction of the grimace you tried so hard to hide. you scoffed, crossing your arms, tapping your freshly done nails against your skin, irritation written all over, and for a moment neither of you spoke. the noise of the party faded into the background as the tension stretched like silk almost pulled to the point of tearing between you.

then yunho exhaled softly, removing the camera strap from his head, he closed the lens cap and put it back in the small bag, leaving it on the desk he evidently used for work here.

“what about we take a walk?” yunho suddenly suggests, tone light, sounding harmless and innocent. “talk a few things out. it seems like you have a lot to say.”

you should have said no. you should’ve walked straight back to your parents while ignoring him like you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to do, but somehow… you didn’t. maybe it was the tone of his voice, coaxing you with the way he said it like a suggestion, not a command, even though it somehow felt like one. or maybe it was just him, knowing exactly what to say, with just the right intonation for invitation.

“fine,” you muttered, big mistake.

he guided you through the venue, away from the main crowd and toward a quieter part of the hotel where the noise began to dull and the lights softened because fewer people meant fewer distractions. now it’s just you and him, the way he’s been craving and aching for.

then he stopped.

reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. you frowned slightly as he pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips before lighting it and exhaling slowly, white smoke curling between the two of you before dissipating into the air. 

“you’re smoking again?” 

“you’re staring again.”

“i’m judging,” you correct. “i thought you quit.”

“i did,” he agrees, “for you.”

then he takes another drag, eyes never leaving yours, but you know you were the main reason, if not the only one, for him to quit. you hated the smell and the taste that transferred once you shared a kiss. or two. or dozen… neither of you ever bothered to count.

“stress does things, work, life… you find ways to relieve the tension,” he continues after a moment, carefully choosing every word to get a reaction out of you. he shares just enough, mentioning that the workload and the pressure made him go back to this bad habit, skimming over the real reason without ever actually saying it — the break up. of course, he wouldn’t admit that to you. he never gives you the full truth, only carefully selected pieces. 

and as he speaks, you find yourself checking him out. you feel steel heavy shame that you are, but you can’t help it. he looks… good. no, that’s an understatement. dressed like he stepped out of some magazine, a black coat draped over his broad shoulders, a clean white button-up tucked neatly under a fitted black vest, finished off with a loosely worn black satin tie. as much as you want to deny it, to lie to yourself, roll your eyes… you can’t. when it comes to jeong yunho, all bets are off, because he’s so fucking hot.

yunho stubs out the cigarette, pressing it into the ashtray beside him. you’re both sitting on the edge of a small staircase, tucked away from most of the guests, the noise of the party distant like background static.

then, without much thought, he shrugs off his coat and throws it over his shoulder. the movement is simple, but it draws your attention to his rolled sleeves, exposing his slim but defined forearms, his veins faintly visible under the skin. his cords of muscle hold subtle tension that make it really goddamn difficult not to look. it gives him this quiet intensity, composed on the surface but never fully restrained underneath. a wildfire raging beneath a perfectly composed surface.

you really try to look away, only to realize something else, that you didn’t bring a jacket. you’re wearing a short black dress, feminine shoulders bare, the evening air cooler than you expected. it hadn’t mattered before since you won’t stay outside the venue all night, and yet before you can even think about it properly, warmth settles around you. 

snapping out of your thoughts, your gaze shifts downward to see his coat now draped around your shoulders. when you look up, yunho is already adjusting his sleeves again, completely unfazed, like the gesture means nothing at all. 

“so,” he says casually, sitting down beside you on the staircase, spreading his legs slightly as he leans back on one hand, the other idly flipping his metal lighter open and closed, “graduating soon, right? any plans career-wise?”

it catches you off guard. you almost scoff, because wasn’t he the one who suggested this, the one who said you had a lot to say. the truth is, you don’t, at least not to him. now he’s the one guiding the conversation somewhere… normal. like so normal that you’re not sitting next to your ex, who is actively messing with your head.

“i’m planning to try abroad.”

“where?”

“i’m not going to tell you,” you glance at him, narrowing your eyes slightly. “don’t want you suddenly becoming my coworker.”

that earns a chuckle from him. “you really think i’d follow you that far?”

you don’t answer, because you’re not entirely sure he wouldn’t. he makes it very clear that he is not talking about your career. the silence settles again, but it doesn’t feel empty. it feels intentional, as if he’s waiting for the exact right moment to put the puzzle piece into place.

you shift slightly on the step, exhaling through your nose, trying to ignore how aware you are of him sitting so close beside you. the party noise is distant now, blurred into nothing. now it’s just the two of you, tucked away in a space that suddenly feels too small… then he speaks again.

“are you seeing someone right now?”

your eyes flick to him immediately, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a proper answer. “none of your business.”

no reaction at first, just the soft click of his lighter opening again. the small flame appears, disappears, and flickers back to life as he plays with it absentmindedly. it’s almost hypnotic, the rhythm of it: small flame, bigger flame, gone again. he’s buying time, or making you sit in discomfort a little longer than necessary. you stare at it longer than you should, trying to steady yourself. it’s stupid, but it gives your eyes somewhere else to go and your mind something else to focus on.

he exhales quietly, then the lighter closes with a soft snap, and he looks at you.

“jaemin, right?” he says like he’s commenting on the weather. “he seems like a nice guy, but doesn’t seem like your type.”

everything in you stops, freezes like you’ve just touched a block of ice. your entire body goes still for half a second too long andyour expression betrays you before you can even think to control it. it’s shock at first, then disbelief, because you never told him a name, or anything of the sort. never even showed signs of you being involved with someone else.

your mind starts racing immediately — how does he know that? how long has he known? what else does he know?

only a few people know you’ve been seeing jaemin, and yes, you do post stories with him just like you do with the other people you trust, people who wouldn’t… your fingers tighten unconsciously around the fabric of his coat still resting on your shoulders.

“how do you know that?” your voice comes out lower than you intended. yunho tilts his head slightly, observing a reaction he already predicted, since just confirmed something he was quietly testing. a faint smirk pulls at his lips, he shrugs, leaning back on one hand as his gaze stays fixed on you.

“you’re the campus's new hotshot couple,” lies, obvious lies. you know it, he knows it, but the confidence in his voice makes it sound real. rumors, gossip, students talking, maybe someone exaggerating something they saw, but nothing that should have him perfectly informed with a name.

you don’t even realize your grip has tightened until the fabric of his coat shifts slightly under your fingers.

“relax, i’m not interfering.” but his tone says otherwise, “you can date whoever you want.”

you can't because you are mine.

yunho doesn’t move away while talking; he closes the distance slowly instead, testing exactly how far you’ll let him go before you stop him. knee brushing yours, nudging you teasingly, he doesn’t break eye contact, and doesn’t give you space to believe or question anything. because the way he says it doesn’t sound like permission, it sounds like ownership he’s pretending not to enforce.

“you lost the right to care about who i see a long time ago.” 

oh? 

amused by how you’re trying so hard to stand your ground, trembling just beneath the surface. it’s beautiful like that, so unfiltered and honest. aren’t you the prettiest little angel when you’re angry? when you’re fighting him, resisting him, convincing yourself you’ve moved on. it’s almost impressive, and adorable. your will is always too big for your own good, too loud to stay buried, always insisting things should go your way, even when reality bends differently once he is in the picture.

he’s memorizing it all over again with the way your breath changes when he gets too close, the way you refuse to look away even when it would be easier. your eyes are the most dangerous part of you, he decides. they’re full of everything at once — malice, frustration, sadness you pretend isn’t there, excitement you refuse to acknowledge. a fire that burns brighter than the weak flicker of the lighter between his fingers earlier. a fire that could bring him to his knees if he let it.

but he won’t, he knows how to protect himself.

he knows you better than anyone else ever has. better than those two annoying best friends of yours, than jeongin, better than jaemin, even your parents. better than the version of yourself you try to present to the world. 

yunho doesn’t need to chase because he knows your anger will bring you to him. he doesn’t need to beg, either. not when pulling the right strings of your nervous system is far more satisfying, watching you unravel and logic slipping away piece by piece until all that’s left is emotion, exactly how he wants you. he doesn’t need you rational, he needs you emotional. to destabilize you until you’re reacting instead of analyzing, feeling instead of understanding, until you’re his again in everything but name.

your thoughts slow, your focus breaks, you start reacting instead of thinking… just like he planned.

it’s sudden when it happens, you grab his collar, and before he can even fully process it, you pull him in and kiss him. not what people would call romantic, it’s out of pure spite and the need to shut him up. it’s messy, all teeth and frustration and months of things left unsaid. it’s the words i hate you pressed into his mouth like a punishment. 

yunho doesn’t take control immediately. he lets you bite his lip and put all that frustration finally into something tangible, lets you pretend this is just about physically shutting him up. yunho lets you have your moment of control, an illusion of victory, because he can feel you’re not over him… should the fact that he isn’t over you either be good or bad news?

only then does he finally respond, when your breath catches in that familiar way, something in him snaps as he kisses you back. the taste is noticeably bitter, ashy, and slightly stale. a trace of smoke still clings to him, dry against your tongue with that faint chemical edge, following the chemical romance between you that has no clear answer or reaction to this day, only that it is intense.

his lips part slightly against yours, the movement slow, testing. he deepens the kiss, blurring the line between hesitation and intent, one hand sliding up to your neck, fingers resting there, guiding rather than forcing. he pulls you closer, and the way your breath stutters in the gorgeous column of your throat, the way your body reacts to his body without thinking, tells him everything he needs to know.

then, just as suddenly, he stops. not pulling away completely, neither of you really wants to break it, but he’s the one who finally pulls back first. you’re left staring at each other, chests inviting air in and out in hurried paces to catch your breaths.

“you look at me like you hate me…” and doesn’t seem like you want to stop, though. “but you always looked at me like that.”

there’s something in his expression, satisfaction, like your reaction alone is enough. your breathing is uneven, lips slightly parted, and you hate how aware you are of him again: how close he is and how familiar it feels. your lipstick is slightly smudged, some of it transferred onto him, and the sight alone makes something twist in your stomach.

because you want more, but you don’t want to want him.

this is wrong on so many levels, kissing your ex out of nowhere, yet your body remembers him far too well, as it responds far too much. it’s frustrating, confusing, and addicting in a way you wish it wasn’t. what are you even supposed to do now?

“this isn’t a good place…” he says after a moment, glancing briefly toward the direction of the party before looking back at you. “…unless you want an audience.”

and suddenly it feels like the decision is yours, except it isn’t. because the way he looks at you says he already knows what you’ll choose.

by the time you are fully recovered his hand is already around yours, fingers lacing, as his grip doesn’t loosen, not once, he already knows you won’t pull away. he starts walking and you’re just following along without questioning it.

away from the crowd, into the quieter parts of the hotel, the lobby is nearly empty, the noise fading behind you as he moves straight for the elevators. he presses the button, and as if perfectly timed, the doors slide open to an empty cabin.

you step inside, and the moment the doors close behind you, the space feels smaller and tighter. mirrors line the walls, reflecting everything from every angle. no matter where you look, it’s him first and only then, you.

yunho and mirrors are a dangerous combination, because he doesn’t just want to feel you, he wants to watch you feel him and memorise the way you submit to his touch each and every time he manages to catch you. standing behind you, his taller frame hovering close, his chest warm against your back even if he doesn’t fully press himself in. still, if you lean back even slightly, he knows he has you.

his lips brush your shoulder, not quite a kiss, more like a promise of one. he makes you aware of everything — your breathing, the expression on your pretty face, how close you really are to him. one hand slides low, brushing your thigh right where the hem of your dress ends, while the other rises to your face. his soft fingers tilt your chin upward. he doesn’t need to do much to make you go insane; his voice does most of the work, not his body.

“all that attitude, and look at you now,” murmuring right next to your ear. the hand resting on your thigh doesn’t move further, and somehow you react more to what almost happens than to what actually does. as if hypnotized, trying to hold onto some sense of control, but it’s slipping fast, because your eyes betray you again. “is that really how someone looks when they want me gone?”

he doesn’t think of himself as a freak about it. he just likes watching, prefers you vulnerable like this. his eyes never leave your reflection, taking in the way your lips part, your lashes flutter, the way you try to close your eyes against how overwhelming it feels.

“don’t close your eyes, doll.” his voice is low, slightly rougher, his fingers tightening just a little on your jaw. you forgot how much you loved being called that, and how much it didn't help your attempts at resistance. “i want you to see what i’m doing to you.”

the hand on your leg slips beneath your dress until it finds the soft fabric of your panties, and you’re already so wet. his fingers press against you through the material, enough to make your breath hitch while moving in a slow and controlled rhythm as you squirm in result. your back arches finally pressing into him, and he exhales softly against your ear, completely obsessed with the sight of you falling apart in front of him.

“y-yun–” his name halfway leaves your lips in a soft whine, breaking into something breathier when he moves just right. he loves the way you say his name like it belongs in your mouth, and believe it or not, it’s already tattooed on your skin with invisible ink.

“keep looking.” his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, guiding your attention back to the mirror. your thighs tremble, and your hands clutch at his forearm. the way your body reacts instantly, the way he has literal heart eyes when you make that sound again, his dick pulsating at the sight as he leans down slightly, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “see how pretty you look like this?”

you move without thinking, pressing back against him, your legs drawing closer together as if it might help, when his name slips from your lips again, your eyes glossy, barely staying open like he told you to, he smiles faintly against your skin. 

“good girl.” but being good doesn’t mean you get everything. if anything, it means the opposite, because he’s making you want it first. you feel it before you can think about it. he could push you further, make you admit things, but he knows you won’t, not yet.

a soft ding breaks through the moment. his gaze flicks up toward the numbers, 10th floor. 

the doors are about to open, the risk of someone being there and catching you… and just like that, he stops. he withdraws, leaving you aching, breath uneven, your body still caught in the aftermath of something unfinished. the doors slide open, and thankfully, no one’s there. the hallway is empty; most guests are still downstairs celebrating, others are already asleep. not that he would care much… or maybe he would. yunho has never liked sharing or the idea of anyone else seeing what he considers his.

he reaches toward you again, and for a second you think… but no. his hand slips into the coat you’re still wearing, pulling out the key card from the inner pocket.

“come on, angel… we don’t have all night.” all night. you don’t even know what time it is. your purse is still downstairs, abandoned at the table with your parents, your phone out of reach, “need help walking?” 

he asks, and that more than anything, pulls you back to reality. because when you glance at the mirror again, you finally see yourself properly. flushed and out of breath. your dress is slightly ridden up, your lips parted, your entire body still buzzing with heat that hasn’t gone anywhere. fuck. you’re left standing there, completely worked up, and he’s the only one who can do anything about it.

you know this is wrong, but your body isn’t listening. the empty hallway was your chance to leave, yet your feet never moved. you should have walked away, right then and there… so why didn’t you? zoning out and staring into the void of nothingness, thinking how no one can even compare and you hate that it’s still him who makes you lose your sanity. with yunho, it was never just attraction and maybe that’s the problem. you hate him. you hate this. you hate that you don’t hate it enough.

telling yourself you still have a choice, only that you don’t. because somehow, without realizing it, you’re already following him to his room. the door closes behind you with a quiet click that feels louder than it should, and suddenly you don’t move.

you don’t sit. you just stand there, near the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting with the ends of the sleeves, pulling the fabric over your hands as if it might calm you somehow. your breathing still hasn’t settled, your body is still carrying everything from moments ago.

he moves further into the room as if you being here is expected and inevitable. his hand reaches up to his collar, his eyes don’t leave you, though, not once. fingers hooking under the knot of his tie, loosening it slowly, sliding it from around his neck, the fabric slipping through his fingers before he lets it hang loosely in his hand. he stands there too, looking at your posture, and the way you haven’t dared to sit or do anything at all.

his lips twitch slightly when your fingers pause for half a second, then continue. you don’t dare to talk, you don’t trust your voice right now. he takes a step closer, then another, slowly closing the space between you until it feels suffocating again, and you’re aware of him in the same way you were in the elevator.

“take a seat,” he says softly, “you don’t have to stand there like that,” and you obey. 

you sit right at the edge of the bed, back straight, still clutching the sleeves, as yunho watches you for a moment longer. then, without breaking eye contact, he lowers himself not onto the bed, but down, kneeling in front of you.

it shouldn’t feel the way it does, as if he were praying to his goddess for a blessing of a lifetime. it should be unsettling, he chose this position for a reason; he wants to be right here, close enough to see every reaction you try to hide. his hands rest lightly against your legs at first, thumbs caressing the flesh as you tense, but don’t pull away. 

“do you know…” fingers sliding slightly higher, tracing and craving, then there’s a pause. “how hard it was not to think about you?” not crossing any line too fast, he continued, eyes fixed on your face, “to see you every week, and pretend we are just strangers?”

his razor sharp gaze softens for what you can barely count a millisecond, before it shifts back to its sinister depths, something that looks a little too close to obsession.

“should i? or are you going to pretend you don’t want this?”

beneath the dress, fingers slipping under the fabric as he hooks into your waistband and starts to pull it down. you are leaning in just slightly, giving him the access he’s already taken. that’s all the permission he needs. the delicate lace follows, sliding down until it pools at your feet, as you gently kick them fully aside with the help of your heels.

"last chance to leave, angel... say or do something if you want me to stop.”

holding himself back, and it’s taking more effort than he wants to admit. his gaze drags over you, taking in every detail like he’s been starved of it.

you look the same. no, you like you never left him at all.

his jaw tightens faintly because god, he missed you. no matter how much time passed or how many distractions he surrounded himself with, nothing and no one helped. they didn’t look right or feel right, they simply weren’t you.

you changed, of course you did. your hair, your style, the perfume, even the way you carry yourself now, like you’ve grown into something that bites back.

but he sees through it: you are just a little sheep wearing the wolf’s head.

and he is the wolf wearing a sheep’s clothing.

something restless stirring beneath his skin, the way it creeps in, settles deep, refuses to leave. he’s been stuck on a feeling, just can't stop, once ain't enough.

his thumb presses just a little firmer, grounding himself, because he might actually lose that thin thread of control he’s still pretending to have.

“i hate you.” you say but your legs part for him. his head tilts at that, tongue pressing into his cheek, amused, your defiance only entertains him more. don’t mind him then, as he eases you back, gaze heavy on you, his hands slide firmly to your thighs, guiding you then lifting your legs to settle over his shoulders. 

he looks at you like he’s about to show you what heaven feels like when its most precious and divine being finally falls from grace.

yunho loves teasing you with his words almost as much as he loves tasting you. his tongue dives in, relentless at first, exploring every twitching nerve that seems to remember him all to well, then deeper, faster and harder. he pushes in and out like he’s trying to swallow you whole, sliding in and out with perfect rhythm.

“babydoll, you’re so sweet,” he groans, licking and sucking, eyes rolling back when he finally tastes you. you're addicting. he laps up your juices, swirling his tongue on your clit. “did you save all this for me?”

his hands grip your thighs, holding you open, pressing you closer as he devours you like a meal he can’t get enough of. every moan, quiet or loud, drives him further to the sinful gates of temptation. he buries his face in you, lips and tongue hungry, mouth wet, making sure every inch of you is tasted.

“look at you, trembling for me…” he whispers, nibbling at your inner thigh between laps of your cunt. he’s relentless with the words, praising every tiny quiver, “that’s it, you’re such a good girl, letting me do this.”

god, your pussy’s perfect. can’t believe this is all his to play with after a whole year of craving you. the way he grins while teasing you, making you feel like you’re both the most desirable and most obedient thing in the world. 

“you like it when i talk to you like this, hm? gonna make you scream my name before i even touch you properly,” he teases, tongue pushing deeper, fingers brushing where you couldn't even reach. every compliment and filthy line makes your body shake more, your pussy grip tighter around nothing, dripping just from his mouth and words.

he mixes praise and filth, so you’re caught between feeling worshiped and utterly used. the combination makes you desperate and completely under his control. by the time he lifts his head, cheeks wet, lips shiny with your slick, because he knows exactly what he’s done to you — and he isn’t done yet.

“mmh… yunho–” your back arches, hips rising to meet him despite yourself. you’re dripping, trembling, completely lost to the sloppy sounds of his tongue. he groans, deep in his throat, enjoying the taste of you. he doesn’t rush when he devours and dominates your senses. “fuck, you are so… hahh–”

your legs are clamping around his head as your hands tug his hair, gosh it’s still so soft to the touch. your chest heaving, voice hoarse from moaning, and yunho finally lifts his head, grinning at the mess he made glistening on his lips. wiping his mouth slowly, chuckling, because he’s left you begging without even doing too much.

“mmhm,” diving back in as his fingers brushing against your clit while his tongue plunges deeper. he just keeps going — tongue flicking, fingers circling, whispering filthy praises with every movement. “that’s it, that’s my good girl… come on, let it all out for me.”

your walls clench and your pussy gushes over his tongue, spurting uncontrollably as your legs tremble and your back arches off the surface. yunho groans, licking up every drop, smiling like the maniac he is, “god, you’re insane… look at you squirting for me.”

he doesn’t stop, still moving, coaxing out every last drop, praising you with every breath he takes. his thoughts are full of you, and soon enough, you will be full of him. “mine, you are only mine… keep coming for me, angel.”

you’ve never felt so ruined and so completely at his mercy.

“i should leave you like this,” he adds, quieter, more to himself than to you. the idea actually tempts him, letting you feel exactly how easy it is for him to get you like this. “send you back downstairs all pretty, like nothing happened…” a soft exhale followed, “...but you wouldn’t make it far.”

pulling back, but his fingers keep toying with your clit, and you’re already so sensitive from that alone. he talks dirty in that manic and possessive way of his, murmuring about how he’ll keep you in the dress and the heels, since you can’t spend the night with him… no matter how much he wants you to.

he eases your legs off his shoulders, standing up with a slow stretch, but before he can even undress, he steps back in between your shaky legs, looking down at you with that same secretive, almost warm smile. maybe it’s love, maybe it’s lust, if not both. his index finger and thumb catch your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him, especially when you were trying so hard not to. how cute.

“drop the act, dollface,” he growled, his fingers slide down, big palm spreading around your throat, squeezing to cut off that long-awaited breath you wanted to take, watching you closely, eyes fixed on your lips as they start to quiver with every subtle tightening of his grip. “or do i need to remind you who you belong to?”

one moment he’s choking you, the next, he’s already stripped from the waist down, preparing you to take him.

lying on your back on the bed, with him hovering above you, one long finger slides inside you, immediately feeling how tight and slick you are as he starts to move. he watches closely, eyes fixed on the way your face twists with undeniable pleasure, all while his own cock pulses hot against your leg. a second finger slips in beside the first, and you feel the stretch right away. your walls clenching around him, creaming over his knuckles as small, broken sounds leave your throat, half cough, half whine, still trying to catch the breath he stole from you.

“there it is… i was waiting for that.” and by that, he means you being ready to take him. his thumb drags over the tip of his throbbing cock, stroking himself a few slow times, and your gaze drops — was he always this big? you’re not even sure how you’re supposed to take it… how you managed before. he’s thick, lining up at your soaked entrance, pushing your walls to their limit before he’s even halfway in, your cunt already molding around his size.

missionary is always a gamble with him, because you never know which version you’re going to get: the gentle one, the mean one, the jealous one… there are options, but you’re never the one choosing. this time, he is a meanie. a creature of extreme sadism.

all you can do beneath him is squirm and cry, clinging helplessly to every inch of him he gives you, heavy as he presses in, hitting places your own fingers could never reach. he grunts softly, hips pulling back again because you’re still not full of him, not yet. he has to carve the shape of himself into your insides, and claim you properly, like he always will.

maybe you’re already close, just from the way he moves. shallow at first, his pelvis dragging sinfully against you, making your writhing body jolt upwards on the bed. he switches between soft and controlled thrusts to slow and grinding circles, anything to ease you and help your body relax, make you greedy enough to take him deeper.

“is that all you do, cry?” yunho hisses under his breath, lips brushing wet against your ear as your nails dig into his shoulders. his cock presses right against your most sensitive spot, pulling a loud moan from you, and you think it’s too deep already, when he is not even that deep. “babydoll, be a good girl for me and take every inch, yeah? no, don’t cry now… you can handle it, because you’re mine… my pretty girl.”

your eyes sting, tears slipping free, smudging your makeup a bit. it’s been so long since you had any sexual intercourse, a whole year. you didn’t even do anything more than a few careless kisses and make out sessions with jaemin, nothing that even comes close to tonight’s carnal ravaging.

you need yunho. not just inside you, you need him under your skin, running through your dna. you hate his guts, you do, but god, he fucks you so well you can feel him in your guts.

the tears fall, catching the light like silver, as if tiny diamonds slip down your cheeks as he stretches you open again.

his fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands against the mattress as he hisses filthy praises into your ear. your sensitive cunt takes every devastating thrust, each one pulling out those wet and sloppy sounds, the kind that make you want to scream again and again until your vocal cords tear apart and you lose your voice for days as a reminder of what yunho is doing to do you. what he will always do to you. the way his cock drives fully into you sends that overwhelming urge through your quivering body, threatening to make you come undone, you’re not even sure if you want to. it’s a sensation so intense, such painfully good pressure building with nowhere to go.

you’re so cockdrunk it’s insane. you always thought you were in control, always told yourself he wasn’t a good person, but the dick was too good to let go. he fits too perfectly, like he was made just for you.

“scream for me, doll,” he groans, that husky tone rolling off his tongue and straight through you, pulling a helpless whimper from your lips. his brown eyes flick over your face, taking in every desperate expression like he’s committing it to memory, because watching you fall apart is his favorite part. his pre-cum leaves a messy ring at the base of his cock, trailing down the inside of your thighs, and maybe if he weren’t so consumed by you, he’d comment on just how desperate you look.

“yu-yunho–!” his name tears from your throat as it echoes through the room. his hips snap into yours without mercy, hard enough to leave bruises. your back lifts off the bed, arching into the overwhelming rush flooding your body. you praise and beg for him, pushing him further into ecstasy as he presses you back down every time you move too much.

“you think anyone else could handle you like this?” yunho coos, his pace picking up, thrusts growing faster and faster, until your thighs start to numb. “think anyone could love you the way i do?”

“yunho, please… ahh–” you hear yourself, like you’re outside your own body and have lost control of even your own voice. all you can feel is your nails digging into his back, your body tightening around him as you suddenly break, soaking him, your release spilling over his cock. and still his eyes stay on you, he adores your face more than anything else. it’s almost as if your reactions to the pleasure only he can give you appeal more to him than the sex itself.

“you say you hate me, but i bet you were just mad at me, yeah?”

but you’re too stubborn to admit that, refusing to give him even that much satisfaction. you close your eyes, trying to reclaim some dominance over him, but he only chuckles, bringing his hips to a stop at the fading edge of his own release.

that’s what makes your eyes snap open, staring up at him. “why’d you–?”

“i asked you a question, angel,” he sneers. one hand drifts down to your clit, rubbing slow, agonizing circles that pull a helpless whine from your throat, your head tosses back.

“p-please, yu– i can’t, i–” but your legs stay wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, your heels pressing cold against the heat of his body.

his other hand moves, this time settling around your throat. at first, it’s loose, enough pressure to make you notice. then it tightens as he watches everything: from the way your lips part, to how your chest struggles to rise. completely focused on how dependent you become on him for air. forcing eye contact, watching you go from stubborn to needy, leaning in close to whisper instead of raising his voice. 

“tell me if it’s too much… go on.” with every small twitch or squirm, it only makes his grip tighten more, restricting your breathing while muttering praise after praise. what a fucking sadistic psychopath. “so pretty like this…can barely breathe and still taking me so well.”

pushing your limits on purpose, to remind you exactly who’s in control. he feels the way you start to struggle, your body begins to give, and only then does his grip loosen.

air rushes back into your lungs all at once, burning on the way in. your chest stutters, breaths coming out broken and uneven instead of steady. your vision blurs, tears slipping freely now, and you don’t even realize you’re shaking until he notices it first. his hand doesn’t leave your throat. it stays there, fingers still curved around it, no longer squeezing, just resting.

“there you go, babydoll,” his voice drops, softer now, but no less heavy. “breathe.”

but he’s watching you too closely for it to feel like kindness. his thumb drags slowly over the spot he pressed into, feeling the rapid flutter of your pulse beneath his touch. your lips part, pulling in air that still doesn’t feel like enough, as another broken sound slips out of you.

it does something to him. you like this, glassy-eyed and trembling, wants him to hold onto this exact version of you for as long as he can. then, without warning, he leans in. his lips press against yours. it’s not an apology, far from it. a kiss that lingers just long enough to steal the breath you just fought to get back, a quiet reminder of how easily he can take it and when he pulls away, there’s the faintest hint of a smile, because he’d do it again.

“shh, don’t cry… you know i take care of what’s mine.” still too dizzy to think about anything but breathing and kissing, your legs are thrown over his broad shoulders, his hands pushing them closer to your head to get the angle just right. he watches himself slide between your folds, then looks down at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

you glance down to where your bodies meet, even if every instinct tells you to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go. every movement hits heavier, deeper; your body can’t tell the difference between pleasure and pressure anymore. he drags himself all the way out at a torturously slow pace, only to push back in just as cruelly.

"s-shit… don’t move,” he groans, thrusting into you, when he finally decides to snap his hips, his pelvis pressed against yours. his fingers find your sensitive clit again, rubbing it fast to get you to cum again, throwing his head back as he thrusts one last time, before shooting his load into your aching cunt. spurts of warm cum fill your insides while you wither beneath him, all hot and sweaty, not even processing the mess both of you made under the clean bedsheets.

his cock was pulsing so hard you could feel it bulging through your tummy, filling you to the brim as you milk him dry. his palm presses flat against your lower stomach, and he actually smirks when he feels and sees the faint movement beneath, occasionally shifting his hand lower or higher just to make you lose focus mid-thought.

“you fell that, doll?”

do you feel how deep my love runs for you?

yunho looks at you like he’s completely gone, someone who operates on obsession, trying to imprint himself into every part of you, leave something behind that no one else could ever do. he’s smug about it too, of course he is. he just won in life, like out of everything in the world, he got you. fuck, wishing he had his camera right now, just to capture this exact moment. you look unreal beneath him, divine even dressed in black, an angel dragged down just for him.

his voice softens, murmuring sweet nothings under his breath as he leans in, pressing slow kisses to your cheeks, your temple, the bridge of your nose. gentler now, calming you down after everything he just put you through. a quick peck lands on your lips, lingering just a little longer than it needs to.

finally, yunho pulls out, watching closely as a small trace of him drips from you. his fingers follow immediately, sinking to keep it all in. then he pulls you up, arms wrapping around you, holding you tight against his chest, lips pressing into your hair, breathing you in like he doesn’t get enough of you, even now.

the aftercare is minimal, because it has to be. he lets you rest for a few minutes, helps you steady yourself, maybe guides you to the bathroom, helps you fix your clothes and makeup, and put your panties back on, while he dresses himself again as if nothing happened. and only now, that you’re about to leave, does he decide to act sweet. 

“you good, need anything else?”

“i’ll manage, thank you very much, asshole.”

you smile through your teeth, already turning, only to wobble slightly in your heels. gee, wonder why, like you just didn't have some mindblowing sex. making your way out, you’re glowing, there’s no other word for it. a little wrecked, sure, a little unsteady, but shining brighter than the stars in the sky. 

he doesn’t close the door right away, waits until you step into the elevator, as the doors slide shut and you’re out of sight. only then does he finally close it, the click echoing a little too loud in the empty room. he leans back for a second, alone with himself, because yeah, he’s an asshole, he knows that.

but you’ll always come back to him, and he’ll always come back to you.

having big gaps between classes was something you enjoyed, but sometimes hated. just like you hate everything about him. from the smug smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth to how his fingers are inside your mouth, making you gag and be disgusted by the way he does such things like he owns you — he doesn’t.

he’s your ex, the one you’ve tried so hard to forget: the sound of his voice, the way he felt under your skin. now his lips are back on your neck, sucking, kissing, leaving marks you’ll have to cover the second you walk out of his office once he’s done fucking you on his desk. you feel his thumb press against your throat, taking his time, teasing you in ways you swore you would never let him do that again, claiming you like he never left.

trying to tell him, no but your body keeps telling him yes.

you should be disappointed in yourself, letting him pull you off track like this, letting him take control when you know better. yet, with every touch and mark sends heat racing through you, clouding your mind until you can barely remember why you hate him so much. is it because he wasn’t who you thought he was… or because you still feel something for him? hating him is easier than admitting you never stopped wanting him. 

you don’t want to care; you want to despise him for what he did and for who he is. but that’s slipping away when your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, eyes roll back when he slides inside of you, filling you completely, making you forget everything else. you want to resist, hold onto the anger, but you can’t. not when he’s deep inside, hitting all the spots that make you arch and gasp, his name falls from your lips even when you swore you’d never let it happen again. 

“y-yunho... faster!” you choke out, hands clawing at his back, desperate and needy, but of course, he doesn’t give in that easily. yunho only slows down, teasing you, lips curling into that infuriating grin against your skin. 

“angel, i told you to be quiet, didn’t i?” he murmurs, voice low and slightly mocking, “so impatient, as always. good things come when you obey… and wait.” 

you are tired of waiting and being toyed with, and if he’s going to take his sweet time, then you’ll make sure he regrets it. your nails dig into his shoulders, even through his shirt, hard enough to strain the fabric and leave marks far more lasting than the lipstick stain on that secret polaroid sitting on his nightstand. 

"stop being such a dick and fuck me already!" you hate him, you repeat it to yourself over and over, until his breath is hot against your neck and his hands are gripping your hips as if he’ll never let go.

and just like that, he snaps, relentless now, giving you exactly what you begged for.

his pace quickens, the plastic creaks underneath, each thrust pushing you closer to that edge, all you can think about is him, all you can feel is him. the hate melts away, replaced by a pleasure so overwhelming it almost hurts. you are so full, burning hot by how he uses your body as a canvas to paint you all white with no drops going to waste. purity and innocence, those words don’t exist for you anymore, as they are replaced with sin and punishment.

“that’s it, pretty. feels good, yeah?” he knows exactly how the two of you collide, like you’re at war with each other. it’s rough, as it drags your pride and self-respect straight through the dirt. the relationship is so damn dysfunctional, but yunho knows you better than anyone else. you don’t even realize how much he thrives on this, how easily you let him take control. he loves you like this: soft and bratty, vulnerable and entirely his. 

you hope, no, you pray, that the good thing he promised finally comes, because you can’t take much more of this. when it hits, it crashes through you at the same time as him, your cries muffled against his shoulder, your chest rising and falling as all that tension finally spills out. he will take care of you, he will always look out for you because you are his most adored and precious doll, his favorite thing to hold and ruin.

a few minutes later, after he’s helped clean you up with a towel from one of the cabinets he keeps just for these getaways. you zip your pants back up, still feeling the lingering warmth between your thighs. you just hope your panties are enough to keep things from showing through. shit… you should’ve worn the black jeans.

“i only came here to give you mine and jeongin’s project, not to get creampied.”

“baby, you know you don’t have to do anything,” he says, spinning lazily in his chair. one hand clicks the mouse as he scrolls through whatever just came into his email. “you’re my favorite student, you pass without lifting a finger. your friend, on the other hand… needs to learn how to use photoshop.”

“yeah, but…”

“but what?” he glances up at you from the computer, that same knowing look settling back in. “you missed me?”

ah, your eyes betray you again. you missed him, no matter how much your ego tries to argue otherwise. after what happened at the hotel two months ago… yeah, that was all it took for both of you to realize you can’t stay away from each other. and maybe you’ll regret it one day, but not now. you’ve already decided to keep it hidden from karina and yeji. as for jaemin… yeah, he’s nice. he’s always been, but that’s all he is now, nice. you made sure you stayed friends, nothing more, and nothing less.

so you leave yunho’s office, of course not before kissing him goodbye, not that it matters much when he’ll be at your place later anyway. “don’t forget we’re watching spiderman~” like you could forget, you know the entire plot by heart at this point.

you’re wearing a sweater that’s way too big for you, one you casually told your friends you found at a thrift store. sure, if that store was called yunho’s apartment. thankfully, no one suspects a thing, not even your two best friends, because if they did… it would be over, and you’re not ready to lose them, but the heart wants what it wants.

later, you meet jeongin at the campus café, sitting across from him like you didn’t just leave your professor’s office in a completely different state than you entered it.

“innie, thank you for ordering for me too.” you smile, taking a sip of your drink, looking… brighter than usual, too happy for someone with a four-hour gap between classes. 

“yeah, no problem,” he says, watching you for a second longer than usual. “also, are you… okay? i don’t know, you just seem different lately after things ended with jaemin.”

you blink, caught off guard. “huh, am i?” a small shrug follows. “i don’t know… i guess i just decided to focus on myself for a while, not on men.”

“well… whatever it is, it suits you,” he mutters, still a little unsure. “oh– by the way, what did professor jeong say about the project?”

“he said we’ve got max points secured,” you shrug lightly. “and that you’ve improved your photoshop skills.”

“really?” jeongin perks up, grinning. “well, don’t mind me if i skip next week then.”

the first part is true, the second isn’t. you can lie to everyone else, but not to yunho. it’s harmless. not everyone needs to know everything about you, not even the people closest to you. so here you are back with your toxic ex, because being stuck on a feeling means being stuck on him. if anyone found out, they’d probably kill him first… and then you.

he knows exactly what you risk every time you come back to him. this was never a temporary game, something that could end just because you decided it should. to him, it’s an inevitable cycle. he doesn’t see himself as someone you return to; in his mind, you never truly left in the first place.

he would give you everything without hesitation. tear the world apart for you, piece by piece, if that’s what it takes to keep you where he wants. but he would ruin you just as easily, because to him, being broken by his hands is still better than letting anyone else touch what he was already his.

yunho is a monster creeping in your heart. a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the kind of character no one expects to be the villain. he isn’t some bad habit; he is an addiction with no cure, letting him consume you, until there’s barely a line left between where you end and he begins. you chose to stay, considering no one plays the role better than you do. this version of yourself that looks put together, untouchable, and guarded… while slowly giving everything away to the one person who knows exactly how to take it.

you didn’t fall for a good man — you fell for the one who learned how to look like one. you keep calling it love, even when it’s nowhere close, because you can’t tell the difference anymore. and if this is what love is supposed to feel like… you don’t want to be saved from it.

© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.

thank you phoebe ( @tinyfixon ) for doing a beta read and being an amazing editor! i love you so much and i hope mingi is going to propose to you soon <3

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[hwaelysian]

ouuu this was so insane omg the way he is everywhere and has control of everything is so hot!! and he is older muehe i am such a sucker for that i like them experienced and a little crazy. also i love the way you included smoking even tho i hate the smell something about it is so attractive (and i love him for giving us a glimpse of what he looks like doing it), and the part where he plays with the lighter idk what it is but i saw it so vividly in my mind and heard it as i read the scene it was chef's kiss! the spice was delicious, and omg this part?

“baby, you know you don’t have to do anything,” he says, spinning lazily in his chair. one hand clicks the mouse as he scrolls through whatever just came into his email. “you’re my favorite student, you pass without lifting a finger."

sent butterflies to my stomach and up my fucking throat

in conclusion, my lips are dry my eyes wide my chair wet thank you for the food kiki!!

[kisssan]

pairing﹢jeong yunho x fem!reader genre﹢smut. ex-bf!yunho, age gap (reader is 24, yunho is 36), themes of obsessive tendencies and stalking, jealousy, emotional manipulation, slight yandere (if you squint), corruption kink, toxic relationship, dubcon undertones but it turns consensual, cunnilingus, choking, mean dom!yunho, implied size kink/difference [the big dick yunho agenda is real], hate + unprotected sex, missionary + mating press, praising + degradation, overstimulation, orgasm control, tummy bulge, creampie, pet names (doll, babydoll, dollface, angel, pretty girl, etc), minimal aftercare. synopsis﹢he was the only older guy you had ever dated, and you swore you would never do this to yourself again. two years of love, obsession, and control are gone, or at least, that’s what you thought. some people don’t let go or move on — he never did. so why does he walk back into your life like nothing ever happened... this time, as your professor? word count﹢17,9k

✦ WATCH THE FIC TEASER ✦ PLAY THE VINYL RECORD

these are the best eleven months of your life after ending the relationship with your now ex-boyfriend. next month you're even thinking of celebrating, because it will mark a whole year. your best friends will definitely treat it like a huge occasion, just like on that fateful day when you handed them the news on a silver platter… they had never been so happy, throwing a small party just for the three of you.

YUNHO was the only older guy you had ever dated, and you swore you would never do this to yourself again. to sum it all up, the relationship turned toxic rather quickly. you almost lost all of your friends, even your two best friends, karina and yeji, who tried their very best to shove some sense into you, but you never listened, delusional enough to believe that you could change him. oh, how naive you were, that’s why you were so easy to manipulate…

apologies came in the form of very expensive gifts, things you had always wanted, or in gentle kisses and touches that slowly wandered and eventually led to the bedroom, where you ended up naked beneath his covers. you thought it was normal, since every relationship had arguments, but that’s not what this was about. it was about toxicity, extreme jealousy, possessiveness, maybe even obsession. the man was a literal freak.

karina practically did a full analysis of him, confirming what she had said the very first time you told her about the problems that occurred between you and him: "he's a psychopath." she had been direct, telling you it wasn’t okay and that you needed to break up with him. yeji agreed with her, always wanting the best for you, adding that "older men always want to date someone younger and it's not just because of looks… please be careful."

you suffered once and learned your lesson. enjoying your vacation, cocktail in hand, while the sea breeze drifts past you, the sun hot against your skin as you lounge on the deckchair, slowly tanning. of course, sometimes you still think about the past; you can’t really stop that after spending two whole years with him. yet even though everything had been bad and suffocating, there had been a good side to him too: tall, handsome, funny and somehow rich. what more could you want?

the other thing you wanted was for your parents and close friends not to find out that you had been dating someone not two or three years older, or even a year younger, but a whole twelve years older. yes, you were twenty-one when you met him, a couple of months before your birthday, through mutual friends. one gathering led to another, and before you knew it, you were dating him, convinced you had finally found the one you were going to marry, the only man who truly knew how to be a man. alas, it turned out he was just another shark in the ocean, ready to strike at its defenseless prey.

it doesn’t matter anymore, since you’re single, genuinely happy, enjoying your summer, shining brighter than the sun itself, and everyone sees you like some kind of eternal sunshine. you finally returned to yourself, only smarter this time, no longer falling for tricks or manipulative tactics. life is good when you don’t have a man bitching in your ear about the outfit you’re about to wear or asking why you were talking to some guy for too long. the waiter, if you must specify, who was simply announcing the lunch menu.

“ah, can’t believe we have to be back at university that soon…” you said, sipping from your drink while idly chewing on the straw. karina was on your left, glued to her phone, while yeji sat on your right, carefully lining up small seashells along her thighs.

“and we’re graduating this year too… but someone decided to study at a different university, breaking our teenage dreams,” karina said as she turned off her phone, glancing at you with a playful look while you rolled your eyes.

“not my fault the one you’re in didn’t have what i wanted.” you took another sip, and yeji giggled softly. “none of us dropped out though, which is an achievement on its own.”

yes, you didn’t study at the same place as them, but that didn’t stop you from hanging out, if anything, there was even more gossip to share. and so the conversations continued, all the way until you started getting ready for dinner, and then for a few more days after that, until eventually you had to go back to seoul and wish each other “good luck for the new last year.”

you really did need some luck, because you had just found out that your favorite professor had retired. you were going to miss the woman; you had been her favorite student, but all good things eventually come to an end. everyone was already sitting in the lecture room. you had heard that the new professor was someone young, but there hadn’t been time to check who exactly he was since they were still fixing schedules and systems. the only thing you knew was that tuesday at nine in the morning was your first lecture with the new professor in question.

“i think he probably used to play basketball or football, i saw him earlier and he’s really tall,” one of the boys said, and the others quickly agreed, while you remained focused on your phone, scrolling through reel after reel, meme after meme. then you overheard the girls whispering nearby, their voices a little more excited. “did you see his hands? and him in general… he’s so fine…”

the problem with having a young professor is exactly that — he was young, and from what everyone was saying, quite attractive too. the other problem appeared the moment everyone finally sat down when the door opened. a tall figure stepped into the room, his style was effortless in a way that made it impossible not to glance twice. a soft gray cardigan hung loosely over his shoulders, the thin knit falling open enough to reveal the clean white t-shirt beneath.

the muted colors helped him blend in, making him look more like a student than a teacher. slim black pants traced the long lines of his frame, the strap of a black crossbody bag thrown diagonally across his chest, and he wore simple sneakers. his black hair fell in soft layers that framed his face, the strands straight and smooth, cut just long enough to brush the tops of his eyebrows and skim the sides of his cheekbones.

you were sitting a little further back, your phone still in your hands. the room buzzed with chatter as people continued talking among themselves until the professor cleared his throat, the sound cutting clean through the noise as he prepared to introduce himself.

“hello everyone, i’m jeong yunho and i’ll be your new photography professor this year.”

your eyes widened instantly, your head snapping up so fast it almost hurt. oh no… houston, we have a problem. you blinked several times, half expecting your vision to clear and reveal someone else entirely. maybe it was just someone with the exact same name, appearance, and voice. unfortunately for you, it wasn’t. why is your ex-boyfriend the new professor? out of all the people in the capital, it had to be him who got the position.

you sat there frozen in complete shock, your mouth slightly open until your deskmate and close university friend, jeongin, gently pressed a finger under your chin to close it as he leaned to whisper, “i guess everyone, including you, just found their new crush, huh?”

what, why, and how? was this some kind of twisted karma? because if it was, you definitely weren’t the one who deserved it. your heart started beating faster, anxiety and something close to fear crawling up. could you run away? maybe copy someone else’s notes, no… you couldn’t. suddenly you wished you were studying metaphysics with karina, because that sounded far more pleasant than this.

“i’d love to get to know all of you,” he continued, smiling as he set his bag on the desk before leaning back against it, arms loosely crossed, while his gaze moved around the room. “so i’ll share a few things about myself. and don’t worry, i won’t make you do anything today. i’ll just introduce the course and explain what i expect from you.”

surprisingly hands immediately began rising with questions. meanwhile, you were still struggling to believe what you were seeing and hearing. he hadn’t changed at all, you had to admit it. he had only gotten more attractive. always taking care of himself and being unfairly pretty, making you remember how two years ago you thought about what your future children would look like... now you want to throw up. forcing yourself to keep your composure, glancing at jeongin and making a slightly grimaced face. yeah, a crush for sure, except you wanted to crush him into pieces.

“how old are you, professor?” someone from the middle rows asked, earning a few curious murmurs from the class, making yunho chuckle, “straight to the personal questions already? alright then. i’m thirty-six.”

everyone was surprised by the answer, and all kinds of reactions rippled through.

“don’t look so shocked,” he added with a small grin. “i promise i’m not that ancient.”

“are you a full-time professor?” another student asked.

“not exactly,” yunho replied, pushing his sleeves up slightly as he spoke, revealing his forearms, “i’m a professional photographer first. i mainly work in editorial and commercial photography such as fashion shoots, campaigns, exhibitions, that sort of thing. teaching is something i enjoy doing on the side, especially with students who are serious about the craft.”

“does that mean you’re going to give us easy grades?” someone joked, making him raise an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “absolutely not.”

the class laughed again, a little nervous this time.

“i can be friendly,” he added, shrugging lightly, “but don’t mistake that for me being tolerant. photography is about discipline and perspective. if you’re here just to press a button and hope for the best, you’re going to struggle.”

another hand went up. “so… we won’t pass easily?”

“correct,” nodding his head once. “i expect effort, creativity, and consistency. if you work hard, you’ll do amazing. if you don’t…” he paused briefly before smiling again, “you won’t pass this course by simply showing up and smiling at me. well, at least you’ll get some nice pictures out of the experience.”

more chuckles followed, but the message had landed. the atmosphere quickly became relaxed and comfortable as he answered questions with small jokes. the students were already warming up to him, clearly charmed by how easygoing he was. as you listened to him speak, watched the way he carried himself so seriously and correctly in front of everyone, you couldn’t help but wonder where exactly all that cheerful composure had been when he was with you?

“attendance is mandatory.” and then his gaze settled directly on yours, a faint smirk pulling at his lips as he stared straight into your soul, the one he had almost taken from you a year ago. “of course, if you have to be absent, it’s not a problem, as long as it doesn’t happen often. i know some of you will be at the mall with friends. also i don’t grade by email; everything you do will be shown and discussed in class.”

the entire time he spoke, his eyes kept drifting back to you. when he paced slowly across the front of the room, even when he turned to answer someone else’s question, somehow his attention always circled back. for some reason, you held his gaze instead of looking away, and the longer you stared at him, the more that fear slowly faded until all that remained was pure hatred.

jeongin leaned slightly closer to you, lowering his voice into a teasing whisper. “well there goes our plan of skipping class to eat kfc… or getting more sleep,” he murmured, nudging your arm lightly.

thank god your best friends studied at different universities, otherwise they would have dragged you straight to the administration office and forced you to drop out for real. and honestly… you were starting to think about it yourself. the worst part was that you couldn’t switch the class for anything else. great, truly amazing. you were trapped for an entire semester.

“that’s everything for today,” yunho said after a while, clapping his hands together once as he was done answering questions and talking about cameras, “i won’t keep you any longer. enjoy the rest of your morning.”

chairs scraped across the floor as everyone began packing their things, the room filling with chatter again. you grabbed your purse quickly, already standing up before most people had even processed that the lecture was over. as you walked out with jeongin, you noticed a small crowd forming around the professor’s desk. a couple of boys and girls had already gathered there, asking questions, laughing at something he said, clearly eager to stay a little longer.

you didn’t even glance his way. no goodbye, or a polite “have a nice day”, because he didn’t deserve to have one. you just kept walking toward the door, hoping that you would manage to graduate before the sudden temptation to drop out started looking a little too appealing.

“your analysis lacks depth,” yunho says, placing your paper on his desk, making you scoff, since this is the third time now that he’s returned it for edits. lacks depth, he says… well, you did as well, asshole. if you had to edit one more thing, it honestly wouldn’t be that bad to buy a gun, and no, it definitely wouldn’t be pointed at your head.

every single tuesday he calls on you far too often in class. your assignments always come back covered in detailed comments, red ink everywhere like a declared war on your academics. you swear he’s grading you harder than everyone else, which honestly seems unfair to the people who are actually doing nothing. apparently, you’re the only one being treated like a social experiment.

“and what exactly do i need to change again, professor?” you ask, grinning through your teeth, burying every thought that would probably send you straight to jail under a perfectly fake smile. you’re this close from going insane, feeling that familiar anger rise again, the irritation that always appears when you’re forced to deal with someone you can’t stand.

for the last four weeks, your life has been hell, to say the least. during lectures he’ll ask a question, several hands go up while yours remain fiddling with a ballpoint pen, and yet he always picks you. and the first time you didn’t know the answer, what followed was a casual, “it would be nice to learn things before the test, hm?” which felt like complete humiliation, because beneath that joking tone there had been something that definitely wasn’t a joke.

once you and jeongin arrived ten minutes late, which honestly wasn’t even your fault. what were you supposed to do when your friend insisted on waiting for his coffee while there was already a long line that early in the morning? of course, a comment followed: “please be on time next time.” but when someone else walked in thirty minutes late during the same lecture, there were absolutely no remarks.

that’s exactly why you always come prepared with answers and make sure you’re always on time. you know his tricks far too well. no matter how charming his smile is, how sweetly he talks, how funny and relaxed he seems… it’s just one of his many masks. karina really was right about him being some kind of psychopath.

everyone else, unfortunately, loves the new professor. they talk about his fun classes, how nice he is, and how cool it is that he’s such a professional teaching them new techniques. some of your peers even linger after lectures just to chat with him. meanwhile, you sit there thinking that your older ex should seriously consider enrolling in acting instead of photography, because the performance he’s putting on deserves ample shiny awards proudly displayed on a goddamn mantlepiece.

the whole thing has turned into some twisted cat-and-mouse game. he teases, pushes, and provokes. you glare, don't bite back, and refuse to give him the reaction he clearly wants. despite all of that, he always finds his sneaky ways to make your life a little more miserable.

here and there, he calls you to his desk after class for absolutely no reason. “you should consider approaching a different lens for your next project,” like this couldn’t have easily been written in a single email. or he’ll start explaining camera settings you already know perfectly well, dragging the conversation out while the rest of the class disappears into the hallway.

and god forbid you see him outside the classroom. the moment you notice him walking down the hallway, you immediately pull a perfect one-eighty and walk in the opposite direction because you hate this man so fucking much, you refuse to breathe the same air as him.

what’s more upsetting is that you can’t even tell anyone. because if karina and yeji ever found out that your toxic ex-boyfriend was now your professor, they wouldn’t hesitate for a second before throwing a chair at him.

what you don’t know, however, is that he requested this university job partly because of you. actually, not partly at all, he knew exactly what he was doing. even when you were still together, he knew where you studied and what major you were in, just like you knew about his photography work. of course, teaching also gave him the chance to try something different in his career. and what better opportunity than this? his unbelievably beautiful ex-girlfriend just so happened to be one of his students, completely unplanned.

and it doesn’t stop there, oh no, everything is just starting.

jeongin begins to notice a pattern, which honestly isn’t hard to miss when during class yunho asks another question. probably ten hands rise into the air, but he still chooses you. your friend leans closer to your ear and whispers, “you must be his favorite~”

you stare at the board like you want to burn it down, alongside mister pretty devil himself, who of course, happens to wear clothes that fit his figure perfectly, fuck him honestly. “if i was his favorite, do you think i’d be studying camera obscura in this much detail?”

not to mention the way he addresses you with that smooth voice, softly calling you, “miss (name).” the moment you hear it, it’s game over. you have to respond with “yes, professor,” or “yes, sir,” like some twisted academic roleplay you never signed up for. it makes you want to vomit, bleach both your eyes and your trachea. you hate his guts so much. he has always liked being in control, and now he has it again, at least within the walls of this campus. outside of it, however, he has absolutely none.

when it comes to homework and assignments, everyone else receives short feedback, brief but explanatory enough to understand their mistakes, things like: “good composition” or, “nice lighting” and even, “if you try a black and white effect, it might work better.”

your feedback, on the other hand, is practically a full essay. it could probably qualify as a documentary script because he covers everything, even the tiniest details. he has a ridiculously keen eye for things, which apparently also makes him a professional at being a complete jerk who picks on you for absolutely no reason.

“your framing… well, it’s technically correct,” he muses, tapping the printed photo with his finger exactly where he seems most dissatisfied, “but technically correct isn’t the same as emotionally effective.”

you want to throw your camera at him and shove the lens straight down his throat, as the class sits there admiring him. “wow, professor jeong gives such thoughtful feedback.”

it also happens that he’s constantly spammed with emails from students asking if their work is passable or what more they  can do to improve their visuals, so eventually he announces loudly, “if anyone needs extra help, my office hours are wednesday and thursday afternoon.”

later that same day, only you receive an email: “your project concept has potential. come to discuss it.”

you go, of course, because you care about the grade. knocking on the door to his office, and he lets you in, acting like the two of you are complete strangers. the entire conversation stays professional, purely academic, every word measured, but the tension makes your heartbeat faster. after ten painfully long minutes, you finally stand to leave, and just as your hand reaches the door, he says, that same smile on his face, “don’t sabotage your own work out of stubbornness.”

almost slamming the door behind you, but you need to have self-control and not let him know that you are slowly losing your cool.

it goes without saying that the girls in the course absolutely adore him. some of them simp for him, always giggling and gossiping. “the way he looked at me today… he said he is single, so do you think i have a chance?” or “he’s literally the most handsome professor here, why isn’t my boyfriend like him?”

you almost choke hearing that, because you know the other version of him. the one who used to kiss apologies into your neck after fights. the one whose hands knew every point of your body andwho knew you better than you knew yourself. fingers that always seemed to know exactly where to press, where to… why are you even thinking about that?

during one of his lectures, yunho suddenly says something that makes your stomach twist.

“photography is about obsession. you need to want the subject more than anything else. you have to focus on it completely if you want to capture the perfect shot.”

you freeze, eyes widening slightly at his words, because you know exactly how obsessive he can be. yunho glances at you, that smug little smile appears again, and he continues the lecture as if nothing happened.

it’s almost nightfall when the young professor arrived home. he dropped onto the couch, leaving his bag on the floor beside it, his head falling back against the cushions as he stretched his legs over the small wooden table and stretched his arms up above his head.

he exhaled once, then again, tapping his thigh with his fingers in the quiet that filled the apartment. the silence didn’t last long before a small laugh slipped past his lips. he closed his eyes, and of course, you appeared in his mind again. you were constantly there, living somewhere between his thoughts and his heart, occupying space you had no right to anymore.

weren’t you just adorable? each and every time you walked into class, you were dressed better than everyone else, always prepared and looking at him with that sneer that no one else seemed to notice. not even your deskmate, the one he sometimes caught himself glaring at out of pure irritation and jealousy, though he knew jeongin wasn’t any real threat.

you were his muse, his fallen angel, the pliable doll he had once controlled so carefully until two other puppets, your dear best friends, stepped in and cut the marionette strings, ruining the entire show. you had been so kind-hearted and obedient, so sweet and perfectly made for him… but everything had ended so quickly.

yunho knew exactly how to push your buttons; it was too easy for him. he watched every little reaction, the glares you tried to hide behind forced politeness. he fed on it more than he probably should have. still obsessed with you and completely unable to let go, hiding it well enough behind the role of a professor. 

you were his one weakness, the sensitive gap between two ribs guarding the heart he had, the one thing that made the control he prided himself on slip through his fingers. he had never stopped loving you, at least not in his own twisted way. goddamnit, you looked like an absolute doll today. the dress, the way your hair fell over your shoulders, the gloss on your lips. were you going on a date with someone? with who? when? where? normally he would have known already. the thought made his jaw tighten slightly, tongue pushing the inside of his cheek. if it wasn’t for the university schedule taking up so much of his time lately, he would have kept better track of things. he hoped you weren’t going on a date with anyone.

reaching for his phone, unlocking it as he opened one of the many accounts he used. your instagram appeared on the screen, and even though your profile was private, that had never really stopped him. the pretty much convincing fake account had been accepted months ago and you had never questioned it. he doesn’t just have one fake account, there are several, each with a different purpose: one follows you, the second follows your friends, the third follows men who comment on your photos.

his thumb scrolled slowly through the posts, stopping at one in particular.

you standing by the ocean with goldensunlight catching your skin, wearing that stupidly beautiful dress that he bought. the same vacation he had surprised you with, and the irony was that he had been the one holding the camera when those pictures were taken, and then his scrolling stopped when he saw you had a story posted.

you sitting across from someone in a restaurant, a glass in your hand, smiling. the caption tagged someone… jaemin? the quiet apartment suddenly didn’t feel so quiet anymore. yunho stared at the screen a little longer than necessary, his fingers tightening slightly around the phone. he decided to do his research, and within minutes, he knew jaemin’s major, his other social media, his schedule and which classes he attends.

“so you were going on dates now, huh?” his hand ran slowly across his face before he leaned back against the couch again, letting out a low breath that almost sounded like a mocking laugh. he shouldn’t care, and what’s left of his sanity knew that, but something in his chest twisted like a scalding hot knife. the truth was simple, and it irritated him more than anything else.

his home still has traces of you. your favorite mug still in the kitchen, a sweater you forgot draped over a chair, the perfume bottle you left behind on the bathroom counter. he hasn’t moved them at all, so when passing them he’ll sometimes pause, observing your belongings like they’re priceless artifacts he forever wants to keep.

a drawer in his desk contains a perfectly organized stack of polaroids. shots he took of you while you were dating, containing multiple domestic situations of you laughing on the beach, asleep on his shoulder and drooling, you looking annoyed while he teased you endlessly, you wearing his hoodie… there’s a lot, some even nudes taken during private moments when you trusted him. nothing is displayed openly, but preserved with a date written on the back, sometimes a short note, things like mine or xoxo.

as a photographer, he justifies it to himself as art. in his mind those photos were the purest versions of you, deleting them would feel like destroying masterpieces. the man doesn’t see anything wrong with it. they were taken with consent back then, and the memories belong to him, so he never questions keeping them.

though, admittedly, yunho still adds to the collection with printed screenshots from your instagram stories. blurry shots of you crossing campus, a candid photo of you mid-laughter taken from far away during a university event. he keeps a hidden folder on his computer, where inside are hundreds of photos and videos, not just from when you dated, but also recent ones.

sometimes he records his lectures for teaching review, as the university demands, and in private, he’ll rewind parts where you speak. listening again, and again, and again, so he can get off with his dick in hand, trying to chase his high from being turned on by watching you argue with him in class. she still looks at me the same way… anger is better than indifference. your hatred is still attention, and attention for men like him is oxygen.

he studies those images and compares them to how you look in class now. noticing the differences in the way you dress, how you glare at him and refuse to look at him too long… she pretends she doesn’t belong to me anymore.

also your old professor who retired? yunho knew her; she was a well-known photographer in seoul, a colleague of his whose exhibitions he had attended more than once over the years. during a gallery event, the two of them talked for a while, as she casually mentioned that she would be retiring soon and that the university needed someone to take her place. then she also mentioned that one of her best students would be graduating soon. the way she spoke about that student caught yunho’s attention immediately. the woman even pulled out her phone, scrolling through photos from one of the class exhibitions before zooming in on a familiar face — yours.

the elder woman happily explained how talented you were, the potential you had and how you were easily one of her favorites.

that was when he applied to the university, under her recommendation.

yunho finally stood from the couch and walked toward his bedroom. he opened the drawer of his bedside table, reaching inside until his fingers brushed against a familiar photograph: a polaroid from two years ago.

you were laughing in it, leaning slightly toward a cake with him beside you on your 22nd birthday. the faint lipstick mark you had playfully pressed onto the corner of the photo was still there, and he ran his thumb slowly over it. he just stared at it, placing the polaroid carefully on the nightstand beside his phone and the nightlamp. when he finally lay down under the covers, the photograph remained within reach, the faint outline of your smile visible in the dim light.

he closed his eyes, hoping, as he drifted toward sleep, that maybe tonight you would appear in his dreams.

fridays are always a godsend, especially after sitting through a lecture with the devil the day before. anything feels better after that, especially when you’re out for lunch with jaemin. sunlight spilling through the windows, soft chatter around you, and for the first time in a while you feel at ease. he insisted on paying, of course, saying something about how you “deserve to be spoiled properly,” and honestly… you didn’t argue.

he knows what you like. not in a suffocating way that feels like he’s memorized you without permission. but in a very gentle and attentive way.

“are you free tomorrow?” he asks, stealing a bite of your cake like it’s his.

“i wish,” you sigh. “i have to attend a birthday party with my parents.”

“mm,” he hums, pretending to think, though the smile on his lips gives him away. “guess i’ll have to reschedule my very important plan of kidnapping you for the evening.”

you chuckle softly, taking another bite of the sweet treat. “you’re not funny.”

“i’m hilarious,” he corrects you, lifting his index finger. “you’re just in denial.”

rolling your eyes, but you can’t hide the smile that appears on your face. the thing you really liked about jaemin was how sweet-talking and funny he was, knowing what to say at any given moment. he has this mischievous side, but he was also very loving and attractive. 

“i was going to ask you to come over,” he adds more quietly, almost shy beneath the teasing. “but… another time.”

that makes you pause, because he doesn’t push or corner you. more so, never demands you to be with him and cancel any plans you have already made with someone else. it’s like an option, not an expectation. there’s no hidden trap set ahead of time for you to fall into.

“maybe next weekend?” you echo, that playful tone came as you asked him, looking at him for a moment, and then down at the already finished cake. and that’s enough for him. his bright and boyish grin returns instantly, like he didn’t just make your heart skip.

“see? progress. next thing you know, you’ll admit you like me.”

“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you warn, pointing your fork at him.

“too late, i already did.”

“jaemin–”

“what?” he leans in slightly, eyes sparkling with that same mischievousness. “you gonna hit me?”

you narrow your eyes. “if you keep talking, maybe.”

he gasps dramatically, pretending to be scared for his life, “not the man-hater queen threatening violence again.”

“i am not a man-hater!”

“you are when it comes to me.”

“you’re annoying.”

“and who is paying the bill?”

that shuts you up completely. instead of teasing you more, he just smiles, playfully winking at you, letting you have that moment.

after lunch, he insists on walking you to the mall so you can meet up with karina and yeji. it’s not far, twenty minutes at most, but he acts like it’s a whole event, a met gala of sorts, and you should be escorted like the princess you are. you walk side by side, hands brushing at first, then naturally finding each other, fingers lacing together. the weather is warm for the autumn season. leaves crunch when people pass by, cars hum in the distance, and for a while, you forget about yunho and about everything.

jaemin talks about random things like how he and jeno tried to summon ghosts as kids, jokes about what he saw online, and somehow, you’re laughing again without having to worry or trying to come up with excuses or reasons of how you can be so happy when something else gives you joy? he looks at you with adoration in his eyes and that’s what makes you feel safe.

when you reach the mall, he slows down, not letting go of your hand immediately. he lingers for a second, like he wants to say something else, then just smiles.

“have fun, man-hater queen.”

“thank you, cake thief.”

he laughs, finally letting go but not before leaving a quick, soft kiss on your cheek. “text me when you get home,” he says, and you nod, a little stunned by this bold yet sweet gesture. he walks off with a smile, and your best friends are already waiting for you inside at the usual meeting spot. 

the moment karina spots you, she’s already sprinting, grabbing yeji by the wrist and dragging her along like she’s on a mission. it’s been weeks since you last saw each other, university has been kicking all of your asses, and you didn’t realize how much you needed this until now.

“(name), babe, how are you? you don’t know how much we missed you,” karina squeals, letting go of yeji just to throw her arms around you in a near-death hug. you laugh, breath knocked out of you for a second before hugging her back. 

“i missed you, too,” you manage, and then yeji is right there, pulling you into her own hug, softer but just as tight. “and you don’t know what i have to tell you.”

“jaemin?” they ask in unison, already cocking their brows up.

“how did you know?”

yeji nodded her head towards the glass storefront behind you. “we can literally see you from outside.”

“he walked you here, didn’t he?” karina snorts and you don’t even deny it. that’s enough to send both of them into giggles as they hook their arms through yours, dragging you further into the mall.

the next hour follows it’s rhythm. gossip, teasing, overlapping conversations, with you telling them about jaemin and the date earlier, how attentive he is without being overbearing. sometimes you catch yourself thinking you don’t deserve someone like that. someone so patient and sweet, but karina shuts that down immediately, while yeji nods along, reminding you that the bare minimum just feels extraordinary after what you’ve been through.

what you don’t tell them… is everything else. you don’t mention yunho, not a single word leaves your mouth. it sits somewhere in the back of your mind, tucked away like it doesn’t even exist. they deserve to know, you know they do, but you don’t even know where to start, or how they’d react. and… you’re not ready for that, to lose them, so you stay quiet. maybe sometimes silence is the solution.

you move from store to store, bags slowly piling up in your hands. makeup is a priority, you’re running low, and soon enough, you’re standing in front of rows of lipsticks, testing shades against your skin. just for a second in your peripheral vision, you catch a tall figure, standing a few meters away. you turn your head, and nothing. you blink, frowning slightly. that’s… weird. you could’ve sworn someone was there.

“(name), come here, we found the new face masks,” yeji pops up out of nowhere, grabbing your arm and pulling you along before you can think about it too much. “they’re not even that expensive like everyone says.”

letting yourself be dragged away as the rest of the day passes in a blur of chatter and shopping bags. trying on clothes and spending money like you were the granddaughter of a very wealthy ceo. maybe in a past life you were rich, because right now, money seems to disappear the second it touches your hands. 

by the time you finally sit down for coffee, you take a slow sip of your ice-cold drink, letting the sweetness settle on your tongue as you listen to karina and yeji talk. your social battery was starting to fade, and you were also running out of things to gossip about, content on just listening instead of talking.

for a moment, everything is fine as it should be, until you get that feeling again, like someone’s watching. you glance up, eyes scanning the space around you, but everything looks normal. people talking, walking, laughing, nothing out of place…. you shift slightly in your seat, fingers tightening around your cup. probably your brain is messing up with you after the tiring day you had.

the day started on like that — him following, and you being completely unaware.

he saw you earlier and was there during the whole date. he doesn’t hate jaemin even if jealousy spikes, but he quickly calms himself down. the younger man is just a temporary placeholder, a distraction you picked up because you didn’t know what else to do with the space yunho left behind. his tongue presses briefly against the inside of his cheek, a habit surfacing whenever irritation starts to settle in. he already knows what to order; he’s been here before… with you. at this restaurant, same table across the room, known for its delicate pasta and overly sweet desserts you always claimed you wouldn’t finish.

it’s wrong, not because you’re laughing and enjoying yourself, but because it’s not with him. 

he watches the way jaemin leans in when he talks, how quickly he smiles, casually reaching for your plate, how comfortable he acts like he’s already earned a place he doesn’t deserve. jaemin doesn’t notice the smaller things like the shift in your posture, the way your fingers tighten around your fork when you’re thinking too much, the way your eyes drift when your mind starts wandering. he sees what’s in front of him, nothing more.

yunho sees everything.

he doesn’t need to chase you. he never will. you come back on your own. anger, frustration, curiosity, it doesn’t matter what drives you, it always leads back to him. because no one else will ever know how to handle you the way he does. he doesn’t want a version of you that’s easy. he wants the one who pushes and bites back to keep the spark alive.

you think you hate him, he can see it in your eyes. hatred means you still care; you react because you are affected. indifference would be a problem. but you’re not indifferent, just confused, pretending not to see what’s already there. he missed you. not just your voice, your presence, or your body. he missed this, the way you draw him in without even trying, like a moth to a flame.

he could have walked up to you right now. say your name to strike up a conversation as your professor. what a coincidence, right? you and he in the same place, at the same time, ordering the same food. your expression would drastically change; he knows exactly what it would look like. he’s imagined it enough times, but he doesn’t move.

he doesn’t rush things anymore, learning that the hard way. you need to feel like you have space and the freedom to choose. so he waits, and that’s fine, yunho understands. after all, you’re already his… you just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.

it was getting late, and when you finally said goodbye to your friends, he’s already on the move. you don’t seem to notice how he chooses the same subway train, standing where the reflection in the window does the work for him, watching you through the blur of the passing lights and shadows.

you’re on your phone for a while, and by the movement of your fingers, you are scrolling through instagram or tiktok. then you are staring ahead, you always get like this when your energy runs out. he knows the exact moment your thoughts start drifting and when exhaustion takes over.

someone dares to look at you for too long. yunho burns holes with bloodshot eyes as the stranger looks away. the train slows at your stop, and you step out. he follows by matching your speed, always out of sight. footsteps always a few seconds behind, stops when you stop. he’s walked this path more times than you’d ever guess. yunho’s gaze moves over everything on the street: the corners, people walking and the cars passing by, the distance between you and anything that could get too close.

you reach your building and pause for a second, opening your purse for your keys. he’s already stopped, waiting for you to step inside. the door closes behind you, as he stays where he is. his eyes lift, scanning the building, counting without thinking how long it would take to reach your floor… it should be one minute and twenty-three seconds.

he waits a little longer, enough to see the second light flicker in your bedroom. it’s the same every night with him walking you back home. what if you hadn’t come back alone? what if some creep had followed you? that wouldn’t have ended well, not for them.

his shoulders finally relax as he turns away. to anyone else, that would be the end of it. just a random man on the street… even if his home is in the opposite direction, thirty-five minutes away. hands sliding into his pockets, the quiet jingle of metal breaks the silence with each step. a small cluster of keys, shifting against each other, and one tucked among them does not belong to him. his thumb brushes over it absentmindedly; it has always been there.

yunho still has a key to your place. sometimes he visits when you’re not there, and he always knows when that is. why does he do it? even the divine beings don’t seem interested in answering that, and they don’t want to interfere either. what is he doing in your apartment? nothing, he goes there when he wants to rest. he doesn’t move things around or leave signs. he just sits on your couch and enjoys the atmosphere you created.

your bedroom door stays open, so he doesn’t need to enter to know if anything has changed. he’s like a ghost, maybe a poltergeist, one that doesn't haunt by moving objects but stealing them instead. 

he opens drawers sometimes. the most familiar one is always the same — the drawer with your underwear. never takes anything new or expensive, always the ones at the bottom. old pairs, the pieces you don’t think about anymore, and you wouldn’t even notice are missing.

it’s proximity, a way for him to be close to you, or for you to be close to him. 

in the living room, there’s a plush toy you never threw away. he gave it to you when you celebrated your six-month anniversary. it still sits in its place, untouched and harmless-looking. except it isn’t. inside it, carefully hidden where no one would think to look, is a small camera. he watches from time to time, when he needs to. nothing invasive, just enough for him to see you when you’re home. someone has to make sure you get home safe, even if you don’t know it, and if it has to be him, then so be it. 

your father had a lot of friends, and it just so happened that your family was invited to mr. kim’s 50th birthday, an anniversary celebrated in a rather grand and luxurious way. honestly, it felt more like a wedding than a birthday… but either way, it was still an occasion for drinking. people of notoriety greeted each other left and right, laughter and chatter filling the air, until the man of the hour finally made his entrance, the one who had every right to celebrate until the very last drop and bite were gone.

“if this isn’t my one and only goddaughter?” it should probably be mentioned that this kind and ridiculously rich man was your godfather. no blood relation, but he had always been like an uncle to you. the affluent one  who spoiled you endlessly as a child, giving you everything you wanted, because clearly your parents failed to treat you like the princess you deserved to be.

“happy birthday, uncle minseok!” you said, stepping forward to hug him, genuinely happy to see him. the gifts were still left by the entrance, but you always had your own little privileges. “this is for you, i hope you like it… even if you are getting old.”

inside the small wrapped bag was a simple package of marshmallows, as your mother immediately noticed, lightly tapping your shoulder. “(name), this is inappropriate.”

“calm down,” minseok laughed warmly, taking the bag from your hands without a second thought. “she knows exactly what to give someone.” he glanced at you with a grin, because this candy has become very significant during the years, something small but from the heart. “thank you, my dear. you’ll get the second piece of cake.”

the evening continued with drinks being passed around, conversations flowing about business, and whatever gossip caught your ear. at some point, your godfather rested a hand on your shoulder, “come, there’s someone i want you to meet,” he said casually, guiding you through the crowd. “a very dear friend of mine, and an excellent photographer. you might learn a thing or two.”

you didn’t think much of it at first, nodding as you followed along, heels clicking softly against the polished floor, your drink still in hand. this would be just another introduction for you to smile at a stranger. this would hopefully be someone you could form a connection with to help you in the future when you do decide to pursue a career, but just like that, everything in your body turned upside down. your entire world tilted and your pulse quickened, because of course it had to be him.

dressed like absolute sin in a suit that made it painfully obvious he knew exactly what he was doing. professional and put together… but unlike on campus, where he toned it down by being casual and relatable to young people your age, here amongst people closer to his age and high calibre, he wasn’t holding back. the clothes fit him perfectly, outlining his frame in a way that makes you force yourself not to react — masking your expression into something neutral that doesn't scream what the hell are you doing here.

“yunho,” minseok called out, catching his attention. “ah, perfect timing, indeed. i want you to meet someone.”

yunho turned, and for a split second, his eyes met yours. there it was, that familiar recognition, gone just as quickly as it appeared. his own expression of shock smoothed out instantly, slipping into that same composed mask you had grown to despise.

“this is my goddaughter, (name),” minseok continued proudly, squeezing your shoulders by the exposed skin your dress created. “she’s studying photography as well.”

you swallowed and played along, like you were meeting him for the very first time. as if you didn’t know the way his hands felt, or how his voice sounded when it wasn’t calm and controlled, the way he used to look at you when no one else was around… as if you hadn’t let him take your virginity. 

“it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said, offering your hand with a polite smile that stung like acid to hold. his gaze lingered for just a moment too long before he took it. warm and bigger than yours, soft too, just like it always has been, perfectly made to fit.

“the pleasure is all mine, miss (name),” yunho replied, smiling at you, and god, you hate how natural he makes it sound, like you’re nothing more than a stranger he’s just been introduced to. but of course, he doesn’t stop there. the pad of his thumb brushes lightly against your knuckles before he lets go.

it wasn’t awkward, more like… unsettling in a way that made your skin itch. it wasn’t just that you saw him every week at the university, no, now he was here too, at an event where you were supposed to have fun, not stand there thinking of at least five different ways to get away with his murder. your godfather, completely unaware of the tension, patted your shoulder before turning to yunho. “i’ll leave her in your care, and (name), you might want to take some photos now that it’s still not too crowded. have fun, kiddos.”

and just like that, minseok walked away, leaving you alone with the man you hated the most.

your blood started boiling like molten lava almost instantly. the fake smile dropped the second his back disappeared into the crowd, your nails digging into your palms as you inhaled slowly through your nose and you stared at yunho with pure and undisguised hatred.

"you know it's not very polite to stare." he was fixing something on the camera, or looking at photos, you didn't know, but you knew one thing, and that was that you hated him. “so, how is your project going? did you fix what i told you to?” 

you stiffen for a split second, your smile tightening as you look at him, because of course he would say that here, of all places, since he just couldn’t resist torturing outside campus.

“i wasn’t aware this was a consultation,” you reply sweetly, but your tone carries that hostile warning of a bark that tells him you are about to bite like an angry dog.

“old habits,” he hummed softly, deleting a few blurred pictures.

“yeah?” you shot back, one eyebrow rising, “then maybe you should work on dropping a few of them.”

“that explains a lot.” the way he calmly answers makes you want to punch him.

“explains what exactly? you enjoying your little performance? you’re very convincing, i’ll give you that.”

“i don’t know what you mean,” he says lightly, though the way he looks at you says the exact opposite. liar. something about the way you’re talking back instead of ignoring him, clearly tells him one thing — you haven’t moved on completely.

“you still get worked up so easily,” murmuring almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear.

“you still talk too much,” you snapped, and he took a step closer, enough to close some of the distance, his presence more noticeable and intimidating, and you sometimes forget how tall he actually is.

a small smile tugged at his lips because, truth be told, he was enjoying this far too much. his eyes were scanning your face, studying every reaction of the grimace you tried so hard to hide. you scoffed, crossing your arms, tapping your freshly done nails against your skin, irritation written all over, and for a moment neither of you spoke. the noise of the party faded into the background as the tension stretched like silk almost pulled to the point of tearing between you.

then yunho exhaled softly, removing the camera strap from his head, he closed the lens cap and put it back in the small bag, leaving it on the desk he evidently used for work here.

“what about we take a walk?” yunho suddenly suggests, tone light, sounding harmless and innocent. “talk a few things out. it seems like you have a lot to say.”

you should have said no. you should’ve walked straight back to your parents while ignoring him like you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to do, but somehow… you didn’t. maybe it was the tone of his voice, coaxing you with the way he said it like a suggestion, not a command, even though it somehow felt like one. or maybe it was just him, knowing exactly what to say, with just the right intonation for invitation.

“fine,” you muttered, big mistake.

he guided you through the venue, away from the main crowd and toward a quieter part of the hotel where the noise began to dull and the lights softened because fewer people meant fewer distractions. now it’s just you and him, the way he’s been craving and aching for.

then he stopped.

reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. you frowned slightly as he pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips before lighting it and exhaling slowly, white smoke curling between the two of you before dissipating into the air. 

“you’re smoking again?” 

“you’re staring again.”

“i’m judging,” you correct. “i thought you quit.”

“i did,” he agrees, “for you.”

then he takes another drag, eyes never leaving yours, but you know you were the main reason, if not the only one, for him to quit. you hated the smell and the taste that transferred once you shared a kiss. or two. or dozen… neither of you ever bothered to count.

“stress does things, work, life… you find ways to relieve the tension,” he continues after a moment, carefully choosing every word to get a reaction out of you. he shares just enough, mentioning that the workload and the pressure made him go back to this bad habit, skimming over the real reason without ever actually saying it — the break up. of course, he wouldn’t admit that to you. he never gives you the full truth, only carefully selected pieces. 

and as he speaks, you find yourself checking him out. you feel steel heavy shame that you are, but you can’t help it. he looks… good. no, that’s an understatement. dressed like he stepped out of some magazine, a black coat draped over his broad shoulders, a clean white button-up tucked neatly under a fitted black vest, finished off with a loosely worn black satin tie. as much as you want to deny it, to lie to yourself, roll your eyes… you can’t. when it comes to jeong yunho, all bets are off, because he’s so fucking hot.

yunho stubs out the cigarette, pressing it into the ashtray beside him. you’re both sitting on the edge of a small staircase, tucked away from most of the guests, the noise of the party distant like background static.

then, without much thought, he shrugs off his coat and throws it over his shoulder. the movement is simple, but it draws your attention to his rolled sleeves, exposing his slim but defined forearms, his veins faintly visible under the skin. his cords of muscle hold subtle tension that make it really goddamn difficult not to look. it gives him this quiet intensity, composed on the surface but never fully restrained underneath. a wildfire raging beneath a perfectly composed surface.

you really try to look away, only to realize something else, that you didn’t bring a jacket. you’re wearing a short black dress, feminine shoulders bare, the evening air cooler than you expected. it hadn’t mattered before since you won’t stay outside the venue all night, and yet before you can even think about it properly, warmth settles around you. 

snapping out of your thoughts, your gaze shifts downward to see his coat now draped around your shoulders. when you look up, yunho is already adjusting his sleeves again, completely unfazed, like the gesture means nothing at all. 

“so,” he says casually, sitting down beside you on the staircase, spreading his legs slightly as he leans back on one hand, the other idly flipping his metal lighter open and closed, “graduating soon, right? any plans career-wise?”

it catches you off guard. you almost scoff, because wasn’t he the one who suggested this, the one who said you had a lot to say. the truth is, you don’t, at least not to him. now he’s the one guiding the conversation somewhere… normal. like so normal that you’re not sitting next to your ex, who is actively messing with your head.

“i’m planning to try abroad.”

“where?”

“i’m not going to tell you,” you glance at him, narrowing your eyes slightly. “don’t want you suddenly becoming my coworker.”

that earns a chuckle from him. “you really think i’d follow you that far?”

you don’t answer, because you’re not entirely sure he wouldn’t. he makes it very clear that he is not talking about your career. the silence settles again, but it doesn’t feel empty. it feels intentional, as if he’s waiting for the exact right moment to put the puzzle piece into place.

you shift slightly on the step, exhaling through your nose, trying to ignore how aware you are of him sitting so close beside you. the party noise is distant now, blurred into nothing. now it’s just the two of you, tucked away in a space that suddenly feels too small… then he speaks again.

“are you seeing someone right now?”

your eyes flick to him immediately, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a proper answer. “none of your business.”

no reaction at first, just the soft click of his lighter opening again. the small flame appears, disappears, and flickers back to life as he plays with it absentmindedly. it’s almost hypnotic, the rhythm of it: small flame, bigger flame, gone again. he’s buying time, or making you sit in discomfort a little longer than necessary. you stare at it longer than you should, trying to steady yourself. it’s stupid, but it gives your eyes somewhere else to go and your mind something else to focus on.

he exhales quietly, then the lighter closes with a soft snap, and he looks at you.

“jaemin, right?” he says like he’s commenting on the weather. “he seems like a nice guy, but doesn’t seem like your type.”

everything in you stops, freezes like you’ve just touched a block of ice. your entire body goes still for half a second too long andyour expression betrays you before you can even think to control it. it’s shock at first, then disbelief, because you never told him a name, or anything of the sort. never even showed signs of you being involved with someone else.

your mind starts racing immediately — how does he know that? how long has he known? what else does he know?

only a few people know you’ve been seeing jaemin, and yes, you do post stories with him just like you do with the other people you trust, people who wouldn’t… your fingers tighten unconsciously around the fabric of his coat still resting on your shoulders.

“how do you know that?” your voice comes out lower than you intended. yunho tilts his head slightly, observing a reaction he already predicted, since just confirmed something he was quietly testing. a faint smirk pulls at his lips, he shrugs, leaning back on one hand as his gaze stays fixed on you.

“you’re the campus's new hotshot couple,” lies, obvious lies. you know it, he knows it, but the confidence in his voice makes it sound real. rumors, gossip, students talking, maybe someone exaggerating something they saw, but nothing that should have him perfectly informed with a name.

you don’t even realize your grip has tightened until the fabric of his coat shifts slightly under your fingers.

“relax, i’m not interfering.” but his tone says otherwise, “you can date whoever you want.”

you can't because you are mine.

yunho doesn’t move away while talking; he closes the distance slowly instead, testing exactly how far you’ll let him go before you stop him. knee brushing yours, nudging you teasingly, he doesn’t break eye contact, and doesn’t give you space to believe or question anything. because the way he says it doesn’t sound like permission, it sounds like ownership he’s pretending not to enforce.

“you lost the right to care about who i see a long time ago.” 

oh? 

amused by how you’re trying so hard to stand your ground, trembling just beneath the surface. it’s beautiful like that, so unfiltered and honest. aren’t you the prettiest little angel when you’re angry? when you’re fighting him, resisting him, convincing yourself you’ve moved on. it’s almost impressive, and adorable. your will is always too big for your own good, too loud to stay buried, always insisting things should go your way, even when reality bends differently once he is in the picture.

he’s memorizing it all over again with the way your breath changes when he gets too close, the way you refuse to look away even when it would be easier. your eyes are the most dangerous part of you, he decides. they’re full of everything at once — malice, frustration, sadness you pretend isn’t there, excitement you refuse to acknowledge. a fire that burns brighter than the weak flicker of the lighter between his fingers earlier. a fire that could bring him to his knees if he let it.

but he won’t, he knows how to protect himself.

he knows you better than anyone else ever has. better than those two annoying best friends of yours, than jeongin, better than jaemin, even your parents. better than the version of yourself you try to present to the world. 

yunho doesn’t need to chase because he knows your anger will bring you to him. he doesn’t need to beg, either. not when pulling the right strings of your nervous system is far more satisfying, watching you unravel and logic slipping away piece by piece until all that’s left is emotion, exactly how he wants you. he doesn’t need you rational, he needs you emotional. to destabilize you until you’re reacting instead of analyzing, feeling instead of understanding, until you’re his again in everything but name.

your thoughts slow, your focus breaks, you start reacting instead of thinking… just like he planned.

it’s sudden when it happens, you grab his collar, and before he can even fully process it, you pull him in and kiss him. not what people would call romantic, it’s out of pure spite and the need to shut him up. it’s messy, all teeth and frustration and months of things left unsaid. it’s the words i hate you pressed into his mouth like a punishment. 

yunho doesn’t take control immediately. he lets you bite his lip and put all that frustration finally into something tangible, lets you pretend this is just about physically shutting him up. yunho lets you have your moment of control, an illusion of victory, because he can feel you’re not over him… should the fact that he isn’t over you either be good or bad news?

only then does he finally respond, when your breath catches in that familiar way, something in him snaps as he kisses you back. the taste is noticeably bitter, ashy, and slightly stale. a trace of smoke still clings to him, dry against your tongue with that faint chemical edge, following the chemical romance between you that has no clear answer or reaction to this day, only that it is intense.

his lips part slightly against yours, the movement slow, testing. he deepens the kiss, blurring the line between hesitation and intent, one hand sliding up to your neck, fingers resting there, guiding rather than forcing. he pulls you closer, and the way your breath stutters in the gorgeous column of your throat, the way your body reacts to his body without thinking, tells him everything he needs to know.

then, just as suddenly, he stops. not pulling away completely, neither of you really wants to break it, but he’s the one who finally pulls back first. you’re left staring at each other, chests inviting air in and out in hurried paces to catch your breaths.

“you look at me like you hate me…” and doesn’t seem like you want to stop, though. “but you always looked at me like that.”

there’s something in his expression, satisfaction, like your reaction alone is enough. your breathing is uneven, lips slightly parted, and you hate how aware you are of him again: how close he is and how familiar it feels. your lipstick is slightly smudged, some of it transferred onto him, and the sight alone makes something twist in your stomach.

because you want more, but you don’t want to want him.

this is wrong on so many levels, kissing your ex out of nowhere, yet your body remembers him far too well, as it responds far too much. it’s frustrating, confusing, and addicting in a way you wish it wasn’t. what are you even supposed to do now?

“this isn’t a good place…” he says after a moment, glancing briefly toward the direction of the party before looking back at you. “…unless you want an audience.”

and suddenly it feels like the decision is yours, except it isn’t. because the way he looks at you says he already knows what you’ll choose.

by the time you are fully recovered his hand is already around yours, fingers lacing, as his grip doesn’t loosen, not once, he already knows you won’t pull away. he starts walking and you’re just following along without questioning it.

away from the crowd, into the quieter parts of the hotel, the lobby is nearly empty, the noise fading behind you as he moves straight for the elevators. he presses the button, and as if perfectly timed, the doors slide open to an empty cabin.

you step inside, and the moment the doors close behind you, the space feels smaller and tighter. mirrors line the walls, reflecting everything from every angle. no matter where you look, it’s him first and only then, you.

yunho and mirrors are a dangerous combination, because he doesn’t just want to feel you, he wants to watch you feel him and memorise the way you submit to his touch each and every time he manages to catch you. standing behind you, his taller frame hovering close, his chest warm against your back even if he doesn’t fully press himself in. still, if you lean back even slightly, he knows he has you.

his lips brush your shoulder, not quite a kiss, more like a promise of one. he makes you aware of everything — your breathing, the expression on your pretty face, how close you really are to him. one hand slides low, brushing your thigh right where the hem of your dress ends, while the other rises to your face. his soft fingers tilt your chin upward. he doesn’t need to do much to make you go insane; his voice does most of the work, not his body.

“all that attitude, and look at you now,” murmuring right next to your ear. the hand resting on your thigh doesn’t move further, and somehow you react more to what almost happens than to what actually does. as if hypnotized, trying to hold onto some sense of control, but it’s slipping fast, because your eyes betray you again. “is that really how someone looks when they want me gone?”

he doesn’t think of himself as a freak about it. he just likes watching, prefers you vulnerable like this. his eyes never leave your reflection, taking in the way your lips part, your lashes flutter, the way you try to close your eyes against how overwhelming it feels.

“don’t close your eyes, doll.” his voice is low, slightly rougher, his fingers tightening just a little on your jaw. you forgot how much you loved being called that, and how much it didn't help your attempts at resistance. “i want you to see what i’m doing to you.”

the hand on your leg slips beneath your dress until it finds the soft fabric of your panties, and you’re already so wet. his fingers press against you through the material, enough to make your breath hitch while moving in a slow and controlled rhythm as you squirm in result. your back arches finally pressing into him, and he exhales softly against your ear, completely obsessed with the sight of you falling apart in front of him.

“y-yun–” his name halfway leaves your lips in a soft whine, breaking into something breathier when he moves just right. he loves the way you say his name like it belongs in your mouth, and believe it or not, it’s already tattooed on your skin with invisible ink.

“keep looking.” his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, guiding your attention back to the mirror. your thighs tremble, and your hands clutch at his forearm. the way your body reacts instantly, the way he has literal heart eyes when you make that sound again, his dick pulsating at the sight as he leans down slightly, lips grazing the shell of your ear. “see how pretty you look like this?”

you move without thinking, pressing back against him, your legs drawing closer together as if it might help, when his name slips from your lips again, your eyes glossy, barely staying open like he told you to, he smiles faintly against your skin. 

“good girl.” but being good doesn’t mean you get everything. if anything, it means the opposite, because he’s making you want it first. you feel it before you can think about it. he could push you further, make you admit things, but he knows you won’t, not yet.

a soft ding breaks through the moment. his gaze flicks up toward the numbers, 10th floor. 

the doors are about to open, the risk of someone being there and catching you… and just like that, he stops. he withdraws, leaving you aching, breath uneven, your body still caught in the aftermath of something unfinished. the doors slide open, and thankfully, no one’s there. the hallway is empty; most guests are still downstairs celebrating, others are already asleep. not that he would care much… or maybe he would. yunho has never liked sharing or the idea of anyone else seeing what he considers his.

he reaches toward you again, and for a second you think… but no. his hand slips into the coat you’re still wearing, pulling out the key card from the inner pocket.

“come on, angel… we don’t have all night.” all night. you don’t even know what time it is. your purse is still downstairs, abandoned at the table with your parents, your phone out of reach, “need help walking?” 

he asks, and that more than anything, pulls you back to reality. because when you glance at the mirror again, you finally see yourself properly. flushed and out of breath. your dress is slightly ridden up, your lips parted, your entire body still buzzing with heat that hasn’t gone anywhere. fuck. you’re left standing there, completely worked up, and he’s the only one who can do anything about it.

you know this is wrong, but your body isn’t listening. the empty hallway was your chance to leave, yet your feet never moved. you should have walked away, right then and there… so why didn’t you? zoning out and staring into the void of nothingness, thinking how no one can even compare and you hate that it’s still him who makes you lose your sanity. with yunho, it was never just attraction and maybe that’s the problem. you hate him. you hate this. you hate that you don’t hate it enough.

telling yourself you still have a choice, only that you don’t. because somehow, without realizing it, you’re already following him to his room. the door closes behind you with a quiet click that feels louder than it should, and suddenly you don’t move.

you don’t sit. you just stand there, near the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting with the ends of the sleeves, pulling the fabric over your hands as if it might calm you somehow. your breathing still hasn’t settled, your body is still carrying everything from moments ago.

he moves further into the room as if you being here is expected and inevitable. his hand reaches up to his collar, his eyes don’t leave you, though, not once. fingers hooking under the knot of his tie, loosening it slowly, sliding it from around his neck, the fabric slipping through his fingers before he lets it hang loosely in his hand. he stands there too, looking at your posture, and the way you haven’t dared to sit or do anything at all.

his lips twitch slightly when your fingers pause for half a second, then continue. you don’t dare to talk, you don’t trust your voice right now. he takes a step closer, then another, slowly closing the space between you until it feels suffocating again, and you’re aware of him in the same way you were in the elevator.

“take a seat,” he says softly, “you don’t have to stand there like that,” and you obey. 

you sit right at the edge of the bed, back straight, still clutching the sleeves, as yunho watches you for a moment longer. then, without breaking eye contact, he lowers himself not onto the bed, but down, kneeling in front of you.

it shouldn’t feel the way it does, as if he were praying to his goddess for a blessing of a lifetime. it should be unsettling, he chose this position for a reason; he wants to be right here, close enough to see every reaction you try to hide. his hands rest lightly against your legs at first, thumbs caressing the flesh as you tense, but don’t pull away. 

“do you know…” fingers sliding slightly higher, tracing and craving, then there’s a pause. “how hard it was not to think about you?” not crossing any line too fast, he continued, eyes fixed on your face, “to see you every week, and pretend we are just strangers?”

his razor sharp gaze softens for what you can barely count a millisecond, before it shifts back to its sinister depths, something that looks a little too close to obsession.

“should i? or are you going to pretend you don’t want this?”

beneath the dress, fingers slipping under the fabric as he hooks into your waistband and starts to pull it down. you are leaning in just slightly, giving him the access he’s already taken. that’s all the permission he needs. the delicate lace follows, sliding down until it pools at your feet, as you gently kick them fully aside with the help of your heels.

"last chance to leave, angel... say or do something if you want me to stop.”

holding himself back, and it’s taking more effort than he wants to admit. his gaze drags over you, taking in every detail like he’s been starved of it.

you look the same. no, you like you never left him at all.

his jaw tightens faintly because god, he missed you. no matter how much time passed or how many distractions he surrounded himself with, nothing and no one helped. they didn’t look right or feel right, they simply weren’t you.

you changed, of course you did. your hair, your style, the perfume, even the way you carry yourself now, like you’ve grown into something that bites back.

but he sees through it: you are just a little sheep wearing the wolf’s head.

and he is the wolf wearing a sheep’s clothing.

something restless stirring beneath his skin, the way it creeps in, settles deep, refuses to leave. he’s been stuck on a feeling, just can't stop, once ain't enough.

his thumb presses just a little firmer, grounding himself, because he might actually lose that thin thread of control he’s still pretending to have.

“i hate you.” you say but your legs part for him. his head tilts at that, tongue pressing into his cheek, amused, your defiance only entertains him more. don’t mind him then, as he eases you back, gaze heavy on you, his hands slide firmly to your thighs, guiding you then lifting your legs to settle over his shoulders. 

he looks at you like he’s about to show you what heaven feels like when its most precious and divine being finally falls from grace.

yunho loves teasing you with his words almost as much as he loves tasting you. his tongue dives in, relentless at first, exploring every twitching nerve that seems to remember him all to well, then deeper, faster and harder. he pushes in and out like he’s trying to swallow you whole, sliding in and out with perfect rhythm.

“babydoll, you’re so sweet,” he groans, licking and sucking, eyes rolling back when he finally tastes you. you're addicting. he laps up your juices, swirling his tongue on your clit. “did you save all this for me?”

his hands grip your thighs, holding you open, pressing you closer as he devours you like a meal he can’t get enough of. every moan, quiet or loud, drives him further to the sinful gates of temptation. he buries his face in you, lips and tongue hungry, mouth wet, making sure every inch of you is tasted.

“look at you, trembling for me…” he whispers, nibbling at your inner thigh between laps of your cunt. he’s relentless with the words, praising every tiny quiver, “that’s it, you’re such a good girl, letting me do this.”

god, your pussy’s perfect. can’t believe this is all his to play with after a whole year of craving you. the way he grins while teasing you, making you feel like you’re both the most desirable and most obedient thing in the world. 

“you like it when i talk to you like this, hm? gonna make you scream my name before i even touch you properly,” he teases, tongue pushing deeper, fingers brushing where you couldn't even reach. every compliment and filthy line makes your body shake more, your pussy grip tighter around nothing, dripping just from his mouth and words.

he mixes praise and filth, so you’re caught between feeling worshiped and utterly used. the combination makes you desperate and completely under his control. by the time he lifts his head, cheeks wet, lips shiny with your slick, because he knows exactly what he’s done to you — and he isn’t done yet.

“mmh… yunho–” your back arches, hips rising to meet him despite yourself. you’re dripping, trembling, completely lost to the sloppy sounds of his tongue. he groans, deep in his throat, enjoying the taste of you. he doesn’t rush when he devours and dominates your senses. “fuck, you are so… hahh–”

your legs are clamping around his head as your hands tug his hair, gosh it’s still so soft to the touch. your chest heaving, voice hoarse from moaning, and yunho finally lifts his head, grinning at the mess he made glistening on his lips. wiping his mouth slowly, chuckling, because he’s left you begging without even doing too much.

“mmhm,” diving back in as his fingers brushing against your clit while his tongue plunges deeper. he just keeps going — tongue flicking, fingers circling, whispering filthy praises with every movement. “that’s it, that’s my good girl… come on, let it all out for me.”

your walls clench and your pussy gushes over his tongue, spurting uncontrollably as your legs tremble and your back arches off the surface. yunho groans, licking up every drop, smiling like the maniac he is, “god, you’re insane… look at you squirting for me.”

he doesn’t stop, still moving, coaxing out every last drop, praising you with every breath he takes. his thoughts are full of you, and soon enough, you will be full of him. “mine, you are only mine… keep coming for me, angel.”

you’ve never felt so ruined and so completely at his mercy.

“i should leave you like this,” he adds, quieter, more to himself than to you. the idea actually tempts him, letting you feel exactly how easy it is for him to get you like this. “send you back downstairs all pretty, like nothing happened…” a soft exhale followed, “...but you wouldn’t make it far.”

pulling back, but his fingers keep toying with your clit, and you’re already so sensitive from that alone. he talks dirty in that manic and possessive way of his, murmuring about how he’ll keep you in the dress and the heels, since you can’t spend the night with him… no matter how much he wants you to.

he eases your legs off his shoulders, standing up with a slow stretch, but before he can even undress, he steps back in between your shaky legs, looking down at you with that same secretive, almost warm smile. maybe it’s love, maybe it’s lust, if not both. his index finger and thumb catch your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look at him, especially when you were trying so hard not to. how cute.

“drop the act, dollface,” he growled, his fingers slide down, big palm spreading around your throat, squeezing to cut off that long-awaited breath you wanted to take, watching you closely, eyes fixed on your lips as they start to quiver with every subtle tightening of his grip. “or do i need to remind you who you belong to?”

one moment he’s choking you, the next, he’s already stripped from the waist down, preparing you to take him.

lying on your back on the bed, with him hovering above you, one long finger slides inside you, immediately feeling how tight and slick you are as he starts to move. he watches closely, eyes fixed on the way your face twists with undeniable pleasure, all while his own cock pulses hot against your leg. a second finger slips in beside the first, and you feel the stretch right away. your walls clenching around him, creaming over his knuckles as small, broken sounds leave your throat, half cough, half whine, still trying to catch the breath he stole from you.

“there it is… i was waiting for that.” and by that, he means you being ready to take him. his thumb drags over the tip of his throbbing cock, stroking himself a few slow times, and your gaze drops — was he always this big? you’re not even sure how you’re supposed to take it… how you managed before. he’s thick, lining up at your soaked entrance, pushing your walls to their limit before he’s even halfway in, your cunt already molding around his size.

missionary is always a gamble with him, because you never know which version you’re going to get: the gentle one, the mean one, the jealous one… there are options, but you’re never the one choosing. this time, he is a meanie. a creature of extreme sadism.

all you can do beneath him is squirm and cry, clinging helplessly to every inch of him he gives you, heavy as he presses in, hitting places your own fingers could never reach. he grunts softly, hips pulling back again because you’re still not full of him, not yet. he has to carve the shape of himself into your insides, and claim you properly, like he always will.

maybe you’re already close, just from the way he moves. shallow at first, his pelvis dragging sinfully against you, making your writhing body jolt upwards on the bed. he switches between soft and controlled thrusts to slow and grinding circles, anything to ease you and help your body relax, make you greedy enough to take him deeper.

“is that all you do, cry?” yunho hisses under his breath, lips brushing wet against your ear as your nails dig into his shoulders. his cock presses right against your most sensitive spot, pulling a loud moan from you, and you think it’s too deep already, when he is not even that deep. “babydoll, be a good girl for me and take every inch, yeah? no, don’t cry now… you can handle it, because you’re mine… my pretty girl.”

your eyes sting, tears slipping free, smudging your makeup a bit. it’s been so long since you had any sexual intercourse, a whole year. you didn’t even do anything more than a few careless kisses and make out sessions with jaemin, nothing that even comes close to tonight’s carnal ravaging.

you need yunho. not just inside you, you need him under your skin, running through your dna. you hate his guts, you do, but god, he fucks you so well you can feel him in your guts.

the tears fall, catching the light like silver, as if tiny diamonds slip down your cheeks as he stretches you open again.

his fingers lace with yours, pinning your hands against the mattress as he hisses filthy praises into your ear. your sensitive cunt takes every devastating thrust, each one pulling out those wet and sloppy sounds, the kind that make you want to scream again and again until your vocal cords tear apart and you lose your voice for days as a reminder of what yunho is doing to do you. what he will always do to you. the way his cock drives fully into you sends that overwhelming urge through your quivering body, threatening to make you come undone, you’re not even sure if you want to. it’s a sensation so intense, such painfully good pressure building with nowhere to go.

you’re so cockdrunk it’s insane. you always thought you were in control, always told yourself he wasn’t a good person, but the dick was too good to let go. he fits too perfectly, like he was made just for you.

“scream for me, doll,” he groans, that husky tone rolling off his tongue and straight through you, pulling a helpless whimper from your lips. his brown eyes flick over your face, taking in every desperate expression like he’s committing it to memory, because watching you fall apart is his favorite part. his pre-cum leaves a messy ring at the base of his cock, trailing down the inside of your thighs, and maybe if he weren’t so consumed by you, he’d comment on just how desperate you look.

“yu-yunho–!” his name tears from your throat as it echoes through the room. his hips snap into yours without mercy, hard enough to leave bruises. your back lifts off the bed, arching into the overwhelming rush flooding your body. you praise and beg for him, pushing him further into ecstasy as he presses you back down every time you move too much.

“you think anyone else could handle you like this?” yunho coos, his pace picking up, thrusts growing faster and faster, until your thighs start to numb. “think anyone could love you the way i do?”

“yunho, please… ahh–” you hear yourself, like you’re outside your own body and have lost control of even your own voice. all you can feel is your nails digging into his back, your body tightening around him as you suddenly break, soaking him, your release spilling over his cock. and still his eyes stay on you, he adores your face more than anything else. it’s almost as if your reactions to the pleasure only he can give you appeal more to him than the sex itself.

“you say you hate me, but i bet you were just mad at me, yeah?”

but you’re too stubborn to admit that, refusing to give him even that much satisfaction. you close your eyes, trying to reclaim some dominance over him, but he only chuckles, bringing his hips to a stop at the fading edge of his own release.

that’s what makes your eyes snap open, staring up at him. “why’d you–?”

“i asked you a question, angel,” he sneers. one hand drifts down to your clit, rubbing slow, agonizing circles that pull a helpless whine from your throat, your head tosses back.

“p-please, yu– i can’t, i–” but your legs stay wrapped tight around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, your heels pressing cold against the heat of his body.

his other hand moves, this time settling around your throat. at first, it’s loose, enough pressure to make you notice. then it tightens as he watches everything: from the way your lips part, to how your chest struggles to rise. completely focused on how dependent you become on him for air. forcing eye contact, watching you go from stubborn to needy, leaning in close to whisper instead of raising his voice. 

“tell me if it’s too much… go on.” with every small twitch or squirm, it only makes his grip tighten more, restricting your breathing while muttering praise after praise. what a fucking sadistic psychopath. “so pretty like this…can barely breathe and still taking me so well.”

pushing your limits on purpose, to remind you exactly who’s in control. he feels the way you start to struggle, your body begins to give, and only then does his grip loosen.

air rushes back into your lungs all at once, burning on the way in. your chest stutters, breaths coming out broken and uneven instead of steady. your vision blurs, tears slipping freely now, and you don’t even realize you’re shaking until he notices it first. his hand doesn’t leave your throat. it stays there, fingers still curved around it, no longer squeezing, just resting.

“there you go, babydoll,” his voice drops, softer now, but no less heavy. “breathe.”

but he’s watching you too closely for it to feel like kindness. his thumb drags slowly over the spot he pressed into, feeling the rapid flutter of your pulse beneath his touch. your lips part, pulling in air that still doesn’t feel like enough, as another broken sound slips out of you.

it does something to him. you like this, glassy-eyed and trembling, wants him to hold onto this exact version of you for as long as he can. then, without warning, he leans in. his lips press against yours. it’s not an apology, far from it. a kiss that lingers just long enough to steal the breath you just fought to get back, a quiet reminder of how easily he can take it and when he pulls away, there’s the faintest hint of a smile, because he’d do it again.

“shh, don’t cry… you know i take care of what’s mine.” still too dizzy to think about anything but breathing and kissing, your legs are thrown over his broad shoulders, his hands pushing them closer to your head to get the angle just right. he watches himself slide between your folds, then looks down at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

you glance down to where your bodies meet, even if every instinct tells you to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go. every movement hits heavier, deeper; your body can’t tell the difference between pleasure and pressure anymore. he drags himself all the way out at a torturously slow pace, only to push back in just as cruelly.

"s-shit… don’t move,” he groans, thrusting into you, when he finally decides to snap his hips, his pelvis pressed against yours. his fingers find your sensitive clit again, rubbing it fast to get you to cum again, throwing his head back as he thrusts one last time, before shooting his load into your aching cunt. spurts of warm cum fill your insides while you wither beneath him, all hot and sweaty, not even processing the mess both of you made under the clean bedsheets.

his cock was pulsing so hard you could feel it bulging through your tummy, filling you to the brim as you milk him dry. his palm presses flat against your lower stomach, and he actually smirks when he feels and sees the faint movement beneath, occasionally shifting his hand lower or higher just to make you lose focus mid-thought.

“you fell that, doll?”

do you feel how deep my love runs for you?

yunho looks at you like he’s completely gone, someone who operates on obsession, trying to imprint himself into every part of you, leave something behind that no one else could ever do. he’s smug about it too, of course he is. he just won in life, like out of everything in the world, he got you. fuck, wishing he had his camera right now, just to capture this exact moment. you look unreal beneath him, divine even dressed in black, an angel dragged down just for him.

his voice softens, murmuring sweet nothings under his breath as he leans in, pressing slow kisses to your cheeks, your temple, the bridge of your nose. gentler now, calming you down after everything he just put you through. a quick peck lands on your lips, lingering just a little longer than it needs to.

finally, yunho pulls out, watching closely as a small trace of him drips from you. his fingers follow immediately, sinking to keep it all in. then he pulls you up, arms wrapping around you, holding you tight against his chest, lips pressing into your hair, breathing you in like he doesn’t get enough of you, even now.

the aftercare is minimal, because it has to be. he lets you rest for a few minutes, helps you steady yourself, maybe guides you to the bathroom, helps you fix your clothes and makeup, and put your panties back on, while he dresses himself again as if nothing happened. and only now, that you’re about to leave, does he decide to act sweet. 

“you good, need anything else?”

“i’ll manage, thank you very much, asshole.”

you smile through your teeth, already turning, only to wobble slightly in your heels. gee, wonder why, like you just didn't have some mindblowing sex. making your way out, you’re glowing, there’s no other word for it. a little wrecked, sure, a little unsteady, but shining brighter than the stars in the sky. 

he doesn’t close the door right away, waits until you step into the elevator, as the doors slide shut and you’re out of sight. only then does he finally close it, the click echoing a little too loud in the empty room. he leans back for a second, alone with himself, because yeah, he’s an asshole, he knows that.

but you’ll always come back to him, and he’ll always come back to you.

having big gaps between classes was something you enjoyed, but sometimes hated. just like you hate everything about him. from the smug smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth to how his fingers are inside your mouth, making you gag and be disgusted by the way he does such things like he owns you — he doesn’t.

he’s your ex, the one you’ve tried so hard to forget: the sound of his voice, the way he felt under your skin. now his lips are back on your neck, sucking, kissing, leaving marks you’ll have to cover the second you walk out of his office once he’s done fucking you on his desk. you feel his thumb press against your throat, taking his time, teasing you in ways you swore you would never let him do that again, claiming you like he never left.

trying to tell him, no but your body keeps telling him yes.

you should be disappointed in yourself, letting him pull you off track like this, letting him take control when you know better. yet, with every touch and mark sends heat racing through you, clouding your mind until you can barely remember why you hate him so much. is it because he wasn’t who you thought he was… or because you still feel something for him? hating him is easier than admitting you never stopped wanting him. 

you don’t want to care; you want to despise him for what he did and for who he is. but that’s slipping away when your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, eyes roll back when he slides inside of you, filling you completely, making you forget everything else. you want to resist, hold onto the anger, but you can’t. not when he’s deep inside, hitting all the spots that make you arch and gasp, his name falls from your lips even when you swore you’d never let it happen again. 

“y-yunho... faster!” you choke out, hands clawing at his back, desperate and needy, but of course, he doesn’t give in that easily. yunho only slows down, teasing you, lips curling into that infuriating grin against your skin. 

“angel, i told you to be quiet, didn’t i?” he murmurs, voice low and slightly mocking, “so impatient, as always. good things come when you obey… and wait.” 

you are tired of waiting and being toyed with, and if he’s going to take his sweet time, then you’ll make sure he regrets it. your nails dig into his shoulders, even through his shirt, hard enough to strain the fabric and leave marks far more lasting than the lipstick stain on that secret polaroid sitting on his nightstand. 

"stop being such a dick and fuck me already!" you hate him, you repeat it to yourself over and over, until his breath is hot against your neck and his hands are gripping your hips as if he’ll never let go.

and just like that, he snaps, relentless now, giving you exactly what you begged for.

his pace quickens, the plastic creaks underneath, each thrust pushing you closer to that edge, all you can think about is him, all you can feel is him. the hate melts away, replaced by a pleasure so overwhelming it almost hurts. you are so full, burning hot by how he uses your body as a canvas to paint you all white with no drops going to waste. purity and innocence, those words don’t exist for you anymore, as they are replaced with sin and punishment.

“that’s it, pretty. feels good, yeah?” he knows exactly how the two of you collide, like you’re at war with each other. it’s rough, as it drags your pride and self-respect straight through the dirt. the relationship is so damn dysfunctional, but yunho knows you better than anyone else. you don’t even realize how much he thrives on this, how easily you let him take control. he loves you like this: soft and bratty, vulnerable and entirely his. 

you hope, no, you pray, that the good thing he promised finally comes, because you can’t take much more of this. when it hits, it crashes through you at the same time as him, your cries muffled against his shoulder, your chest rising and falling as all that tension finally spills out. he will take care of you, he will always look out for you because you are his most adored and precious doll, his favorite thing to hold and ruin.

a few minutes later, after he’s helped clean you up with a towel from one of the cabinets he keeps just for these getaways. you zip your pants back up, still feeling the lingering warmth between your thighs. you just hope your panties are enough to keep things from showing through. shit… you should’ve worn the black jeans.

“i only came here to give you mine and jeongin’s project, not to get creampied.”

“baby, you know you don’t have to do anything,” he says, spinning lazily in his chair. one hand clicks the mouse as he scrolls through whatever just came into his email. “you’re my favorite student, you pass without lifting a finger. your friend, on the other hand… needs to learn how to use photoshop.”

“yeah, but…”

“but what?” he glances up at you from the computer, that same knowing look settling back in. “you missed me?”

ah, your eyes betray you again. you missed him, no matter how much your ego tries to argue otherwise. after what happened at the hotel two months ago… yeah, that was all it took for both of you to realize you can’t stay away from each other. and maybe you’ll regret it one day, but not now. you’ve already decided to keep it hidden from karina and yeji. as for jaemin… yeah, he’s nice. he’s always been, but that’s all he is now, nice. you made sure you stayed friends, nothing more, and nothing less.

so you leave yunho’s office, of course not before kissing him goodbye, not that it matters much when he’ll be at your place later anyway. “don’t forget we’re watching spiderman~” like you could forget, you know the entire plot by heart at this point.

you’re wearing a sweater that’s way too big for you, one you casually told your friends you found at a thrift store. sure, if that store was called yunho’s apartment. thankfully, no one suspects a thing, not even your two best friends, because if they did… it would be over, and you’re not ready to lose them, but the heart wants what it wants.

later, you meet jeongin at the campus café, sitting across from him like you didn’t just leave your professor’s office in a completely different state than you entered it.

“innie, thank you for ordering for me too.” you smile, taking a sip of your drink, looking… brighter than usual, too happy for someone with a four-hour gap between classes. 

“yeah, no problem,” he says, watching you for a second longer than usual. “also, are you… okay? i don’t know, you just seem different lately after things ended with jaemin.”

you blink, caught off guard. “huh, am i?” a small shrug follows. “i don’t know… i guess i just decided to focus on myself for a while, not on men.”

“well… whatever it is, it suits you,” he mutters, still a little unsure. “oh– by the way, what did professor jeong say about the project?”

“he said we’ve got max points secured,” you shrug lightly. “and that you’ve improved your photoshop skills.”

“really?” jeongin perks up, grinning. “well, don’t mind me if i skip next week then.”

the first part is true, the second isn’t. you can lie to everyone else, but not to yunho. it’s harmless. not everyone needs to know everything about you, not even the people closest to you. so here you are back with your toxic ex, because being stuck on a feeling means being stuck on him. if anyone found out, they’d probably kill him first… and then you.

he knows exactly what you risk every time you come back to him. this was never a temporary game, something that could end just because you decided it should. to him, it’s an inevitable cycle. he doesn’t see himself as someone you return to; in his mind, you never truly left in the first place.

he would give you everything without hesitation. tear the world apart for you, piece by piece, if that’s what it takes to keep you where he wants. but he would ruin you just as easily, because to him, being broken by his hands is still better than letting anyone else touch what he was already his.

yunho is a monster creeping in your heart. a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the kind of character no one expects to be the villain. he isn’t some bad habit; he is an addiction with no cure, letting him consume you, until there’s barely a line left between where you end and he begins. you chose to stay, considering no one plays the role better than you do. this version of yourself that looks put together, untouchable, and guarded… while slowly giving everything away to the one person who knows exactly how to take it.

you didn’t fall for a good man — you fell for the one who learned how to look like one. you keep calling it love, even when it’s nowhere close, because you can’t tell the difference anymore. and if this is what love is supposed to feel like… you don’t want to be saved from it.

© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.

thank you phoebe ( @tinyfixon ) for doing a beta read and being an amazing editor! i love you so much and i hope mingi is going to propose to you soon <3

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[hwaelysian]

GUYS IT HAPPENED GUYSSSSSSSS

[hwaelysian]

sannie, not mr choi (pt. 2)

previous chapter

⚜ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: choi san x f!reader ⚜ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: san doesn't understand why you deny yourself love and happiness. still. ⚜ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 31.3k ⚜ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: idol!san, personalassistant!reader, angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, enemies to lovers, heartbreak, nsfw content ⚜ 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞. ⚜ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: there is a character in this work that in my head looks like yuk junseo, but you are free to image whatever you wish! :) the timeline is a bit mushy, the "in your fantasy" comeback is yet to happen in this piece, there is a big gap between "lemon drop" and "in your fantasy".

𓆩⟡𓆪

regret.

it starts as a pressure in your stomach early in the day. then, as you bring yourself to look at the man who lays on top of you, you feel the pressure raise up into your chest, leaving a painful trail behind, until it settles into your throat. you find it hard to gulp, or to breathe. the sun is still low in the sky, it is barely morning. san sleeps soundly on top of you, arms hooked underneath you and hugging your body close to him as he uses your belly as a pillow. the rest of his body rests between your legs, his feet hovering over the ground as they do not fit on the couch.

an uneasy feeling sets in once again when your eyes fall on your phone that lays near your head. it is one of your phobias, falling asleep near any electronics. seems like you were really exhausted after last night's activities. you should be happy. you aren't. the longer you stay awake, and the more your vision clears up, as well as your brain, you start feeling disgusted with yourself. did you use choi san? did you do precisely what melanie was trying to do? were you a fucking hypocrite? it is only five o'clock, yet your phone is littered with messages and missed calls that none of you heard. one from seonghwa asking about where san is, and one from yeosang eager to try a new hair color. on top of the screen, one from manager sihun.

manager sihun: stop by my office before your clock in, please.

"mmh..." vibrations travel through your stomach, and san rubs his cheek against your exposed skin.

"san?" you call as your hand settles on top of his head, debating whether to push him away or to let him stay. he hums again, and hugs your body closer to him. you can barely breathe. "san."

"no..." he mumbles. "sleepy."

you don't have it in you to push him away. not yet, at least. so you settle for patting his head, and you hear him exhale with content. "we have to go to work soon."

"mhm."

seeing that he has no intention of moving, you bring the phone back into your face. your body still seems to be sleeping, because the phone slips from your hand and lands on your face. the soft yelp that leaves your lips makes san's head jerk up, sleepy eyelids peeling open and worried orbs gazing upon you.

"are you oka— did you just drop the phone on your face?"

"shut up." you're annoyed with yourself first, and when you hear him chuckle, he falls into the category as well. "you're in no position to laugh."

he doesn't reply, instead unhooks his arms only to climb up and rest his head on your shoulder. a frown appears on his pretty face upon seeing his group members' names on your phone. "why are they texting you?"

"san." you warn, not wanting to deal with his jealousy this early.

"i'm just wondering... they could've texted me."

"who says they didn't?" you simply reply, then enter the messages so you can reply to them.

he only makes a sound that lets you know he is displeased, and continues peeking at your screen. when you enter the conversation with seonghwa, the man pinches your side, causing you to yelp and drop the phone on your face once again. "oops."

"san!" you are now irritated. "what is the matter with you?"

"you casually talk to seonghwa in your free time?" he can't help the pout on his lips when he sees previous messages.

"you pinched me because you don't like that i have to communicate with your group member because you sometimes vanish without a trace or start acting like a childish fool?"

"ouch." he knows you don't mean it. do you? "i just... i don't know. you're mine, i don't like sharing you with—"

"i'm going to stop you right there, san." it is too early. god, it is way too early. "i am not yours. i am nobody's. there is nothing to share. do you hear yourself right now? i am still yeosang's assistant, but i can also help anyone else at any time. the members can reach out to me whenever they feel like it, whether you or me like it or not."

it shuts him up. he is currently very confused by your behaviour. he knows he can be difficult. but you're acting... distant. as if last night didn't happen. as if you let him sleep over to shut him up and want him out as soon as possible. "are we... okay?"

his voice trembles as he asks, and you peel your gaze away from the screen, only to find him sitting up and with glossy eyes. how are you supposed to answer, when you don't even know?

"we'll talk when we're both wide awake. i am not a morning person."

in san's book, that answer means no. you're not okay. something shifted during the night, and san doesn't know what. he is determined to find out, but not now. all he can do is further irritate you, and he doesn't know if he can handle more cold looks which you keep gracing him with since he opened his eyes. "okay."

"did you drive here or—"

"i'll walk."

"i can drive you," you offer, but san is already up and picking his clothes from the floor. he doesn't give you an opportunity to gawk, he is fully clothed again, with the hood over his head and covering his face. "san."

"no, it's fine. i'll use the fresh air."

"sannie—"

"no." he surprises you with the tone, as well as himself. it is enough to make you go silent. he can't help but feel as if he worsened the situation, so he opts for leaving without saying anything else, accidentally slamming the door shut on the way out. the glasses stay on the couch, messy from last night.

𓆩⟡𓆪

in sihun's office, through the windows that replace hallway walls in the kq building, you see a familiar red head. like on cue, she turns around, flashing you a grin that cannot mean anything good.

"good morning," you do your part as you enter, politely greeting the two.

"have a seat." sihun doesn't return the greeting. asshole. "melanie, please pull the blinds on the windows."

"i was just there, i could've—" you begin, yet your sentence gets interrupted by the doors opening and closing just as you sit down. a pair of brown eyes find yours, and the confused expression is replaced by a worried one. "sa— mr choi."

"sihun?" he questions.

he still wears the hoodie you took off him last night. his cheeks are a pretty pink shade as well. before you allow your mind to remember last night's events and betray you right here and now, you look at manager sihun. he is already looking at you, disapprovingly.

then, he simply announces: "the two of you are fucking."

"what?!" you both question at the same time.

melanie's face drops as she stands near the blinds. that isn't why she thought she was here. as seconds of silence pass by, her face reddens. the grip on the fabric intensifies, threatening to rip the material to shreds.

"i can assure you—" you begin. and get interrupted.

"i am not blind. you two fucked, had a fight, and you asked me to switch pairs. now, i don't know if you are back at it, and i don't care. what i care about is that it stops, right now. y/n, melanie, you are both fired. i don't want you near the kq artists, staff, or the building. you have one hour to collect your belongings and disappear."

your eyes search for san, as if he can do anything about it. he simply furrows his brows. he thinks. but not fast enough.

"melanie, i saw the pictures, and videos. san has decided not to take any legal action, and while i disagree, he has threatened to do something stupid if i get involved. the least i can do is fire you." the man rummages through the drawers of the desk, and soon enough, a small stack of papers awaits the two of you, each one with a pen on top. "and y/n..."

"sihun..." san's voice is small, unsure. he doesn't even know what to say or do. he stands aside, hands itching to hold you.

"i am so disappointed." it stabs you in the chest. "i knew you were a fan. i hired you because i thought i can't judge you based on that. turns out, i was wrong. your plan was to get involved with one of them all along. and i blame myself for even thinking that something good could come out of you."

hands shake as they struggle to sign the papers, words blurring before your eyes. the cursive letters are wobbly and sliding off the straight line where they are supposed to sit. melanie's voice is distant. you feel her moving her arms around next to you, trying to get herself out of the situation. there is no getting out. there is nothing left for you here.

so you stand up. legs all jelly, vision limited, and chest aching. you pass by san, pushing him with your shoulder by accident. his scent follows you down the hallways, to your locker, all the way to the doors of the building. you pass by the members, and if they greet you, you don't hear it. you don't have the strength to look at the building just one more time. you don't have it in you. yet your body still turns, elbow suffering someone's deathly grip. everything is silent, unmoving, distant. except him.

san didn't think further than just to grab you. he doesn't know what to say. whatever words he can make up, he knows they aren't enough to make you stay. because you were right. you were right all along, and san still went ahead and ruined what you built for yourself.

"i'm sorry." is all he can say.

whatever you wished to say couldn't have hurt more than what you did next: freeing yourself from his grip, placing a firm palm to his chest, pushing him away, and looking at him with something san could only describe as hatred and disappointment. then, you spoke. "i don't wish to see you ever again."

and san's barely healed heart shatters all over again, the loose strings holding it together snapping with each step you take towards the exit.

𓆩⟡𓆪

choi san has become one with his bed. it's raising park seonghwa's blood pressure, seeing the crumbs and empty cans all over the room. since when does san drink red bull? he doesn't move when the older man opens the blinds and window, allowing the fresh air to enter the room. seonghwa can't help the scoff when he sees san's body submerged under the blankets head to toe.

"san." he calls.

"i'm not hungry." a muffled voice comes beneath the blankets.

seonghwa approaches the bed, stepping on a can on the way and almost getting a heart attack. "i don't care. you are getting up and— is that a phone? give me that."

the light beneath the blanket disappears, and while san tries to hide the device under the pillow, seonghwa is quick to reveal him as the blanket falls on the bottom of the bed.

"are you texting her?"

"no."

"give me your phone." fuck, seonghwa forgets how strong san is. luckily, san's drowsiness and hunger helps him this time, and seonghwa manages to rip the phone out of his fingers and sits on his stomach, trapping both his arms between his thighs as well so he can't move. "fucking idiot."

"if someone walks in right now and sees you like this, we'll have some uncomfortable explaining to do and a lot of teasing to endure."

seonghwa doesn't pay any mind to what san is saying. his fingers hurriedly type in the password, and enter the messages. and surely enough, san has been spamming you with messages again. you don't respond. you are holding onto the promise you gave him after the first few days san had started messaging you after you left.

choi san: please, i can't take it

choi san: how do i live without you?

y/n: i don't exist for you anymore, mr choi. it's easy to live without something that doesn't exist in the first place.

choi san: you expect me to act as if you never happened? as if we never happened?

y/n: we didn't happen. a mistake happened.

choi san: how can you say that? how can you call it a mistake? how can you call me a mistake?

y/n: you are a mistake, choi san. and i will be friends with melanie before i consider you anything other than that. i promise you right here and now that i'll treat all of this as a very bad dream i barely woke up from. from the moment i met you to the moment i last saw you. as if you never happened. as if you're just an idol i had a weird dream about.

choi san: you can't do that. you know you can't.

choi san: y/n?

choi san: please.

choi san: my heart hurts.

this user has blocked you.

choi san: i can't do this on my own.!message failed to send!

seonghwa would be lying if he said that his heart didn't ache as well. you were harsh. but he also knew that it was your way of keeping yourself in control as well. at least that's what he would do were he in your place. hundreds of messages littered the cracked screen of the phone, each failed to send due to san being blocked by you. it's been two months since everything happened, and san has refrained from texting and calling after the first few weeks. now, for reasons unknown to seonghwa, he has started again. sending you links of songs, lyrics, even writing his own. were it a different situation, this would've been romantic.

"why are you texting her again after a month of not doing it?"

"because i'm miserable."

the man on top can't help but roll his eyes. your profile picture is missing from san's phone, but not from seonghwa's. it means that you still have him unblocked. san can't know. it surprises him that san hasn't thought of stealing his member's phones in hopes of reaching you.

"can i have my phone back, please?"

"not yet." seonghwa then enters the calls. dozens of them. then, social media. every account you have has him blocked, from instagram to tiktok. "i still don't understand who told sihun. you guys had just kissed that night, how did he...?"

"leave it." the younger male starts squirming, hoping to get out of the death grip of seonghwa's thighs. "look, if you give me my phone back, i'll clean the room. i promise."

san is hiding something. seonghwa simply needs to find out what. "just saying, he found out so quickly."

"yeah, well." the dismissive tone, eyes that struggle to hold eye—contact, and teeth that tug on the bottom lip are more than enough indicators for seonghwa to know that something else is going on.

"do you care about me?" the man suddenly asks.

san's brows furrow with confusion. "what?"

"after all we've been through, all these years. do you care about me?" he presses further.

"i do." the younger man says, though tone unsure. not because he doesn't care about his older brother, but because he doesn't know where this is headed. "...why?"

"then you'll tell me what happened." when san tries avoiding his gaze once again, seonghwa wastes no time in grabbing his face and pressing his fingers into san's plush cheeks, causing his lips to funnily stick out in a pout. like they do every day on their own. "san. i am sick and tired. speak, now."

a second passes. then two, and three. it turns into half a minute of seonghwa's piercing gaze for san to finally succumb. tears swell in his eyes, and he gulps. "i told him."

"you what?"

"i—"

"why the hell would you do that to her? to yourself?" seonghwa fails to find a valid reason behind san's actions. he feels his blood pressure rising once again, and soon enough, he might faint.

"i thought—" he gulps again, trying to swallow the lump of guilt in his throat. "i thought i was doing good. that sihun would understand, and it would be easier. and even if she got fired, that it wouldn't be a big deal because we wouldn't have to hide around staff and she would have time to— don't give me that look!"

"what look?!"

"like i am a fucking fool! i know it, i don't need to hear it!"

"i cannot believe you would sabotage everything like that." the older man runs his fingers through his hair, then stands up, throwing the phone on the bed. "you think, but you only think about yourself!"

san's heart drops. "how can you say that?"

"all you've done is get her into trouble. from the moment she became your assistant until the moment she left the building. and you are still risking a restraining order on both ends! you've done enough, the least you can do right now is let her go for good."

"but—"

"no fixing what you've done."

"but—"

"no going back."

"hwa—"

"and no more calls and texts."

"i love her."

seonghwa facepalms himself. audibly. "how can you love somebody you only kissed and fucked once?! do you know her? what's her favourite colour? where does she spend her free time? what does she like to eat or drink? does she have anyone? how did you allow yourself for a silly little crush to become something so huge? to ruin not one, but almost two jobs? i like y/n, and i miss her, i really do, she has done so much for us. but so much has happened in such a short time, and i don't think that's healthy. maybe this is for the best."

san stops listening, even though seonghwa is still talking. he makes his way out of the room, down the hallways, and into the living room, in hopes of escaping the obnoxious voice and the person it belongs to that follows him for days now.

"choi san, get back here."

"what's going on? oh, san." yeosang is surprised to see his younger brother in the living room. "how are you?"

"don't talk to me." san still can't bear to see him.

"yeosang didn't do anything, stop acting like—"

"get off my fucking back, all of you!" it is a rare occasion that san raises his voice. it shuts the two up for a few moments, until hongjoong enters the chaos himself. he corners san, until the man is squished in the corner of the living room and hongjoong's back shields him from seonghwa and yeosang. usually, san would sulk under his gaze. now? he feels overstimulated. irritated. angry.

angry because seonghwa is right. not because san doesn't know anything about you, but because he sabotaged something that could've been the best thing that has ever happened to him. then, in his mind, he realizes seonghwa is right once again. he only thinks about himself. would it be the best thing that ever happened to you, as well?

"you pushed her away, yet you stand here, with that audacity. scowling at yeosang, yelling at seonghwa, ignoring the rest of us, acting like a dickhead on all shows and interviews, making fans wonder what the fuck has gotten into you. she rejected you so many times, yet you kept pushing, and pushing, until she gave in, and regretted it immediately after. you wanted to guilt trip her into staying with you. you wanted her to get fired so that you could have her all to yourself. you are a bad person, san. no doesn't mean keep trying. no means no. and now you stand here, acting a victim, still torturing her, day after day, while your career is decaying because you refuse to get your spoiled ass up and come into the recording booth for half an hour and do your part. not only did you cost us a hard working assistant and a manager who was easy going, you are going to cost us this comeback. get your shit together, or so help me, i'll do it for you."

if san's eyes become any wider, his eyeballs could pop out. hongjoong's neck vein is prominent, and his hand has somewhere in the middle of the monologue found its place on san's t—shirt, scrunching up the material.

as if he wasn't scary enough, the older male leans in, face close to san, and eyes staring into his soul while he grits his teeth. "and i really," his tone drops a few octaves, "really," and turns into a whisper, "don't want to do that."

𓆩⟡𓆪

"everyone, meet leah and chris. they are our newest addition, and will replace the previous assistants. lets wish them luck on their first day." manager sihun introduces the pair.

leah ends up being san's assistant. he isn't thrilled. not because she doesn't do a good job, but because she is the spitting image of you. and because of that, he finds comfort in her rather quickly, treating her as your actual replacement. it doesn't completely fill the void in his heart, but it helps.

"do you have a sister?" he questions one day as she hands him the coffee he requested. he sits in the makeup room, along with seonghwa, waiting for their turn to film the parts of the music video. the older man glares at him from the side, also aware of the uncanny resemblance. sihun did this on purpose, surely. "or a cousin...?"

leah laughs. "everybody has a cousin, sannie."

"but a sister?" he presses further. i mean, he would know if you had a sister. would he? was seonghwa right once again about san not actually knowing you?

"uh, leah?" seonghwa interrupts before she can answer, and san really wishes to smack him. "that's mr choi to you."

the young woman is taken aback, and her cheeks turn bright red. "i— but—"

"that's fine. i told her it's okay." the younger man defends her.

out of words, the older male decides he has heard enough. he leaves the two alone in the makeup room, shutting the door louder than he wished on the way out.

"well...?" san is stubborn.

"i don't have a sister." her voice is no longer cheerful. damn seonghwa. "do you need anything else?"

"i need you to stop taking what he said to your heart. we had a bad experience with the previous assistant, and he just didn't want the same thing to happen again. he is setting boundaries, at least trying to. it'll pass."

it brings a smile back to her lips, and san smiles as well. it's odd how even her smile and laugh are just like yours. are the deities punishing him?

he hasn't texted you once since the day hongjoong stepped in. as much as his fingers itch to tap on your name every time he enters the texting app, he doesn't do it. it has become clear that it is impacting the career he worked so hard to build for himself. if it wasn't meant to be, it wasn't. this time he won't make the same mistake. but what kind of a cruel joke is it, bringing your long lost twin to be his personal assistant? san hates how his heart flutters every time she is near him. it feels as if he is betraying you. yet, he still can't help the butterflies that attack his stomach when she moves a stray hair out of his eyes, fixes his collar, or does his tie. was he truly that weak? was it a curse? falling for his assistants like this?

is he in for another heartbreak?

𓆩⟡𓆪

choi san: hey :)

leah green: hi sannie

leah green: can i help you somehow? it's quite late

choi san: did i wake you up? i couldn't sleep

leah green: no, but even if you did, don't worry! do you need someone to talk to so you can fall asleep? i'm lazy to text anyway.

choi san: you'd do that?

leah green: of course! that's why i'm here :)

choi san: you know me so well!

leah green: well, three months of working for you, it's time i do. :P

choi san spares no moment before his finger taps the call icon on the screen. he lays on his bed, sprawled out like a starfish, while his eyes are fixed on the ceiling that needs a painting job. mingi loves laying in his bed, throwing that stupid stress ball of his against the ceiling and catching it. the circular spots of dirt make san's eye twitch.

"hi san!" leah's voice is cheerful on the other side. san can't help the smile on his lips upon hearing her. he glances at the clock on the wall, which reads three in the morning.

"hi, leah." he greets. "why are you even awake at this hour?"

"oh, i'm watching a movie."

"what movie?" he tosses and turns, until he settles for laying on his stomach with legs hanging off the bed and a pillow under his chin for support. "is it a cheesy one? a chick flick?"

"uh..." she trails. "no..."

san squints his eyes, as if she can see him. "leah. are you watching cheesy romances with all the cliché's ticked off the list?"

"you know what? yeah. yeah i am." she gives in. but her tone doesn't convince san.

"really? what's the name?"

"nunya."

"oh, how clever." he rolls his eyes. "come on, i won't tease you."

"lies."

"then tell me and we'll see. if i tease you, you can call me the worst boss in the world." he offers.

leah stays silent for a bit. he can hear some of the dialogue in the background, but can't really make it out. until a sigh and a moan meet his ears, and they turn burning red. he can hear the young woman fidgeting with the remote, lowering the volume. "uh... yeah."

"leah green, are you watching p—o—r—n—o—g—r—a—p—h—y?" he spells it out quietly, but not before glancing at the doors to make sure nobody is listening. then, he can't help the chuckle that leaves his lips. "you dirty girl."

"what?! no!" she defends herself. "it's— it's a movie!"

"what movie, leah?"

"oh my god." he can almost hear her face palm herself. "it's fifty shades, god. there."

"kinky." he simply teases. "you into that stuff?"

"you called me to talk about kinks, san?"

"most certainly not. you started it, now i'm intrigued."

a gasp of disbelief is heard on the other side. "oh, you— you—!"

"i'm messing with you. in all seriousness, an erotic movie at three in the morning? ovulating?"

"i'm going to hang up now."

"okay, okay! no more kink or ovulation talk." a peace offering from san's side makes leah let out a sigh of relief. "so... what's up?"

"nothing much, really. today's work drained me. i put his movie on because i am the only one of my friends who hasn't watched it, and after all these years, i decided tonight is the right time. what about you? what's cluttering the mind of choi san? a girl? a boy? a protein shake you ran out of?"

"a girl." he speaks faster than he thinks. an excited "ooooh" comes from the phone, and he drops his head into the pillow.

"who's the lucky girl? or better yet, unlucky?"

"and just why is she unlucky?" san turns and tosses again, feet swinging like a school girl talking to her secret crush in the middle of the night.

leah chuckles, the sound dear to san's heart. "you're not that easy going, sannie. you're a pain in the ass most of the time, if i may speak freely."

"i've seen this film before." and i didn't like the ending, he thinks. "but oh well."

"who's the girl?"

"wouldn't you like to know?"

"i would! i live for drama. i would also like to know who got the attention of the choi san. who's this girl that has you staying up so late and calling up your personal assistant for a chit—chat?"

san's brain doesn't seem to cooperate today. or the past year or so. "you."

silence. gruelling silence, eating up the young man's nerves. he turns back on his stomach, gripping the pillow below him. he removes the phone from his ear to see if the call is still going, and surely enough, the seconds are still ticking, soon helping the twelve minute mark reach thirteen. he drops the phone on the pillow, and finds short comfort in biting his nails.

"san..." she finally says something. "you can't say jokes like that. it's dangerous for both of us."

she's giving him a chance. a way out. and he takes it. "relax. i was only joking. as if i would ever like you, eugh."

leah laughs awkwardly. san squeezes his eyes shut with regret. did he just ruin his relationship with yet another assistant? how is it that everyone seems to want him, but when he wants someone, they don't share the same feelings?

"uh... i think i'll go sleep now. we do have to be up early tomorrow for that shoot." he saves them both further uncomfortable conversations. "what time do we have to be there again?"

"you have to be there at seven in the morning. i have to be there earlier to help set everything up. i'll send you the address again, just in case."

"okay. thank you, leah."

"no problem. good night, sannie."

"good night."

𓆩⟡𓆪

mere four hours of sleep have san snoozing on the makeup chair. it doesn't help that the soft brush is soothing against his skin — the artist quite literally lulling him to sleep, along with her absent—minded humming. he enjoys it. the smell of makeup, the soft fan, the brushing, tapping, the quiet rustle behind him.

"you look like a content kitty." the makeup artist teases.

he only hums with a smile, eyes still shut. he dozes off once again, only to be woken up by familiar fingers in his hair. they massage his scalp, pressing the right points which have the idol melting in the chair. not so long ago san would complain about headaches when he got his hair brushed. leah, still new then, had offered to give him a scalp massage. and since then, she has spoiled him. every time he has to brush his hair, she has to be around to do her part.

"sannie..." she calls into his ear.

he opens one eye, still not ready to bid goodbye to the sleepy state. "hm?"

his heart almost betrays him when he sees how close she is standing. his head leans over the headrest, so he can look her in the eyes. her breath is a soft breeze against his cheeks. a familiar scent. he just has trouble connecting it with the memory. she smiles at him, erasing any thought he had left. "it's time to go."

"boo." he pouts.

leah only laughs, then playfully tugs a strand of his charcoal hair to help him wake up. he jumps out of the chair before he can snooze again, almost skipping over to leah who is busy with rummaging through the snack table.

"watcha have there?" he asks, head leaning on her shoulder. he is almost rewarded with an elbow to his stomach, were it not for his quick reflexes. "aggressive much?"

"you can't have any." she warns, eyes still fixed on the table in search for the desired treat.

san sulks again. "come on. i was good today. give me something!"

fingers finally feel the familiar box, and leah triumphantly opens it up and wastes no time in sticking the treat between her lips, then turning towards san as a way to tease him. as she turns her head, a whiff of sweetness hits san's nose. and his mouth goes dry. ears ring, and his head feels dizzy. the scent of berries and chocolate envelops him, teleporting his mind back to the night he first tasted you. your tongue a melting ruby chocolate against him, skin burning under his touch, and sweet exhales gracing his ears. lips yearn to bite onto the other end of the pepero stick that tauntingly peeks from leah's glossy pink lips. maybe, just maybe, if he bites into it, you will spawn at the other end of it.

leah holds out a new treat for him to take. san doesn't take it like she would expect. no, he bites into it, eating from her hand. as if the pepero sticks themselves hold control over san. leah finds it funny. one might call him odd, but she seems to be used to his behaviour. once he finally finishes chewing it, she can't help but pat his head. "good boy."

and san swears he hears his own sanity shattering. he shudders, and before leah can voice her concern out loud, san's legs do the thinking for him. they take him out of the makeup room, through the unknown hallways, as far away from the sickenly sweet scent of berries and chocolate as possible. yet it seems to follow him, because as soon as san enters an empty room that seems like a storage, he is swallowed by it again. he barely has a moment to himself. to collect his thoughts, or to shoo them away. memories of you resurface, buried alive in his mind and heart. he rests his forehead against the cold wall, in hopes of cooling himself down. the door opens next to him, revealing leah with a shallow breath.

"sannie! what the hell was that?"

"don't call me that." his voice is a low growl, it even surprises him.

leah steps back, closing the door with her heel. "what?"

"sannie. don't call me sannie."

"but—" she stutters, "but you told me to—"

"and now," he steps towards her, until her figure is backed away in the corner of the room, slamming his hands against the wall on either side of her head. she jolts, eyes wide and blinking tears away. "i'm telling you to stop."

"i'm sorry." her voice is small, eyes red, and lip quivering. "i won't do it again, i promise."

he stays like that for what seems like hours. biting the inside of his cheek, thinking, pressing his nails into his palms. "fuck!"

he slams his fist against the wall harder, causing leah to flinch again. she lets out a whimper, covering her head with her hands. san doesn't recognize himself. he doesn't recognize these actions. grabbing both her wrists with one hand and pinning them above her head against the wall. cupping her jaw with his other hand and raising her head to force her to look at him. pressing his body against her.

"you think you're her." he says, lips almost brushing hers as he speaks. "you'll never be her."

leah is at a loss for words. she can only gulp, and maintain the painfully intense eye—contact. "i... i don't..."

"you can try. but you'll never," his nose brushes against hers, and his hair tickles her forehead as he leans in, "ever," she shudders, eyes shutting at the odd sensation of pain and pleasure, "be my y/n."

the hatred in his eyes contradicts his actions. his plush lips crash into her glossy ones. messy, hungry, spiteful. the gloss melts on san's tongue as it roughly swipes against her bottom lip, signaling her to part them so he can explore further. hot tongues clash in an unspoken battle; not a passionate dance, but a bittersweet fight. a fight to prove the other wrong.

when she bites his lower lip, a whimper escapes him, betraying his resolve. san finally pulls away, breathing shallow, lips swollen and glossy, tongue tasting more bitter than sweet. he sees leah fighting back tears as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand that held her face just a few seconds ago. "you're just an impostor."

she chokes on a mix of gasp and gulp, and opens her mouth to respond. tears stream down her face. defeated, she resorts in leaning further into the corner of the room, as if it will shield her from whatever possessed choi san. he laughs, almost in her face.

"you don't taste like her." he swipes his tongue on his lower lip, collecting any remaining gloss and destroying evidence of what happened mere moments ago. "what the hell was i thinking?"

his other hand abandons her, leaving her feeling empty and aching. yearning. she slides down the wall, legs jelly on the floor.

"i want nothing to do with you. stay away from me. you're a curse."

he then walks away, the heel of his shoe clicking against the floor tauntingly. his hand grips the door handle, and as san is halfway over the threshold, her voice stops him. "san!"

he doesn't respond. he stands still, waiting for her to continue.

with a fragile voice, she still manages to touch his nerve. "you're evil."

it sounds all too familiar. feels like it, too. only this time, he is at the other end of it.

𓆩⟡𓆪

"oooh san—ah! looking hot!" jongho waves the arena magazine in san's face.

the older male sits on the couch, eyes lazily following the show he has been struggling to keep up with due to various thoughts roaming his brain. his head feel heavy on his shoulders. "you're blocking the television."

the younger one rolls his eyes, then plops on the couch beside san. he flips through the pages, and even though san says he doesn't care, jongho sees him glancing at the magazine curiously. "why do your lips look so juicy?"

"what?" he snatches the magazine out of jongho's hands. surely enough, on multiple pages, san's lips shine under the camera flashes and various lights in the studio. remains of leah's lip gloss. "god. why are you even looking at my lips, you weirdo?"

"it's impossible not to. they're blinding."

"you're exaggerating." he brings the magazine close to his face, tip of his nose almost buried in the freshly printed paper. "how did you even get this so quick?"

"guess what we have!" wooyoung sings from the hallway as he locks the door. the doors opening and shutting interrupt jongho, and upon seeing the people entering, san properly buries his head into the magazine. "the one, the only, choi san!"

"i thought i locked the door." san whines. the stack of magazine finds its place on the coffee table. the couch is soon cramped, with wooyoung, seonghwa and yeosang pushing each other so that they can fit, none of them fond of sitting on the floor. unlike hongjoong, who comes in last, eyes glued to his phone while he finds his spot on the carpet with his back leaning against the couch. san nudges him with his knee as a greeting, and hongjoong spares him a wink in return. "why is this such a big deal now?"

"dare i say that your shoot was better than mine?" wooyoung teasingly purses his lips, then presses them against san's cheek. the older male dramatically wipes it, letting out a groan. "rude."

"was your photographer the same as wooyoung's?" seonghwa asks, flipping through the pages himself, then stoping at a particular one. "oooh! looking very juicy, san—ah."

choi san almost pushes jongho aside as he stands up, grabbing the stack of magazines on the way and making his way to his room. hongjoong pays him no mind, pulling his legs to his chest so that san can pass freely.

once in the room, he plops on the bed, magazines scattered all over it. almost every page captures his swollen lips, faint gloss stubbornly glimmering and mocking him. even the last page, where he has his face covered by his hand, the stupid gloss is smeared on the back of his palm. how did nobody notice this? did they like it and just rolled with it?

various names are listed around his form, and san skims over them as he bites his nails. he notices that it is indeed the same photographer as wooyoung's; oh taehwan. but it doesn't really matter. not when his eyes find something way more interesting. something that makes his heart beat faster, his jaw drop, and his fingers grip the magazine so hard he might rip it in half.

chief photo editor: y/n l/n.

it's not a coincidence. it can't be. how many people in south korea share a name like yours? were you there? were you hiding from him? right under his nose, while he was kissing somebody else? phone in hand, fingers are quick to find your name in the archive of conversations. as usual, he doesn't think. actions, as well as consequences, are his strength.

choi san: you were there?

the message sends. your profile photo is visible again, and he hadn't even noticed. how long did you have him unblocked for?

y/n: i was.

he stands up. this is too much. he wasn't expecting a response. not soon, not at all. he gulps, and gives himself a short moment to think properly for the first time today. he paces around the room, nails between his teeth, while he types and deletes with one hand, until he decides just what to write.

choi san: you knew i was there?

y/n: yes.

choi san: did you see me?

y/n: no. i didn't want to.

the first bullet shoots through san's heart. he doesn't back down yet.

choi san: why?

y/n: you haven't changed a bit

were those words of fondness? san can't tell over the messages.

y/n: you whiny fuck.

oh.

choi san: you haven't changed either. you're still evil.

y/n: i don't corner girls and verbally abuse them, then kiss them afterwards. i don't keep pushing if someone tells me no. i don't sabotage other people's lives. and lastly, i don't play the victim card whenever something doesn't go my way

choi san: what are you talking about?

y/n: it seems to me that you have a fetish for personal assistants. turns out forced proximity wasn't exactly the answer. it was your fragile emotional state.

san sighs. he buries his face into his hand, squeezing his eyes shut. "fuck."

choi san: you know nothing.

y/n: i know enough.

choi san: who are you?

y/n: what?

choi san: you aren't the person you were before. you aren't the one i fell in love with.

y/n: thank fuck.

disappointment floods his body. yet it still isn't enough to dim the spark of hope that stays bravely lit since the day you left. he exits the conversation with you, only to enter one with wooyoung.

choi san: what's the number of that photographer?

jung wooyoung: +82 32—8891—6623

choi san: thanks

𓆩⟡𓆪

it is a few minutes past ten in the evening. the restaurant is becoming crowded. one by one, the chairs of the long table are being occupied, and soon enough, there is only a handful left unoccupied. though crowded, you notice that only the members of staff are in the dimly lit restaurant. the place seems rented for the evening.

"what's the occasion?" you lean in to ask the photographer who sits next to you.

he only smiles, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "do we need one?"

"no, i guess." you shrug. "just wondering. that's a lot of people for no occasion. what are we eating?"

"meat platters. and don't worry, i ordered a double portion of baked potatoes. just how you like them." taehwan fixes his glasses by pushing them up his nose bridge. you're been convincing him for months to buy a new pair. "relax, love. just enjoy."

the glass of hugo is refreshing down your throat. you feel bloated, and you know it is because you are nervous. you wish you knew why. this whole evening is giving you an uneasy feeling. as if you won't fall asleep easily tonight.

"good evening, everyone."

if you were to listen closely, you'd hear the atoms in the hugo glass rearranging from your death grip. everyone's gaze is fixed behind you, and while you refuse to look — in hopes that you have simply gone crazy and are imagining voices — the person inevitably enters your vision.

he sits on the empty chair on the opposite of you. he avoids you, at first. or he simply doesn't know it is you. he takes his time to make himself comfortable on the chair, rolling his sleeves up, letting his jacket hang from the back of the chair, and running his fingers through his hair. but he knows. because as soon as he greets everyone around him in the most polite way, his eyes land on you. and they silently talk to you. they curse, cry, confess.

"i didn't want to tell you anything because i didn't want you to freak out. he organized the dinner specifically for the staff. how generous is that?" your boyfriend beams next to you. he then looks at san, who still refuses to break eye—contact first. "she is a huge atiny. it's a shame she was so busy the day of the shoot."

"yeah," san chuckles, "such a shame."

"oh, well. now that you are here, she can fangirl all she wants. i'll leave you to it, i have to pee so bad." the curly haired man downs the glass of orange juice, then squeezes out of the chair and makes his way to the toilet.

"miss y/n." he greets first.

it takes a second or two for you to unclench your jaw and stop biting the inside of your cheek. "mr choi."

"beautiful dress." he compliments.

you don't need to look down to know why he is complimenting it. it is the very dress you wore back in paris. the one that is immortalised on san's polaroid. you wonder if he still keeps it.

"does it hold any memories?" he pushes the limits.

the prosecco and elderflower melt on your tongue, the mint leaving a fresh aftertaste as you finish the glass. "none."

he seems to expect that kind of answer. he only smiles. "right."

san leaves you to your empty glass, for a while. not to give you a break or stop toying with you, but to engage in conversations around him. the female members of staff almost latch themselves onto him, some of them going as far as standing from their chairs and circle him in hopes of getting his attention. alcohol is slowly sipped, lipsticks carefully reapplied, hands accidentally brushing his arms and shoulders, and tones suddenly a tad more seductive.

"wow, mr choi! i knew you were muscular, but videos and pictures don't do you justice!"

only after that comment do you take a proper look at him. a tight turtleneck hugs his body, strategically picked so that it shows every curve and bump you know he works hard for. rolled up sleeves, causing slight pressure just below his elbow and making his arm veins prominent. his hair is a soft brown now, slicked back with a few strands framing his sharp features. he smiles at the women, some of them older than him. yet the smile isn't genuine, you know it. his dimples are missing.

"you must work out every day." subtle touches turn into rubbing his biceps and shoulders, as if asking for three wishes any second now.

you don't care. not when someone's manicured nails graze his exposed arm. not when he gets goosebumps from it. not when someone leans in to whisper something in his ear. not when he chuckles, and a dimple inevitably appears. not when he locks eyes with you as he whispers back into that person's ear.

you don't care. you don't care. you don't care.

you. don't. care.

"right, y/n?"

you finally let go of the abused glass, shifting your attention to the woman talking to you. "hm?"

"san doesn't think his muscles are that big. you've done lots of editing and staring at his photos. care to weigh in?"

weigh in to feeding his ego? no. you chuckle, instead, causing san's brows to slightly furrow. "i've seen better. within your group, even."

gasps of disbelief meet your ears as you nonchalantly fill the glass with water, leftover mint leaves giving it a hint of flavour as you drink and wait for san to respond. he doesn't, instead opting to stare at you with a puzzled look on his face. so you continue.

"have you seen kang yeosang?"

you've struck a nerve. you swear you see his eye twitch. his lips are pressed in a firm line, and his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. "he's not bigger than me."

"i didn't say he was." it is your turn to play the non bothered one. "i said i've seen better, not bigger. big muscles aren't exactly my type."

"oh?" he seems genuinely surprised. he wants to ask what your type is. he can't. that type of behaviour would seem too suspicious in a room of hyper aware people. "well. i could introduce you one day, if our paths cross in the studio again. as a big, big atiny, you deserve to meet your bias."

the emphasis on the word big has you biting the inside of your cheek. that fucker. "i'm just a casual fan, really. i haven't been keeping up with your latest comeback, to be honest and guilty."

taehwan is back before san can reply. his hair is now collected in a man bun. perhaps a bit too tight. your fingers naturally lift his chin so that he can look at you. he rolls his eyes playfully once he realizes what you want to do. his bun is looser, your other hand skillfully working it while you hold his face in your palm. as a final touch, you hook your fingers into a few strands of hair in the front, setting them free to frame his freckled face.

there is no denying, oh taehwan is one of the most gorgeous men you've ever seen in your life. with his mother's asian features, and father's slavic features, taehwan is the best of both worlds. sharp almond eyes, skin cutting jawline, light freckles on his porcelain skin, and dark locks and bushy brows. he is also a replica of san when it comes to personality. but you would never admit it out loud. you didn't fall for him because he reminded you of san. you fell for him because he was one of the few men that had you speechless when you first laid your eyes upon him. it took a few dates and late night conversations for you to finally connect the dots. your brain has since short circuited, making you feel guilty. as if you were using taehwan to fill the void that was still reserved for choi san.

"what would i do without you, my darling?" tae presses his lips against your forehead, and then your nose, before turning his attention to the idol sitting to your opposite. "so, san— oh! are you alright?"

san is fuming. his cheeks are red. eyes bloodshot. brows furrowed. his hands grip the table cloth as he watches taehwan wrap his arm around your shoulders. you lean into the warm touch, now more inviting than ever. your nerves are slowly wrecking you. the cause? it sits still as a stone, staring into your eyes with an emotion you can't pinpoint yet.

"san...?" taehwan calls again.

"yes, taehwan?" he finally speaks, voice hoarse. he clears his throat. "sorry. just— you didn't mention you had a girlfriend? and the chief editor at that."

"ah, she doesn't like it getting announced all the time. she is a very private person." the dark haired man kisses your temple before continuing, "and i respect that."

"couldn't be me." san shrugs. "i would announce it to the whole world."

he thinks he did something. maybe impressed you, even. until you speak up. "and you fail to see an issue in that, mr choi?"

you have his full attention. he toys with the napkin in front of him as he listens.

"you wouldn't be respecting your partner's wish. she's a private person, yet you would announce it to the whole world? how much do you truly know and care for her then?"

nobody in this room but the two of you know the true core of this conversation. the rotten root that was never dug up, having grown into a poisonous plant in the meantime. its fruits are the snarky remarks you keep exchanging, camouflaged into friendly banter. some might call you childish. but to you, this is serious. you were right. san hasn't changed at all.

"doesn't respect go both ways? shouldn't she respect my wishes as well?" he raises an eyebrow.

"that's some very selfish thinking, mr choi."

the platters arrive one by one, shortly interrupting the quarrel that won't die out any time soon. taehwan isn't sure what is going on. but he won't interrupt you. he loves to hear you talk, and if he'll get that by listening to you talk back to an idol, then so be it.

"while respect does go both ways, i believe compromises are the ideal solution."

"communication matters more, in my opinion." he serves himself a piece of steak from the platter, then stabs it with a knife as he looks you dead in the eye. "not running away if something isn't up to your standards. is running also a compromise?"

a scoff betrays you. "well, if you refuse to be patient until the person feels comfortable with your standards, then perhaps. was she forced to run due to being put in an uncomfortable situation? such as announcing the whole world?"

"i don't think she was. she chose the easier option. i think she was more scared than in love, which, at the end of the day, means that it wasn't true love."

"nobody said it was." you mimic his moves, stabbing your own piece of meat and cutting into it aggressively. "she was probably confused. overstimulated by all the feelings. she wanted everything, but ended up having nothing."

"i can't help but notice the accusatory tone here, miss l/n."

"oh, i apologize. was i being too subtle?" a swear word is at the tip of your tongue. taehwan's hand finds its spot on your thigh, gently squeezing it. usually, it would calm you. right now, it irritates you. everything is annoying you; from the way the fabric of the damned dress is feeling on your skin and sudden attention you are receiving, to san's audacity to torture you like this and his behaviour. like he hasn't done anything wrong. like you are wrongly accusing him. you wish to scream into his face. instead, you take a deep breath, leaving the massacred piece of meat on the plate for a moment. "excuse me."

you stand up. all eyes are on you. it makes you weak. you hate it. fuck, you hate him.

the man next to you tries taking your hand in his, but before he can touch you, you're moving it away. "i need a moment."

taehwan calls for you. once, twice. maybe more. you don't hear it. you rush out of the restaurant, into the cold evening. you slip around the corner, hiding from the big windows, until you reach the back entrance reserved for the kitchen staff only. the doors are luckily shut, allowing you a moment to try and compose yourself.

hot meets cold as you try to calm your quick breath, creating small clouds of fog out your mouth. you succeed in taking a few deep breaths with your eyes closed, until his face appears in your brain. you open your eyes, grit your teeth, and sprint towards the nearby trash bin. your boot meets a trash bag on the floor, kicking it multiple times until it rips and all its contents spill on the floor and all over your shoe.

"fuck!" you scream. "fuck, fuck, fuck!"

it reeks of food that has been piling up there all day long. yet you couldn't care less about it. you continue kicking whatever you find, fists meeting the giant trash bin until your frostbit knuckles start bleeding. it's not enough. it won't be enough until the bin is replaced by his stupid face.

you deliver a final punch, blood trickling down your hand. the light material of the dress soaks it up. it's a breaking point. the dress is ruined.

you fall to your knees, holding onto the sleeve that turns crimson as your knuckles continue painting it. you sob. quietly at first. then, with each broken breath, you let it out. it can't be the stupid dress that made you break down. it is the symbolic it holds. and now, it feels as if your last physical memory of him is ruined.

you lied. you looked him dead in the face and said the stupid piece of fabric doesn't hold memories. it does. everything around you does. your body as well, with taehwan's each touch reminding you of the way san held you for a single night.

it is also reminds you that no matter where and when he kisses, touches or whispers to you, it will never compare to san. his natural submission, his need to please, his seeking of your validation. you wish to feel that kind of admiration again. taehwan can try as much as he wants, but nothing will ever awaken the storm inside you like san can with a simple glance of his big eyes.

tears soak your cheeks, continuing down your neck and dampening the collar of the dress. your chest hurts the more you sob, heart being tugged all ways at once and threatening to burst; this time with a promise to not recover.

you need to get out of here. how, you do not know. the restaurant is at the other end of seoul, and while the two of you came with separate cars due to finishing work at different hours, your keys and the rest of your belongings were still inside. you can't go back. not like this, and not with choi san still in there.

it takes approximately two seconds for you to figure out a plan that has low chances of bringing you alive and well to the doors of your friend's house. you'll walk down the road until you see a taxi, or hitch a ride, and ask your friend to pay for you until you get your belongings back. you can't stay out here any longer. your lips are slowly starting to go numb, as well as the tip of your nose.

instead of going the way you came, you opt for going all the way around the building, just in case someone's curious eyes are monitoring the windows. just as you turn around the corner, you come in contact face first with someone's chest. it feels familiar.

"oh, taehwan!" you let out a sigh of relief. body falls into his arms, seeking warmth and comfort. "i thought you'd never come. i need to get out of here, please."

he stays silent. hands hesitate to wrap around you, but they do eventually. slowly, as if you'll crumble under his touch. one hand rubs your back, and the other one settles on your head, softly caressing your hair.

"you're mad. i'm sorry." you mumble into his chest. "you have every right to be. i'll explain everything, i promise."

it's not like taehwan to give you a silent treatment. have you screwed up that bad that he refuses to talk to you? you pull away, ready to meet a disappointed face. a sad one, and even an angry one. not one that belongs to choi san.

"you—" words are a burden in your throat. you try stepping away, yet the touch that was once hesitant and soft holds you firmly so you don't run. "you—"

"what have you done?" the tone isn't accusatory. it is pure concern as his eyes soften upon seeing your bloody knuckles. "what did you do to your pretty hands?"

a rollercoaster of emotions threatens to rip you to shreds. unnatural amounts of anger fill your body, as well as a tingling sensation all over your skin. choi san's thumb gently grazes the cracked knuckles of your hand, while the other one on your lower back holds your body firmly pressed against his.

how could you have possibly mistaken the two? betrayed by your own mind and heart, you helplessly stand before the person who pushed you to your very limits. you remove your hand out of his, a bit harsher than intended. the hiss is short lived, replaced by another gasp as san pushes you back where you came from and behind the bin.

"get your hands off—!"

"hush." he covers your mouth with his hand, head turned the other way in order to see if you are being spied on.

you hear the doors opening and closing, then a row of lighters clicking. they must've stepped out for a smoke. san's brows soften when his gaze falls back on you. wide eyed, with dried and fresh tears covering your face, you silently sob into his open palm.

"i'm going to remove my hand now, okay?"

a nod from you is all he needs to fulfill his promise. as soon as he does, you inhale deeply. the air burns cold as it fills your lungs. san doesn't speak right away. he watches as you try to regain your composure. it is a challenge, with guilt and ache chewing through you. guilt for taehwan. and ache for san. your heart burns, fingers itch to reach for him. but when you look at him, you can't help but remember what he did. "why are you here?"

san seems to be expecting that, because he simply sighs. "your boyfriend wasn't moving. i had to."

"he was giving me space." you defend him, though you can't help the painful tug you feel in your chest. while you usually do need your space, this is too big of a deal for him to just let you be by yourself. then again, he doesn't know. he doesn't know that you being alone with san is dangerous. if he knew, he'd run to you, even to the other side of the city. you hope. "unlike you, who has to be up my ass every chance you get."

he snorts, earning a glare from you. "if i catch a whiff that my girl is upset, i'm climbing mountains to make sure she is okay."

"get a hold of yourself, mr choi." rage replaces the aching you felt just moments ago. "i am not your girl. i never was."

"you could've been mine." he says, voice dropping. "and i could've been yours."

cigarette smoke threads through the cold air, enveloping him, mingling with his own scent of cedar and worn leather. it catches in your throat. your fingers twitch like memory could be touched. he smells warm. he smells like home.

a home you can't return to. the path is destroyed, overrun by vines of despair and fallen trees of anguish.

"you could've." your voice is raspy, words itching your throat as you speak. "but you were impatient."

"why are you doing this to yourself?" he takes both your hands in his, and before you can yank them away, he fastens the grip on your wrists. "why are you hurting yourself?"

you opt for silence. if you speak, you'll start crying. eyes burn anyway, seeing san's furrowed brows and gentle eyes examining the wounds. when he touches your skin, it feels as if he is touching your soul. and when he looks you in the eyes, stare so deep and intense, it feels as if he can see your mind. he intrudes it with his heavy gaze, rummaging through locked memories you've been dying to erase. but how can you, when a whiff of cedarwood reminds you of him? when every once in a while, you enter the old conversations with him, when it wasn't so complicated? when you had a silly little crush on your boss and he was just playfully flirty? when you yearn to steal that polaroid from him, because heaven knows he'll get over you easier than you'll get over him?

"did i..." he gulps, then blinks a few times. "did i do this to you?"

"yes." you don't hesitate to answer through gritted teeth.

the word perishes in the air, much like the smoke that keeps biting your nostrils, ruining the forbidden memory of his scent. you wish nothing more than to bury your head back into his chest, inhale until your lungs hurt, and don't let go until the pain stops. if it ever stops.

the man looks away, jaw clenched. you are wary of his every move, and thus, you notice the glimmer in his eyes. he bites the inside of his cheek. and you see it. before he lets go of your hand and brushes his face, you see it. the crystal drop escaping his eye, its remains latching onto his long lashes. it takes him courage to look back at you. he blinks again, hoping to stop the new tears forming.

choi san looks dashing. vulnerable, yet the epitome of perfection. the lamps of the restaurant's parking lot cast a soft yellow hue on him, his hair a honey shade and ever so inviting to touch. lip sticking out in his signature pout. lashes damp like grass in the morning with dew. cheeks a soft pink blush, which you only notice because he stands so close to you. your free hand thinks instead of you. fingertips graze his cheek, unsure at first. a short gasp leaves his lips, and when your palm lays flat against his hot skin, a tear finally rolls freely down his face. another one follows, then another. until it coats your hand, and your thumb brushing them away doesn't help.

he leans into your touch, closing his eyes and allowing himself to silently cry. no sobs, no words. just silent tears dampening the turtleneck that looks so damn good on him. his hand abandons yours, only to place itself on your waist and further push you against the wall. for a split second, you are back in milan, in your hotel room. him confessing for the first time, you holding back tears as you rejected him for his own good, pushed against the wall much like now. how he looked exactly as he looks in this frozen moment, desperate to stay close to you and convince you to stop lying to yourself.

"mr choi—" you can't let it happen again.

"shh," he hushes you, forehead leaning against yours. "let me have this. please, let me have this."

you're not sure what he means. whatever it is, you know you'll fall for it. so you do what you always knew best: put your palms flat against his chest, and push. he doesn't budge. he only presses himself against you, body warm and inviting against your cold and shivering one. two vulnerable people, each on the brink of breaking and getting the other into trouble. it seems to be your destiny, playing this game of push and pull.

"does he make you happy?"

the question isn't laced with jealousy. no, it's laced with desperation. a silent plea, for you to say no. as if his heart will feel at ease, and his mind will rest if you do him that favour. the words land like a bruise, tender and deep. you wish to say yes, to end this before the lines become further blurry, almost invisible, but the word lodges in your throat. his dark eyes are searching yours, desperate, and you know that if you look away, you'll lose him for good. you should look away. you should run. call for taehwan. end this once and for all.

instead, you feel the warmth of his breath ghost over your lips, the faint scent of cedarwood and smoke pulling you back to every moment you swore you'd forget. his fingers tighten at your waist, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he's still here. one word could save you. another could ruin you. and you're not sure which one you want more.

"please," he begs, tip of his nose brushing against yours. "please. tell me. i need to know."

the taste of your own words is bitter on your tongue, causing you to grimace upon saying them. "did you beg her like this as well?"

"w—what?"

"when you kissed leah, san."

the illusion shatters between the two of you. if you felt a trace of regret for parting ways with him, it vanishes the moment he steps back. and opens his goddamn mouth. "how did you know?"

"that's your concern?" you laugh into his face. "how i knew? gods, you are insufferable. you are the most selfish, egoistical, the most—"

"i need to know how you found out."

"are you fucking hearing yourself?!" you break the silent moment you shared. "you were just crying, begging me to admit that i am unhappy, and now you demand i tell you how i found out that you haven't changed one bit?! that you will fall for any fool that dares enter your personal space?! that you'll bring them nothing but misery, and cost them the job they worked so hard for!"

two things stick to san's brain. one: you know about him telling sihun.

and two: you are unhappy.

he hates how relieved he feels. he hates that he has to fight back a smile. he hates how overstimulated and confused you feel because of him, yet all he can do is hold onto the spark of hope that keeps growing with each moment that passes.

"i saw you, san." your bottom lip quivers as the words leave you. "i wanted to come and greet you, talk to you, and finally get closure. maybe even ask about what you did and why you did it. do you know that i have not stopped creating excuses on your behalf since the moment i found out? told myself you only meant well? that you weren't actually a selfish asshole? i cannot believe, that you had the audacity to wake up first and text the manager, then go back to sleep knowing full well what would happen? waking up after me and acting like everything is fine?"

the man remains silent. he has interrupted you enough. it is time to listen.

"you knew the chances of him approving it were below zero. you couldn't have waited at least a few days? you couldn't have talked to me about it? fuck, we weren't even together! we fucked, that's it! at least i thought that's it. i hoped it is on your end. that you scratched an itch, and you'd leave it alone. i felt guilty for indulging. but i hoped, fuck—" you sob, hands rushing to wipe the tears away, "—i hoped that if i did, you'd finally abandon those so called feelings, and save us both from trouble. you'd realize it wasn't love. it was just what i told you it was: forced proximity. i'd keep my job, and you'd leave me alone, and save yourself. and you go ahead and do what you did, without my knowledge, stabbing me in the fucking back, and acting as if you didn't know. as if you're sorry."

"i was sorry."

"shut the fuck up. don't interrupt me, choi san. i am not done with you." the tip of your nail is buried into his firm chest, slipping through threads of the thin knitted turtleneck and resting against his pulsing heart. "and then, while away from you, you spammed me with messages. paragraphs, links, pictures. i began to think that you actually do have feelings for me. that i wasn't just something you wanted to try and see if it fits. and i blocked you for my good. for once, i was selfish. i blocked you because i couldn't trust myself to not run back into your arms again. i had time to think. by the time taehwan arranged to have a photoshoot with you, i thought enough time has passed to have a mature conversation about all the events that happened. i went to the makeup room, they told me you went for a stroll in the hallways. i asked about you. they told me you started behaving again since i left. that you have that spark back. and while i was happy for you, a part of me smelled the issue."

he doesn't move away from your sharp touch. he leans further into it, signaling that he has no intention of backing away, no matter how much it hurts. he'll stay.

"then i saw it. you kissing the poor girl. i felt sorry for her. i knew she might suffer the same fate as me. then, you degraded her. it made me sick to my stomach, seeing you spit venom at her like that. it made me feel like i never knew you. in the recent few times i saw you, you did things i didn't know you were capable of. telling sihun, defending melanie, saying such vile things to leah. it made me back away and never want to see you again. that's why i avoided you. you accused me of not being the person you fell in love is. well, choi san, i am sad to inform you that i feel the same way."

remaining smoke blends in with the fog coming out of your lips as you speak. the doors shut in the distance, the two of you finally alone outside the restaurant. he thinks carefully. he isn't the wisest when it comes to leading serious conversations. he opts for something simple, yet true. "it didn't mean anything."

"and another thing." a burning sensation spreads on his cheek. your hand stings as well, open palm hanging in the air as it recovers from the harsh slap you delivered. the very same hand that caressed the cheek just moments ago. san's head flies to the side due to impact. he doesn't expect it, because he looks at you with pure shock painted on his features. "how dare you use my name to degrade someone?"

it is your turn to gasp with surprise, feeling your throat tighten. the man wraps his hand around your neck, gently squeezing the sides just enough to silence you so he can speak. "don't you get it? i am like this because you aren't by my side. i am not me without you. why can't you get it into that stupid, stupid, pretty head of yours?"

"san—" you cough. the pressure isn't strong enough to rid you of oxygen. it is just enough to make you uncomfortable and stiff. "please—"

"will you look me in the eyes and lie to my face again? tell me the dress doesn't mean anything? tell me you have actual feelings for that guy? tell me you don't feel anything when i stand close to you, even though i feel your heart trying to break free from your ribcage? you expect me to believe anything you say after all you did was lie to me since the night i confessed to you?"

"you're thinking about yourself again." you cry out. "you, you, and only you. your feelings. your emotions. your whole damn life. not once did you apologize in a way that you mean it."

"you're blaming me for putting you through this. in reality, you're the one to blame." his tone shifts, warm breath no longer a gentle caress, but a hot warning. "you keep pushing me away, lying to my face, denying yourself happiness. one time i try to take matters into my own hands, all hell breaks loose. choi san is the worst. he cost you your job. as if you even have to work that kind of a job. i could've given you any position you wanted. hell, i could've opened your own studio. if only..." his hand slides from your neck to your jawline, thumb tracing it from your earlobe to your chin, before it rests on your bottom lip, "if only you cooperated. if only you didn't make it so complicated."

"we are spinning in circles, san." your voice is weak. you are tired. because of that, your body allows him to do whatever he wants. his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip, lingering a little where it started peeling due to cold. "when you do things without consulting someone, it makes them feel as if they don't matter. i feel insignificant. you felt so big and powerful, like you could have control over my life just because of your position. hell, before all this, you didn't even know that i wanted to do photography. even if i didn't, it is not on you to make the call whether or not i need a job. i loved what i did. i was surrounded by people i looked up to half my life. i didn't only lose you. i lost seonghwa and hongjoong, the two i admire the most. i lost wooyoung and mingi, the only ones that knew how to make me laugh. i lost yeosang and jongho, the ones who took such care of me even though i wasn't in their service. i lost yunho, who treated me like his little sister. i lost all of them as well, you just didn't see that. you didn't want to see that."

the man finally seems to absorb everything you've poured out to him. you wanted to be included in a decision. he was impatient. pushy, maybe even controlling and manipulative at times. in his head, it all fell under the same category: love and caring. he didn't realize how much he was hurting you in the process. he only meant to free you from the claws of professionalism so you could be happy. he even convinced you that you had feelings for him way before you admitted them yourself. your finger on his lips stops him from talking.

"i lost you, choi san. the one who looked out the most for me. sometimes crossed the line, flirted a bit too much, and was mostly a child in a man's body, but you still cared so deeply before all this mess. everything you said was true at the time. those late night conversations weren't just a job. each interaction with you did not leave me feeling indifferent. i just wish you would have let me set my own pace. i felt forced. rushed. it didn't feel real."

san sighs against your finger. he squeezes his eyes shut, regret eating him up alive. "i'm so sorry."

your heart twitches at the sound of his voice. it is hoarse, and so quiet that if someone were eavesdropping, they wouldn't have caught it. he takes your hands back in his, then lowers himself to the ground. the sound of his knees hitting the dusty asphalt causes you to gasp, and almost instantly, you try pulling him up so that he stands again. he refuses, planting himself in front of you.

"i'm so fucking sorry." he kisses each one of your knuckles, plush lips warm and soft against the dried up bloody wounds.

"get up." you squeeze his hands in an attempt to convince him. "please, get up."

he shakes his head. a street lamp in the back begins to dim, and the place starts feeling unreal. as if it's another nightmare you'll wake from, forced to lie to taehwan about it. you can't tell him you dreamed of the man your body still burns for. though, taehwan's soul is so pure, he wouldn't hate you for it. he would find excuses for you, just like you did for san.

but you don't wake up. you lean against the wall, bruised hands cradled in san's big, warm ones, coated in gentle kisses that barely graze your skin. one hiss is enough for him to shortly retreat, only to come close again and press your open palms against his cheeks. on his knees, he shuffles closer to you, until he can wrap his arms around your legs and lean his head against your stomach. only a thin layer of skin contains the storm he stirs in you. something fragile flutters inside, like wings brushing against the walls of your chest. you allow yourself another moment of vulnerability. closing your eyes, putting your hands on his head, fingers lacing with the soft locks of hair, and breathing out. you feel at peace.

you feel home. a home that is wrecked, and doesn't know if it'll ever stand again. san calms down under your touch, occasionally shuddering when your nails graze the back of his neck. it feels as if time has stopped. as if you've created an alternate reality behind the restaurant. if you walk back in, will the people you left behind still be there?

"sannie," you call his nickname, knowing that he's weak to it. surely enough, san looks up at you, chin resting on your stomach. you can't help but reach for his bottom lip, playfully tugging at it as he looks at you wide and glossy eyed. "we need to go back."

he doesn't protest. he listens. finally. you help him up, though he doesn't need it, and fix his hair while he simply gawks at you. it feels natural, no matter how long has passed. fixing his hair had always been a habit of yours, since he loved running his fingers through it every now and then. it is no longer neatly slicked back, giving him a gentler look than the one he came in with.

"you should go in first, as to not raise suspicion."

"oh," he can't help the disappointed tone. "is...?"

"if you could tell taehwan that i am here, i would be grateful." you don't allow him to finish the question, knowing just what he'll ask you. is this it? you don't know. it should be. it must be.

choi san nods, then stuffs his hands in the pockets of his slacks. "i'll tell him."

"thank you, sannie." the first smile tonight tugs your lips. he returns it, though it doesn't reach his eyes. before he bids his goodbye and disappears around the corner, you tug at his elbow, climbing on tippy toes just to plant a kiss on his still red cheek. "i'm sorry for slapping you."

"i deserved it." the smile finally reaches his eyes, but disappears just as quickly as it appears. "good night, y/n."

"good night, mr choi."

"sannie," he corrects. "not mr choi."

you don't respond. he doesn't expect you to. it is enough that you offer him a chuckle, and his heart is somehow at peace.

yours? holding on for dear life.

𓆩⟡𓆪

"i fear i haven't been completely honest with you, tae." you sit at taehwan's kitchen table on your day off, having slept over the previous night after your late shift.

the curly haired man sitting across from you raises an eyebrow, peeling his eyes away from the sudoku paper that already has drops of his morning coffee decorating it and setting them on your bowl of cereal. he notices you've barely touched it. "about?"

"my previous job."

he nods, shifting his attention back to the paper. "go on."

you are puzzled. you know taehwan is forgiving, and understanding. but this is striking your nerves, and you almost feel your eye twitching. "tae."

"hm?"

"why are you indifferent?" you question without beating around the bush. "your girl was outside with a man for almost an hour, alone in the dark of the night, and you didn't stand up once to come check on us? nor did you ask about it, and it's been almost three weeks since it happened. how can you be so indifferent?"

"i trust you."

usually, it would make you feel appreciated. right now, you feel as if he is saying it just to get you off his back. "you don't want to hear about it?"

"y/n..." your name leaves his lips as a sigh. he locks eyes with you for the first time this morning. he seems tired, even though he woke up almost two hours ago. "do you want me to be crazy and jealous? more importantly, do i have reason to be?"

you swore you'd tell him. truth, and only truth. but now that you're here, how do you look your boyfriend in the eyes and say that you have buried feelings for choi san? feelings buried alive, waiting to be saved. maybe san is right. you're nothing but a liar. you lie to yourself first, and then to everyone around you.

you can't keep using taehwan as a distraction. you haven't, until you met with san. since that night, you keep sleeping over at his place and following him everywhere just to get your mind off the man that will not leave it.

"well?"

"i need a break." you blurt out.

the curly haired man nods. you expect him to react. say something. not to simply stand up, put his cup in the sink, then approach you. his hand cradles your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek in the process. he plants a kiss on top of your head. "i know."

he then goes back to the sink to wash the cup. you watch, dumbfounded. did he not understand what you meant?

"no, taehwan." you stand up, chair scraping the tiles and scratching your ears as you tuck it under the kitchen table. "you don't understand. i need a break—"

"from us, yes." he finishes for you. you tilt your head, unable to read his emotions. as if it'll help you understand better. his back is still turned, and it takes him a very long time to wash a single cup. "i know."

"why are you so... nonchalant?" it hurts you. it makes you feel as if he doesn't care at all. while you wouldn't have wanted him to freak out, you still would've appreciate anything other than whatever this is. "do you not care?"

finally, the cup finds its place on the dish rack. he wipes his wet hands with the towel that hangs from the oven handle. he walks over to you, then places his hands on your shoulders. everything about this day is odd. he's never held you like this before. so stiff and awkward. no, you can't even call it awkward. it's fully intentional on his end. not weird at all.

"i care about you as a person, really. but..." he trails. as a girlfriend? you're terrible."

you can't be offended, no matter how much you want it. you thought you were doing your best, not letting feelings for san interfere. hell, you even thought you forgot about him. seems not.

"when san called me and proposed the idea of the dinner, i thought it odd." taehwan lets go of you so he can take his phone out, eyes searching for something on the screen as he continues, "i had photographed wooyoung, and many others, and all of them did their part and left. so i agreed to it, thinking how kind he is. not even an hour later, i got a phone call from kim hongjoong."

your heart drops. taehwan glances at you, and as he sees your uneasy expression, he hums. almost with satisfaction. as if saying got you. there is no reason to feel this way. you didn't lie. you just didn't tell.

"he said that you worked as a personal assistant for choi san and kang yeosang. he then said that san and you have some rather uncomfortable history, and that the reason behind the dinner is san seeking closure with you. he wanted me to stop you from attending for, i quote, her own good. that you don't deserve to be a part of san's little games. so, naturally, i took a liberty in... well, checking your phone."

"you what?" the words are louder than you wanted them to be, and taehwan grimaces. "why would you do that? why not just ask?"

something shifts in his eyes. as if a veil of coldness settles over them. "ask? i have to ask about your past? i have to ask about men that are potential threat to our relationship? i have to ask if you still have any feelings for any of those men? i'm sorry, usually when i have a girlfriend, they don't come with predownloaded feelings for somebody else."

"i didn't mean—" you catch yourself raising your voice again in the middle of the sentence. you have to calm down. right now, your behaviour is making you look very guilty. as if something happened. you take a deep breath, hoping it will help you continue this conversation in a normal tone. "i simply meant about the messages. if you'd asked, i'd have shown them to you myself. you would've seen that hongjoong didn't mean anything by what he said. i don't have feelings for san—"

"one doesn't disappear behind a restaurant with their ex lover following while their boyfriend stays behind, then comes back after an hour without feelings, y/n." before you can defend yourself, he points the screen of his phone at you. "here."

the photo is dark on the screen. you have to zoom in to make sense of it, and when you do, your breathing almost stops. someone had slipped between the parked cars and took shot after shot of you and san, from the hug to the slap. all of it frozen in your boyfriend's gallery.

"but tae, nothing happened between us." you return the phone, the pictures giving your heart and mind a tough time. you dismiss the way your stomach feels fuzzy upon seeing san's big figure enveloping yours. "from the day i met you, and even before that, until right this second, i haven't engaged with san in any way that is considered cheating. hell, i haven't even seen him until that evening."

"nothing happened. yet." he says, and is quick to press a finger to your lips to shut you up so you don't interrupt him. he steps closer, until his breath caresses your cheeks. "i love you, more than anything. but i refuse to be the poor boyfriend who suddenly gets dumped because he didn't realize his girlfriend is in love with someone else. i don't want to receive looks and messages of pity. therefore, i agree. we need a break. up."

the curly haired man becomes blurry before your eyes. tears sting as they arrive, pooling in the corners of your eyelids, but not spilling just yet. "you're breaking up with me, even though i never betrayed you?"

"then why did you want a break in the first place?"

"to sort my thoughts and feelings out!" you defend yourself.

"look me in the eye and tell me you don't love san." his hand cradles your chin, guiding your gaze to his. his touch is anything but harsh. he is still gentle with you, no matter what he is feeling in the moment. "tell me you never thought of getting back to him during our relationship. tell me, and i'll let this go."

you are desperate to say no. but just once, you admit that san is right. it's time to stop the lies. you aren't only costing yourself nerves and proper happiness, you are hurting two men in the process. san, who could've been in taehwan's spot long ago. and taehwan, who could find someone actually worth his love and kindness.

your silence is his answer. a soft smile graces his lips before he presses them against your forehead. "i knew you were too good to be true anyway."

"tae..." as if guilt isn't enough to drown you, taehwan's tears make an appearance. "i'm sorry."

he shakes his head, then sniffles as he takes his glasses off as to not ruin them. he had just wiped them with the hem of his t—shirt before starting the sudoku. you always tsked him when he did that, knowing full well he has at least three small cloths for that in his bag.

"i want you to know that i didn't get into a relationship with you to replace san. i did it because i genuinely saw the future with you at one point."

"you don't have to justify yourself. it's best if we stop here, it can only get worse if we go further." his voice is a mere whisper. "i think you should go. for the sake of both of us."

a lump settles in your throat, and you are unable to swallow it. you were expecting this to happen eventually, somewhere deep in your mind. you just didn't think it'd be this painful, considering you haven't been together for a long time and there is another man clouding your mind.

the time it takes for you to gather your belongings in a tote bag seems like an eternity, even though only ten minutes have passed. you glance around his room, making sure you aren't leaving anything behind. the room and its bed often served as a big laundry basket, waiting to be ironed and put away. rarely did you sleep in there, with you always suggesting to watch a movie on the couch and falling asleep first halfway through it, and with taehwan not having a heart to wake you. every time he'd wake up with a sore back, but not once did he complain. you saw it though, in subtle movements as he worked, such as failing to crouch or bend over.

"maybe now you can finally sleep on the bed. your back won't hurt from the couch." you joke, trying to lighten the situation. you hear a faint chuckle from beyond closed doors.

when you exit the room, you find taehwan near the main door of the apartment, leaning with his back against the wall and holding your shoes. you approach him, trying to take your shoes from him. he simply motions for you to sit on the ottoman near the shoe rack, and gets on his knees. what is it with men and kneeling these days?

it isn't odd for taehwan to do things like this. he often helped you get dressed, combed your hair, helped you tie your shoelaces, fed you. you didn't expect him to do any of that right now. from helping with the shoes, to putting your jacket on and loosely tying the scarf around your neck. his scarf.

"keep it. please." he sees the look on your face. "just because a relationship ended doesn't mean a friendship and collegiality should."

"thank you, tae. for being so understanding." you fail to look him in the eye, keeping your gaze locked on the gloves he slides on your hands for you.

"oh, y/n." his voice cracks upon opening the door for you. as you step out, you finally look at him, only to find tears rolling down his cheeks. "i knew you weren't mine from the moment you set your eyes upon him that evening."

"i'm sorry."

"and i'm sorry, too. for not being enough."

𓆩⟡𓆪

not even a week later, you quit. you can't take it, being close to taehwan after all the events that took place. he's sad to lose a good friend and colleague, and so are you. but it's for the best. you've been taking any job opportunity you can since then, running from interview to interview in hopes of soon getting employed. it will be devastating to get used to a much lower paycheck than the one of chief editor, but you'll make it. you always did.

the cafe is bursting with people at eight in the morning, people standing and drinking their coffees near the occupied tables. that cannot be pleasant, can it? your eyes search for a person that sits alone. in the corner, almost behind the counter, you spot him. he wears a cap, a grey hoodie and sweatpants. seems a little shady for a job interview, but at this point, you are desperate.

"good morning," you greet first. "i'm y/n l/n, here for the job interview."

he nods, face still hidden behind the cap. he points to the chair to his opposite, and when you sit, he finally looks at you. eyes turn into crescent moons as a familiar smile spreads on his lips. "good morning."

"seong— mr park?" you lower your voice, not wanting to attract attention to the disguised idol. "i'm so sorry, i thought you were someone else."

"no, you thought good. please sit." he stands up, pulling a chair out for you to sit.

with a puzzled look on your face, and a glance at your surroundings, you sit to his opposite, back turned towards the rest of the cafe.

"well?" he asks, a sweet smile still on his lips. "how have you been?"

you don't wish to play any games. you're too tired for that. "mr park, i would like to skip the small talk, if you don't mind."

"as you wish, tiny." his nickname for you still lives. he hasn't forgotten that behind all what happened, you are still a fan and care deeply about them. "i'm here to offer you a job."

"you?" you say, raising an eyebrow. "a job? you're qualified for that?"

"i have my ways," he says. "just say the word, and i'll make it come true."

"and what job is that? sweeping the dressing rooms?" you sound bitter, and even to you, it's a bit mean. "well?"

"i want you as my personal assistant."

a laugh betrays you. it makes seonghwa's smile falter, and only then do you realize that he means it. "oh. you're serious?"

two cups of coffee are placed on the table, interrupting the odd conversation hidden in the corner of the cafe. he has ordered you an iced vanilla nescafe, and an iced americano for himself. he thanks the waiter, immediately using your distracted thinking to pay for both drinks. you don't notice, too busy biting the inside of your cheek and calculating seonghwa's intentions.

"what'll make it different this time?" you ask.

the straw is pressed to his plump lips as he takes the first sip. he hums at the bittersweet taste before looking at you. "you'll be mine."

you know the context of it. those around you don't, so you frantically turn your head to see whether anyone is eavesdropping. seonghwa pushes the tall glass towards you, until the coldness meets the warmth of your hand. unsure, you also take a sip out of the straw, using the time to prepare further questions.

"before you ask, sihun isn't around anymore. he got a job at a different company after firing three more assistants, and the rest of us finally had enough and complained until he himself got fired."

"but why yours? not that i'm complaining, it's just..." you trail, swirling the straw in the cup and playing with the ice. they graze against each other and the glass from the inside, creating soothing clinking noises among the clamor behind you. "...it seems you have some hidden intentions on your mind. i don't want to be kept in the dark anymore, if you want me to cooperate."

"it is only natural for you to be skeptical." the man nods understandingly.

his slender fingers pull the cap down to further cover his face as he leans over the table, causing you to to lean back against your chair. he motions for you to lean in as well, and when you do, you realize he still wears the same perfume. it reminds you of the time he was the one who stopped the car while you were having a panic attack as hongjoong scolded you and san. how you fell into his arms, seeking comfort. how he gave it to you, holding you tight and caressing your head as you cried and shivered into his chest. he looks at you with those kind eyes under the cap, resembling boba pearls with their size and colour. you can't help but deeply inhale, letting the scent consume you and take you back to where you belong.

"hey," he calls, waking you from your trance. you try to avoid his gaze by pointing yours at the drink, wrapping your lips around the straw and tasting the cold vanilla. his hand touches yours, enveloping it in a warm embrace as you almost choke on the liquid. the grip is strong as you try to set it free. "don't run. listen to me."

"mr park, how is this appropriate for you? what if someone sees?" fear is evident in your voice.

"they'll see if you keep turning like that every few seconds." his free hand takes your other one, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your skin to calm you down. "san told me you like photography. this is nothing like it, i know. but maybe, we can hit two birds with one stone."

"you are talking in codes again." you murmur. "i don't like it."

"first, you can start as my personal assistant. you can snap pictures of me occasionally, because i'll ask for it. little by little, i'll flaunt the shots, and you could become our photographer, or editor. whichever your heart desires. i'll find a way." he explains, still not letting go of your hands. as if you'll decline if he lets go.

"and second?"

"you can be near san." your heart stutters upon hearing the words. a silent buzz fills your ears, causing the cafe and its people to seem still for a moment. as if they're silently anticipating the next words out of seonghwa's mouth, much like you. the clinking of cups in the sink behind the counter wake your mind from the short slumber. the cafe comes alive again, chatter and laughter filling your ears once again. "if that is what you still wish."

"that doesn't sound dangerous to you?" skepticism floods your mind again. "it won't be odd for me to be interacting with a member i don't work for?"

"no, not in the slightest." he simply says. "it would be more odd to see you overly friendly with the member you work for. especially san, since the rest of the staff found out what happened. they'd have their eyes glued to you at all times. this way, it'll be safer."

"and what makes you so sure?"

"because," he lets go of your hand, only to tap the tip of your nose with his finger playfully before continuing, "you'll be under my protection."

"you're asking me to walk back into fire." your voice suddenly becomes hoarse.

"i'm asking you to walk in with armor," he replies. "and this time, i'll be standing beside you."

he gives you time to think, returning to his own beverage, but not yet letting go of your hand. seonghwa must've really thought this through. after all, he managed to convince you to come for a job interview, and has calculated ways of bringing you back. hell, he even got to you, making you think of actually returning to the place you've escaped.

"you really believe there is something worth saving between me and san?" you question. "to the point of you meeting up with me like this and endangering yourself?"

"i know love when i see it. just as i did with mingi and jaz."

right, those two. you aren't surprised that they're still together. you always shipped them, even before anything happened between them. you believed nothing could tear them apart. so why didn't you have the same beliefs for yourself and san? why didn't you give it a proper chance, instead of a late night temptation?

"you think it'll work?"

seonghwa's free hand tucks a stray hair behind your ear, then places his fingers under your chin, guiding your gaze to lock with his. "it has to."

eyes sting as you subconsciously squeeze his hand. "and if it all falls apart again?"

"then i'll be there to catch you."

𓆩⟡𓆪

your brand new qr plate shines under the lobby lights as you press it against the pad. since you left, the company invested in technology, it seems. the doors open upon recognizing the code, and you slip through the doors before they shut.

the tiles are freshly polished, you notice. the faint scent of cleaning chemicals lingers down the long hallways, following you to the fateful door you must go through. with coffee in one hand, and a clipboard in the other, you open the door with your elbow, silently praying that you don't spill the beverage all over your outfit.

upon entering, you are pleased to be met with an almost empty makeup room. seonghwa sits in the makeup chair, snoozing as he waits for his artist. he seems to be the only one there. it gives you time to calm your nerves.

you've gone to sleep with a painful stomach, anticipation eating you up alive. you'll see san. you'll probably speak to him, too. in the morning, you felt no different. you barely managed to zip up your pants, the bloating from stress causing you trouble the first day at your new job. funny how brain does all these things.

"mr park," you gently call, placing the paper cup in front of him.

"mmh?" the man sleepily replies, opening one eye to look at you. when he sees it's you, he opens the other one as well, a lazy smile spreading on his lips. "good morning, tiny."

"good morning, mr pa—"

"a—ah!" he interrupts. "no more mister this mister that. i hate it."

"really?" you squint playfully. "then what would you like me to call you?"

"i give you full freedom to choose. think wise. something worth making san jealous. i want to toy with him a little." the sweet smile turns mischievous.

as he sips the morning coffee, you allow yourself a moment of freedom before your duties begin. you sit on the makeup chair next to him, spinning slowly while thinking. "hwa seems simple."

"simple is cute."

"sseong, as yunho once said." you laugh, remembering the video of yunho giving each of them a nickname.

"god, no." the man cries out. "next."

"seongie?"

"you can do better."

"ddeongie?"

"oh," he blushes. "i love it."

"then, it's settled." you give yourself a final spin on the chair before stopping to look at him. "ddeongie."

"how's the new manager?"

"not much different than sihun, honestly." you admit.

kevin is as uptight as sihun. the only difference is that kevin cares about schedule more than he cares about rumours among the members and staff. the idol agrees, then goes back to resting as much as he can.

the doors open, causing you to jump out of the chair and stand by seonghwa's side, as if shielding yourself from whoever came in. it is just a member of staff you don't recognize, who greets you politely and starts setting up her own station. three of them come in total, one of them immediately getting to work on seonghwa. the way her hand moves smoothly has you mesmerized. the brush gently glides over his eyelids, making his lashes flutter from the tickling sensation of the bristles.

he doesn't even twitch when the doors open rather violently, two men entering at once and pushing through the tight doorframe. two more familiar faces follow, belonging to gyuri and jaz. seems that mingi and jaz are a pair again. they sing a silly song, each holding one shoe as a microphone. it takes one glance at their feet to realize they took one of each others shoes, and are walking around half barefoot.

"gods, it's five in the morning." seonghwa wakes up from the slumber. he looks like a feverish child, passing out and waking up every few minutes. "idiots."

the two stop for a moment, offering seonghwa a glare. then, their eyes land on you. "y/n?"

"hi, mr jeong. mr song." you stand up, bowing slightly as a greeting. "long time no see."

you wave to jaz and gyuri as well, as they stare back at you with a mix of shock and disbelief. then, they almost jump on you, shielding your body from the rest of the people in the room.

"what the hell are you doing here?" gyuri is the first to ask, while jaz steps away so that mingi and yunho can approach you.

both men settle for a gentle pat on your head, letting the girls bombard you with questions for them. they sit on the makeup chairs next to seonghwa, putting their shoes back on.

"i was hired again." you reply. "i'm seonghwa's assistant."

from there, they pull you aside, interviewing you as if their lives depend on it. seonghwa occasionally tsks them, scolding them for bothering you with personal questions. such as what really happened with you and san, why you left, and will things be weird now. the last one you couldn't answer even if you wanted. you are yet to find out.

little by little, the small room fills with people. new faces emerge alongside familiar ones. they're scattered on the couch, some of them stand by the makeup chairs and vanities, talking to the ones that have to sit still, and some stand near the window, catching a whiff of fresh air. so far, you notice hyori, sooe and eric are the ones that are missing. sihun's doing, you remember. the atmosphere is lively, chatter and laughter echoing inside. caught up in a conversation with hongjoong, you don't notice the door opening.

brown eyes lazily scan the room, searching for the leader so that he can complain about not being woken up to ride with them to the building. when his eyes land on you, he takes a step back, accidentally bumping into his assistant. his heart thumps loud in his chest, drowning the voices around him and making everything play in slow motion. leah yelps behind him, san's heel painfully digging into her toes.

yet san is too deep in thought to hear her yelping. he gawks at you, sitting all pretty and sweet on the armrest of the couch as you speak to hongjoong. you've changed your hair, he notices. nothing drastic, but enough for him to notice. a push on the back finally causes him to step forward, freeing leah of the pain. he doesn't apologize. he simply nudges her away as she tries telling him something, making his way towards you. you don't notice him yet. you listen to hongjoong speak about the achievements you've missed, about moments they felt your absence, about the drama with sihun and how happy they were to get rid of him. a familiar scent of musk and worn leather pulls you out of the conversation, hongjoong's words fading as you shift your attention to the person who emits it.

heartbeat slows down. thoughts rush. hands tremble. san stands before you, framed in black. the compression shirt hugs every contour, and baggy sweatpants hang low on his hips. your mouth goes dry at the sight of his chiseled torso. his hair is tucked under a beanie, not a single strand visible. it seems that every time you see him, he keeps getting bigger.

"mr choi," you greet first, clearing your throat before doing so.

he doesn't move. doesn't speak. not yet.

there's barely a meter of distance between you, but it feels like a canyon. his fingers twitch at his side, aching to close the distance. to touch your face, your hand, anything. he refrains from it, and not due to people in the room. no, he refrains from it to respect you. until you decide it's okay, he will stay away. he will respect your boundaries and wishes. no more convincing. no more wars of push and pull.

"miss l/n." the words leave his mouth. "to what do we owe this pleasant surprise?"

his tongue is pressed against the back of his teeth. he yearns to call you by your name. by your pretty name, which won't leave his mind at any part of the day.

"so uptight, mr choi." you tease, hinting at his choice of words and stiff posture. "much like you, i've also made a comeback."

"oh?" he looks genuinely surprised.

has seonghwa not told him?

"as...?"

"seonghwa's assistant." you say.

hongjoong is silent next to you, cautiously motioning the tense atmosphere leah is creating just by standing there. she is silent, yet the leader can see that san is bothered by her. not only her, but everyone in this room. but san will have to be patient. he can't always get what he wants.

"how... nice." the tone makes it seem like he is convincing himself. he doesn't like the idea one bit, you can tell. "were you the one who chose him? or were you just assigned to him?"

one could cut the tension in the air with scissors. you are happy to have hongjoong next to you, his warmth a comfort compared to san's emotionless gaze. he doesn't say anything. he doesn't need to. san is vary of his words and actions before his captain.

"i picked him." you play along with seonghwa's plan. "and ddeongie agreed."

"ddeongie?" he repeats, disbelief and confusion evident in his voice. "i didn't realize you were on... nickname basis. how fun."

if jealousy were fatal, san would've succumbed to it by now.

leah's eyes flick between you and san, sharp and assessing, as if measuring something she can't quite name. she decides it's time to stop this jolly encounter. the young woman steps forward, clipboard hugged to her chest, her presence subtle but firm. she positions herself just slightly in front of san, not enough to block his view, but enough to get his attention. "can we go over the schedule now?"

san doesn't answer. his gaze stays locked on you, jaw clenched, breath shallow. he hasn't had enough. he wants to soak in your presence and beauty. he wants to fall on his knees for you, give himself to you. hell, he'd be your personal assistant.

"mr choi." leah calls, voice louder and firmer now.

"what?" he snaps out if it. his eyes fall on the schedule, and he sighs. "right."

with a nod towards you, he turns around, following leah to the corner of the room as she speaks about things san doesn't truly care about. as he leans against the wall, he has a clear view of the room. eyes betray him multiple times, landing on you much more than he'd like.

"mr choi—" she tries again, heel tapping against the floor as a quiet warning.

"how did you convince her?" and gets interrupted by san, who has now given his attention to seonghwa. "and why didn't you tell me?"

the man opens one eye to look at san, somewhat tauntingly. "careful, san. you're starting to look very suspicious and jealous for no reason."

san's jaw flexes, the muscle ticking once before he forces a slow exhale through his nose. "i'm not jealous," he says, but the words are too quick. they only make the accusation sound true.

seonghwa's smirk is faint, but it's there. "then stop looking like you are."

leah clears her throat, a pointed reminder that she's still there, still holding the schedule like a shield. san doesn't look at her. his gaze drifts again. uninvited, unstoppable. back to you.

you're laughing at something hongjoong said, head tilted just enough for the light to catch in your hair. and san feels it. that familiar, infuriating pull. like fate has chosen you and only you. heart burns with jealousy as you receive a notification on your phone. you look at the screen, then at seonghwa through the mirror. both of you share a smile. it's a breaking point for san.

he is suffocating, the air too thin to breathe. he storms out of the room. nobody pays him any mind, already used to his odd behaviour since you and melanie left. you feel a pang of guilt, but before you can properly feel it, seonghwa sends you a reassuring message.

park seonghwa: if he wants to play, let him play

park seongwha: don't you dare run after him

y/n: i won't

park seonghwa: good girl

park seonghwa: let him cook in his feelings a little. let him learn to control it. he won't always be able to be near you

y/n: alright :)

park seonghwa: you're doing great. <3

y/n: i feel a little guilty :(

seonghwa rolls his eyes, dramatically. then, they land on you through the mirror, as if scolding you. he offers a glance to hongjoong as well, sending a playful wink, to which hongjoong makes a disgusted sound and avoids looking at the older member.

park seonghwa: patience, tiny

out in the hallway, leah struggles to catch her breath as she finally reaches san. her fury is what is keeping her from fainting. he stops just on top of the stairs, getting ready to go down, but gets pulled back by his elbow and slammed against the wall.

"listen here, choi san." leah's voice has never been this sharp. "i am sick and tired of being ignored and pushed around."

"then maybe you should quit." the man is unfazed by her words. "there are countless people that would be thrilled to be in your position."

the young woman nods, biting her lip. she hides a bitter smirk as she speaks. "people like y/n?"

his gaze snaps to hers, sharp enough to cut. his eye almost twitches as he gives her a look of warning and hatred. "don't say her name. you are unworthy."

"oh, i've hit the nerve," she says, stepping closer until she feels his breath caress her face. "you think you're hiding it, but you're not. every time she looks at him, you look like you're ready to—"

"careful," he warns, voice low, dangerous. "you don't know what you're talking about."

leah laughs once, humorless. "i know exactly what i'm talking about. and so does seonghwa. you're playing right into his hands."

san pushes off the wall, closing the space between them until she has to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. "and you think you're any better? you're just as replaceable as you think i am."

for a beat, neither moves. the air between them is tight, charged. she's struck home, she knows it. yet she doesn't budge. she's tired of being treated like a neglected pet. whether or not san likes her, she still has a job to do. and he is making it very difficult. deep down, she might understand why you left. though, she would never admit it out loud.

"oh! sorry." both turn their heads at the sound, each with a different reaction. san terrified, and leah mischievous. "ddeongie wanted something from the store, i'm just passing by. don't let me interrupt you."

"y/n!" he calls, but you don't spare him a glance, instead disappearing around the corner.

this was bad. very bad. the proximity between san and leah wasn't something one would describe as professional. his hands grab leah by the shoulders, shoving her aside as his feet carry him towards the stairs. she stops him once again, nails digging into his bicep.

"if you go now, you'll be nothing but a desperate puppy whom she can play as she likes."

"she's not like that." he defends.

"you don't know that. you said it yourself, she's changed."

"i was angry. i didn't mean it."

"oh, san." leah sighs. "you dumb fucking fool."

and san doesn't respond. because the worst thing is, she might be right.

"and the worst part?" she catches his attention once more as he makes his way back to the doors of the makeup room. "she's not even trying. you are giving her exactly what she wants. attention, while she remains untouchable. you reaching for her like an idiot, and her playing hard to get and setting imaginary boundaries."

"you know nothing." san spits, even though leah's words plant a seed of doubt in his heart.

𓆩⟡𓆪

the group's schedule had been relentless: rehearsals, shoots and interviews having no end. every time san thought he'd get a quiet moment with you, seonghwa was there. always there. lurking, or standing there in plain sight. if you were grabbing coffee, seonghwa was already holding your cup. if you were packing up after a shoot, seonghwa was helping you carry equipment. if san tried to linger after practice, seonghwa would tap him on the shoulder and say, "come on, we've got work to do." it was starting to feel less like coincidence and more like a blockade.

when san approaches you with a churro during a shooting with seonghwa at the lotte world, he can't help the irritated groan that escapes him when the older male snatches it from his hand, shoving it into his mouth.

"what the hell? that wasn't for you." he complains. seonghwa only shrugs, chewing on the treat. "great."

he glances over at you, heart fluttering at the way the fuzzy backpack hangs from your shoulder. he wishes it was his you're holding, not seonghwa's. you stand by the filming crew, a big bag on the other shoulder, and a cup of half drunk coffee in hand. you don't sit like leah does. on your tippy toes, your eyes follow seonghwa, to the point where san begins feeling rather suspicious. fucking leah.

the crew has given everyone a fifteen minute break while they set up in front of a ride, and san has used it to run and grab a treat for you. now, he sits on the bench, bottom lip sticking out in a pout and hands crossed over his chest. the older man sits beside him, nudging him with his elbow.

"you need to start thinking more, san—ah." seonghwa warns. when the younger one graces him with a confused glance, he sighs. "if it weren't for me, you'd go and give a treat to a single person among the filming crew? how odd does that make you look?"

he might be right. though, san will never admit it out loud. "if you say so."

as he fixes the cat ears on his head, a matching accessory with seonghwa's bunny ones, his eyes inevitably find your figure again, and this time, they lock with yours. he stiffens on the bench, succumbing to your silent dominance you don't even know you exude. as if waiting for an order, he carefully monitors your movements. he even thinks you might just look away, and that this was for naught.

and then, you smile. a smile so soft and gentle, reserved for him only. it reaches your eyes, the skin under them puffing just a bit. and if any trace of suspicion was present in his body, it disappears when you raise your hand to wave at him. an action barely noticeable by others, cute and discreet in your own way. as if in a trance, he raises his hand as well, waving back at you.

it doesn't catch anyone's attention, other than leah's, who only scoffs and rolls her eyes. she passes by you, nudging you with her shoulder and making the bag slide from your shoulder and come down on your elbow. its force causes your arm to jolt, spilling the coffee all over yourself and the ground.

you know it's intentional, even without the smirk leah discreetly gives you as she mutters a sorry. san stands up in the distance, and before seonghwa notices and stands up himself, he is already in front of you.

"are you okay?" he questions, hands twitching by his sides. he wants to help. but at this point, everything makes him look suspicious. "can i help you anyhow?"

"i'll help her!" leah whips her head around, suddenly turning back from her desired journey and grabbing the almost empty cup out of your hand. no, not grabbing. snatching. she earns herself a glare from san, which is short lived once seonghwa arrives by his side.

"don't worry about it, mr choi." your voice is a sweet contrast to leah's bitter one. "luckily, ddeongie likes his coffee watered down and ice cold, right?"

san's jaw ticks just once. enough for seonghwa to catch it. the older man's lips twitch, not quite a smirk but close enough to make san want to look anywhere but at him. he hates that you are already turning away, handing the clipboard to a crew member and crouching to dab at the coffee on your clothes with a wad of napkins leah shoved into your hand.

san takes a half—step forward, the urge to shield you from leah's petty aggression stronger than him, but seonghwa's palm lands lightly on his chest. to anyone else it looks casual. to san it is a wall.

"focus," seonghwa murmurs, eyes still on the ride being prepped for filming. "you are on camera in three minutes."

leah glances over her shoulder, just in time to catch san's glare and meeting it with a slow, satisfied blink before she disappears into the crowd.

the idol exhales through his nose, forcing his hands into his pockets so no one sees them curl into fists. his eyes betray him, tracking you as you straighten up, laugh softly at something a staff member says, and brush a stray hair from your face. the sound of the director calling for positions snaps him back. he turns toward the set, but the thought lingers, heavy and unshakable: you smiled at him first.

the ride ends quicker than they'd like, and soon enough, the two adult men beg their staff to go for another round. the manager agrees, under a condition he does not yet tell them. once off the ride, and on the way to the next stop, the men don't suspect anything.

until they see it: the haunted house. san groans out loud, followed by seonghwa scrunching his nose and smiling uncomfortably. "why?!"

"it'll be fun to put two loud members in there." kevin shrugs. he makes his way over to you, shoving a gopro in your hand as well as leah's. "you're going in with them."

it is leah's turn to groan, and yours to gasp. "us? why?"

"the reactions will be more genuine with less people and the staff they spend the most time with instead."

the crew takes another twenty minute break to set up. the gopros are in your hands, ready to use. they're not on yet, you notice. the red blinking light is missing. luckily, because as seonghwa and san approach the two of you, you are reminded that you need to watch your words and behaviour. after all, it'll all be on video.

"aren't you uncomfortable in that soggy shirt, tiny?" seonghwa's voice is laced with worry. as you shake your head, a shiver betrays you, and seonghwa doesn't think twice before taking the school uniform jacket off and placing it on your shoulders. he helps your arms in the sleeves, then fixes the collar. finally, he pats your head. "there. all pretty again."

san is fuming. he is complimenting you right under his nose. letting you wear his clothes, while san stands there knowing damn well he can't move a finger without being suspicious. to make matters worse, san's brain has an odd way of thinking. instead of letting it go, he takes off his own jacket, and covers leah with it.

the faint scent of seonghwa's cologne calms your nerves. it isn't about the jacket. no, it's about the way san looks at you when he puts it on her. as if you and seonghwa had this planned. you did agree on teasing him, but not everything was calculated. san is treating this like a competition. and it's starting to get on your nerves again. it feels as if you are taking one step forward, and two steps back.

"thank you, ddeongie. what would i do without you?" you say with a tired sigh. you mean it, truly. not to taunt san. it's a genuine gratitude towards seonghwa, for being by your side through this and giving you comfort. his signature soft smile dances on his lips as his finger taps your nose. it has become a habit of his to do that.

"kevin, are we ready?" he yells.

in no time, the doors are shut behind you once you enter. the light blinks red in your hand through the foggy air. the house smells dusty, like an attic. oddly enough, you enjoy that smell. the narrow hallway forces you into a line: seonghwa in front, then you, then leah, and san at the back. the first few scares are predictable: flickering lights, sudden bangs, and a distant laugh. leah's constant flinching keeps her bumping into you. every time san tries to close the gap, and comes within your reach, she stops short, forcing him to steady her instead. then, at a corner where the path widens, seonghwa glances back. his eyes flick from san to you, squinted, calculated. then to leah.

"hey, leah," he says casually, "come up here for a second. could you hold the light while i film this next bit?"

leah hesitates, but seonghwa's already ushering her forward. she squeezes past you, muttering something about hating haunted houses, and suddenly it's just you and san in the back.

you're still adjusting your grip on the gopro when a costumed actor bursts from a hidden panel. seonghwa and leah shriek, then run for their lives as the actor chases them down the hallway around the corner. you jump, the camera slipping from your hands. it clatters to the floor, the blinking red light going dark.

"shit," you breathe, crouching to grab it. san's already there, his hand brushing yours in the dark as he picks it up. "thanks."

"let me see," he says, voice low. he turns the camera over in his hands, frowning. "it's off. might've hit the button when it fell."

the hallway ahead is empty now, the others' voices muffled somewhere deeper inside. the only light comes from a flickering lantern above, casting warm shadows across san's face.

"guess we're off the record for a minute," you murmur.

something in his expression changes — the tension in his shoulders easing, his gaze softening. "i guess. we deserve a moment of freedom, don't we?"

you tilt your head. "what do you mean?"

he hesitates, eyes searching yours. "i mean... you can drop the act. with seonghwa. or are you really that good with him?"

you blink, then sigh. "not everything is about you, mr choi."

"mr choi..." he huffs a quiet laugh, but doesn't step back. the space between you shrinks until you can feel the warmth of his breath in the cool air. his eyes drop to your lips for just a second. enough to make your pulse jump. "gods, you're so pretty."

you don't move away. not yet. the wall is cold against your back, even though layers of your sweater and seonghwa's jacket try their best to shield it.

"you're as pretty as the day i lost you." san's hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek, tentative but certain enough to make his intent clear. you let him get close. close enough that the next breath might close the gap before you lay your hand gently on his chest. he flinches, hand flying to cover yours in a desperate attempt to keep you where you are. "no, please..."

"not here," you say softly. "not yet."

it's not rejection. it's a promise. he sighs in defeat, eyes squeezing shut. his hands lay flat against the wall beside your head, supporting his body as his forehead leans against yours. his breath is a gentle caress on your face, the smell of chocolate and coffee overpowering the one of dust and borderline mold in the house. "i'm weaker than you think, y/n. taehwan... he doesn't deserve you."

"sannie," you place a hand on his cheek. he opens his eyes, alert. "i'm not with taehwan anymore. we broke up."

"you did?" he hates how hopeful and relieved he sounds. "why?"

"it doesn't matter now, does it? i'm here. turning a new page. or old page, better said."

one hand slides from the wall to your waist, softly pulling your body so that it leans into his. you chase his warmth and comfort, a bit too quick for your liking. you feel his chest below your touch, hand now loosely planted over his top. you glance at the gopro, hoping it doesn't work. not even seonghwa could save you from this if it got filmed.

"let's go before leah burns the house down." you wish to gently nudge him away. he doesn't budge. skin burns under his touch as his knuckles trace your jawline. "san, please."

"of course." he breaks free from the trance. "i'm sorry for overstepping."

your response is non verbal; a gentle caress of his cheek and a kiss on it as you step past him, the gopro now blinking red again in your hand. he follows, a few steps behind, and though the haunted house is still full of scares, nothing makes his heart race quite like you. turning around the corner, you come in contact face first with seonghwa's chest. his hands fly to your arms, steading you in a hug. "there you are!"

"sorry, didn't see you there." you have to tilt your head backwards to look at him. you often forget how tall he is until you stand right next to him. "where's leah?"

"right here. don't worry, you won't get rid of me that easily." she mumbles, pushing past the two of you so that she can approach san.

before you can say that you did not mean it that way, seonghwa takes your hand in his, holding the gopro for you in a way that it films only the space in front of you. he doesn't intertwine his fingers with yours. the hold feels rather... homey. like a big brother hold.

for the next twenty minutes it takes for the four of you to find the exit, not a single time were you separated. seonghwa skillfully dodges the actors, running down the hallways and through various rooms. it makes you think that the first time one of the actors jumped out, seonghwa used it as an excuse to leave san and you alone. you don't mind. once out, catching your breath and adjusting your eyes to the amusement park lights, you finally let go of both seonghwa's hand and the gopro.

"we'll take a half hour dinner break!" kevin announces as he glares at you for dropping the gadget on the ground. "i want you back here at ten o'clock sharp. both of you."

leah does what she knows best: rolls her eyes, then storms off.

one time long ago, you thought leah as your equal. forced to be with bratty san, putting up with his confessions and whatnot. even felt sorry for her when san kissed her. you're not sure whether that situation has turned her the way she is. was she always this annoying and mean? is san attracted to people who are mean to him? that used to be wooyoung's trait.

"what are we feeling? ramen in a cup? corndogs? churros?" seonghwa starts walking first, taking his place by the side san had intended. the younger man gets pushed aside, the older one blocking him from reaching you and seeing you. to make things worse, seonghwa takes the rabbit ears off his head and places them on yours. "carrots for the cute bunny?"

san thinks you'd suit the cat ears more. he doesn't like this one bit. seonghwa is trying to get under his skin, undoubtedly. he is teaching him a lesson in patience in a rather cruel way. nicknames, touches, jokes. he hates the way his body reacts to it all. he doesn't know what hurts more: seonghwa doing things to you san only wishes, or you enjoying and encouraging it.

the scent of frying batter drifts through the cool night air, mixing with the faint sweetness of cotton candy. it helps you decide just what you want. "corndogs."

"ah, as if i knew it." just as he says the words, the three of you find yourselves standing in front of a corndog stand. he doesn't ask san whether he wants something else. and san doesn't protest. "six corndogs, please."

"six?!" you almost shout.

"two each. come on, tiny. you need energy to finish the shoot."

you can't argue with that.

the vendor hands over the paper trays, steam curling into the cool night air. san has already sat down on a bench beneath a tree, hidden from the warm lights. you linger near him, unsure what to do with yourself as seonghwa pays for the food. he passes you yours first, then san's, before taking his own and finding his spot leaning against a lamp post. he's close enough to see you, far enough to give the illusion of privacy. the bench is cold when you sit down. san notices. why did he have to give his jacket to leah? he watches carefully as you take a bite, the crunch giving way to molten cheese that stretches in a long ribbon. you try to bite it clean, but it clings stubbornly, swaying between your mouth and the corndog.

san's laugh is low, warm. "hold still."

before you can ask why, he leans in and catches the strand with his teeth, snapping it clean. for a second, you're frozen. his face is close enough that you can see the faint sheen of oil on his lips, the way his eyes flicker to yours before he leans back.

"you're ridiculous," you say, but your voice is softer than you mean it to be.

"and you're smiling," he counters, smug but quiet, like it's a secret just for the two of you.

you roll your eyes and take another bite, but this time the cheese pull is even longer. san's hand twitches like he might lean in again, but he stops himself, settling for watching you instead.

from his spot, seonghwa pretends to scroll his phone as he chews his own food, but you catch the faintest curve of a smile on his face.

"how is leah treating you?"

the idol groans. "i just forgot about her. why would you do this to me?"

"i'm just concerned." you shrug. "she seems..."

"annoying? mean? bitter? the most icky person you've ever met?" he graces her with compliments.

"and you're a ray of sunshine." the eyeroll that comes with the words is earned. he doesn't say anything. the smile on his lips grows. it gives you a green light to continue. "not to be paranoid, but... she is giving me melanie vibes."

"ah." he nods, fidgeting with the stick of the half eaten corndog. "leah is all words. no action. she isn't a threat. i think."

"it's good to be careful either way."

leah gives you odd vibes. you don't like it. other than the casual mean girl behaviour, you cannot find anything unusual about her. it irks you, because to everyone else, she is a sweetheart and a darling. as soon as she turns to you, it's only scoffs and condescending words.

san's eyes keep flicking to the rabbit ears on your head. they're cute. too cute. and they're seonghwa's. it gnaws at him in a way he can't quite hide. as you finish the last bite of your corndog, he shifts closer, holding something out. the black cat ears dangle from his fingers, the headband still warm from where it rested on top of his head.

"these suit you better," he says, voice low.

you blink at him, mid—chew. "what?"

before you can protest, he steps in, careful but deliberate, sliding the rabbit ears off your head. his fingers brush your hairline, lingering just a second too long before he settles the cat ears in their place.

"there," he murmurs, leaning back to take you in. "all pretty."

"copycat." you look away, hiding your blushing under a teasing comment.

"what?"

"you're competing with with hwa. the ears, the compliment."

"it's not a competition." he sulks. "not when i can be the only winner."

"so far up your ass as usual, mr choi."

he cringes at the name. he hates it with all his being. "sannie."

"we're not doing this again." you warn. to your surprise, he settles down. the pout is still visible, and his brows still furrowed. he doesn't protest. not when you tug at his bottom lip, and not when the tips of your nails gently graze the skin under his chin, the light tickle comforting.

the hum of the carousel drifts over from somewhere behind you, its music faint under the chatter of the crowd. his breath stills under your touch, and for a moment, the glow from the park lights makes the furrow in his brow look almost soft.

"i have to go back now." you say with a heavy heart, standing up while he stays sitting.

"i'm tired." he admits. "i want to sleep on this bench."

you laugh. he does look pretty exhausted. his hair is already a mess, and you can't help but run your fingers through it, taming the soft locks so that they gently fall over his half closed eyes. "it'll be over soon."

"mmh." he hums, eyes closing completely as he savours every touch and caress you give him. his hands find comfort in fidgeting with the ends of seonghwa's jacket on you, subconsciously pulling you closer so that you stand between his legs. "soon isn't soon enough."

"sannie." you break your own words. it seems to be the only way to make him listen. eyelids reveal shiny brown orbs that stare at you, anticipating your next words. "be a good boy for me."

it activates something within him. his ears perk up, much like a cat's. cheeks flushed, and eyes slowly blinking, san doesn't know how to respond. his body burns under your touch, and hands itch to slide under your top just enough to feel your skin on his.

"will you?" you wake him up.

"huh?" he is utterly lost in your gaze.

"will you be a good boy for me?" you repeat, the words sending shivers down his spine and making the hairs on his body stand up straight.

"yes." he responds rather quickly. as if a delay might make you think of this whole exchange as cringe or weird. he can't allow it. not while he enjoys being under your spell. "yes, i will."

"good."

𓆩⟡𓆪

san is not sure how he got here. he only knows that you're close. too close.

there's the faint scent of your shampoo, the warmth of your breath against his ear, the soft press of your hand against his chest. you're saying something, but the words are muffled, like you're speaking underwater. still, the tone is unmistakable. low, certain, the way you sound when you want him to listen.

the scent of berries and white chocolate envelops him. plays with his emotions, unveils his buried desires. his pulse stutters. you lean in, your fingers brushing the side of his neck, and the world narrows to the heat of your touch and the way his name sounds in your mouth.

"sannie."

a mere sigh against his skin, breath a hot caress against his ear shell.

"my good, good boy." you praise. he shivers under the graze of your nails against his chest, lips chasing your neck and shoulders. "always so good for me."

he blinks, and the hotel room is dark. the sheets are twisted around his legs, his skin coated in a thin layer of sweat, his breathing uneven. the echo of your voice lingers, curling in his chest until it's unbearable.

you? not in his arms. vanished in thin air.

before he can think better, he's reaching for his phone. you answer on the third ring, voice thick with sleep. "san? it's... three in the morning."

"i know," he says, his voice low and hoarse. "i just... needed to hear you."

there's a pause, the sound of you shifting under your covers. "you sound odd."

"do i?"

you hum sleepily. "go back to sleep, sannie."

"i can't sleep." he admits. fingers play with the hem of his undershirt, dangerously close to an aching area. "are you very sleepy?"

"mmh." the sweet sigh you emit doesn't help his case. "yeah."

"okay..." he fails to hide the disappointment. he doesn't hang up yet. neither do you. the sound of your soft breathing into the phone takes him back to the dream. he called you to distract him, not drag him back into the sinful dream.

fingers graze the top stitch of his underwear. the material is tight, suffocating. he won't do it. it's wrong. doing that while you are unaware means disrespecting you, and that's the last thing san wants to do. but the more you sleepily hum and breathe on the phone, the less control he has.

"sannie?" his name is forbidden fruit on your lips. he doesn't manage to reply before getting stunned by your next words. "are you being a naughty boy?"

he chokes on his own spit, body jerking so he sits up. his back leans against the headboard. the last atoms of sleepiness disappear, mind and heart now fully alert. ready to submit to you.

"i asked you a question." though quiet, your voice is firm. "are you being a naughty boy?"

"no." he denies.

"you're not?" you push. you know he isn't. but there is a reason why he called you so late at night, voice all hoarse and breathless. and you'll die if you don't take the chance to tease him. "you're being good, like i asked you to?"

"of course."

you hum again, the sound curling warm in his ear like a ribbon of heat winding straight down his spine. "good."

he swallows, the word settling in his chest like a weight and a reward at the same time. the quiet between you is not empty. it is filled with the faint rustle of your sheets, the soft hitch of your breathing, and the sleepy drag in your voice.

"then," you continue, your tone dipping just enough to make his pulse jump, "you can do something for me."

"anything," he says too quickly, voice reeking of desperation.

"close your eyes."

he obeys instantly, lashes fluttering shut, the darkness behind them still painted with the image of you sprawled out on his bed. body hidden by sheets, the scent of berries lingering wherever you touch. he can almost smell it right now. the faint taste of the pepero is on his tongue, and like dark magic, his fingers lift to touch his lips. a faint graze, yet they're so sensitive he shudders against his own touch.

"breathe in," you instruct, and he does, filling his lungs until it almost hurts. the air feels heavier now, thick with the scent of his own skin.

"and out."

the rhythm steadies him, but it does not cool the heat prickling under his skin. he drops the phone after putting you on speaker. fingers of his now free hand curl into the sheets, trying to ground him. it's tough, hearing your voice like a fantasy song in the dark of this forsaken night. had seonghwa or hongjoong heard him, they'd mock him. but what else is this night, when you're not here?

"think about something nice," you murmur. "something that makes you feel calm."

his mind betrays him. it is you, always you, standing too close and saying his name like it belongs to you. like he belongs to you.

"are you doing it?"

"mm," he manages, voice growing quieter with each minute that passes.

"good boy."

the praise lands like a spark and his grip on the phone tightens.

"now," you say, softer still, "you are going to sleep. and you are going to be good for me until morning."

he wants to argue, to keep you on the line, to ask for more. the firmness in your tone makes it impossible. "yes," he says instead.

"good night, sannie."

"good night,..." he hesitates. the familiar nickname is at the tip of his tongue. he may ruin this. he may make this better. he takes the risk. "...princess."

a fond chuckle meets his ears, and san's heart finally rests. one step at a time, you had said. and you were right. impatience has brought out the worst in him, and has pushed you away. now, by letting you have full control over the situation, he realizes his mistakes. and he won't do them again.

"obedient kitty." he feels you smile as you say it. he is too stunned to reply. "good night."

the line clicks dead. he is left in the dark with the phone laying beside him and his heart pounding. the room feels too big without your voice in it. he lies back, staring at the ceiling, phone pressed to his chest as if hugging you. the echo of your words loops in his head until they are the only thing keeping him awake. the sun is peeking at the horizon when san finally falls asleep.

the next time he wakes up, it is by his alarm clock. not dreams of you. he doesn't like it.

𓆩⟡𓆪

the practice room is alive with energy. it reeks of sweat and isotonic drinks, and is filled with shoes dragging across the floor, creating squeaking noises and black lines which cleaners will have to scrub later. the choreography is intense, and sensual. you sit on the bench, watching them through the mirror. the eight men are dressed casually, each wearing sweats and tank tops and compression shirts. their faces and moves don't match the casual vibe of their clothes. they are intense, calculated, and precise.

you don't utter a single word, too focused on keeping your jaw from dropping on the floor. you are the first atiny to witness the song and choreography. you are having a difficult time keeping your sanity. wooyoung is reminding you just why he was your bias. it is odd seeing seonghwa so serious. you don't mind. his eyes hold power, such that it has given you a habit you've never had before: biting your nails.

yunho decides it's enough for the day, clapping his hands and rushing to his towel. gyuri holds his drink out for him, and he almost snatches it from her, emptying the bottle in seconds.

"hey." seonghwa calls in front of you. his finger finds its place below your chin, then gently pushes upwards. you didn't even notice you failed at your task. fuck. "i'll take that as a compliment."

"don't even." you playfully throw the towel at him. he catches it, dabbing his face with it until it's dry. leah has stood up in the meantime, meeting san halfway to deliver his drink and towel as well, leaving seonghwa and you to have a private moment. you see the mischief glimmer in his eyes. "what?"

"well... we are done." he says. there's more to it, you know it. you don't give him the satisfaction of asking. he continues, "san will practice his solo song now."

"oh?" you are intrigued. you've heard almost all of their solo songs. san's is the only one you haven't heard yet. "and?"

"do you want to stay and watch?" he offers. and just how do you decline, when san looks ravishing in grey sweats and a tank top that hugs his torso and reveals his biceps? seonghwa bites his tongue as he sticks it out at you. "perv."

"highly inappropriate, mr park." you smack his shoulder, soft enough to not hurt him but firm enough to warn him. "and what will my excuse be?"

"i'll stay with you. don't worry about the rest."

the members and their assistants exit one by one, until only the four of you are left. leah is puzzled, and maybe a tad bit disappointed, seeing that she won't get her alone time with san. the younger idol sends the older one a confused glance, to which seonghwa responds with a wink you don't miss. san then glances at you, and immediately, his cheeks flush. his eyes imagine the cat ears on top of your head. he has officially lost it.

"san—ah. fighting!" seonghwa calms him, grabbing him by his shoulders and shaking any jitters off.

"yeah, sannie. fighting!" leah has chosen to be bold today, it seems. the young man only spares her a glance, resisting the urge to scold her for using the nickname that belongs to you only.

san stretches in the middle of the practice room, rolling his shoulders, the fabric of his tank top shifting with each movement. when he glances over and meets your gaze, his cheeks flush almost instantly. you look away, pretending to adjust your phone, but the warmth in your chest betrays you.

the music starts, slow. sensual. the bass hums low through the floor, each beat a slow pulse in your chest. san moves like the music is pulling him by invisible strings. fluid, every shift of his weight calculated.

you try to watch through the mirror like others, but his gaze finds yours almost immediately. it's not a glance. it's a hold. he turns with the beat, hand dragging slowly across his chest, and his eyes never leave yours. the movement is part of the choreography, you know that, but the way he does it feels personal.

seonghwa leans against the wall beside you, arms crossed, pretending not to notice. leah lingers by the watercooler, refilling his bottle, but her reflection in the mirror shows her watching the two of you more than the dance.

san drops into a slow roll of his shoulders, the fabric of his tank top stretching across his back. when he straightens, his head tilts just slightly, like he's daring you to look away.

you don't.

the song builds, and he steps forward on the beat, closing the space between himself and the mirror. his palm presses flat against it, right where your reflection sits.

your breath catches.

he smirks. small, fleeting, before spinning away into the next move, leaving you with the echo of his eyes on yours long after the music swallows him again.

you're not sure when the music stops. in your head, it is still playing. his voice as velvety and sensual as his moves. it has you utterly mesmerized, to the point where seonghwa has to wave his hand in front of your face to get your attention.

"huh?" you reply, eyes still fixed on san's figure.

"i said, i'm going to get food for myself. you want anything?"

you finally look at seonghwa, and jolt. it seems easy to forget that you are here to work for seonghwa, not live out a fanfiction you have read somewhere once upon a time. "i'll do it. just tell me what you want."

"not a chance. your head hurts, remember? what if you fall and hurt yourself while getting to the shop?"

san is readying himself for one more try, not very satisfied with the first one. worry paints his features, hearing seonghwa's words to you. your head doesn't hurt. you are fine. thankfully, you aren't a fool, and you understand what seonghwa wants to do. the familiar glint in his eyes says it all, and you play along. "i didn't want to make a big deal out of it."

"you sit there, have some of my water. leah and i will go get the food. san wanted his usual. do you want anything?" you shake your head with a smile. seonghwa seems to have control over everything. he doesn't allow leah to protest, one look at her enough to make her silently take her bag and wait by the door. his power should be studied. when he said he'd protect you, he meant it. and all you can do is look at him in awe as he winks at you, ruffling your hair and making his way out. "we'll be right back!"

the door clicks shut behind them, and the room feels bigger and smaller all at once. the echo of the bass from his song still hums in your chest. san is stretching again, but his eyes keep flicking your way, like he's not sure where to start. so you do.

"you look tired." you notice the dark circles under his eyes. "you really couldn't sleep last night, huh?"

"yeah..." he trails.

"bad dreams?" you tease.

he gives you a squinted look, before getting into position. your voice calls him, tone softer than ever. like a marionette, his body follows the invisible strings of your hands, doing as you say. until he stands in front of you, eyes trying their best to stay wide open.

"sit." the word hangs in the air for a moment, and then he lowers himself onto the floor. he doesn't sit. he kneels in front of you. "oh, sannie."

breath hitches when your hands come in contact with his face. it fits just right, as if he was molded to your liking. he melts in your arms, body seeking comfort. peace that only you can offer. "i'm tired."

"i know, sweetie." you know what he means. he is tired of being patient. one hand brushes the bangs out of his face as the other one cradles his chin, holding his head up so that you can take a proper look at his flushed face. "you've been so good for me, haven't you?"

"i think i have..."

"of course you have. my patient, pretty boy." and there it is. the words of confirmation he needed. slowly, but surely, he is getting somewhere. you aren't pushing him away. instead, you are inviting him into your space. his hands settle on your thighs, warm and steady, grounding himself in your presence as if you're the only thing keeping him upright.

the room is quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioning. the scent of his skin lingers between you, faint traces of sweat and deodorant. your thumb brushes over the curve of his cheekbone, and his lips part just slightly, as if to speak, though no words come out. the finger drops to his bottom lip, a ghost touch against it. instinctively, san's tongue peeks out to wet it.

he wets your finger in the process, and any wall you had up shatters to the ground. pupils widen, breathing becomes shallow as the tip of your nose brushes his, and the air doesn't seem enough to keep you alive. you inch closer, until the only thing separating you is your thumb on his lip.

"princess..." he sighs, eyes closing as your breath caresses his skin and makes his lashes flutter.

"hmm?"

"i swear i am trying my best. i truly am. but i'm afraid i can't take it anymore." his voice is hoarse as he talks against your finger. "if i don't kiss you right now, i will die on this floor."

"so dramatic." you chuckle. "for no reason."

even though you remove your hand from his face, only to intertwine your fingers with soft locks of his hair, you don't move yet. it is a slow torture for san, watching you bite your lip when he should be the one doing it instead. he moves first, his heart taking control over his mind. it is sudden enough to make your breath catch, but not rough, not rushed. his hands slide from your thighs to your hips, steady and warm, and he leans in until his forehead rests against yours.

his eyes search yours, waiting for any indication of anger or disappointment. you do not pull away. you do not react.

he closes the last inch himself, lips brushing yours in a sweet kiss that is more question than demand. you let him have it, soft and slow, your fingers tightening just slightly in his hair to keep him there. he deepens it by a fraction, testing, and you respond with the faintest tilt of your head, granting him more. the pace is yours to give, and he follows it without hesitation.

there is hunger in his eyes when you pull away. he whines. you pull at his hair as a warning, which only makes the situation worse. he moans. a high pitched moan, igniting a fire within you. he may have self control and patience, but you can't say the same about you. not anymore.

his hands slide higher along your hips, fingers curling just enough to hold you in place as he leans in. plump red lips capture yours again. they are hot, and plush on yours. the kiss he gives you now is deeper, hungrier, but it still waits for your answer. you give it to him in the smallest ways. the way your lips part just enough for him to taste you, the way your fingers tighten in his hair and guide his head closer to you. he follows every cue, matching your rhythm, never pushing past what you allow.

the heat between you builds in slow waves, each one stronger than the last, until you pull back just slightly. his breath is uneven, his eyes dark and fixed on yours, but he doesn't chase the space you've created. a thin string of saliva connects your lips, yours now as swollen and red as his. it takes you a while to collect yourself.

"you still taste the same." he praises. "got any pepero sticks in your bag?"

you laugh, because he is right. the berry and chocolate sticks are hidden in your bag, among seonghwa's belongings. "why, you want some?"

"i could use one or two. tomorrow night."

you raise an eyebrow with confusion. "tomorrow night?"

"if you... i mean, if you want."

"if i want what, mr choi?"

another whine leaves his pretty lips, this time one of dissatisfaction rather than pleasure. he looks away, avoiding your piercing gaze. "the next time i hear those two words i'll get a rash. i meant... if you want to come over. we could watch a movie or something."

fingers pull at his hair again, causing him to yelp and look back into your eyes. "then ask me. nicely. and maybe i'll think about it."

"will you go on a date with me?" he blurts out. as if you'll change your mind if he says it any slower. "my place. i'll bring all the red bull and pepero your heart could want."

"a date?"

"yes. a proper date."

"i'll think about it."

"but—" his shoulders drop, and his lip sticks out in a pout that is dear to your heart.

"i said," you press a kiss to his forehead, then stand up, leaving him to kneel on the floor. "i'll think about it."

𓆩⟡𓆪

the day after, at ten in the evening sharp, you walk behind seonghwa as he sneaks you into the dorms. the hallway is dim and still, the only sound the soft thud of your footsteps behind seonghwa and rustling of the bag of snacks. the faint scent of detergent and takeaway food lingers behind closed doors. you keep your head down, though you know no one would dare question him if they saw you. he stops at the last door on the left, knocking twice before pushing it open without waiting for an answer.

san is there. hair damp, hoodie hanging loose over his frame, a can of red bull already in one hand. his eyes widen when he sees you, and for a moment he just stands there, like he's not sure if you're real.

"you came," he says, relief washing over his features.

"i said i'd think about it," you reply, stepping past seonghwa into the room and setting the bag on the desk.

san's mouth curves, slow and genuine, as he sets the can next to your bag. "guess i should've bought more pepero."

"yuck." seonghwa teases. "do be quiet, please? mingi is sleeping, and hongjoong is passed out on the couch for some reason."

"will do, ddeongie." you reply sweetly. "thank you. i owe you so much."

"don't be silly." slender fingers rest on top of your head, patting it a few times. "have fun... watching the movie, i guess."

before any of you two can reply, seonghwa shuts the door. finally alone, you have a chance to see his room. you've seen it in various lives, many times. it comes with a scent that you cannot describe as anything else but choi san. cologne, fresh bedsheets, and worn leather. he wears the hood over his head, much like the night when he visited you.

"hi." you greet. his shoulders relax upon seeing your smile. "i see you started without me."

the green red bull can sits empty on the desk. you can't believe you hooked him to the energy drink. when he doesn't respond, you pass by him, shoulder barely brushing him as you plop on the bed. immediately, it engulfs you: invisible strings of musk and faint manly sweat wrap around your body. the pillow is soft beneath your head. if he ever tells you that he couldn't sleep, you won't believe him. not when he has a bed like this.

"so..."

"oh, what's that?" you point at something shiny at the desk. you know exactly what it is. you just wish to see him squirm.

"i— oh, seonghwa. i'm going to kill him." he grabs the packet loosely, the foil crinkling as it unwraps into a sealed row. "i—"

"that is very responsible of you, sannie. protection is important." your tone is calm, but the curve of your mouth gives you away.

he shoves the condoms into the drawer of his nightstand and shuts it a little too quickly, as if speed could erase the moment. you think it's cute. he, however, feels as if he already lost the little dignity he had left. "what do you feel like watching?"

"aren't you going to show me around the room?" you give him the prettiest eyes you can, causing him to scratch the back of his neck and look away while blushing.

"sure... it's not much, i mean." he gestures vaguely around the room, as if the walls might speak for themselves. "that's my desk... obviously. and uh, closet's over there. bed's here. you're already in it."

you hum, eyes scanning the space like you're appraising it. "no posters? no secret stash of snacks? oh, headboard lights! how do you turn them on?"

"the snacks hey're in the drawer under the bed." he admits, then winces. "not secret. just... convenient."

you reach down, fingers brushing the edge of the drawer, and pull it open. a few crumpled wrappers, a half—eaten bag of gummies, and—

"another red bull?" you tease, holding up the green can.

he groans, then steps toward you and the bed. "i swear i'm not addicted."

"mm. we'll see." you crack it open, the hiss sharp in the quiet.he watches you, eyes flicking to your lips as you take a slow sip. then, without a word, you lean in and press the can to his mouth. "your turn."

san leans in, eyes locked with yours. his fingers wrap themselves around your wrist, gently pulling the can away before his other hand cups your cheek. his head tilts, as does yours. lips barely graze yours, tongue already softly begging permission by wetting your lips. you allow him, parting them just enough for the hot muscle to find yours. it's a dance, not a battle.

you pull away first, a teasing smirk already on your face. "not addicted, you say."

"mmm," he hums, eyes still closed as he savours the taste of you mixed with the elderflower energy drink. "i'm addicted to you."

"you softie." with that, you pull him on the bed with you, while cautious of the can so you don't spill it. he lands on his elbows, careful not to squish you with his weight. "you are so red in the face. are you okay?"

"am i okay?" he repeats. "you showed up here, all dolled up and with that pretty hair, teasing me since you entered the room. i'm here looking like a bum. you know what? i'm going to change."

and you let him. you let him run away, but not before he rummages through his closet and digs a new outfit out. he disappears without a word, leaving you on the bed to wonder whether you're being harsh on him. you don't wish to torture him, truly. he is just that sensitive. and you love that about him.

boredom makes the best of you, with san being gone for a bit longer than you expected. you don't mean to snoop through his drawers. you don't mean to find an empty can of red bull with a lip gloss print at the opening. your lip gloss, and your red bull. you wonder when he had the time to snatch the can and tell sihun. you don't mean to find the aniteez plushy cutely tucked under the covers.

most of all, you don't mean to slide open his closet. you don't mean to deeply inhale the scent of laundry detergent and san himself that hits you. you don't mean to feel the soft fabric of neatly folded hoodies and t-shirts under your fingers. and certainly, you don't mean to pull out a white t-shirt. discard your clothes. leave only your underwear on. pull the fresh fabric over your head, until it falls just below the curve of your bum and touches your thighs.

you catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the window. the garment is loose, san's broad form stretching the material out. the setting itself intoxicates you. this is san's space, and you are in it. there is pieces of you everywhere, from the can to the familiar coat that hangs by the door. the very one he said he never washed, because you wore it once and it smelled like you.

there isn't much to discover anymore, so you opt for setting sandeoki free from his nap. just as you take it into your hands, the door opens. san stops dead in the doorway, wearing a black tank top and black sweatpants. the plushie is pressed to your chest like you've been caught doing something you shouldn't, but it's not the toy that steals the air from his lungs. it's his shirt on you. the hem brushing your thighs. the way it hangs loose, swallowing you whole and still managing to make him feel like he's seeing too much. his fingers tighten on the doorknob. his mouth opens but nothing comes out at first. you tilt your head, eyes pretty and anticipating, and he swears his pulse is in his ears.

"i..." he swallows, tries again. "are you trying to murder me tonight?"

there are footsteps in the hallway. instinct kicks in and he shuts the door quickly, leaning back against it as if to keep the rest of the world out. his heart is still racing, and he knows it has nothing to do with the walk from the kitchen.

"i hope you don't mind. i was feeling hot as well." you innocently point at the neatly folded clothes you had spent forever picking back in your room. countless selfies sent to seonghwa, him being the first to ask about it, and finally deciding the outfit, only for it to end up discarded and replaced. he doesn't respond. body frozen against the door, all he can do is gawk as you lower the plushy so that it hangs beside you in your hand. eyes inevitably land on your bare legs, and san audibly shudders. "i'll change if you do mind..."

"no!" the word comes out louder than he intended.

"so you don't mind?"

he doesn't answer right away. just stands there, eyes tracing the curve of your legs, the way his shirt clings to your frame like it's memorizing you. then, slowly, he pushes off the door. each step feels deliberate, like he's afraid to break whatever spell you've cast. you stay still, plushie dangling from your fingers, watching him close the space between you. his hand reaches out, brushing the hem of the shirt near your thigh. he doesn't look up. not yet.

"you look..." he starts, voice barely audible. "like you belong here."

you smile, soft and sure. "i do."

he finally meets your eyes. something in him shifts. the hesitation melts into something warmer, deeper. his fingers trail up, grazing your waist over the fabric, then settle at your hips. he leans in, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

"can i kiss you again?" he asks, like it's sacred.

you nod, and this time, it's slower. lips move with precision, as if calculated ages ago and he can finally show it off. no teasing, no games. just warmth, and want. he holds you like you'll perish if he loosens his grip. like you'll run away again. the plushie falls with a thud on the bed as you throw it, and your hands reach for his. you guide them back to the hem of the t-shirt, then slide them underneath. calloused fingers are rough against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. choi san is one of the rare idols who don't have long slender fingers. you find his short and thick fingers much cuter. it seems as if they were made for holding you. san's lips linger on yours, slow and reverent, like he's afraid to let go. when he finally does, it's only to rest his forehead against yours again, breath warm and uneven. hands stay beneath the shirt, fingers tracing imaginary lines, memorizing you in silence.

"don't let go," you whisper.

"i won't," he says, voice low. his arms tighten around you instantly, like the words unlocked something he'd been holding back. "not unless you ak me to."

you both sink onto the bed, limbs tangled, the plushie forgotten on the floor. san's hand abandons you, only to find a switch above his head. the headboard lights cast a soft glow over your faces, golden and gentle, like the room itself is holding its breath. he brushes a strand of hair from your face, thumb grazing your cheek.

"you're dangerous," he murmurs again, but this time it sounds like a confession. "you make me feel everything all at once."

you smile, eyes half-lidded. "good. i want you to feel me."

he exhales, a sound that's half laugh, half surrender. "i do. i feel you everywhere."

"then," you trail, nails grazing the line on his neck, from his jaw to his collarbones. "let me feel you as well."

"what do you—" his breath catches in the middle of the sentence as you straddle him, the curve of your bum positioned on his crotch. his hands instinctively find their spot on your thighs. "what do you mean?"

"let me feel you," you repeat, softer this time. you lean in, fingers brushing the hem of his tank top. "all of you."

he doesn't speak. just nods, eyes locked on yours, lips parted like he's forgotten how to breathe. his head drops comfortably on the pillow as you lift the fabric slowly, deliberately, revealing inch after inch of warm skin. his chest rises beneath your touch, muscles tense. when the tank top is gone, you toss it aside, and he's left bare beneath you. sun kissed, illuminated by the lights above his head, san looks like a feast. your hands explore him like he's something sacred. fingers trace the lines of his collarbones, the dip between his ribs, the soft curve of his stomach. he shivers, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting in quiet awe.

"you're unreal," you whisper. you lean down, lips brushing his neck, then his shoulder, then the center of his chest. he gasps, hands tightening on your thighs, but he doesn't stop you. he wouldn't dare.

because in this moment, you have him. completely. and he knows it. his voice is barely a breath. "you could ruin me."

you smile against his skin.

"and i'd let you."

"i don't want to ruin you," you whisper. "i want to worship you."

the first kiss lands just below his jaw. a soft press, leaving behind a faint, glistening print of what is left of your gloss. then another, lower, on the curve of his collarbone. you work your way down, each kiss deliberate, a trail of you on him. san's eyes flutter shut, his breathing stutters.

"you're... marking me," he says, voice hushed.

"mm," you hum against his skin. "so you remember whose pretty boy you are."

when you finally pull back, his chest is dotted with faint, shimmering imprints. a constellation only the two of you will ever know. your nails leave faint red lines down his torso, lips leaving a ghost trail down the curve of his abs. you feel the way his pulse quickens under your fingertips, the way his body softens into yours. and in that quiet, you realize — he's given you all of him, without a single word.

"can i see you?"

"but...? you already see me?" he raises his head from the pillow to look at you, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"sannie." his name comes out as a mix of a chuckle and sigh. "can i see you?"

a gentle tug at his sweatpants is enough to make his cheeks flush. his hands squeeze your thighs, anticipation eating him alive.

"words, love. i need words." you encourage.

"yes." the man responds. "you can see me."

it's enough words of confirmation for you to undo the knot of his bottoms. you discard the last pieces of clothing off him, leaving him a flushed and blubbering mess underneath you. you sit between his legs now, eyes fixed on his leaking tip. it's red, and inviting. the world's sweetest candy didn't have your mouth watering like this. fingers eagerly wrap around his shaft. san chokes back a gasp, hips struggling to stay in place. he can't let his touch starved side ruin the moment by rushing it. so he obediently stays put, fingers curling into the bedsheets to somewhat keep him grounded.

"so pretty." your breath is a hot caress on his aching tip. "and all mine."

the tip of your tongue starts the journey from his base, working its way up a bulging vein and stopping at the tip. san throws his head further back, burying the back of it into the pillow. the gloss stains glimmer under headboard lights as his breath quickens. you press your lips against him, and painfully slowly, take him inch by inch, until he touches the back of your throat. san may not be long, but much like his fingers, he is thick.

so thick, that your jaw soon starts aching even though you haven't managed to speed up just yet. the pace and his own impatience is taunting him. his hips twitch under you each time you take him all the way. you want to see how long before he loses control. you focus on the tip, lips leaving sticky kisses all over it and tongue barely touching it. san hisses when you graze your teeth against it. then, you find it. just under his tip, a spot which you gently suck on, causing san's fingers to find a new spot in your hair. he grips the strands as you swipe your tongue on the very spot, letting out a choked moan.

"fuck—" he cries out. his hips don't rush to meet your moves. instead, they move away from your touch. "princess."

"hmm?" you hum against him, the vibrations only making the matters worse for him it seems.

"princess—" he begs. "stop. stop, please. i'm going to cum."

already, you wish to tease. you give him a break. not because you feel sorry for teasing, but because you are about to give him something way worse.

"please, please, please," whines leave his pretty lips, and red and plump from biting them. he twitches in your hand, and a gasp echoes in the room. just in time, you take him in your mouth again, ropes of cum shooting straight down your throat. he twitches against your tongue, salty and sweet at the same time. hips try to escape once again, but you dig your nails into his thighs, keeping him in place. "i can't take it! please—! ha—ah—!"

you pull away, giving him a second. one of your hands wrap around his shiny and softening shaft, slowly working it up and down while simultaneously twisting it. "look at me."

it takes him a while to raise his head up, but when his half-lided eyes look at your dark and serious ones, he doesn't regret it. you look like a wild cat, staring down your prey before feasting. and it makes san's blood rush to his crotch again, until he grows and becomes rock hard in your hand again.

"you can take it." you encourage.

"i'll try." he gulps.

"no." you squeeze him, and he hisses again. "you won't try. you'll take what i give you, like the good boy you are. won't you?"

"i will, i will!" his tone is desperate as you continue squeezing him. "i'll do anything you want me to."

"then," you lower your head again, tongue dangerously close to his sensitive tip. "you can do a few more."

"a— a few?" san wasn't thinking a few. he can barely handle one. he can feel your nails grazing his shaft as a warning, and thus, he braces himself. "yes, of course. however many you wish."

"that's my good puppy." you can't get enough. the second orgasm takes a while to arrive. the third one a bit shorter, and the fourth one surprises both of you, san dripping all over your fingers moments after the third one. he shakes under your touch as your tongue licks the trails of seed. he goes soft in your hand once again, yet you don't give him a break this time. your hand already works up and down, hardening him. this time not for teasing, but for a reward. san doesn't look at you. his gaze is fixed on the ceiling, while his breathing is getting steady. he is bracing for another one. you get his attention by sliding your panties off, then dangling them above his face on your finger. "why don't you take the rest off me?"

"actually..." he gulps. "i would like you to keep my t-shirt on. please...?"

"oh?" you raise an eyebrow, a smirk dancing on your lips. "you want to fuck your friend's assistant with your clothes on?"

"i—" he is a stuttering mess. and you adore him for it. "i mean, yes...?"

"oh, sannie." you press a kiss to his forehead, then his lips. a short, sweet kiss, just enough to rile him up again. "say it."

"say what?"

"say," you grab his face, fingers digging into his cheeks so that his lips stick out in a pout. "it."

"i want to fuck my friend's assistant." he blinks. "with my clothes on her."

"mmh." you tilt your head, admiring his features for a while. his hair is a mess, sticking to his sweaty forehead, and his cheeks and neck flushed. "good boy."

you dig your fingers further into his cheeks, forcing his lips open. san swears he faints for a moment. his tongue tastes your essence as you push your panties into his mouth. he doesn't question it. he can't, even if he wanted.

"as much as i love your pretty moans, i can't have someone barging in and ruining our fun." you explain. he nods understandingly. even if you had no reason, san would still find it the hottest thing you've ever done. "i'm going to make love to you, mr choi."

"mmh—" his abused tip sinks between your folds with your help, and his hands fly to your waist for help and support. inch by inch, he disappears inside you, a soft squelch echoing in the room. when you finally sit, both of you let out a grunt. the stretch is painfully delicious. something you haven't properly savoured the first time. this time, you'll do it properly.

"you're the prettiest thing i've ever seen." words come out as a sigh as you stand on your knees, only to sink back down slower than ever. "an eye candy, my pretty sannie."

he hums, probably a word of gratitude. as moments pass, you pick up the pace. not fast. sensual, and deep. you roll your hips, one hand pressed flat against his flexing abs to keep yourself steady, and the other one placed over his that lays on your thigh with a death grip. you know you'll bruise. it's his way of marking you.

san can't take his eyes off you. the pleasure is nothing compared to the majestic sight of you; hazy look, bra pulled down, nipples poking through the white cotton t-shirt, bottom lip trapped between your teeth, and beads of sweat making your body glisten. his free hand reaches for you, tugging at the fabric for you to lift it up. when you do, he wastes no time in cupping your breast, thumb grazing the sensitive bud. you gasp, shocks of pleasure rushing to your core.

"my good, good boy." you're slowly becoming a blubbering mess yourself, fucking yourself silly on his aching cock. eyes become blurry, and hips stutter as you feel it coiling in your abdomen. the bubble of pleasure, growing with each thrust and threatening to burst soon. the control you've had slowly fades away, the need to be held taking over instead. you remove the panties from his mouth, tossing them aside. "san..."

"yes?" he says, breathless.

"i need you."

"but, you have me."

"no, san." you fall over, elbow digging into the mattress and bracing you. "i need you to take care of me. please."

he presses a kiss to your lips. it calms you, delaying the orgasm. "how do you want me?"

"your way. however you wish." you assure him.

when you say his way, you didn't think he would easily pick you up and lay you on your stomach. to place a pillow under your hips, lifting your ass and exposing it. to spread your thighs, and blow cool air on your hot core. to sink one finger, then another, into your walls. to hush you when you whine, tell you to listen to the sweet sounds of squelching and slick. to push your legs together with his thighs, and push through your folds once more.

much like you, he finds a new spot in this position. the pillow presses your stomach just right, allowing him to easily locate and abuse the a-spot. san's plushie meets his fate as you sink your teeth into it, preventing yourself from the chain of noises threatening to leave you. most men fail to find the g-spot, let alone the a-spot. seems that san has done his research.

even though his thrusts are deep and rough, his grip on your waist is gentle. he holds your body in place, thumbs occasionally rubbing soothing circles into your skin whenever he stops to give you a moment to collect yourself.

"poor sandeoki." he teases.

truly, poor sandeoki. soaked with tears of pleasure and saliva, with bite marks decorating it. he'll never forgive you. san's teasing is short lived, replaced by faster thrusts, each snap of his hips precise to the point you start gripping the headboard for support. you swear you will snap in half. nails leave marks, as san's grip intensifies and leaves bruises on your limp body. the bubble grows again, each thrust inflating it. it takes a final thrust for it to burst, pleasure washing over in waves like an earthquake.

"where—" his hips stutter. "where do i cum, princess?"

"in me, please." you whine. "please."

"are you sure?" he's breathless, but doesn't stop for you to answer.

"yes, yes, yes—" words of confirmation turn into moans, the second orgasm approaching. "fuck, yes. fill me to the brim, sannie."

"fuuuck—" your words send him down a spiral, and thrusting isn't enough anymore. he moves your hips backwards so that you meet him halfway, deeper and harder. he uses you for his own pleasure, utterly lost in the feeling of your unmerciful tight walls. "say it. please, say it."

"make me cum, sannie." you know just what he wants. "be a good boy, paint me white."

"i'll be a good boy—"

"yes, you will." it takes only a few more thrusts to push you over the edge. "the best."

"fuck, fuck, fuck," he leans over you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and sinking his teeth into your shoulder. one hand snakes around your waist, pressing your back against his skin. it's hot, slippery, and the best you've ever felt. san uses you as his own personalized fleshlight, holding you in place as he chases his own orgasm. "take it. take all of me, baby, please."

the moment his seed shoots inside you, you feel your own orgasm granting you mercy. it washes over you again, this time not in waves, but in intense quakes. san doesn't move until he does exactly as you told him; fills you to the brim. he forces himself to move, he doesn't want to squish you. instead of falling beside you, he spreads your thighs, watching as white liquid seeps from your pulsing core. you can't help the surprised gasp as he gently collects it and pushes it back inside.

"i'll clean you up, i promise. just... let me have this."

you can't help the fond chuckle that leaves you. san kneels between your legs for a while, utterly mesmerized by his doing. until you turn to lay on your back, and pull him towards you. he falls over, face inches away from yours. "hi."

"hey." he says it back. "are you okay?"

"of course." you say, fingers brushing the damp bangs out of his eyes. "are you?"

"oh." he sighs. "i've never felt better."

you urge him to lay on top of you, and he does, ear pressed to your chest as he listens to your heart becoming steady. you comb his hair with one hand, while the other one rubs his back. "i think... i love you."

he stiffens under your touch. fuck.

"i— sorry. too soon?"

"no, i just..." he trails. "i'm scared."

you lift his chin up, guiding his gaze to lock with yours. "of?"

"of waking up and you leaving again."

"oh, san." the words hurt you. you've made the mistake once, you won't do it twice. "i'm here to stay. i promise."

"then..." plush lips capture yours in a kiss. a kiss that finally means closure of a painful chapter, and opening of a new one. "i love you too. but... i can't help but wonder, what now? will you stay as hwa's assistant?"

"i will." you play with the hair on the back of his head. "but not for long, i guess. at least that's what he said."

"i knew it. he was asking around about a free position for a photographer or editor. said he knows just the person. i knew it was for you. but, what do i do about leah?"

"i'll handle her." and you mean it.

in the morning, you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel uneasy. san lays on top of you again, and you reach for the phone. a smile creeps on your lips as you find a singular message on the notification board.

park seonghwa: how was the movie? ;)

y/n: hush

park seonghwa: i'm happy for you both, tiny.

y/n: thank you, seonghwa. for everything.

park seonghwa: a wise person once said, "hush"

park seonghwa: you're still my assistant though. hurry up, i want my watered down coffee!

y/n: right away, mr park :)

park seonghwa: <3

[hwaelysian]

idk what i was on when i wrote this but I NEED HER BACK

[kisssan]

he was the only older guy you had ever dated, and you swore you would never do this to yourself again. two years of love, obsession, and control are gone, or at least, that’s what you thought.

some people don’t let go or move on — he never did. so why does he walk back into your life like nothing ever happened... this time, as your professor?

STUCK ON A FEELING COMING MAY 9TH, 2026

© KISSSAN do not copy, repost or modify my work.

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[kisssan]

RELEASE DATE IS OUT :: MAY 9TH !

[hwaelysian]

IT’S HAPPENING EVERYBODY STAY CALM

[hwaelysian]

guys i’m not even joking i’m counting minutes and seconds until this drops

[hwaelysian]

now tell me why i had a dream that idris elba left his wife for me? i don’t even keep up with him i just know who he is wth

[kangsyeosang]

“make a move.”

[hwaelysian]

he’s so hot i’m gonna die

[minkieater]

three’s company — smg & yjh ⭑.ᐟ

⭑ bf!mingi x gf!reader x bestie!yunho ⭑ four days away at the beach, hiding your feelings from all of your friends while you’re all under the same roof, a week after yunho broke up with you and mingi. easy enough, right? ⭑ lots and lots of pinv, mxm, oral(m&f), edging, public play, bdsm dynamics (feel free to correct me on anything!! i tried to be accurate) praise, degradation, yunho being 3comp yunho. yes that's a warning in itself ⭑ part three of three / wc 36.5k ⭑ — holy shit i can't believe it's over. thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this, this series is my actual fucking baby. it brought so many eyes to my blog and led me to meeting so many wonderful amazing people, thank you so much if you're reading this, if you have read anything about my 3comp babies. no other series has taught me so much. nothing will ever mean as much as this. ⭑ — if you don't recognize my rortor or if haos confused you, pay my good friends a visit here <3 thank u @svgaplvm for letting my people hangout with yours <3

“You can’t seriously think this would ever work.”

You and Mingi haven’t moved an inch since he left for the bedroom. Now stood in front of you in cargo pants and the same dirty tee that was crumpled on your bed, it seems his anger hasn’t dissipated in the three minutes it took for him to get his things together. A bag thrown over his shoulder, jaw locked, eyes wide and wild like you’d just sentenced him to death, it seems very clear that Jeong Yunho wasn’t coming back here. 

“I was honest with you guys from the start,” his voice keeps its edge, “I told you what I look for in a relationship, what I want. There’s none of that here.”

Your teeth grit together, eyebrows slanted, fingers squeezing beneath your arms folded over your chest. “You’re overreacting,” you manage, heart running a marathon in your chest, ignoring the fact that his words hurt as you mask your feelings with a show of anger. 

“You two are together,” he points between you and your boyfriend with a finger. “I shouldn’t even be part of the equation. I let this go on too long, let it become too serious.”

“You think you’re the only one to blame?” Mingi surprises you with his words, the sharpness behind them, the glossiness in his eyes the only signal of sadness. “We thought we were already in a relationship, it’s all of our fault for not communicating.”

Yunho looks like he’s seen a ghost. “You– Are you serious?”

You nod, you thought it was obvious, “Yunho, we haven't been apart for more than twelve hours in weeks.”

He turns on his heel, “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

Mingi stands, following Yunho as he crosses your living room, “You’re just going to leave? You aren’t gonna talk this out?”

You watch from the couch, breathing deep into your lungs, ignoring how your eyes watered. Yunho turns around sharply, “What is there to talk about? We were fucking, and now we’re not. That’s it.”

You gasp from the couch, Mingi shrinks where he stands. Taking a step back, shaking his head, his voice is shaky as he says, “You don’t mean that.”

“I told you,” Yunho slips his feet into his shoes. “I’ve been honest from the start. If you took it more seriously, that’s on you. I’m sorry.”

Mingi’s arms fall to his sides as Yunho leaves through your front door, the heavy oak slamming shut behind him. Your heart breaks as Mingi’s head hangs low, his shoulders shaking, and it’s the sniff you hear from the couch that gets you on your feet, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend. 

“He’s just scared,” you whisper, tears lining your own eyes as Mingi racks a sob into your chest. “He’s just scared, Min. He’ll come around.”

His voice is wrecked, ragged and layered with grief, “I can’t believe he said all of that.”

“Me either,” you shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks as you run your fingers through his hair, your other hand rubbing circles into his back. “It’s Yunho, we know how he is, especially with relationships.”

“I thought we were different,” Mingi picks his head up, pulling away from you to wipe his eyes. “I thought he was getting over his dramatic relationship block because of us.” He sniffs, then speaks through another sob, his voice cracking, “I thought he loved us, too.”

“You love him?” Your eyes widen, hands landing on his shoulders, and he nods without hesitation. “Shit,” you mutter under your breath, eyes screwing shut in an attempt to get your mind to bypass the shock so you can think. 

“Don’t you?” Mingi asks, his voice small, like if you said no he might crack entirely.

His laugh crossed your mind first. Eyes squeezed to crescents, grin spread wide, head tipping back as the most beautiful sound left his lips, you always got lost in him when he laughed. A hearty chuckle or a small giggle, when Yunho was emitting nothing but pure joy… Yeah, you loved him. 

You loved how he walked closest to the street, how he already had your order memorized at the cafe around the corner. You loved how he touched you, soft and delicate, how he complimented you every time he saw you. You loved that he wasn’t afraid to say the hard things, like telling you that you snore, or that this time your boss was in the right. You loved that he kept small pieces of you close in the years of knowing you, how he revealed his knowledge of you in the past month, how he wasn’t afraid to show his passion. 

You loved him, and you fucking knew he loved you back. 

“Yeah,” your nod isn’t immediate. “I think I do.”

Mingi’s lip quivers, “We’re just gonna let him leave?”

“We’re adults,” your voice is shakier than you need it to be, forever the rock holding Mingi’s hurricane. “He’s an adult. If he wants us, this, he’ll come back.”

Mingi shakes his head profusely, taking a step back from you, “If we love him then we fight for him, I’m not waiting around while he thinks this is over.”

Your lips curve upward, the most Mingi thing he’s ever said, “We’ll be with him for four days at the beach. Let him sit in the hole he’s dug himself in, let him miss us for a few days.”

Mingi looks at you like you’re speaking another language, “He probably won’t even look at us while we’re at the beach if we wait until then.”

“If we love him,” you step closer to him. “Then chances are he loves us, too. Let him take the time he needs to realize it.”

Mingi takes a heavy breath, thinking about who Yunho is, how he handles situations. With poise, consideration, vigilance. He thinks of all outcomes, all strategies, Yunho thinks of everything with his mind, and not always his heart. Mingi nods, because he hopes that just this once, he’ll think with his heart, and figure out the rest later. 

Yunho hasn’t called.  Not a text, not a word, not a breath. 

But you were on your way to Haos– and from Wooyoung’s call this morning, asking what time to pick you up, you found out that he’d talked to Yunho just before he called you, and he was still coming to the beach. A shred of relief washed over you as the words left his mouth, it couldn’t be that bad if he was still coming to the beach, four days spent in proximity with you and your boyfriend. And your ten other friends. Right?

“Do you want to stop at the convenience store for anything? Water, coffee, a snack?” Wooyoung asks from the driver’s seat, black hair shagged over his ears, his forehead, curling at the nape of his neck. 

Sana groans from the seat beside you, “Can we just go straight there? I’m itching to be on the beach with a drink in my hand.” Dressed in jeans and a strappy tank, heels on her feet, curled dark locks framing her cheekbones, she looked like she was going to the club rather than traveling for a vacation. Being eight in the morning, you looked like you just rolled out of bed. 

Mainly because you did. 

“I wasn’t just asking you, San,” Wooyoung cuts from the front of the black rental he drove. “We’ve been driving for an hour already.”

“Which means we should only have ten more minutes in the car if you just drive,” she bites back, rolling her eyes. She gives you a look, shaking her head as if Woo was asking the stupidest question in the world. She whispers to you, “He should have asked an hour ago.” 

You smile at her instead of giving her an answer, redirecting your gaze to the top of Mingi’s head that peeks over the headrest of the passenger seat. After spending some time away from her, you thought you’d at least be a little excited to see her, but alas, she still drives you up a fucking wall. You could have gone longer. 

You lean your head against the window for the last ten minutes, listening to soft rock music with your eyes glued to the intricate, tall houses along the coast, the small shops, the ice cream parlors, everything about this place screaming beach. Summer. Rich summer. You were still excited to come here, drama aside, spending time with your friends, cozying up in one of San’s queen-sized beds in one of his several bedrooms. You loved his house, the feeling it gave you, how badly you’d like to own something like it one day. 

You didn’t mind four days of pretending it was yours, nor did you mind laying on the beach, a drink in your hand. Maybe you’d shove your feelings aside and stay glued to Sana all weekend. 

Finally pulling up on a rocky driveway, you pull your eyes away from the beach just beside it, taking in the cream-colored fucking mansion before you. Ridiculous architecture, a two-car garage, a double main staircase, several balconies and a fenced rooftop, what always took your breath away was the windows. So much light poured into the house, salt scented air rushing through the space when the countless pairs of double doors opened, this house screamed happiness. It screamed carefree.

You let the feeling fill you, let it take a weight off your chest as you stretch your body upon leaving the backseat. Whatever happened this weekend, you’d accept. However you and Mingi returned home, with or without another boyfriend, you’d be okay. Both of you. 

You took a look around the driveway as Wooyoung and Mingi went into the trunk to grab all of your luggage. You and Mingi shared one, but Sana… She had two for herself, she bragged about it as soon as you opened the car door. 

Three other cars sat in the driveway. You recognized Yeosang’s, Jongho’s, Seonghwa’s, you assumed San and Jongin’s cars were in the garage. No sign of Yunho’s car. 

Mingi carried your luggage in behind you, you didn’t knock as you walked through San’s front door, nor did you have time to appreciate the creams, whites and blues stretching across the inside, because the only other person in the living room when you walked inside was Yunho. 

Your jaw clenched as your eyes slid over the back of him, faced away from you as he scrolled on his phone.

“Honey, I’m home!” Wooyoung yelled from behind you, and his voice echoed through the archways of the main floor, bouncing off each perfectly staged wall, the balcony above you. 

Yunho snapped around, meeting your eye, and he immediately stiffened. With one of his infamous linen sets on, barefoot and his hair swept back, you had to stop yourself from muttering damn under your breath. You loved when he looked like summer, but you also loved when he looked like winter, when he needed the comfort of fleece to keep him warm. Maybe you loved Yunho in anything. 

You looked away fast, turning to face Mingi who was already staring over your head, at his best friend who had undoubtedly become something more. Mingi stared at him with hope, with an unanswered question, with so much fucking love in his eyes you felt the cracking of your heart in your chest. 

“Finally!” You heard San before you saw him, shirtless and in swim trunks, body tanned and golden and sculpted by God himself. He wore a wide grin, Jongin following behind him, his boyfriend just as gorgeous as he is, taller and handsome and damn, just as sculpted. 

San pulls Wooyoung into a tight hug, “I missed you, man. It’s been too long.” 

“It’s barely been a month,” Wooyoung chuckles. “But yeah, too long.” 

Sana’s heels click against the pale hardwood as Jongin pulls her into a hug, the two men exchanging with the couple as you and Mingi attempt to ignore the elephant in the room only visible to the two of you. 

Wooyoung pulls Yunho into a hug as you and Mingi share exchanges with San and Jongin, just as the others start piling into the living room. 

“We’ve been waiting for you guys!” Tzuyu squeals as she enters your view, and you’re immediately pulled into all the women of the house, sharing hugs and kisses on the cheek. 

“I can’t believe we’re the last ones here,” you’re smiling, warmth filling your chest as you bathe in everyone’s excitement. 

Jihyo smirks, “Late because you were getting frisky?” 

You roll your eyes, heat warming your cheeks, “You need to let go of that. Like, now.” 

“Frisky?” Tzuyu pops a brow. “Fill me in.” 

“I went over her and Mingi’s place and saw a vib—”

“Okay!” You speak over her, hands ready to clamp over her mouth, and she winks at Tzuyu in a silent promise to fill her in later. You prayed it didn’t include Yunho’s name. 

“Who has which room?” Sana asks loudly, speaking over everyone in the midst of conversation. 

“We were waiting for you to decide, princess,” Seonghwa replies, voice smooth, a snarky remark hidden behind a beautiful smile. Your lips curl upward when you see him, stood tall next to his boyfriend, Seonghwa’s open shirt matched Hongjoong’s shorts. 

“Jongin and I have the master,” San says. “There’s five other bedrooms, one has a pull-out futon.” 

“Assuming I’m on the futon,” Yunho immediately adds, his voice flat. “Since I’m the only single one here.” 

Your eyes flicker between the two, heart thumping against your chest, stomach feeling sick at hearing him say he’s single. 

“You would have been fucked if you brought a date,” San's smile is anything but sheepish. “But I’m sure no one will mind if you crash their room, maybe one of the girlies are out of commission for sexual activity and it won’t matter.” 

Jongin smacks his chest with a disgusted look, but San giggles to himself. You look around the room and all the girls fall quiet, all the guys stay quiet, too used to San and his remarks to feed him a reaction. 

“He can room with you and Mingi,” Jihyo nudges your shoulder from beside you,.“Duh. You guys are super close, anyways, just kick him out when you wanna fuck.” 

“We aren’t twenty years old, Ji,” you muster. “We can go a few days without fucking.” 

You look up at Mingi and you can tell he’s teetering on the edge of losing his shit. You turn to Yunho and he looks like that’s the last thing he wants. Seeing his face, the clear dislike of the idea, imagining the thoughts racing through his mind, all of it combined makes you slap a smile on your face, “Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll take him.” 

“Hope you left the hitachi at home,” Jihyo whispers in your ear, winking. You nudge her back, forcing the smile to stay on your face— no one has any idea of what you’ve gone through the last few days. What happened. What started it in the first place. 

“Perfect!” San claps his hands together. “That was easy. Go unpack your shit and then we can go to the beach.” 

Mingi is at your side as soon as everyone takes a step toward the staircase, voice a low growl in your ear, “Why did you do that?” 

You whisper back, “It’ll be fine.” 

You didn’t know if it would be fine. 

“Three bedrooms on the second floor, two on the top, master is on the main floor. You guys can figure out which rooms yourselves,” San says from the base of the steps as you all make your way up, your shoes hitting the hardwood in chorus, everyone dragging their belongings behind them. 

Yunho stays close behind you and Mingi as you check each room in search of yours, taking in the detail of the hallways, where the bathrooms were. The paintings on the walls, tables with vases, starfish, framed pictures of small sayings of wordplays with the word beach, you made sure to take in everything, let it fill you with ease, you were on vacation. 

You wouldn’t let Yunho ruin it. 

On the third floor, Jihyo and Jongho peeled off into a room at the beginning of the hallway, a bathroom and two closets between you as yours lived at the end. A queen-sized bed, a couch along the wall that pulled out to a bed, the room was decently sized. Cozy, with its balcony attached, white covering the walls, the bedspread and couch a pale blue. 

Mingi threw your suitcase onto the bed as Yunho threw his duffle bag onto the couch. The air was tense, heavy, you could hear conversation downstairs, Jihyo and Jongho unpacking just down the hall. There was no sound coming from your room other than zippers sliding and clothes being shuffled. 

You stood opposite Mingi on either side of the bed as he sorted through the suitcase, zeroed in on his hands as he separated the clothes you were hanging from the ones going into drawers. With your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you stood focused, yet thinking of nothing as your ears rang, buzzing beneath the heaviness of silence. 

What was he thinking right now? 

Your eyes flickered to him as he pulled clothes out of his duffel bag, folding them along the couch, laying out the clothes he was hanging up, keeping his toiletries separate. Your gaze fell on his shoulders, broad and muscular beneath the linen he wore, the length of his legs stretching to the floor beneath him, bare feet pressed against hardwood, stepping to the side to fold another tee along the cushion. 

You turn your attention back to Mingi, shaking off the discomfort as you grab the clothes to hang up, heading for the closet next to the couch. You lay the clothes over the armrest, hanging up tops, Mingi’s favorite pair of nice pants, the dress you brought to wear to the bar on Saturday. You think that’s the only time you were going out all weekend other than to small shops around the town. 

The last shirt you had to hang, one of Mingi’s, you knew you grabbed it from the stack of clothes on the bed, but it wasn’t splayed out on the couch beside you. Brows furrowed, you turned on your heel to check the bed, just for Yunho to be stood at your side, holding the shirt out for you while he had his own stack of clothes folded over his forearm. 

You swallowed, avoiding his eye, “Thanks.” 

Grabbing the shirt from his hand, your fingers brushed against each other, the feeling of his skin on yours no matter how small immediately sent a jolt of electricity up your forearm, into your shoulder. You were quick to hang up the last shirt, moving out of his way, back to where Mingi was before the dresser. 

While he laid folded clothes, pajamas, boxers and panties into separate drawers, you grabbed your bikinis, his swim shorts, cover-ups and the singular bra you brought to help him. The room still silent, suffocating with everything left unsaid, you began laying out your toiletries along the top of the dresser. 

You could feel his eyes. Lifting your gaze, meeting his stare through the mirror, you shuffled to the side as he sauntered up next to you, throwing his own clothes into the rest of the empty drawers. 

God, is this what the rest of the week was gonna be like? If so, fuck that, he can sleep on the couch. Downstairs. Far away from you and Mingi so you can enjoy this room and its balcony all to yourself. 

“Hey!” Tzuyu gleamed, knocking on the doorframe at the same time as she spoke. You jumped a foot in the air, hand clasping your chest, a gasp escaping your chest. She giggles, long brown hair in a braid over one shoulder, bikini already on her body. “Yeosang and I are going to the liquor store before we head down to the beach, want anything?” 

“Uh,” you glance up at Mingi, trying to find words. “Tequila, beer, some kind of seltzer to sip on. The usual shit.” 

She nods, “Same beer as always, right?” 

“Please,” Mingi nods back, giving her a smile that she would never know wasn’t real. 

Your stomach fucking aches. You could push your pain aside, but when it comes to Mingi, seeing him hurt in real time, you could feel it as if he shared it with you. Your jaw locks, you could not go the whole week like this. 

Tzuyu peeks her head back in, “You should get ready, we’ll be back in ten.” 

“Got it,” you smile, and when she bounces out of your room again, it drops. You needed to do something. You rack your brain as you zip the suitcase closed, shoving it beneath the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. 

Yunho was pretending. He was forcing a mindset on himself, ignoring his feelings for you and Mingi, he was putting on a show that he didn’t mean. In his head, he was protecting himself, or maybe he was protecting you two from getting hurt, of what could go wrong in the future. 

You glance up at Mingi who stood leaned up against the dresser, on his phone. You glance over at Yunho who sits on the couch, on his phone. Just because he was acting like he doesn’t love you, doesn’t mean that he believes it. 

Your eyes land on Mingi again, holding them there. He looks up from his phone, meeting your stare. 

Your lips curve upward. I’m gonna do something crazy.  He pops an eyebrow, lips crinkling. Oh no.  Your smile grows, eyes flashing something dangerous. You gotta trust me on this one.  Mingi nods, face still wary. I always trust you. 

You push yourself up off the bed to the dresser, opening one of the drawers, pulling out one of your bikinis from the bottom. You should really thank Jihyo for even putting it in your mind that you should wear one of your college bikinis— so small and skimpy it could barely be considered anything other than string, you funneled confidence into your veins. You wouldn’t care about how you looked after a drink or two, anyways. 

Your eyes meet Mingi’s through the mirror, bikini in your hands. Are you picking up what I’m putting down? Mingi shoots you a silent laugh. You’re fucking nuts.  You stick your tongue out. You love it.  Mingi licks his lips. I love you, and that bikini.  You hold his eyes through the mirror. Remember what I said, trust me. 

Letting your eyes dance over Yunho once more, you lay the bikini out over the dresser, and then pull your shirt over your head in one quick motion. 

“Shiiit,” Mingi mutters under his breath, long and dragged out from the bed, purposely loud enough for Yunho to hear. His eyes pick up, seeing you through the mirror, eyes catching on you shimmying your shorts down your legs, then your panties. 

You don’t let your gaze linger, pulling the bottoms up your legs, then tying the top around your back. “Min, can you tie me?” 

He’s at your back in an instant, letting his hands dance along your waist before settling at the back of your neck, bikini strings between his fingers. You’re smiling at each other through the mirror and it’s then that you know he understands what’s going through your mind, the plan you cooked up just a minute ago. 

His hands settle on your hips after he finishes tying your top, and both of your eyes slide to Yunho, catching him just as he looks back down at his phone, fingers pressed to his forehead. You smirk at Mingi through the mirror, wondering if maybe you pushed Yunho just a little harder, could you crack the shell of his facade?

Yunho’s never been a huge fan of the beach. He burns easily, sand gets between his toes, in places he simply can’t reach, he hates how his hair looks after being in the breezy, salty air for too long. He’s been excited to come to Haos despite it, to spend time with you and Mingi away from home, but he didn’t give it enough thought to really consider the logistics of it all. 

To himself, he thought it easy: Around everyone else, you and Mingi would be your usual selves, madly in love for the world to see. At the end of the night, behind closed doors, where no one could hear you or see you, that’s when he’d have his way with you both. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t excited for that most of all. 

Forcing you into submission, into silence in the dead of night, so the whole house couldn’t hear the whiney moans that leave Mingi’s mouth when Yunho takes him, or the shrill screams that Yunho pulls from your chest when he pushes you just a little too far. It’d be fun— that was fun to him, keeping the two of you hidden away, his two nasty little secrets. No one had to know. 

Because if they did, if anyone knew anything, it’d break your perfect bubble. He’d be forced to admit that he hated the idea of not being able to touch you in public, not being able to kiss you, or even flirt with you. Either of you. Which opens another question, one Yunho wasn’t willing to answer, or give any more of his attention. 

Luckily, it blew up in his face before he had the chance to worry about it too much, like it has a hundred times before with plenty of different partners. This was the routine— fuck for awhile, become a little more on accident, realize that this isn’t what he wants, leave. Leave, leave, leave. Yunho was good at leaving, at hiding, at not taking what he wants when it’s staring at him in the face. 

It was too fucking vulnerable. He ached for love, for true routine, to wake up next to someone and go grocery shopping on Sunday mornings. He yearned for someone to know him down to his core, to love him for the silly things, not just how he fucked or how he guided. For how much he needed to take care of his partners, he never realized how much he needed to be taken care of, too. 

This morning, how you stared at him with a locked jaw, a storm in your eyes, he knew he deserved it. He deserved your anger, your pain, he wishes he could take it from you and keep it for himself. How Mingi looked at him, with pain and love and hope, seeing Mingi’s feelings raw in his eyes terrified Yunho. Knowing Mingi hurt, that he was the cause of his ache but also knowing he’d take him back in a second, it sent a shiver down his spine, leaving a hole too deep, too cold in his gut. 

He really fucked up this time. He really, seriously, absolutely fucked up. He's fallen asleep cuddled up to your side, he’s woken up beside you for weeks. He’s gone grocery shopping with you, he keeps a mental list of everything you have in your house. You made space for him in your home, for his body and his clothes, he has a toothbrush beside your sink, products in your shower, socks in the top drawer of Mingi’s dresser. He’s felt the rush of affection when Mingi finishes his sentence, he’s felt the pain sitting in the crease of your brow without it having anything to do with him. 

He walked into what he was most afraid of, but what he’s yearned for without even realizing. Everything happened so fucking fast. That night with Mingi was the true beginning, he thinks, the catalyst that made him fall headfirst without casting a net. That night changed all of your boundaries, leaving everything in open field for the taking. Yunho took it with greedy hands, but then he destroyed it all the same. 

He knows what you’re thinking. In that pretty little head of yours there’s millions of beautiful, strategic thoughts, plans, ways to get him back in your bed. Even though he fucked up. Even though he was the one that destroyed it all. 

The curve of your chest in the mirror, a peek of the goldmine between your legs as you bent over, if this was a week ago he would have pinned your chest to the glass and fucked you until you were crying just for teasing him. Mingi’s hands trailing down your skin, his breath on the back of your neck, jealousy infested Yunho like a disease. He could feel the ghost of Mingi’s hands on his body, on his chest, his abdomen, his torso, he forced himself to tear his eyes away so he didn’t break. 

Yunho was the one who fucked it all up, and here you two were, trying to get him to fix it. Naive and optimistic, two traits that you two shared that made Yunho feel like he was your missing piece. He wouldn’t break so easily, you two have to know that, you know him. 

He watches you run across the sand, wet chest bouncing beneath golden sunrays with a can grasped in your palm. Mingi follows you from the water, trunks slick to his thighs, the inseam of his shorts shorter than any other pair he owned. Yunho sits with his jaw locked, his fingers curled around the armrests of the beach chair beneath the umbrella, watching as Mingi picks you up from behind, a grin on his lips as he presses them to your cheek. 

You two didn’t do PDA. You haven’t since you were in your early twenties, when your relationship just began. Everyone in the group knows it, but no one notices, no one pays any mind to the clear show you were putting on just for him. Mingi’s arm is hooked around your torso, black hair clinging to his cheeks, his neck, the two of you dripping in saltwater and love. He keeps you there, hanging off his arm as he walks back up to where you set up, your giggles becoming clearer, reminding him of his favorite song the closer you get.  

He could just get up and go back inside. The beach was San’s backyard, after all. 

“Can you hand me another seltzer, please?” You ask sweetly as soon as Mingi puts your feet back on the ground. Yunho blinks beneath his shades before the question registers in his mind, it’s the first that you’ve spoken to him other than thanks in the bedroom. 

He reaches into the cooler, making sure to hand you your favorite flavor, feeling bile rise up in his throat when Mingi opens it for you and plants a kiss on your lips before you take a sip. Maybe he had it all wrong— maybe you didn’t fucking care that Yunho was no longer apart of your relationship. Maybe, in some sick, twisted way, what happened just a few days ago made your relationship stronger. Seems about right for the two of you. 

“Let’s play volleyball!” Wooyoung shouts over the hum of soft rock music and waves in his ear. He forces his eyes away from you two to glance at Wooyoung, holding a volleyball to his chest while beads of sweat drip down his bronzed, tanned skin. 

“Hell no,” Sana responds from her towel, laying on her stomach with a bucket filled with God knows what kind of liquor in the sand just above her head. “We’re relaxing.” 

“I meant the guys,” Wooyoung replies, the smile on his cheeks never faltering, ignoring his girlfriends’ tone completely. He wiggles his eyebrows at Yunho, “You up for it? A little friendly game?” 

“I’m out,” Hongjoong responds from his chair, can of beer in his hand, head laid back along the headrest beneath the shade of the umbrella, “I just ate a gummy.” 

“I’m out, too,” Yeosang lifts his head from his towel, Tzuyu at his side, the two of them cuddled up so close under the burning sun he wondered how they weren’t suffocating. 

“I’m going to swim,” Jongin waves a hand, already turning his heel to walk down to the shore. 

“I’m down,” Yunho says, needing a break from staring, standing from his chair. 

“I’m down, too,” Mingi adds as if on command, pressing another kiss to your lips before walking towards where Wooyoung stood behind Yunho. 

San, Jongho and Seonghwa make their way towards them, too, and Yunho quickly regrets his decision when Mingi stops directly at his side. He stiffens, eyes glancing down to where Mingi’s hand lingers inches beside his. 

“Three versus three then?” San smirks as the six of them make their way towards the net across the beach. “I call Woo and Mingi on my team.” 

Jongho breaks into a laugh as he leans on the pole beside the net, fingers sinking into the webbing, “So it’s me, Hwa and Yunho?”

“I think that’s fair,” San shrugs. “We share the towers.”

Yunho rolls his eyes, and Mingi’s smile is wide. Seonghwa dips under the net to the other side of the sandy court, “They’re both competitive, too. Think it’s best we share.” 

“We can hear you, y’know,” Yunho follows, sliding into position flanking Jongho’s side, a grin crawling over his cheeks that was nothing short of competitive. “No need to fight over us.” 

“First team to twenty,” Wooyoung juts out his chin from the other side of the net, “Best out of three?”

Yunho pushes out an accidental sigh, “Three games?” 

Mingi, like he’d been waiting for that comment, snaps. “Why not?” He cocks his head to the side, smile dangerous. “Three games too much of a commitment for you?” 

The blood from Yunho’s face drains, the amusement in his eyes gone. After Yunho’s face falls, Mingi giggles, and the rest of the guys seem completely unaware of the jab that just left Mingi’s mouth. Yunho glares at him, knowing now that the two of you are serious about getting under his skin, but he chooses to ignore the shred of pride he feels with your efforts. 

The first game went by quickly— Mingi, San and Wooyoung were good. Yunho, Seonghwa and Jongho were good, too, but fell just short of their opponents. The second game went by just as fast, but instead this time it seemed Yunho’s team had a chip on their shoulder, a little too much pride to let their friends win twice. The third game, everyone was drenched in sweat, covered in sand from diving for the ball, forearms burning from bumping it, everyone’s patience was running thin. Curses were shouted, insults thrown from one side of the net to the other, they had gotten serious real quick. 

Mingi and Yunho stood at either side of the net, eyes on the ball above their heads, the two of them jumping at the same time to either spike, or block. The ball fell on Mingi’s side and his eyes dropped for a millisecond to see Yunho, both hands up, palms flat out to block his spike. 

Yunho, ambition living in the slant of his brows, tongue peeking between his lips, didn’t give Mingi an opening to push the ball through. So Mingi hit it to the side, just past Yunho’s hands before he could even think of sliding his arms over. 

Yunho cursed, and Mingi’s arms went over his head in a cheer for winning them one more point towards victory. Mingi leaned in close to the net, a smirk on his lips, “Pay attention, Yun. You don’t want me thinking I’m distracting you, do you?” 

Yunho’s jaw locks. Mingi was pushing it, he usually wasn’t the bratty one, that was your area of expertise. 

“Careful,” is all he says, venom on his tongue as his chin tips upward, just to stare down at Mingi through lowered brows. 

Mingi’s smirk grows, almost a full smile, fingers hooking into the net to lean closer. “Or what?” 

Yunho licks his bottom lip, shaking his head as he turns around, back to where he stood, waiting for the ball to be served. Maybe he was stupid for considering you two didn’t care about him, especially after the bedroom, and now he had Mingi taunting him ten feet away? 

The ball hits the sand beside his foot before he can process that it was served. Mingi, San and Wooyoung high five, cheering because they were one point away from winning, and Yunho’s teammates turn to him with a scowl. 

“What are you doing?” Seonghwa stands with his arms out beside him, face warped into annoyance and confusion. 

Jongho barks from beside him, “Lock the fuck in, we’re winning this.” 

Yunho nods, shaking off his thoughts, “My bad.” 

Then Mingi calls your name. Yunho’s head turns, watching as you turn your head from where you stood with a group of girls that weren’t a part of your group, staring as you jogged towards them when Mingi ushered you over. 

That fucking bikini, all string, barely covering anything. His fists clenched when the house hooted and hollered for you, as Jihyo whistled when she saw you. It wasn’t for you. It wasn’t for Mingi. It was revenge. 

His neck snaps back to the court before him when he hears San’s hand smack the ball, body moving before his brain can think, diving into the sand to bump it up. Jongho is quick to get under it, two hands setting the ball high in the air, but as Seonghwa jumps to smack it over the net, Mingi is already there. 

Broad, sculpted abdomen, hard chest he’s rested his head on too many times, hipbones peeking from just above his waistband. Yunho watches Mingi’s arms flex as he blocks the ball, how his torso folds to send the ball into the sand, Yunho nearly shoves his face in the sand too when his three best friends jump for joy across the net. 

Seonghwa and Jongho stand defeated, faces set toward the sun, chests heaving. Yunho gets up slowly, just to see you perched on Mingi, arms and legs hooked around his body, lips pressed to his. Mingi’s hands hold you up by your thighs, fingers making indents where they pressed into your skin, and it’s war for Yunho to peel his eyes away from the sight. 

“Sorry,” Yunho runs a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes on the sand as he walks toward Seonghwa and Jongho. 

Jongho clasps a hand on his shoulder, heavy but reassuring, “It’s just volleyball. We’ll beat ‘em tomorrow.” 

Seonghwa nods his agreement, and at least one weight is lifted off his chest. He watches his friends duck under the net, and Yunho follows, ready to get berated by his three other friends, good sportsmanship be damned. 

“This is my boyfriend,” he hears, and his eyes land on where you stood with Mingi, just beside the court with the two girls you were standing with before. One a grinning dirty blonde, the other a miserable-looking brunette, Yunho tried to listen as his friends spoke beside him, but jealousy pierced his soul that Mingi was the only one standing beside you, getting introduced as yours. 

His feet moved before he could think about it, coming up to your side, and the blonde caught his eye, looking him up and down as he made his way over. You beamed, not showing a flash of surprise or confusion as Yunho stood beside you, you immediately gushed, “This is Yunho, he’s single, super tall, clearly.” You giggled, leaning into Yunho’s side, you were drunk. You whispered not quietly to the blonde, “I think you’d like him.” 

Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed, weight hitting his gut with force, and the blonde before him blushed as her hands gripped the cocktail between fingers, her eyes dragging over him again. 

The brunette, eyebrows low, stares at Mingi before her, “You look really familiar.” 

Your hand clings to his, wrapping your fingers into your boyfriends, shoulders pushed back, no one would know you were standing your ground unless they knew you. Mingi laughs along, “Really? You kind of do, too.” 

“Do you have any relatives that go to Nasara?” She cocks her head to the side, “We’re in ITZ, a sorority at Nasara University in Delo.” 

Mingi shakes his head, then turns it to look at Yunho, “Do you?” 

Yunho shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders, she does look familiar. Yunho asks, “Has anyone ever told you that you look like Sitara Song?” 

The brunette makes a tch noise, then grabs the blonde’s hand, voice dripping in irritation, “Come on, Ror, I’m sure Wooyoung is missing you.” 

The blonde looks back at him twice as the brunette drags her away, and Yunho feels unsettled. Not only are you making a show with Mingi in front of his face, taunting him, but now you’re pimping him out to strangers? 

Mingi’s eyebrows are knitted together as they walk away, “They have an Wooyoung, too?” 

Yunho faces the two of you with his arms crossed, “What the fuck are you doing?” 

You’re already smiling, mischief in your eyes, “What do you mean?”

If the three of you were at home… 

“What was that?” He asks, a hand stretching in the direction of the two girls walking away. 

You giggle, back pressing into Mingi’s abdomen, “Was I wrong? You are single, aren’t you?” 

Yunho laughs a low, disbelieving chuckle. He turns on his heel, past the court, back to where you set up, sitting back in the chair he was sulking in before. He reaches into the cooler, pulling out a can of beer. If this was how the weekend was going to be, he might as well be drunk for it, too. 

Clean and close to sober, your hair was still wet after your shower as you sat around the bonfire, sweats on your body, under a blanket on the sand. Even in Haos the beach was cold at night, a sharp breeze ruffling everyone’s hair, egging the fire to blaze higher. 

Yunho barely looked at either of you during dinner. Lounged out on the back balcony after grilling, he laughed along with everyone, cracking jokes and engaging in banter, but he shut you and Mingi out. After his second beer it was as if he put a wall up, he was choosing to not let the two of you bother him, not that you had much to bother him with after the beach. 

Fear lived in all your joints that you took everything too far as you sat cuddled up to Mingi, head on his shoulder. With Yunho on your other side, you tried not to let your eyes slide to him, despite his closeness. Even mad, even apart you still drifted together, you try to let the thought relieve you, but you’re too tightly wound to let anything but his hands steady your heart in your chest. 

You missed the way Yunho doesn’t see your fear. Instead, all his tunnel vision allows is the way your arms lay over Mingi’s, the way you melt against your boyfriend, how comfortable Mingi looks with your body touching his. You don’t see his frustration, how his mind whirls a mile a minute in yearning to have any part of you two touching him, too. 

“You guys must have needed a vacation,” Hongjoong declared from across the fire, the growing blaze making his orange hair burn brighter, white teeth still shining despite the warmth laying over all of you. 

You smile, and Mingi agrees in a small noise from beside you. San perks up in a chuckle, “I haven’t seen you two act like that in years. There’s really never any trouble in paradise, huh?” 

Mingi snorts, and you close your eyes with a smile on your lips. If only they knew what trouble was terrorizing your paradise right now. 

Jihyo cracks a laugh, holding up a hand like she just remembered something hilarious, “No, can you guys remember the beginning? When they couldn’t keep their hands off each other?” 

Your cheeks burn as the group laughs around the fire, a chorus of amusement and remembrance. Jihyo continues, laughter still erupting from her chest, breaking up her words, “I miss when we still had true house parties, I remember catching you guys in Yeosang’s garage.” 

Mingi tips his head back with a groan at the memory, you remembered it like it was yesterday, he had you lifted on Yeosang’s father’s workbench, tools covering the space around you. Luckily, Jihyo didn’t see your legs spread for him, or his fingers hooked inside you. Your cheeks blaze hotter than the fire before you. 

“That’s not the only time, either,” Jihyo’s leaning forward now, cocktail in her hands threatening to spill over the blanket on her lap. 

San interjects, laughing himself, “I think we’ve all caught them once or twice throughout the years.” 

Wooyoung frowns, “At least none of you have caught them in your own bedroom. That’s worse, trust me.”

Your hand covers your face, digging your forehead into Mingi’s shoulder as he laughs along, muttering Enough in a low voice. The reason you weren’t as open with your relationship anymore was being laughed about in a circle, filling your gut with embarrassment and shame, Mingi felt it. 

You couldn’t see Yunho’s fists clenched at his sides, digging into the blanket above the sand. He tries to laugh along, he has a few stories he could tell himself, but he’s ruined them all with thoughts of what those memories would look like if he was included in them, too. He feels weird inside. Knowing it would always be you two, as it’s always been, but feeling so fucking frustrated that he isn’t included, as if two halves of him were fist fighting just beneath his skin. 

“My bad, today just reminded me of back then,” San waves a hand, a warm smile on his lips, showing his dimples. “I’m happy to see it. I’ve missed when you were attached at the hip.” 

“I was starting to get worried that you guys were chilling out too much,” Sana interrupts, her head tilted, a cheshire smile on her lips, “I assumed that’s why you didn’t have a ring on your finger yet, that your relationship wasn’t the same as it used to be.” 

The circle quiets. A beat of silence lays over you, thick and heavy, her comment feels like a jab. Yunho doesn’t know why it fills his veins with ice cold rage. He bares his teeth, “Where’s the ring on your finger, Sana?” 

Seonghwa gasps, Tzuyu’s eyes widen, Wooyoung cracks a smile. Everyone’s eyes dance between Yunho and Sana with fear at her awaiting rebuttal. She tips her cocktail back, takes a sip, then raises it up to Yunho with a sinister smile, “Hopefully we both see rings within the year.” 

You blink in confusion and awe, sitting up straight, both of your heads turned toward the black hair sat beside you. He meets your gaze and his eyes feel warmer than they’ve been all day, since before the fight, even. The others redirect the conversation into something lighter, but the three of you stay locked in on each other, a bubble within the ash and smoke surrounding you. 

You purse your lips. What was that for? Yunho smiles. Couldn’t help myself, I guess.  Mingi lays a hand over your thigh. Sana will always be Sana, it’s not worth it.  Yunho leans into his hands stretched out behind him. I’m tired of her sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.  Your cheeks warm with a small smile. Thank you. 

After all the cans had been thrown into the fire and San had smothered it with the lid, the whole group decided it was time for bed, your day tomorrow required a full night’s sleep. Beach, boardwalk, dinner, a repeat of today, but tomorrow you could really drink. You had half a mind to stay sober tomorrow, you think you had enough day-drinking already, your brain muddled and your limbs sluggish, you didn’t miss the feeling of a hangover. 

The queen sized bed felt like a cloud beneath your thighs compared to the sand you were sitting on prior, the bottle of water Mingi handed you when he entered your bedroom healing you. In a hoodie and sweats, the house much too cold for a summer night, you sat up and chugged while Mingi got his toiletries ready for a shower. 

Yunho didn’t enter the bedroom until Mingi had left, drying his hair with his towel, sweats hanging low on his hips, droplets of water still trickling down his abdomen. You kept your water in your lap, lips pursed, trying to think of something to say. Just earlier today you weren’t speaking at all, you teased him all day, and then he… Sticks up for you to Sana? It doesn’t make any sense. None of this makes sense. 

Yunho pulls a tee shirt over his head, barely glancing at you sitting on the bed, then reaches into the closet to grab a blanket. Folded over his forearm, he tucks a pillow under his other arm, then without as much as a word he makes for the door. 

“Hello?” You sit up a little taller, confusion in the knit of your brows. “Where are you going?” 

He looks back at you over his shoulder, “I’m gonna sleep on the couch downstairs.”

“No,” you answer, shaking your head, staring at him like the idea is ridiculous, because it is. 

He raises his brows, “No?” 

“Stay,” you urge, heart picking up speed in your chest. “We need to talk at some point.” 

He finally turns around, brows still raised as he shrugs, “Talk about what?” 

Your lips part but nothing comes out. Jaw clenching, you sit dumbfounded and annoyed. Talk about the fight? Talk about today? Talk about how there’s still clearly something romantic between the three of you? 

“How you toyed with me all day?” Yunho finishes your thoughts, taking a step towards your bed, “How the two of you drove me up a fucking wall? How I snapped at Sana to defend you because clearly I’ve lost the ability to control myself?” 

You stare at him wide-eyed, speechless, excitement rippling beneath your skin because he took a step toward you. 

“They were right, you know,” he tilts his head, taking another step forward, “You haven’t been all over each other like that in years. And I sat there, knowing it was all for me, and couldn’t do a damn thing.” 

“Yes, you could have,” you finally counter, voice barely above a whisper. 

“What would you have me do?” He says through a sharp chuckle, “Put you over my fucking knee in front of everyone? The whole beach? That's what started all of this, right?” 

“I— What do you—?”

“This all started because of sex. You worked me up all day to have me at my wits’ end when we finally got back here at the end of the night. That was the plan, right?” 

You blink at him, that was the plan. Partially. “I just wanted you back here so we could talk—”

He smiles as he cuts you off, “You don’t want to talk, not really. I know what you want.” 

You sigh, frustration curling your fingers around the water bottle, ignoring the heat between your legs. He drops the blanket and the pillow on the floor as he takes another step forward, thighs just touching the mattress you sat on. 

“I do want to talk,” you frown, heart pounding against your chest, scared those five words will stop him from doing everything he was about to do. Voice lowering, you whispered, “I want you.”

“It’s pointless,” he shakes his head, smile dropped,.“You can’t separate it.”

“Because it’s already blended together,” your voice is still low, teetering on the edge of shaky. “The lines were crossed a long time ago, Yun.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s right,” he meets your eye, and there’s nothing kind behind them. No emotion that makes you feel like there’s any possibility of salvaging what you had. You refuse to trust it, the mask he puts on, you cling to how he’s looked at you these past weeks, with love and trust in his eyes, the mask he wears now is to protect himself. 

You give him a bitter chuckle, “Who are you to tell me what’s right? Do you not feel anything when you look at me?” 

“When I look at you,” he keeps his face steady, emotionless. “I see Mingi’s girlfriend.”

“You’re a liar,” you spit, sitting up on your knees, crawling closer to him on the bed. He watches, unmoving, eyes not even flickering a change in feeling. “Why did you stick up for us to Sana then?”

“Because you’re my friends, and I’m tired of hearing her project her own insecurities onto you.”

“Why were you bothered when I told that Aurora girl you were single, then?” You stand on your knees atop the mattress, almost face to face with him. “You are single, aren’t you? You want to be single.”

“I don’t want to be single,” his voice cracks, exasperated, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, “but that doesn’t mean I can just join a relationship that’s been established for over five years!” 

“Why are you making it sound like a decision that’s made on a whim? We just spent the last four weeks already in one, Yunho,” you raise your voice to match his, every ounce of emotion punctuating each syllable. 

“We spent the past month fucking,” he lowers his voice, words sharp enough to cut. “That’s it.”

As if every single one of your emotions swim up to your waterline, your voice cracks as tears blur your vision, “You’re a bullshit fucking liar, Jeong Yunho.”

You keep your eyes on Yunho as Mingi enters the bedroom, catching the towel hanging from his waist out of your peripherals. Yunho breaks eye contact before you do, his eyes sliding to Mingi who stares dumbfounded in the doorway, then quickly closes the door behind him when his eyes land on you. 

“What’s wrong?” His eyes are wide and concerned, one hand on his towel as he quickly makes his way across the room. The streak of sunshine in a hurricane, you can feel the hostility fizzle, his presence comfort enough to cool the fire in your veins. 

“Nothing,” you shake your head, then wipe your eyes with one hand as you sit back down on the mattress, legs folded beneath you. Your sniff betrays you, as if Mingi didn’t already know you were crying, “I’m fine.”

Mingi stands beside Yunho, a knit in his brow as he turns to his best friend, “What did you say?” 

“Nothing I haven’t said before,” Yunho bends down, picking up the blanket and pillow he was holding before. “I’m sleeping on the couch downstairs.”

“No you’re not,” Mingi chokes out a laugh in irritated disbelief, all of his features blown out as he faces him. “You’re not leaving again, you don’t get to walk out twice.”

Yunho’s chuckle mirrors Mingi’s, his voice louder and strained, “I don’t know what else you want me to say!”

“Say you don’t want us,” you answer from the bed, voice unsteady, terrified of his answer even if you’re certain you know it already. “Say you don’t want this, and we’ll let it go.” 

Yunho’s eyes dance between the two of you, the cogs turning in his mind visible in his tight features. Mingi takes a step away, walking towards the dresser, pulling out a pair of briefs to sleep in as he mumbles, “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

You stare at Yunho as his lips open and close, racking his brain for something to say that isn’t that. He shakes his head, “Even if I want this, it doesn’t mean it’s right. What will everyone say?”

The slap of Mingi’s briefs against his hips sounds through the room, “Who gives a fuck what anyone has to say?” He faces Yunho, “If we’re happy, that’s all that matters.” 

“It’s not that easy,” Yunho drops the blanket and pillow again, his shoulders pushed back in defense, trying to hold onto what’s left of his control as his hands wave with each word. “As much as I want to believe everything will be sunshine and rainbows, it’s you two. Your relationship is concrete, everyone’s expecting a wedding within the next few years and you want to fuck all of that up?!” 

Your stomach drops with the validity of his fear, cheeks warming, ears burning hot. You and Mingi have never decided on marriage, not fully, the two of you semi-estranged from your families, not completely in a place financially to make that kind of commitment. A ring, a big party to show off your relationship was nowhere in the near future. A house came first. Stability came first. 

Yunho knows that. He knows all of that, but his fear is still valid– because what happens when you are stable? You and Mingi never got that far, the rest was hopes and dreams that would maybe come true one day. You swallow, sniffing again, raising a hand to wipe what’s left of your lingering tears as understanding turns into a bloom of warmth in your chest. 

“I understand this isn’t normal,” Mingi takes a step toward Yunho, confidence clear in his voice, it seems you’ve switched places since the last time you talked. Mingi looks over Yunho’s shoulder to meet your eye for a second before looking at Yunho again, “But this won’t fuck anything up, Yunho, our relationship has always been… What it is. This.” 

“Your relationship,” Yunho reiterates, his voice quiet, body leaning towards Mingi. “What if that doesn’t stay the same with me in the picture? What if down the line, you decide you want to get married? Do you want kids? Where does that leave me?” 

A rush of something you can’t describe swallows you whole. It was overwhelming enough having this conversation with Mingi, and you haven’t had the conversation again with Yunho in the picture, what that would look like for the three of you. Tears crawl their way back up, a tightness in your throat, heat in your cheeks. You didn’t have an answer to his question, fear leaves your stomach hollow, your limbs tingly.

“We’re not asking you to make a decision now,” Mingi’s hands curl around his waist. “Even if it seems like we are. All we know is that we want to be with you, we’re willing to figure all of the details out together, with you. We want you, Yunho, isn’t that enough to at least try?”

Yunho’s head dips down, his face hidden, sucking in a deep, grounding breath. You need to touch him, feel close to him, you need your skin on his, you need to feel like he still wants you. It feels like losing him– a sentiment you can’t bear to accept, you haul yourself off the bed and press yourself into his back. 

“This is a lot,” his voice is smaller than you’ve ever heard it, weak, frail, strained with uncertainty. “I don’t know what to do, I- I want you too, but this is,” his voice breaks. “Terrifying.”

“I know,” you feel Mingi’s hands swimming along his sides as you keep your cheek pressed to his back, your fists balled into the cotton of his tee. Mingi continues, “You can do it, the commitment, the titles. It’s scary and vulnerable, but it’s us, we won’t hurt you.”

Another trembling breath leaves him as his forehead meets Mingi’s, his hands resting on your own, curled into his shirt. Your lip quivers, trying so hard to keep your own tears in to be the stability he needs, the rock you're used to being; seeing him hurting is like an arrow through your chest, it hurts the same way it does with Mingi.

“You don’t need to make a choice,” Mingi whispers. “But don’t shut us out. Don’t make us think we don’t mean anything to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Yunho whispers, sniffing, his body rigid between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean any of it, I was scared. I am scared.”

You press your lips to his clothed spine, “It’s okay, Yunho.”

He squeezes your hands, palms over knuckle, his touch is grounding. Mingi’s hands glide from his waist over his chest up to the curvature of his shoulders, landing there for a moment as Yunho’s head perks up. Mingi leans in, lips grazing Yunho’s as his hands move to his neck, sliding up to cup his cheeks.

“Can I kiss you?” Soft, honest. Yunho barely gives him a nod before Mingi attaches their lips, Yunho’s hands darting to his waist. You keep your hands on him, body pressed into him, feeling Yunho’s body relax, shoulders drooping, back arching into Mingi’s touch. 

Their lips move slowly, unhurried, a practice of searching for something in one another, finding it, reveling in it. The air changes around you, expanding, room opening, tension slipping through the balcony door and into the saltwater air, dissipating into the humidity. Yunho’s hands find Mingi’s cheeks and they move together, bodies arching into one another, getting lost in emotion and feeling and longing, you could feel all of it, it bled from both of them and into you, watching from behind. 

Hands on Yunho’s waist, you guide him backward until your back hits the bed. You crawl onto it, never breaking your eyes from the pair, watching as Yunho uses one hand to support himself while Mingi lays him down onto the mattress. 

“I missed you.”

You’ve never heard him sound like that before. Emotional– soft and whiney, honest, like he’d pulled the words from the deepest part of his consciousness, a box he kept tucked away. It has you moving, crawling over to them, inserting yourself into their bubble. Yunho’s hand reaches for your cheek as soon as you come into view, your eyes meeting, and for the first time you see him consumed by lust without the harsh blade of control in his eyes. Raw, open, free, there’s nothing but delicacy swirling in chocolate brown as he pulls you down into him, attaching his lips to yours like he’d been waiting to do it all day. 

Hungrier than those with Mingi, his lips move quickly, tongue slotting between your lips to search your mouth for something true, as if you haven’t given him all of you since the start. “I want you,” you whisper, sharing his breath, a soft smile curving your lips before he swallows down your words with his mouth. You swing one leg over his hips and he sits up on an elbow, his other hand moving to your hip for leverage as he pushes himself up until he’s sitting, shifting you properly on his lap. 

Mingi moves behind him, hands on his waist under his shirt, lips finding his neck with soft presses of his lips as your fingers reach for the hem of his tee. “Need this off,” you whisper into his mouth. “Want to feel you.”

Mingi’s the one who pulls the cotton tee over his head, lips finding Yunho’s shoulder as you kiss his lips again, tongue dancing with his, hands splayed on his pecs, letting the warmth of him seep into you. Yunho reaches beneath your hoodie, fingers cold as they dance along your skin, palms curled around your waist while his thumbs brush against your abdomen, his touch is soft, like he’d break you if he pressed too hard. 

You break the kiss only to pull the hoodie over your head and Mingi steals Yunho’s lips, using two fingers to his chin to turn his face. You watch them for a moment before leaning in, lips following the curve of his jaw down to his throat, flattening your tongue down to the base of his neck, sucking into his skin just above his collarbone. He tastes clean, like his bodywash, him, your hands find the waistband of his sweats, tugging them downward. 

Yunho gasps as you slip them from under him, hips moving easily for you, “I– Are you sure?”

You’re nodding on command, “Of course, I’m sure.”

He’s talking as you tug his briefs down to his thighs. “I said a lot of things.”

“You didn’t mean them,” Mingi answers as you settle yourself between his thighs, coaxing Yunho backward until his back is pressed to his chest. 

His cock stands tall against his pelvis, pink-kissed and leaking, it makes your mouth water. Yunho’s hips twitch as your nails graze his thighs, making you smile, eyeing him through your brows. He looks… scared. Like this was unknown territory, his eyes wide, red splotched chest rapidly rising and falling, fingers curled into the sheets beside him. 

It makes you want to take care of him in the same way he’s always taken care of you. 

“Is this okay?” You ask softly, making him nod. Your head tilts, needing the words to continue, “Do you want this?”

“Yes– fuck,” his hips twitch again, brows raising like he’s surprising himself. “I want it, I want you. Please.” 

There’s a pit in your gut as the plea leaves his lips and you’re wrapping your fingers around his length, making a show of the glob of spit dropping from your tongue and onto his length, using your fingers to spread it. He groans, head tipping back into Mingi’s chest as you start working his length with your hand, watching him carefully. So pretty, hair mussed about, chest splotchy and body twitching, you wonder if this is how you look beneath him. You dip your head down, tongue lolling out of your mouth to lick at his tip, salty, raw, Yunho– you wrap your lips around him and suck. 

“Fuck,” he draws out the word, low and heavy, a hand reaching down to tangle into your hair. You let him ease you down his length, tongue flat against the underside of him, lips suctioned tight. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

There he is. You smile, barely, lips stretched around the width of him, bobbing your head as your fist works the base of him, pumping, twisting, gripping him just right– the moan he releases is nothing but nasty, Mingi swallows it, stealing his lips again, you can hear their mouths as much as you can hear your mouth around his length, everything wet, sloppy. Mingi’s hands reach beneath his arms to his chest, thumbs flicking over his nipples and his hips buck into you, making you gag, a hand clawing into his thigh, eyes squeezing tight. 

“Sorry– fuck,” he curses again, voice desperate, “feels so good, don’t stop.”

You take him down your throat, gagging yourself purposefully as your nose meets the tuft of black hair at his base, the hand that was curled around him reaching below, cupping his balls softly, tightening your throat around him as you squeeze your palm ever so lightly. The sound that leaves him is obscene, abdomen clenching, his hands finding Mingi’s thighs, nails digging into his skin. You bob your head, breathing through your nose to keep him deeply rooted in your throat, constricting around him just to hear that noise over and over. 

“Oh my god,” his voice is strained, harsh, “I’m gonna cum– I want to fuck you, please, wait–”

His hand finds your hair but you don’t budge, keeping your rhythm on his cock, nose buried in his hair as your saliva drips from your lips and onto his pelvis, sliding down to where your hand lays below. 

“Baby, baby–”

His moan is strangled, caught in his throat as his limbs lock, legs straightening while his grip tightens in your hair, hips bucking into your mouth once, twice before his release shoots down your throat. You swallow him down, keeping your mouth suctioned to him as you ride out his high until he’s shaking, slipping off of him with your tongue still flat to ensure you’ve gotten every last drop. 

You break off of him with a pop, eyes glassy as you find him winded. Chest heaving, head lazily thrown on Mingi’s chest, your brown-haired boyfriend just smiled proudly from behind him. 

“Mouth just as dangerous as your pussy,” Mingi says, hands still splayed across Yunho’s abdomen, fingers softly petting his skin. 

“Only for you,” your smile is coy, of all things. Crawling up to where they sat, you lean down and press a kiss to Mingi’s lips, then one to Yunho’s. He still looks winded when you pull away, making you giggle, “You okay?”

He nods, “I just… I haven’t come since the last time, with you. Need a second.”

You snort, “A whole week, is that a new record or something?”

Yunho smiles, laughter in the exhale through his nose, “Don’t get smart with me, I haven’t forgotten about today.”

You lean down to press another kiss to his lips, keeping yourself close as you say, “Been waiting for the chance to do something about it, like you said?”

His eyes flicker up to yours. In that one sentence it’s as if you reminded him who he was, what he’s capable of. These eyes you know, deep and controlled, harsh in a way that tickles your spine. Your core clenches around nothing, tongue poking out to lick over your lips, anticipation heating your blood.

“Take off your pants, sit at the top of the bed.”

He barely gets the sentence out before you’re shimmying yourself out of your sweatpants, crawling up to your pillows. You’re vibrating as Yunho turns to Mingi, standing up on his knees, grabbing the younger man with one palm below his jaw to pull him upward. Mingi scrambles to his knees, brows already furrowed, lips still touching in the center as they part. 

Yunho smashes his lips into Mingi’s, there’s nothing graceful about the way his other hand digs into the nape of Mingi’s neck, making him arch into the older man with a whimper pouring straight into his mouth as his hands find Yunho’s biceps for leverage. It’s messy, rough, Yunho picking him apart with nothing but his lips– it makes your knees tie together, adding pressure between your thighs. 

“You,” Yunho starts, the word accusatory, giving Mingi another unforgiving press of his lips before he continues. “Teased me all day. Taunting me during volleyball, in front of our friends, do you have anything you want to say to me?”

“I’m sorry,” Mingi squeaks, fingers curling into Yunho’s biceps, the sound makes a smile spread across your cheeks, eyes flaring. 

“Louder.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Better,” Yunho mumbles, reaching down to pull his shirt up and over his head. One hand reaches down to palm Mingi over his briefs, palm flat and fingers splayed over his length, and Mingi folds upon contact. Head dipping low, abdomen clenching, a groan spills from his lips as his hips buck into Yunho’s touch. 

“Don’t tease,” Mingi whispers, voice a strangled moan. 

Yunho huffs a laugh, “Like you teased me earlier? You can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

Mingi lifts his head up to look at Yunho just as he starts grinding his palm against his length, bare chest leaning into Mingi’s, using his height to his advantage to look down at him. Mingi sputters, “T-That’s different, Yun. We were trying–”

“Trying to what?” Yunho squeezes his length and Mingi whimpers. Yunho smiles, “Bait me into fucking you in front of everyone?” 

“No–”

“Then what?”

“Wanted to feel like you still wanted us,” Mingi says it all in one strained breath, his voice rising in pitch as Yunho’s hand slips beneath his briefs, fingers wrapping around his length. 

“I wanted you,” Yunho’s voice slips into something quieter, other hand reaching up around Mingi’s neck, thumb brushing over his bottom lip as before brings his face to Mingi’s, lips almost touching. “The whole time.”

“You left,” Mingi’s voice is barely above a whisper, shaky, a hiss leaving his lips when Yunho twists his wrist, palm closing over the tip of his cock. Yunho pushes Mingi’s briefs down his thighs, lowering Mingi down until his knees are spread, arms splayed behind him, cock jumping against his pelvis, red, angry and leaking like a fucking faucet.

“Do you want my mouth?” Yunho, between Mingi’s knees, asks before his eyes slide to you at the top of the bed. “Or do you want to be filled?”

Mingi’s brows raise. “I get a choice?”

Yunho shrugs. “My way of saying sorry.”

Both of their eyes slide to you and your eyes widen under their attention, back straightening against the pillows. They drink in your posture, knees pressed together, hands scrunched in the sheets as if that’s the only thing keeping you from slipping your hand between your legs. 

“Come.”

Yunho’s voice is unyielding, it has you crawling across the mattress on all fours, landing on your knees before them. Mingi’s head tilts, “Thought I had a choice?”

Yunho snorts his amusement, “Like you’d choose anything other than my cock filling you up.” He plants a hand against your cheek, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, “You can kiss while I prep him, but don’t touch.”

You nod, eager as you settle yourself laid down in front of Mingi, your beautiful boyfriend who already looked so gone. Cheeks pink, chest heavy, his muscled biceps land on either side of your head against the mattress, your calves curling over his thighs with him above you. His cock lands against your lower tummy, heavy, sticky, the order not to touch has your heart picking up speed in your chest, a desire you can’t fulfill. 

“Hi, baby,” Mingi’s smiling as he presses one, soft kiss to your lips. Your arms are bent up, hands on either side of your shoulders, palms faced up with your fingers loose and limp, hips fighting the urge to buck up into him. 

You push out a sigh, “Need you,” your back arches instead, nipples pebbling beneath the breeze that drifts through the room. “Wanna feel full.”

He places another soft kiss on your lips, “Soon.” He deepens the kiss, tongue pushing into your mouth, you can taste him, taste Yunho, it makes you moan into him, fingers twitching because you want them on his face, in his hair, around his cock. 

Yunho leaves the bed to cross the room, you hear him opening the closet, the zipper of the duffel he brought sliding open, but Mingi’s tongue is licking into your mouth, rendering you thoughtless, you don’t care to look over. “Wanna touch you,” you whisper, back arching more until your nipples press against his warm skin, whining at the contact. 

“Patience, baby,” his lips find your jaw, elbows closing in around your head, tongue sliding down to your neck to lick a stripe back up to your jaw. You moan, legs tightening around his thighs, hips bucking against his length that tapped against your stomach with each movement. Torture, being naked beneath him, wanting so badly to touch, to feel. 

You feel the dip of the bed when Yunho kneels behind him, you hear the cap snapping open on what you can only assume is a bottle of lube. It makes you smirk, knowing he brought it with him, that it was in his bag, waiting to be used. Yunho’s palms flatten over Mingi’s ass, and his head dips down into your shoulder at the contact, in anticipation of what comes next. 

You watch over Mingi’s shoulder as Yunho squirts some into his hand, closing it before running two fingers down the space between, thumb circling his hole. Mingi’s whole body jerks, gasping into your neck, cock digging into your stomach.

“Open up for me,” Yunho says softly, “let me in.”

Mingi’s knees spread a little wider, lips meeting your shoulder, your neck, back arching lower, the position Yunho likes. Yunho keeps his eyes on you beneath him as he pushes a finger inside, his own brows furrowing together at the feeling of him, the tightness around his digit.

“Shit,” Mingi whimpers into your skin and one hand comes up to tangle in his hair, relaxing him into the stretch, all while keeping your eyes on Yunho. 

“That’s it,” Yunho nods, voice just above a whisper, “there you go.”

Yunho bites his lip as he crooks his finger and Mingi fucks back, head lifting from your shoulder to push himself into the older man, moaning like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. You quickly turn your head to catch a glimpse, his slacked jaw, eyes softly shut, brows knitted together in pleasure, so fucking beautiful. The sight of him when you’re wrapped around his cock versus Yunho pushing into him, the sight of his pleasure was so different, so raw seeing him this way, so open and desperate. 

“Yes,” you find yourself whispering, back arching at his pleasure, almost feeling it as if it were your own. 

Yunho adds another finger, making Mingi moan, lifting himself up onto his palms, head craning to see Yunho behind him. “More, gimme your cock, I can take it.”

Yunho nods, ripping open a condom packet from beside him and slipping it on in one quick motion. Tapping his cock between Mingi’s cheeks, he looks over Mingi’s shoulder to you, “Go ahead.”

At the speed of fucking light you’re reaching between you, making Mingi gasp as your fingers wrap around his length, Yunho lining himself up behind him as you line him up at your center. You didn’t need the prep, the head of his cock slipping around as soon as you brought it to your slit, sliding through your wetness until it caught against your entrance, making you gasp out a moan. 

“Fuck,” Mingi’s voice sounds strangled, strained, preparing himself to fuck you full while he gets fucked full– you’ve done it plenty, but each and every time it’s overwhelming for him, for you to be fucked by Yunho’s thrusts. 

“Breathe,” Yunho says, and it’s both a warning and an order as he pushes inside, making Mingi’s breath catch in his throat until he forces it down into the base of his lungs. Yunho groans, head tipping back as he slowly pushes inward until he seats himself inside. 

One of your hands cups his face, pressing your lips against his unmoving ones, “That feels good?”

“Full,” Mingi grits out as Yunho bottoms out, hands squeezing his ass, face contorted in pleasure. 

You smile, pressing your lips into the corner of his mouth, “Ready?”

He nods, eyes screwed shut, mouth stuck open like he’d unhinged his jaw. You tighten your legs over his thighs, an elbow planted under you, lifting your hips up to press his tip inside, and with Yunho’s next thrust he’s pushing inside, all the way, all at once. Your eyes blow wide as a shrill sound escapes you, and Yunho’s head picks up over Mingi’s back. 

“If you’re loud, I stop,” Yunho grits out. “We don’t need the whole house hearing us.”

Your other arm is clawing at Mingi’s shoulder, so fucking full and stretched out it’s dizzying, you barely process Yunho’s words as Mingi catches your lips with his own. The three of you readjust closer together now that you’re positioned, and with every thrust of Yunho’s hips against Mingi, Mingi fucks into you the same. 

“So tight, Min,” Yunho gasps. “Missed this ass, fuck, craved this tight fuckin’ thing.” 

He’s beautiful, hair soft and messy, brows quirked in focus as he watches himself drill into Mingi, how his cock disappears, how Mingi sucks him in with each thrust. You’re clinging to Mingi, one arm over his shoulder as your hips fuck back into him, his cock curving into you just right, making you moan into his lips as his tongue steals every sound from your throat, pouring another one right back into yours. 

“Faster,” you whimper, eyes lifting. “Please, Yun. More.”

“Never satisfied,” Yunho spits out through his clenched teeth, two hands gripping Mingi’s hips as he fucks into him harder, faster, ricocheting into you, body slamming into the mattress with each thrust. You’re a crying, whimpering mess, clawing into Mingi’s skin as he cries into your mouth, lost in a bubble of pleasure, Mingi’s body locking up with each thrust of Yunho’s hips. 

“I’m close,” Mingi whispers, straining. “Fuck, too good, so full, you’re so tight–”

“Cum,” you whisper, hips rolling into each thrust. “Fill me up, baby. Come on.”

Yunho’s hands slide up to his waist, nails biting into his sides, “Hold it.”

Your hips buck into him faster, a pit forming in your stomach as the pleasure builds, catching Mingi’s lips again. Yunho slaps his palm against Mingi’s ass as he feels Mingi buck into you, “Hold it.”

“Can’t!” Mingi cries, “I can’t, I cant, I’m cumming–”

You moan as his cock twitches inside you, still rolling your hips against him as he fills you up, warmth spreading through your lower half. Yunho hisses from behind, “You never fuckin’ listen.”

You smile, dazed and lazy as you stare up at him over Mingi’s back, “Happens every time.”

“Fuck,” Yunho huffs, “wanted to cum inside you, Min.”

You slow your hips as Mingi’s arms waver, shaking on either side of you. “’m sorry,” Mingi says, breathless. “Felt so fucking good.”

You pull your hips off of him as you let go of his shoulder, falling flat against the bed as he crumbles on top of you, Yunho pulling out behind him. Sated, he hums into your shoulder, left hand digging beneath your back, holding you close. 

Yunho slips off the condom and pulls you toward him by your ankles, Mingi’s startled enough by the action to roll off of you and onto his back, head turned with eyes half open to watch as Yunho tugs you upward by your hips. Yunho sinks down to sit on his calves, pulling your thighs over his, not wasting a second as he runs his cock through your folds, spreading Mingi’s release. You hiss at the contact, hips bucking into him, digging your elbows beneath you to hold you up. “Kiss me,” you beg, “kiss me while you fuck me, please. Need it.”

His brows furrow, lips parting like you’d just taken your cock down his throat, your words hitting like a pang to his gut. He lines himself up, cock prodding at your entrance as he leans forward, grabbing you by your waist to pull you on top of him, using your thighs on his as leverage to sit yourself over his cock. 

Lowering yourself onto him, you lay your hands over his shoulders to attach your lips to his, nothing about it structured or neat as he pushes inch after inch into your heat. You moan into him, whining as you reach the base of him, feeling the full length of him in your fucking guts. 

“Big,” you mumble, a whiney whisper. “Wanna cum on your cock, Yunho.”

His fingers tighten around your waist, lifting you up on his cock before slamming you back down, making you cry out into his mouth. “Quiet,” he grunts, then places a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I know it feels good, baby.”

Your fingers claw into his shoulders, “So good, missed your cock, fills me up so fuckin’ perfect, so full.”

He guides you with two hands on your waist, lifting you, lowering you, shifting you into a dirty grind, “Take me so well,” he says before he kisses you again. “Pussy so tight, missed her, missed you.”

You catch his lips, words staggered by each slap of your hips against his, “Don’t fucking leave again.”

His fingers sear your waist, squeezing so hard you’re sure they’ll leave marks behind, making you moan. You grind yourself into him, rolling your hips until his cock reaches the sweet spot inside you, a high pitched noise escaping your lungs before you can stop it. 

“Shit,” you cry out, panicking at the pleasure, lowering your voice. “Shit, shit, shit– good, right there, so good.”

Yunho meets you where you roll into him and your eyes drop to watch, his sculpted abdomen flexing under the movement, how you swallow his cock with each grind, it’s too much. Mingi’s behind you before you can process it, feeling his heat before his bare skin, his lips at your neck, teeth grazing your steaming skin, fingers toying at your chest, you fall into him as your hips move on their own. 

“Min,” you moan out. “Yunho, fuck– wanna cum, wanna cum,” you’re repeating the words like a mantra, Yunho’s cock kissing your walls, the tip of him running over that spot inside you like it has nowhere else to go. 

“Cum,” Mingi says into your skin. “Cum around his cock, let him feel it.”

You grind your teeth, a strangled sound escaping you, so close you could fucking taste it. 

“Need more, baby?” Yunho asks, breathless, jaw clenched like he was holding himself back. “My girl, never satisfied, always needs more.”

“Insatiable,” Mingi’s tongue drags along your neck and you nearly fold, the pleasure overwhelming. One of his hands dips down between you, two fingers rubbing at your clit and your eyes blow wide, entire body jerking forward at the touch. 

“There she goes,” Yunho smiles and your breath completely catches in your throat, hips stuttering in their grind, he quickly uses two hands on your hips to keep you moving in rhythm. You feel it building impossibly further, your orgasm right below the surface, your skin vibrating, your breath coming out in shallow bursts. 

Mingi reaches up, one hard pinch to one of your nipples and you’re falling forward, head on Yunho’s shoulder as your limbs lock, pressure blowing, euphoria consuming every inch of your being. You hear Yunho mumble something haphazardly to Mingi before he’s pushing you backward, holding onto your hipbones as he drills into you, chasing his own high. It’s more than overwhelming, your orgasm never ending, prolonged with each thrust of his cock inside you.

 “Mouth,” Yunho bites, and Mingi’s palm clasps over your lips on command. You don’t even realize what sounds are leaving you, that your lungs are even working properly, so consumed by euphoria. 

You’re seizing around him, body twitching, core clenching with each thrust of his cock until his hips stutter, emptying himself inside you with consistent, punched strokes so you feel every inch of him, every drop of him as he fills you up. 

Mingi releases your mouth when Yunho finally pauses, his hand shaky, chest heaving, cock half-hard again against his thigh. The only sound in the room is your breathing, distant waves crashing ashore, the sound of the breeze blowing through the room, making the curtains dance around the balcony doors. 

“I could watch you two forever,” Mingi mumbles, more to himself than to you. 

Yunho pulls out slowly, keeping a hand steady cupped over your center, so if you do drip it’s not on San’s comforter. Always thinking ahead, even after sex, when one would think his brain would turn at least a little fuzzy. 

You swallow down nothing but air in your dry throat, reaching for the man beside you and the other across from you, “Lay with me.”

“You need to shower,” Yunho counters, running his other hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. “Or pee, at least. Get this out of you so we can sleep.”

You mumble your discontent, groaning, body spent and tired but so fucking elated at what just transpired. Yunho smiles up at you, “We aren’t at home, little lady, you need to go pee.”

“Little lady?” You and Mingi ask at the same time, mocking him, brows furrowed, smiles amused. You snort, “Try a different nickname.”

“Shut up and go to the bathroom,” Yunho huffs, standing up off the bed, pulling you by your ankles to the edge. Mumbling under his breath, he’s looking at the sheets, “Always something to say.”

“You love it,” you smirk, standing on shaky, tired legs. You wobble, he slides a grounding arm around your waist, you look up at him with smiling eyes, “If I wasn’t such a brat you wouldn’t have anything to punish me for.”

“A well-behaved submissive is a well-trained one,” he’s quick to respond.

You scowl, eyes pointed as you look at him, throwing an arm over his shoulder, “I’m not your submissive.”

“What are you, then?” He asks and you steal your arm back from over his shoulder, ignoring the leakage between your thighs, just to look up at him and see him smirking, face fully amused. 

“Not funny,” you grumble. “Mingi will shower with me, you can wait outside.”

“No,” he half-whines the word, still fully amused, leaning into you before he bends at his knees, scooping you from beneath your legs into his arms bridal-style. “We’re all showering together, end of story. Say a prayer that Jihyo and Jongho are asleep.”

You’re giggling at him butt-ass naked in the dark hallway, it seemed Jihyo and Jongho were asleep with how easily you snuck into the bathroom without being caught, Mingi on your heel. Your shower was innocent, soft touches and bubbly soap, exhaustion dancing in the steam, the humor had dissipated and exposed what was left over. The three of you, together again. Whole.

Back in bed, you in the middle, Mingi on your left, Yunho on your right, you didn’t even bother with clothes. The only light came from the still open balcony doors, moonlight acting as a beacon, calming in how it coated the room in a soft pale hue. 

“I really did miss you,” Mingi cuts through what felt like an hour of silence, just waves and breeze. “We missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Yunho’s response is soft, fingers playing in Mingi’s hair above you, you cocooned in the middle of the two. 

For the first time, those three little words sat on your tongue, begging to be said. Instead, you ask, “You know what you said? The submissive thing?”

His hand cups your cheek, “I was just kidding, baby.”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s not that. I was wondering… What it’d be like.”

“To be my sub?” His brows raise, tipping your head up to look at him. “Like, for real?”

You smile, “Yes, for real. I’ve wondered since Woo’s going away party, what you’re like when you’re serious about it.”

“You don’t think I’m serious with you?”

“You know you let shit slide,” you narrow your eyes. “A lot slide. I want to experience a day, in public and stuff when you’re being you. In your element.”

Yunho’s eyes slide up to Mingi, “You too, baby?”

Mingi smiles, bashful but honest, nodding. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious, too.”

“You’re both untrained–”

“You’ve taught us a lot,” you cut him off. Rearranging yourself, head pressed into Mingi’s chest so you can see Yunho easier, you urge, “We can do it. Let us try tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yunho.”

“Fine,” his smile is soft, eyes so dreamy it’s hard to comprehend that a man like him could ever be mean. If you hadn’t experienced it, you wouldn’t believe it. You love him mean. You love him nice. You love how he looks at you. You keep the words inside. 

“We’ll talk about it more in the morning.”

You didn’t say another word, other than goodnight. You could still hear the waves crashing onto the shore just outside the house, you could smell Yunho’s body wash everywhere, the moon shining down on your bedroom, for the first time in days, everything felt… Peaceful. Normal. 

Your heartbeat hasn’t been this even since the day Yunho walked out of your apartment.

Feet twitching, a tickle on your leg, your nose scrunches as consciousness pulls your eyelids apart. You suck in a short breath when you feel warmth on your thigh, the heaviness of a hand, Yunho’s hand, it snaps you awake like someone poured cold water over your head. 

“What are you doing?”

His other hand moves your panties to the side, his head already between your legs, which was enough to answer your sleep-induced question. Your thighs parted for him further, arms limp against the bed, you could hear the soft snores from Mingi still fast asleep beside you. 

A moan passes softly through your lips as his tongue makes contact with your center, slipping between your folds, lips swirling around your clit. The fingers curling into your thigh tells you to shut up, and you listen by slotting your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes screwed shut. 

Fuck, you’ve missed his hands on you, you’ve missed his mouth, you’ve missed the way he tells you what to do without saying a fucking word. You’ve missed everything about him. 

He pulls away only to pull your panties down your thighs, throwing them somewhere on the floor before both hands push into the plush of your thighs, spreading them wider than before. The mewl that leaves your lips, the way your leg bumps into Mingi’s sleeping body has his eyes cracking open, confusion and sleepiness present in the way he blinks himself awake. 

“Damn,” Mingi groans, stretching out his limbs as Yunho devours you all over again. “I’ve missed this.”

Mingi leans over, pressing his lips sleepily into your neck, tongue poking out to slide up onto your jaw, your mind clouded with a whirlwind of pleasure. Too long since you’ve had two bodies on you, focused on you, pleasuring you, days had felt like months. 

Yunho’s hand left your thigh to grab onto Mingi’s ankle, pulling him downward, a cue to get off of you without him saying a word. Mingi shuffled himself down the bed until Yunho grabbed his already stiff length over his briefs, Mingi pushed them over his hips and down his thighs, eager to feel Yunho’s touch like it was the first time. 

Yunho’s fingers slip through your folds to gather the wetness onto his hand just to use it in gliding his hand over Mingi’s length, which had both of you squirming in pleasure, light moans blending together. He spits on your center before sitting up on his knees, slipping two fingers inside you, the other hand still pumping Mingi’s length, he used the same rhythm on both of you, where you both stared up at him with parted lips, furrowed brows, glassy eyes, you think that maybe you were dreaming, or maybe you’d gone to heaven in your sleep. 

“Missed me, huh?”

You and Mingi nod erratically, your hips jerking into his touch, he wore a cocky smirk and half-lidded eyes that told you he missed you just as much. Having the two of you splay out beneath him, victim to his hands, to his hold over you entirely, he had you exactly where he wanted you. 

His fingers curled into you at the same time as his wrist twisted around Mingi’s length, movements he knew drove you close to the edge, you could feel the pit in your stomach forming just from how deep his fingers hit inside you. He knew you so well, too well, he could pull you to orgasm so fast, even at god knows what time in the morning. From the rising sun outside of your balcony, you knew it was early.

“You want to be with me for real?” Raised eyebrows, temptation in his voice, a depth to his eyes that only came out when he was in the mood to have you crying beneath him, the ghost of fear nipped at your spine. You nodded.

“You– fuck,” Mingi gasped, hips bucking into Yunho’s hand. “You know we do.”

“Then you’ll learn what it’s like to be with me,” staring down at you beneath his brows, his jawline sharp from where you looked up at him, you gulped at the sight of gravity in his eyes. Fingers hitting the spongy spot inside you repeatedly, it was hard to feel the fear through the pleasure, to understand the weight of his words as he pulled you so damn close to the finish line. 

 “Yes,” you whispered, back arching, eyes closing, your orgasm so close you could taste it. 

Mingi wasn’t far behind, his fingers curling into the bedsheets, his legs trembling, small gasps and mewls falling from his lips one after another, it was ridiculous how easily he had the two of you rendered stupid before him. 

Lifting yourself onto your elbows, your voice shaky, you cry, “I-I’m close.”

“Me too, don’t stop, Yunho,” Mingi moans from beside you, sounding weary, teetering on the edge. 

Yunho smiles, a flicker of something in his eye that assured you the fear in your spine was right. His fingers scissor you open like he could make you cum with his eyes closed. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t give you permission, and you push a heavy breath through your lips like it’d help pause your impending orgasm while you wait for the green light. 

“I’ve been too lenient with you,” he bites the inside of his cheek. “I did some thinking, too, and I think you two forgot who I am, why you asked me to share your bed in the first place.”

Your eyes blow wide, panic surging through you, “Yunho, I’m gonna cum–”

He slips his fingers out of you at the same time as he pulls his hand away from Mingi’s cock, your thighs snap together, a curse slipping from your lips. A too verbal cry leaves Mingi’s throat, his cock spurting ropes of white cum onto his hips, his stomach, his orgasm completely ruined. 

“We’ll see if you still want me by the end of today,” Yunho is smiling while ignoring Mingi’s heaving chest and teary eyes, proud of himself, happy with what he had just done to the two of you. Your eyes are dancing between Yunho and your boyfriend that has tears slipping past his waterline, his jaw dropped in shock, in anguish of what had just been done to him. You wished you could have seen his raw reaction, the moment his orgasm was denied.

“I didn’t forget everything that happened yesterday, did you?” He asks, eyebrows raised, eyes flickering between you and Mingi. “Today will be different.”

Your body was on fucking fire– fear, arousal, the orgasm that was still on the brink beneath your hipbones, you didn’t know which emotion to pay attention to first. You tried to speak, some form of rebuttal, every string of words came out jumbled, completely incoherent. Yunho grinned. Mingi whimpered. 

“Clean yourselves up and come to breakfast,” Yunho climbs off the bed, running a hand through his black locks as he makes for the door. “Don’t touch each other, don’t touch yourselves. I’ll know if you do.”

You swear the beach is hotter than it was yesterday. 

All thirteen of you, after having breakfast out on the deck, packed up for another beach day that was thankfully right in San’s metaphorical backyard. No one was acting out of the ordinary, it seemed safe that no one heard the three of you getting edged by Yunho’s hands just a few hours ago, or getting split open by his cock last night, but you wondered if anyone could pick up how fucking frustrated you and your boyfriend were come this morning. 

You obeyed Yunho, you didn’t touch each other after he left this morning, instead you kept your distance in your bedroom while you got ready for breakfast, as Mingi took a cold shower, letting ice fill his veins as he replayed his ruined orgasm in his mind. 

Yunho was careful around you at breakfast, around your friends, only meeting your eye when he felt yours on him, while you were daydreaming, fantasizing, watching how his veiny hands picked up his utensils, how his pretty pink lips wrapped around the food he ate, how his body bent when he stood up from the kitchen table, the low rumble in his tired voice as he spoke to Hongjoong…

“This one.”

After escaping a calm breakfast, you were upstairs, getting ready for the impending beach day. Yunho had picked out a pair of swim shorts for Mingi, ones with a longer inseam, and had ruffled through all the bikinis you brought with you, choosing one less skimpy, but still as revealing as a bikini would be. 

He handed you a black triangle bikini with small, white polka dots printed on the nylon, the bottoms were string-tied, the back ruched at the middle. Thrill danced in your blood at the thought of wearing something he chose for you, an invisible display of dominance to the people who would see you in it. He hasn’t done this yet. This was new. 

“We’re playing today,” he sat back on the bed, you and Mingi standing before him, backs straight, heels touching, as per Yunho’s request. You were already buzzing with adrenaline, excitement, anticipation. “If it’s too much, you know what to say, but I’ll be expecting obedience, without question. Understood?” 

You and Mingi nod furiously– he clicks his tongue. 

“Yes, sir,” scrambles out of both of your mouths simultaneously. You’ve never spoken about or decided on a title formally, you’ve only said the word to Yunho playfully a few times, just for him to respond ‘be careful what you wish for.’ 

You were more than careful, it’s indescribable how the title makes you feel. Yunho has taken care of you both from the start, slipped into a role on his own when he started spending time with you, but today he’d officially take on the role fully, no shortcuts, no excuses.

There were times you’ve gone grocery shopping or went out to eat and he’s told you to not speak unless spoken to, to only walk on the right side of him, Mingi on his left. Something like this lit a fire in your belly, playing in front of your friends when you and Mingi knew Yunho didn’t want them to know anything about you three, you’d have to be discreet, yet still obey him completely, it made you nervous. Excited to comply, to appease him. Still excited, but nervous about what happens if you don't. 

This was Yunho, unshielded, unapologetically himself, this was Yunho showing you who he is, what he wants. Your request had turned into a test, one you deeply wanted to pass; because in your mind, passing felt like the last obstacle. That if you passed, he’d have no reason to deny you any longer, no further reason to say no.

Because he didn’t answer you last night with a yes, in your mind, it was still a no.

Excitement flared in your eyes when he nodded, pleased, “Good.”

When he laid out the rules for today, they seemed simple. 

You’re to sit with good posture on his left, Mingi on his right. Easy. There shouldn’t ever be sand on his towel, if there is, you or Mingi clean it off when you see it. The thought of the two of you doting on him makes your heart skip a beat. 

You’re both to make sure he is never without a drink, you get him another when he’s finished the one he has. He’s testing your ability to pay attention, to focus on him only. He should be at the forefront of your mind all day— as if he already doesn’t live there. 

 If you need anything, if you want anything, you ask permission first. Submission, structure. 

No complaining about the sand, the heat, if you or Mingi are in distress, you tell him properly, without whining. He wants you polite, but neither you nor Mingi were one to complain about anything, anyhow. 

You both are to stay within arm’s reach of him all day. You want to be by his side, anyways, but being expected to… you would pass his test with flying colors. 

You didn’t ask what happens if you didn’t follow them, maybe you should’ve. It feels full circle from Wooyoung’s going away party all that time ago, when you were curious about the date he brought, why she acted the way she did. How a part of you craved it, when you didn’t even know what it was. 

The sun scorched the sand, inescapable, a dry heat that was only eased by the salty breeze that snuck past your bodies every now and then, so sporadically you could barely call it relief. You had created a small village on the beach, multicolored towels laid out in a line, beach chairs, umbrellas, coolers with liquor, bags full of snacks, a large speaker that played nostalgic music over the sound of waves crashing on the shore. Looking at the scene made you laugh, you could remember coming to the beach with the same damn people with nothing but a towel and a handle of vodka. 

A lifetime ago. 

You sat with your knees bent in a pretzel, back straight, palms in your lap. A drink was buried in the sand next to you, something sour, Tzuyu mixed it, she claimed one was enough to keep you buzzed for a while. That was fine with you, sunglasses on your face, watching the waves fold onto the wet sand at the shoreline, head tilted, humming to a song you knew all too well while it danced with the breeze. 

Yunho bent down beside you on the empty, clean baby blue towel, the corners still stiff and bent from how it was folded in San’s linen closet, the print on it still bright, likely new. Your chin perked up with his presence, sunglasses perched on his nose, black hair already damp with sweat and mussed on his forehead, sun-kissed and angelic. Your mouth watered before he uttered a word. 

“You have sunscreen on?” Short, curt, filled with expectation. It wasn’t just the simple question forcing a rush of adrenaline to sweep through you, heart rate picking up, fingertips twitching against your skin, it was his tone; strong, composed, yet somehow condescending, as if you couldn’t remember to put your own sunscreen on. 

You nodded, the need to appease him curling low in your gut, the desire to make him pleased. His tongue clicked, words. You sputtered, “Yes, I put some on before we left the house.” 

“That was an hour and a half ago,” he sighed, running long, milky fingers through the damp black locks on his head. “I’ll get some.”

He used his palms braced on his thighs to stand again and your neck twisted to Mingi on the far towel, raising your brows.

Mingi gave you a small shrug, Here we go. 

You glanced around the group, taking in everyone’s whereabouts. San and Jongin laid out on beach chairs beneath the sun, carved abdomens dipped in honey, shiny and slicked by sunscreen and sweat. Hongjoong and Seonghwa were down by the shore, mid-conversation, hats blanketing their hair, ankle-deep in the water. Tzuyu, Jihyo and Sana laid in a line to your left, gossiping, drinking, bodies a contrast to the towels beneath them. 

Wooyoung had dragged Jongho and Yeosang into the sand off to your right, convincing the two men to bury him. You think Wooyoung started drinking when his eyes opened this morning. 

You felt Yunho’s presence at your back like a shadow, a promise of unfinished business. He leaned in tight, next to your ear, “This drink is the only one you’ll have today.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat, but you nodded. You didn’t ask permission before drinking it. His silence, his lack of movement, snapped you back into place, back straightening. “Yes.” 

“Yes what?” 

Fuck. You could genuinely moan at his tone, the way he’s biting his words, silvery in what he expects of you, the power he holds in two small words. Maybe he wants you all fuzzy and moldable, like jelly, testing your ability to control yourself and keep your focus on him. 

“Yes, sir,” it’s a mere mumble under your breath, head tucked down, just low enough for him to hear. You can feel Mingi’s eyes on you, you wonder if he heard, too, or if your cowering body is lost on him. 

Yunho hums in satisfaction, “Sit on your knees, I’ll get your back.” 

You don’t hesitate to tuck your knees under your body, ass pressed against your calves, the breeze on your now exposed tummy making you feel bare. Exposed in front of your friends. You can’t believe how it sends a deep pang of arousal through your entire fucking body. You hear the bottle open, lotion squirting into his hands, rubbing it together in his palms before he touches you. 

It’s like lightning hit you, how your entire body jerks at his touch, how his palm pressed to your skin makes your thighs clench on command, excitement thrumming beneath your skin. You can blame it on this morning, how he left you tightly wound and needy, the rules swimming in your mind, but the truth was that any time his skin touches yours it’s electrifying, it reminds you of all the times he’s fucked you brainless, it makes you ache for more. 

He rubs the lotion onto your back slowly, massaging it in, you couldn’t tell if his movements were erotic or if your brain had dropped to the gutter. Over your hips, the sides of your waist, the tops of your shoulders, the backs of your arms, each movement was controlled, slow in a way that let you feel each point of pressure, how he was studying you as he worked the lotion onto your skin. Your neck inevitably bends, head drooping, shoulders slouching, despite the lotion being cold, his hands on you were so warm. Your thighs untensed, knees breaking apart, lungs emptying themselves into the summer air, it felt so fucking good to have his hands on you. 

One palm smoothes up your spine, fingers curling around the back of your neck, the other hand squeezing your hip over the waistband of your bottoms. “Up,” he bites, the singular word a nasty whisper. “Pathetic for you to lose your composure over sunscreen.”

You were grateful for your sunglasses– no one could see your eyes fluttering at his words. Your back straightens, knees kissing once more, hands folded in your lap. “Good girl,” his voice is still too low for anyone else to hear, if anyone was paying attention. It probably seemed like Yunho was just being friendly, helpful, putting sunscreen on your hard to reach places. 

It didn’t look like that at all to Jongho and Yeosang, sunglasses shading their eyes as they scooped sand onto Wooyoung’s body, hands going motionless with each curve of Yunho’s fingers on your skin. 

“Are you seeing this too?” Jongho asked the older man, eyebrows furrowed, his voice laced with confusion.

Yeosang nods, “And Mingi’s just watching. I’d lose my shit if you touched Tzuyu like that.”

“I’d fucking kill you if you looked at Jihyo like that,” Jongho agrees. Their eyes linger, watching how Yunho leans in close to your ear, how your back straightens, body locking all over again. 

Wooyoung’s head peeks up from the sand, “What am I missing?” 

“Do you think she’s cheating on Mingi?” Yeosang asks, sitting back on his heels. 

“What?” Wooyoung sits up straight, the layer of wet sand on top of him cracking and falling in chunks onto his lap. The two other men groaned, knowing they were going to have to put it back on him in a moment's time. 

Jongho shakes his head, “Mingi’s watching, no way she’d cheat, and no way Yunho would do that to him. Plus, he's never been territorial.”

Wooyoung’s neck stretches forward like he was squinting to see beneath his sunglasses. “Mingi doesn’t care if you flirt, I think giving her a back massage in front of the entire group is different.” His head tilts to the side. “But yeah, he really is just watching. Huh.”

“Interesting,” Yeosang’s lips scrunch, but he brings his head of red hair back to Wooyoung. “Lay down and let us restart, dumbass.”

After getting a slew of pictures of Wooyoung’s bronzed body buried beneath the sand, a mermaid tail packed over his legs, fake abs drawn onto his abdomen, the still-giggling men came back over to the group, covered in sand head to toe. 

Wooyoung ran a hand through his hair, shooting back a mouthful from his can, “Anyone wanna go swimming?”

Jongho and Yeosang were behind him, sweaty and beautiful, sand on their exposed bodies like a second layer of skin. You blinked at them, silent, because you didn’t wanna swim, part of you was scared that if you stood, someone would notice the patch of wetness on your bikini bottoms, despite them being black. Your fear held no bounds, no logic, but it was enough for you not to move a muscle. 

Mingi leaned into Yunho, whispering something in his ear. 

“Can I go?” Too low for your ears to catch, Mingi gave Yunho puppy eyes from below his shades, his voice sweet as candy. 

Yunho gave him a short nod, forgoing a rule for Mingi’s appropriate execution of another, your boyfriend hopped up, a smile on his face, following behind his friends down to the shore. His dimpled lower back above the green shorts, how they scrunched around his thighs, the muscles in his shoulders too defined as he jogged away, fuck. You felt like an animal. A perverted, sex-crazed freak with the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth at the sight of him, how your toes dug into the towel beneath you. 

You laid on your back instead, trying to rid your mind of the thoughts, of the expectations over your head. Taking a deep breath to ground yourself, to stop being so fucking horny on the blazing beach with all your friends around you. 

Yunho’s empty can pressed against your arm. 

You turned your head to see his jaw in a steady line, his brows raised. Shit. You stood up, walking over to the cooler in three steps, grabbing him another drink. You opened it for him, he thanked you as you handed it to him, you smiled as you took the empty one. 

Even doing something this small, this insignificant, had goosebumps raising on your body. Doing it for him.  

Yunho was facing you when you got back to your towel, laying back again, hands laying at your sides. His voice was quiet, soft in a way that meant he was just checking in, “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” you answer in a smooth breath. 

“Give me something better than that,” he frowns, voice lowering in volume, “I don’t want to ask you to throw a color all day, if I ask you how you’re feeling, give me words. Tell me what you’re feeling.” 

You sit up on your elbows, sunglasses sliding down to the bridge of your nose. The first word that comes to mind, “Stimulated.” You smile, head tilting, “Hot, a little frustrated. Mostly eager.” 

He smiles, “That’s good, right where I want you.” He leans back on his own elbows, his can buried in the sand beside him, between you. “Sometimes I think you were meant for this, y’know. You take structure well, you perform easily with it.” 

“That’s because I enjoy it,” you respond, words coming easily, the alcohol making your lips loose. “More than I’m supposed to, I think. I like it the other way around too, sometimes.”

He quiets, watching Mingi out on the water. “You both switch. I wonder what I’ll do with you both sometimes.” 

Your lip curls in gratitude as you lean your head towards him. “You’ve changed since spending time with us too, you know. Maybe you don’t need to do anything, maybe the three of us are fine how we are.” 

He turns his head tight, but doesn’t say anything. You stare through your shades, holding your ground, hoping he feels what you said, and doesn’t cower in fear because what you have is real. He jerks his head to the towel next to him, voice unyielding once again, “Over here.” 

You push yourself up without a word, cleaning off your towel before you grab your drink and move to Mingi’s towel, laying back down, all without question or hesitation. Yunho smiles, pride etched into the curve of his lips, “Good.” 

The praise sets you ablaze all over again. 

When Mingi returns, water dripping down his body, dark hair pushed back by his fingers, Yunho already had a towel in hand. Up by the umbrella, you watched with your head tilted back as Yunho ordered him over by just a nod of his head. 

“Water feels so good,” he beamed, sandy feet walking between your towels, shedding droplets of water from his swim shorts as he walked past. He didn’t even notice you’d switched spots, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. 

He reached a hand out to grab the towel from Yunho’s grip, but the older man shook his head, “I got it.” 

Mingi stood dumbfounded for a moment, but turned around to face the three boys’ gaze who walked up from the water, also dripping saltwater, coated in sunshine. You were sure Mingi’s skin was burning as Yunho dried him off, slowly wiping the towel across his wet skin, on his hair. You bit your cheek. For someone who didn’t want anyone to know, he wasn’t exactly being discreet, but you supposed no one noticed Yunho at the going away party, either. 

“They’re so weird,” Sana mumbled under her breath, on her stomach, elbows holding the weight of her upper body. She dipped her sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose, watching Mingi and Yunho across the sand. 

Jihyo and Tzuyu turned over on their towels, looking at Sana to see where her eyes were locked, then focusing in on the scene before them. 

Tzuyu smiled, “Yunho’s so sweet, it must be nice for them to be so close.” 

Jihyo squinted. The way Yunho’s hands dragged up Mingi’s body, his fingers curled over Mingi’s shoulder, how he leaned in to say something in his ear. She had a feeling since that morning, catching Yunho in your apartment, but brushed it off because you wouldn’t lie about something like that. Especially not to her. She would never judge you for having a threesome. 

But Mingi’s head dipped down, eyes on his own crotch, mumbling a few words in response, and Jihyo’s lip curled. There’s no fucking way. She turned her head, “I caught Yunho at their apartment, you know.” 

Sana and Tzuyu’s heads snapped to Jihyo, eyebrows raised, silently saying continue. Jihyo sighed, “Yunho was shirtless, towel on his waist, he had just gotten out of the shower. In their living room. Mingi had on boxers, she looked just-fucked. They said he was only there to shower because he had no water.” 

“Doesn’t he live right around the corner from Joong and Hwa?” Sana asked. “If he didn’t have any water, why didn’t he just go there for a quick shower instead of traveling across the damn country?” 

“They’re close,” Tzuyu leaned in, forever devil's advocate. “Would you go to Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s for a shower if Ji was home?” 

“First of all, girls are different,” Sana shook her head. “Also, yes. They have a waterfall shower, and those jets in the walls for your body, plus Seonghwa uses that really good body wash from—”

“Exactly!” Jihyo cuts in. “Literally exactly my point. There’s something going on there, right? I’m not crazy?” 

“Definitely not crazy,” Sana shook her head again. “Remember how Yunho snapped at me last night, too? When has he ever done something like that?” 

“Maybe he was tired,” Tzuyu’s voice was small, like she didn’t believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth. “I don’t know girls… They've been together forever. Do you really think Yunho would be involved with them… intimately?”

Jihyo shakes her head, lips scrunched, disappointed that you’d keep something so important from her. She even insinuated it, and you said no. “Who knows what goes on with them anymore. It’s not like we get any details.” 

Yunho is more than pleased when Mingi cleans off the left side towel for Yunho, then the center one for himself, after Yunho nodded his head in silent direction, instruction in his body language only. 

You were buzzing. You were both following instruction cleanly, discreetly, you were passing with flying fucking colors, you wondered if your ability to obey made him any more inclined to be your boyfriend. Your boyfriend’s boyfriend. You wish you could be inside his brain so desperately. 

Yunho stood, brushing the sand off his multicolored, patterned shorts, throwing his sunglasses back on the towel. You sat up involuntarily, knowing if he moved, you moved with him. 

He didn’t look back as he started for the shore. You stood, Mingi following, within arm’s reach as you flanked him down the beach, to the water. None of you knew you had eyes on you the entire time. Or that Wooyoung approached San the moment you walked away. 

You minded your surroundings as you breached the shore, no sign of Hongjoong or Seonghwa, they must be on a walk, or back at the house. You’ve been so laser focused on Yunho and Mingi you almost forgot everyone else was there. 

“Min said the water’s nice,” Yunho looked to you, then over to Mingi on his other side, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Wanna swim?” 

You nodded, even if you didn’t have a choice. You wondered where the line stood with things like this, if you didn’t want to swim, if the urge to obey wasn’t so heavy. Would you be punished? For something measly like swimming? 

Ice wraps around your ankles, your calves, your body shaking, hissing the deeper you went into the sea. Mingi and Yunho dove in, completely unaffected, fully submerged by the time you got up to your hips. “Fuck, it’s cold, fuck,” you had your arms tucked tight to your chest, slowly wading deeper into the water while they swam a few feet out, laying under the sun for hours would have made the warmest water freezing. 

“How the hell are you guys so deep?” You yell across the waves that crashed against your abdomen, water reaching your belly button. “It’s fucking cold.” 

“Don’t be a baby,” Mingi teased, grinning, hair melted around his face, flat against the curves of his cheekbones. 

“And watch your mouth,” Yunho added, also teasing, smiling, on his back as he floated in the water. You scoffed, then faced the water before you, you’d have to rip the bandaid off if you were ever gonna be comfortable in the water. 

“Just go underwater, baby,” Mingi called again. “You can do it. I believe in you.” 

You scowled, eyes pointed, jaw locked. “It’s too fucking cold.” 

Yunho’s smile widens, listening to your complaints, drinking them all in. You hissed again, dipping your fingers into the sea, up to your forearms, legs pushing against the moving water to get deeper. Up to your waist, below the tie of your bikini top, you finally said fuck it and sank beneath the surface. 

Holding your nose, you gasped when you came back out to the salty air colder, ice consuming you head to toe. The two men just feet away cheered. 

“Come here, baby, swim over,” Mingi called out, ushering you over with one hand. Breathless from the cold, you wiped the saltwater out of your eyes, blinking through the sting as you swam closer to them. Clinging onto your boyfriend’s front for life, he tucked one arm under your ass as you moved his hair out of his face. He smiled proudly, eyes bronzy beneath the sun, “It’s nice, right?” 

You still shivered in his hold, but smiled playfully, he’s so handsome it hurts. “Fuck, fuck you.” 

“Curse again,” Yunho taunts from a foot away, swimming closer, affection in his voice. His eyes go over your head, scanning the beach behind you, before they land back on you, just as icy as the water. “See what happens.” 

“I’m sorry,” you whine, “it’s cold.” 

“I’m in the water with you, quit whining,” he muses, coming closer. “I’ll give you something to whine about. Is that what you want?” 

Arousal licks up your spine, you twitch in Mingi’s hold, but you shake your head. Yunho’s head tilts, “You sure, baby? You’ve been fidgeting all day, bet you’re feeling empty by now, aren’t you?” 

You’ve been doing so good. Keeping up with his rules, being obedient, focused, you didn’t think your arousal was noticeable at all. You shake your head again even if Mingi could feel your thighs clench, “No. No, I’m fine.” 

Yunho’s hands tug on your hips below the water, turning you until your back is pressed against Mingi’s chest, slotting himself between your floating legs. Mingi keeps his hands on your waist as your breath goes shaky, eyes widening, “Y-Yunho they can see—”

“Mingi is blocking us, they can’t see this far out,” Yunho cuts you off. “This body is mine. You don’t get to question me, you don’t get to worry. That’s my job.”

Even in the water, being held up by your boyfriend, he still feels so fucking big in front of you. You swallow, looking up at him through lashes coated in saltwater, voice as small as you felt, “O-okay.”

“You take what I give you, when I choose to give it,” he tilts his head, hands sliding down your thighs, thumbs curling into your plush skin, feeling so soft beneath the water. “Understood?” 

“Yes, sir,” you nod, and he grins. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, hands sliding up your hips, up to your waist, over Mingi’s hands. He breaks away just to press a kiss to Mingi’s lips, too. 

Your heart is racing in your chest. Intimidation, adrenaline, the press of cold surrounding you, concern about someone seeing you. 

He leans back, keeping himself close. “Tell me what you’re feeling.” 

“Horny,” you blurt and he laughs. You shake your head, smile on your face, “Overwhelmed.”

His eyes look up to Mingi behind you, who responds, “Also horny. Stretched thin.” 

“Color?”

“Green,” you and Mingi respond simultaneously without missing a beat. 

“Don’t be scared,” Yunho shakes his head, grabbing your wrists lightly, sliding them onto his abdomen. “Do you trust me?” 

You nod, “Yes, sir.” 

His eyes jump to Mingi who didn’t realize Yunho was talking to him too, in a rush he responds, “Yes, sir.” 

“Then make me cum.” 

Mingi keeps a knee beneath you as his hands race to Yunho’s waistband, reaching in to feel Yunho’s cock that wasn’t even hard. Mingi looks up at Yunho who smiles, “The water’s real cold.” 

At the shoreline, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had almost returned from their walk, fingers interlocked, legs moving at the same pace, mirroring each other’s movements. A mile down the beach, a mile back, the sun was warm, the water cooled them down, they loved everything about the beach. They’d get married on the beach, one day, soon. 

Standing in the shallow water, arms stretched by how Seonghwa kicks about the waves and sand, Hongjoong stops him. “Baby, Hwa.” Seonghwa looks up, his attention grabbed, Hongjoong’s chin dips in the direction of the sea, a little ways out from where they stood, “Is that Yunho out there with them?”

Seonghwa puts a hand atop his eyes, shielding his vision, squinting beneath his glasses. “I think so. Maybe they stopped fighting.” 

A theory the two had going from the time you’ve spent at San’s beach house so far, one they discussed before going to bed last night, a silly question from Hongjoong’s mouth that Seonghwa couldn’t believe he caught on to, too. From your reactions when choosing rooms to the bonfire yesterday to breakfast this morning, Hongjoong and Seonghwa have been keeping an eye on you three, reading your body language, your interactions. 

“Oh shit,” Hongjoong’s jaw dropped when Yunho leaned in to kiss you. “Oh shit,” he smacked Seonghwa’s arm when Yunho kissed Mingi, too. 

“What? What did you see?” Seonghwa is leaning in, bending forward, fidgeting where he stood, angling his head around to see. 

“They kissed, Hwa,” Hongjoong is whispering, his voice coated in sheer disbelief, “they fucking kissed!” 

“Who kissed?” Seonghwa raises himself on his tippy toes as if he wasn’t already taller than his boyfriend who could see clearly, “Joong! Who kissed?” 

“Yunho kissed both of them,” Hongjoong’s hand moved to Seonghwa’s forearm, “Holy shit.” 

“Holy shit,” Seonghwa whispers, a small mumble, his eyes widening beneath his sunglasses. “No- no, what are they doing now?” 

Hongjoong breaks out in a wide grin, before a disbelieving laugh punches through his lips. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. In public? In ocean water? People pee in there. Fish pee in there.” 

“I feel like we’re intruding,” Seonghwa shakes his head, turning away. “We’re definitely not supposed to see this. We shouldn’t watch. This is an invasion of privacy.” 

“They’re hooking up on the beach! They’re lucky there’s no one else out here.” 

“This section is private,” Seonghwa turns away fully. “San owns it, or something like that, I don’t know how it works. Plus, we can’t see what’s happening under the water, they could be—”

“You mean to tell me they aren’t jerking him off right now?” Hongjoong’s orange brows bend over the frame of his sunglasses, his smile completely amused. 

Seonghwa cringes, but turns around again to meet Hongjoong’s grinning cheeks. He looks out in the water, studying, frowning, “I don’t know if she’s doing anything. It might just be Mingi and Yunho.” 

“Okay, but still,” Hongjoong smacks his teeth. “They’re seconds away from fucking in the ocean. Am I wrong?” 

Seonghwa’s lips flatten, “Don’t say anything. They didn’t seem okay yesterday and today they’re inseparable, so clearly they’re figuring something out, and keeping it private.”

Hongjoong pouts, “Boo.” 

Seonghwa smiles, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, “Do the right thing, my love.” 

“You’re right,” Hongjoong sighs, looking out in the water again. "That's so juicy, though. In the middle of the ocean for anyone to see is crazy.” 

You feel dizzy on your walk back up. Frustration curls low in your gut, a pestering weed left alone for too long, growing at a rapid pace through your veins, into your limbs, your chest. You needed to get off. Your composure was running scarily thin. 

“Can I go to the bathroom when we get back up?” You ask Yunho, fingers laced with Mingi’s, both walking behind him, you on his left side, Mingi on his right. 

“Are you gonna touch yourself?” He looks over his shoulder, brows raised. 

You shake your head, “No, sir. Just need to pee.” 

He nods, small, but permission-granting. 

You didn’t say anything to anyone as you walked past the group, up to the house, to the outhouse tucked into the side of the property. It was more like a shack, no roof, thin bamboo walls to separate the toilet from the shower, nothing was enclosed except for the main door which was latched shut. 

You eased a breath as you put the black steel hook through the matching loop, running your hands through your hair, eyes squeezing shut while the throbbing between your thighs becomes too much to bear in the silence of the bathroom. 

Just for cursing.  Just for complaining about the water being cold. 

He’s mean. He’s so fucking mean. You asked for this, he reminded you three times, but the words that left his mouth, so degrading, so teasing, all while being passed between them like a fucking doll. All while neither of them touched you. That was almost worse than having your orgasm ripped from you this morning, watching, listening to them pleasure each other, while being on the sidelines but also right fucking between them, you don’t know if you can do it. 

You don’t know if you can take him like this. Mean, arrogant, purposely denying you pleasure because you haven’t earned it yet. You’ve been good all day. You deserve it.

You sit on the toilet with furrowed brows, knees kissing, toes touching the wood beneath you. Your clit cries for attention, throbbing, buzzing, there’s a streak of wetness in your bikini bottoms that was too fucking slick to be washed away by the ocean. Your body feels tight, wound-up, aching for attention. 

You could probably get away with it if you touched yourself. He’s not in the bathroom with you, he’s down at the shore with Mingi, with your friends, he’d never know.  Your thighs clench at the thought, it wouldn’t even take long. You could probably get off in thirty seconds. Your jaw clenches, fingers curling to fists on top of your thighs. Don’t do it, your subconscious screamed at you. He’ll know. 

You swallowed, taking a deep, grounding breath. Your need to obey, to please him, outweighed the ache. At least that’s what you told yourself while you wiped. You opened the latch after washing your hands to be met with Yunho standing outside the door. You jumped, a gasp leaving your lips, “Shit, you scared me.” 

“Give me your hand.” 

You stared at him dumbfounded before the instinct kicked in. He pulled your fingers to his nose as soon as you lifted your palm, sniffing deeply. Just his fucking touch made your thighs clench. 

“You didn’t touch yourself,” he says it like he’s surprised. 

Biting your lip, you shake your head. “No, sir.” 

He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, moving to push past you and you want to scream. He’s even denying you a kiss to your fucking lips?!

“I can’t do it anymore,” you whisper. 

He leans back, brows furrowed. “Can’t do what?”

“I need you to touch me,” your voice cracks on touch. “I need you to kiss me, I need you to fix whatever is happening to me right now. I’m gonna freak the fuck out.” 

His eyes thin, jaw settling and god you want to sit on his face. “You don’t need anything.” 

“Yunho,” you fall forward, forehead pressing against his still-wet chest, hands landing on his hips, the soft skin just above his swim shorts. “I need you. I can’t take it anymore.” 

His neck cranes side to side, a heavy sigh pushing through his lips, his hand landing on top of your hair, fingers massaging at your scalp. “I’m teaching you submission,” he says into your hair, his voice steady. “It’s what you asked for. This is what it would be like. You can say red if you want to stop.”

Red feels like giving up, failing the test. You’re frustrated, but not enough to say the three lettered word that would end it all. You’re wound tight, clit still throbbing for attention, but the need to impress him aches worse. 

You stare at him blankly, saying nothing. His lips curve, standing back a step. “You have your answer then.”

“Wait,” you interject, pleading with your hands on his chest. “Why did Mingi get to cum, then? How is he any more well-behaved than I am?”

“You didn’t follow the rules,” he shrugs, answering plainly. “I don’t have to give you a reason, if I don’t want you to cum, then you don’t cum. Your body is mine to do as I see fit.”

“I can’t,” you whine, hands going into your roots, frustrated. You don’t even know what was going to follow the two words, what’s left to say after that. 

“Stop whining,” he bites. “It’s ugly, and you’re not ugly.” 

Your bottom lip quivers, leaning into him, hiding your frustrated face. “I’ve been good.”

“And that’s ending now, I guess.”  “Yunho.”

“Are you acting like this because you want to get punished?” Two hands on your cheeks, he pulls you away from his chest, forcing you to look up at him. “Purposely whining to piss me off, even when I gave you clear, concise instructions for the day?”

You shake your head, ears tipping with heat. You can feel the heat everywhere. Shame, arousal, they blend together with the need to appease him, to impress him, you’re fighting against your own instincts.

“Then listen,” he snaps. “That’s the last time I’m going to say it.”

Jongin sees you as he leaves the house. He grabbed his keys from the rack in the kitchen after the group decided to go out for an early dinner, a place that served bar-food just down the street. You, standing with your head in Yunho’s chest, until he grabs you by your cheeks and tilts your head backward, talking to you… sternly? He stays pocketed behind the tall pampas grass, watching through leaves, his heart picking up in his chest. Is he catching something he isn’t supposed to?

Somehow, he moves far enough to where neither of you see him, and makes his way back down to the beach. He has to tell San, he has to tell Mingi– should he even get involved? Considering what Wooyoung told him and San earlier, there’s a chance Mingi is in on it, too. 

“Got our keys,” he smiled briefly at San. “We should wait until they get back.” 

San lifts a brow, “Did you see them? Any treachery?” 

Jongin shakes his head quickly, not exactly sure why his gut tells him to lie. “I saw him inside, she was outside. No treachery to be seen.” 

San’s lift lips in distaste. “Boring.” 

Jongin feels bad lying to his boyfriend of three years, the man who changed everything about himself for Jongin, the yin to his yang. But this felt out of his control, a little too heavy for the friend group to be throwing around so easily, it's more than gossip. You, Mingi, you’ve been together for so long… longer than he’s known San. From what he’s learned, you’ve been together longer than any of the couples here. 

Except for Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Maybe. He’d have to ask San for clarification on that one. 

It wasn’t long until you and Yunho were bouncing back down the beach, wide grins on your faces and damn, his conscience feels heavy after lying. You bend down to press a kiss on Mingi’s lips and the way he grins with stars in his eyes tells Jongin enough. He’d keep his mouth closed for now. But if you and Yunho were any more obvious, if you take another risk— maybe someone else wouldn’t be as nice. 

There’s bamboo everywhere. Sand under your feet, surf boards lining the baby blue, wooden walls, the roof coated in thatch, the tiki bar–cafe-restaraunt whatever the fuck was the pinnacle of everything Haos claims to be. An escape, another world, somewhere the wealthy pride themselves in vacationing, it reminded you to breathe. To enjoy everything around you, your friends’ laughter, how the sun just beginning to sink was now far less brutal, the way Mingi and Yunho both had a claiming hand on either one of your thighs under the long, wooden picnic table. 

“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” with one hand on either of your shoulders, Yunho walked in the center of you and Mingi in the parking lot, one step behind you after you climbed out of Jongin’s Jeep. 

You were still playing. Stomach still churning, body still wound tight, you wished you could force yourself to believe that you wouldn’t explode if someone didn’t touch you soon. Still embarrassed over your outburst earlier, not being able to handle what you asked of him, most of you was glad he didn’t give in– even if arousal kept your body temperature heated to a low-grade fever.

Mingi, free as a bird, was giggling to himself at something Wooyoung said across from you, his face sunkissed, his forehead, the tip of his nose, like the sun shone down on Mingi alone. Maybe it did, your irresistible boyfriend with a heart of gold, you wouldn’t be surprised if the sun woke up every morning hoping just to see him. The sound was music to your ears, you leaned your head on his shoulder, hands holding onto the small, laminated menu. 

You flexed your thighs, I missed you guys.  The answering squeezes to your skin told you they missed you just as much. 

“Today went by too fast,” San shook his head of messy black hair to the left of Mingi, it was a rare sight to see him unkempt. San was always dressed to the nines, hair gelled back, face chiseled, the face of masculinity. Seeing him with pink cheeks and an affectionate grin made your heart swarm with affection, you loved it most when the group left business behind and lived in the moment instead. “I need to have you guys here more often.”

“Invite us then,” Wooyoung teased back, still shirtless, sitting on the end of the table across from Yunho. Skin bronzed and glowing, he reminded you of some kind of Greek God, like him and summer had a contract. “We’ll come when you call.”

Jongho leaned forward, his flower-patterned shirt unbuttoned and dragging along the picnic table, his dark hair messily sprawled across his forehead, sunglasses still sitting over his eyes. “Says the one who lives three states away.”

Wooyoung laughs, leaning forward, looking to his right to see Jongho almost at the other end of the table, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“At the risk of being fired, I’m sure,” Hongjoong smirks, the only person to his right Seonghwa, who held the end of the table. The pair still had their matching hats on, sunglasses resting above the brim, the only two whose faces were unaffected by the sun’s rays. Maybe you should all invest in hats, the sun was inescapable in Haos. 

Yunho leans in, eyes dancing between each speaker, “Are you gonna get fired?”

Wooyoung shakes his head with his face scrunched like his company wouldn’t dream of firing him. Sana’s dark eyebrows raised, glossed lips falling in a line like he wasn’t telling the whole truth, the sight made a snort fall from your nose. When Wooyoung noticed, he nudged her side, scoffing, “You know they won’t fire me, they need me. You’re supposed to be on my side, Sana.”

You lean back with a laugh, hand covering your mouth, so stupid it was funny. You missed him so much, and if the possibility of Wooyoung getting fired was any indication, you think he missed you guys just as much. 

“We should take pictures after dinner, at sunset on the beach,” Tzuyu chimes in, sitting in her crochet cover up between Yeosang and Jongin at the end of the table on your side. “No dressing up, just in our bathing suits with some drinks, candid style.”

Jihyo and Sana agree, nodding, sitting next to each other like two peas in a pod. “We should get couples shots, too,” Jihyo adds, dark hair waved by saltwater covering her bikini top, “Jongho and I haven’t taken a proper picture together in so long.”

“Woo and I need pictures for our holiday cards,” Sana agrees, nodding, already leaning into Jihyo. Wooyoung, with his sunglasses pushing his hair off his face, silently groans from beside her. You giggle at his face, stealing Sana’s attention. 

Before she could open her mouth, San leaned forward, talking across you and Mingi, “Yun, we need to get you a girlfriend so you can be involved, too.”

You stop laughing immediately like San had reached over and stolen the smile from your face. You blink as Yunho’s hand jumps from your thigh, your body stiffening, trying not to let your eyes widen, to show surprise or discomfort on your face while a sharp pang of something sour hits your chest. 

“We could ask a random girl from the bar to pretend,” Wooyoung snickers, eyes locked with San’s.

Jongho laughs, a high-pitched, amused sound, “We’d have to pry him away from those two first.”

Yours and Mingi’s attention jumps to Jongho, who eyes you both, mischief in his eyes. Yeosang, with his elbow on the table, props his chin on his cheek, staring down at Yunho, asks, “What happened to that girl from Woo’s going away party?” 

Yunho shakes his head of chocolate locks inflated by humidity. Voice clear like he wasn’t bothered at all, he answers, “Just didn’t work out.”

Your body is on fire. So badly you wanted to tell them all to stop speaking about the past, to not bring up a future that isn’t centered around yourself and Mingi. Yunho is yours. 

“Are you okay?” You pick your head up to Jihyo who was eyeing you carefully, eyes pointed, jaw set. “You look sunburnt.”

You shake your head, forcing an easy smile on your face, “I’m fine, probably am sunburnt.”

“How? Yunho put sunscreen on you, like, four times,” San wore a slimy grin, the table erupting with laughter. 

“It was once,” you counter, eyes narrowed, tone biting. “And I can’t reach my back.”

“You’re quiet, Mingi,” Wooyoung interrupts, and Mingi’s eyes pick up, wide and doe-like. 

“What do you want me to say?” He asks, brows furrowing, head tilting like Wooyoung said something stupid. You smile. Yunho puts his hand back on your thigh. 

Like a saving grace, the waiter finally approaches your table, breaking your conversation to ask for your order. Yunho orders for you, then for Mingi, exactly what both of you would have chosen if you’d ordered for yourself. You felt eyes on you as Yunho finished, but you didn’t dare meet a single person’s stare. You didn’t want to know what their eyes would tell you. 

You didn’t have to guess, not when San spoke after the waiter left your table, his voice a blanket over one end of the table to the other. “Am I crazy? Is anyone else seeing this, or is it just me?”

The three of your heads pick up in a line. The table is quiet, the only thing you can hear is the reggae music, soft from the speakers, dissipating into the summer breeze. Low, far but close, it melts into the sound of waves, offsetting how thick the tension had become at the table. 

San’s face bulges out, bewildered, “No one’s gonna say anything?” He turns to you three and your heart falls into your ass. “Are you three together?” You swallow the bile in your throat. “Are you fucking?”

“No,” Yunho’s answer comes before your lips could part. The word is rigid, a wall, a finality. You look at Mingi who’s already looking at Yunho, his eyes so big, so round, you can hear your heartbeat over the music, the breeze, the waves. No. 

Yunho even laughs a little. “Come on, are you serious?”

You glance at Jihyo who’s already looking at you like she knows everything. Like your skin was transparent, and she could see your heart cracking beneath your ribs all over again. 

“You’ve been joined at the hip all day,” Wooyoung’s grin is feline, like he wasn’t done prying for information. “Can’t blame our minds for going there, can you?”

You and Mingi don’t smile, don’t laugh. You can’t pretend. Yunho takes a sip of his drink, “They’ve been together for years, you know we’re close. It’s weird that your mind would go there.” 

Weird. It’s weird. He’s not yours at all. You feel like ice under the summer sun, melting too quickly, soon you’ll be a puddle darkening the sand beneath you if you don’t remove yourself from the situation. You refuse to let any of them see you upset. You hate that a part of you doesn’t want them to know if Yunho doesn’t want them to know.

You look at Mingi, I’m going to the bathroom. 

He nods once, eyes glossy, you wish you could bring him with you. Pushing yourself up with your palms on the table, you swing a leg over the bench and don’t look back, don’t listen to a single word as you nearly run to the bathroom. Your skin is on fire, there’s no air conditioning in the small two-stall bathroom with baby blue walls, it’s suffocating. 

You stand at the sink, throwing cold water on your face, two hands hooked around the white ceramic to force yourself to calm the fuck down. What was last night for? What did you talk about all of that shit for? What did you fuck for? Now you feel fucking stupid for today, for thinking you’d pass a test he was never proctoring. It all felt redundant. Pointless. 

The door swings open, you don’t move. “Are you okay?”

Jihyo, smiling softly, apologetically. Your lips tighten, you refuse to let tears fall. You refuse to repeat what happened last time. You should have expected this. 

“All good,” you force a smile. “I think I got too much sun today.”

“Don’t bullshit me,” she leans in the middle of the two sinks, shoulder pressed to the wall between the mirrors, one manicured hand on your forearm. “Did he lie?”

You huff amusement, it lacks any semblance of warmth. “Yeah, he lied.”

“Fucking asshole,” she crosses her arms. “What’s with him and commitment? That day I came over, I knew it, I knew what he was there for.”

All you can do is shake your head, “I don’t know, Ji.”

“How long has it been?”

You hum before answering. “A month? Five weeks maybe?”

“Damn,” she shakes her head. “The way he looks at you… I don’t understand him. I don’t understand the denial.”

You give her another weak smile. “Don’t tell the others. Please.”

“I won’t,” she scrunches her lips to one side. “You still have Mingi, though. And Mingi has you.”

“Thank god for that, right?” Your smile is only half-fake now, moving away from the sink, pressing your back against one of the stalls. “Although I think he’ll be more upset than I am.”

“He was holding it together out there,” Jihyo shifts to lean her butt against the sink, head tilting. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth from the start?”

You shrug, lips flat. “It was instinctive, we hadn’t talked about it yet. After you left that day he freaked out, we fought, we only worked that situation out last night.”

“He said you’d tell people?”

You tilt your head, showing your bottom row of teeth, “Not exactly. More so that we’re more comfortable being in a gray area now, our feelings out on the table, working towards something. We weren’t expecting anyone to call us on it.”

“They’re such assholes for airing out your business,” she pushes herself off the sink, taking two steps toward you to throw her arms over your shoulders, tucking you into a hug. “I’m sorry, you guys will figure it out.”

You let your eyes close, sucking as much comfort as you can from the hug, “I hope so. Thanks, Ji.”

She pulls away to cup your cheeks, “You know you can talk to me, right? Let me in, I can be a shoulder to cry on.”

You nod, fingers wrapping around her wrists, “I will.”

The rest of dinner was damn near silent. Yunho was in your head with apologies, none you answered, you didn’t want to talk to him or hear him out. Mingi answered once or twice, short responses, it was clear the two of you were hurt and needed time to reset your feelings again. You didn’t want to argue, or settle your feelings in the bedroom again, you’d done that already. It clearly didn’t work. Pictures on the beach were swift, yours and Mingi’s were all fake smiles and silence, watching the live photos in your camera roll made your skin crawl. You don’t think you or Mingi said five words between dinner and bedtime, until it was the three of you in your bedroom again. 

Yunho actually had the audacity to pull down the comforter. You stopped him with your palm splayed flat on the right side of the mattress, voice monotonous and bored, but your eyes shot daggers. “You can sleep downstairs.”

His brows raised, “Are you serious?”

You settled deeper beneath the comforter, Mingi still throwing on clothes after his shower. You hold his eye, “It’s weird that you’d try sleeping in our bed.”

His hands fall to his sides, all emotion wiped from his face. “I just said that so they would leave us alone.”

“You could have been honest,” you answer simply. “You could have laughed it off. You could have said anything other than it being weird, Yunho.” 

His face softens, “It wasn’t my intention to–”

“You don’t seem to have any intentions,” you cut him off. “You can sleep downstairs, like you were planning to last night.”

Lips bending, a slow nod, without another word he turns around, grabs a pillow and a blanket, and leaves your bedroom. Mingi, watching from the dresser, finally crawls into bed after Yunho closes the door behind him. 

You open your arms, welcoming him into your chest, fingers immediately scratching into his hair, pressing a kiss to his clean scalp that still smelled like seasalt, “You okay baby?”

“Tired,” he mumbles into your chest, voice deep and heavy. "Don't wanna do it anymore. Too confusing.”

“You wanna be done?” You pause, fingers stalling in his hair. He looks up at you, his eyes big and round, sad. You frown, one hand sliding down to graze his cheek. “We can be done.”

“I don’t want to,” his voice is so small, just barely above a whisper. “But I think it’s obvious we’ll end up being his secret forever. I don’t want to be a secret, I want him to be proud.”

“Me too,” you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m proud you’re my boyfriend, y’know.”

He smiles, “And I’m proud you’re my girlfriend.”

“That’s all we need,” you kiss him again, parting your lips for him, sinking farther down the mattress until he can roll on top of you, elbows bracketing your head. Throwing your arms around his neck, your legs over his thighs, you break the kiss to say, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he smiles into the kiss, body pressing into yours, and it’s the easy reminder that you’ll always have him, no matter what, that eases weight off your chest. 

It’s easy to pretend everything is okay when you lean into the reminder that Mingi will be by your side forever. It’s stuck with you since seven in the morning, when San abruptly woke up the house cracking a wooden spoon against a pot, screaming activities day over and over. He popped into your room with a wide grin, asked where Yunho was, and left your room as confused as he entered it.

Jet skiing, mini-golf, a barbecue, ending the night at Rêve, a reputable bar in town. San insisted that your last day should be filled with the best things Haos has to offer. Of course he left out the part that jet skiing was at the yacht club he was a member of, and that he owned shares at Rêve, making him part-owner; never humble until he was supposed to be, you wished he told you to be on your best behavior today. 

Not that your group would ever be on their best behavior. Wooyoung was already drinking by the time you went downstairs for breakfast, he made mimosas for everyone, you had two. The first you chugged after Yunho went upstairs immediately after you entered the kitchen, the second you chugged when he came back downstairs, shirtless, swim trunks painted onto his thighs. If you were going to be forced into activities with him all day, you should make it easier for yourself.

White buildings with terracotta roofing, there were too many buildings to count, a winding paved asphalt driveway up to the front where men in suits stood under a white awning, one approaching as San put his Bronco in park parallel to the main doors. It had valet. 

The yacht club was beautiful, massive, every nook and cranny of the main building screamed prestigious. All patrons you encountered were dressed up, some in sports wear for the golf course you could only assume is somewhere on the grounds, in long summer dresses or business-style suits, everyone seemed important. Everyone looked proper. Part of you felt out of place, with your group half-dressed in bathing suits and cover-ups like you were headed to the beach, but it didn’t last long when you got outside to where everything was docked.

Your mouth didn’t close once from the time you walked inside the heavy red doors all the way out to where he kept his jet skis docked, next to his boat, The Kai. Not a far walk, you realized, you assumed meant he was also a very important person here, too, the size of his boat only aided in the confirmation. 

He owned four jet skis, which meant four couples could ride at a time, leaving two couples and a Yunho out. Luckily he had a cooler fully stocked on his boat, one he and Jongin brought out to the dock while the first wave of people went out on the water. On the dock were Mingi, Jihyo, Jongho, and Yunho– of course, naturally. You sipped on a seltzer, sitting between Mingi and Jihyo, your feet dangling over the side, one arm behind you holding you up. 

Yunho sat on the other side of Jongho at the end and as much as you were grateful after you and Mingi threw in your white towels last night, it hurt that he wasn’t even trying. He didn’t even look at you, not once today, you think. At least when you got out on the water you and Mingi were smiling and laughing, he let you drive the jet ski, which he quickly regretted when he realized the watercraft turned you into an adrenaline junkie. 

Mini-golf was ten minutes from the yacht club, half of your group in San’s Bronco, the other half in Jongin’s Jeep. A standalone establishment that had a small course on the outside, an ice cream shop on the inside, and a small kitchen for bar-type food. The alcoholic bar itself was small, connected to the kitchen-half of the indoor space, but it didn’t stop your friend group from ordering a round of shots, cocktails, and beers for all. Even better, the tab at the bar plus admission for minigolf was all paid for by San. His treat, he said, and who were you to argue after seeing The Kai?

There were too many of you for one singular game, but the consensus amongst the group was that you wanted to play together. So instead of splitting your group in half to play two separate games, you played in pairs, and once again you and Mingi were thrown into a triplet, this one you didn’t agree to so easily. One shot down and a cocktail in your palm, no one could feel the tension between the three of you, the energy should be light at mini-golf. You mentally decide you’ll be civil. Maybe you’ll even try being friends. 

Mingi and Yunho both had beers in their hands, neither jumping for joy at the blue club you chose, it wasn’t the longest, and the two men you shared with were a hell of a lot taller than you. You stifled a laugh as Mingi uncomfortably hunched over the club as he lined up his feet, awkwardly swinging the club to hit the blue ball. 

“This game is fucked,” he stands up straight when the ball bounces off the back wall, missing the hole completely. The first hole is the easiest. 

You snort a laugh where you stand, watching his face morph into frustration, his brows knitting and lips parting like he couldn’t believe he missed. “You’ll get it next time,” you encourage, taking a sip of your cocktail. 

Hongjoong goes up next, he makes it in with one swing. Tzuyu goes next, she makes it in with one swing. Sana next, she makes it in with one swing. 

“This is fucking rigged,” Mingi curses, taking another sip from his beer. Yunho laughs under his breath as your arm comes up to rub his back encouragingly. 

“Don’t worry,” you coo. “Yunho and I will win for you.”

“I can play golf,” Mingi argues defensively. “The club is just short. Yunho won’t be able to do it, either.”

Jongho goes next, he makes it in with one swing. Mingi’s brows raise like he’s seconds away from losing his shit. Jongin next, he makes it in with one swing. Mingi’s fuck is loud enough for the children at hole thirteen to hear. 

“Don’t get us kicked out of minigolf, Min,” Wooyoung is still laughing, a hand clutching his belly. “We know you’re competitive, it’s just a kid’s game.”

“I know it’s a kid’s game,” Mingi bites, all in one breath, barely looking at the younger man as he says it. Your face is full of amusement when Wooyoung turns to you, brows raised in surprise. 

“Don’t ask me,” you shake your head. “I’m not his keeper. When it comes to games, he’s on his own.”

It’s your turn again, the blue ball alone on the green. You’ve played enough minigolf in your life for this to be muscle memory– childhood games at arcades, random birthday parties from school friends over the years. But it’s been a long, long time since you were a kid, too long since you’ve come close to a minigolf course. Your first swing, just a foot away from the hole, you miss. The group laughs and you roll your eyes, waving a hand, “I’m just warming up!”

“Oh, I’m sure!” Sana’s voice is dripping with sarcasm and your lips tighten. Feeling hotter now, you line up your feet, the club with the ball, and swing. 

You fucking miss.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you huff. “Someone hand me my drink, I need to be drunker if I’m gonna suck.”

Yunho’s laughing as he hands you your cocktail and you suck down half of it before lining your feet up all over again. You hit the ball this time, but it’s fueled by your rage, it bounces off the brick siding and onto the green of hole four right next door to hole one. You straighten, hand covering your mouth, eyes widening as your ball hits someone else’s ball that was currently playing hole four. 

“I’m sorry!” You call as the young kid, definitely not a day over the age of eight, throws the baby blue ball back onto the faded putting green. It’s as if it was in slow motion, how he threw the ball in a perfect arc for it to land flawlessly in the hole without as much as a singular bounce. You whip around to your friend group, eyes wide, “Does that count? Can that count? Jongin, count it.”

Your friend group sounds like a clan of hyenas, loud cackles, obnoxious laughter breaking out across twelve people because of how ridiculous that unfolded. 

“Are all three of you competitive?” Seonghwa asks, genuine, voice light and kind. 

You shrug as you walk off the green, “I’ve never really played sports, I don’t know.” Skipping over to Jongin who was keeping score, you brush up close to his sculpted arm, tone candy sweet, “So? Are we counting it or what?”

He makes a shh motion, one finger raised, smiling behind the purse of his lips. Your hand forms into a fist and you tuck it into your body with success, “Yes, hole in two, baby.”

Mingi and Yunho are snickering when you return to them, but it’s Yunho who mocks you, “Not competitive, my ass.”

“Hey,” you point a finger at him. “You can’t make fun of me, I’m pissed at you. I said I was gonna make up for Mingi’s shit swing.”

“Yours was even worse!” Mingi’s voice is high-pitched, still defensive. You’re all giggles when you lean into him, pressing a hand to his cheek to pull him down for a kiss. Beer and home, he tastes like half of you. 

You feel Yunho’s eyes, but you don’t stop, you don’t do anything to make him think it’s for him. Even if there’s the evil part of you that hopes he wants to rip his skin off his body, that he’s so enraged he sees red, you hope he doesn’t act on it. You hope he doesn’t act on anything ever again.

At hole two, Yunho surprises you both with how efficiently he makes the ball into the hole with only one swing, yours and Mingi’s jaws falling to the concrete. Yunho exudes everything smug on his return.

Smirk on his lips, rolling his shoulders, he says, “What? Like it’s hard?”

Your laugh is verbal disbelief, Mingi immediately quips, “Do not quote Legally Blonde right now.”

Yunho’s giggle is proud, his grin wide, his shoulders doing a little shake in celebration. So fucking cute you could rip out all your hair, you dig your head into Mingi’s chest to smell him, to rid yourself of feelings towards Yunho. Your forehead meets your boyfriend’s skin with a groan, “I need another drink.”

The third hole goes by quickly, efficiently, Mingi excited he got a hole in one, deservedly so. At hole four, you’re up again after a cocktail and a half, at least you’re at the starting line this time. You stare at the blue ball sitting on the green, eyes squinted, whispering, “Do not embarrass me. Okay?” 

“Are you talking to the ball?” San asks, humor laced in his tone. “I don’t think it’s gonna answer, girl.”

“I’m giving it a pep talk!” You snap your head to respond and then stare at the ball once more. You line up your feet, then the club with the ball, and swing. 

Your fuck is louder than Mingi’s was when you miss. You wave apologetically to the family of four that shoots daggers at you from across the course. 

“I can’t watch this,” Yeosang shakes his head as he approaches you. “You're legitimately killing me.”

Your face heats with embarrassment as he stalks up to you, determination in the crease of his brow. You pull all your hair to one side as he stands behind you, arms wrapping around you, hands dwarfing yours over the handle of the club. “Hold like this,” he explains, then kicks one foot between yours, spreading your legs farther, your knees bending. “Stand like that.”

Yunho, tensing beside Mingi, snaps his head to the side to get Mingi’s attention. “Hello?”

Mingi’s brows furrow when Yunho’s shoulder bumps him, his feet staggering. “What?”

“Look,” Yunho says, like it’s absurd Mingi just asked what. He can see the flex of Yeosang’s arms as he stretches them over your shoulders, the veins swimming along his forearms while his hands clasp over yours. It makes his jaw tick, his heartbeat quicken— you’re not Yeosang’s to touch. 

“He’s showing her how to play,” Mingi says casually, taking another sip of his beer, leaning towards Yunho like he was watching a sitcom instead of his girlfriend getting felt up by another man. 

Yunho’s head tilts, dumbfounded and semi-enraged that Mingi doesn’t feel a shred of the possession he does, his voice a harsh whisper, “Yeosang has had a thing for her since… since forever.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Mingi’s brows raise as he turns to his best friend, a disbelieving chuckle falling from his lips. “No he hasn’t. Tzuyu is right there.”

Yeosang kicks your feet apart and Yunho’s body jerks at the action. His foot inches forward, fingers grasping his beer a little harder like he was ready to pounce. Instead, he grits his teeth, “Have you ever watched Yeosang interact with her? Like ever? He’s basically told you to your face he thinks she’s sexy.”

“She is sexy,” Mingi shrugs, rolling his neck nonchalantly. “If I’m not pissed off then you shouldn’t be either. She’s not yours, she’s mine.”

Yunho’s neck snaps, meeting Mingi’s dead-serious stare. Stunned into silence, he shuts his mouth, drinks his beer, and lets it be. Just when Yunho thought they were getting somewhere, that maybe you wouldn’t be awkward all day, he’s surprised that Mingi’s the one who put him in his place. It’s worse when you return smiling, overflowing with excitement, asking Mingi if he saw your hole-in-one three times before throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him. He feels sick, palms sweating, you weren’t doing this to get a rise out of him, you were leaning on each other because he was the one who fucked up. Again. 

The rest of mini-golf goes by in a blur. He doesn’t speak much, he doesn’t have anything to say, his mind is on a roll, trying to come up with any sort of plan to fix this. He needs to get you two alone, he needs to apologize, he needs to say something to get the two of you to stop looking at him like you don’t care about him because that in itself is so fucking terrifying he can feel his goddamn throat close another inch every time he notices. 

The drive home is quiet, wind in Yunho’s ears, he can’t even hear the soft music playing through the speakers, he didn’t care to. Out of the corner of his eye he watches you sink into Mingi in San’s backseat with the sun laying over your lap like a blanket, your eyes closed beneath your sunglasses like you didn’t have a care in the world. Like nothing was bothering you at all. 

He’s never let himself learn just how terrifying it could be to love someone who didn’t want him. Two people who didn’t fucking want him. 

“Who’s ready to BBQ?” Wooyoung shouts from the passenger seat of Jongin’s Jeep, emphasizing the acronym, basically hanging halfway over the door while grinning wide enough to showcase each and every one of his bone-colored teeth. You’d just pulled into San’s driveway, finally back at home to barbecue, to fill your stomachs with a good, hearty meal before you were back on the streets for Haos’ nightlife. 

Everyone piled out of the cars quickly, heading inside just for the men to immediately split off into the kitchen to start prepping the grill. You watch as they gather around the kitchen island, shouting orders and ideas about cooking of all things until Tzuyu bumps your hip with her own at the base of the staircase, stealing your attention.

Pulling her hair tie from her bun, she lets it fall behind her in loose waves, scratching her fingers through her roots, “I guess the man-grill thing is genetic. Or built-in, like a default setting.” 

“There’s nine of them,” you whisper. “How many does it take to man a grill?” 

“Nope, I’m out!” Hongjoong raises both his palms beside his head in defeat while he retreats from the kitchen. “You’re all insane, I’m showering and napping. Call me when dinner’s ready.”

“Eight,” you correct yourself, a grin growing on your cheeks, and Tzuyu laughs from beside you. 

Jihyo, her bag over her shoulder, enters the living room with Sana at her side, the two approaching you and Tzuyu with grins on their faces. Sana does a little shake of her hips, grin reading excitement, “Who’s ready to fuck up the club?”

“It’s a bar, I think,” Jihyo laughs, “but it’ll be nice for us all to go out and let loose.”

“We’ve done nothing but let loose all weekend,” Tzuyu furrows her brows.

“No.” you shake your head once. “We have not.”

“I brought face masks,” Sana’s fingertips dance together mischievously. “We should pre-game getting ready while they grill and shit.”

Out on the deck, Mingi stood over the grill in front of the railing, a pair of tongs in his hand while he flipped pieces of meat and seafood on the black, steel grates. The speaker inside played music through the screen door, everyone mindlessly humming and singing along while they set the table, chatter and laughter flowing through the chilly summer breeze that ruffled his hair. 

So many years these guys have been his friends, so many years Yunho has been his friend, he can’t believe it’s all gone to complete shit. This was his worst fear coming true, the lingering fear when all of this began, that he’d cross a line and lose Yunho. Yeah, they’d all still be friends, but his friendship with Yunho has always been different. Deeper. He can’t believe he’s losing it, right in front of his eyes.

He felt alive again that first night in Haos, back to normalcy, you three felt closer than before, just for it to be ruined all over again the next day. Each and every time he met Yunho’s eye today, he hated that those three words still sat in the hinge of his jaw, the back of his throat, begging to be spoken. He could tell it was the same for you, where your eyelids sat over your glazed pupils, a certain twinkle to them as you stared up at Yunho even if you tried to hide it. He knows what the words look like forming on your lips, how you tighten your smile to stop them from spilling out, he knows you like the back of his hand. 

He can’t believe you both love him and you can’t have him. 

“Almost done?” Mingi’s head snapped up to Yunho on his right side, his head peeking over Mingi’s shoulder, the heat of Yunho hotter than the grill. Speak of the devil.

Mingi nods, eyes sliding over his face. Big, brown eyes with clean cut brows giving them structure, cheekbones high and sculpted, lips a pretty, pale pink heart. He wishes there was no one else on the deck, he wants nothing more than to lean forward and press his lips to Yunho’s, he hates that his feelings still linger.

Yunho’s head tilts when Mingi lacks a response, amused by Mingi’s eyes locked in on his lips. “What’cha thinking about?” 

“Nothing,” Mingi mumbles, bringing his eyes back to the grill. 

Yunho sighs, “Mingi–”

“Don’t,” Mingi keeps his eyes locked on the burning fire beneath the grates. “I don’t want to hear it, it’s all bullshit.”

It feels like a blow to Yunho’s ribs. “None of what I want to say is bullshit, Mingi. You know me.”

“I thought I knew you,” Mingi mutters, purposely keeping his voice low. “I thought I knew how you felt about us, I thought we were getting somewhere, that even though you’re scared, you wouldn’t pretend you didn’t feel anything.”

Yunho frowns, his head dropping. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Min.”

“But you did,” Mingi meets his eye. “And you knew you did in the moment. But you didn’t go back on what you said, you didn’t change your answer. You let me sit there looking stupid because I–”

Mingi cuts himself off and Yunho’s brows furrow for a second, “Because you what?”

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Yunho urges. “Everything you say matters.”

“Not to you,” Mingi turns sideways, his jaw locked, his brows flat. “Don’t apologize, don’t say whatever pretty words you think are gonna make it better. It was embarrassing, Yunho, sitting there while everyone laughed at the idea of us being together because you said it was weird.”

Yunho’s fingers rub at his eyes, exasperated, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say it, it was word vomit, I got scared–”

“Yunho,” Mingi’s voice is so clear, so even Yunho stands a little straighter. “I know how you feel already. You’re twenty-eight years old, you’re old enough to know words have meaning. You know how we feel about you. We’re done here.”

Yunho’s throat is so tight he doesn’t think he could take a breath even if he tried. There’s no oxygen in the air, nothing to feed his lungs, Mingi’s words feel so concrete all he can do is turn around and walk away. Inside, toward the bathroom, he’s walking without vision, without a brain, he locks the door behind him and finally heaves a strained, verbal breath. 

We’re done here.

You’re done with him. Mingi’s done with him. His back presses against the door, facing the ceiling, willing his tears to stay below the surface. He’s right. He’s grown enough to know that his fear is childish, that it’s time to settle down, he shouldn’t be afraid of what his friends think, what anyone thinks. He shouldn’t be afraid of commitment with you, he knows you won’t hurt him in his soul, he knows how you feel about him. He feels the same way toward you, if not deeper, he feels so fucking much toward you that it terrifies him. 

He’s running out of time to get over it.

If this was a month ago he’d be seeing this situation as an out, he’d be thinking that this was for the best, but now his heart feels shriveled down to a husk in his chest. Hollow, like the best parts of him were gone, missing the people who made him feel whole, gave him purpose outside of sex. Outside of the role he gave himself. 

When he goes back out onto the deck, the sun’s at its last moments of visibility over the horizon, the girls had made it back down, too. You sat next to Mingi at the corner, Jihyo and Jongho across from you, Tzuyu and Yeosang beside you. Yunho sits beside Hongjoong who’s next to Seonghwa, and the couple look at him with sad eyes. 

Seonghwa leans across Hongjoong, his voice low. “What’d you do?”

Yunho sighs, lips flattening. He doesn’t question how Seonghwa read the situation. “You saw what I did. At dinner yesterday.”

Hongjoong makes a face, one that says you’re fucked. “That was a tough watch.”

“I know,” Yunho answers, tone flat. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t think we’re able to give you advice, this is out of our area of expertise,” Seonghwa looks apologetic, voice soft as he leans across Hongjoong to lay his palm flat over Yunho’s hand, encouraging. “You’ll figure it out if you love them as much as they love you.”

Yunho stares at him for a second and for the first time in thirty minutes he can’t actively hear his own heartbeat. He gives Seonghwa a soft, grateful smile, pulling his hands back in his lap, thinking. 

You’ll figure it out if you love them as much as they love you. 

He lets his eyes graze over the meal, a feast is what it was, far too much food for thirteen people to consume and feel good after digesting, but no one seemed to care. Music flowed from inside, loud yet calming, a backtrack to conversation, banter, laughter, not anything Yunho could hear over the sound of his pounding heart. 

San made a toast to the last night in Haos, a small speech of how happy he was to maintain the friendships that were vital to him. Appreciation for all of you, gratitude for years of friendship, relationships he wouldn’t trade for the world, he even choked up talking about how close he holds everyone to his heart. Not often does he get emotional, but the way the table stood, clapped, clinked their glasses and took turns squeezing him tight, maybe he’ll be more inclined. 

Maybe the three of you weren’t the only ones who are having an emotional weekend. 

By the time dinner was over, all thirteen of you stuffed full, the impending night out seemed more like a chore than anything. Yunho’s stretched out on the couch half-asleep until he hears Wooyoung complain to San that the girls were getting ready in his room, perking his ears enough for him to wake the hell up and trudge up two flights of steps to his room, your room, to see Mingi passed out in the bed. 

A white tee, briefs on his legs, he lays on his side, both hands pressed together beneath one cheek, lips parted as he snores softly. Yunho smiles to himself, staring from the doorway, leaned up against the wooden frame, he looks so peaceful. So pretty, Yunho wanted so badly to crawl onto the bed and press a kiss to his lips, he knows better. Instead he creeps across the hardwood, gathering his things for a shower and leaves. 

The hot water gives him clarity. Maybe it’d be easier to confess tonight with a little liquid confidence, it’d give him an easier flow, he could say everything he needs to say without the stupid fucking wall that’s embedded in him biting his tongue. He loves you, he loves you both so much he feels incomplete, the world feels tilted off its axis without you two by his side. One week without you was hell, one day watching you with each other was like living in purgatory, the in-between, where he can look but can’t touch, he thinks that might be worse. 

Mingi’s still asleep while he starts getting ready, he only wakes up when Yunho’s buttoning up his shirt. He sits up slowly, wiping at his eyes, “What time is it?”

“After nine, I think,” Yunho responds, staring at Mingi through the mirror. His hair looks untouched, eyes half-lidded, he licks his lips three times just to get moisture in his mouth again. Yunho can’t fight his smile. 

“Fuck,” Mingi’s top lip lifts. “You’re dressing up?”

Yunho grins, “I’m only in a button-up and pants.”

“Yeah, but they’re your good pants,” Mingi argues, “the ones that make your ass look good.” His eyes widen after he says it, like his own words woke him up the rest of the way, but he doesn’t correct himself. 

Yunho looks over his shoulder like he’ll be able to see his own ass. “You think my ass looks good in these?”

Mingi stretches, a verbal noise of tightness leaving his chest as his arms go over his head, his shirt lifting at the hem, Yunho’s eyes snap to the exposed bit of skin like a moth to a flame. Mingi lays flat on the bed, arms straight out beside him, legs spread. “You know it does, don’t play coy.”

Yunho laughs a little as he buttons the last one, leaving the top three undone, one silver cross pendant sitting on his chest. He turns slowly, hands planted on the dresser behind him, taking a breath to build confidence since there was zero liquor swimming in his blood, “I regret what I said at dinner yesterday.”

Mingi sits up on his elbows, sleep still evident in his glossy eyes, his tone remains flat, knowing. “Do you?”

Yunho nods, lips scrunching to one side. “I don’t like how we are right now.”

Mingi sits up all the way, “I don’t like it either.”

Yunho’s voice is breathy, a little shaky as he asks, “Can I fix it?”

“Last time we were fixing things it took one day for it to get fucked up again,” Mingi lifts himself off the bed, running a hand through his hair. He stops right before Yunho, facing him, “You’re the only one who needs to figure your shit out, Yunho.”

Yunho watches as Mingi heads for the door, calling behind him. “What if I figured it out already?”

Mingi holds his stare from the door. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Stuck in time, Yunho stares, his tongue caught between his teeth, his heart in his throat. Mingi laughs a little, disappointment clear as he shakes his head. Before heading to the bathroom, he mutters, “Thought so.”

Yunho curses under his breath when he hears the bathroom door close, the shower turning on. He doesn’t wait around for Mingi’s return, he goes back downstairs, most of the guys already showered, dressed, ready to go. He opens a beer with the same tightness in his jaw, frustrated that Mingi just gave him an opportunity to speak and he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say a word. 

There’s music playing from the TV in the living room, something pop from a decade ago, he doesn’t have it in him to listen, or to the conversation happening around the kitchen island. San, Jongin, Wooyoung, Jongho, it’s all muted mumbling in his ringing ears, he feels pathetic. 

It’s worse when Mingi comes downstairs and doesn’t even look at him. He joins the conversation seamlessly, the laughter grows, they’re talking louder than the music, it makes Yunho feel not only on the outside of his relationship, but on the outside of everything. Isolated because he can’t speak up, he can’t say how he feels, he’s trapped within his own mind, trapped beneath his feelings. He cracks another beer. 

He doesn’t think it can get any worse until you walk down the stairs. On the couch now, he gets a front-row view of the black dress painted onto your body, tied around your neck, stiletto heels with straps that twist up your calves like vines. Mingi meets you at the base, picking you up off the bottom stair with one arm hooked around your body, lips pressed to yours, when he sets you down carefully he says something in your ear that makes your head fall back with laughter. 

Emotion feels like bile rising in his throat. He’s jealous, but it’s different now; what was once frustrating was now driving, the words sit heavy on his tongue. You two look like you’re matching, dark clothes, hair styled, jewelry silver and offsetting one another, he looks down at his outfit and it’s almost like fate that he’s matching, too.

He looks back up to meet your eye across the room, what was supposed to be a glance lingers.

Yunho gives you the smallest of smiles, You look beautiful.  Your chin tilts upwards ever so slightly, I know, Mingi just told me. Ouch. He leans into the backrest, I can’t tell you, too? The corner of your lips tug upward. Thanks.  He watches as Mingi’s hand slithers around your waist. I need to talk to you.  You sink into Mingi’s hold, your back pressed against his chest, What if I don’t want to hear it? Yunho’s jaw clenches. You do. 

Sana shrieks from the staircase as soon as she sees Mingi’s lips pressed to the skin below your ear, “Do not fuck in that dress, I just bought it!”

You pull your attention away from him and he feels like grieving. You don’t give it to him again until you’ve had tequila poured into your mouth from the bottle, all thirteen of you in the kitchen fully dressed, pouring liquor like it’s water and calling it a pre-game. Outside, splitting two Escalades, rides San ordered for your group to take to Rêve across town, Yunho opted to sit in the back with you and Mingi, you scowled as soon as it left his lips. He smiles, because at least you care enough to frown.

San was immediately greeted upon approaching the upscale bar, stepping out of the Escalade to be met with two men wearing suits like it was regular, casual. Inside it was red everything, from leather booths to velvet barstools to the curtain that hung closed upon the stage; walls full of vintage framed photography, the architecture a brown so deep it appeared burgundy, dimly lit shaded lamps on tables, some traded for candles, the bar was drenched in an amber hue. It was definitely moody, a brand created off of atmosphere, it felt cozy as much as it felt expensive.

It was calmly crowded, plenty of people filling up the tables in the center of the room, a crowd before the stage that had waiters with trays between them. You spotted martini glasses, short glasses of whiskey poured neat, women in daring dresses and doused in jewels, men in suits who blew clouds of swirling smoke in the air from their cigars. All thirteen of you looked appropriate, expensive– but not old money expensive like some of the patrons you observed. You wondered about the history of Haos, about San, how deep his pockets really ran. 

You couldn’t wonder for long, though, with how the group was directed past the stage to a steel door at the back of the building that seemed… insignificant. Like it’d bring you outside or to a storage room, not to a long, dark hallway that hummed louder and louder with each step he took. 

Bass thumped beneath your shoes, the group quietly following the man in black like this was normal, no one questioned anything only because San followed with confidence, chest puffed out, shoulders back. Surprise wasn’t the word for what was behind the twin steel door at the end of the hallway, it opened to flashes of blue and purple, music so loud it made you jump where you stood. 

Women on platforms half-dressed, swaying their hips to the beat of the song, bottle girls with buckets of ice and handles of liquor atop their heads parting through the crowd like it was the Red Sea, patrons in clothing that matched yours exactly. The room was filled with people in your age group dancing to the music at the center of the backdoor club, the walls filled with enclosed sections you assumed were VIP, all by velvet roped attached to silver poles.

“So? Are you guys surprised?” San asks from the head of the group, his smirk turned to a wide, excited grin, which everyone replied with a monotonous, confused yes. San laughed, leaning into Jongin, “We wanted to surprise you, you guys looked so confused at the front, like we were gonna smoke cigars and watch Cabaret.”

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Jongho shrugs, and most of the group nod their agreement, including you. You didn’t care where you ended up tonight as long as there was liquor for you to guzzle.

“This is better, no?” San raises his brows as he begins walking you toward the back wall, what you assume was your VIP section. “Music we know, people our age, it’s been a long time since we’ve all gone clubbing together.”

Tzuyu, in a red dress painted on her body, adds, “Because all the clubs at home suck.”

“Not the ones here,” San quips like he was waiting for that reply, entering the section backlit by blue lights cool enough to be white. “They love me here.”

“You own it,” Mingi snorts, “they have to love you.”

“I partially own it,” San raises a finger as he steps into the open booth, the table at the center already full of ice and champagne. “There’s a difference.”

Jongin starts pouring champagne into flutes, “Should we make another toast?”

“We don’t need to get all teary-eyed again,” Sana smiles, softly instead of the nasty smirk she usually wore with her rebuttals. This was appreciation. “We have our makeup done, Sannie made us emotional enough back at the house.”

“It’s not every day that you get to tell your friends how much you love them,” San holds the flute between his fingers, brows wiggling. 

Yeosang laughs, “It could be, you just choose not to.”

You can feel the music in your blood, the dance floor calling to you, excitement in the bounce of your knee. You only spend fifteen minutes in your section, finishing a singular cocktail before Tzuyu’s pulling you out to the dance floor, after getting ready together in Sana’s room it was like all four of you had taken a breath of fresh air.

The dance floor was already swarming with sweaty bodies loosened up by liquor. Yours not quite there yet, you’re in a fit of giggles as the girls twirl you into the crowd, you stay on the outside of Jihyo and Sana who fall into rhythm, backs pressed to one another as they sway their hips, laughing as they twist around. You and Tzuyu are watching, smiling, giggling until the two pull you into their circle, forcing your hips into the same rhythm as theirs. 

“I’m out of practice!” You yell over the music, and both Sana and Jihyo shake their heads, like they wouldn’t accept the excuse. 

Jihyo slaps a hand on your shoulder, “You fuck, you know how to use your hips!”

Head tipping back with another laugh, you let her pull you into her, your hips so close they might as well be touching. You follow her rhythm, using a fuck-worthy roll of your hips as you do, bottom lip caught between your teeth while you focus. 

“You’re thinking too much,” Sana’s behind you, hands on your hips. “You need another drink, damn.”

Your lips tighten in a line as you look up at Jihyo again, embarrassed. She laughs in response, “She means you’ll feel looser with a little liquor in you.”

Sana stops the bottle girl holding a tray of shots, her screech for help loud as she tries to balance four between her fingers, the three of you snatch them from her hands like candy. Shooting it back in one swallow, you push a breath through your lips like it’d rid the sting from your throat, your face scrunching up at the taste. Vodka– bitter, painful. 

But it helps, it’s not long until your arms lay over Jihyo’s shoulders, your back pressed to Sana’s as she moves to the same rhythm as you, Tzuyu swaying her body in front of Sana. You can feel the music in your blood now, your body thumping with the bass, bones turning fluid with each shake of your hips. You’re unable to feel the warmth spreading through your skin, your senses already overwhelmed by the atmosphere, you’re too busy watching Jihyo’s half-clothed body grinding herself against you.

Eventually Tzuyu heads to the bar for more drinks, handing you another shot before a glass full of something and tequila, you don’t realize how quickly you’re sipping it while Tzuyu is bent over in front of you, her ass pressed to your crotch. You can hear your obnoxious laughter over the music when Sana lands a few smacks to her ass, Jihyo pulling out her phone to record it, the four of you erupting in a fit of drunken giggles and snorts, bodies light, brains somewhere else entirely, not once did you remember there’s an entire club of people around you.  

It’s been so long. House parties, clubs, bars, your friend group used to be outside on a weekly basis, you missed it. You missed them, dancing with them, completely carefree, like you’re twenty-three again. It was nostalgic in a visceral way, like maybe you were twenty-three again, sharing platonic kisses with your friends on the dance floor, waiting for your boyfriend to come scoop you up and fuck you in the bathroom because neither of you could wait.

You don’t realize you’re drunk until Mingi joins you on the dance floor. When you see his face, structured and beautiful, strands of hair hanging over his glossy eyes, a smile on his plump lips, you feel the rush of warmth from your chest to your toes. His pants cling to his legs like they’re tailored to him, strong thighs filling out the fabric, his unbuttoned shirt is showing enough skin for you to lick down his chest. You want to, the urge sitting at the forefront of your mind, you lick your lips as he approaches. 

“I was wondering where you went,” Mingi’s loud over the music, you could get drunk off the rasp to his voice alone. You throw your hands over his shoulders, swaying your hips to a rhythm he meets you at immediately, his hands on your waist. 

“I’ve been here,” you tilt your head, dazed. “We were dancing, the girls are so funny.”

Mingi snorts, “You’re drunk.”

“Nooo,” you shake your head, the word exaggerated, playful. “Just tipsy. Did I tell you how handsome you look?” Mingi looks amused, brows raising, you don’t wait for his answer. “You look sofuckingsexy.” His belly laugh makes your smile grow. “I’m serious, Min. I want you, like now.”

He leans in to attach your lips, a quick peck, he fights your strength to keep him close. “Now? Like were twenty-three again? Don’t wanna wait until we get home so I can fuck you in our bed?”

A small noise slips through your lips at the thought. “Too far away, we just got here.”

“We got here over an hour ago,” his hands curl around your waist, gripping you harder. “You’ve been out here the whole time, baby.”

It feels like you’ve been dancing for ten minutes. “Whatever,” you whine, pressing your front against his. “Kiss me already.”

He obliges, smiling before he presses his lips to yours, hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling your body flush to his. You gasp into his lips, he tastes like whiskey, bitter but sweet, addicting. Your fingers find his hair as his tongue parts your lips, tasting you, groaning into you, your hands fall from his neck to feel him. 

“Baby,” he says with caution, you swallow the warning, tilting your head to kiss him harder. He squeezes your hips as your hands fall from his hair to his chest, palms splayed over his pecs down to his abdomen, tongue dancing with his. 

“I just wanna kiss,” you mumble into his mouth, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting softly. He groans, chasing your lips again, his hips pressing into you, he’s so easy it makes your core clench. 

He parts your legs with one of his own, pressing into you, making you gasp a sound too lewd for where you are. Entirely bare beneath your dress, the pressure combined with the texture of his pants makes a breathy moan fall past your lips, one he drinks up with his own. Your fingers curl into his shirt tighter, hips bucking into him, one of his hands sliding up to the side of your neck.

“Can feel her on me,” his voice is deeper, almost a growl as he says the words into your mouth. “Knew you weren’t wearing panties.”

One of your heeled feet leaves the floor to grind against him at a better angle, head falling forward until your forehead lands against his, “Shit, feels good.”

He reaches behind you, fingers finding the hem of your dress, holding it taut over your ass. You moan again as your core drags over his thigh, forehead falling to his shoulder, the rest of the club melting away. He curses under his breath, “Baby, hold on, you gotta–”

You whimper into his shirt, eyes screwing shut, tequila and Mingi was a cocktail for impulsivity. Him, the smell of him in your nose, his body pressed to yours, he made you so fucking cockdrunk without even giving you an inch, without even touching you. The pleasure’s overwhelming, you needed more, pressure building steadily, you didn’t care where you were, who saw. 

Yunho can’t believe what he’s seeing. Curiosity getting the better of him, he should have known not to follow Mingi out to the dance floor to find you. But he was growing antsy at the table, listening to the bullshit conversation everyone was having when all he wanted to do was kiss Mingi across the table. Sitting back against the couch with his knees spread, beer in his hand, lips wet and pink and plump, Yunho was stirring in impatience. He’s hungry, he wants to touch him, to kiss him, wants him on his knees between his legs, he wants to tell him how much he loves him with his lips wrapped around his cock. He stared with his chin in his palm, elbow pressed to his knee, his foot tapping against the floor, the liquor made him restless.

At least he waited a few seconds before following Mingi, just to find the two of you at the center of the dance floor, surrounded by bodies and eyes while you grinded your hips against his fucking thigh like you were the only people out here. Mingi’s holding your dress over your ass, your hands in his shirt, leg hooked around his body, he stared until he understood the rhythm you were moving at, watching how you twitched like you were about to fucking cum.

He was seeing red. In his mind you were both still his, and you were letting all of these random fucking people see you like this? Seeing what’s his? He was moving before he could think about it, pressing himself up against your back, hands on your waist to shield you from everyone who could be watching. His voice comes out rough, harsh, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Your hips still like your blood was still victim to his command. Head tilting backward, you stare at him through wet lashes, lips parting, his name leaves your mouth in a soft gasp. Eyes hazy, glossed over, fuck, all his rage dissipates into the humidity of the club, just from one look at you. Disheveled, you didn’t have a frown on your face, your brows weren’t tied together, so fucking beautiful flushed with arousal he can feel it in his chest. 

He looks at Mingi who’s equally as fucked out, cheeks red, eyes glossed over, he stares at Yunho like he wants to devour him, just like Yunho was staring at him in their section. His cock twitches in his pants, his heart twists, it’s been one fucking day and he misses you like he hasn’t had you in months.

He can’t take it anymore. He can’t do this anymore. 

He isn’t thinking when he leans forward, sandwiching you between himself and Mingi as his fingers grab his cheeks, there’s no patience in the way Yunho kisses him, no softness, it’s all hunger and relief and driven by every single thought he’s had today. He says each one with each lick into Mingi’s mouth, he hopes he can feel it, the guilt, the fear, the ease he feels just by tasting the whiskey on his tongue.

“Oh my god,” he hears you whisper, it goes one ear and out the other as Mingi groans into his mouth, it goes straight to his cock. He feels you slip from between them as Mingi’s hands find his hair, his hands slide to Mingi’s neck, their chests pressed together like they couldn’t be close enough.

“I love you,” Yunho breaks the kiss only to say the three words into his mouth and he moans. Between kisses, he holds him close, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I fucking love you.”

“They’re watching,” you’re tugging on his arm, panic ebbed in your tone. “Yun, they’re watching you. They can see you.” 

He pulls away from Mingi to turn to you, your eyes wide with fear, lips parted, eyes bouncing back and forth between Yunho and what he can only assume is all of your friends. He doesn’t care. There’s no shame, there’s no denial, there’s nothing inside him that could stop him from grabbing you by the waist, throwing the other in your hair, and pressing his lips to yours. He breaks it only to murmur, “Let them see.”

You’re stiff for just a second before melting into him, his kisses softer than those with Mingi, more controlled, like kissing Mingi took the edge off his impulse. “I love you,” he whispers into your mouth. “I don’t give a fuck if they see me kissing you, you’re mine.”

You hook your leg over his thigh, palms on his cheeks, relief flooding you. You tilt your head to the side, smirking, “You couldn’t have said that yesterday?” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop speaking,” your fingers tighten in his hair. “Your mouth gets you in trouble. Take us home.”

Your friend group watches Yunho guide you both through the club with wide eyes and parted lips, you don’t spare them a glance as you and Mingi trail behind Yunho like dogs to their owner. The Escalades are still parked out front, a few words from Yunho to the driver and he’s opening the door to the backseat for you and Mingi, ushering you inside. 

You stole Yunho’s mouth the entire drive, Mingi settling for his neck, the skin on his chest, more with every button he ripped apart. You didn’t speak, you didn’t need to, you’d said everything on the dance floor, specifics could come later. The only thing left was consummation, which was the only thing on your mind as you nearly sprinted through the front door, almost tripping on your feet on the climb upstairs. 

“Careful,” Yunho said from behind you when you’d taken two steps at a time, but he couldn’t hold in his laughter, amused at your impatience. You ignored him, forgoing an answer to instead steal his lips once more when you reached the top of the steps. 

His hands found your hips, tongue pushing through your lips, you felt Mingi’s palms a steady wait on top of Yunho’s as he backed you into your room, then closed the door behind you. You broke away to untie your dress behind your neck, just for Mingi to trade places with you, stealing Yunho’s mouth. 

“Bed,” you said into the air, and watched as they tripped over each other, stepping in each other’s line of direction as they backed closer, closer, and closer to the bed. Mingi fell backwards, Yunho’s hands flying for his belt.

You kissed your boyfriend, who hummed when your lips met his. “Tequila.”

“Tastes good, right?” You smile into the kiss, dress riding up your thighs, body bent over completely to keep your mouth on his. 

You can hear Mingi’s pants hit the floor, grabbing your attention. Yunho has his shirt off, Mingi’s briefs discarded. Yunho’s eyes, always cool and collected, are wide, crazed; sparkling with the moonlight that makes a puddle of white at the balcony door, casting the room in a hue of midnight.

Reality settles, and it’s heavy. Drunk you may be, but not drunk enough to not be wondering what’s going through his mind. “Hey,” you offer. His eyes meet yours, charcoal, swirling with moonlight, not quite steady. Your lips curve, “I love you.”

His bare shoulders settle, ease washing over him. He leans over Mingi’s legs, two hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you deeply, speaking into your mouth, “I love you, too.”

“Holy shit,” you mumble into his mouth, making him giggle right back. He giggled. 

He loves you. He fucking loves you. 

Mingi reaches for your legs, pulling one over his chest, you’re absent-minded as Yunho keeps his tongue tangled with yours. He pushes your dress up over your hips, holding it up over your waist, and pulls you down to meet his awaiting tongue.

You gasp out a moan as Mingi groans, bare hips bucking against Yunho who was still leaning over him. Yunho leans back, eyes darkening as he takes in the sight, your hips already rolling against Mingi’s tongue.

“Fuck,” Yunho sighs, grabbing his length through his pants, his grip tight like he was pacing his own pleasure. Like seeing you with Mingi might’ve very well brought him closer than he should have been.

Mingi’s arms hook around your thighs, tongue poking out to let your hips rock against it, allowing you to set your own pace, to use him however you want. You waste no time setting a brutal pace, whimpering as his flexed tongue rolls over your clit, as your hips rock back onto his nose. Fingers curling into your skin, searing where they held you, no doubt leaving oval shapes behind, the sting only makes you grind against him harder.

Yunho’s fingers find his button, his zipper, his eyes zeroed in on the sight before him like he couldn’t rip his eyes away if he tried. Indents of strain dimple the space above his brows, just a slight furrow, his hand finds his length again over his briefs, running his flat palm over his hard cock, a moan tumbling off his tongue. 

Your eyes flare. “G’na cum just like that? Watching?”

Yunho’s lips part. “Could, if I wanted to.”

You find the hem of your dress at your waist, pulling the thin fabric over your head in one quick motion. Still rocking your hips, abdomen flexed, breasts falling at your chest, Yunho groans. 

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. You hiss when Mingi’s nose catches on your entrance. Yunho’s eyes sink down to where Mingi’s tongue swallows your folds, how it blankets over your core, swiping through, spit sliding down the sides of his mouth. His hand picks up speed over his briefs, hips bucking into his own hand, chest rising and falling heavily, “I might.”

You lean forward, holding Yunho’s eye, moaning as Mingi’s tongue curls inside you. You take Mingi’s length in one hand, the other pressed on his chest, and Mingi’s hips jerk into your hand immediately, a sharp grunt vibrating your thighs. 

Mingi’s knees spread, hips bucking off the bed, feet finding the edge of the bed, legs lifting just to spread wider. You keep your eyes on Yunho, voice a husky whisper, “Join.”

As if you were a siren, his body pulls him forward, his hand leaving his cotton-covered cock just to wrap around Mingi’s, his hand fitting perfectly right above yours. Mingi’s palms wrapped around your thighs keep your hips moving as you and Yunho pump his length, one-handed, your eyes never once leaving each other.

“Fuck him,” you nearly whisper, your voice still husky, coated in arousal. “Push his legs up to his chest and fuck him. I have his mouth.”

Yunho gasps, and it would have been silent if you weren’t so close. His face twinges, a jerk of a reaction, like he wasn’t used to someone giving him orders. But his hands find Mingi’s knees, the underside of them, pushing them upward. He leans toward you, taking your lips in his, and as his tongue pushes into your mouth you know it’s claiming. Steadying. Reminding you who he is, who he is to you. 

Yunho’s hand disappears between Mingi’s legs, earning a shattered moan spat into your core, you smile through the sound that rips from your chest. Rocking your hips again, sitting up straight once more, Mingi’s fingers singe your thighs, each fingertip like iron soaked in fire.

Mingi’s heels find the bed, cock twitching against his abdomen, leaking all over the stretch of skin beneath his belly button. The skin of your thighs gathers between his fingers, but you rock yourself through it, the pain mixed with the pleasure better than any cocktail you’ve had tonight.

Your head tips back as Yunho preps him, listening to Mingi curse into your folds, whining and whimpering but giving your clit the most attention of all. “S’good, Mingi,” you moan out, reaching behind you to run your fingers through his hair, sounding utterly dazed. “Mm, I love you.”

You barely hear him say it back, his voice lagged, muffled by a mouth full of you, head no doubt fuzzy from Yunho knuckle deep in his ass. You bring your eyes back to the older man who’s focused, taking his time opening him up, prepping him for his cock that neither of you can ever really be prepped for.

“Makin’ a mess, Min,” Yunho comments, finally noticing the painting the younger man made on his own skin. Droplets of pre, ropes that dripped down his sides, Mingi moaned in response. Yunho pushes his legs up, you catch them, palms splayed over his knees, holding him spread.

 Beautiful, watching Mingi suck in every single inch. Beautiful, watching Yunho fight every fucking instinct to cum as soon as he bottomed out. It ignited the fire in your gut like you were the one Yunho was splitting open; a harsh moan pushing past your lips, clit throbbing against Mingi’s unmoving tongue. At least he stuck it out, you thought as your hips bucked against him, grinding harshly against the muscle he wanted you to use for your own pleasure.

When Yunho started moving, when Mingi started moaning like nothing has ever felt this good in his life, you could feel it like a phantom limb; brows furrowing, moans growing in pitch, watching your boyfriend fuck your other boyfriend brought you right to the edge.

“Shit… shit,” you moaned, your fingers finding your nipples, pinching, twisting. Hips bucking rapidly, watching Yunho’s abdomen flex as his hips rolled into Mingi’s ass, you neared so close you could taste it. “Gonna cum, Yun, gonna c-cum–”

“Wait,” he ground out, his voice ragged and harsh like he was nearing the brink himself. It made your eyes dart to him, he always lasted, he’s never cum this quickly. Ever. His grin is lazy, his head tipped backward, sweat kissing his moonlight-kissed skin, he utters, “Been waiting– for this, t-to tell you how I feel.” His chin dips, eyes squeezing shut, “Fuck.”

You understood then, that his release was so much more.

“Let me cum,” you urged. “Let me, want to watch you.”

Yunho’s eyes met yours, and agreement shone in the subtle spark of white dancing in charcoal. He leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around your neck, tugging you toward him to crash your lips onto his, shoving his tongue into your mouth, tasting the orgasm that washed over you as soon as you met.

Mingi’s grip rocked you through it, a sob leaving your throat, lips unmoving against Yunho’s. Whispering into your mouth, he uttered, “I love you.”

You couldn’t answer. You couldn’t do anything but roll off Mingi’s face, the younger man gasping for a breath, reaching his arms upward for Yunho. Yunho’s hips didn’t falter as he leaned down, as he pushed Mingi up the bed, crawling onto it himself. Head in the pillows, utterly dazed, lovesick and spent, you watched Yunho take Mingi for everything he’s worth.

Mingi sobbed, hands in Yunho’s hair, muttering I love you over and over again like he couldn’t believe he could say it. Yunho’s hips snapped against his, responding every fucking time Mingi said it, not missing a single time it passed through his lips. 

And it occurred to you then, that they were yours. Both of them, finally, for real this time, they were completely yours. So beautiful together, their bodies molding perfectly, lips touching, speaking, not kissing; Mingi’s hands in Yunho’s hair, Yunho cradling Mingi’s cheeks.

You didn’t feel the tears on your cheeks until Mingi spilled onto his stomach, blurry eyes darting to where it dribbled down his side. They didn’t notice until after Yunho emptied himself inside Mingi, when the smack of hips became a sound of slick movement, and their heads turned to yours.

Mingi’s face, fucked-out turned to concerned. Brows bent, lips pouting, he scrounged to sit up on his elbows, “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, wiping under your eyes. “I just love you, both of you. That’s all.”

Yunho crawled over to you, a warm smile on his lips as he split your knees, placing a cupped palm on your cheek before he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Wiping your tears, he murmured, “I’m sorry for all the shit I put you through this weekend.”

You sniffed, “I’m just… still a little drunk, you don’t need to console me. I know you’re sorry.”

After cleaning himself up quickly, Mingi curled up to your other side, pressing his lips into your bicep. The two of them watched you like hawks, taking in every micro-expression on your face.

“I’m fine,” you reiterated with a small laugh. “I swear, I’m just emotional. It was an emotional weekend.”

Yunho’s face drooped with guilt. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get my shit together. I didn’t mean anything I said to you–”

Your palms found his cheeks, guiding him down, cutting him off by pressing your lips against his. “I know,” you whispered, eyes opening to look into his. “I know how you feel, I knew the whole time. I’m proud of you.”

His lips quivered. Your smile grows, “Now why are you getting emotional?”

“Because I’ve been searching for this for so fucking long,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “Searching for you, both of you,” his eyes find Mingi, “in everyone.”

“Search is over,” Mingi rolls on his back, eyes playful, lips pinned up on one side. He looks at Yunho with barely a turn of his head, “Should we throw a party?”

Yunho snorts, pressing another kiss to your lips before throwing your leg over his body, collapsing on your other side. After a moment, he adds, “I’ve never felt more like myself than when I’m with you.”

Both yours and Mingi’s heads turn to him, listening. Yunho’s head angles toward you, but he doesn’t look as he continues, “I think it’s why I’ve never settled down. Nothing ever felt right, not until that first night with you both. I mean, after that, I never really left.”

“You tried,” you add with a grin.

Yunho looks at you just to roll his eyes. “It’s scary knowing the best thing that could ever happen to you is happening to you. I fucked it up before I even had the chance to fuck it up.”

“No you didn’t,” Mingi counters with a shake of his head. “You’re here, we’re here. Everything happened the way it was supposed to.”

Yunho’s quiet for a moment. “Thank you for letting me figure it out. For not abandoning me when I gave you every reason to.”

Before tears have the chance to fill your waterline again, you wrap yourself around him, literally climbing on top of him to attach yourself to him. Whispering into his neck, you say, “That’s what you do when you love someone.”

“And we love you very, very much,” Mingi adds, already cuddled up to Yunho’s side.

Yunho presses his lips to yours, a short, sweet kiss. Then turns to Mingi, pressing another short, sweet kiss to his lips. “And I love you both very, very much, too.”

masterlist 3️⃣

fin 💌

[throwing-roses-into-the-abyss]

"Polyteez is real" yes but it's actually 7 of them making out and yeosang on the side directing them very intensely

[hwaelysian]

i’m crying this post was right below this one

[hwaelysian]

sour cherry love

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦. 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥. 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬. 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jung wooyoung x f!reader 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: how to differentiate love and obsession? caring and abuse? wooyoung knows very well. you, however, don't. and it breaks his heart every time he sees your loving eyes gaze upon that caring boyfriend of yours. he knows better than to meddle, so why do you have to make it difficult by constantly hanging around him and making him care for you? 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 29.5k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: euphoria au, plot, slowburn!!!, high school themes (aged up, 19-22), alcohol and weed use, toxic relationship, nsfw themes 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: i've proofread this at least five times i am getting sick of my own writing. don't mind the typos, and enjoy :)

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲.

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊.

there is something oddly calming about the gentle hum of fridges and the sound of the led bar on the verge of its life at the local gas station convenience store. especially on a quiet night like this, where jung wooyoung can sit in his staff room, or a corner more like, and roll his blunts in peace.

a cigarette rests between his slightly chapped lips, the soft smoke filling up the space that is separated from the store with a beaded curtain, half the beads missing. every now and then, his sharp eyes glance through it, hoping not to catch a figure lingering amongst the shelves.

his finger pads are rough against the smooth paper, yet skilled and quick. he takes pride in this ability. each blunt is the same shape, as if they were made in a factory. the satisfied smile is cut short when a bang startles him, sending ash from the cigarette onto his jeans.

"fuck." he breathes out, placing the cigarette on a makeshift ashtray, made from a can of soda by his little niece as he brushes the ash off his clothes.

he doesn't announce himself as he slips through the beads, the clicking sound crashing with the calming hum. annoyance is only slightly wiped from his face upon setting his eyes on you. and your cherry coke that sits on the counter.

your eyes find his when he slips behind the counter. wooyoung swears he has never seen such sparkly eyes. it might've been the purple neon sign above his head, but he chose to believe it was natural. a smile spreads on your pink lips, and you greet him. "hello."

wooyoung only hums, grabbing the can of coke and scanning it, all while biting his lower lip and taking your figure in.

"so..." you trail, awkwardly swinging on your toes back and forth. "how's... business?"

wooyoung chuckles, setting the swollen lip free. "well, now that you ask, i don't remember the last time someone bought a cherry coca cola."

"oh, is that why there were only two cans in the fridge?"

"yes."

you nod with a hum, then pull a bill from the back pocket of your jeans.

"two fifty." he slides the can towards you, hand lingering on the cold item until you reach for it. you try to grab it, yet his grip intensifies, making you look at him with confusion. "you're too pretty to be here."

"thank you–"

"that wasn't a compliment." he shuts you down, eyeing your pink tank top and shimmery bracelets.

"oh." your smile falters, insecurity crawling up your spine. "what does that mean?"

"it means," he leans over the counter, close enough to catch the sickeningly sweet perfume clinging to your skin, then continues, "that you look like an easy target."

your heart stutters behind your ribcage. you swallow thickly before speaking. "is this a dangerous neighbourhood?"

"it isn't the safest one. but what does it matter? you should be on your way and get out of here. it's late."

"okay." you place the money on the counter. wooyoung finally lets go of the can, and you immediately grab it, as if he'll take it away from you. "have a nice night."

the young man doesn't reply. he watches you slowly exit the shop, cracking the can open on the way out. when he sees you enter a car, he feels at peace. you weren't alone. you were safe. he retreats to his corner, cigarette back between his lips, fingers already working through his stash like nothing happened.

𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐘.

the first day of the senior year was something jung wooyoung dreaded. summer was going well. he got used to working, earning, and having free time. now, aside from being in the building almost every day and working, he also needs to make time for studying.

"tonight at nate's?"

and parties.

"come on," the younger man nudges wooyoung with his elbow, seeing his eyes roll. "it'll be fun."

wooyoung huffs, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and dusting the ash on the ground. "i fucking hate that guy."

"well, sadly for you, nate jacobs is the only one who can throw one hell of a party. besides, girl hunting isn't a solo activity. i need you there."

the black haired man shoots his friend a disapproving look. "girl hunting? james."

"it's just an expression." james defends himself, poorly.

"no, it's not."

"fine. i take it back." the blonde haired man rolls his eyes, much like wooyoung earlier. they both stand up, making their way inside the building and to their lockers. "if i spend another year without a relationship, i'm going to become a nightmare."

jung wooyoung swears he had a witty reply as he tosses his jacket in the locker. the words perish once his brown eyes land on a figure in the hallway. the shine of lips too familiar to ignore, and the scent as the person passes by too sweet to forget.

you.

"woo?" james calls, closing his locker with a loud clank. "i need a verbal confirmation that you are coming tonight."

"sure." he replies, eyes still glued to the way your blouse hugs your body. "just text me when."

once james disappears to his class, wooyoung finds himself lingering in the hallway. have you always gone to east highland? why is he just now noticing you? no, why are you everywhere for him to notice you? a big question mark follows him into the english classroom, the look on his face puzzled when he smells that scent again. surely enough, there you are. in the corner of the room, the last seat near the window. his seat.

there are plenty other ones in the classroom. however, wooyoung has always sat there, and everyone knows it. he chose it strategically. it is ideally hidden from the professor, he has fresh air from the window, and he has his privacy. most importantly, he is sitting far away from cassie howard. he doesn't want to bother you by asking you to move, but if he has to hear that insufferable laugh and see her turn around every few minutes, he will explode on the spot.

"that's my seat."

he doesn't intend on sounding mean. it comes out like that anyway, causing you to look up from your books with those sparkly eyes. when you recognize the man from last night, you can't help the smile that spreads on your lips. the first familiar person, finally. "hi."

wooyoung raises his eyebrow. did you not hear him? "i sit here."

"oh," you finally acknowledge his words. you don't make a fuss out of it. you simply gather your belongings and sit at the desk next to him. something he could've done instead of moving you, yet you don't point it out. once you make yourself comfortable, you notice that he is still standing, eyes locked on you. you look around before speaking. "uh... can i sit here?"

he ignores you, finally throwing his bag near the desk as he plops down on the chair. he's puzzled by your easy-going nature. were you a people pleaser? you looked like one. shame, you'll have to toughen up soon or you'll be eaten alive.

the classroom fills up quickly, and by the time the professor arrives, wooyoung has stolen many glances at you. it irks him that cassie is sitting so that whenever he looks at you, her blonde hair is in the background. halfway into the class, he has noticed a few things about you already.

first, you like to use colorful pens. you have at least ten different shades in your fuzzy, stupid looking pencil case. it irritates him for no good reason- who carries a pencil case to high school? second, you like cherry cola. the dark red can sits at the corner of the table, the edge of it shimmering with remains of your gloss. third, you are overly friendly for your own good.

each time someone locks eyes with you, you smile. they smile as well, but not in a good way. they're mocking you. wooyoung doesn't know whether you choose not to see it or you truly do not see it. he doesn't feel that sorry for you. as he said, you're making yourself an easy target.

by the end of the class, the dark haired man doesn't have a single note written in his notebook. you, however, are happily underlining words and sentences while the rest of the class is glancing at the fateful clock on the wall. once it marks the end of the first period, and the professor leaves for the five minute break, the class erupts in chatter and chaos.

wooyoung wastes no time in pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his washed out jeans and sitting on the window. he lights it up, the nicotine slowly filling his lungs as he inhales deeply. a tap on his shoulder interrupts the little ritual, and he can't help the annoyed look on his face as he turns his head to the side, only to be met with your face mere inches away from his.

he blows the smoke into you, accidentally. your words catch in your throat, stopped by the unexpected smoke you've inhaled and a coughing fit.

"shit," wooyoung moves the cigarette from one hand to the other, away from you. "sorry. didn't expect you there."

"no, it's fine." your voice is raspy, and there are tears in the corners of your eyes. fuck, are you going to cry? he can't handle that this early in the morning. "i have a nicotine allergy."

"that's a thing?" he asks. you nod, clearing your throat in the process. "ah."

he isn't the talkative type, you notice. perhaps he is a listener. or he just doesn't care about either of those things.

"what happens now? will you end up at the nurse's office?" he teases, though he is genuinely curious.

"my reaction depends on the brand, i've noticed. in most cases i start feeling nauseous and my throat becomes red and swollen, and my eyes tear up. not fatal, but not the nicest feeling."

the man glances at the box of cigarettes on his desk. he makes a mental note as he bites his lip, then, with a sigh, presses the lit end against the outside wall. "right. i didn't know that."

jung wooyoung would never waste a cigarette. yet he finds himself tossing an almost unused one outside, barely getting one drag out of it. why? because the girl in pink couldn't handle it.

"you wanted to say something? you know, before you almost died on the spot."

"ah." you nod. "i have a lot to say, actually. for starters, i didn't catch your name."

"you talk a lot." he crosses his arms across his chest, then sits on his chair. "calum."

"ouch." you scrunch your nose as you follow him to his desk, making yourself comfortable by leaning on it. "calum? fitting."

"is it?" wooyoung is amused. "how so?"

"every calum i've ever met is dark haired and tattooed." you explain as you admire the rose and skull tattoo on the side of his neck. "it's very nice, by the way. looks pretty on you."

pretty? it's not pretty. it's cool. it's anything but pretty. never in his life did wooyoung think that he'll blush in front of a girl like this. all because she called him pretty. well, the tattoo. not him. still, he finds himself looking through the window again, avoiding your intense gaze.

"okay. go away now." he bites the inside of his cheek. "bother someone else."

"sorry," you push yourself off his desk, "didn't realize i was bothering you."

you don't seem offended, nor sad. you sit back at your desk, colorful pens back in hand and attention on notes until the professor comes back for the second english period. wooyoung doesn't understand your behaviour. do you not feel bad emotions? or do you simply shield yourself from them by wearing good ones as mask?

he sighs, and finally, his pen starts gliding on the blank paper that sits in front of him.

𝐍𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓.

cassie howard is a leech. lexi howard is the sweetest person you can meet.

what wooyoung doesn't understand is, why james likes cassie over lexi. cassie can't form a single sentence without using words such as like, totally, and literally. maybe wooyoung is too judgemental. why doesn't he get up and dance with lexi then, if she is so much better? why is he even thinking about the howard sisters?

his eyes finally leave james and cassie as they dance, or dry hump, in the tight space of the living room, and roam around the house to find a different entertainment. he sits on the couch, legs on the coffee table and arms crossed over his chest. he leans against the cushions, until a couple plops down next to him in a heated makeout session. he sighs, wondering why he even came.

outside is equally, if not even more, chaotic. drinking games in the pool. very safe. the dark haired man tsks to himself, watching as the guys hold the girls on their shoulders as they play fight while tipsy. he hopes nobody drowns tonight. as he reaches the kitchen in search of a drink, he is glad to find it half empty. he helps himself in the fridge, grabbing an unopened bottle of sparkling water. he closes the door, and twitches in surprise.

"fuck," he breathes out. "you are just... everywhere, aren't you?"

you stand near the fridge, earlier being shielded by the opened door of it. "sorry, just wanted to grab a sparkling water for myself."

wooyoung stands still, dark eyes quickly scanning your figure as he thinks. you wear a skirt, and a simple tank top. not revealing, he notices. before you can speak again, he hands you the bottle. you take the other end of it, slow and unsure. "take it. i'll grab another one."

"oh. thanks." you smile. "i won't forget this."

he scoffs, preparing to say something witty in return. but you disappear into the crowd, leaving him alone next to the fridge. he doesn't grab another bottle. not because he doesn't want to, or because he forgot. he doesn't grab one because it was the last, and he gave it away. why? he isn't sure. he just wanted to get rid of you. yeah, that sounds good in his head. doesn't matter if it's true or not.

wooyoung can't leave before james wishes. he is his ride home. he doesn't owe it to the blonde haired man. not really. wooyoung would do anything for his friends anyway. truth is, ever since he has started working at the gas station, wooyoung doesn't have time to hang out. the least he can do is go to a few parties and drive him around. it's not like he has anything else to do.

which is why he finds himself on the first floor of the jacobs' house, blunt in hand and lighter in the other. the first room is occupied, and so is the second. as the last resort, he reaches the bathroom. it is empty, and in no time, wooyoung lays down in the empty bathtub, pulls the curtain shut, and lights the blunt.

the first inhale is like the first breath back to life. he can't help the hum that escapes his lips. the drags are slow, he savours every single one. by the time he reaches half of it, his senses are dulled. yet not dulled enough to not hear someone entering the bathroom. it's not the first time it would happen; someone doing their business and moving on. except this time, his ears perk up.

"here, really?" your voice echoes in the bathroom, even though you speak quietly. "it's... filthy."

"yeah well, you're a filthy girl." a male voice chuckles, and wooyoung's brows furrow. "come on, bend over."

"seriously?"

"you complaining now?"

you scoff. "just don't take forever."

oh.

what a shame. you were no different than the rest. secretly, he wanted you to be. he hears shuffling, kissing, then clothes being unzipped and unbuttoned. he returns to his own activity, brain feeling fuzzy. not fuzzy enough, because the sounds you emit keep distracting him. you keep ruining everything without even trying. the one thing that brought him peace has lost its power, and wooyoung has had enough.

he presses the lit end on the tiles that cover the wall, then stands up, not bothering to sneak out. the pulling of the curtain doesn't stop the man that has you bent over the sink and into the mirror. he glances at you through the reflection, briefly making eye-contact, before exiting the bathroom. you see him. he knows you do. you don't react, instead closing your eyes and giving all the attention to the man. he doesn't see who it is beyond the ginger hair. he doesn't want to. disappointment pools in his chest. he shouldn't have done it. perhaps he would have made himself believe it wasn't you. sadly, the image is now stuck in his brain, and his footsteps become faster as his thoughts start racing.

james is going home, whether he wants it or not.

𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐋𝐄.

there are many students who work and go to school at the same time. wooyoung isn't special. however, wooyoung is one of the rare ones, if not the only one, who manages a shop as if it's his own. the true owner is old and sick, and only comes in once a month. wooyoung is the one who takes care of the other two employees, inventory, salary, and whatnot.

he currently sits behind the counter, brown eyes bloodshot from exhaustion fixed on the computer screen as he orders the items that have sold out. there are two books on the counter: one of the inventory, and one of history class. he multitasks between checking the items on the screen and memorizing the years of important events needed for the upcoming exam. and it goes well, until the mouse pointer hovers above the cherry coca cola on the site. he doesn't write any amount in the box. usually, he'd put two or three. if none keeps you away from him, so be it.

the sound of the door opening doesn't distract him. it is the scent that does, making him look away from the screen and towards the fridges. you stand there, eyes skimming over the different soda cans. you linger by the cherry cola section, biting your lip in the process. wooyoung mimics you subconsciously, biting his own. you wear a dress today. he hasn't seen you at school, you didn't have any classes together. frankly, he was a tad bit bored. he wanted to see what else you had to offer that could annoy him.

he averts his gaze as you turn around and make your way to the counter. however, he does catch a glimpse of a few bruises on your neck. the memories of last night flood his mind, and wooyoung gets reminded just what you are. a disappointment.

"hello, calum."

right. he hasn't told you his real name. "mhm."

"just these two, please." you place two cans of sprite on the counter, right between his books. "studying?"

he sighs, minimizing the ordering site and switching to the register one. he scans the items, and finally looks at you properly as he reads the price out loud. "five."

"i never told you my name." you blabber, holding a five dollar bill for him to take. "i'm y/n."

he stays silent, looking at the crumpled bill in your hand. an awkward chuckle leaves you, and you try your best to straighten it, thinking it is the reason wooyoung won't take it. yet even when you do it, his gaze almost pierces you from intensity.

"uh... with tax?" you wonder.

"you can just put it down." he nods towards the counter.

"oh." your brows furrow as you follow his instructions, though the ends of your lips are still curved in a smile. "i don't have a contagious rash, calum."

"i do not care." he grabs the bill, placing it in the register and shutting it forcefully. "bye."

"aren't you a ray of sunshine today." you touch his nerve.

the man opens his mouth, ready to degrade you as you make your way towards the door, before he notices the bruises littering your arms and legs. he may be out of line, but something just won't leave him be at peace. "you like it rough?"

you stop in your tracks, body frozen. "what?"

"you heard me." he crosses his arms over his chest, something he does whenever he thinks deeply. "look at me when i'm talking to you."

"jeez louise." you chuckle nervously as you turn around. "it's like hearing my dad. look at me when i'm talking to you."

"does your dad know men fuck you in bathrooms of other people's houses?"

you don't seem surprised by his vulgar choice of words. not offended, neither. you seem scared. you tremble under his gaze as he circles the counter, approaching you slowly until you have to lean your head back slightly to look at him. "uh..."

"answer me."

"i-" you stutter, the cold cans in your hands the only thing cooling you from late summer heat and wooyoung's fire gaze. "he doesn't."

"you proudly showing off all these... sex injuries?" he lifts your arm, touching you for the first time. his fingertips tingle like soft electricity as he examines your bruises. these don't look like sex injuries. they look like proper injuries. at this moment, he wishes you'd confirm they're what he accused you off. for your sake, and for his sanity.

you don't reply at first, audibly gulping. then, you smile, too soft for the words that come out your lips. "what can i say? i do like it rough."

wooyoung's hand lingers on your arm, eyes searching yours for any hidden signal you might be sending him. when he finds none, he lets go, letting you resume your path to the exit.

"y/n?" your name is bittersweet on his tongue.

"yes?" you turn your head to the side as you touch the door handle.

"those aren't sex injuries." wooyoung's voice is laced with worry.

"i know." you lock eyes with him one more time, then finally step out.

he abandons both studying and ordering, leaving it for another day. his mind is too loud for either. yet, he re-enters the order site, just to type in generous number next to the cherry coca cola. as he does so, he can't help but wonder: how long until you start crying for help?

DEFINE LOVE.

group projects are useless. in a group of five, one or two people end up doing all the work, and one always makes up excuses and doesn't contribute. the rest? they do such a shabby job that doing nothing would've been more helpful.

as the media studies professor assigns the groups, wooyoung lays with his arms on the desk and his head on them. if he doesn't see mr herbert, mr herbert won't see wooyoung either, right? wrong.

"y/n, james, cassie, lexi, and wooyoung."

gods.

"since y/n isn't here today, please notify her of this project that must be done by the end of the month. your theme is: toxic love. i want you to show me the works. camera work, editing, acting, costumes, makeup, all of it."

fitting, wooyoung thinks as he looks over at your seat. to say he isn't worried about you would be a lie. he hopes you slept in, or caught a little cold. when you come back tomorrow, he hopes you don't have a new bruise on your skin. he doesn't analyze the sheet mr herbert gives him, eyes stuck on your empty chair. so much worry for a girl that doesn't even know his real name.

days have passed, and you don't share many classes. it was easy to keep away from you. what wooyoung doesn't understand is that, despite being friendly and kind, you do not have a single companion. you always roam the hallways alone, barely making it to your locker without getting pushed and shoved by people who won't look where they are going. the only person you interact with is him, by waving at him or simply smiling.

and your boyfriend. you may not be a gossip girl, but wooyoung can be if he wants to.

"who is she, anyway? she just dropped out of the open sky." wooyoung nods towards you one day as he replaces his math books with english.

james follows his gaze, and soon enough, lands on you pressed against the lockers, with a tall man towering over you. "ah, y/n? she just moved here at the end of summer. as soon as she moved with her parents, logan got his hands on her. he doesn't let her talk to anyone, that idiot."

"logan?" wooyoung raises an eyebrow at his blonde friend. "as in, nate jacobs' best friend, logan? that ginger cunt?"

"yep." james nods, then slams his locker shut. "real shame. she seems nice."

it is a real shame. shame that whenever nate jacobs is mentioned, wooyoung gets bad news. now, you're a part of it. but of course it is logan. how could he not recognize that stupid ginger head? his jaw tightens as logan raises his voice at you, and while wooyoung cannot comprehend what he is saying, the startled look on your face is enough for him to react. he slams his own locker shut, storming towards you as fire pools in his chest.

by the time he makes it, logan is kissing you. that bipolar fuck. to anyone else, this would look like a normal new couple activity. making out in the hallways, nothing new. to wooyoung, it is anything but normal. he sees the grip of his hand on your waist. he sees your hands on his chest, wanting to push but not being able to. before he turns around to leave, he sees a single stray tear escape your eye.

he doesn't see you again, not until saturday when the group meets up at james' house for the project. today is just planning, with no cameras or props. he parks his motorcycle just as a car pulls up, the headlights hurting his eyes. you exit the car, wearing a cardigan and jeans. and of course the cardigan is pink. there is a plate in your hands as well.

"brownies. made them all by myself." you respond before he gets a chance to ask. the smell of chocolate makes wooyoung smile. he can't remember the last time he ate a homemade brownie. "i hope you like them, wooyoung."

his name rolls of your lips like a bitter cherry. the man stops in his tracks, right in front of the door as he was about to ring. "ah."

"i don't know the reason behind your little... ruse, but what i do want to know is how far did you think you'll make it as calum?" again, your reaction is way to timid. was wooyoung used to explosive women? why does this surprise him?

"it was funny when i told you at first. and then... i don't know. it was too late to admit on my own." he answers truthfully. brown eyes land on your cardigan again, scanning it. "a cardigan? it's still warm."

"not for everyone. you brought in a jacket the first day of school." you push past him, finally pressing the bell.

he doesn't believe you. however, he cannot convince you to be honest, nor can he take the cardigan off you to prove a point. all he can is stand aside and look at you, calculating his next move.

a pair of arms envelop him and wake him up, and instinctively, he wishes to free himself. when he sees the long brown hair, he decides against, and instead wraps his arms around the girl. "hi, howard."

"so uptight, jung." the girl rolls her eyes as she steps away, smiling at him. the red lipstick is present, so subtle, yet so her. wooyoung can't help but smile as she does. it is contagious. "come on in."

wooyoung steps in first, brushing past lexi and entering the living room where james and cassie are talking on the couch, barely an inch of space in between them. the table is filled with bottles of alcohol and snacks instead of studying material. he hears lexi welcoming you, and in the corner of his eyes, hugging you, which seems to take you by surprise. you stay frozen in place, not knowing how to balance holding the plate and returning the unexpected hug. lexi takes the plate and disappears with it in the kitchen, leaving you alone.

usually, he would already plop on the armchair he has claimed for himself in james' house. right now, he is waiting for you to enter, monitoring your movements. for somebody that liked to talk a lot around him, you seem quiet and lost. for some reason, he wants you to know he is here if you need anything. if you show any sign of discomfort, he'll react. weeks have passed since school started, and you are yet to have a friend. perhaps not having any and only being met with mockery and fake kindness has made you alert, and is now ruining your chance to relax and meet someone. someone like lexi. not cassie. definitely not cassie.

the urge to protect you grows bigger with each day that passes. you annoy him, yet in classes without you, he feels empty. he wonders what you do, whether you try to make friends, and whether those people are nice to you. glares and warnings from him only help when he is nearby. you're delicate, a blooming rose in a field of thorns. and a rose under a bell called logan scavo. although still weak and repressed, the desire to break that bell grows bigger whenever he sees a new bruise on you.

"hello." you greet, pulling the sleeves of the cardigan over your hands.

"hello?" cassie smiles, that pity smile of hers. "who are you again?"

"y/n," you respond, not at all surprised by her behaviour. you're used to it in class, anyway. "we have several classes together."

"oh, do we?" she turns to james, seeking validation, then to wooyoung. "haven't noticed you, like, ever. have you noticed her, wooyoung?"

"of course i have." he shuts her down, then looks at you. "take a seat. armchair's comfy."

he motions towards the armchair, surprising others. nobody sits there if wooyoung is in the room. however, it seems that since he met you, he cares a little less about those seats he once gatekept. as you sit down, he follows by sitting on the floor next to the coffee table. before you can open your mouth, wooyoung sees that you are getting ready to get up, and interrupts you.

"i am pretty comfortable here." he says.

you send him a grateful smile, then sit back and look around. he sees admiration in your eyes. you aren't wrong. james has a big house, and might be the richest student in the area. some of the most memorable parties were held in this place. wooyoung would know. he attended every single one of them. and stayed cleaning afterwards, while james was either passed out drunk or passed out in bed with someone. cleaning while high was something very pleasant for wooyoung, even if it doesn't sound like it.

"you like the house?" james asks, seeing the look on your face.

"yeah, it's very nice." you nod, eyes examining the lavish chandelier.

"you live in that shed looking house at the end of the street, right? how do all three of you fit in there?"

"oh, it's just..." you fidget uncomfortably, placing your palms under your legs so that you sit on them, before continuing, "until we find something better. my parents decided last minute to move here, so that's the best they could do."

"don't feel bad." wooyoung is grateful to james for a second, although a spark of suspicion stays present. then, james meets his eyes as he puts a beer bottle to his lips, then continues after a sip. "wooyoung here lives in a trailer. nothing to be ashamed of."

wooyoung's jaw clenches. he didn't mind being called a stoner. a weirdo. a jackass. whatever. he would do anyone a favour, if deserved. he doesn't get into anybody's business. however, when it comes to his financial state? that's where he doesn't like to be touched.

"his sister and her daughter were crammed up in there with him up until recently."

nor does he like when his sister is mentioned. "james."

"right, sorry." james nods. he offers you a bottle, which you politely decline by shaking your head. "suit yourself. anyways, wooyoung doesn't like talking about his sissy. she died a few months ago."

and lastly, wooyoung doesn't like to be pitied. he can feel you staring, yet his eyes remain on the young man that sits on the couch to his opposite. he sips on his drink as if he had just told his own story, not someone else's without consent. "you done?"

"where's your niece, anyway? arin, was it?"

wooyoung stands up abruptly, causing you to flinch. a pang of guilt hits his heart. he didn't mean to scare you. james is crossing a line, and wooyoung cannot afford it to cross it himself. it won't end well. that's why he decides to retreat to the top floor, down the hallway, then out on the big balcony. it takes him less than a second to find a blunt in his pocket and light it up, all while leaning against the fence with his head hanging over it.

he doesn't know how long passes. long enough to go home, he hopes. the sound of doors opening and closing grounds him for a moment, mind not yet fuzzy enough to let go. your scent envelops him, and god, he hates that he feels comfort. he wishes to tell you to leave, but if you do, he fears it'll be worse.

"hey." you call, standing beside him and leaning on the fence. "it sucks down there without you."

the dark haired man smirks. "it sucks up here without you."

"ha-ha." you fake a laugh, rolling your eyes. you take a good look at him, and he feels it. your eyes taking in his form, lingering on the tattoo. "wooyoung?"

"yes, cherry?"

"uh," you stutter upon hearing the new nickname, blush creeping up your cheeks. he sees it out of the corner of his eye. "i wanted to say... if i'm bothering you, i'll go back. just say the words. it just didn't feel right to leave you alone."

"that's alright." he takes another drag of the blunt, then slowly blows it in the air, away from you. "you're not bothering me. yet."

a comfortable silence takes place, and you both stop and look at the east highland that is dimly lit in this evening. now and then, wooyoung takes a drag of the blunt, and the two of you watch the ash fall from the balcony until it gets swallowed by darkness in the air. you're staring at him again, you can't help it. wooyoung likes it, and he also can't help it. still, one thing won't leave his mind.

"why are you with scum like scavo?" he breaks the silence first.

"he's not that bad."

"don't defend him." wooyoung's tone is annoyed and angry. "he is awful, and you know it."

you sigh, turning around so that you lean against the balcony fence with your back. he turns his head towards you, finally making eye contact since you got up here. his eyes soften upon gazing into yours, and the blunt is loose in his grip.

"why?"

you smile. your hand reaches towards his face, brushing a raven stray strand from his forehead so that it doesn't fall in his eyes. everything you do has him falling further down the void, even if you're just standing and doing nothing. a tear escapes your eye, yet you keep smiling. "i can't leave him."

"but, why?" his voice is a whisper, afraid that he'll break you if he keeps asking.

"he blackmails me. i have no other choice." one by one, tears roll down your cheeks, yet not a single sob leaves your mouth. you smile through it all. "besides, he's just violent when i give him reason to be. otherwise, he really loves me."

"that is not love. you're smarter than that. besides, what could he possibly blackmail you with?"

you avoid his gaze, instead choosing to throw your head back so that you can look at the glimmering stars above. "i can't tell you."

"if you think i would judge you, you think very low of me. i'll be offended."

a long sigh leaves your glossy lips. it buys you some time to gather the courage to say the next words. "he has my nudes. my videos. if i leave, he'll show them to everyone. there."

wooyoung remains silent. not because he is disappointed, or disgusted. it is because he refuses to believe that someone would use your trust and loyalty like that. you trusted somebody with something that is so sacred to him, and that person treats it like blackmail material. "what the fuck."

"i- i shouldn't have said anything." regret sets in you, he sees it. "as if the bathroom thing wasn't enough, now this. i just keep lowering myself in your eyes. that's the last thing i wanted."

you try to leave, the sleeves of your cardigan soaking in the tears of your cheeks as you rub your face. he grabs you by your elbow, and you wince. slowly and carefully, wooyoung guides you toward the bench, sitting you down and crouching in front of you. he tests the waters, thumbs rubbing your wrists as he holds your hands in hopes of calming you down. when you show no signs of discomfort, he gently rolls up your sleeves, revealing injured arms.

"oh, cherry."

you sob, the sound shattering wooyoung's heart. he heard this one one too many times, until they stopped a few months ago and the trailer went silent. this time, when he looks into your eyes as he rubs soothing circles into your barely healed wounds, he makes himself a promise that this time it'll be different. this time, he won't bury the person. he will save her.

"if you expect me to act as if i didn't see this," he says, brows drawn together as he watches you fight for air. "i won't."

"i don't ask to be saved." you manage to squeeze the words out in between the sobs. "i am fine."

"you're not fine-"

"i said i'm fine." your tone shifts, causing wooyoung to halt his moves and freeze in front of you. as if he wasn't confused enough, you make it worse by standing up and yanking your arms away from him, then standing up. "i'm going back. forget this ever happened."

you close the door as you go back inside, already doing your part of forgetting. yet how is wooyoung supposed to, when all he can see when he closes his eyes is your skin littered with bruises of logan's death touch?

wooyoung doesn't immediately follow. he stays behind, thinking long and hard. the blunt burns out in his hand. another unused item he cherishes perishing because of you. he discards it on the ground, littering on james' balcony. how do you expect him not to meddle, when only months ago, his sister was in the same position?

eventually, he comes back. he went to clear his head, yet he came back in a worse state. the weed did nothing, only gave him stinging eyes and a feeling of emptiness. upon coming down, he makes his way to the kitchen, refusing to face you.

"hey, you." lexi pokes his forehead before he can collide with her figure, thoughts visibly elsewhere. "want a brownie?"

"sure."

lexi unwraps the plate you've brought, and even if the scent of brownies was present before you entered the house, now it was more intense. so intense that wooyoung almost drooled, but managed to hold it until lexi held a piece for him to take. without hesitation, he takes a bite out of her hand, savouring the intense chocolate flavour and fudgy texture.

"god." he groans, chewing slowly.

"right?" lexi nods, feeding him the remaining piece and putting the smudged finger in her mouth. "she has golden hands. can you believe these are homemade?"

"i can, actually. you can't find these in a store."

you don't sit on the armchair anymore. you sit on the couch, beside cassie. she is talking to you, while looking at wooyoung. he wants to interfere. whatever she is saying, it can't be good. but he refrains from meddling, giving his attention back to lexi.

you don't speak the rest of the night. you laugh at a joke, nod your head as drunk stories are exchanged. wooyoung keeps to himself, choosing to examine your body language instead. much like him, you were probably expecting to work on the project. when midnight comes, and not even an outline is made, you seek for a way out. he sees you fidgeting with your phone, the sleeves of your cardigan, and looking out the window. you've probably called logan to pick you up.

midnight turns into one in the morning, and you are still stuck between cassie and james. you've even accepted a bottle of beer, slowly sipping it. wooyoung is still sat on the floor, to your opposite. you do your best to avoid his gaze. seeing your flushed cheeks, he realizes alcohol isn't your friend. thus, he offers to save you once again.

"it's getting late, guys."

"we are just getting started," cassie giggles. "and we haven't started the project yet!"

"yeah, i don't think we're doing that tonight." the dark haired man stands up, running his fingers through his hair to tame it. "i'm leaving. anyone else?"

your eyes meet his. it is a silent plea for help, and this time, he's glad you're asking.

"cherry? need a ride home?"

the room stills, laughter dies out. you don't notice, too busy getting yourself off the couch. wooyoung pays them no mind, instead offering you his hand so that you don't trip over the coffee table and their legs. you accept it, carefully making your way out.

you say your goodbyes, too tipsy to realize that wooyoung's nickname, his offer to drive you home, and him holding your hand are a big deal to those who know him longer than you. before any of them can put together a sentence, wooyoung picks up his leather jacket, and leads you outside to the motorcycle, slamming the door shut behind him.

"you okay?" he asks.

"i forgot my plate." you complain.

the man smiles, the hazy look on your face too cute to leave him indifferent. he abandons your hand, retrieving the helmet that hangs off the vehicle. you tilt your head back as he approaches you again, eyes wide with curiosity.

"may i touch you?" he asks.

"huh?" you're confused, until your eyes fall on the helmet. "oh. yeah."

even with your consent, wooyoung moves carefully. he pushes the hair out of your face, the tips of his fingers tingly as they touch you. your face is flushed, and he can't tell whether it's from alcohol or this interaction. he feels guilty for hoping it's the latter.

once he finally secures the helmet, he helps you sit on his treasured motorcycle. a vintage harley davidson, left to him by his grandfather. he never lets anyone sit on it. any time he has to play chauffer, he uses his sister's car. you, however, he doesn't mind. it's foolish, really, these rules and habits he set up that he keeps breaking for you.

"comfortable?" he asks as he sits in front of you. you reply by wrapping your arms around his waist, and leaning your head against his back. he stills, breath hitching. "i'll... take that as a yes."

"mhm." you hum, eyes fluttering shut as he starts the engine. "what about your helmet, though?"

"worried about me?" wooyoung can't help but tease. "i only have the one, but i don't need it."

"i don't want your death on my conscience. i have enough on it already." you chuckle.

it was meant to be a joke, but wooyoung doesn't laugh. he wonders what troubles follow you every day, and whether they can be resolved. whether he can resolve them. his eyes drop to your arms, where the pink cardigan sleeves hide the little secret you've shown him.

"are we going?"

"yeah," wooyoung blinks, eyes now fixed on the road as he slowly backs away from james' house. "where should i drop you off?"

"logan's."

the young man clenches his jaw. there is no way you are going to his house in this state. "i can't do that."

"just... drop me off one block away, and i'll walk. he can't see me with you, anyway. he'd kill us both."

wooyoung stops the engine, head turning to the side to look at you. "what?"

"should i just walk? is it trouble?" you unwrap your arms and start undoing your helmet, and wooyoung suddenly feels cold around his waist.

"no," he stops you, putting the helmet back in place. "i- can't i just drop you off at your parents house?"

"i promised logan to sleep over tonight. he is expecting me."

wooyoung's hands are tied. you are running back into the lion's den, and all he can do is help you get there faster. his heart pounds against his ribs, and thoughts run loose in his brain. it all calms when your hands wrap around his waist again, beneath the leather jacket and against his white cotton t-shirt. subconsciously or not, you rub soothing circles with your thumbs on his torso, and it makes him calmer.

"i'll be fine, woo." you lean your chin on his shoulder, the side of the helmet pressed against his neck and cheek. "i pinky promise."

when he turns to look at you again, he can't help but smile upon seeing your squished cheeks in the helmet and eyes looking up at his. when he looks at your arms around him, he sees your pinky finger waiting for his, and he rolls his eyes before interlocking it with yours. "stupid girl."

"you like me." you giggle, leaning your head against his back once again as he starts the engine.

he pretends not to hear you.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒.

before school, wooyoung stops by the shop. he reviews all the inventory that has arrived, and signs the papers so the driver can leave. lydia, the middle-aged woman who works the morning shifts, immediately gets to work sorting out all the items they've received. wooyoung lingers by the counter, picking through the rack of cigarette packs.

"wooyoung?" the woman calls, knife in hand as she stares at the open box.

"yes, lydia?" the young man briefly glances her way, before returning to his hunt.

"this is a lot more cherry cola than you usually order."

"yes."

"okay." the redhead doesn't question it, instead already stacking them in the fridge. wooyoung knows best. it's why he is leading this store. "might try one myself these days."

"suit yourself."

"what are you rummaging for, boy?" the sounds wooyoung keeps making irritates her, causing her to halt her task in order to approach the counter and see what the young man is up to. "your brand is right there."

finally, wooyoung reaches for a pack. not his usual one, lydia notices. the raven haired man scans the item, then throws the cash in the register before shutting it and finally properly looking at the woman. "found it."

"you don't smoke that." she raises an eyebrow. "those are almost bland sticks in comparison to what you usually smoke."

"i hear those are not good for your health." he jokes, unwrapping the clear foil from the pack and tossing it in the trash can by the counter. "so i'm trying something new. healthier."

"right." she doesn't buy it. not one bit. yet she lets it go, for now. she follows as he approaches the fridge, grabbing a can of the freshly stacked sodas and shoving it in his bag. "what do you think you're doing?"

"i'll pay for it tonight," he yells, already out the door.

in english class, he is glad to see he has arrived before you. he sets the can on your desk, and sits at his own.

little by little, the desks are occupied, and the pointer on the clock is dangerously reaching the number nine. you are still not here. everyone else is, with lexi and james greeting him as soon as they enter through the door. the clock strikes nine, and the teacher arrives. you? not here.

you promised you'd be fine. pinky promised, even.

the can of cola occupies your desk, untouched. a taunting reminder that you aren't here because something might've happened to you. or someone. as he falls deep into his thoughts, he begins to see a pattern. every time you don't show up at school, the day after you appear with new bruises. the more he thinks, the more restless he grows. brown eyes glance at the clock, awaiting the end of the class. he isn't one to ditch, or create trouble. no, he is an average student. today, that will have to change.

wooyoung stands up, shoving his belongings into his bag, and making his way outside the classroom, despite the teacher's warnings. but not before grabbing the now warm can of coke from your desk, leaving a wet circle behind where it sat.

he slows the bike before he reaches the curb, lets the engine idle while his feet skim the pavement. the street is dim, washed in the kind of yellow light that makes everything look unreal. his hands stay tight around the grips. the helmet presses in around his head, familiar and suffocating.

he doesn't know why he came here.

the thought comes late, inconvenient. he should have asked it sooner. now the engine is still running, heat bleeding up through his legs, and turning around would feel like admitting something he's not ready to name. he kills the engine.

the silence feels immediate, heavy. the street doesn't sound the way it did while he was moving. every noise stands out now. a car passing somewhere too far away, voices drifting from inside the house, laughter sharp and careless.

logan is outside, leaning against the brick wall. phone in his hand. jacket unzipped. relaxed in a way that makes wooyoung's jaw tighten.

nothing about him looks like a villain. that bothers wooyoung more than it should. he swings off the bike and lets it rest on the stand. doesn't take the helmet off. the visor stays down, tinting the world darker. safer. he walks closer, steps measured, controlled. he doesn't announce himself.

"hey." he calls.

logan looks up, annoyed first, then squints like he's trying to place him. "yeah?"

wooyoung doesn't answer. he hadn't planned words. they scatter the moment logan opens his mouth again.

"you lost or something, jung?"

the pressure behind wooyoung's ribs builds. he thinks about the bathroom mirror. about how easy it was to decide what he was seeing. about how much worse it feels now that he knows he was wrong.

"maybe," he says, and hates how small it sounds.

logan laughs. short, dismissive. "then keep it moving, man. i don't need no weed from you."

it's not cruel. it's not threatening. it's casual. careless. mocking in a way wooyoung is used by people like him. he acts as if no weight sits on his chest. that's what cracks something. wooyoung steps forward and shoves him. it's abrupt, ungraceful. logan stumbles back a step, hits the wall with his shoulder.

"what the fuck—"

wooyoung doesn't let him finish. he closes the distance too fast, helmet knocking into logan's jaw when he leans in. the impact sends a dull ache through his skull. it grounds him. logan swings back, wild and off-balance. his fist glances off wooyoung's shoulder. someone swears. shoes scrape against concrete. it's messy and loud and nothing like the fights wooyoung imagines later, when he's trying to justify this to himself.

they trade hits that don't mean much. elbows, knuckles, breath knocked out and replaced with adrenaline. it's over almost as quickly as it starts. logan slips on the uneven pavement and goes down hard, air leaving his lungs in a sharp sound. wooyoung freezes.

for a second, all he can hear is his own breathing, too loud inside the helmet. his hands shake. this wasn't supposed to be anything. it was supposed to stop something. instead it's only made it worse. logan groans, rolls onto his side, swearing under his breath. alive. furious. breathing.

that's enough.

wooyoung steps back. the helmet feels unbearable now. too tight, too hot, too loud with his thoughts. he pulls it off and drops it without thinking. it hits the pavement with a hollow sound, rolling once before coming to rest on its side. he doesn't pick it up.

he turns away instead, heart still racing, hands empty and useless at his sides. the bike starts easily, obedient. the engine roars too loud in the quiet street. he leaves without looking back, driving himself home.

home, to the trailer, where he slams the door shut and lays face down on his bed. everything burns and hurts, but nothing is worse than the dull pain he feels inside his chest. he didn't even get to see you. the not-knowing settles heavier than the bruises. all he can do is wait, and that is something he is somewhat good at.

exhaustion takes over his body, and soon enough, wooyoung falls asleep while thinking of you. which is odd, because it is the first time he has ever thought about a girl, especially one he knows only a short time.

𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐄.

next day, wooyoung is the one to skip school. he stays hidden in his trailer, eating ravioli out of a can with a plastic spoon as he sits on the floor. his breathing is slow and steady, each breath sending a sharp pain to his side. he thought he'd sleep through the pain. he was wrong.

even though injured, he still comes to the shop. he has skipped his shift the day before, right after the fight, but he had something to do then. sleep. right now, he is dying of boredom. thus, he finds himself in the staff corner, hunched over the untouched joints. it's been a while since he smoked properly, without having to cut it short because of you.

"wooyoung, i have to go now." lydia peeks through the beaded curtain. "if you need anything, call me."

"sure thing." he nods. "thanks for staying yesterday."

she waves her hand, as if saying not to mention it. "you need to take care of your face, boy. it's scaring the customers away."

"they'll manage." he rolls his eyes.

when lydia leaves, wooyoung is left alone in the store. the fridges hum their melody, as does the broken light at the end of the place. he leans back on the chair, focusing on his breathing as to make it hurt less. he does well, until he hears the doors opening and closing. shit, maybe he shouldn't have come in today. he can barely stand up without wincing.

the person stands by the counter, which means they need something quick and will be gone sooner than they came in. cigarettes, he presumes. or condoms.

or a single cherry coca cola.

"hi."

the man keeps his head low, brown eyes fixed on the hand that hugs the can of soda. you sound cheerful. he doesn't want to ruin it. "just this?"

a sigh escapes your lips. "are we still doing this? playing push and pull?"

you don't understand. he doesn't want you to see him like this. beat up, weak, ugly. he could barely face himself in the mirror, and he doesn't want to think about your reaction. he scans the can, biting the inside of his cheek. "two fifty."

for a moment, you stay still. he can feel your eyes on him. it feels as if you're choosing your words, preparing to tell him something. you opt for actions instead, placing a pink paper bag on the counter. "for you."

without once turning his head towards you, he takes the bag, not sure what to expect inside. of course the bag is pink. he wouldn't expect anything else from you. his hands finally pull the item out, revealing it in its fully glory under the purple neon sign that hangs on the wall above his head.

it's his helmet. not in its original shape, but not in the shape he left it in, either. the scratches are covered up by stickers, each one more sparkly than the other. a soft smile lands on his lips as he examines the flowers and hearts decorating the black item. although the cut on his bottom lip hurts like hell, he can't stop smiling. this is so... you.

finally, he looks at you. as expected, your face changes from hopeful and excited to mortified. and that's what he was afraid of. "listen—"

"wooyoung." you rush around the counter, placing your hands on his cheeks and not giving him an option of looking away. "i- i mean i knew, i just... wasn't aware it'd hurt this much to see you like this."

your eyes become glossy and red, and lord, if you drop a tear for him, he will tear this town apart. he places his hands over yours, skin burning where you touch him, and rubs soothing circles on the backs of your hands. "it's worse than it looks."

he won't tell you that it burns like hell. that his cheekbones ache as you hold his face. no, he's guilty for enjoying it. he doesn't know if anyone has ever held him like this, or looked at him with eyes like yours. you look like you care. the worst part? wooyoung finds himself doubting whether it's sincere or not.

which is what has sabotaged him the whole time. wooyoung has never had a serious relationship. a fling? yes. and that's all there was. not because nobody wanted him, but because rejection meant safety. it was easier to be alone than to get hurt. now? he is putting his walls down without even realizing, and alarms are finally starting to blare in his brain.

"i know you hate being pitied." your voice is soft, muting the alarms for a moment. "but please, let me take care of you. you have dried blood on your face, and it is hurting me seeing you like that."

it is funny how you seem to already know him better than a close friend like james. you don't wait for a response, instead pushing past him in search of a first aid kit. he sits on the counter, legs dangling in the air as he watches you rummage for the box. the concentrated look on your face is cute, and he finds himself feeling disappointed when you finally locate it. he wanted to stare at you a bit more.

you set the box on the counter next to him, standing between his legs on a safe distance. his body and mind are in a trance, eyes following your hands as you prepare everything you need. your hands are gentle, and slow. he thought it'd hurt, but instead, it is almost ticklish. you clean his face, wiping off the dried blood, before moving on to putting ointment on the cuts. you clean the one on his eyebrow next to his piercing, then the one on his cheek, and finally, the one on his bottom lip. he winces, not from pain, but from sensitivity.

"sorry." you whisper, eyes still fixed on his lips. "did that hurt?"

"no, i just... i have sensitive lips."

"that's cute." you smile. "if you didn't bite them all the time and pluck at them... maybe try lip balm."

there is something about you seeing everything through pink glasses. it is comforting. wooyoung never thought he'd be called pretty or cute, and like it, on top of that. yet, here he sits, smiling like a fool despite the cut, because you called him cute.

"if it's any comfort, logan looks way worse."

"you know all the right things to say." he scoffs. "i hate that."

the two of you fall in a comfortable silence. his face is pretty much clean and treated, but you still find ways to linger and care. he sees it in your eyes every time you reach for something out of the box. he lets you. until a heaviness sits on his chest, and he remembers the reason behind his face.

"y/n." he calls, voice serious. you don't respond. you know where he is going with this, and you hope that if you don't respond, he won't continue. "you made a promise."

"yeah, well." the gulp on your side is audible, that if the situation weren't as serious as it was, it'd be funny. "i suck at keeping them."

your breath hitches as his hand touches your chin, gently lifting your head up so that he can take a look at your neck. the concealer you've put on does a poor job at masking the fresh bruises that cover you. it ignites fire within him, and his mind creates unwanted images of logan's hands on you on its own. his hand drops. not abruptly, not like he's burned. just enough distance to breathe again. his jaw tightens, then loosens. he looks anywhere but at your neck.

"you're out of concealer," he says, like it's a neutral observation. like it doesn't mean anything at all.

you huff out a quiet laugh. "yeah. noticed."

he reaches for the first aid kit before he can think better of it, fingers sifting through gauze and cotton pads. it gives him something to do. something that doesn't involve the way his chest feels too tight for his ribs. he stands on his feet again, freeing the counter.

"sit," he mutters, nodding toward where he sat.

you hesitate, just a second, then do as he asks. your legs brush his knee when you hop up, and he has to look away again. he wets a cotton pad, tests it against his own wrist like he's the one being treated.

"this might be cold," he says.

"i can handle cold."

he believes you. that's the problem. he works carefully, slower than he needs to, cleaning around the bruises without touching them directly. his hands are steady now. too steady. he focuses on details: the faint freckle near your collarbone, the way your breath stutters when the cotton gets too close, the way your lips glimmer under the neon sign.

"you don't have to," you say quietly. not pulling away. not pushing him either.

"i know," he answers, just as quiet. then, after a beat, "stay still."

it's not an order. it's a plea disguised as one. the store hums around you. the fridge, the light, the faint buzz of the sign outside. time stretches thin, fragile. he finishes and steps back, giving you space again, hands dropping to his sides.

"that'll fade," he says. "not fast. but it will."

"you're really bad at pretending you don't care," you say, not unkindly.

his mouth twitches despite himself. "so are you."

that earns him a smile. small. real.

"so..." he trails, shifting his attention to the cash register. "what else do you do besides being annoying?"

you laugh, the sound dear to his heart. "i like to draw."

"really? what do you draw?"

it doesn't take much to take the lid off you. you blabber about sketches, types of things you draw, where you do it. he doesn't need to ask. he is glad. it feels nice to know that you are comfortable enough to share this piece of you with him on your own. you carry a sketchbook around, cleverly hiding it and sneakily doodling in between classes. with how much he pays attention to you, it is odd how he hasn't noticed. he voices it out loud.

"i keep it away from you specifically." you cheeks warm up.

"from me?" he questions, turning his attention to you. "why?"

"i can't say. i'd rather die."

wooyoung nods. the last thing he wants to do is push you and make you shut down. you could use a friend. and frankly, so could he. one that doesn't bring out the worst in him. "alright, then. keep your secrets."

"nerd." you recognize the reference. "who would've thought that bad boy wooyoung knew that movie?"

"bad boy?" he repeats, an amused grin on his face. "is that how you see me?"

"black hair, leather jacket, eyebrow piercing, tattoos, smoking, parties, famous among girls... you pretty much give that impression, yeah."

he laughs, genuinely. he never thought of himself like that. he was always in james' shadow, just how he liked it. away from the spotlight, but known enough to make people stay away from him. and girls approach him whenever they needed him. it doesn't make him a womanizer if they are the ones seeking him, right?

"cute." he says without thinking.

"what is?" you're curious, legs dangling in the air as they hang from the counter.

"you've been checking me out. that's cute. well, embarrassing for you."

the words are stuck in your throat, and you struggle to form a sentence while he soaks in your expression. "what? no- i mean, it's impossible not to. not like that! it's just... you're everywhere."

"that's alright. i forgive you and let it go." he generously says. your relief is short lived, because the smirk on his face is bad news. "if you show me your little sketchbook."

"no."

"just one little drawing?" he places his hands on the counter, trapping you. he tilts his head, eyes searching for yours while you frantically look at anything but him. "one page."

"wooyoung." you warn.

"come on, cherry." the nickname is sweet and inviting. "why not? are the drawings... smutty?"

finally, you lock eyes with him. mortified. "no!"

he laughs, biting his tongue teasingly in the process. "then, what's the issue?"

he doesn't realize how close he is standing to you, until you move in further and your nose almost touches his. "you'll make fun of me."

he wouldn't. maybe. he wants to say it, but your scent is putting him off track. all he can think of is how pretty you look under neon lights. it casts a soft purple blush on your face. your eyes glimmer like the first time he saw you. the lip gloss is present, a little smeared in the corner. without thinking, his hand touches your face, thumb rubbing the excess gloss off. your breath hitches at the touch, yet you don't move. you let him. wooyoung is lost in the way your skin feels under his fingertips, how you blush under his touch, and how your legs don't sway anymore. you stay perfectly still as he admires your features. there is an odd sensation is his body. he doesn't recognize it, used to only lustful feelings when willingly interacting with a girl. now? he is utterly captivated by you.

another customer pushes the door open then, bell chiming overhead, breaking the moment clean in half. he steps away from you, and you hop down from the counter, smoothing your clothes like nothing just happened. wooyoung greets the customer, the look on his face back to neutral. still, when he looks at you, his expression softens. before you leave, you hesitate, fingers brushing the edge of the counter.

"thank you," you say. not for the bandages. not really.

he watches you exit the shop, leaving behind traces of your scent that clings to his body. wooyoung exhales slowly, like he's been holding his breath since yesterday. fingertips touch the stickers that decorate the helmet, and the fluttering feeling in his chest is foreign. it scares him that he doesn't know what it means.

𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐅𝐓.

wooyoung has already made peace with the fact that the project will never be done. they will all get bad grades, because he refuses to do all the work with lexi again and have the rest take credit. not this year. tonight was supposed to be the project night, not a party at nate's night. maybe he can ask the professor for a different due date, since he has been missing from school due to his... injuries. it didn't hurt at all. he just used it so that he can focus on the missed studies and the shop. and getting away from you and whatever odd feelings appear when you are around.

still, as james' chaperone, he finds himself pushing through the crowd of warmed up people in his signature leather jacket and washed out jeans. james had made a comment about it still being warm for a jacket, yet wooyoung doesn't bother to explain that he isn't cold anyway. he just uses it as a makeshift shield from people approaching him.

that shield doesn't work for lexi, because she approaches him and hugs him without a warning. "hey, stupid."

"hi, ugly." wooyoung pats her head.

"gosh." she pulls away, sighing. "i wish i could just sneak off in one of the rooms and do the project."

"howard, don't be silly." the young man rolls his eyes, pushing past her and going to the kitchen. he feels her follow behind. "go out there and drink. you'll feel better."

"and what will you do?" she crosses her arms, looking at him with a raised eyebrow as he rummages through cupboards. he doesn't answer. instead, he opens up a box of chocolate covered sticks, and shoves one into his mouth. "you'll... eat?"

"yep." he says with a full mouth. "then, i'll get high."

he doesn't miss the look on her face as he passes by her and goes to the living room. lexi hates that habit of his, that much he knows. she makes sure to voice her opinion on it every time she sees a blunt or hears him talk about it.

"woo-"

"i don't wanna hear it."

it doesn't take long for wooyoung to get annoyed. he hates being told what to do. he doesn't tell lexi to... whatever is wrong with her. he can't even find anything bad about her. and that annoys him even more.

the living room is somewhat empty, with everybody outside by the pool. again. he won't complain, because he can have the couch all to himself. he props his legs up on the coffee table, ready to get cozy and enjoy his snacks in peace, when someone pushes his legs off it.

"what-"

"oh, great! you're here too." james exclaims, plopping onto the couch next to his friend. "you can play with us."

"play?" wooyoung raises his eyebrow, looking at the people gathering around the table.

"spin the bottle." james is excited. "with truths and dares."

"what the fuck." the dark haired man breathes out, mumbling to himself. "eleven year olds."

"it doesn't get more simple and more chaotic. that's the beauty of it." james finishes off his beer, then places the empty bottle on the table and gives it a test spin. "is everyone here? where are y/n and logan? he said they'd be here."

wooyoung's chest tightens. his stomach flutters. a lump appears in his throat, and his eyes carefully skim the small crowd, as if scared of your appearance. more than that, he is scared of your appearance by his side. he doesn't know how much control he has left in him.

"we're-" logan pushes through the crowd, hand firm around your elbow. his eyes land on wooyoung, fire igniting behind his blue irises. "-here. what the fuck is he doing here?"

your eyes follow logan's pointed finger, and also land on wooyoung. there is an uneasy look on your face, and hesitation. as if you wish to greet him, but you can't. the grip on your elbow is stopping you.

"wooyoung is my best friend, and where i go, he goes." james shuts him down. "now, will you play or get the fuck out of here?"

the redhead thinks, biting his lip and squinting his eyes at wooyoung. the other man doesn't show anything but boredom, biting the sweet sticks in his hand. finally, logan sits on the ground, pulling you with him. "fine."

"good." james nods, then looks at you. "hi, y/n, darling. how are you?"

"i'm good, james." you smile, happy that someone other than logan is talking to you. "how are you?"

"i'm good too. now, would you do me the honors of spinning the bottle first?" he holds out the green bottle for you to take, and you happily do so.

but not before glancing at logan, and it seems that only wooyoung sees the nod from him before you spin the bottle. you were asking for a permission to do something so simple. he cannot imagine doing that to anyone. having so much control over his partner, overlook them and harm them, all while they do nothing but love him. you don't belong with him. you know that. for reasons unknown to wooyoung, beyond the one you told him, you protect him and stay in this wilting cage.

"cassie asks james." you say, clapping your hands once.

wooyoung dissociates. the sweets turn sour in his mouth, eyes noticing everything he doesn't want to. logan's hand on your thigh, an occasional squeeze or pinch to your side when you get too excited, a whisper in the ear that makes your smile fade. he is corrupting you, little by little, using your kindness for his benefit.

when your eyes lock with his, he freezes. he feels his hands go cold, and his heart beat loud. the moment is slow, and the crowd goes silent in his ears. you smile, so tiny, and so subtle, it manages to get past logan. he wishes to smile back. he truly does. instead, his brows furrow, and he bites the inside of his cheek. you don't expect that, and before he can do anything else, you look away. he can't fake happiness or excitement. not while you sit in front of him and he can't help you.

"wooyoung?"

the moment speeds up again, james nudging him awake. "huh?"

"kat is asking you truth or dare."

he looks over at the girl, as she awaits his answer. "dare me to leave. please."

"sure." kat nods, clasping her palms and leaning on the table. "i dare you to leave."

wooyoung squints his eyes. that was too easy. "what's the catch?"

"leave with lexi to the bathroom and come back after ten minutes."

there is a sly smirk on kat's lips. an uncomfortable one on lexi's. he wants to tell her that they don't have to. it's a game. there won't be consequences. but lexi stands before he can speak, waiting for him by the door. wooyoung sighs, jaw tightening. so be it.

as soon as they both enter, they hear a lock turning outside, and just then the weight of awkwardness settles in both of them. lexi sits on the edge of the bathtub, gaze fixed on the tiled floor. she breaks the silence first. "you got a stopwatch?"

wooyoung leans against the door, arms crossed over his chest as he looks at lexi. "we don't need one."

the girl nods, eyes wandering anywhere but on him. "so... this is awkward."

"only if you make it." wooyoung shrugs. "i could use the silence."

"right. sorry."

something about her tone doesn't let wooyoung enjoy the silence he was promised. he walks over to her, crouching beneath her so that she has no choice but to look at him. her eyes are red, and a few tears have already escaped her them. wooyoung places his hands on her knees. "what's wrong, ugly?"

"i just..." her voice is hoarse. "i feel out of place."

wooyoung hums, thumb absentmindedly pressing into her knee. "yeah. makes sense."

lexi blinks. "that's it?"

"what, you want a speech?" he tilts his head. "everyone out there is pretending they belong. you're just bad at pretending."

a weak huff leaves her nose. not quite a laugh. "you don't seem to care."

"i do," he says easily. "just not about fitting in."

she studies his face like she's trying to figure out how that's possible. "must be nice."

"it's lonely," he corrects. "what triggered this?"

she hesitates for a while. a moment passes, and wooyoung doesn't rush her. "i see all these people making out, touching and fucking like it's nothing. i haven't even had my first kiss yet."

"that's it?" he repeats her earlier words.

she shoots him a glare, a silent warning. "don't."

"lexi, there are no set rules in time about these things. they're not better than you for already having it, nor are you better than them for not yet having it. it goes both ways. when you're ready, it'll happen." he pushes himself off the ground, sitting on the edge of the tub next to her.

"i am ready." she protests. "but it seems that everybody sees right through me. at first i didn't want it to be with just anyone. now, i am growing desperate."

"it's nothing special, trust me." wooyoung sighs. "you'll see."

"easy for you to say..."

silence engulfs the bright bathroom again. there is nothing comforting about this situation, and if they don't exit soon, lexi could have a whole meltdown here. it will just make it worse for her case. he glances at his phone screen, and realizes they have five more minutes. he can repair some damage.

"i get it." he nods. "you want it to be with someone who cares. and someone you care about."

"yeah."

"you care about me too, right?"

she whips her head around, so fast that her neck cracks in a satisfying way. "what?"

"do you?"

lexi stumbles on her own words, struggling to form a sentence. "yeah, of course. i've known you forever."

"good."

the young man places his hands on her cheeks, wiping the tears away with his thumb as his eyes search her face. when she doesn't pull away, wooyoung takes it as a signal to lean in. it is natural to him, kissing girls. he has done it many times, much like lexi said. this is nothing more but an offer and comfort for a friend.

he stops mere inches away, allowing her one more moment of backing off. she doesn't, instead leaning in herself and pressing her lips against his. he can smell the lipstick off her, the signature red she always wears. the kiss is sweet, soft, and full of emotions. none of them are romantic. not to wooyoung, at least. and they shouldn't be to lexi, either.

wooyoung is the first to pull away, hands still on her face. her eyes stay shut, tears still streaming down her cheeks. "lexi?"

"i don't know if i feel better or worse." she admits.

"why would you feel worse?"

"because i know i'll dream of this. and i'll never have it again. not in a way that i want, anyway."

oh.

fuck.

"i-" he is taken aback by the sudden confession. "i didn't know."

"a moment of weakness." the girl smiles through her tears. "you shouldn't have ever known."

he feels somewhat bad. not for the reasons one might think, such as kissing his friend who secretly harbored feelings for him. no. it's imagining someone else there instead. someone he barely knows. and replaying it as they exit, an arm around the friend for comfort and eyes fixed on you.

𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄.

logan scavo is not the most loyal man you'll meet. you know that. he has brought countless girls over, slept with them with you in the next room, made out with them at parties. then why do you feel so bad for feeling jealous when wooyoung and lexi exit the bathroom? she looks flushed, and wooyoung seems closer to her than usual. they don't speak of it. they sit back down, as if nothing happened. you try to catch his gaze, but he cleverly dodges it.

you tell yourself it's nothing. you've gotten good at that. good at shrinking feelings until they fit somewhere harmless, somewhere logan won't notice. jealousy is ugly. you don't get to have it. not when you've stayed. not when you've forgiven worse.

logan leans back, arm draping behind you like a claim more than a comfort. his fingers don't touch you, not really. they hover. they always hover when he's distracted. you let it happen. you always do.

lexi laughs at something james says. it's a little too loud, a little too breathless. she keeps glancing at wooyoung like she's afraid he'll disappear if she doesn't keep track of him. he doesn't look at her. he doesn't look at you either. his attention is fixed on the bottle, on his hands, on anything but faces. it shouldn't bother you.

it does.

you replay the image without meaning to: the way she walked out first, cheeks flushed, eyes shiny. the way wooyoung followed, protective and touchy. you've seen him detached, sarcastic, bored. you've never seen him careful. at least not with anyone other than you. your stomach tightens at the thought. you know the feeling. you refuse to name it.

"you okay?" logan murmurs, low enough that only you can hear it.

you nod instantly. too fast. "yeah."

he studies you for a second, eyes narrowing, like he's checking for something he doesn't actually want to find. then he shrugs, attention drifting away again. satisfied. you hate how relieved you feel when he stops looking. the bottle spins again. someone groans. someone laughs. the party swells and recedes like a tide you're stuck standing in. you glance at wooyoung despite yourself.

he's already looking at you.

it lasts barely a second. long enough to register. not long enough to mean anything. his jaw tightens before his eyes flick away, as if he's been caught doing something he promised himself he wouldn't do again. your chest aches.

you don't know why that look feels different from all the others you've shared before. maybe it's because this time, he looks... guilty. not cold. not annoyed. guilty. as if something happened that you weren't allowed to see. as if something was taken from you without your consent.

you press your nails into your palm until the sting grounds you. logan's hand finally lands on your thigh, fingers squeezing once. a silent reminder. you soften immediately, leaning into him, offering him a smile you've practiced to perfection.

"truth or dare?" maddy asks.

"truth," logan says for you, before you can speak.

"if you could be with anyone else in this room, who would you choose?" you should've known maddy would ask something like that. stirring drama, it's her power.

"ask something else." logan is unamused, taking a sip of his beer.

maddy isn't scared of logan. she isn't scared of anyone. thus, she smiles at logan, so innocently, and bites her lip. "why? jealous she'll say someone you don't like? or ashamed because someone else could do a better job?"

"it's an inappropriate question. i am her boyfriend."

"you don't act like it."

"excuse me?"

"you heard me, jackass."

insults are exchanged, and with each one thrown, they are getting more into each other's faces. maddy is pointing her nail into his chest, and he is gripping the coffee table so hard it turns his knuckles white. the bottle isn't the only thing on it now, with the two of them leaning against it as the moment gets more heated. you stay still, knowing better than to interrupt him. there is still space in between them, where your gaze escapes and lands on the figure that is already looking at you. wooyoung doesn't seem fazed by the situation unfolding in front of him. his eyes show the emotion you hate, much like him. pity. you don't need it. not from him, not from anyone.

"guys." james interrupts, getting tired of the chaos and not wanting anything to happen in nate's house. he'd be responsible for suggesting the game, and for getting maddy in trouble. "come on."

"yeah, maddy. back off."

"i will." she smiles again, making logan's blood boil. "as soon as she answers the question."

slowly, the whole group shifts their attention to you. maddy with an encouraging look, logan with a warning one. your eyes betray you, landing on wooyoung's frame in between them.

his brows furrow, not angrily. confused. as if he didn't expect it. as if wondering why you are looking at him while everyone else is waiting for an answer. but this is your answer. a silent one, to yourself. if you weren't with logan, you'd be with jung wooyoung.

it is the first time you admit such a thing to yourself. having feelings for somebody. not feeling loved in your relationship. thinking that you'll find better in someone else. the only thing left to find out is whether wooyoung truly is what you want him to be. what he presents himself to be.

so far, he didn't polish himself. didn't make himself look perfect in your, or anyone's eyes. he shows himself as he is; rough around the edges, doesn't switch personalities depending on the setting, has only one personality. unlike logan, who acts like five people in one body. you don't want that.

you want someone who sees you the way wooyoung saw your bruises. you want someone careful like wooyoung who asks before touching you. you want someone tender like wooyoung who has treated your wounds. you want comfort, and security. something you only feel when you are in that shop or sitting at the desk next to him.

as you realize all these things right in this moment, the people around you start murmuring. they follow your gaze, soon landing on wooyoung. including logan. fuck.

before you can defend yourself, or logan can react, maddy scans the situation. and realizes just what she has done. she smiles at you, then winks, the rhinestones of her makeup blinking under the lights as she does so. "nice one, sweetie. we got him."

huh?

"you're so easy to piss off, scavo." she rolls her eyes, pushing him away from herself with her hand. "she wouldn't leave you for anyone. or anything. relax."

but you would. if you had the chance. if you weren't in deep shit since the day you moved here. you'd leave, and never look back. nobody here knows exactly what is keeping logan and you together. not even wooyoung. he knows a fragment of it. one that you let slip that night on james' balcony when you followed wooyoung to comfort him. you cannot allow yourself to set your eyes upon him anymore tonight. not when logan doesn't find this prank funny.

deep inside, you wonder whether wooyoung believes it to be a prank. what does it matter, when cassie's words ring back in your ears from the night of the project. when she caught you staring at lexi feeding wooyoung your brownies, and uttered the words. they are in love, they just don't know it yet.

you should've stepped away. that was the plan. but wooyoung somehow always lured you back in, whether he meant it or not. and you didn't resist. now, as you remind yourself of how they looked as they exited the bathroom, you feel a hollow pain in your chest. you feel selfish.

selfish for feeling jealous at the thought of wooyoung treating her like he treats you. does he tease her as well? does he care for her? how much time do they spend behind closed doors? what do they do?

"go on, spin the bottle!" james hits you with a straw, giggling as you wake up from your train of thoughts.

you do as told, spinning the bottle once again with logan's approval. the group has been fidgeting around since maddy has asked you a question, and people are now sitting in a different order. such order that makes the bottle land on cassie and wooyoung.

"youngie!" she exclaims. you can feel him roll his eyes. "truth or dare, babe?"

"ask me again." he mutters.

she sighs, but repeats the question, omitting the nickname this time. wooyoung chooses truth this time, probably not wishing to end up in the bathroom with someone again. unless that is lexi, you suppose. then, cassie asks what has been on everyone's minds. "what happened in there with my sister?"

the room is loud with cheering and wooing. you stay still, eyes fixed on the bottle, scared to look at him. he delays answering, waiting for the room to quiet down. the lump in your throat grows with anticipation and dread. "we kissed."

and erupts.

"oh my god!" the blonde girl cheers, jumping on her sister with a hug. "is it official? are you two together?"

the air is hard to breathe. the room is small, suffocating. it doesn't help that some of them have lit cigarettes, and even if the windows and doors are open, the smell still travels to your throat. you feel like dying on the spot. you can't take it anymore.

"logan." you turn to him, hands on his shoulders. "can i go lay down upstairs until we leave?"

to your surprise, he nods. in his head, it's better if you were up there alone than here surrounded by these people and their questions. as you stand up, you hear james asking where you are going. you expect logan to answer, make up something about you being tired.

"she's not-"

"she has a nicotine allergy. she's running from the smoke." wooyoung interrupts. "you should all know that by now, right?"

you hear it. loud and clear. everyone does. he says it as an accusation, a disappointed one. they shamefully look at you as you climb up the stairs, hiding their cigarettes under the table. they don't understand how seen he makes you feel. does he?

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃.

had you stayed just a few seconds more in that room, you would've known that the kiss with lexi meant nothing to wooyoung. that they weren't official. that they were only friends, and would never be anything more. wooyoung thought of lexi romantically before. he didn't act on it, because he thought he didn't deserve her. then, you came. you made him feel like he is worth something, like he deserves someone. you did it by being cutely annoying, constantly being in his space, and urging him to show more of his soft side than he usually would. you are the first person to uncover the first layer of him, and you didn't even have to try. all you had to do is look at him and smile with that stupid smile of yours, dangle your bracelets and drink your little cola.

now, wooyoung sits in the trailer. alone with his thoughts. all of them leading back to you. and it drives him crazy. he cannot fall for a girl who is taken. doesn't matter that the man who has her is the way he is. that is a story for itself, and wooyoung is yet to end that one. not to have you for himself, but to free you. to give you free will to decide for yourself what you want and deserve. not have it shoved down your throat.

"you changed your cigarette brand." james had noticed last night, looking at the box that peeked from wooyoung's jeans. he didn't say anything more, but the smirk on his lips was enough. "i won't tell."

driving james back to his house wasn't as peaceful as he had hoped. the man blabbered, tipsy, not fully drunk. it was the state where he said everything out loud, and truthfully. it was the state wooyoung hated, because james often made good points.

"is it possible that you only feel pity for her?" he had asked, leaning with his head against the window and drawing imaginary shapes on it with his finger.

"why would you say that?" wooyoung asked, knowing damn well why.

"because..." james trailed, looking over at his friend with worried eyes and hesitation. as if the words he would utter next will hurt him. "she seems to be walking the same path as your sister."

"she isn't." he said, convincing himself more than james. "i'll make sure of it."

"woo." james turned his body fully towards wooyoung, placing a hand on his shoulder. "it is not your fault for what happened to her. and it won't be your fault if anything happens to cherry."

"don't call her that."

"you need to step away. you'll only hurt yourself. you barely made it out last time."

the car came to an abrupt stop, causing james to fly forwards. wooyoung's breathing was shallow, and his mind ran with memories of his sister. her name was not uttered once since her passing, too many bad memories laced to it.

"because i failed last time i should step aside and watch?"

"look-"

"no!" he hit the wheel with his fists. once, twice. until his hands ached, and his senses dulled. he turned towards james, eyes bloodshot red and glossy. his voice? a mere whisper. "seulki died thinking i didn't care about her."

"that's not true..."

"it is true. you know it. i watched him abuse her every single day, from the day they met to the day he left. even the day when he came to try and take arin away from her, i stood aside and watched as he beat her to death. i did nothing. i thought i couldn't do anything. arin cried. she watched her mother die. and i stood aside like a fucking coward."

"but you did do something." james reminded him. a knife to the heart.

"too late!" the dark haired man yelled, hitting the wheel once again. "what i did didn't bring her back from the dead. if anything, i sent him after her into the afterworld."

silence enveloped the car. the road was empty, streets quiet. his heart pounded against his ribs, threatening to jump out and explode with pain. this was the first time wooyoung talked about that day with anyone other than police. he got away with self-defense, and was blessed enough to not end up behind bars. shame, he thought. he deserved to be there.

"i can't stand aside and watch that happen again." his voice dropped an octave. "cherry... she isn't strong enough. she pretends she is, and that can only get her so far."

"so... it is pity that you feel for her." james concluded. "not love. right?"

"can you love someone you just met?" he thought out loud. "not love, necessarily. just... like?"

james doesn't answer. he wouldn't know. he doesn't fall in love.

if what he feels truly is pity, where does that leave lexi? what if his urge to protect you is clouding his chance at something easier? something safer? did the kiss truly mean nothing? even if he imagined you instead of her?

𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.

more than nate's parties, wooyoung hates dances.

not everything needs a dance. fall formal is inching near, and so far, wooyoung has failed a project which was supposed to be easy, has messed up two orders at the store, and has run out of blunts.

he refused to do the project with lexi alone. when james and cassie had revolted, and asked why you weren't being held accountable, all wooyoung did was block their numbers and exit the groupchat they had created to attack wooyoung and lexi. that little fiasco left him with your number in his phone. of course, he saved you under your fitting nickname.

he doesn't want to go to the dance. he was going to make something up, like a shift at the store. or an illness. but lexi was faster than his thoughts, and found herself sitting on his desk at the end of the class with her legs dangling off it. "will you go to the dance with me?"

"i am very flattered, howard. but no." he says, eyes on your frame as you zip up your fuzzy pencil case and close your books.

since that night at nate's, you've been ignoring him. well, not really ignoring. you were just... dismissive.

"how did you do on the test?" "not bad."

"the cherry colas have arrived this morning." "oh, that's great."

"sorry about the project." "it's not your fault."

it didn't push him away. now he knows what it's like. when he did that to you, all you did was unintentionally push further, until he succumbed to your odd ways of making friends. now, he is doing the same.

"why not?" lexi pouts. "i don't want to go alone this year. we always go together, just for the pictures."

"i..." he trails, not really having a good excuse. usually, he would avoid those due to big crowds and all the professors in one place, each of them pitying wooyoung for what happened. this year, he doesn't wish to go because of you. that is, if you go with logan. "i invited someone else already."

he didn't. he never invited anyone ever. lexi always came up to him, and annoyed him until he said yes. this year? he might start acting like a man and invite someone himself.

"oh. okay."

no protests. nothing. she accepts it, hopping off the desk and making her way to her desk. he does feel bad. however, it is too late now. he doesn't know what the plan is yet. he rarely does this acting first and thinking later thing. that didn't start until you came into his life. where did you come from, and why here?

he lays awake at night, having just finished a video call with his niece. she is staying with his father, her grandfather, who has been nothing but loving and supportive to wooyoung since he moved away. he has offered many times that to come pick him up, have them all live together. wooyoung doesn't think he deserves it. he doesn't find himself deserving of his father's love. knowing arin is there is enough. he is happy in his trailer. somewhat.

thoughts run loose again, and he finds himself searching your name on social media. on facebook, there are pictures of you as a little girl. on instagram, the same girl, now all grown up. he has to do some digging, because your username doesn't use your real name. one thing that hasn't changed is your love for pink and accessories. on each photo of you there is a stack of bracelets, a necklace, an anklet. as he scrolls through your feed, carefully examining every post, he notices how easily you find beauty and happiness in ordinary things. flowers, bees, clouds, books, makeup, nails. now that he thinks of it, your nails are always nicely trimmed and a pale pink colour.

then, he receives a notification. a message request.

by you.

cosmiclove_99: stalking my profile much, wooyoung?

realization sinks in, and wooyoung's eyes inevitably land on the red heart he has marked under a picture of your eyes and glittery eyeshadow. fuck.

jungwooyoung: busted.

cosmiclove_99: :)

jungwooyoung: you're welcome to stalk mine?

cosmiclove_99: what makes you think i didn't already?

the man smiles to himself. he doesn't have many photos, just a few. him and baby arin the day she was born, a childhood photo of him and james, and one that james took of him on his motorcycle. it represented him, and it was enough.

cosmiclove_99: haven't had the chance to say it, but your motorcycle looks very cool. very you.

jungwooyoung: that is the best compliment i could ever get.

cosmiclove_99: :) it's pretty late. can't sleep?

jungwooyoung: not really. you?

cosmiclove_99: me neither. my parents are fighting over something silly again, i'm waiting for it to die out.

you weren't at logan's. that's a relief. wooyoung bites his lip, thinking before his fingers start typing.

jungwooyoung: do you want to talk about it?

cosmiclove_99: like on voice call?

he didn't mean it like that. but now that you've offered, he doesn't think it a bad idea to hear your voice after you drifted apart recently.

jungwooyoung: if it will help. i am known to put people to sleep with talking.

cosmiclove_99: hah! doubt it. i'll give it a shot anyway :)

wooyoung is the one who presses the call button, and after only one ring, you pick up.

"hey." you simply greet, voice soft. he ignores the fluttering feeling in his chest upon hearing your voice.

"hey." he says it back, as casual as he can. "is everything okay?"

"it will be. they do this once a week. i am used to it."

in the background, he hears their voices. muffled yelling, thuds, and crashes. god, you couldn't catch a break. what have you done to be surrounded by utter fools who do not care for you?

"so... it's pretty quiet where you are. i'm jealous."

he hums, looking around the dark trailer.

"is it lonely?" you hit the spot.

he hesitates for a while. he still graces you with a truthful answer. "it is."

there's a pause. you weren't expecting him to say it so plainly.

"i didn't think you'd admit that," you say.

"i don't, usually."

another crash sounds from your side. smaller this time. farther away.

"i guess we're both good at pretending," you murmur.

he doesn't argue. "guess so."

the line stays open. neither of you rushes to hang up. hearing your soft breathing on the other side is somewhat calming. then, you break the silence. "what are you doing?"

"laying down. debating whether or not it is smart to have a can of ravioli right now."

"can of ravioli?" you chuckle. "gross."

he smiles too. he knows you don't mean it in a mocking way. "what's wrong with ravioli?"

"in a can?" you laugh. "everything."

wooyoung doesn't know how long you talk about canned ravioli. perhaps more than he ever thought he would, but it makes him happy knowing that he is taking your mind off the chaos that surrounds you. you don't mention your parents, not really. and he doesn't push. if, and when you're ready, you'll do it yourself.

"is there a reason you liked that specific picture on my profile?"

"you're never going to let me live that down, hm?" he is tossing and turning in the bed, a big smile plastered on his lips. he remembers the picture he accidentally liked. the closeup of your eyes, the focus on your glittery eyeshadow.

"if you tell me why, i might."

"i guess..." he trails, turning over on his side and staring out the window into the starry sky. "whenever i see you, your bruises get all the attention. i never noticed how pretty your eyes are."

silence. wooyoung's insides twist. fuck, why did he have to say the truth?

"and, well, the makeup looked... nice." he tries to backtrack. when he receives no response, he sighs. "too far. sorry."

"thank you." you whisper. "that's the first genuine compliment i've gotten since i moved here."

"oh." his brows furrow. logan is doing a terrible job of being a boyfriend. "logan never...?"

"no, he never compliments me. well, aside from calling me sexy when he wants to do it." you casually reply. it irks him that it is so normal, only being nice to your partner when you want them sexually. you seem to sense his discomfort, and quickly chuckle into the phone. "it's okay, wooyoung. i don't need compliments."

sure you do. you'd bloom beautifully with them. he knows he is starting to, whenever you call him cute. "you can't possibly think like that."

you sigh on the other side, and wooyoung takes it as a cue to stop. he has gone too far anyway. instead of calling you to take your mind off your troubles, he is just reminding you of them. comfortable silence envelops the trailer, and all he can hear is your soft breathing and an occasional murmur from your parents. it seems that the fight is dying out.

"anyways, you said you liked the makeup on the picture?"

"yeah," he turns in the bed again, this time laying on his stomach. "it's pretty."

"can i put it on you?"

put makeup? on him? why? "uh..."

"it'll be fun. i promise. you can pick your own colours." you sound excited, and how could wooyoung break your heart by refusing?

"i- yeah, sure."

you squeak into his ear, and he moves the phone away for a moment while you celebrate. all with a big smile on his face. "yes! you'll love it! you have a pretty face for that."

again with the compliments. why are you fine with not receiving any, yet you generously give them away just like that? even if they're not true? wooyoung is not pretty. he doesn't think of himself as particularly handsome, either. conventionally attractive, maybe. enough to make heads turn, but not chase worthy. and that's enough.

"i'm serious," you add, like you can hear the doubt forming. "you've got good eyes. good bone structure. you'd be a great canvas."

he snorts quietly. "that's a first."

"won't be the last," you say easily.

he goes still at that. not because it's flirtatious. it isn't. but because you say it like it's a fact. like you're not trying to convince him of anything.

"what colours would you even use?" he asks.

you don't hesitate. "warm ones. maybe gold. something subtle."

"subtle," he repeats, amused. "you?"

"hey," you protest. "i can be subtle."

"sure you can, fuzzy pencil case." he smiles, eyes drifting shut. he pictures it despite himself; your hands steady, focused, gentle in a way the world hasn't been with you lately. the anticipation is foreign, never really looking forward to meeting with people. his eyes fall on the decorated helmet that rests on the kitchen counter, stickers shining under the moonlight that peeks through the unwashed windows. "alright. when shall this appointment take place?"

"friday? i'll come over to the gas station after school? it will be like a rehearsal before the dance."

right. the dance. he had rejected lexi, in hopes of asking you to go. now, that doesn't sound so good. asking someone's girlfriend to go to a formal dance. what a fool.

"wooyoung?" his name is a sweet whisper in his ear from your lips. he hums. "are you going to the dance?"

"no." he replies. and he means it.

"oh. that's a shame. i was looking forward to seeing you all dressed up."

the thought of you thinking about him like that makes him wonder how you will look. he isn't going, which means he won't see you. maybe you'll put a picture on instagram, and he can gawk at it. you'll wear pink, surely.

"what are you wearing to the dance?"

"logan picked a dress for me. i don't know yet."

right. he forgot logan's possessiveness goes that deep. he can only hope that he loves you enough to get you something you'll be comfortable in.

the trailer settles around him again. outside, the night stays still. on your end, the house finally goes quiet. words are stuck in his throat. he tries his hardest to swallow them, to not ruin the moment. but his heart aches, and he speaks.

"cherry."

"hm?"

"are you okay?"

there is a beat of silence, a breath of hesitation. then, you speak. "no."

wooyoung's heart erupts. there is a shudder in your breathing, and a quiet sniffle. were you crying? wooyoung doesn't know how to handle that. even worse, it is you who is crying. it devastates him that on top of all your worries, he has become one. he doesn't know when he became this overstepping. his fingers grip the phone, and he turns to his side. he wants to say many things at once. you should leave logan. you shouldn't go to the dance with him. you deserve better.

"i will be." you calm him, voice hoarse. "i'm stronger than i look."

"i believe you."

"thank you."

a yawn betrays you. he has done his job, it seems. shame. he was really enjoying hearing your voice. that doesn't happen often.

"sleepy?"

"mhm."

"then..." he turns on his back again, eyes stuck on the ceiling of the trailer. he doesn't want to hang up. he has to. you need to rest, and he needs to stop being selfish. "...goodnight, cherry."

he hears you chuckle sleepily, then shuffling. you must be getting comfortable under the covers. "goodnight, youngie."

the nickname makes his heart flutter against his ribs. it sounds so natural coming from your lips, and makes it harder for him to keep his distance like james advised him. how can he, when you find a way to wiggle back into his life whether he wants it or not?

before he hangs up, a few words still manage to slip through. "you're my only friend in the world, wooyoung."

the words don't settle. they hit.

something in his chest tightens. not pleasantly. painfully. like being trusted with something he has no right to hold. wooyoung presses the heel of his palm against his sternum, as if it might quiet whatever just lurched awake inside him.

only friend. dangerous words. he thinks of his sister. of promises he couldn't keep. of what happens when people depend on him. what happens when he doesn't act when needed.

"cherry..." his voice comes out rougher than he intends.

a soft hum answers him. you're already halfway to sleep. he swallows everything else. the warnings. the distance he should put between you.

"...i'm here," he says instead.

a tiny breath of relief leaves you, like you were waiting for that.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐘.

you avoid him again. not on purpose, he knows it. you don't share classes anymore, and the few you once did, mostly first periods, he has managed to sleep over and only arrived on the third period.

still, you find him.

in hallways, between crowds, with logan never far from your side. a small wave meant only for him. a quick smile. your tongue poking out before you disappear into the sea of bodies. once, you pass close enough to pinch his side, and he nearly jumps out of his skin, earning a strange look from james. it is ridiculous, how much those scraps mean. they make the days easier.

a hallway feels less like a battlefield when you grin at him from across it. the shop feels quieter, steadier, when he knows you might wander in later with your stupid cola and louder-than-necessary bracelets. the classroom is a storm that quiets down whenever you toss a colourful pen his way. to make your notes less depressing, you once said. he sees you secretly sketch in the corners of your notebooks. he doesn't peek. if it's a wish of yours to keep it private, he will respect it.

wooyoung is getting used to it. he knows the headline of today's chapter will be glittery. he knows he won't light a cigarette in between a double period. he pretends not to expect you. he always does. and in a world that keeps taking things from him, these fleeting seconds feel dangerously close to something being given back. he lets you sit on the window next to him, blabbering your soul out about a new hobby you might pick up.

it is sad how much logan's presence changes you. quiets you, pushes your true personality down and crushes it with his thumb of cruelty. wooyoung sees the way your smile falters when you see logan waiting for you in front of the classroom. wooyoung becomes invisible to you, and god, when you walk past him like you don't know him, it makes him want to rip his hair out. there is nothing wrong with having friends, and he cannot figure out why logan can't understand that. maybe because wooyoung isn't that subtle, and logan can see right through him and see his feelings. feelings for his girl. he is mistaken, though. right?

wooyoung breathes out, running his fingers through his raven hair as he stands in front of the mirror. it is friday, and you are supposed to come over for a makeup date. there is a phone in his hand, and lydia's contact number on the screen as the last caller.

"some police officers are asking about you." she had said. "you need to come over."

with a heavy heart, and even heavier fingers, he enters the conversation with you.

jungwooyoung: i'm sorry, i can't do tonight.

cosmiclove_99: aw, really? :(

jungwooyoung: we'll reschedule. i promise.

cosmiclove_99: sent a photo

his heart races as he opens it. it is a photo of your pinky finger, with a text on it saying pinky promise? wooyoung wastes no time, opening his camera and taking a picture of his own finger, with the title pinky promise written on it. he goes as far as to paint the text pink, smiling to himself like a fool. you are impossible to resist. it is as if you've put a pair of pink glasses on him as well.

cosmiclove_99: alright then. all is forgiven :) also, is it too much to say i'll miss you at the dance?

jungwooyoung: it's not too much.

as he makes his way to the shop, he thinks about how much he could really use those pink glasses now. he knows why the officers are here. someone has snitched again, reported the weed to them. nothing new. lydia already knows to hide it, and has a story to cover him. however, there is nothing to find these days, since wooyoung barely smokes.

deep in his heart, he awaits your call for help. he wants to be sober if it happens. he can't risk being in a hazy state if you need him, and thus, he has nothing on him at the moment. sure, there is always a stash that has buyers, but it is safely buried under his trailer. so far, there was no trouble.

until he sees a bag covered in soil on the counter, the officers standing by it and talking to lydia. his stomach twists. fuck. he forgot about that.

when did they have time to dig under the trailer? who told them? worse than that, how did he not notice? it's a generous amount as well, and he knows that this time he is looking at an enormous fine, or even prison time. he doesn't have that much money. all that is left is being behind bars, and that would mean no more seeing you. he can't let that happen.

he swallows hard, every heartbeat hammering in his ears. the officers glance up, spotting him, and one of them nods curtly. lydia looks flustered, twisting her fingers nervously, and for a split second wooyoung feels the walls closing in.

"wooyoung, step over here," one officer calls, voice flat but firm.

he takes a careful step forward, mind racing. his thoughts scatter, but they always come back to you: your pinky promise earlier, your shimmery eyes, your melodic laugh. he can't risk losing even the chance to hear it again.

"i... i didn't—" he starts, but the words catch in his throat. claiming ignorance might help, but they might also make him look guilty. he needs a story, something believable. he draws a slow breath, squaring his shoulders, and forces himself to speak evenly. "i only just got here. what's going on?"

one officer gestures toward the bag. "you tell us."

the smell hangs thick in the air. fresh. earthy. undeniable. wooyoung keeps his expression blank, like the answer truly means nothing to him. inside, his pulse roars. "this isn't mine."

lydia shifts beside the counter. too fast. too tense. he feels it more than he sees it. the officers sigh, then one of them leads lydia outside, leaving wooyoung alone with the older man.

"son." he leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. wooyoung feels small under his gaze, and looks down on the floor. "must we do this once a month? every time you step on someone's bad side? do you not make enough in the shop to do this on the side?"

the young man fidgets with his fingers, plucking the skin around his nails as he listens to the well memorized conversation. he shakes his head at the question, then waits for the officer to keep talking.

"i can't keep letting you go like this. people will start to question it."

"then why do you?" he finally looks him in the eyes. his heart swells, the tired eyes reminding him of his father's. "turn me in."

"i won't do that. you know it."

wooyoung lets out a hollow laugh. "you should."

the officer watches him for a long moment, something heavy settling behind his eyes. "your father asked me to keep an eye on you."

the words land like a punch to the chest. of course he did. wooyoung's jaw tightens. "he's not here."

"no," the man agrees quietly. "so someone has to be."

silence stretches between them. the shop hums with the low buzz of the refrigerator, fluorescent lights flickering like a dying pulse.

"you think this is mercy?" wooyoung mutters. "a favour you're doing me?"

"i think this is a chance," the officer replies. "and you keep wasting it."

wooyoung's hands curl into fists at his sides. chances. promises. pink letters painted across his screen only hours ago. he swallows.

"one day," the officer continues, softer now, "i won't be able to help you. you understand that?"

wooyoung nods. he does. frighteningly well. "what am i supposed to do? live in the trailer for the rest of my life?"

"you could accept your father's invite and go live with—"

"no." wooyoung doesn't wish to hear it. ever. even if he were at the verge of his life, he wouldn't do that. he doesn't deserve it.

"your father has never blamed you for what happened to seulki. why are you then punishing yourself for it?" the man steps closer, placing his hands on wooyoung's shoulders. the young man's eyes burn, and his vision blurs. "he's already lost one child. you're keeping him away from his other one."

the words settle somewhere deep and poisonous. wooyoung's throat tightens. his hands, still curled into fists, slowly loosen like he's forgotten why he was holding on in the first place.

"that's not..." his voice breaks. he clears it, staring past the officer at the stained tiles. "that's not how it works."

but the thought has already taken root. his father alone. waiting. grieving twice. the raven haired man's chest aches like something inside it is trying to cave in. he laughs under his breath, but there is no humour in it.

"you don't know anything."

the officer doesn't argue. and somehow that hurts more. "i won't beg you to tell me. but, if you ever do decide you are ready for a conversation, you know where to find me."

he doesn't take the bag with him. he never does. he trusts wooyoung to either hide it, or get rid of it. as his hand touches the door handle, wooyoung's words escape his lips. "i'll go when i feel worthy."

and he means it. as the officer finally exits the shop, wooyoung's eyes fall on the fridge. the cherry colas are looking back at him, the silver on the can shining under the led lights. he has unfinished business here anyway.

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

wooyoung stays late at the shop that day, talking to lydia. the day after, saturday, he sleeps almost the entire day. the bag taunts him, sitting on the kitchen counter and awaiting its fate. the fate that was supposed to be rue, yet she bailed, as she recently does since meeting jules. wooyoung doesn't like that girl. she is ruining his business.

when he wakes up, it is dark outside. there are sleeping lines all over his torso and face, and he feels very groggy. still, he reaches out for his phone, typing in your name into the instagram search bar in hopes of seeing your outfit for today's dance. there is nothing. did logan buy you something you didn't like? something you weren't comfortable in? there were no messages, either. not that he was expecting anything. why is he disappointed then? fuck it.

he tears the bag apart, fingers already doing what they know best; rolling blunts. there is one soon placed between his chapped lips, and as soon as he rolls the last one, he plops down on the still warm bed. with each second that passes, wooyoung wonders whether he should've come to the dance anyway. for you. he wonders if you are having fun. if logan is keeping you seated, or letting you dance. if you were wearing makeup, and if yes, how much. if you were wearing anything pink and cute, or something provocative against your wish.

lastly, he wonders if you think of him like he thinks of you. do you see him like he sees you? through the careless charade, behind the so-called bad boy persona. his stomach gets fuzzy with each inhale of the blunt, and wooyoung knows it isn't the weed. it's thoughts of you.

once he finishes it, he drifts away again.

the second time he wakes up, it is still night. he checks seulki's watch that rests on the table since the day she took it off to make lunch and never put it on again. it is close to midnight. shit. what is he supposed to do all night, now that he slept all day? easy. smoke again. this time somewhere else.

the door creaks as he opens it, and he barely steps outside, before his heart skips a beat. his leg stays in the air, not touching the steps yet. they are occupied. "what the hell are you doing in front of my-"

the person looks up. tear-streaked, shaking. "woo."

"cherry." he breathes out, dropping the blunt on the floor. he helps you up from the stairs, placing his hands on your bare arms and guiding you on your feet. your eyes are red and swollen. he is scared to ask. "what... what are you doing here?"

"i didn't know where else to go."

wooyoung freezes. the words settle between them, fragile and enormous. you didn't know where else to go. his hands are still on your arms; your skin is cold, trembling faintly, and he only notices when the shake transfers into his own fingers. logan did put you in a provocative dress. short, red, and tight. that bastard.

"what happened?" he asks quietly.

you shake your head before he finishes, shoulders folding inward.

"can i just... stay here for a bit?"

for a moment he forgets how to breathe. inside the trailer behind him is the stale smell of smoke, the torn bag on the counter, the mess of a life he never thought anyone would step into. you stand before it like a question. he swallows, then speaks, voice hoarse. "yeah. yeah, of course."

he crushes the fallen blunt under his shoe and opens the door wider. the hinges groan. you hesitate at the threshold, glitter still clinging stubbornly to your tear-streaked eyelids, bare arms raised slightly against the cold. something tight and protective coils in his chest.

"come in," he says softer.

the trailer feels smaller once you step inside, suddenly aware of itself. peeling wallpaper, cluttered sink, the open bag on the counter. your eyes land on it. wooyoung moves quickly, twisting the plastic shut and shoving it into a cabinet. the motion is clumsy, guilty. you don't comment. you just stand there, looking lost in unfamiliar gravity. he clears his throat.

"you want water? or tea. i think i have tea."

you nod, more for something to hold than from thirst. you sit on the ground, back pressed against the bed where he just laid.

while he fills the kettle his hands shake badly. he wants to give you space, yet he doesn't want to seem like he doesn't care. he picks through his words carefully, all while quietly searching for an appropriate cup and picking a chamomile flavoured teabag. "how... did you find me?"

"i searched for your bike. that's how i knew which trailer is yours." you explain quietly. your voice is raspy, as if talking alone is hurting you. "i... i called. multiple times. sorry for blowing your phone up."

wooyoung stills. his eyes drop on the discarded phone on the counter, the button on the side showing that it has been on silent. a single tap on the screen wakes it up, revealing multiple missed calls and messages from you.

"i'm bored" "i wish you were here" "this dress is so fugly" "logan is talking to the dj i don't know what's going on" "oh god."

there is a twenty minute interval between those messages and a new one.

"i need you, can i come over?"

just what has happened that made you ditch the dance and come seek him in this dark area of the town? behind him, your voice breaks the quiet. "it's over."

he stills, the cup clinking against the counter as he sets it down. slowly, he turns towards you, eyes falling on your messed up hair and smeared makeup as your gaze is fixed on the ground in front of you.

"talking to the dj? he gave him the usb with all my pictures and videos on it. everyone saw." you elaborate, a fresh set of tears escaping your eyes. you sniffle, yet you smile. "i am glad that you weren't there, after all. you didn't see it. i'm free. i think."

he promised himself he would be sober when you called for help. now, when you finally did, he is in the worst state he has been in since meeting you. he feels selfish for being happy that you look for comfort in him. he finds satisfaction in your sadness, and it makes him feel evil.

he pours the tea in the cup, then lets the teabag soak in it as he approaches you, setting the cup on the table beside the bed. he lowers himself to the ground, crouching in front of you. deja vu, he thinks. he remembers crouching in front of a crying girl recently. only this time, his heart aches, and his blood boils as he watches your attempts at wiping your soaked face off. it isn't gentle at all, you start to irritate your skin so bad that wooyoung has to grab your wrists and pull them away from your face.

"hey." he calls, grounding you. "you're hurting yourself."

"i feel dirty." you admit. "i- i want to wipe it all off me. the makeup, the dress, the humiliation."

"do you wish to change? take a shower?" he offers. you hesitate at first, biting your bottom lip as you think. "you can pick out anything you'd like from my humble wardrobe."

that pulls a smile out of you, and you nod. "i trust your judgement."

as wooyoung picks clean clothes for you to wear, you sip on the tea, waiting for his call. he sees you looking at the bag. he wonders whether you'll judge him. you know he smokes, yet you've never made any comment about it, besides telling him about your nicotine allergy. weed? you never cared. he's glad you don't judge him when it comes to it.

he sees you shiver, and speeds up his process of setting the clothes up by the cramped shower, along with a towel. he rummages through a box hidden away in the corner, pulling out micellar water and makeup wipes and leaving them on the sink, but not before checking the date of expiry. seulki rarely wore makeup, yet always had these things laying around. finally, he lets the water run for a while, until steam starts seeping through.

"shower's ready." he calls. you stand, placing the cup on the table and carefully make your way to where wooyoung is guiding you. "the lock is tricky. you'll have to push the handle up."

you nod, and quietly slip inside, brushing against him in the tight space. the bathroom door clicks shut and the lock slides into place with a soft, final sound. wooyoung stands there a moment longer than necessary, staring at the wood like it might suddenly open again. then he drags a hand down his face and turns away, forcing himself to breathe.

the pipes groan when the water starts running. the sound fills the trailer immediately. loud in the small space, steady, relentless. grounding. he focuses on it, on the rhythm of it hitting tiles, because his mind keeps trying to wander where it shouldn't. steam begins slipping beneath the door, thin at first, then thicker. the air grows warm, heavy. he busies himself.

the cup you drank from is still warm when he picks it up. a faint mark of your lipstick stains the rim. he washes it carefully, more carefully than he ever washes anything, thumb tracing the ceramic before setting it to dry. his hands don't stop moving after that. he folds the blanket at the end of the bed. wipes the already clean counter. adjusts the crooked picture frame nailed beside the window. pointless things. anything that keeps him from thinking about you alone in his shower, washing off a night he wishes he could erase for you.

the bag on the counter feels suddenly heavier than it did before you arrived. shame prickles at the back of his neck. he imagines you stepping out into the smell of smoke, into the mess of his life, and something tight twists in his chest. he opens the window a crack despite the cold. lets the night air push in, sharp and clean. he doesn't want this part of him clinging to you. you came for comfort, and he'll give it to you.

the trailer breathes. from behind the door comes the faint sound of movement. the shift of the curtain, the quiet thud of a bottle being set down, the rush of water changing rhythm. small sounds, yet each one pulls at his attention like gravity. he sits on the edge of the bed, listening. his hands remember the feel of your wrists: cold, trembling, fragile. he hadn't meant to grab you that suddenly. he rubs his palms against his jeans, restless.

time stretches strangely. the world outside the trailer fades until there is only the hum of pipes, the whisper of steam, the quiet knowledge that you are here, within reach, trusting him with something fragile. it terrifies him.

he gets up and places a glass of water beside the folded clothes. hesitates, then adds an extra towel within easy reach of the door. silent offerings. the shower eventually quiets. the sudden absence of sound feels louder than the water ever was. wooyoung's shoulders straighten instinctively. he looks toward the bathroom before catching himself, gaze dropping to the floor instead. his pulse kicks, uneven and sharp.

the lock clicks. he looks, despite himself, and can't look away. it is as if you have peeled a layer of yourself. you stand clothed, yet bare before him. no glitter, no gloss, wet hair, and flushed cheeks. his t-shirt falls to your thighs, hiding the shorts which he has outgrown.

"i look silly, i know."

"no, you don't." and he means it. you look safe in his clothes. "you look... pretty."

"thank you, wooyoung." you smile, sweetly like only you know. it doesn't reach your eyes, though. you stand still, fidgeting with the hem of the t-shirt as you wait further instructions from him. you are in his space, after all. when he doesn't speak, you do again. "can i... maybe... sleep over tonight?"

"of course." the words leave him before he can weigh them, before he can question whether letting you stay is wise for either of you. something loosens in his chest the moment he sees your shoulders drop at his answer. relief. he clears his throat, suddenly aware of the smallness of the trailer, of the single bed, of the warmth still clinging to your damp hair. he forces his voice into something steadier. "you can take the bed."

your eyes scan the bed, then him. as if calculating. wooyoung knows what you'll ask. where will he sleep? it doesn't matter. he'll stay awake if he needs to. the only thing that matters is you resting tonight, because lord knows when was the last time you had a proper sleep.

"i slept all day. i couldn't sleep right now even if i wanted to. don't worry about me." he explains. he nods towards the bed, encouraging you to get in. "it's comfier that it looks."

slowly, you sit on it, bouncing slightly. you feel the sheets under your palms, rubbing the mattress as if exploring the new space. he watches you carefully. you fluff the pillow, then lift the covers up, and finally slip beneath. just as you get comfy laying down, you sit up abruptly. "i'm going to soak your pillow."

"oh. right." he looks at your damp hair. "i don't have a hair dryer though. i usually just let mine air dry."

you hum understandingly. "then... i'll keep you company for a little while it dries."

you move towards the side, freeing up space on the bed. when wooyoung doesn't move, you pat the spot, silently inviting him. whether or not it's a good idea, the young man listens. he sits on his bed, and instantly, his senses sharpen. the smell of his shampoo clings to your skin, and the way you are submerged in his clothes and his sheets do not help the fuzzy feeling in his stomach at all. neither does the smile you offer him when you catch him looking.

"hi." you grin.

wooyoung looks away, scoffing while hiding his burning red face from you. "stupid."

there is a beat of silence. a train of thoughts. a grounding heartbeat, reminding wooyoung just why you are here. he looks your way again, only to find you already looking at him. not with a smile this time. you're thinking, biting your bottom lip in the process. "can i ask you something?"

"ask away."

"what are you and lexi?"

wooyoung doesn’t answer right away. his jaw tightens slightly.

“nothing,” he says. you don’t look convinced. he sighs. “she panicked. in the bathroom. said she’d never been kissed. i just… did it. so she’d stop spiraling.”

you blink. “just like that?”

“yeah.”

“that’s kind of intimate.”

he shrugs, but it’s not casual. “it wasn’t.”

“you can’t decide that for her.”

that hits. you are right. he thought he was doing her a favour. now, he knows it was cruel.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters. “it wasn’t romantic.”

“but you kissed her.”

he finally looks at you. he can't quite decipher the emotion in your eyes. it isn't positive, that much he can see. “yeah.”

you stare at your hands now, avoiding his gaze. “cassie made it sound like it was… something.”

“cassie makes everything sound like something.”

you bite your lip. “did you want to?”

that one makes him frown. “want to what?”

“kiss her.”

he exhales slowly. thinks about it. actually thinks.

“i didn’t not want to,” he says, and immediately sees your expression shift. “not like that,” he adds quickly. “i just didn’t care. it didn’t feel like anything.”

“okay.”

it’s not okay. he can tell. but you’re retreating. folding in on yourself.

“why does it matter?” he asks, softer now.

“because..." you stop yourself, taking a deep breath instead of continuing. "it doesn't matter. curiosity, i guess."

"right." he studies you. the way you’re not looking at him. wooyoung shifts slightly, but keeps distance. “lexi and i aren’t anything. i’m not seeing her. i’m not trying to.”

you glance at him. “are you trying to see anyone?”

he huffs lightly. “i’m barely trying to see tomorrow.”

not romantic. not reassuring. just honest.

“okay,” you murmur again. but this time it sounds steadier.

a beat passes. there is something else on your mind. something bigger than this, he senses. "what's on your mind?"

"there is... more to the story than just nudes." you say it. "if you want to know, of course. i'm ready to tell you."

"speak, cherry." his voice is a mere whisper. "i'll listen. you know i always do."

and you do speak. you tell him about your life before moving here. how peaceful it was. how you waited for summer, and met logan. how your parents liked logan, so much that he managed to convince them to move here. how they started drinking when your father's brother took your house, and you later found out you had to move anyway, with or without logan. how logan gave your parents the money to move, in exchange for you. how easily they gave you up, all for a shed in a different town and a bottle of liquor always full in the cabinet.

wooyoung listens, not interrupting you once. he fidgets with the sheets, and every time your voice shakes and you stop to take a deep breath, he bites his cheek a little harder. every time you mention getting punished for doing something against logan's will, his blood boils. and when he finds out you didn't even send him the nudes yourself, that he took them of you and used them against you, making you do things you didn't want. from things as simple as going to the store and buying him a beer, to having sex with him. his jaw clenches, so hard his teeth squeak under the pressure. he sees red. he wants to make a trip to the scavo house again. nothing would stop him. not james, not police, not anyone. except you, and the sob that escapes you, making wooyoung look at you.

"he was my first boyfriend. i thought," you hiccup, pulling your knees to your body as if to shield yourself, then continue, "i thought that's how it is. how it's supposed to be. meeting you has only made me more confused."

wooyoung swallows, then speaks, voice low as to not scare you off. "how so?"

"you were a friend. yet... i felt more comfort and care from you than i did from my own boyfriend. it opened my eyes, i guess. and at some point, i hated you for it. it was easier when i didn't know any better."

easier before him. his chest tightens at that. part of him aches at the thought of ever hurting you, even by accident. another part, the uglier one, burns with quiet satisfaction that he changed something for you. that you saw something different with him. he pushes that thought away for now.

"you shouldn't have had to learn like that," he says finally. his voice is rough, quieter than before. "none of that was normal, cherry. none of it was love."

"then what is?" you ask softly, fingers still twisting the hem of his shirt.

the question hits him like a blow. wooyoung has no language for love. not the gentle kind. not the kind you deserve. all he knows is protection, instinct, the need to keep you safe even if it ruins him. his hand moves before he thinks. slow, careful, he reaches over and rests it beside yours on the sheets. not touching, just close enough that you could choose the distance.

"this," he says. you look at him, eyebrow raised. "being able to say no, and knowing the other person listens. feeling safe. not scared all the time." his throat tightens. "being able to breathe."

silence falls again. the trailer hums softly around the two of you, the window rattling with a passing car somewhere in the distance. you don't pull away. instead, your fingers shift slightly, brushing against his. the contact is barely there. it feels louder than anything at the moment.

wooyoung freezes, afraid even breathing too hard might break the moment. your hand is smaller than his, warm now from the shower, no longer trembling like before. slowly, giving you time to move, he turns his palm upward. you accept the silent invite, lacing your soft fingers through his rough ones.

something inside him settles. something restless finally going still. you lean your head against his shoulder without asking. he goes rigid for a second, then carefully relaxes, letting you rest there. he can feel the faint weight of you, the dampness of your hair against his shirt, the quiet rhythm of your breathing beginning to slow.

"woo?" you murmur.

"cherry."

"is it too much to say that i've never felt more home?"

"no," wooyoung responds honestly, and rests his head on top of yours. "it's not too much."

"okay." you reply, a yawn following soon after.

he wants to rest, wants to let himself drift too, but his brain won't allow it. he wonders what tomorrow morning will bring. part of him fears that tonight was a dream, and he'll wake to find it was all his imagination. another part dreads the opposite: that the world outside the trailer will demand you back, that this fragile comfort will vanish. he keeps his head resting lightly against yours, listening to your even breaths, feeling the faint warmth of your damp hair against his cheek. there is nothing left to do but wait for the sun to rise, and with it, the truth he cannot yet face.

𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘.

at nine in the morning on a sunny sunday, wooyoung wakes up. his neck is stiff, and his back hurts. he feels weight on his shoulder, and when he looks down, a smile creeps up on his lips. you are still asleep, arms wrapped around his bicep as you keep him close, as if scared to be left alone. slowly, wooyoung frees himself, gently laying you down on the pillow and covering you up. you only frown in your sleep, dissatisfied that something has been taken away from you.

he makes a trip to the store, buying toast and two cherry colas. lydia has already told him to not come in after the police encounter, and right now, wooyoung could not be more grateful. he almost flies with the motorcycle on the way to the trailer, somehow feeling lighter. once inside, he sets the bag on the counter and hangs his leather jacket near the door. he thinks of ways to wake you up. until his eyes land on the bed, and he finds it made. you? gone.

his heart skips a beat, and his throat tightens. he walks over to the bed, fingertips brushing the sheets where you laid. fuck, did logan come for you? you wouldn't leave on your own without saying goodbye. shit. he knew he shouldn't have left.

just as he turns around and reaches for his jacket, a poke to his side causes him to gasp. he turns around, his defense falling once he sees you giggling. "who knew you are so easy to scare?"

"why are you lurking in my trailer?" he questions, trying to calm his heart in the process.

"i heard your bike. thought i'd try and scare you for leaving me alone."

"stupid girl." he teases, rolling his eyes. he makes his way to the two cabinets he calls kitchen, unraveling the items inside the bag. "hungry?"

"starving." you admit, walking over to him and peeking above his shoulder. your chin rests on it, breath tickling his neck, and he stiffens slightly, aware of every inch of proximity. "i thought i could make breakfast. as a thank you. you beat me to it."

"you don't have to." wooyoung murmurs, still fixed on the way your head rests near his neck and your breath caresses his ear. "you should've stayed in bed, slept a little more."

"i had enough." you pull away, allowing the man to finally breathe properly. "i... i had bad dreams. i was scared to go back to sleep, especially when i figured out you weren't there."

he sets the toast on the counter, grabbing two plates and a knife. you perch on the crooked stool he never uses, swinging your legs slightly, eyes following him as he spreads peanut butter on one toast and jam on the other. the simple act is almost domestic, and he can't help but notice the way your fingers curl around the edge of the stool, small and delicate. it makes him tense and melt at the same time.

"you really do trust me with everything, huh?" he says, voice low.

"i guess i do." you shrug, a little smile tugging at your lips. your eyes flick to his, then away, shy but steady. "i feel... safe with you."

the words hit him harder than anything else has so far this morning. safe. not scared. not trapped. safe. you've decided to stay by yourself, with no persuasion from anyone. he clears his throat, hands shaking just enough to notice, and sets the knife down.

"good," he murmurs, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, feeling foolishly proud and protective all at once. "that's exactly what you should feel."

you tilt your head, studying him like you're trying to memorize the lines of his face in the soft morning light. he can't help but smile back, though it feels fragile, like it might shatter if he breathes too hard. he hands you your sandwich first. your fingers brush his, and he freezes. the brush is so light, so fleeting, and yet it pulls at something deep inside him. he catches his breath and steps back a little, pretending to check the other sandwich.

"hey," you say softly, reaching for the counter. "don't move too far. i... i like having you close."

his chest tightens, awareness snapping like a string. he swallows, nodding slowly. "i'm not going anywhere."

you laugh quietly, a sound that's still fragile, but lighter than the night before. "good. because i might fall asleep while eating, and then i'd be useless without you here."

"then i'll stay," he says without thinking, and the words hang between you two. he looks at you, really looks, and notices how small you seem in his t-shirt, how soft your now dry hair falls and shines under the morning rays. there's a vulnerability there, and he wants to guard it with everything he has.

you take a bite, then another, and he watches, pretending to busy himself with his own breakfast. every glance is measured, every thought tethered to the quiet rhythm of your breathing, the curve of your jaw, the way your lips purse around the bread. it's maddening, and gentle all at once. for a moment, the trailer is still. just the hum of the refrigerator, the occasional bird outside, and the quiet intimacy of two people who've survived something dark together. he wonders if this is how mornings are supposed to feel: safe, warm, unhurried, with someone who makes the world pause just by being there.

and maybe, just maybe, he thinks about what it would be like if this morning didn't have to end. if it could stretch forever, and he could stay in this small orbit around you, guarding you, laughing with you, and letting you feel at home beside him. he reaches over, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. it's a gentle touch, casual, but he swears he feels the air between them hum. you don't pull away. instead, you glance up, and your eyes find his.

"thanks," you murmur, almost a whisper.

"for what?" he asks, voice rougher than he wants it to be.

"for... being here," you say, small but steady. "despite your own troubles you are battling."

so you know. he swallows, and for the first time this morning, lets himself believe that maybe, just maybe, being here is exactly where he's meant to be. you don't pry. he doesn't know how much you know. some of it, all of it? the truth or gossip misinformation? he'll tell you himself about it one day. you did open yourself up for him, after all. he doesn't see is as transaction. more like a declaration of trust.

soon, you have to go back home. he drives you to your parents house, this time in his sister's car so that you feel more comfortable. he parks on the sidewalk, then unlocks the doors. you shuffle around, collecting your dress and heels from last night from the back seat. he doesn't look at you. instead, he looks at the small house, wondering what awaits behind the closed doors.

"thank you for driving me. and for everything else, of course." you break the silence.

"any time," he replies, fingers tapping a quiet rhythm against the wheel. his eyes flick to the windows, and he feels the old spike of worry. it doesn't feel right leaving you here.

before he can think more, your lips press lightly against his cheek. it's quick, almost like a spark in the morning air. if he weren't hyperaware of you, he might have thought it imagined.

he swallows, heart skipping. "what— what was that for?"

you shrug, a soft, uncertain smile tugging at your lips. "i don't know. it felt right."

he glances at you, the words unspoken lingering between you. maybe it's always felt right, but he just hadn't noticed until now. you exit the car, running around it as much as wooyoung's shoes on your feet allowed you. you stop by the window, tapping on it playfully until he lowers it. he doesn't fight the smile on his face. "yes, cherry?"

"what about that makeup date? are you still up for that?"

a light breeze sways your hair, making a few strands fall on your face. he doesn't think twice before his fingertips graze your skin, moving the air out of your face so that he can take a proper look at you before answering. "just tell me when and where. i'll be there."

𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒.

cosmiclove_99: hey :)

it is the first time wooyoung has heard from you since dropping you off. you're not at school the whole week, and you reach out to him saturday morning. he wastes no time before sitting on the steps of his trailer, the motorcycle and cleaning supplies abandoned.

jungwooyoung: hi, stranger.

cosmiclove_99: sorry for not reaching out. i've done quite a lot of thinking this week.

jungwooyoung: don't apologize for such a thing. especially not to me. what have you been thinking about?

cosmiclove_99: i don't want you to think i've abandoned you after what you've done to me. i just needed some time. and i've come to a decision.

cosmiclove_99: i'm going to james' party tonight.

wooyoung's heart drops. why would you do that? go back to a place where all the guys are a copy of logan scavo and nate jacobs? he doesn't question it, nor does he scold you. he waits for you to continue.

cosmiclove_99: i can't keep hiding forever. i'll face the elephant in the room and move on with my life. try to, at least.

as expected. he admires you for it, truly. it shows that you've grown in such a short time, that your fear of logan is overshadowed by anger. you're starting to realize you didn't deserve anything that has happened to you, and you have a chance to stick up for yourself, or forever be quiet and scared.

jungwooyoung: would you like me to come with you?

cosmiclove_99: yes, please. :)

he spends the rest of the morning in a quiet frenzy. the trailer is cluttered with unfinished chores and the faint scent of lingering smoke, but he barely notices. his thoughts are all on you. on how you'll walk into that party, confident, unafraid, daring the world to look at you differently. by the afternoon, he's cleaned up the space enough to feel like he isn't leaving chaos behind. his sister's car is parked outside, engine humming softly, and he checks the seats twice, hiding the peeling leather under a cushion he found in the trailer, adjusting mirrors, making sure the little details are right. when the clock finally strikes seven, his phone buzzes.

cosmiclove_99: ready! :)

he exhales, heart skipping. typing back feels unnecessary. he just slides into the driver's seat, starts the car, and drives toward your place. when he arrives, you're waiting on the sidewalk, shifting slightly in place, hands fiddling with your phone. the second he steps out, you glance up, and you seem to sigh with relief. did you think he would ditch you?

"hey," he says, breath catching. you are back in your pink attire. a button up cardigan, pale blue jeans, and white sneakers. it feels right. "are you going to a party or a bakery?"

"jerk." you reply, shy smile tugging at your lips. but there's fire in your eyes, something he hasn't seen before.

"ready?" he asks, walking toward you.

you nod. "let's go."

sliding into the car beside him, you brush against his arm as you buckle up. the contact sends a jolt through him. light, but enough to anchor every nerve ending. his hand rests lightly on the gear shift, pretending not to notice your fingers brushing his. he clears his throat. "so... we do this together? or you go on your own and i'll be on standby. whatever you'd like."

"i'll try on my own. you'll be there if i need you?" you ask, eyes flicking toward his.

"i promise." he offers his pinky finger, and you happily accept

the drive is a quiet one, punctuated only by the occasional laugh or shared glance. he watches the sunset light catch your hair, the way your fingers twitch nervously over the dashboard, the way your chest rises with each breath. he feels protective in a way he can't explain, and more than that, he feels... something else, something warm and tangled, tied to every glance you give him. when the house finally comes into view, wooyoung's pulse quickens. the music thumps faintly through the windows, lights flicker, and he can see people moving inside. he glances at you, and for a second, the confident, determined look in your eyes nearly stops him in his tracks.

"you okay?" he asks softly, voice low, nearly drowned by the distant bass.

"yeah," you say, taking a deep breath. "i... i'm ready."

"i'll be right here," he murmurs. you look at him, confidence slightly slipping through your fingers when you hear the music and see the lights. he smiles. "every step."

you nod, stepping onto the porch, shoulders back, head high. he follows, close enough that if you wanted, you could reach for him. the moment is delicate, charged, and he knows it will only get more intense once you cross the threshold and the party swallows you whole. he glances at you one last time before pushing the door open. he walks in first, and just as he scans the room, counting all the familiar faces, he feels your palm slip into his, fingers falling in place between his. he looks down, then at you. he doesn't pull away.

people glance your way, but it's fleeting. a nod, a shrug, a hey. the usual acknowledgments of teenagers who are too busy in their own worlds to overreact. nobody stares, nobody whispers; your entrance is... mundane. ordinary. you blink, slightly disoriented. the anxiety you'd been carrying all week; the rehearsed speeches, the imagined whispers, the self-justifications. it all melts against the simplicity of reality. it's almost anticlimactic, and for the first time, you feel the rush of freedom. you can simply be.

until his figure comes in sight. logan, leaning against the wall, smirk in place like he owns the room. your stomach twists, fingers twitching at your sides, but you don’t step back. you lift your chin, shoulders back, and take another step forward. wooyoung’s hand brushes against yours, strong, grounding, but you barely notice it at first. you can feel the tension radiating off him, the way he’s coiled, ready to intervene if you falter. but you don’t. and you won’t.

“well, well,” logan says, voice carrying over the music, smirk sharper than ever. “look who decided to show up.”

"logan." you tilt your head slightly as you speak, letting your eyes meet his just long enough to let him know you’re not afraid. "i’m done running.”

wooyoung’s fingers tighten just slightly on yours. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. he’s watching every breath you take, every shift of your weight, ready to step in if it goes too far. but he doesn’t. not yet. this moment is yours.

“done running, huh? think you can just walk in here like nothing happened?” logan sneers, stepping a fraction closer.

your hand twitches against his, but you hold it steady. “if you even think of touching me...i will not stay silent,” you say, voice low to camouflage the slight shiver in it.

wooyoung’s eyes flick from you to logan, jaw tight, every muscle tense. he’s ready, waiting, but he doesn’t move. he knows you’ve taken the first step. he knows that right now, it’s your voice, your presence, your fire that matters. logan falters, just a little, eyes narrowing, realizing the confidence he expects to crush isn’t there.

“you really think you can just… walk in here, smiling like nothing happened?” logan smirks, trying to hide the flicker of unease. he takes another step, the music thrumming around you like a heartbeat, daring you to flinch.

you swallow hard, chest tightening, but you force yourself to stand straight, chin high. “i’m here. that’s all you need to know.”

“that’s not enough, baby. you still owe me…” he laughs, low, sharp. his voice trails, and the way he leans closer, the space shrinking, makes your stomach knot. "and unless you've won a lottery... i'd say you are still mine, no matter what scum you have by your side."

wooyoung stiffens beside you. you feel the subtle pressure of his hand on yours. just enough to anchor you. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t even breathe too loudly, but his presence presses into the space between you and logan, and it feels like a shield.

logan laughs again, louder this time, edging closer. “oh, i remember how obedient you used to be. maybe i should remind you—”

you can’t stop the tremor rising in your throat. your fists clench at your sides, heart hammering. panic tries to crawl in, and for a moment, the week of courage you’ve built threatens to crumble.

“wooyoung…” your voice is barely a whisper, shaky, but enough that he hears.

he doesn’t wait. in one fluid motion, his body steps slightly in front of yours, shoulder brushing yours, hand tightening around yours until your fingers interlock. his eyes meet logan’s, sharp and dangerous.

“back off,” he says, low, almost a growl, the kind of tone that stops people cold.

logan falters, the confidence in his smirk wavering. he opens his mouth, but the weight in wooyoung’s gaze makes him hesitate. he sees the anger, the protectiveness. still, he speaks. "out of all people, you chose a lowlife stoner."

you feel every word like a slap, and your chest tightens. not from shame, but from the audacity in his tone. your grip on wooyoung’s hand tightens, a silent anchor, and you step slightly closer to him, as if his presence alone could make the world bend in your favor.

logan’s smirk falters again, irritation flashing behind his eyes. “did you plan this all along? being with him while you were still with me? you slutty—"

wooyoung cuts him off with a step forward, voice low, lethal in its calm. “i suggest you leave, scavo. now.”

the music pulses around you, a drumbeat under the silence that falls in your triangle of space: you, wooyoung, him. you feel the heat of adrenaline rushing through you, the panic that tried to claw back last week, but you stand firm, head high. logan laughs, but it’s a hollow thing, more nervous than cruel. he tries one last step, closing the gap, but wooyoung doesn’t flinch. he’s a wall now, iron and calm and ready.

“i said back off,” he repeats, voice sharper this time.

finally, logan hesitates, the smirk gone, replaced by a twitching jaw and a calculating glance. “fine,” he spits, stepping back, trying to hide the shake in his hands. “but this isn’t over.”

you let out a proper breath now. you were scared to even breathe around him. your knees feel a little less like they might buckle, your chest a little less tight. wooyoung’s hand squeezes yours, grounding, steady. he doesn’t let go. he doesn’t need to.

“you okay?” he murmurs, voice low, just for you.

“yeah,” you whisper, and for the first time tonight, it’s real. not shaky. not a lie. “thanks.”

he nods, his eyes still scanning the space, making sure the threat has truly stepped back, but his focus is on you. on the fact that you stood, that you spoke, that you didn’t break. you tilt your head slightly, letting the warmth of that presence sink in, and for a heartbeat, the room feels smaller, safer, yours.

wooyoung steers you through the crowd, keeping one hand lightly on your lower back, guiding you to a quieter corner near the glass doors that lead to the pool. the air here is cooler, the music softened, and he can finally watch you. really watch you. you lean against the cold glass, shoulders back, breathing steady.

"that's over," you huff. "for now. i still need to pay him back somehow."

"we'll figure it out."

"i guess..." you trail.

"you're braver than you think," he says. he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, close enough that his thumb grazes your cheek. the simple touch lingers, sending warmth through both of you. "do not underestimate yourself. ever."

"maybe," you admit, leaning just slightly closer. "but it's easier with you here."

"i'll always be here," he murmurs. his chest tightens, that familiar knot of protectiveness and something more fluttering inside. he tilts his head, lowering just enough for his forehead to brush yours. "even now that this is all over. that is, if you want me, of course."

"don't be silly, woo." you hit his shoulder playfully. "you're my friend. not just an escape from my worries."

it's just you and him, small and private amidst the chaos. your fingers intertwine more deliberately now, and he notices how naturally your hand fits in his. on his end, this still isn't enough. "come."

you don't question it. he guides you upstairs, where you once followed after him when james managed to touch his nerve during a project night. he knows exactly where to go, leading you to the end of the hallway and into an empty room. he turns the key in the lock, and it softly clicks, separating you from the downstairs world and creating one on its own. you sit on the edge of the bed, awaiting his further instructions.

"can i be bad influence for one night?" he asks, dipping his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

"what do you have in mind, jung wooyoung?"

he hesitates at first. then, he reveals the item in his hand. a blunt, perfectly rolled. and pink.

"weed?" you ask, casually.

"have you ever tried it?" he sits next to you, holding the pink item up for you to see. "it's not like cigarettes. it won't touch your allergy."

"guess i could try once," you take it, brushing his hand as you hold it. a slow jolt runs up his arm at the contact. you tilt your head teasingly. "you're not going to make me turn into a monster, right?"

"only a little," he murmurs, smirking.

"i've never seen a pink one."

"i know. i made it for you." he lights it, the tip glowing orange. smoke fills the space between you, curling around the tension in the room. he holds it to your lips, fingers brushing against them as you purse your lips.

you inhale, cough lightly, and he chuckles low. "yuck."

"the first inhale is always bad." he explains. "lay down. it'll be comfier."

you fall back, the mattress soft beneath you, and the bed dips under his weight as he leans in to sit beside you. the space between you is tight, electric. you don't move away.

he exhales slowly, smoke drifting toward the ceiling, eyes flicking to yours. "feel... relaxed?"

"a little," you admit. your gaze is stuck to the ceiling, watching the smoke dance in various shapes. "i feel... too much. in a good way."

"like...?" he passes the blunt back to you, this time letting you inhale on your own. it is easier, and you don't cough.

"so sensitive." you say. "like i'm burning up."

"hm." wooyoung hums, then takes the blunt back. it seems that the weed does everything opposite for you. it dulls his senses, while it increases yours. that's interesting to know. "oh, i have a gift for you."

"really?" you giggle, looking at him. he doesn't back, instead shuffling through the side pocket of his cargo jeans and pulling out a recently bought item. you squeak upon seeing it, fingers immediately snatching it from his grip. "you bought me eyeshadow?!"

a lazy smile dances on his lips, body too relaxed to do anything else. "yep."

"can i put it on you?" you sit up, almost too quickly. "please, please, please?"

"now?" he looks at you, slowly exhaling the smoke into your face. "sure. you have no brushes, though. or whatever you use."

you flop on top of him, knees on either side, and the weight of you presses him into the mattress. he can feel the heat radiating off your body, the slight tremor of your hands as they reach for the palette. the smoke curls lazily above you both, soft, hazy, making every movement feel more like a dream.

"don't worry," you murmur, brushing a strand of raven hair behind his ear. his chest tightens, every nerve suddenly aware of how close you are, how gentle and alive you feel atop him.

he watches as your fingers dip into the palette, the colors hitting like a neon burst: pinks, golds, glitter, shimmer. every swipe of the finger against his eyelid is precise but tentative, as if you're exploring more than his skin. he swallows hard, mind short-circuiting at the touch, at the smell of your shampoo and the faint sweetness of cherry cola that lingers around you.

"like this?" you whisper. your voice is soft, almost teasing, and he wants to nod, to tell you to keep going, but his throat feels tight.

"yeah," he manages, voice low, guttural even. "don't stop."

he notices everything: the little smudge of glitter you leave on your own hand, the way you lean forward, the brush of your hair against his shoulder. your laughter bubbles quietly and it wraps around him, something light that cuts through the haze of smoke and tension. when you lean back just slightly, admiring the glitter tracing the corners of his eyes, he can't look away. it's ridiculous, the effect you have on him. he's pinned to the mattress by the simple sight of you. the smoke and the sparkle make this moment feel like it exists outside time.

and then your hand hovers near his cheek, brushing the powder away, and he leans into it without thinking, instinctively. the bed dips beneath him, the smoke thick and curling, the glitter catching the dim light, and he's aware of every inch of proximity between you.

he swallows as your breath brushes his lips, testing. his body reacts before his mind can catch up. the low hum in his chest, the pull of his hands toward your waist, the electric surge running straight to the core of him. everything inside him buzzes, and he knows he's been waiting for this, for the chaos and the quiet and for you all at once.

he doesn't move away when you lean closer. he wants to memorize the taste, the smell, the feel of you here. smoke, glitter, warmth, the daze. it all tangles together, messy and overwhelming, and he'd let it stay like this forever if he could. the blunt is forgotten, put out and fallen to the floor. your lips graze his, soft, a little sticky from the gloss. he doesn't mind. he welcomes it, closing the gap and finally moulding your lips together.

it is warm, sweet. it is everything he has secretly imagined. it is you. his grip on your waist intensifies, squeezing you as he loses himself to the taste of you. cherries melt on his tongue as you part your lips, allowing him to consume you entirely. a brush of the hips against his, nails grazing his jaw and neck tattoo, and sighs of pleasure whispered into his lips, wooyoung is a yearning man beneath you.

he kisses you deeper, one hand combing through your hair while the other slides lower along your spine, drawing you impossibly close. your breath mingles, hot and shaky, eyes fluttering closed, and he can feel the pull between you. the hunger that has been building since you crossed that threshold together. he groans low in his chest, lips parting just enough to swallow your sighs. everything is electric, chaotic, raw. he memorizes every shiver, every gasp, and every curve.

he doesn't stop. it's not enough. he flips you over, hovering above you as his hands slip beneath the cardigan. he listens to your body signals, ready to stop if you show any signs of discomfort. you don't. you tug him closer, grinding slightly against him, hips pressing, thighs brushing, and he lets his hands wander, tracing the lines of your body, up to he outline of your bra. his fingers burn where he touches you, and finally, his senses aren't dull like they usually are when he is high. it's all a haze of sensation and need, and he's drowning in it willingly.

his voice is rough, broken when he mutters, "you feel... so good." your response is a soft, breathy laugh, shaky, teasing, as you press even closer. he groans, teeth catching the shell of your ear, whispering, "don't stop."

you meet him, lips to lips again, teeth, tongues, moans blending with the faint buzz in your chest, hands grasping, holding, needing. every shiver that runs through you sparks through him, every press of your body against his fuels a fire that refuses to die. he knows he's lost to you entirely, and he doesn't want to be found. with a swift motion, he removes his t-shirt, and returns his focus to you. he kneels between your legs, veiny hands grabbing your thighs and pushing them apart.

with a little help by lifting your hips off the mattress, your jeans find comfort on the floor next to the blunt and his t-shirt. wooyoung has to stop. his mouth almost waters, seeing the pink cotton panties sticking to your pussy. he loses his mind, seeing just what he has been missing out on. his nose is soon buried between your legs, and you gasp, hands flying to his hair to grip at the soft locks. he accidentally bumps his nose into your clit, while his tongue tastes you over the cotton material. he hooks his fingers into it, peeling it away from your skin and revealing your glistening core.

"what- what are you doing?" you stutter, raising your head just enough to lock your eyes with him.

"i'm going to devour you." he simply states. there is a flash of panic on your face, and something clicks inside wooyoung. it worsens the flame inside his chest. "have you... have you never been eaten out before?"

"no...?"

"fuck, cherry." he breathes out. "you're in for a ride." and without missing a beat, dives in.

you squirm under him, the touch unfamiliar and intense. he holds you firmly against the mattress, one palm flat on your lower stomach, and one teasing your pulsing entrance. his tongue is hot against your aching clit, flicking, licking, sucking. every now and then he dips his tongue lower, letting his nose take over unintentionally. your voice becomes raspy with how much you whine and moan.

you're warm and inviting as he slips two fingers into your velvet walls, curling upward as his palm presses your lower stomach. he rubs the upper wall, all while his tongue gives full attention to your clit. the pain on his scalp is delicious, your fingers pulling each time he abuses the sensitive spot inside you. your moans are becoming shorter, and louder, letting him know that you are inching closer to release. he pulls away, even though he can't get enough of the way you taste. however, he wouldn't miss your face when orgasming for anything in this world.

your lips part, and your eyes are fixed on him as your breathing is cut short. your features softening, eyebrows furrowing with pleasure as your body twitches beneath him. the look of pure ecstasy on your face is what makes him twitch in his jeans. slowly, he pulls his fingers out, putting them in his mouth and cleaning them until the last drop of you is gone.

"you're telling me nobody else has ever tasted you like this?" he presses a kiss to your forehead, helping you calm down.

"no," you stutter. "never."

"did you like it?"

"again." you respond. "please."

"needy little thing." he chuckles, then unbuttons your cardigan, revealing your matching bra. "i'll eat you out as long as you'd like, as many times as you'd like. but right now, i need to be inside of you, or i'll die."

you nod eagerly, legs already wrapping around him as he unbuttons his jeans. he strokes himself a few times, eyes fixed on your glistening core, almost resembling the glitter makeup around his eyes. he leaks before he even presses himself against you, desire burning up inside him, eating him alive. the tip slips past your folds, and little by little, he sinks inside. your velvety walls hug him, suck him in inside, and don't let go. he finds it hard to move for a moment, too lost in the way you are still pulsing around him.

"you're-" you choke out, tongue peeking out to wet your dry lips. "you're so pretty."

"pretty?" wooyoung breathes out, looking down where he is buried inside of you.

"yes." you nod. "your face, your body. your cock, too."

it's not funny. it hits him right where it shouldn't, in the hottest way possible, making him twitch inside of you before he can barely move. being called pretty is becoming a kink now, and seeing that you are enjoying his reactions, he doesn't have to worry about whether it'll happen again or not. the hazy smile on your lips says it all.

slowly, wooyoung starts moving. he buries his head into the crook of your neck, feelings too intense to do anything else. he subconsciously bites your neck, shoulder, collarbones, all while his hips slowly fill you to the brim each time he pushes himself against you. your nails leave trails of reminders for tomorrow on his back, and lips ghost over his neck and shoulder, leaving behind faint traces of whatever is left of your lip gloss. the bed creaks softly as he picks up his pace, and the headboard rocks against the wall. he feels warm, a thin layer of sweat covering his body as his moves become sloppy and deep.

"you're beautiful, have i ever told you that?" he pulls away to take a proper look at you.

"tell me more." you beg, hands slipping from his back to hold his face. "please."

he swallows, the heat between you making his pulse stutter. "i... i love the way you shiver when i touch you," he murmurs, lips brushing against yours. "how soft you feel... how you taste... how every gasp and moan sounds like it belongs to me."

your breath hitches, and you can't stop the smile tugging at your lips. "keep going," you insist, pressing closer, wanting to drown in the way his voice wraps around you.

he leans in, forehead against yours, low and rough as he rocks against you, hands firmly placed on your waist as he holds you in place. "since-, ha-ah-, the moment you walked in that shop. the way you, ah-, looked at me, with those eyes. like you're looking at me right now. fuck- the way you feel under my hands... the way you let me in. you trust me, and, oh-, you've given yourself to me. look down, cherry."

your gaze follows his, down to where his cock glistens with your arousal every time he pulls away, only to slam his hips back. his moans turn into soft whines, and his movements speed up, chasing release. he feels hot, magma boiling beneath his skin, waiting to spill out. the room is filled with mixed noises from both of you, each moan higher and louder.

"let me fill you up. please." he begs. "let me show you how i can take care of you."

"please do." you pull him against you, body shaking with anticipation of another orgasm. "cum inside me, wooyoung. please."

"fuck, darling," he chokes out. "say my name like that again, and i won't let you go for days."

"wooyoung," you moan out, and his eyes roll back, release finally catching up to him. "make me yours. please, please, please-"

"ah- ha-" his hips stutter, and his cock twitches. he spills inside of you, feeling better than anything he has ever felt. it feels like he's floating for a moment, head up in the clouds and senses overloaded by you. your smell, your noises, your taste. all of you. "oh, fuck."

the warm sensation is a trigger for you, making your spine lift off the mattress as the orgasm hits you. your nails dig into his biceps, desperately trying to ground you. he rubs your sides with his palms, helping you come down from the high as you struggle to breathe. wooyoung plops on top of you, face buried into your neck where he has left countless bite marks.

wooyoung stays pressed against you, chest to chest, the warmth of your bodies mingling in the haze of smoke and glitter. your fingers drift lazily over his shoulders, over the half moon nail marks, over the slick of sweat that clings to his skin. he feels every inch of you, every sigh and shiver, and lets his own body sink into yours, weight and warmth pressing you together.

"fuck..." he breathes, lips brushing against your temple. "you're unreal."

you laugh softly, shaky, fingertips tracing a line down his spine. "we're a mess."

"mmh," he hums, low and guttural, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, then along your cheekbone, soft but deliberate. he nuzzles briefly, teasing your earlobe with the tip of his nose, making you gasp lightly against him. he tucks a loose strand behind your ear, thumb lingering. "god, cherry... you smell like... everything i want."

you tilt your head, brushing your lips against his collarbone. "then keep me here," you whisper.

he hums, letting a finger trace circles on the small of your back, then teasing down to your waist, hand warm and steady. "i don't want to move," he admits, voice rough, head leaning against yours. "i could stay like this forever."

"then do. tonight. just... stay."

he chuckles low, dragging a hand along your arm, letting it rest on your shoulder. a playful nip to your earlobe, a gentle squeeze of your hip, soft grazes along your jawline. they're small touches, but they electrify the space between you. every breath, every sigh, every tiny movement you make is engraved into his soul.

"you know," he murmurs, voice hoarse, "i've never felt anything like this. you're mine, cherry. and i'm not letting go."

"i don't want you to." you press closer, fingers threading through his hair, lips brushing the side of his neck.  "stay here. just... be with me."

he smiles against you, teeth grazing your shoulder lightly in a lazy, teasing way, before resting his head atop yours. slow, deliberate caresses, fingers tracing invisible paths along your back and arms, every touch memorized. your body shivers against his, small, quiet whispers brushing against his neck, and he hums, letting it wrap around him, letting the quiet chaos of the night dissolve into the haze of glitter, smoke, warmth, and you.

and for a while, the world outside ceases to exist. only you, him, the smell of cherry and smoke, the heat of skin pressed to skin, and the slow, steady rhythm of two hearts tangled in the quiet aftermath.

taglist: @soso59love-blog @booposaurusrex @everyonewooeverywhere @mingismoralloyalty @woozit @minjoongsgirlie @ja3hwa @kodzukein @woomyteez @mulletdaddyjayjo @bae4choi @haatohwa @marvelahsobx @jxhnnyfav @angellluh @jjaemasung @oddracha @devastateed @faeriehwa @curse-of-art @softwysan @life-is-a-game-of-thrones

[stxrrywoo]

THE HEIST ── chapter covers

hey alexa play mona lisa by limi on spotify

oh how fast one event changes the trajectory of everything...

premieres may 7th | taglist open | masterlist / moodboard

© 𝐬𝐭𝐱𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 : 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙡𝙮

[hwaelysian]

looking delicious 😩