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SAVE ME (I think I’m lost) — (s.jy) PART 1

PART 1 (19k) ; PART 2 (7k)

PAIRING: nerd!jake x popular!reader (f)

SUMMARY: once the college’s golden girl, you had it all: endless parties, a popular boyfriend, and flawless grades. but behind the spotlight, your mind was slowly unraveling. pretending everything was fine became exhausting, and for the first time, you didn’t recognize the person staring back at you anymore. then came Sim Jake, the awkward, quiet nerd you never thought twice about, who somehow saw through every carefully built wall around you. and the more your world fell apart, the more he became the only place that still felt safe.

WARNINGS: mutual cheating? (y/n on her bf and her bf on y/n), toxic relationship (not with jake), SMUT, virginity loss, subby!jake, switch!reader, riding, car sex, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex, missionary, jake is so sensitive ma babe, mentions of anxiety attacks, panic attacks (slight description), pills consumption, jake is silly (we love him), y/n’s anxiety is mentioned A LOT, alcohol consumption, arguing, fightin (no punches actually), slow burn but they had sex, poor decision making (welp), y/n is in denial, mentions of bullying, this is low-key trash (but don’t we all love a little trash sometimes?), mentions of period, jake is VERY desperate, abandonment issues (🙁), i SWEAR it gets better as y/n breaks up with jacob. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

WC: 26k (part 1: 19k - part 2: 7k)

PUBLISHED: 24th May 2026

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon @princesstiti14 @mintchocoddeonut @lostgirlysstuff @firstclassjaylee @jazz7gnab @cyutecoree @hooniluhv @soullesslien @chowonasblog @heartmira @keeeholic @skz-enha @swehee @all4moi (fiction) @jiwonniethepooh @chaostudee @andieekosmos @lawjakesim @jaybswife @saamaoaiwyq @starggukies @ily4hoonity @heeverseblog @wickedbutlovely @fairystudio (50/50) CLOSED.

NOW PLAYING: Skin by Sabrina Carpenter - I THINK I’M LOST AGAIN by Chase Atlantic - Fame is a Gun by Addison Rae - Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae

a/n: as someone who struggles with anxiety i wanted to bring awareness to how much it can shape your life 💔 i’m sorry i had to divide it in two parts but tumblr is a bitch with a word limit!! hopefully you’ll like it anyways 🩷 STAY TUNED for PART 2!

The dorm room buzzed with the quiet hum of preparation as you stood before the full-length mirror, turning slowly to examine every angle of your reflection.

The deep blue dress hugged your curves in all the right places, the glittery lace on the skirt catching the warm light and scattering it like tiny stars across the walls.

You ran your palms down the fabric, smoothing it over your hips, satisfied with how the halter neckline framed your shoulders.

“You look incredible,” Sophia said from behind you, her voice carrying that familiar note of admiration she always had when you got dressed up.

She was already in her light blue dress, a simple but elegant number that made her skin glow.

She was fixing a loose strand of hair in her own mirror, her lips pursed as she applied a final layer of gloss.

“So do you,” you replied, meeting her eyes in the reflection. “That color suits you.”

She grinned, about to say something when a loud, impatient honk cut through the evening air from outside. Three short blasts, then a longer one, the sound jarring against the quiet campus night.

Sophia moved to the window and pulled the curtain aside just a fraction, peeking out. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise “Holy shit. He really rented a limousine?”

You sighed, already feeling the familiar knot of irritation tighten in your chest.

Of course he did.

Jacob (your boyfriend, unfortunately) never did anything quietly. Everything had to be a spectacle, a performance, a way to show off how much money he could throw around.

It had been charming once, in the beginning, when you were both drunk on the novelty of each other.

Now it just felt... exhausting.

“Do you want a ride?” you asked, grabbing your small clutch purse from the bed and checking that your phone and lipstick were inside.

Sophia laughed, shaking her head. “Absolutely not. I love you, but I really don’t want to witness you two making out the whole way there. My girlfriend is coming to pick me up anyway.”

You blew her a kiss, the gesture light and affectionate. “Fair enough. Text me when you get there.”

“Will do. Have fun and try not to strangle him.” She sang-song.

“No promises.” You stepped out of the dorm room and made your way down the stairs, the click of your heels echoing in the stairwell.

The night air hit you as you pushed open the front door, slightly cool for early autumn.

And there it was, stretched along the curb like a white whale, the limousine.

It was absurdly long, the kind of vehicle that screamed look at me from every polished inch.

The driver of the limousine opened the car door for you, helping you step inside with a kind hand.

“There she is.” Jacob said, his voice already carrying that slight slur that meant he’d started drinking before picking you up.

His tie was loose around his neck and his jacket discarded somewhere on the seat beside him. His eyes were glassy, his smile too wide. “My beautiful girl. Took you long enough.”

“I wasn’t aware I was on a schedule.” you said, smoothing your dress back down and settling into the seat across from him, putting distance between you.

The limousine was spacious, with plush cream leather seats that wrapped around the interior, a mini bar stocked with bottles, and a strip of colored lights along the ceiling that cast everything in a soft, muted glow.

The driver pulled away from the curb without a word, and the limousine glided smoothly through the campus streets.

Jacob reached for you, his fingers grazing your knee. “Come here, dont sit all the way over there.”

“I’m fine here.” You replied with pursed lips.

His jaw tightened, but he let his hand fall back. “Suit yourself.”

The ride to the gala was spent in strained silence punctuated by Jacob’s attempts to make conversation that quickly devolved into complaints.

“Want a drink?” He questioned, holding a glass of what seemed to be whiskey. “You know I can’t.” You replied with a stern look

“Party pooper,” he sneered, "Whatever, more for me.”

You stared out the window, watching the streetlights blur past, counting the minutes until you could be surrounded by other people and not have to be alone with him.

When the limousine finally pulled up to the venue, you felt a wave of relief.

The building was an modern building that had been converted into an event space, its stone facade draped in white lights and a red carpet was leading up to the grand entrance.

People were milling about in blue suits and gown as the air filled with the murmur of conversation.

Jacob was out of the car first, offering you his hand with the practiced charm of someone who knew people were watching.

You took it, because appearances mattered, and let him lead you inside.

The ballroom was stunning. Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting prisms of light across the marble floors. the tables were draped in white linen, they lined the edges of the room and centerpieces of white roses and candles flickering softly.

A bar stretched along one wall, already busy, and a small orchestra played near the far end, their music floating through the air like silk.

You spotted Sophia almost immediately, standing with her girlfriend near one of the tall windows with a glass of champagne in her hand.

She gave you a small wave, and you smiled back.

For the first hour, things were fine. You mingled, you laughed at the right moments, you nodded along to conversations about internships and family businesses and who was dating whom.

Jacob stayed close, his hand on the small of your back, his presence a constant pressure that you tried to ignore. But as the night wore on and the drinks flowed, his grip grew heavier and his touches more insistent.

He started rubbing your hip while you were talking to a professor, his fingers dipping dangerously low to your backside.

You shifted away, giving him a pointed look, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

“Jacob,” you murmured, leaning close to his ear. “Stop.”

“What?” His voice was too loud, his breath hot and sour against your cheek. “I’m just showing you off.”

“You’re being inappropriate.”

His expression darkened. “I’m being your boyfriend. When did you become such a prude?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I’m not doing this here.”

“You never want to do anything anymore,” he said, his voice rising. A few nearby heads turned. “You’re always tired, always stressed, always on your fucking pills—”

“Jacob.” Your voice was sharp, a blade. “Don’t.”

But he was already beyond listening. He downed the rest of his drink, set the glass down on a passing tray with more force than necessary, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m done.”

“Don’t make a scene.” You begged.

“Too late.” he said, and stormed off toward the exit, weaving slightly as he pushed through the crowd.

You stood there for a moment, with your hands trembling and your face burning.

Sophia caught your eye, her expression worried, and you could see her starting to move toward you. You shook your head, mouthing “I’m okay.” and followed Jacob out into the night.

The cool air hit you like a slap. The street was quieter there, away from the main entrance as the sounds of the gala muffled behind the thick walls.

Jacob was pacing near the sidewalk with his phone in his hand. “Jacob.” You called.

He spun around with wild eyes. “What?”

“What the hell was that?” You asked. “What the hell was what? Me wanting my girlfriend to actually pay attention to me?” He scoffed.

“I was paying attention to you, I was standing right next to you all night.” you frowned.

“You were ignoring me. Flirting with everyone else.” Jacob accused.

“I wasn’t flirting, I was making conversation. That’s what people do at these things.”

He laughed bitterly, his expression as cold as ice, “You’ve changed, you know that? You used to be fun. Now you’re just... detached. You never want to have sex anymore, you never want to party, you just want to stand around and talk about boring shit.”

You felt something snap inside you. “I’m taking anti-anxiety pills, Jacob. Do you remember that? Do you remember the panic attacks I’ve been having? Do you remember me telling you that the medication makes me feel different? Or do you just not care?”

He stared at you, his mouth open, but no words came out.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, and your voice was steadier than you expected. “I’m not going back inside with you. I’m not getting back in that limousine with you. Go home, Jacob. Sleep it off.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” He looked at you as if you had grown two heads, or as if he had never heard the world ‘no’ in his life.

“I’m not.” You stood your ground.

He looked at you for a long moment, something shifting in his eyes. Then he turned, pulled out his phone, and started walking down the street, his steps unsteady. “Fine. Whatever. Fucking fine.”

You watched him go until he disappeared around a corner, and then you stood there alone, the night silent around you. You took a deep breath, then another, willing your heartbeat to slow.

You didn’t want to go back inside. You didn’t want to face Sophia’s pitying looks or the whispered speculation of the other guests.

You just wanted to go home.

You started walking, your heels clicking against the pavement, heading toward the main road where you could call a ride.

But you honestly didn’t even want to move, so you sat on a bench near the river and let your tears silently fall.

It all hurt, why couldn’t Jacob try to understand you? Why did he have to make everything about him?

“That was very rude, if you ask me.” You gasped as a voice spoke from your left.

You hadn’t noticed someone was sitting on the other side of the bench

You recognized him vaguely. You had seen the guy around at campus, but his face had never stuck in your memory until that moment. He had thick glasses and styled hair, with a gummy smile.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. My mom always tells me I tend to speak at the wrong moment.” He apologised, glancing away.

You sighed and scooted closer, “No, I think you’re very right.” You tuned toward him. “By the way, you go to Saint Cross’s college too, no?”

He nodded with a quick motion that messed his hair. “Yeah…. I’m Jake.”

“I’m Y/N.” You stepped closer, and he seemed to shrink back, his shoulders hunching. “What are you doing out here?”

“I— uh…” he gulped, “I hadn’t read that the dress code was blue, so I wore this suit.” He pointed at his very white suit. “The waiters are wearing white…”

You let the information sink in before letting out a quiet snort at the weirdness of it all. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

He finally glanced at you, his eyes meeting yours for just a fraction of a second before darting away.

In the dim light, you could see the faint flush on his cheeks, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Do you… uhm, want some of this?” he questioned, raising the bottle he was drinking.

It was a bright orange liquid that looked like a spiked punch. “Sorry, I’m cutting down on the alcohol.”

“Oh, this is not alcohol.” He replied, shaking the bottle. “This is Gatorade, it’s way past my bed time, i needed the energy.”

As you threw your head back and laughed, you caught sight of the white limousine with the back of your eyes.

An idea formed in your mind, reckless and impulsive, the kind of idea you would have talked yourself out of a year ago.

But tonight, sitting there in your glittery dress with your boyfriend’s abandonment still fresh in your chest, you didn’t feel like talking yourself out of anything.

“Do you want to be my buddy for the night?” you asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“The limousine there? My boyfriend forgot it. Let’s take it for a spin.” You shrugged.

He looked at the car, then at you, then back at the car. “I don’t think that’s—”

“The driver’s paid for the whole night. He’ll drive wherever we want.” You walked over to the driver, who had stubbed out his cigarette and was watching you with mild curiosity. “We’re taking the car out. My boyfriend left, but the night’s still young.”

The driver shrugged, his expression indifferent from when he had opened the door for you just a couple of hours earlier. “You’re the boss.”

You turned back to Jake, who hadn’t moved. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, his hands wrapped around the Gatorade bottle like it was a lifeline. “Come on,” you said, holding out your hand. “I promise I don’t bite.” you sang song.

He hesitated for a long moment, and you thought he might say no, might turn and walk away and go back to whatever quiet corner of the gala he had emerged from.

But then he stepped forward, his fingers brushing against yours, and let you lead him into the limousine.

The interior felt even more opulent now, in the quiet intimacy of just the two of you. The colored lights were still on, casting soft greens and purples across the leather seats.

Jake sat down carefully, as if afraid he might break something.

You sat across from him, watching him. “Have you ever been in a limousine before?” You tried as an ice breaker.

He shook his head. “What about the gala? Do you usually go to those?”

“Not really, but I thought I could try.” He let out a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I think I regretted it as soon as someone asked me to refill their champagne flute.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” you said. “Socializing is overrated.”

He looked at you then, a real look, his eyes searching your face as if trying to figure out if you were being genuine or mocking him.

You held his gaze, and something in his expression softened.

The driver’s voice came through the intercom. “Where to?”

You looked at Jake. “Anywhere you want.” He thought about it, biting his lower lip. “I don’t know. Just... around?”

“Around it is.” you said to the driver, and the limousine pulled away from the curb, gliding into the night.

The first few minutes were awkward, filled with the kind of silence that felt heavy with unspoken things.

Jake stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past, while you studied him from across the car.

He had nice hands, you noticed. Long fingers, neatly trimmed nails. He was nervous, you could tell, from the way he kept fidgeting with the bottle cap, the way his leg bounced slightly.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence. “Let’s see what this thing can do.”

He turned to you, curious. “What do you mean?”

You reached over and pressed a button on the console. The ceiling lights shifted, changing from soft green to a warm blue.

You pressed another button, and a small television screen descended from the roof. Another, and a panel slid open to reveal a karaoke machine, complete with microphones.

Jake’s eyes went wide. “That’s insane.”

“Right?” You pressed another button, and the mini bar lit up, revealing rows of tiny bottles. “Do you want a drink?”

“I, uh, I don’t really—”

You nodded, “It’s okay, you’re not a drinker.”

He shook his head, looking almost embarrassed. “I’ve never had any alcohol.”

“What?” You sat up straighter, genuinely shocked. “Never? Not even a sip of beer?”

“My parents don’t drink,” he said, shrugging. “And I never really saw the appeal.”

“Well, tonight you’re trying tequila.” You pulled out two small shot glasses and a bottle of Tequila, setting them on the counter. “Consider it a rite of passage… I’ll even have a shot with you, come on.”

He looked nervous, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. “Okay.”

You poured the shots, sliding one toward him. He picked it up, examining the clear liquid like it might bite him. “Do I just... drink it?”

“Lick the salt, take the shot, suck the lime,” you said, demonstrating with practiced ease. You set up a small line of salt on the back of your hand, licked it, downed the shot, and bit into a lime wedge, the sourness cutting through the burn.

He watched you, then attempted to copy your movements. His hand shook slightly as he lifted the shot glass, and he winced as the tequila hit his throat, coughing and sputtering. “That’s— that’s strong!”

You laughed, genuinely. “It gets easier. Trust me.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and when he looked at you, there was a smile on his face. It transformed his features and made him look younger. “I feel warm.”

“That’s the alcohol. Give it a few minutes.” You poured another round, then another. The third shot went down smoother, and by the fourth, Jake was laughing at something you said, with his head thrown back and his shoulders relaxed.

The awkwardness had melted away, replaced by an easy, electric energy that filled the limousine like the colored lights.

“Show me the karaoke.” he said, his voice looser now, the words slightly slurred.

You grabbed one of the microphones and handed him the other. “What are we singing?”

He scrolled through the options, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I don’t know any of these.”

“Pick the first one you recognize.”

He stopped on a song, and when the opening chords started playing, you recognized it immediately. Lana del Rey’s National Anthem notes filled the car. He started singing, his voice tentative at first, then growing bolder as you joined in, your voices blending together in a harmony that was probably terrible but felt incredible. It was crazy how much he knew the lyrics, singing his heart out.

At some point, you slid closer to him on the seat, your shoulders brushing, and he didn’t pull away.

When the song ended, the silence that followed was different. The air between you felt thick, heavy with possibility. He was looking at you, his eyes dark in the dim light, his lips slightly parted.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “For tonight. I was... I was really nervous about coming here. I almost didn’t.”

“Thank you for being my knight in shining armor for the night.” you said, and you meant it.

He smiled again, that soft, transforming smile, and something in your chest fluttered. Without really thinking, you leaned closer and pressed a small kiss on his cheek.

A broken sound left his throat and he turned around, shielding himself from you.

“Jake?” You asked, your brows furrowing in worry, “I’m sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No, no, it’s okay…” He said, his voice strained.

You took a better glance at him and… Oh.

His hands were shielding his crotch from your sight and you chuckled, “Are you hard?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, “It’s just that… I’ve never been kissed by a pretty girl.”

“I could eat you alive,” you laughed softly, turning him towards you again, “You are so cute.”

“Thank you.” He blushed, actually blushed, and looked away from you. You suddenly felt a strange sensation, a warmth inside of you. After two years of being treated like an afterthought from your own boyfriend, Jake’s gentle nature was a stark contrast.

“Do you want me to kiss you? On your lips?” You asked quietly, and his eyes widened comically. “I mean, I would like it… But only if you want to? I should probably have a mint first, though.”

“Oh my God.” You laughed, fisted his shirt and pulled him towards you.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, your lips brushing against his like a question.

He responded slowly and unsure, his hand coming up to rest on your arm as if he needed something to steady himself.

You deepened the kiss, your tongue tracing the seam of his lips, and he opened for you with a soft, surprised sound.

He tasted like tequila and lime, and you kissed him until you were both breathless, until his hands moved from your arm to your waist, pulling you closer.

Your hand drifted from his knee to his thigh, feeling the muscle tense beneath your fingers.

He was wearing dress pants, the fabric smooth and warm. You traced circles on his thigh, watching his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered closed and the way his breath hitched.

“Is this okay?” you asked.

“Yes,” he breathed. “God, yes.”

You moved slowly, wanting to savor every moment. Your hand slid higher, until you could feel the heat of him through the fabric, the growing hardness that made your own body respond in kind.

He gasped when you palmed him, his hips bucking slightly into your touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured against his neck, pressing kisses along his jaw. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

He shook his head, his hands fisting in the fabric of your dress. “No one’s ever... told me that.”

You pulled back, meeting his eyes. “Then they were blind.”

He kissed you again, hungrier this time, his hands exploring your body with a clumsy, earnest desperation that made your heart ache.

He traced the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the lace of your dress. When his fingers brushed against your breast, he pulled back as if burned.

“Sorry,” he said, his cheeks flushing. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” You took his hand and guided it back to your chest, letting him feel the weight of you through the fabric. “You can touch me. I want you to.” With one hand, you reached for the ‘Do Not Disturb’ button near the window, so the driver would know not to intrude.

He looked at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable, and then his hand moved again, cupping your breast with a reverence that made your breath catch. He was gentle, almost afraid, but there was a curiosity in his touch that was intoxicating.

You reached behind your neck and untied the halter strap, letting the front of your dress fall forward. His eyes went widen as his gaze fixed on your breasts, the peaks that tightened under his stare.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

You laughed softly. “Have you never seen a pair of boobs before?”

He shook his head, his cheeks burning. “I mean, I’ve seen them in movies and stuff, but not... not like this. Not in real life.”

You widened your eyes… fuck! He was a virgin.

“Oh my God,” you said, your body stopping. “We can stop if you want, if you don’t want your first time to be here. I understand.”

“No, no, no.” He begged, nodding his head so much you thought it would fall down, “I want you— want it… please? I’ll be a good boy.”

You searched for his eyes, and when you found sincerity, you guided his hand to your bare skin, and he let out a shaky breath.

His touch was tentative, his warm fingers brushing against your nipple with a featherlight pressure that sent a shiver down your spine.

He looked at you, checking, making sure he wasn’t hurting you. “You’re doing great,” you encouraged. “Just keep going.”

He grew bolder, his hand cupping your breast as his thumb rubbed circles around your nipple until it peaked against his palm.

You leaned into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips, and the sound seemed to spur him on. “Can I...” He trailed off, his eyes dropping to your mouth.

“Yes.”

He kissed you again, his hand still on your breast, and you felt the last of his reservations melt away. He was kissing you like he had been waiting his whole life for this moment, like he was afraid it might disappear if he stopped. And in a way, you realized, he probably had been.

Your hand found his belt, working the buckle open with practiced ease. You smiled, soft and genuine, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “let me take care of you.”

You sank to your knees on the plush carpet of the limousine floor, your dress pooling around you like spilled ink.

He watched you, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as his hands gripped the edge of the seat.

You unfastened his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers, and then you saw him.

You sucked in a breath. He was huge. Thick and long, veined and flushed, standing proud against his stomach.

For a virgin, he was packing more than most experienced men you’d been with. You looked up at him, and he was staring down at you with wide, terrified eyes.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No,” you said, your voice husky. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re just... wow.”

He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so you didn’t give him time to. You leaned forward and took him in your mouth.

He cried out, a high, desperate sound, his hips bucking instinctively. You held him steady, your hand wrapped around the base of his shaft and your tongue swirled around the head.

He was already slick with precum, and you moaned at the taste of him.

“Oh god,” he gasped, his fingers threading through your hair. “Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

You took him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate his size. He was so thick that it was a stretch, but you loved the feeling, the fullness of him filling your mouth.

You bobbed your head, setting a rhythm as your hand worked what you couldn’t reach.

He was vocal, more vocal than you expected. Little whimpers and moans escaped him with every movement of your head with his hips twitching and his grip on your hair tightening. He was a mess, and you loved every second of it.

“I’m— I’m close,” he warned, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry, I can’t—”

You doubled your efforts, taking him as deep as you could, and he came with a shuddering cry, his release hot and thick in your throat.

You swallowed it all, every drop, and when you pulled back, he was panting, his eyes glassy, his body trembling. “Fuck,” he whispered, the word falling from his lips like a prayer.

You wiped your mouth and climbed back onto the seat beside him, your body humming with arousal. He looked at you, and there was something new in his eyes. Wonder, maybe. Or worship.

“That was...” He shook his head, at a loss for words. “It gets better,” you said, reaching for the zipper of your dress. “Trust me.”

You stood, shimmying the dress completely down your body until it pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but a scrap of lace that barely covered you. He stared, his mouth open, his spent cock already beginning to stir again.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, his voice reverent.

“I was hoping you’d ask.” You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, your thighs bracketing his hips. He was hard again, pressing against your stomach, and you reached down to guide him to your entrance. You were wet, so wet, your body ready for him.

“Look at me,” you said, and he did. “I’m going to go slow. Tell me if it’s too much.”

He nodded, his hands finding your waist, his grip gentle but firm.

You sank down onto him, inch by agonizing inch. He stretched you, filled you, and you cried out at the sensation, your head falling back.

He was so big, hitting places inside you that you had forgotten existed. He groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as his eyes squeezed shut.

“You feel so good,” he gasped. “So fucking good.”

You began to move in a slow, steady rhythm, your hips rocking against his. He met your movements, his own hips rising to meet you, and soon you found a groove, the two of you moving together like you had been doing this for years.

He leaned forward, capturing your mouth in a kiss, sloppy and desperate, his tongue tangling with yours.

“Is there something that might make you feel good?” He asked, pulling away and watching you with his big, dark eyes.

You smiled, gripped his hair and gently guided his lips to your breast. As if in command, he parted his lips and took your nipple in his mouth, tongue swirling around the tip.

You moaned softly, the sensation combined with his cock inside you almost too much.

He gently bit the swollen skin, making you arch your back and whelp.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked, looking up at you again. You shook your head and gripped his shoulders, “You’re doing so good.” You quickened your pace.

“I’m not going to last.” he admitted, his forehead pressed against yours.

“That’s okay,” you breathed. “Come for me, Jake. Let go.”

He did, with a broken cry, his hips stuttered as he spilled inside you.

The feeling of him pulsing, of his warmth filling you, sent you over the edge as well, your own orgasm crashing through you in waves, your body clenching around him.

You collapsed against him, your skin slick with sweat. He held you, his arms wrapped around you and his lips pressed gently to your hair.

The energy drained from you quickly, from the exertion of sex, the alcohol in your body and the drowsiness from the pills.

Your eyelids dropped slowly, until your eyes were fully closed.

In your sleepy state, you murmured, “Thank you, Jacob.”

──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────

“I fucked up,” you said, the confession spilling out before you could stop it.

The words tasted like ash on your tongue as you slumped into the chair across from Sophia.

The west library was nearly empty at this hour, the pale morning light filtering through the tall arched windows, casting long shadows across the wooden tables.

Sophia looked up from her laptop, her eyebrows furrowing.

She had been away at her girlfriend’s place for the weekend, and you had deliberately avoided texting her, not wanting to drag her into the mess you had created.

But now, sitting across from her, the weight of the weekend pressed down on your chest like a physical force.

“What happened?” she asked, closing her laptop and giving you her full attention.

You took a shaky breath, your fingers curling around the edge of the table. “I… I deflowered a guy.”

Her eyes widened, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Wait, you finally broke up with Jacob? Good for you—”

“No,” you cut in, your voice sharp. “I didn’t break up with him.”

The smile froze on her face. “What do you mean you didn’t break up with him? You had that huge fight at the gala. I thought that was it.”

“We didn’t officially break up,” you said, your throat tightening. “We just… fought. And then I went and had sex with someone else while we are still together.”

Sophia leaned back in her chair, processing the information. Her fingers tapped against the table, a nervous habit you recognized. “Okay. Okay, I’m not judging you. But… who?”

You shook your head, your gaze dropping to your hands. “I can’t tell you. I’m not sure he wants people to know.”

“Y/N, you have to tell me—”

“I can’t, Sophia. Please.” You cut her off.

She sighed, her expression softening. “Alright. I trust you. But how did it happen? Wait, was it the limo driver?”

“No, no.” You let out a hollow laugh. “It was someone from college. I was angry and hurt, and I just… I invited him into the limousine. One thing led to another.”

You remembered the warmth of his body, the way he had held you afterward, the tenderness in his touch that had felt so different from Jacob’s demanding hands. “I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was in my room, wearing my dress. I think he put it back on me. He carried me upstairs and he even bought me Plan B.”

“Aw, he was a gentleman,” Sophia teased, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

You bristled, your jaw tightening. “This isn’t funny, Sophia. I cheated on my boyfriend.”

“Y/N, listen to me.” She reached across the table, her hand covering yours. “Jacob has been a dismissive asshole for months. You two were going to fall apart anyway. This was just the last drop.”

The words stung, hitting a nerve you hadn’t expected. “You don’t know that. You don’t know what we have.”

“I know you’ve been miserable,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “I know you’ve been crying in the bathroom after your phone calls with him, I know he makes you feel small about your anxiety. That’s not love, Y/N.”

You pulled your hand away, anger flaring in your chest. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m just being honest.” She shrugged.

“Well, I didn’t ask for your honesty.” You stood up, grabbing your bag from the floor. “I told you because I needed to get it off my chest, not because I wanted you to trash my relationship.”

Sophia’s face fell. “Y/N, I didn’t mean—”

“I have to go.” You stalked toward the exit as your vision blurred with unshed tears.

The library’s heavy oak doors loomed ahead, promising escape, but before you could reach them, you collided with something solid.

The impact sent you stumbling backward, your bag slipping from your shoulder. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry—” you started, bending down to gather your things.

“It’s okay.” The voice was soft, familiar. You looked up, and your heart stopped.

Jake.

He was standing there, dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans, his dark brown hair falling across his forehead.

He looked as startled as you felt, his hands frozen mid-motion, as if he had been about to help you but had stopped himself.

“Jake,” you breathed, straightening up. “I… hi.”

“Hi.” He glanced around, as if looking for an escape route, but that library wing was empty except for the two of you.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “About Friday. I shouldn’t have… I mean, I was drunk, and I took advantage of you, and I—”

“You didn’t take advantage of me,” he said, cutting you off. His voice was quiet but steady. “I wanted to. I said yes.”

“But I am in a relationship.” You pressed a hand to your forehead, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “That was wrong. It doesn’t mean you did anything bad— you were actually… very good. Really good. But it was still wrong of me.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor. “I understand.” He paused, then added, “Can I go now?”

“Wait.” You reached out, your fingers brushing his sleeve.

He flinched but didn’t pull away. “Did you… were you the one who took care of me? After we… you know.”

He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He looked away. “Yeah, I did.”

“Why?” You frowned.

He was silent for a long moment, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. “Because you murmured Jacob's name. You said it in your sleep, and I… I felt guilty. Like I had done something wrong. So I got you dressed, as best as I could. The driver knew your address from the gala pickup. I carried you up to your room and left you on your bed.”

Your heart ached at the image. Him, struggling to zip up your dress, lifting you in his arms and climbing the stairs to your dorm. “You also bought me Plan B.”

He shrugged, a small, self-conscious motion. “I didn’t know if you were on anything. I wanted to be safe.”

“I’m on birth control,” you said. “So you don’t have to worry about that.”

He nodded again, his eyes still avoiding yours. “Okay, good.”

“Can you keep this a secret?” you asked, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Please… I don’t want anyone to know. Especially not Jacob.”

He met your gaze then, and something in his expression softened. “I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty library, and you watched him go, a knot of guilt and confusion tightening in your stomach.

“Jake?” You called out, and he stopped in his tracks. He turned around, just slightly, letting you know that he was listening. “You didn’t deserve that… me saying his name.”

He gave you a forced smile, “It’s okay.”

──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────

The afternoon sun was harsh, slanting through the windows of the college cafe and casting everything in a golden, unforgiving light.

You spotted Jacob immediately, standing in line with his friends Juyeon and Justin. He was laughing at something Justin said, his head thrown back with an easy smile.

You walked over, your heart pounding in your chest. “Jacob.”

The laughter stopped immediately. He looked up at you, and the warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a cold, distant expression. “What do you want?”

“Can we talk? Please. Just for a minute.” You begged.

He took a sip of his coffee, deliberately slow. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Jacob, please.” You could feel Juyeon and Justin watching, their eyes boring into you. “I know we fought. I know I said some things, but I don’t want to leave it like this. Can we just… talk it out?”

He set the cup down on the counter with a sharp clink. “You made yourself pretty clear at the gala. ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ Those were your words.”

“I was upset and angry. You were drinking, and you were being inappropriate.”

“So it’s my fault?” His voice rose, and a few heads turned. “Everything is always my fault.”

“That’s not what I’m saying—” He cut you off. “You know what? I don’t want to hear it.” He turned back to his friends, effectively dismissing you.

Humiliation burned through you, hot and sharp. You could feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

Not here. Not in front of him.

“Fine,” you said, your voice cold. “Go fuck yourself, Jacob.”

You turned and stormed out of the cafe, the door swinging shut behind you with a bang.

The cool air hit your face, and you took a deep, shuddering breath, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.

You heard footsteps behind you. “Y/N— Y/N, wait.”

Jacob had followed you outside, with his hands in his pockets and his expression no longer cold.

“What?” you snapped, turning to face him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the words seemed to cost him something. “I shouldn’t have… I’ve been an asshole.”

“You think?” You raised an eyebrow.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture of agitation. “Justin and Juyeon, they told me to come after you. They said I was being an idiot.”

“Yeah? And now that your friends told you what I’ve been telling you for a while, what so you think?”

He was quiet for a moment, the traffic noise filling the silence until he broke it. “I think I miss you… I miss us. But I don’t know how to fix this.”

You stared at him, and for the first time in a long time, you saw something vulnerable in his eyes. Not the cocky, dismissive Jacob who made jokes about your issues. Just a guy who was scared of losing someone.

“You make me feel insecure,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “You make me feel embarrassed about my own issues. I hate when you act like taking my anxiety pills is a bad thing. Yes, they lower my libido. Yes, they make me feel numb sometimes. But at least I’m not waking up in the middle of the night thinking I’m going to choke on my own breath.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

You pulled away. “Because you never asked.”

He swallowed, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I just… I miss the fun we used to have. The spontaneous sex, the parties, the laughing. I don’t know how to handle the change.”

“It’s not a change I wanted,” you said, your voice breaking. “It’s just my life now.”

He pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

You hesitated for a moment, then melted into his embrace, your face pressed against his chest. His scent was familiar, comforting, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that everything could go back to the way it was.

But in the back of your mind, you couldn’t stop replaying the feeling of Jake’s arms around you that Friday night.

The way he had held you, tender and careful, as if you were something precious. The way he had looked at you, with wonder and awe, as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

You pushed the thought away, burying it deep.

“I’ll try to be more considerate,” Jacob murmured into your hair. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, and you held him tighter.

──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────

The living room was buzzing with conversation, voices mixed with the occasional burst of laughter.

Streamers hung from the ceiling, and a banner reading “CONGRATULATIONS MINA!” was taped across the wall above the couch.

Pizza boxes were scattered across the coffee table, alongside bottles of beer and soda.

Mina was glowing, her arm wrapped around Juyeon’s waist with a radiant smile. “I still can’t believe I got it, they really gave me a prize for getting straight As.” she said for the fifth time, and everyone cheered again.

You smiled, raising your can of coke in a toast, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes.

Your mind was elsewhere, fixated on the economic principles test you had tomorrow.

The formulas, the graphs, the theories— they swirled in your head like a storm, and no matter how hard you tried to focus on the celebration, the anxiety crept in, cold and insistent.

Your hands started to tremble.

You set the can down, not trusting yourself to hold it.

Your heart was pounding too hard, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. The room suddenly felt too loud, too bright, the laughter grating against your ears.

You needed air. You needed space.

You excused yourself, your voice barely audible, and walked to the bathroom.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you leaned against it, your chest heaving.

The mirror reflected a pale, frightened version of yourself with wide eyes, flushed cheeks and hands shaking so badly you could barely unzip your purse.

The pills bottle rattled as you fumbled with the cap. Your fingers felt like clumsy sausages, and you nearly dropped them twice before finally managing to twist open the lid.

You tapped out two small tablets, brought them to your mouth and cupped your hand under the faucet to drink the water directly.

The pills went down with a struggle, and you gripped the edge of the sink, waiting for them to take effect.

But the panic was still there, clawing at the edges of your consciousness.

The bathroom door creaked open.

Sophia stood in the doorway, her expression soft with concern. She had always known when something was wrong, had always been able to read you like a book. “Oh… my poor baby.”

She crossed the small space and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace.

You broke down, the tears spilling over, your body shaking against hers. You cried for the guilt you carried, for the confusion, for the way you felt torn between two worlds and undeserving of either.

Even if you had been mad at her, even if you had stormed off a couple of days before, she still held you.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, stroking your hair. “I’ve got you.”

It took a long time for the sobs to subside. When they did, you pulled back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry. I ruined the party.”

“You didn’t ruin anything. Are you okay now?” She asked, worried.

You nodded, though the lie was obvious. “I think so.”

“Do you want to go home? Mina won’t mind.” Sophia offered.

You glanced toward the door, thinking of Jacob out there, laughing with his friends. “If I leave, Jacob will get mad. He’ll say I’m ruining his night.”

“He can fuck himself,” Sophia said firmly. “I’ll drive you home, mh?.”

You hesitated, but the thought of staying in that noisy room, surrounded by people who didn’t understand, was unbearable. “Okay.”

You washed your face, the cold water soothing your flushed skin.

Sophia handed you a towel, and you patted your face dry, trying to look more presentable. Together, you walked back into the living room.

“Hey, guys,” you said, forcing a smile. “I’m not feeling great, so I’m going to head out. Congratulations again, Mina.”

Mina’s face softened with sympathy. “Oh, Y/N, I hope you feel better. Get some rest.”

Jacob looked up from his conversation with Justin. He didn’t ask if you were okay and neithr did he reach out to touch you. He just leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to your lips, and turned back to his friend.

Something inside you cracked.

You walked out of the house without looking back.

The car ride was silent, the streetlights casting shifting shadows across the dashboard.

Sophia didn’t push you to talk, and you were grateful for that. When you reached your dorm, she waited while you changed into your pajamas, then hovered by the door.

“Do you want me to sleep beside you?” she asked, her voice gentle. “We can have a pajama party, just like in junior year.”

You shook your head. “I just need to be alone.”

She nodded, her eyes filled with worry. “Call me if you need anything, okay? I’m right next door.”

“I will.” You promised.

She left, and you climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin.

The room was dark, the only sound being the faint hum of the heater.

You closed your eyes and tried to sleep, but the guilt followed you into the darkness, a shadow you couldn’t escape.

──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────

The library was quiet, as you were hunched over your laptop at one of the corner tables, the glow of the screen illuminating your tired face.

A cup of cold coffee sat beside you, untouched for the last hour. Your eyes burned from staring at the same paragraph about macroeconomic indicators, the words blurring together until they lost all meaning.

You had barely slept in three days.

Every time you closed your eyes, the weight of upcoming exams pressed down on your chest, and your mind would start racing about formulas, deadlines and expectations.

You would toss and turn, check the clock, calculate how many hours of sleep you could still get, and then panic because it was never enough.

By the time dawn crept through your curtains, you gave up, dragging yourself to the library before the sun was fully up.

Now it was mid-afternoon, and exhaustion clung to you like a second skin.

Your phone buzzed, the notification sharp in the quiet room. You glanced at the screen, expecting a text from Sophia or maybe Jacob.

Instead, you saw the college email app, a new message marked with a red exclamation.

You tapped it open and your heart plummeted.

It was from your professor, he had scheduled another test. A quiz for your economic theory class. The date was in four days, right in the middle of the week you had already dedicated to three other finals.

You stared at the screen, your breath catching in your throat.

A full week of tests.

You had been cramming for the ones you already knew about, and now this.

How were you supposed to cover everything? How were you supposed to keep your grades up? It was barely November, and you were already drowning.

Your hands began to tremble.

The spiral came fast, vicious, and merciless. Your mind raced through worst-case scenarios: failing the class, disappointing your parents, watching their proud faces fall into confusion and shame. They bragged about your straight As to their friends, to your relatives back home.

If you failed, what would they say? What would they think?

Your chest constricted, the air turning thick and unbreathable. You tried to take a deep breath, but it caught somewhere in your throat with a strangled gasp.

Your vision started to tunnel, the edges of the library fading into a dark blur.

You needed your pills.

You grabbed your backpack with clumsy fingers and unzipped the main compartment. You fumbled inside, your hand searching desperately for the familiar plastic bottle.

But all you found were notebooks, a pen case and a half-eaten granola bar. No pills.

You had left them in the kitchen cupboard. You remembered now— you had taken your morning dose, and then you had been in such a hurry to get to the library that you had forgotten to put the bottle back in your bag.

Panic surged through you, hot and suffocating. You slammed the backpack shut, tears already pricking at your eyes.

You couldn't stay here. You couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in, the silence too loud, and the fluorescent lights too bright.

You abandoned everything and stumbled out of the library. Packing up would take too long. Every second felt like an eternity, and you needed air, space, somewhere quiet where you could fall apart without an audience.

The hallway stretched before you, long and empty, the floor tiles a dizzying pattern of white and gray. Your footsteps echoed, uneven as your vision blurred at the edges.

You walked, then stumbled and then fell to your knees, your hands pressing against the cold floor.

Your lungs were being crushed. Each breath was a battle, your chest heaving abs a high-pitched wheezes escaping your lips.

The world tilted, the walls swirling around you. You couldn't hear anything over the roaring in your ears.

Then, through the chaos you heard a voice. Distant at first, like someone calling from the other end of a long tunnel. “Y/N? Y/N!”

It was warm and familiar, but you couldn't place it, you couldn't focus. Your body was shaking too hard and your mind too tangled in panic.

Strong arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the floor. You felt yourself being guided, your feet dragging and your weight leaning against a solid chest. The voice kept talking, soft and steady, but the words were muffled, lost in the static of your panic.

You were sitting now, your back against something hard and your knees pulled up to your chest.

The voice was clearer now, right in front of you. “Y/N, look at me. Follow my breathing.”

You blinked as your vision slowly cleared.

A face emerged from the blur: dark hair falling across a worried forehead, glasses slightly askew, and brown eyes full of concern.

Jake.

He was crouched in front of you, his hands gentle on your shoulders. He took a slow, deliberate breath in, then let it out, long and even. “Breathe with me. In… out. In… out.”

You tried, but your breath hitched, stuttered. He didn't rush you. He just kept breathing, slow and patient, his eyes locked on yours. He reached for your hand and placed it on his chest, over his heart. You could feel it beating, steady and strong, a rhythm to anchor yourself to.

“Feel that? Just follow it. You're safe.” You focused on the warmth of his chest under your palm, the rise and fall of his breathing. You matched it, in and out, each breath a little deeper, a little slower.

Your vision cleared completely, now you could make out that you were in a storage room, surrounded by shelves stacked with boxes and old filing cabinets. A single bulb hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light over you both.

Jake was still crouched in front of you, his face very close to yours. He was watching you carefully, with brows furrowed with concern. “You’re back?” he asked softly.

You nodded, then shook your head, frustrated. Tears spilled down your cheeks, hot and unstoppable. “I'm such a mess,” you choked out, your voice cracking.

You brought your hands to your hair, pulling at the strands, as if you could punish yourself for your own weakness.

“Hey, hey, don't,” Jake said, gently prying your hands away from your head. He held them in his, his long fingers warm and steady, unlike your cold and trembling ones. “It's okay. You're okay.”

But you weren't okay. You were shaking again, this time from the release of tension, from the shame of falling apart in front of him. The tears came harder, sobs wracking your body that you couldn't stop.

Without a word, Jake pulled you into his arms. He hugged you, one hand cradling the back of your head as the other rubbed slow circles on your back.

You buried your face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent. You melted into him, letting yourself be held, letting the tears soak into his hoodie.

He didn't say anything. He just held you, his heartbeat steady against your cheek, his arms a safe harbor in the storm.

Minutes passed and slowly, the sobs quieted, your breathing evening out.

You pulled back, wiping your face with the back of your hand. Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled tissue, handing it to you with a small, shy smile.

“Thanks.” you whispered, blowing your nose.

He waited until you had composed yourself, then asked, “What do you need?”

You took a shaky breath. “I want to go home. I can't… I can't be here right now.”

He nodded, already standing up. “I'll drive you. I don’t have any more classes.

Your heart squeezed, once again he was saving you. “I left my backpack and laptop on the table… can you get them for me? The backpack is pink and the laptop has a landscape wallpaper.”

“Got it. Stay here, I'll be right back.” He slipped out of the storage room, leaving you alone in the quiet.

A few minutes later, Jake returned, your pink backpack slung over one shoulder and your laptop case in his other hand. “Found them,” he said, a little breathless. “No one took anything.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice small.

He offered you a hand, and you took it. His grip was firm, as he helped you to your feet. He stayed close, one hand hovering near your elbow, ready to catch you if you stumbled.

His car was parked in the student lot, an old BMW with a few dents and a faded paint job.

It wasn't fancy, but it was clean inside, the seats worn but comfortable. He opened the passenger door for you, waited until you were seated, then closed it gently.

The drive to your apartment was quiet. He turned on the radio, low, some soft indie station filling the space with gentle guitar strums. You leaned your head against the window, watching the streets pass by, the familiar landmarks blurring together.

When he parked outside your building, he grabbed your bags and followed you up the stairs. You unlocked the door, stepped inside, and he set your things down by the entrance.

“You can stay,” you said, your voice hesitant. “If you want.”

He hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Are you sure? I don't want to intrude.”

“You're not intruding. I… I think I need company. And you just drove here.” You shrugged.

He nodded slowly, then stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

You led him to the living room, a small space with a comfortable sofa and a coffee table cluttered with textbooks and empty mugs you and Sophia were too lay to clean up. You sat down, and he sat beside you, leaving a respectable distance.

You let out a bitter laugh, rubbing your face with your hands. “God, I'm such a mess.”

“You're not a mess,” he said quietly. “You're dealing with a lot.”

“Do you want to take a shower?” he asked after a pause. “Maybe you’ll feel better. I usually do.”

A real smile tugged at your lips. “A shower sounds nice, actually, thank you.”

“Do you need help?” He asked, then cringed, “Sorry, too much?”

“Thank you for the thought,” you called behind your shoulder. “But I can manage.”

You went to your room, grabbed a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, and stepped into the bathroom.

The hot water was a blessing, washing away the tension and the lingering panic. You stood under the stream for a long time, letting it beat against your shoulders, your mind slowly quieting.

When you came out, wrapped in a towel, you changed into the comfortable clothes. you walked back to the living room, and the smell hit you— chicken noodle soup.

Jake was in your kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove. He turned when he heard you, his eyes softening. “You look better.”

“I feel better.” You sat on the sofa, and he brought you a bowl, a spoon and a napkin. He had even set out a glass of water.

You took the bowl, the warmth seeping into your cold hands. “Thank you, Jake… really.”

“It's no problem.” After a few spoonfuls, he asked, “Does this happen often?”

You sighed, setting the bowl on your lap. “In periods of high stress, yes. It got better over the summer. But now I'm a senior, and the pressure is… a lot.”

He nodded, not pushing for more. You finished the soup, feeling the warmth spread through your body. You set the bowl aside and stood up, walking to the kitchen cabinet where you kept your pill bottles. You popped two into your mouth and washed them down with water.

When you turned back, Jake was watching you, his expression unreadable. “I'm sorry,” you said, sinking back onto the sofa. “You had to take care of me again.”

He shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “I'm glad I was able to help you. Again. I'd do it again if you needed me to.”

Your heart ached at his words. “You're too kind.” He shrugged, looking down at his hands. “Do the pills have side effects?”

You blinked at the question. It was so practical, so Jake. Nobody had really paid attention to that part of you, except for Sophia and Mina. “They make me drowsy and numb sometimes. The doctor said they can lower also my sex drive.”

He let out a small chuckle, the sound surprising you. “Well, it didn't seem that low in the limousine.”

Your cheeks burned. He caught himself, his eyes widening, and he quickly added, “Sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up. I promised you not to.”

“It's okay,” you said, your voice soft. “You're right, maybe being treated with care was a turn-on.”

The air in the room shifted. He looked at you, his gaze lingering on your lips, then meeting your eyes. “I could take care of you…” Jake said, his voice low. “If you wanted.”

Your breath caught and he took it as an invitation to move closer and cup your jaw. Tentatively, he kissed your lips.

You answered by deepening it, his hand sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.

As realization dawned, you parted, breathless, and said, “We should stop. I'm still with Jacob.”

He pressed his forehead against yours. “Shush,” he whispered, and kissed you again.

You let yourself be pulled under. He laid you down on the sofa, his body covering yours, careful and gentle. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, then he pulled back, his cheeks flushed and his glasses slightly fogged.

“I watched some tutorials,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “On… eating someone out. Do you want that?”

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. “You watched tutorials?”

“I wanted to be good at it,” he said, his ears reddening. “For you.”

“Yes,” Your heart melted. “I want that.”

He smiled, a shy, sweet smile, and then he moved down your body. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants and tugged them down. he kissed your thighs, down to your hips, and then the sensitive skin of your inner legs, each kiss sending shivers through you.

Then he gently pulled your panties aside, lowered his head, and his tongue touched you.

Your back arched, it had been a long while since someone touched you like that. He was hesitant at first, then more confident, finding a rhythm that had you seeing stars.

His tongue traced circles, dipped inside, then moved up to your clit. He sucked gently, his nose pressing against you, and you cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair.

He moaned against you, the vibration sending a jolt through your core. You bucked up, grinding against his mouth, and he groaned, his grip on your thighs tightening. “Is this okay?” He questioned.

“Don’t talk,” you breathed out, “Just lick.”

“Yes ma’am.” And he delved in again. His movements were clumsy, as if he was following a certain pattern in his mind. It felt good nonetheless, uour while body on fire.

The pleasure built, coiling low in your belly, and when you came, it crashed over you like a wave, your body convulsing, a broken cry escaping your lips.

He didn't stop until you had ridden it out, then he lifted his head, his lips glossy and his eyes dark.

You noticed the wet patch on his pants, dark and obvious. “Did you cum already?” you asked, your voice hoarse.

He looked down, then back at you as his cheeks painted of a crimson. “Eating you out was really hot.”

You laughed softly, pulling him up to kiss him again. You tasted yourself on his lips and your hand moved to his waistband, but he caught your wrist.

“Today is about you.” he said, his voice firm but gentle. He kissed you again, slow and deep.

He caressed your body, his hands tracing your curves, your breasts, your waist. He kissed you for what felt like hours, worshipping every inch of you. You guided his face to your neck, and when his lips pressed against the sensitive skin, goosebumps erupted across your body.

He kissed, licked, nipped, and you moaned, the sensation reigniting the heat between your legs.

Time lost meaning. You made out on the sofa, tangled together, his hands exploring you as your fingers threaded through his hair.

But the drowsiness from the pills began to seep in and your eyelids grew heavy.

He noticed, so he pulled back with a soft smile on his face. He fixed his glasses, which had gone askew, and gently pulled your sweatpants back up, tucking your panties into place.

Then he scooped you up, carrying you to your bedroom. He probably remembered it from the night of the gala.

He laid you on the bed and pulled the covers over you. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he tucked you in. “Rest well, Y/N.”

He lingered for a moment, his hand brushing against your forehead, pushing a wild strand of hair away.

Then he turned and left, his footsteps fading down the hall. You were alone, but this time you didn't feel lonely.

The warmth of his touch lingered on your skin, a promise that maybe you weren't as broken as you thought.

──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────

“I did it again.” That was how you greeted Sophia the following morning, your voice still rough from sleep, your hair unbrushed and your eyes carrying the heavy weight of a restless night.

She stood at the stove with a spatula in one hand and a slice of bread dipped in egg mixture waiting in the pan.

The smell of cinnamon and butter filled the small kitchen, which was a stark contrast to the mess of thoughts tangled in your head.

She turned to look at you, her eyebrows knitting together in that familiar expression of concern. “Did what again?”

You dropped onto one of the stools at the kitchen island, reaching for a box of cereal she had left out. You poured yourself a bowl, the sound of flakes hitting ceramic too loud in the quiet morning. “Fuck up? I had a panic attack yesterday.”

Her spatula paused mid-air. She turned the stove off and faced you fully, crossing her arms. “What? Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?”

You waved a dismissive hand, even as a small, guilty pang hit your chest. “I’m fine now. I’m fine, but I stumbled in the hallway, and guess who found me?”

She tilted her head, waiting, so you didn’t let her wait. “Limousine Guy.”

Sophia’s eyes widened. “No.”

“Yup, yhe guy I deflowered.” You said it with a wry smile, but the memory of Jake’s hands steadying you and his voice soft in your ear, came flooding back. You looked down at your cereal, stirring it absently. “He helped me, drove me home… and well… it wasn’t with penetration this time, at least?”

Sophia let out a long, low whistle. She turned back to the stove, sliding the French toast onto a plate, and brought it to the island, sitting across from you.

She took a bite, chewing slowly, her eyes never leaving your face. “Wow, okay. You really need to break up with Jacob.”

The words hit you like a cold splash of water. You shook your head, even as your stomach twisted. “It’s complicated, Soph. You know that.”

“I know why it’s complicated,” she said, setting her fork down. “Your parents think he’s the golden ticket. He’s wealthy, he’s got connections, he has ‘high chances in life,’ or whatever your mom likes to repeat every time you call her. But when was the last time he looked for you— not because you’re a trophy on his arm, not because he wanted sex, but because he actually wanted you?”

The question landed hard. You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. You thought about Jacob… about the dinners where he talked about his internships and his networking events.

The way he introduced you to his friends as “my girlfriend, Y/N” but never actually looked at you when he said it. The way he kissed you like it was just lust, never love. The way he reached for you only when he wanted something.

“I used to be happy with him,” you said quietly, your voice barely a whisper. “Maybe… after I get better, we’ll all go back to how it was. And maybe me and Limousine Guy can be friends. Just friends.”

Sophia stared at you for a long moment. Then she sighed, stood up, and grabbed her bag from the counter. “Figure it out, Y/N.”

She slung it over her shoulder and walked toward the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “I really want to meet this Limousine Guy by the way. He sounds like he actually gives a damn.”

She left before you could respond.

──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────

College felt louder than usual that day. You walked with purpose, your shoes squeaked against the polished floors as your eyes scanned every face that passed.

You were looking for Jake and it turned out to be harder than you expected.

You asked a few people, described him, but nobody seemed to know him.

He didn’t have many friends, apparently. He was something of a ghost on campus, someone you passed in the halls without ever really noticing.

The thought made your chest ache.

You ended up in the engineering wing, a group of students huddled around a table covered in blueprints, but your attention landed on a familiar face near the vending machine.

Lee Heeseung.

You’d seen him at parties before, always with a friendly smile and a drink in hand. He was tall, with sharp eyes and an easy way about him.

You approached him, your heart beating a little faster. “Hey, Heeseung, right?”

He turned, recognition flickering in his eyes. “Y/N, yeah. What’s up?”

“I’m looking for someone. Do you happen to know a Jake?” You asked.

Heeseung tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “Jake Sim?”

You paused… well, you didn’t even know his surname. “Uh… I’m not sure. He has glasses, dark hair, a cute smile? Kind of quiet?”

Heeseung’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah, that’s Jake. He’s in my dorm building. What do you need him for?”

You shrugged, trying to sound casual. “We’re… friends, I just need to ask him something.”

Heeseung studied you for a moment, something unreadable passing through his gaze.

Then he nodded slowly. “He’s probably in the mathematics building, since he’s a statistics major. You’ll probably find him in one of the classrooms on the second floor, he’s always there, working on something.”

You thanked him and started to turn, but he called your name.

As you looked back, his expression had hardened, a hint of seriousness in his eyes. “You’re not pulling a prank on him or something, right?

“What? No.” You frowned.

“Just… don’t hurt him, okay?” he said quietly. “Jake has a kind soul”

The words struck you deep, echoing Sophia’s earlier sentiment. You nodded when a lump formed in your throat. “I know.”

──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────

The mathematics building was quieter than the rest of campus.

The halls were lined with old photographs of scholars and the air carried a faint scent of chalk dust and old paper. You climbed the stairs to the second floor and peered through the small glass window of each door until you found him.

He was in the last classroom, standing at the chalkboard with his back to the door.

A flannel shirt hung loose over his frame and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms dusted with chalk.

His hair was messy, sticking up in places as if he’d been running his hands through it. He was deep in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly as he scribbled equations in white chalk— a dense forest of numbers and symbols that looked like a foreign language to you.

You pushed the door open gently, he didn’t t notice you at first. You stepped inside and stood behind him.

“What are you doing?” you asked softly.

He jumped, the chalk in his hand skittering across the board and leaving a crooked line. He turned, his eyes wide behind his glasses, and when he saw you, his face flushed a deep pink. “Y/N! I— uh— I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Clearly.” You smiled, leaning against the edge of a desk. “So?”

He cleared his throat, gesturing awkwardly at the board. “I’m trying to solve a problem my professor gave me. But it’s not turning out. The deadline is in two days, and I’ve been at it for hours.”

You looked at the board again. It might as well have been ancient Greek. “I can’t help you with that, I’m sorry. I don’t know the first thing about statistics.”

He let out a nervous laugh. “That’s okay. Most people don’t.”

You hopped onto the desk, your legs dangling lazily. “I’ll just sit here, then, to keep you company.”

He hesitated, then turned back to the board, picking up another piece of chalk. But his movements were slower now, less fluid. You could feel his awareness of you, the way his shoulders tensed every time you shifted.

After a few minutes of silence, you spoke up. “Hey, Jake?” He turned, chalk pausing mid-stroke. “Yeah?”

“Can I have your number?” You tilted your head.

The chalk snapped in half. He stared at the broken pieces in his hand, then at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Uh… why do you want my phone number?”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “To text, duh. So we can hang out sometimes. If you want.”

Guilt flashed in your faced, “Well, minus the eating out part. I’m so sorry to remind you that I am in a relationship.”

His blush deepened, spreading down his neck. He set the broken chalk on the tray and fidgeted with the hem of his flannel. “I— right. Yeah, of course. I’m sorry if I took advantage of you.”

“Jake.” You said his name softly, and he stopped. “It wasn’t your fault. My head is all over the place in this period… But I don’t want to ruin whatever is growing between us. I really like it, and you are so kind to me.”

His expression softened, and he stepped closer, his eyes meeting yours with an earnestness that made your heart skip. “I like it too…”

He pulled his phone from his pocket, an older model with a cracked screen and handed it to you.

You typed your number in, saved it under your name and handed it back. He looked at the screen, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“There,” you said. “Now we’re official. Sort of.”

He pocketed the phone, still smiling. You slid off the desk and stretched, your joints popping. “How about you get out of this classroom and rest your very big brain for a while?”

He blinked. “What did you have in mind?”

“Come with me and you’ll find out.” You wiggled your brows.

He debated for a moment, glancing at th chalkboard, at the mess of unsolved equations. Then he grabbed his backpack from the floor and slung it over his shoulder. “Okay.”

──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────

You led him to the college pool, a sprawling building with glass walls and the faint chlorine smell of the pool.

You signed in at the front desk and rented two swimsuits: a pair of trunks for him and a modest one-piece for you.

You changed in separate locker rooms, and when you met by the pool entrance, you had to stop for a second.

He was already in the trunks, and without his glasses, his face looked different, more open. His chest had abs you hadn’t noticed under his hoodies, and a happy trail disappeared from his belly into his swimming shorts. You fought very hard not to stare.

His hair was still messy, but wet now from a quick shower. He clutched the towel awkwardly, his eyes squinting slightly, shifting his weight from one feet to the other.

“You look good,” you said, and his face went red again.

“I— thanks. I can’t see very well without my glasses, so I’m kind of blind right now.” He chuckled awkwardly. “ You look good too. I mean—“ he waved his hands in front of him, “You always do! I’m not just saying that because you are wearing a swimming suit.”

You smiled, finding his rambling cute, “Thanks, Jake.” You took his hand, feeling the callouses from hours spent writing numbers and led him to the pool area.

The water was a clear turquoise, rippling gently under the bright overhead lights. The space was mostly empty at that time of the day , just a few people doing laps in the far lanes.

You stopped at the edge of the shallow end. “I always come here to swim when I need to clear my head. It helps.”

He looked at the water, a nervous expression crossing his face. “I’m not really good at swimming.”

“Then I’ll help you.” He smiled at you, a genuine, unguarded smile that reached his eyes. It was the most beautiful thing you’d seen in a long time.

Awww, he had dimples!

The trust in his eyes was so wholesome. So, you pushed him in.

He let out a yelp as he hit the water, splashing and sputtering, and you laughed— a real, full laugh that echoed off the tiled walls. You jumped in after him, the cool water enveloping you, and surfaced right in front of him.

He was wiping water from his eyes with a shocked look on his face. “You pushed me!”

“I did.” You grinned. “Now swim.”

He tried, paddling awkwardly, his strokes uneven and his legs sinking. You swam beside him, guiding his arms and showing him how to kick properly. “Relax your shoulders, you’re so stiff.”

He followed your instructions, improving little by little. Every now and then he would stop, treading water, and watch you swim laps with a quiet admiration.

You caught him staring once, and he looked away quickly, pretending to be fascinated by the tile pattern.

After a while, you both got tired. You swam to the edge of the pool and hoisted yourself up, sitting on the cool concrete with your feet dangling in the water. He joined you, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths, the water streaming down his back and drops falling from his hair down his nose.

The silence between you was comfortable, broken only by the soft lapping of water and the distant echo of someone doing laps.

You turned to him. “Tell me something about yourself.” He looked at you, confused. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “I always talk about myself when we’re together. I want to know something about you.”

He was quiet for a moment, his fingers trailing through the water. “Well… I have a dog at my parents’ house. Her name is Layla and she’s my best friend.”

You smiled. “She sounds adorable.”

“She is.” He paused. “I’m an only child. It’s just me and my parents and Layla.” His voice trailed off, and he stared at the water. “I’m sorry, I’m not interesting.”

“That’s not true.” You placed a hand on his thigh, feeling the warmth of his skin through the wet fabric of his trunks. He tensed, his breath catching, but didn’t pull away. “What are your hobbies?”

He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I like photography, I have a really cool camera at home and…”

It seemed hard for him to find something to say, “I like… Marvel. I’ve seen all the movies. I even own some of the gadgets..

You blinked. “Really? I’ve never watched any of them.”

He turned to you, his expression shifting into one of utter, comical offense. “Never? Not a single one?”

You shook your head, “Not one.”

He shook his own head now, a new determination settling in his eyes. “We have to remedy that. Immediately.” He hesitated, then added, his voice softer, more tentative, “If you want… you could come over to my place. I have all the DVDs, I even have popcorn!”

The offer hung in the air, fragile and sincere. You felt a warmth spread through your stomach, knowing how much courage it had taken for him to ask.

You squeezed his thigh gently. “I’d love that.”

──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────

The drive from the college pool to Jake’s place was short, just a few miles through quiet residential streets.

You were still damp from the quick shower you had taken in the locker room, your hair still clung to your neck. Jake had waited for you outside the women’s locker room, his own hair still wet with a small towel draped over his shoulder.

He lived in a modest apartment complex, the kind with beige walls and identical doors. He unlocked the door and held it open for you, gesturing for you to enter first.

The apartment was small, but immaculate. Everything had its place. The couch was a simple gray fabric and the coffee table bare except for a laptop and a remote.

“Make yourself at home.” he said, his voice a little hesitant. He disappeared into the kitchen, and you heard the rustle of a microwave bag, then the hum of the microwave itself.

You took the opportunity to explore. Your feet carried you across the hardwood floor, past the small dining table with two chairs, past a bookshelf filled with textbooks and a few sci-fi novels.

Then you noticed the photographs.

They lined the walls in mismatched frames, a timeline of his life. The first one you saw was a teenage Jake, all limbs and braces, holding a puppy. The dog was licking his face, and he was laughing with his eyes crinkled shut.

You smiled at that. You assumed the dog was Layla, the one he mentioned before.

Next to it was a framed certificate and a photograph of him holding a trophy. He was standing on a stage with a medal around his neck and he was wearing a crisp white shirt.

It was a math contest, by the look of the banner behind him. His face was serious, focused, but there was a hint of pride in his posture.

Another photograph showed him in a cap and gown, a diploma in his hands. You guessed it was his graduation.

He stood next to a woman who must have been his mother, she had the same soft eyes, the same gentle smile. She was hugging him, her hand on his cheek. His father stood on the other side with n arm around his shoulders.

You moved further down the hall, and then you stopped.

This photograph was different, this one was larger, framed in black wood.

Jake was wearing a white taekwondo uniform and a blue belt held in his hands, with a wide smile.

He looked younger here, maybe early high school, but there was a confidence in his stance that you hadn't seen in the other pictures. His fists were clenched, and his chest puffed out, like he had conquered something.

You heard footsteps behind you, soft and hesitant.

“That was when I got my blue belt,” Jake said, his voice quiet. He stood beside you, with his hands shoved into his pockets. He was looking at the photograph, but his expression was distant, lost in memory.

“That’s amazing,” you said, turning to him. “How long did you do taekwondo?”

He shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “From elementary school until sophomore year of high school. My mom signed me up because…” He paused, licking his lips.

He seemed to wrestle with himself, then he let out a slow breath. “When I was in elementary school, my classmates didn’t really like me. Kids can be mean, you know? They made fun of my glasses and my clothes, of the way I talked. I was an easy target.”

Your heart clenched. You watched his profile as he spoke, the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes stayed fixed on the photograph.

“So my mom signed me up for taekwondo. For self-defense.” A small, wry smile touched his lips. “I never actually used it on anyone. But it made me feel powerful, like I could protect myself if I ever needed to.” He shrugged. “And I made friends there, kids who didn’t care that I was weird.”

He glanced at you, his eyes vulnerable behind his glasses. It was the first time he had opened up to you like this, truly opened up about something painful from his past.

You reached out and rubbed his arm, your fingers gentle against the fabric of his hoodie. “I’m sorry they treated you that way, Jake. You didn’t deserve that.”

He looked away, blinking rapidly. “It was a long time ago.”

But you could see the memory still stung. You could see how it haunted his eyes. However, you didn’t push. Instead, you let your hand fall, and you gave him a soft smile.

He seemed to shake off the moment, his expression brightening. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He turned and walked to the couch, where two plushies sat on the armrest.

One was Iron Man, the other was the Hulk. He picked up the Iron Man and held it out to you. “Here. For you.”

You took it, surprised. The plush was soft, well-loved with the stitching on the arc reactor slightly frayed. “Are you sure? This seems special.”

“I have the Hulk,” he said, picking up the green plush and hugging it to his chest. “We can watch the movie with them.”

A warmth spread through you, at his innocence. You followed him to the couch, settling down side by side.

The popcorn was ready, he had made it perfectly, buttered and salted, and he set the bowl between you.

He grabbed the remote and navigated to Netflix, pulling up the first Marvel movie.

The opening credits rolled. You took a handful of popcorn, the buttery taste melting on your tongue. Jake was quiet, his eyes glued to the screen, but you could feel his tension, the way he sat stiffly, his hands clasped in his lap.

“It’s okay if you fall asleep during the movie,” he said suddenly with a soft voice. “I know the pills can make you drowsy. I won’t be mad.”

“I only took my daily dose.” You shook your head “It might be fine, but thank you.”

He nodded, but he still seemed uncertain. You were hyper aware of everything around you: you felt the warmth of the apartment, the softness of the couch and the gentle hum of the television. And when your eyelids grew heavy, you fought it.

You wanted to be close to him. So you shifted, leaning into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

The fabric of his hoodie was soft, and you could smell the faint scent of detergent and his caramel-like cologne.

He went rigid. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice a little high-pitched.

“I’m snuggling?” you said, puzzled. “I snuggle with Sophia all the time when we watch movies.”

He blinked, his glasses reflecting the light from the screen. “Oh, right. Snuggling.” He sounded like the word was foreign to him, like he had never experienced it before.

There was a long pause, then, awkwardly, he shifted his position. He lifted his arm with hesitation, and then draped it over your shoulder. It was stiff, his hand hovering in the air, not quite touching you. He looked like he was trying to solve a complex equation in his head.

You suppressed a smile and settled deeper into his side.

After a moment, his arm relaxed with his hand coming to rest on your arm.

He was warm and his heartbeat steady against your cheek.

The movie continued. Jake began to relax, his thumb tracing absentminded circles on your arm. You let yourself sink into the comfort, the simple pleasure of being held.

As the second movie rolled in, Jake found his voice. “Did you know that the actor who plays Iron Man is also in the Oppenheimer movie?”

You hummed, your eyes closed. “No, I didn’t.”

“And in the first movie, there was a scene where he talks with Jarvis, but it was improvised. They kept the scene anwyas.” You opened your eyes, looking up at him. He was staring at the screen, his face animated, a small smile playing on his lips.

“You really know your stuff.” you said.

“I’ve watched these movies a lot,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing. “They’re comforting. The good guy always wins, you know?”

You nodded, resting your head back on his shoulder. The movie played on, and he continued to share little facts, about the bloopers, the references to the comic and the behind-the-scenes stories.

His voice was soft, almost like a whisper, but it filled the room, wrapping around you like a blanket.

By the time the credits rolled on the second film, the apartment was dark except for the glow of the TV.

You stretched, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was past ten pm. Your stomach dropped.

A full day lost. You hadn’t studied, hadn’t prepared for the tests that awaited you next week.

The panic was a slow burn, kindling in your chest, threatening to catch fire.

You took a breath, in and out. You could feel the anxiety trying to take hold, the familiar spiral beginning.

Jake noticed, he always seemed to do that. He shifted, turning to face you, his eyes searching yours. “Do you want to go home?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “I should, it’s late.”

He didn’t argue. He just stood up, offered you a hand, and helped you to your feet.

You gathered your things while he turned off the TV and grabbed his keys.

“I can drive you.” he said, but you shook your head.

“They’ve thankfully invited Ubers. My dorm is not to far.” You smiled, “I’ll be fine.”

He looked like he wanted to insist, but he held back. “Okay, If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” You paused at the door, turning to him. “Thank you, Jake, for tonight. I really had fun.”

His eyes widened, a soft, shy smile spreading across his face. “Me too, I’m glad you came.”

You stepped forward, rose on your tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm, just a little stubbly.

He went completely still, his breath hitching. “Goodnight, Jake.”

You opened the door and stepped out, the cool night air hitting your face.

“Wait!” Jake exclaimed.

He ran outside his door, barefoot and gripping the small Iron Man plushie in his hands. He reached you with a flushed face and that crooked smile, “Here, take this.”

You frowned, “What? Jake, no, it’s yours.”

He shook his head, handing the small gift to you, “Consider it a token of gratitude, for bearing with my constant talking during the movie.”

You smiled, taking it and caressing its furred head, “Alright, I will take good care of it. Thank you.”

“Anytime.”

The Uber dropped you off in front of your dorm building. You unlocked the door to your dorm, stepping inside. Sophia’s door was closed, so you guessed she was already asleep.

You changed into your pajamas, brushed your teeth, and climbed into bed.

But sleep wouldn’t come. Your mind was restless, turning over the events of the evening.

Your phone was on the nightstand, you had placed it there without even checking on it since you went to the pool with Jake. You reached for it, and your heart froze.

Nineteen missed calls from Jacob and dozen of texts from your friends, all the notifications flooding your screen.

You sat up, your stomach twisting.

You had forgotten.

Oh, God. You had completely forgotten. Today was Juyeon’s birthday party. The one Jacob had been talking about for weeks, and also the one you had promised to attend.

You quickly called him back. It rang three times before he answered. “Where the hell have you been?” His voice was sharp and angry.

You could hear music in the background, the noise of a party. “Jacob, I’m so sorry. I completely lost track of time, it totally flew over my head.”

“Everything flies over your head nowadays, Y/N.” His words were like a slap. “I told you this was important. Juyeon asked about you— everyone asked about you! I had to make excuses.”

You swallowed, the guilt pressing down on your chest. “I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well… Juyeon will understand, I’ll give him the gift at college.”

“Stop playing the victim,” he said, his voice cold. “It’s always about you and your feelings. What about me? What about what I need?”

Your throat tightened. “Jacob, I—”

The line went dead. You stared at the screen, the call ended notification blinking back at you. Tears welled up in your eyes, hot and unstoppable. You curled into yourself, hugging your knees, and let the tears fall.

You cried until your head ached, until your pillow was wet. And then, exhausted, you fell into a restless sleep.

──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────

The days blurred into a routine of classes, study sessions, and anxiety attacks that came and went as a week passed. But through it all, Jake was there.

You grew closer. He became a constant presence in your life. You had coffee together between classes, sitting in the campus café, with him nursing a black coffee while you sipped a caramel latte.

He would listen to you complain about professors, about the weight of assignments, and he never judged you, never made you feel like a burden.

When you felt the first signs of anxiety creeping in, the racing heart, the shallow breath and the tunnel vision, he would notice before you could even articulate it.

He would make funny faces, crossing his eyes and puffing out his cheeks, until a reluctant laugh escaped you. Or he would take your hand, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your palm, grounding you, bringing you back.

You felt lighter around him. Freer. And Sophia, ever the bestest friend, noticed. She had been bugging you for weeks, cornering you in your dorm room, her arms crossed.

“You’ve been hanging out with Limousine Guy a lot,” she said, her eyebrows raised. “And since then, you’ve looked better. Even though Jacob has been sulking like a child.”

“His name is Jake,” you said for the first time, your cheeks warming. “And we’re just friends.”

“Uh-huh.” She didn’t believe you. “Just friends who can’t stop smiling when they talk about each other. And who had sex.”

“Sophia, please. When you meet him, don’t mention that you know about the limousine.” You held out your pinky finger “Promise me.”.

She rolled her eyes, but she relented. “Fine, but only because I love you.”

The day of the hangout arrived. You had arranged to meet at the college bowling alley, a small, slightly run-down place with a few lanes and a snack bar.

Sophia and you waited near the entrance. She was tapping her foot while scanning the parking lot. “So, where is this mysterious nerd of yours?”

“He’s not mysterious. He’s just… himself?" Then you saw him. He was walking across the parking lot, and he looked like he had changed his outfit multiple times.

He was wearing a button-up shirt that was slightly too tight, paired with jeans that were slightly too baggy.

His hair was a mess, like he had been running his hands through it, and his glasses were slightly crooked.

Sophia’s eyes widened. She leaned into you, whispering, “Oh my God… hreally is a nerd.”

“Sophia, be nice.” You nagged and she raised her arms in mock defence. “I am nice..”

Jake reached you. “Hi, Y/N… uhm, hi, Sophia.” He gave a small, awkward wave.

“Hey, Jake,” you said, smiling. “Ready to get destroyed at bowling?”

He let out a nervous laugh. “I’ll try my best.”

You rented the shoes, picked out a ball, and found an empty lane.

Sophia went first, scoring a respectable seven pins.

Then it was your turn. You picked up the ball, lifted it, and threw it down the lane. It veered sharply to the left and landed in the gutter.

You groaned. “I’m terrible at this.”

Jake stepped up beside you. “Here, let me show you.” He hesitated, then gently placed his hands on your shoulders, adjusting your stance. “Spread your feet a little wider, bend your knees… yes, like that. And when you swing, keep your arm straight.”

He guided your arm, his hand over yours, showing you the proper form. His touch was light, careful, and you could feel the warmth of his body behind you.

“Okay, now try.” he said, stepping back.

You took a breath, swung, and released. The ball rolled down the lane, wobbling slightly, and knocked down four pins.

Not great, but better.

“There you go,” he said, a smile in his voice.

Sophia watched the exchange with a knowing smirk.

Then it was Jake’s turn. He picked up his ball, took a deep breath, and started his approach.

But his foot caught on something and he slipped. His legs flew out from under him, and he landed flat on his back with a loud thud. The ball rolled harmlessly into the gutter.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Sophia burst out laughing, a loud, unladylike cackle. You followed, giggling with your hand over your mouth.

Jake lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. After a second, he started laughing too, a genuine, warm sound. He didn’t seem embarrassed, just amused at himself.

“I meant to do that.” he said, still laughing.

Sophia and you helped him up, and the rest of the game was filled with laughter, bad scores, and a few more spills.

After bowling, you walked back to your dorm room. Sophia and you went to the small kitchenette, and Jake offered to help cook.

He was surprisingly skilled in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with precision and seasoning the chicken perfectly.

Sophia and you mostly watched, handing him utensils and stealing bites of the ingredients.

Dinner was served on the small coffee table. Sophia, ever the interrogator, started asking questions. “So, Jake, tell me about your family. Any siblings?”

He swallowed a bite of food. “No, I’m an only child. It’s just me and my parents.”

“And your dating history? Any crazy ex-girlfriends we should know about?” She wiggled her browse.

You kicked Sophia under the table, but obviously, she ignored you.

Jake’s ears turned red. “Uh, no. I’ve never really… dated before. I’m not good with people.”

Sophia’s expression softened. “But you’re good with Y/N.”

He glanced at you, then looked down at his plate. “She makes it easy.”

The conversation continued, and Jake answered every question, even the uncomfortable ones.

He talked about his childhood and his love for science fiction. He was open, vulnerable, and completely genuine.

When he left, Sophia stood beside you at the door, watching his car pull away.

“He’s the one,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I believe he’s the one for you, babes. He has my approval.”

──── ──── ──── ୨ৎ ──── ──── ────

Jacob’s texts came in like a relentless tide, each notification a small, sharp sting against the quiet peace you had built.

Cobie: Baby let’s make peace

Cobie: Come over, i’ll make u feel better

Cobie: Y/N? Don’t be like that

You glanced at your phone, saw his name flash across the screen, and turned it face down on Jake’s coffee table.

Instead, you focused on the soft scratch of Jake’s pencil against paper and the way the afternoon sunlight filtered through the blinds and painted golden stripes across the hardwood floor.

This was where you wanted to be.

There, in his neat little apartment, with his textbooks stacked in perfect alignment and his calculator placed precisely beside his notebook.

You were sprawled across his dining table, your own chaos spread around you like a hurricane: loose papers, highlighters, a half-empty water bottle and a crumpled granola bar wrapper.

Jake didn’t complain. He simply worked around your mess, occasionally sliding a stray pen back into your reach or pushing a glass of water closer to your elbow.

It was nice studying together a.

He was quiet and focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked through some calculus problem.

You had your own assignment, but being there made it bearable. The anxiety that usually coiled in your chest, waiting to strike, was absent.

Your mind was at peace. For the first time in what felt like months, the noise in your head had quieted.

You smiled to yourself. It really seemed as if fate had reserved something nice for you, after all the chaos and heartbreak.

Your meeting with him had been so sudden but you were glad he had stuck with you, even though you were a mess.

He had seen you at your worst, crumbling under the weight of panic attacks, crying in his car and confessing your sins.

And he had stayed.

But then, as if sensing the calmness of the day, a sudden warmth bloomed between your legs, a familiar sensation that made you freeze.

You shifted in your seat, feeling a dull ache in your lower abdomen.

Oh, no.

You knew that feeling all too well. It was your body’s way of announcing the inevitable.

You excused yourself, your voice coming out a little strained. “I’ll be right back, uhm— can I use the bathroom.”

“Of course” Jake looked up, his eyes scanning your face with that quiet concern he always wore. “Are you okay?”

“Just… I need a minute.” You hurried to the bathroom, closed the door, and checked.

Yup, it was uour period.

Great timing, as always.

You sighed, pressed your forehead against the cool mirror, and tried to think.

You had left your backpack on the dining table, and you were certain you had a pad in there… somewhere.

But you didn’t want to walk out and dig through it in front of Jake.

You cracked the door open, just a sliver, and called out. “Jake? Could you check my backpack? There should be a pad in the front pocket. If you don’t mind.”

You heard his chair scrape against the floor, there was a long pause before his footsteps approached the door.

“Uh,” he said, his voice awkward, hesitant. “You can check in the left cabinet under the sink.”

Confused, you opened the cabinet he mentioned. And there, neatly arranged on the shelf, were pads. Multiple packs of them, of different brands and different sizes. A whole arsenal of menstrual products, lined up like soldiers.

You stared at them for a long moment, your mind struggling to process. You picked one, opened it, and took care of the situation.

When you came out, Jake was standing near the table, his hands shoved into his pockets and his ears bright red.

“Jake,” you said, your voice soft. “What are you doing with all those pads?”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. “I, um… I bought them… for you.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes. “You mentioned once that your cycle was irregular, and that sometimes you got caught off guard. I thought… maybe if you ever needed one, you’d have it here. I didn’t know which kind you used, so I got a few different ones. I’m sorry if they’re not the right ones.”

Your heart swelled to the point of pain. He had bought you pads on the off chance you might need them.

He had thought about you, about your comfort, about something so mundane and yet so deeply personal.

“And they are so expensive!” he added, his voice pitching higher. “I didn’t realize they cost that much. I’m sorry, I should have—”

You crossed the distance between you and wrapped your arms around him.

He went rigid, then slowly and hesitantly, his arms came up to hug you back.

“You’re perfect,” you murmured against his shoulder. “You’re so kind. The girl who ends up dating you will be so lucky.”

You felt him tense. For a moment, he didn’t move, and then he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

There was a vulnerability there, a rawness that made your breath catch. “Why can’t it be you, that girl?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy and honest. “What?”

He had never been this straightforward before. Usually, he danced around his feelings, hiding behind awkward jokes and shy smiles. But now, he was looking at you with a clear, unwavering gaze.

You stepped back, your arms falling to your sides. “Jake… I’m with Jacob, I’m happy.”

His jaw tightened. “You’re not happy, Y/N. Everyone can tell, Jacob treats you like garbage.”

The words stung, not because they were untrue, but because they pierced through the carefully constructed walls you had built.

You shook your head, defensive. “We’re just going through a rough patch, that’s all. That’s why things have been tense.”

“A rough patch?” His voice rose, incredulous. “He ignores you when you have panic attacks and he calls you a victim when you struggle.”

“He just doesn’t know how to handle the situation.” You shrugged “We will be fine. I’m the one who treated him like garbage, Jake. we slept together while i was still with him.”

Jake scoffed, a strange and scary shadow crossing over his features, “So he can cheat but you can’t?”

Your blood ran cold. “What?”

Jake’s face paled as he realized he had said too much.

He started pacing, his hands running through his hair and his breathing rapid. “I shouldn’t have told you. I shouldn’t have said anything, it wasn’t my place.”

“Told me what?” You grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. “Jake, what are you talking about?”

He looked at you with eyes full of regret.

Then he sighed, a long, defeated sound, and walked to a shelf.

He picked up a camera woth a large lens, and brought it to the table. He sat down, and you followed, your legs feeling weak.

He scrolled through the camera’s gallery with fingers trembling slightly. “Remember when I said I was paired with a girl for a project? Minjee?”

You nodded slowly. You remembered him mentioning the name, but you hadn’t thought much of it.

“She brought her boyfriend to the meeting,” he continued, his voice low. “I didn’t mind, because I am used to working alone… but they made out the whole time. It was uncomfortable.”

He paused, his throat working. “Then, at the beginning of the school year, the football association asked me to take pictures at their celebration party. Jacob is the captain of the team across town, I didn’t know that until that night.” He explained, “I was just there to take photos, I didn’t talk to anyone.”

He turned the camera toward you, and you saw the image on the screen…. and your heart stopped.

It was a photograph taken at a party, there sitting on a couch, was Jacob. And on his lap, draped over him like she belonged there, was who you thought was Minjee.

She was laughing, with her hand on his chest, her legs crossed over his thighs. He was smiling down at her, his own arm around her waist and his fingers curled possessively over her hip.

You remembered that night, because you had refused to come all the times he insisted.

It was the night you had been stuck in your bed, caught in the throes of a panic attack that had left you breathless and shaking.

You stared at the photograph, your vision blurring. The room spun around you, and you felt the familiar claw of nausea rising in your throat.

“I didn’t know it was him until I saw you two arguing at the gala,” Jake said, his voice barely a whisper. “I connected the dots, I realized who he was. And I knew… I knew you didn’t deserve that. You never deserved a jerk like him, Y/N. You are so much better than he ever gave you credit for.”

You set the camera down, your hands shaking. “I need…” you said, your voice hollow. You gathered your things, shoving papers into your bag with jerky movements. “I need to go.”

“Y/N, please—” Jake’s voice cracked. He reached for you, but you stepped back. “Don’t. I need… I need to think.”

You grabbed your bag and walked toward the door. His voice stopped you, broken and desperate. “Please don’t hate me.”

You turned and saw him standing there with red-dimmed eyes. He looked shattered, like he was afraid he had lost you.

“We’ll talk later,” you promised, and you left.

You walked across the streets, your feet carrying you on autopilot.

The world was a blur of colors and sounds, but none of it registered. All you could see was that photograph.

You sat on a bench near the park, pulled out your phone, and saw Jacob’s texts still flooding your screen.

You: come to the campus park if you want to talk.

He arrived within fifteen minutes, walking toward you with a cautious expression.

He was wearing his usual confident swagger, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

“Y/N,” he said, sitting down beside you. “I’m glad you agreed to see me. I think we should talk.”

You smiled at him, a sweet, almost pitying smile. And then you said the words that had been forming in your chest for weeks. “We should break up.”

He blinked, taken aback. “What the hell?”

“I did something very horrible,” you said, your voice steady. “When we fought, I was with someone else, I cheated on you.”

His eyes widened, his face flushing with anger. But you continued before he could speak.

“But I found out you cheated on me too, with Minjee. At that party you said you couldn’t miss. While I was at home, having a panic attack, alone.”

His mouth opened, then closed. His hands clenched into fists.

“I’m not excusing what I did,” you said. “I’m telling you that we both betrayed each other. And that shows just how toxic we are. We aren’t happy, Jacob, we are holding each other back.”

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the pavement. “You’re one to talk. I cheated because you were always stuck in your room, always making everything about yourself! You never gave me what I needed, it was inevitable.”

“And yet you stayed,” you said quietly. “Why didn’t you just leave?”

He glared at you, his eyes cold. “Because you’re mentally ill, you know that?” He scoffed. “You need help, you’re a fucking mess. And you cheated on me, you fucking slut.”

The words hit like a slap, but you didn’t flinch. You had expected worse. “We’re done, Jacob. I’m breaking up with you.”

“No,” he snapped. “I’m the one breaking up with you. Don’t you forget that.”

And with that, he turned and stormed away, his footsteps heavy and angry.

You watched him go, and for a moment, you felt nothing. Just a vast, empty numbness.

Then, slowly, a small wave of relief washed over you.

It was over.

You weren’t sure how you got home, just that one moment you were standing in the park and the next you were in front of your door.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you heard Sophia’s voice from the kitchen. “Hey! I was thinking we could order takeout tonight. Maybe some Chinese? Or pizza? I’m craving—”

She stopped mid-sentence as she turned and saw you. Her eyes widened, her face shifting from cheerful to concerned in an instant. “Y/N? What happened?”

And you broke. The dam inside you burst, and you crumbled, sobs tearing through your chest. Sophia rushed to you, wrapping her arms around you, holding you tight as you cried into her shoulder.

“I broke up with him,” you choked out. “I did it.”

“Oh, honey…” She stroked your hair, her voice soft and soothing. “You did the right thing… You did the right thing.”

She held you for a long time, letting you cry until your throat was raw and your body was limp. Then she guided you to your bedroom, helped you into your pajamas, and tucked you into bed.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me.” she whispered.

You curled up, reaching for the Iron Man plushie Jake had given you. You pressed it to your chest, burying your face in its soft fabric.

You fell asleep to the scent of him.

A hand on your shoulder gently shook you awake. The room was dim as the light from the hallway spilled in through the crack in the door.

Sophia was leaning over you with a soft face, “There’s someone at the door for you.”

You blinked, groggy and disoriented. “Who?”

“Go see for yourself.” She urged.

You stumbled out of bed with messy hair, your face probably smudged with old mascara. You looked terrible, but you didn’t care.

You shuffled to the front door, opened it, and found Jake standing there.

He looked awful. His eyes were dull and red-rimmed, as if he had been crying. His clothes were rumpled, his hair was a disaster. He looked like he hadn’t slept and as if he had aged years in a single night.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have told you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He ran a hand in his already messy hair. “I don’t want to ruin what is happening between us, because I really like it. I really, really like it.”

His voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “Even if you don’t like me the way I like you. Even if you only had sex with me because Jacob wouldn’t take care of you, I don’t care. I cherished every moment. Every second with you was special to me.”

He gulped, anxious, “And if you only want to be friends, I can accept that. I just… I can’t lose you. I’ve never had a real friend before, Y/N. You’re the first person who made me feel like I am not invisible… Please don’t cut me off.”

He stood there, with trembling eyes. He looked so broken, so vulnerable, and your heart ached for him.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

He let out a shuddering breath and buried his face in your hair, his hands clutching your back like you were the only thing keeping him upright.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry for hurting you. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” he said, his voice muffled. “I hurt myself by hoping.”

You pulled back, cupping his face in your hands. “Jake, I don’t want to lose what we have either. But I’m not ready for a relationship again… at least not yet.

You gave him a small smile, “I need to fix myself before I can give you my whole heart.”

He shook his head, his thumbs brushing away the tears on your cheeks. “You don’t need fixing, Y/N. You’re not broken. You’re just… a little lost, and that’s okay. I will wait however long you need, I promise. Just… please don’t cut me off. Please.”

“I promise I won’t.” you said, your voice soft.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek and he closed his eyes like he was savoring the moment. “Go home, Jake. We’ll talk better tomorrow.”

He opened his eyes, and for the first time that night, a small, fragile smile touched his lips. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

TO BE CONTINUED